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Marlene Osteen Shares Her Thoughts on Life During Covid-19
Written By: Marlene Osteen | Issue:
"Mostly I am aware of how lucky I am as I heed the precautions of sage scientists, confining my “bubble” to family, looking forward to the day that I know now is nearing when tables are set for and rooms are filled with many."
Marlene Osteen, writer
When Luke Osteen, my editor (no, not a relative) at Laurel, asked me to share details of my life during Covid-19, agreeing to do so seemed something of a conceit.
After all, I had and have not done anything noble or achieved anything of import – have neither learned another language, nor how to write code and have definitely not started a movement engendering the expansion of human kindnesses (although I sure would like to).
In fact, since the world ended in March, along with the work I loved – working in wine sales at Meritage Bistro and writing about events for Laurel (those events now cancelled and in that wake the stories not published) – I have filled my days with the tiresomeness of survival.
Shaken by the cable news banner that once ticked stock market prices and now counted Covid deaths, and fearful from tales of delirium-filed nights as told by early victims, I manically washed my hands, wore latex gloves everywhere, vigorously scrubbed the daily packages arriving from Amazon, along with the produce and boxes I purchased from local grocers during the pre-opening hour for seniors, stocked my pantry with dry goods and taught myself the nuances of dried beans.
Together with my dog, Emma, I explored the empty streets and hills of my neighborhood, going days without seeing other faces, surviving on the fraternity of text and voice and facebook and email.
By late May I thought I had learned to live with the limitations of life during the Pandemic, as acceptance and routine began settling in, but outcries from family for me to return to Charleston and them had escalated.
In June, I found a new home in a community with side walk-lined streets, a place where the spaces between the yards were occupied by small ponds and smaller parks, and geese and bikes and tricycles crowd the trails and roads in equal measure.
When I walk Emma now, I tune in to my playlist of podcasts, stirred by discourses on “the big questions” of our era between Bill Gates and Rashida Jones, or enthralled by a performance and conversation with Yo Yo Ma and Emanuel Ax of Beethoven’s Cello Sonata No 3 and its parallels to our current moment. Mostly I am aware of how lucky I am as I heed the precautions of sage scientists, confining my “bubble” to family, looking forward to the day that I know now is nearing when tables are set for and rooms are filled with many.
