Donna and I are “hunkered down” — like everyone else.   Our daily protocol has included sleeping in, drinking that 3d or 4th cup of coffee, doing Sudoku puzzles (Scott), bridge columns (Donna), taking looooong walks (3 plus miles/10,000 steps), ordering dinner two or three times a week from small local restaurants (that we want to survive), ordering food to be delivered from Instacart [though just between us, I have on occasion gone . . . . never mind] and we are being creative in our meal selection on other days.   While neither of us watch much in the way of television, we do watch the “Nightly News” on NBC and we are into the fifth season of “A French Village” — a depressing but historical Netflix offering on Occupied France during World War II.  

I continue to work remotely (and frankly, work has slowed).   I’ve gone to the office on a few occasions though Donna urges – I kid you not – that I take off my clothes in the garage when I get home (to be promptly washed).  I then scramble up the stairs for my second shower of the day.  Yeah – you could sell seats for that. . . . .    

Neither of us have gained weight.  We enjoy occasional vino with dinner though I have been knocking back Diet Coke (a beverage I swore off many years ago).  We continue to have things to talk about.   I’m growing a mustache (I’m often mistaken for Brad Pitt when we go for walks).  I play my guitar and sing while Donna swoons, applauds and yells “Encore!  Encore!  But the big “minus” is not being able to hang out with our granddaughters.  We see them, blow kisses and high five through the glass door, wave, talk and FaceTime.  I write them a letter every day – with my hand-drawn cartoons.  But it just ain’t the same.