I just recovered a few more memory fragments from our early plague time days . . .

Let’s just say up front that this has been a slow (strange and unpleasant) ride.

Well before our city started shutting down in early March, W and I started limiting our contact with the world.

That meant us keeping to ourselves and our superannuated black cat.

I started spending those early days on the front porch glider with a row of loaded long guns leaning on the porch rail in front of me in full view, discouraging anyone who approached the front porch.

The FedEx and UPS guys appeared to have gotten the message after I told them to get back in their trucks and just return that shit.

I didn’t threaten the mail lady because I didn’t want the Feds on my ass. People walking their dogs quickly passed the word and learned to walk their yappy poop machines on the other side of the street.

If I was not on the porch, I sat by myself in front of the ultra-high def screen atop the fireplace mantle. I quietly thanked God daily for Netflix. I was secretly glad all the sports had been cancelled because all but two of my teams suck.

Against my strong objections right after we declared a household Plague DEFCON 1, W left the house for her thrice weekly walk in the city’s parks and squares.

Thinking quickly, I said to myself “If I let her back in the house (I might), she will have to (1) wipe down the front gate, porch stair railings and front door with Lysol first; and, (2) go into quarantine in a separate bedroom until it’s time to cook that night’s meal.”

Fortunately, the ER ortho docs on call that day said my sprains and fractures would heal with only the minimal assistance of soft casts.

We did break out one early night before the mandatory shutdown order to go to a nearby Japanese restaurant. We were the only patrons after the couple who was there when we arrived left. I encouraged them as I walked by their table by muttering, “Hurry your asses up and leave.” I figured we were OK because Japanese are obsessively clean, and the chef has never talked to us. I didn’t let our bar waitress behind our backs as we sat at the sushi bar get too close. She was a young, largish local girl, and who knew when she last changed her soy sauce stained yoga pants.

The sushi chef softly grunted as he prepped and plated our sashimi in front of us. I still don’t think he speaks English, but I never give him trouble because sushi knives are sharp.

He did become animated that night when, as we left, I told him to poison any Chinese commie customers who came in. After more than 30 years since my last visit to Japan, my Japanese probably sounded like pidgin to him, but he nodded enthusiastically and said, “Hai, hai, hai. Domo arigato gozaimashita.”

Later that week, our worries melted away, because we were assured that this was all a hoax that would go away real soon.

Days later the town had emptied, another ten days or so later American state governments started issuing mandatory, stay at home orders, the economy stopped dead in its tracks soon thereafter, and a new unannounced TV season of real time, unreality shows series commenced.

The Japanese restaurant remains closed and is being slowly emptied out.

With a tip of my hat to Foghat:

We weren’t in the mood
And the rhythm wasn’t right
Couldn’t move anymore since the state said no live music at night
That’s when our rolling stopped alright, yeah

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