The last day of in-person school was Thursday, March 12th. It has been a month.

On March 12th, I got up and went to work as usual. I didn’t get much done. I kept closing my door, trying to focus and shut out the panicked coronavirus conversation. It didn’t work. My coworkers would knock and tell me the latest news.

That afternoon, my normally anti-telecommuting company sent out an email encouraging everyone to work from home as much as they wanted. I gathered my essentials, but assumed I’d be back for at least a day or two the following week.

Normally I would leave early on Thursdays to slog my way through traffic for an hour and still arrive in time for the 6:30 Cub Scouts meeting. This time I sailed home in forty minutes. At 6 p.m. we got a phone call saying school was canceled for the next two weeks, followed by an email informing us Scouts was off.

So Friday the 13th, with little warning, our new lives began.

Zoom playdates, Google Classroom assignments, Microsoft Teams meetings with coworkers with children and pets in the background. Daily bike rides around the river. Home bread production increased by 1000%. So much family togetherness. No togetherness with anybody else.

When I hear from my brother, the New York City emergency doctor, I feel awed by what he is doing and guilty that my life feels peaceful right now. I have been focusing only on today, not planning for the future like usual. No sense in borrowing disaster from tomorrow. But he is carrying the daily burden of the disaster.