Little Things

Herself speaks.

I have been feeling completely out of sorts of late. Because coronavirus.

No one I know has yet been infected. Yet worries still abound and float freely, from concern about the impact of 'social distancing' and restrictions related thereto, to concern about the already-significant economic impact; and these are compounded by the knowledge that so many people I know and care about are in higher risk groups, and by a vague panicky feeling about having adequate food (which, of course, we do) and avoiding shopping. I fear the unknown and having additional responsibilities foisted upon me by the situation. I am exhausted from trying to peer into the unknown future. I want to lie down. Or to run away.

And then, this happened: I got home from work this evening, and a household member had done a handful of chores -- emptied and refilled the dishwasher; hand-washed the giant storage container; folded the dishtowels; and run the towels I had left in the washing machine through the wash, and then dried and folded them. It was a balm to my soul: all the small things magically taken off my plate, even if for just an evening. My soul unfolded a bit.

Later we sat outside with a cup of tea and chatted about television shows and this and that. And this delightful normalcy made such a difference. I felt such relief from the seemingly-omnopresent strain of the past few weeks; it washed over me, all the way from my eyebrows down to my toes.

Just when I could not do any more things, the pile of little things was done for me. I could not be more grateful.