“Life should not be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well-preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside in a cloud of smoke, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, and loudly proclaiming “Wow! What a Ride!”– Hunter S. Thompson, The Proud Highway.

I’ve been living around the coronavirus for more than a year, but not in it, really. I have followed it for sure and often think of how it is changed, even destroyed the lives of many people I know and work with.

I haven’t set food in the Mansion or Bishop Maginn for nearly a year.

We rarely see friends, and as an older man with two chronic illnesses, Maria and I have altered our lives to try to be safe and keep other people safe.

But this week, going into self-isolation, the virus has literally come much closer and has once again altered our lives.  It surrounds me now, in a benign but disconcerting way I know how fortunate I am; more than 400,000 people are dead.

But I will see it differently from now on.

The thing about being in isolation is that I feel isolated. Makes sense.

My world has shrunk to our small farmhouse. I spend some time upstairs—hours in my study, the rest of the time in our living room. I’m reading when I can, and watching some series on Netflix, at night (I never stream during the day, what a dangerous hole to fall into), I’m also plowing through a mystery or two.

But this is a new experience for me, the boundaries of my world are shrinking; I’ve not experienced anything like it in my life. I had a symptom, possibly two, of the virus, and my doctor’s office asked me to isolate and be tested.

The virus seems closer.

The doctors and nurses I work with are frantic, overwhelmed, and still patient and eager to help. I admire them for their courage and compassion.

They are role models for me.

Because they are so empathetic and considerate and brave, I am determined to mirror them and be the same way with them and also with Maria. I intend to act as they act.

I gave Maria a hard time for two days, doubting the need to be isolated,  complaining, and grumbling, and then realized that it was not who I wish to be. No one should fight being loved or forget how to listen.

She wanted to strangle me for a while, and then just ignored me, and then we just talked things through, as we do.

I’m behaving now, accepting this reality. I don’t wish to join the ranks of the Whining Nation.

Monday, I go to the hospital to be tested. I am certain I don’t have the virus – no fever or almost none of the symptoms – but I probably do have some virus of a different kind.

I’m on medications for this, which seem to be taking hold.

I feel good but tired and am told I’m pale. Being in isolation is a bit like house arrest, only voluntary. It’s a statement of a kind. It says I am going to take care of myself and Maria and accept responsibility for not making other people sick.

The first role of honor is not to harm others. And also listening to doctors and leaders, rather than complaining and fighting them.

I very much dislike this feeling of confinement and not being able to go outside for any other reason than to visit the animals and take a walk.

I guess that feeling of being in a kind of prison does bother me and frustrates me. I am used to moving freely anywhere I want to go.

It’s a hard habit to abandon. Just imagine the horror of being confined to a cell for years and years.

Maria has set the tone and is managing isolation. She is in charge of me. She is tougher than she might appear and as strong-willed as I am, sometimes more so.

I can’t go outside for the foreseeable future, somewhere between five to ten days. I can’t go shopping or meet with friends. I will take a walk up a nearby hill tomorrow, no cardiac rehab or gym.

I can’t carry out my weekly chore at the food-co-op, I do the laundry every week.

I will not trawl the news media all day, I’m not riding the Trump Crazy Train. He needs to do the right thing and go away. He won’t.

I thank the Gods that I don’t have to hear about our President’s tweets every morning, the news media will have to get out there and do some real work, as many are beginning to do.

I made myself some promises a decade or so ago when I broke down. I would never again lie to myself or others, and I would never speak poorly of my life.

I can do some cooking and go out and get the mail.

And I can write, of course, and take some photos.

It is a good thing to be brought closer to this tragedy; it’s easy to drift away from it when you live in a small village in the country. Life is social distancing up here. And almost everyone is wearing masks.

Two or three people have offered to go grocery shopping for us – Maria is isolating also, but she is a secondary infection candidate; she can go out for essential things but not be around people.  She has no symptoms.

When we need something, she calls and sets up a curbside pick-up. I never thought we would need that, but I’m glad it’s there. When all else fails, I turn to Amazon. They do make isolation easier.

Tomorrow we will pick up a week’s worth of good and fresh food from the Farmer’s Market; we arrange for the food to be waiting for us to pick up. I’m not allowed to go, not even to sit in the car. This is difficult for me to adjust to, but it’s for my own good and the good of others.

We are so good together; I enjoy being with her. She will go to her studio and do the work she normally does – she has some amazing things she’s working on.

I will go to my study in the morning and write about my life and the farm, and when appropriate, about the battle for America’s soul raging around the country and our broken President. In many ways, I acknowledge my relative good fortunate.

I have the best health care,  a wonderful caretaker to keep an eye on me, I work at home so need very little change in routine, and most important, it is doubtful that I have contacted the virus.

I often think of two undocumented immigrants I read about who lived in the Bronx, a couple that died in their apartment together because they feared getting deported if they went to a hospital.

We have lost our soul as a country and are struggling to get it back. I have no reason to feel sorry for myself.

My test Monday will tell us for sure, but I have learned a lot about my body this year, and if I had this severe virus, I believe it would have shown itself by now.  I even have a great therapy dog, Zinnia, to watch over me. And she is doing a great job; she has not left my side since I was asked to isolate.

I plan on keeping an isolation diary.

“Wow. What A Ride!”