Twenty Four Hours

The sky is overcast, the morning light, gray. The instant coffee tastes really good. I log in to my work laptop, check e-mails from work. Each name, sender, reminds me of an interaction, some bit of wisdom, a funny story, a shared moment of struggle, an epiphany, or an exchange. E-Mails are so much more than a conveyance of information, it’s a quick snapshot of the people in my life at work. I sign off, turn off my computer, check my charge on my phone, and make my way out for the day. As I close the door, my 1 year old Siberian/tabby mix reminds me to feed her. I pet her head, as she purrs, as I say, “Perhaps your people are wiser than us.”

The roads aren’t deserted, but traffic seems lighter than usual. As I drive the freeway, there are the usual assortment of speeders, and pull overs by the motorcycle police. I pull up to the gate at Ft. Bliss, and have to be instructed on how to use the scanner on my ID, to my chagrin. I haven’t been on post in quite some time.

As I park in the commissary parking lot, I confirm with my former spouse what items they are struggling with, that they can’t get at Albertsons or Walmart. I get the list. As I enter, there are uniformed soldiers and military police officers performing an ID check, no guests allowed. I see quite a few people wearing various masks, me wondering if they are ill preventing the spread, or they’re trying to protect themselves.

Every isle, there are uniformed soldiers stationed, I nod, smile, thank them for being on duty. However to my disappointment, almost none of the items my former spouse needed are available. The shelves are just as empty as Walmart and the other big-box stores. When I get to the meat section, the shelves are also almost empty – and this is at 8:45 in the morning. From the door from the back, one of the butchers is wheeling a rack, about six feet high, of 1 pound packages of hamburger meat. I stand back, as the dozen or more people make a bee line to him. People start crowding him, and the on-duty soldiers remind people to allow the butcher to stock the display. No less than three on-duty Army Military Police Officers immediately fade into the area. I stand back, allowing the elderly to obtain their rationed two packets of meat and then the families. There’s enough there for the small group, and only then do I go to get my allowed limit.

The checkout takes a good forty-five minutes, the lines are long. I check my e-mail, LinkedIn, and check in with people that are important to me. My four bags of assorted fruit and two packages of meat, make for a quick check out at the register, I ensure I tip generously for the bagger since they only work for tips.

I drive from the north east, going on Transmountain, and the view amazing, as I pull over on one of the parking spaces, the view of the mountains on one side, and the west side…able to see my work, my children’s home in the distance, their schools, and though I can’t see the individual features, I know my gaze crosses many of my friends, family, coworkers and their family. I’m suddenly reminded, from this distance, of Carl Sagan’s Pale Blue Dot, seeing humanity as a whole, but on a smaller scale. Hold that thought, it will come back later.

I spend time with my children, bringing them the few additional groceries I was able to find, watching the animals playing – getting the recent updates on online content, my daughter sharing a meme about digital graduations, and upcoming comic book series from Marvel. Hearing from my former wife that a mom and pop grocery shop was charging $10.00 for a dozen eggs and being pushed at a big market store. Working for the State of Texas, the home office is a Frankenstein configuration of wires and monitors connected to her work laptop. This time is cherished, and appreciated. The first real joy and laughter in over a week, being with family.

I bid my goodbyes, and I simply drive through the city, running some errands – stopping by a local store, overhearing that the store is not only out of toilet paper to sell, but asking each other to alert others who work there to bring their own. I stop by a liquor store, in search of pure unflavored alcohol – a limit to the number of people who can go in the store at ten, the employee working the door, wearing a mask, a line in front of the store less than a dozen deep, a line not quite formed. There are some bits of tension in the line, who was first. I give up my spot, and crack a few jokes to ease the tension, smiling, reminding all of us there, that we’re still human, and we’re together, while I struggle with sorting out what I’ve seen for the day, trying to process. I found 100% proof grain unflavored alcohol, and make my way home. I spray my hands and my entrance with a mild mix of bleach (50/100 ppm) and water.

 I eat a light meal, watch a little YouTube, read a bit, rinse and call it a night.

In the morning, I log into my work machine, checking e-mails, and happily surprised to see an e-mail from our CEO providing a nice bit of assistance. I smile, having have met him two times, knowing that he, and his team are providing the type of leadership that should be a standard across the board, both civilian, governmental, and military. The day feels better, our release items seemingly going through with no issues, and the sun is bright, a beautiful day, not as dark as the previous day. Another cup of instant coffee, and I go outside, and at first, I hear a sound that sounds like a lawn mower on steroids….I don’t immediately recognize it.  I then look up…I see a powered paraglider (my friends on the west side of El Paso, perhaps you’ve seen this too). I think back to yesterday, thinking of the Pale Blue Dot, hoping that my new friend in the sky feels the same that I did, from that vantage point. I wave, doubtful the pilot could see me, and snap a few photos.

Again, my adolescent kitty is asking for breakfast. As I feed her, I scratch behind her ears, again with the purring, as I say, “You know what? Maybe we’re learning from you and your people.”