Patience In A Pandemic

"Patience is not simply the ability to wait – it's how we behave while we are waiting."

---Joyce Meyer

It should be noted that unless we're talking about waiting on tables, or cocktail waitressing, waiting is not something I do well, nor is my behavior admirable whilst waiting around. Truly, patience has never been my forte, and it never will be. Despite barely passing math, algebra and fractions go better for me than being told to wait, or be patient, or, the most dangerous words ever, to "calm down." It simply does not happen for me.

However, as we all know, right now patience and waiting, along with good behavior, seem to be the skills that will carry us through this pandemic. Everyone is waiting for something. For there to be more supplies in stores, for schools to open back up, for restaurants to bring food to your table, and not your curbside car. We are stuck with it. No matter how smart, efficient, or able you are, most of us are stuck now, waiting around. It's even more difficult because what we are waiting for is so unknown. Will we get sick? What about our friends and family members, will they be OK? Will our jobs come back, will the retirement accounts recover? Who knows?

It's been interesting to see the ebb and flow of patience, my own, and those of others. The first time I hit up the grocery store, amid the madness, it was before the sun was up, and, not being a morning person, just having to shove a grocery cart around a parking lot at 5:45 am was enough to set my teeth on edge. Once inside the store, truthfully, it became a mission. While I am not patient, when given a specific task, I can be laser-like in my focus. My plan? Take on the grocery store like Patton took on Sicily. A relentless and calculated assault, but without the Howitzers and tanks.

Social distancing is difficult when it's Armageddon in the produce aisle, but it can be done. I wasn't planning to hog up all the toilet paper, just get the basics of what I needed. The fish counter wasn't busy, so I figured a nice piece of haddock for supper would be good. The problem was the customer six feet in front of me, bless her heart, needed to physically inspect each filet. Tom, the fish guy, is a friend and he could tell by looking at me that I was about to slam it into Wicked Witch mode, so he helped Princess Picky Pants find her ideal cod match and got her on her way. Thanks, Tom, you saved a life. It's not that we don't all have the right to get the food we want, it's just that there truly isn't that much difference from filet to filet, OK? There just isn't. I curbed my rage-filled urge to bounce a lemon off the poor lady's skull; the least she could have done was move it along a little faster. See what I mean about my ability to be patient?

Since that first trip, I've managed to get a handle on what we really need for food and supplies and shop accordingly. The crowds are a little more manageable now, and there have been a couple of nights of carefully acquired take out (Thank you Romano's you never disappoint!) so it's calming down a little. I've found that being grateful for what isn't happening at my house is helpful. Normally, sentences beginning with "At least…" annoy me, because who wants the least out of a situation? But, you know what? At least it's not snowing. At least I am able to get out and get food when it's needed. At least my family is around me (ok, all the damn time is a bit much, but whatever) and at least the cable and the internet are still functioning normally and when I tire of Netflix, I can walk out the door, smell the ocean, watch seagulls, and hear waves.

The lines are still annoying, my hands look like snakeskin from all the washing, and I am going a bit overboard on salty snacks and boxed wine, but it will come to an end. I know this because in my backyard, a sure sign that Spring is near is when the fur babies come back for dinner. After being wherever bunnies go in the winter, my rabbit friends start to reappear. One night this week, as I was cooking yet another dinner, who was in the yard, happily munching away? El Ricardo. That's the name I gave this first bunny of Spring. He came back again the next night, and the night after that. It's a little thing, but it helps. Hang in there, and if you need a smile, and want to see some bunnies, stop by my yard at supper, just, you know, keep your distance.