Himself is antsy already, although he is more concerned than I am. His daily routine of court, coffee shop, gym, and happy contemplation of perhaps a nice dinner out has come to a grinding halt.

Me, not so much. I am more capable of diving into a hole and pulling it in after me. But it's different if I have to. Today, I'm looking around the house and thinking, I would so prefer to be walking downtown for [choose your excuse] instead of not vacuuming the cat-hair-clotted carpet.

People are still walking their dogs in Stratford, so social interaction is still possible at leash-length distances, but church and choir practice are off, restaurants and coffee shops are closed, the cinema and the theatres are dark, the farmers' market is down, and going to the supermarket is strictly for emergencies like running out of milk.

I have a jeezly great editorial project under way, and Himself is writing a paper for his doctorate program. We have work that we can do at home.

Lucky us.