My house bears tangible evidence of COVID. For starters, the linen closet is equipped for monitoring, with its stack of tests, two and four to a box, plus the pulse oximeter and spare thermometer I purchased early in 2020. In the pantry, I still have disinfectant wipes, hand sanitizer, boxes of masks and too many disposable dishes.
Stocking up on paper plates and bowls, plastic cups and cutlery was one of my protective strategies in the days when the virus seemed like (and for too many, was) a death sentence. If one of us got COVID, their meals would be served on disposables that could be immediately double-bagged and tossed into the outdoor trash, keeping contagion from the kitchen.
Then there’s food. During the creeping dread of the weeks before the shutdown, I took to shopping as if I were the quartermaster of a Conestoga wagon setting out across a thousand miles of bleak prairie instead of equipping a suburban kitchen. I bought extras at each shopping trip, stocking up on dried beans and pasta, peanut butter and canned fish. Uncharacteristically, I carted home canned fruit, suspecting there might come a time when produce shelves would be empty or I wouldn’t venture to a store, but would long for fruit, even just tinny-tasting pineapple rings. Still, I constantly second-guessed myself in the supermarket aisles: Was I an idiot for tossing a dozen cans of tuna in my cart? Or was I an idiot for buying only a dozen cans? Idiot or not, knowing that whatever else happened, I could put a meal on the table brought me comfort in those deeply uneasy times.
It still does. COVID hit me again recently. A couple of feverish days turned into a cough and runny nose. My dutiful quarantine was the worst of it, but at least I could rely on my still well-stocked larder. I could have called on friends and neighbors, even InstaCard or GrubHub, if I needed tests or groceries, but I was grateful I didn’t have to.
My pandemic-era impulse to surround my household with a protective wall of nonperishables was not entirely misguided. You can’t shop away disease, but for those of us lucky enough to have the funds and the storage space, stocking up brings an invaluable sense of self-sufficiency, of reassurance that we can weather the storm.
Jill Rovitzky Black
Nyack, New York
1 thought on “My Cupboard Is Never Bare”
You made me aware of those items in my environment that are different since our pandemic experience. Some leftover tests and masks and hand sanitizers in various forms. Now it is normal for me to assess the situation outside my home in terms of infectious risk in a way that 30 years as a practicing physician never did. Lovely writing.