March 17, 2020
Ah, to be a dog, immune to COVID-19 and blissfully unaware of what’s happening in the world. After our retour précipité from California, we picked up Lily at my sister’s house. We’re back home by noon to, well, stay home. The confinement is now in effect. I take inventory of what I have in the freezer and the pantry; I notice the empty fridge didn’t spontaneously replenish itself while we were away. Lily gets reacquainted with her surroundings after her two-week vacation with her canine cousins: there is a lot of sniffing around and some napping in her favorite armchair. She has no reason to worry: kibble magically appears in her bowl twice a day. The dog is all set. If things get too dire for her humans, they’ll have to crack open some homemade cans of foie gras. The horror!
Vocabulary
Le retour précipité: hasty return
Hyacinths in bloom in front of Mom’s house
March 18, 2020
My confinement is better than yours. If the virus is a great equalizer, the stay-at-home experience is not. Some people have to spend their days in tiny apartments; we are lucky to live in a spacious house à la campagne surrounded by fields and wooded areas. Rick is back in tractor mode: the weeds grow fast at this time of the year. I check up on Mom at least twice a day but refrain from entering her home. No hugs, no kisses. We stay six feet apart and I wear disposable gloves when I bring her food. Nurses still come to her house morning and evening but her aide à domicile can no longer fulfill her schedule: she also watches over the children of the Gourdon medical personnel and is not supposed to work for elderly people. Meanwhile, Mother Nature pays no attention to the turmoil: wildflowers are blooming all over the fields.
Vocabulary
A la campagne: in the countryside
L’aide à domicile: (f.) home care assistant
Very few shoppers at the local supermarket. Still plenty of bread and fresh flowers.
March 19, 2020
I ask Mom to give me her grocery list. She says she really doesn’t need anything: she has three bottles of sparkling water, a camembert, one sous-vide dinner, and a box of frozen fish sticks. Let’s put this woman in charge of disaster preparedness, shall we? I fill out a permission slip and drive to town for supplies. At the roundabout, I’m stopped by a gendarme who asks why I am out of my house. To go to the supermarket. “I hope you’re not just picking up a baguette and sliced ham,” she says as she waves me through. Most of the shops are closed and the streets are empty. At Intermarché, I don a mask and a pair of gloves before pushing my cart into the store. The shelves are well-stocked; plenty of toilet paper. I check off everything on my list except for my favorite brand of butter. I should have enough supplies for a week. I tend to be an impulsive cook and usually pick up food every other day depending on my inspiration. The confinement is forcing me to be a methodical meal planner. It’s a new exercise and, at this point, I’m mildly amused by the novelty. I’m even making chicken stock from scratch!
The pear tree is in bloom
March 20, 2020
This spring has been milder than usual and the trees seem to visibly change day by day: buds, blossoms, and tender green leaves appear as in a time-lapse video. The pear tree is gorgeous and covered with white flowers. I’m making a mental note that I’ll surely need to thin the fruits in a month or two. A memory rushes in: a vision of my grandmother’s poire prisonnière. I’m thinking I should make my own. I’ll have to find a pretty carafe, attach it to the tree, slide the neck over a small pear, and let the fruit grow inside the glass. When the fruit is ripe, cut the stem, remove the bottle with the pear inside, and fill it with some alcool de fruit. Maybe I’ll call it my poire confinée, année 2020.
Vocabulary
La poire prisonnière: captive pear
L’alcool de fruit: (m.) clear fruit alcohol
La poire confinée: confined pear
Illustrator Battì Manfruelli from Corsica has perfect take on how many people are feeling right now.
March 21, 2020
My cousins and I started a WhatsApp group a year and a half ago. We’re scattered along a Paris-Toulouse axis but usually manage to see each other throughout the year. Getting everybody together at the same time is a challenge but I was lucky to have them at the house for last year’s Christmas dinner. The group has been active this week; we’re checking up on each other and posting humorous pictures and memes about Le Confinement. On Day 5, this thing is still fairly new and “manageable.” Some of us are retired, some are en télétravail, some are raising toddlers while trying to work from home… I wonder: how long will it take before we feel like caged birds?
Vocabulary
En télétravail: working remotely from home
Several religious services are broadcast on the France2 channel every Sunday morning. Catholic mass is usually filmed in churches and cathedrals, in France or other francophone countries.
March 22, 2020
I’m bringing Mom some of my homemade chicken soup. As I walk on her porch by the living room windows, I can hear her TV set blaring a religious hymn: if it’s Sunday, it must be Mass. I drop off her food on the outdoor table and we spend ten minutes chatting, she inside, me outside. She plans to have lunch, take a nap, and watch Michel Drucker’s TV show. All in all, an ordinary Sunday for her. Back at home, I catch the last five minutes of “Le Jour du Seigneur” and notice that, today, Mass is not taking place inside a spectacular cathedral but is broadcast from a TV studio in the 13th arrondissement: four priests respecting la distanciation sociale, a simple wood table doubling for an improvised altar, a giant screen showing rows of empty pews. Not an ordinary Sunday for them. At noon sharp, I hear the bells of the church in Payrignac. They sound louder than usual today.
Vocabulary
La distanciation sociale: social distancing