surreal planet, Day 6,713: The Museum of My Clothes

This morning I went into what I call The Museum of My Clothes - my walk-in closet - and laughed. There they are, lined up neatly on their hangers, jackets and skirts and shirts and dresses. And every morning I put on the same sweatpants, t-shirt, and sweater, and occasionally, if I'm going to be seeing someone respectable, a bra. Or not even. And then it's farewell to the Museum of My Clothes. Yet another surreal element of this alternate universe we are all inhabiting.

But you know who's happy about all this? Animals and birds. On my walk yesterday with Ruth - six feet apart of course - we saw six big robins in a small patch of grass near Riverdale Farm. The birds in my garden are loud with song. Perhaps the clean air, the lack of much auto noise, the fact that humans aren't tramping about getting in the way will be a huge boon to our avian neighbours, and the animal ones too. Silver Lining Department. I've heard that pets are appreciating the extra contact with owners stuck at home.

Today I will write a letter to my grandsons and mail it. Maybe do that regularly through this shutdown, just to keep in touch, though of course FaceTime does it better. And today, I really must do my taxes. Have been saying that for quite some time.

Last night, the last two episodes of Unorthodox, a very fine Netflix drama. It presents a fairly balanced view of the extreme orthodox Hasidic sect the heroine Esty has to flee; a rabbi tells of all the massacres Jews have had to survive, intimating that the strict isolation and endless rules of this group are their way to survive. We get it. But it's marvellous that the city providing liberation, escape, and a future to Esty is Berlin. That was then, this is now, the film says. The world has changed, and certainly Germany has changed. Let's move on.

Today's treat, besides my taxes: the woman who leads the fabulous dance movement class I take in Vancouver whenever I'm there is offering it on Zoom. She's a trained dancer and leads a warmup, then puts on 3 or 4 fantastic songs and we dance, and then she does a cool down. Hard, again, to imagine this alone in my kitchen, but I'll be there.

Another long silent day. So much to do - my email inbox is overflowing, not to mention the Sunday papers, the New Yorkers, the books and music and films and TV, my own work, and a year's worth of sorting and culling I could start any time. So - onward.

FYI, just getting to the March 9 New Yorker, with the hideous pic of Trump on the front with the mask over his eyes. There is ONE short article inside about the virus, a few paragraphs wondering how serious it was going to be. March 9! Ye gods, that fast. By the time the magazine came out, the situation could not have been more different.

Visual escape for today: fields of tulips in Holland.