By Bob Deakin
“I want a popsicle,” the 6-year-old gentleman requests politely. “Strawberry please!”
Who am I to debate with him? He could ask for a hot pastrami and Swiss on rye and I’d go find a deli somewhere.
I haven’t tested positive for Covid, yet. I’ve been lucky. I can use excuses from being vaccinated to running to taking antacids, whatever. I’m just lucky. Talk to me in two weeks.
My family members continue to test positive though, one at a time, and that makes two kids, two adults, two households and two months of Covid quarantines in either house. It hasn’t been that bad for the kids, who haven’t shown any symptoms, but a different story with the adults, both necessitating hospital visits.
My girlfriend and I are currently watching the 6-year-old as he quarantines while his mother nurses herself back to health at her house. He doesn’t even realize the severity of the situation, which is good. He just thinks he has a week or two that he doesn’t have to show up to school. We gave him a bell to ring whenever he needs something, which is usually grapes.
It has been a good time to write. Fewer interruptions and more time not having to explain why I’m spending so much time writing. I’m making and serving lots of food, buying things at the store or online I don’t normally look for like Pedialyte, chips, laundry detergent and Ramen noodles. I just hope everyone comes out of this healthy, with no lasting effects.
Jing a ling a ling!
“Can you make some popcorn?” he asks later. No problem. I like it too, with a little butter, and we can split a big bowl in two: I don my mask, make the stuff, fix his private bowl, then deliver it to his room.
“Thank you, Bobby,” he replies, and all is good.
Back to the computer and back to my story. I’m currently testing out different types of word processing programs to streamline my work and glad to see there are other options besides Word, Pages, Google Docs, and free ones like LibreOffice.
Just like I sprung for Orville Redenbacher’s Ultimate Butter popcorn, I’m going to spring for a better word processor. Not sure which one yet but I’ll let you know.
Jing a ling a ling!
“What kind of ice cream do you have?” he asks early in the evening. I mask up and open the door.
“We’ve got pistachio, M&M Ice Cream Cookie Sandwiches, more popsicles and, oh yeah, Neapolitan ice cream,” I reply optimistically.
“Neapolitan! Yeah!” he responds with a big smile. His favorite. “And sprinkles and whipped cream too.”
“You got it, buddy,” I’m happy to respond. His mother won’t like the menu items I’m offering but I feel for the little guy having to go it alone in a room by himself, going on one week now. I’d make him homemade ice cream if he wants.
I go and get a bowl of his favorite, load it with whipped cream, sprinkles, and a couple blueberries for good measure. He seems impressed.
“Thank you, Bobby,” he says. “Blueberries too!”
“Anything else I can get you at the moment?” I ask.
“No, thank you!”
Back to the computer and back on alert for the next bell. If he’s going to have the virus at least he’ll be happy he has it here.