IceFloe of Sleet

To remove the suspense up front, I did not go to visit Madame today. I had already decided not to, when I called her to chat, in lieu of a visit, and she informed me that the place she lives was not letting anyone visit any more. It seems they finally are doing what they should have in the first place, and instituting some quarantine measures for the norovirus. Madame says that she only knows of one person who is sick right now--but given that residents have all been confined to their quarters for the duration, she hasn't had the opportunity to find out about any others there may be. Not that she takes this order strictly seriously. She says she goes out and walks in the hall when she wants to, until a staff member spots her and hustles her back into her room. She's very bored with the present circumstances. She is now convinced that she drove her car to her current residence and that it's parked somewhere nearby, and says that if things go on this way, she will not put up with it. She'll get her car and leave. A phone chat is a poor substitute for a fun outing, but she seemed in good spirits. She was finishing her lunch--soup, a bag of chips, and a plastic pudding cup. She called in the afternoon, and we had the same conversation all over again, more or less. She seemed to have no memory of having spoken to me earlier.

One would think that having the extra spare time, I'd accomplish marvels, but no such luck! I spent it "stravaiging around," as Mary Poppins would say. It was a much nicer day--still windy, but the sun came back after awhile, and the edges of the snowpack are melting back little by little. A slightly belated birthday card arrived from the Nipper, which was very nice, as was the quote from Ralph Waldo Emerson that came with it. I was a bit perplexed by a packet that looks for all the world like rolling papers, though. Yes, I am a 60s survival, but . . . hello, it's your MOM here . . . Anyway, without the wherewithal to fill them up, it's a moot question.