A two-bath day?

When I was growing up in the southern Midwest, our house had no air conditioning. Most people didn’t mind the heat too much—at least until that week in August when it would get oven hot. During that week, we often had two-shower days. Yesterday, when the temperature plummeted, the rain fell relentlessly, and the clouds sat gray and heavy, I began to contemplate a two-bath day.

Heaven knows, I survived many days in England with a chilly, steady, soul-destroying drizzle. (After days spent in libraries that kept the temperature in the forties–I kept my coat on and could see my breath some days–baths were the only thing able to warm me up right to the core.) So yesterday, I knew it wasn’t just the rain, the cloud-cover, and the cold that made the day feel unutterably dreary. All of that felt like a marker–a signpost for the beginning of winter. Not just any winter, either–a long, lonely, Covid winter.

I drifted through the day, balefully eyeing the weather outside the window. Occasionally I could lure myself into small, useful activities (a Zumba class, laundry, meals). But every time I sat down, inertia claimed me again. The phone and the Kindle sang their siren songs, and I sank down beneath the waves.

It’s a mini hibernation, I told myself. The bears and I were curling up and staying warm. Just enjoy it, I told myself. Besides, it was only a day—hardly a disaster for anyone, let alone a retired person. I could give myself a day to absorb the reality of the coming winter, couldn’t I?

Okay, sure. But this winter, the wind will howl on many days while the sleet clicks sharply against the windows. What are we going to do about those days?  

Well, we’re going to have a few bad days, a few days when we’re restless and grumpy. But on better days, we’ll wait optimistically for an effective vaccine. We’ll even hope for an effective plan to vaccinate as many people as possible as quickly as possible. (Health-care workers and the immunocompromised first, but us over-sixty types next—or so I hope. This prospect seems more likely post-election, with a government that will work with scientists and care how many people die.) Meanwhile, it would be stupid to abandon our months of careful behavior. So, grudgingly, we’ll wear our masks, wash our hands, keep a physical distance, minimize our times indoors with other people.

We’ll also continue doing fun things we’ve been doing. We’ll walk with friends outdoors when the weather permits. We’ll do Zoom teas or cocktails. We’ll read and write, even if it’s just chatty emails. We’ll call or send cards to our elderly relatives. We’ll do our exercise classes online. We’ll watch whatever series are available and to our tastes. (I’m looking forward to The Crown and The Queen’s Gambit.)

All those coping mechanisms will help. But they’re getting a little stale, aren’t they? A little routine? What about new ideas for fending off the winter blues? Michael and I brainstormed the other day, and here are a couple of strategies we came up with.

Take a class. The classes I’ve been taking this fall are winding down now and won’t start up again until late February. I’ll miss the mental spark of assignments and classroom interactions (even on Zoom). So for my big Christmas present, I’ve asked for five-day virtual “trip” offered by Road Scholar. (I’ve chosen an introductory tour through Portugal.) They claim it’s only partly recorded, with “live” visits to people who play fado or make pastel de nata. Like most online activities, it will not be The Real Thing, but the reviews seem to be positive. We’ll see.

Or do a big project. I know people who are having fun with Nanowrimo (National Novel Writing Month—a challenge to produce a 50,000-word draft during the month of November). Michael is making exciting headway on his novel. In a more desultory way, I’m editing one of my old ones. People are organizing photos. (I admire them. I hauled out a box last week and got some of them sorted into piles. But labeling! Organizing! I’m not that desperate. Yet.) Other people are composing memoir pieces or family histories. For some people, it’s time to pull out those abandoned knitting projects.

Make special dinners. We’re not bad cooks, but we do get into ruts. To vary dinner a bit—and to get some new recipes—Michael and I have re-signed ourselves up for Blue Apron. (My stepdaughter prefers Sunbasket.) We’ll probably choose to get a delivery every other week, as we did the last time we tried it. We’ve also batted around the idea of a having a formal dinner every week—the kind where we set table with the wedding china, make special cocktails, and dig through the back of the closet for our going-out-to-dinner clothes. Cooking classes online might be fun.

Plan a lower-risk winter vacation. Because of the Covid flare-up we postponed a much-anticipated trip to Hawaii with the kids and grandkids. (Hawaii’s not such a big risk once you get there—at least right now. But getting there means spending hours on a plane and in airports with a heavy-duty mask. It’ll be worth it for some people.) It’s a disappointment, of a decidedly first-world type. We backpedaled to Florida, which we can get to in one three-hour plane ride, and reserved a self-contained house in Sarasota for January. We figured we could have food delivered, pick up take-out, do outdoor activities at uncrowded times of day. But Florida has an insane governor and zero restrictions, so it’s now become a Covid hot-spot. Ummmm, maybe. Or maybe we’ll wait until March, when a vaccine may be available.

Lean hard into hygge. Some people are going all out on decorating for the holidays. I’ve set the dining table with candles and a bright table-runner. This morning, I foraged through my sweater drawer and pulled the heavy, cozy sweaters up to the front. Soon, we’ll start having fires in the fireplace. And in the late afternoons, when the sun is setting ridiculously early, I’ll slip into a hot soaky bath and read silly books.

Yesterday, in the late morning, I contemplated taking a bath right then–at eleven o’clock in the morning. Will there come a day when I succumb to temptation and actually do take two baths? It could happen. There’s a long winter ahead. Who knows to what depths I’ll sink?

Perhaps as much as 19 inches…