Constable: Turn and face the strange of coronavirus change
I haven't done my job the proper way since March 10. That's the last time I drove to a place, sat down with folks, spent some time, got to know them a bit, shook their hands and conducted a proper face-to-face interview. Getting to meet interesting strangers and asking them all about their lives is one of the most enjoyable and integral parts of my job.
I miss that.
Readers should, too. Stories about people are better when they include descriptions about facial expressions, mannerisms, quirks and little charming moments that don't come across during my phone conversations or awkward online chats. People relax and open up more when they see me react to what they say.
But any of us workers still lucky enough to have a job have learned to adapt and make the best of a bad situation.
As David Bowie once advised in his "Changes" song, "Turn and face the strange." Forced to spend so much time with ourselves, we might even have some insights.
Even though I have difficulty remembering what day of the week it is, or even what month, I know the time because I still wear my watch. I write my columns on a laptop, which constantly displays the time in the lower right corner, check my email and online stuff on the desk computer, which constantly displays the time in the upper right corner, use my cellphone, which always has the correct time, as I sit in our kitchen, which has a wall clock. But I can't tell you the time unless I look at my watch. I feel naked without it.
Speaking of feeling naked, many professional women working from home enjoy the freedom of not wearing a bra. And probably a few professional men have enjoyed the freedom of finally being able to wear a bra while working.
We have enjoyed watching TV shows such as "Homeland," "Better Call Saul," "Unorthodox," and movies such as "Hunt for the Wilderpeople" and "Crip Camp." We tire of every TV commercial starting with a haunting piano song as the narrator explains how we are all in this together. My wife, Cheryl, and our homebound college son, Will, have enjoyed our time cooking and eating meals together, having philosophical discussions and playing cards and board games.
We play "Catan" and gin and hearts, and even dug into the old game vault in our basement to rekindle games we played when our sons were little.
Before every meal, we take turns reading from Will's book, "How To Eat," by Vietnamese Zen Master Thich Nhat Hanh. Each segment is about as long as a traditional grace, and reminds us to be thankful for the effort put into the meal by people, nature, pollinating bees and other animals, and the chance to concentrate on what is important, instead of just stuffing our faces. Under Will's guidance, we usually meditate for 10 or 20 minutes while food is cooking.
Will, who celebrated his 21st birthday on lockdown with his parents, got a Dutch oven as his big present, and has been using it to make wonderful homemade sourdough bread from a yeast he grows in a jar. Will is vegan, which means we haven't eaten any beef, chicken, pork, seafood, eggs or dairy products since he came home. I miss cheese, but this is a good time to give up meat. He's right about how eating plants is healthier for us and the animals, and better for the environment. But with my new office in the kitchen, and my bad habit of snacking on carbs and nuts, I've actually gained a few pounds.
We get our groceries delivered. Aside from the store being out of whole-wheat flour, asking if we'd like oat milk instead, and substituting coconut cream for coconut milk, it has worked well.
Unimaginable to anyone who has seen the back seat of my car, I have run out of notebooks. But I love my 20-second commute. I have more time to exercise and do household chores. I'm sleeping better. I'm having vivid dreams.
It's just that I still long for the chance to sit next to actual strangers, ask them personal questions and see what happens.