They – so many theys – say to keep a record. Write it down. For posterity. For history. For sanity.

During this awful beginning, I try to jot down a note. Dribs and drabs. A minute here, a half-hour there. What’s happening? Am I ok when things are not?

Short answer: no. Who is, really?

Fully aware I am not on the front lines of anything but my little family and their well-being. My little notes contain no first-hand horror, and for that, I am grateful and profoundly aware that is not the case for many.

So here are tiny dandelion seeds I’m blowing out there. Messy weeds I’m spreading everywhere in an attempt to figure out where to land in this new reality of absolutes.

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“Outside” and “other people” are scary terms these days. The store becomes danger zone.

It seems, based on glances at other people’s carts and…