NOTE: I started this article while still blissfully unaware of what was about to happen to all of us. I added to it daily during March 2020.

Saturday, March 14, 2020

Many of you have been kind to express concern about my health and whereabouts during this outbreak of COVID-19. Thank you!

I live with an intentionally suppressed immune system to combat Crohn’s disease, so good hygiene is just another day at the office for me, but additional precautions now include no hand shaking or hugs, and sanitizing my phone. Frankly, I am saddest about no longer sampling friends’ cocktails and meals!

I wryly chuckle that I have an abundance of the things people are most panicked about: Hand sanitizer, and TP! We Chrohnnies were fully prepared for this one!

Of course there have been disappointments – friends who have grudgingly canceled plans to meet me on the road; Savannah’s St. Patrick’s Day parade “postponed” for the first time in over 100 years; yada, yada, yada. You have similar stories to tell. This is temporary, and frankly not worth dwelling on or complaining about.

I have thought a lot about what I would do if I came down with the virus. I can seek emergency medical treatment anywhere I am and be covered by insurance. I also have catastrophic insurance, which would transport me, the rig, and my animals back to Washington for additional treatment once a physician determined I was medically stable.

My travel companions and I continue to explore our temporary home of Savannah, supporting struggling local businesses while being mindful of our own health and well-being. For now we’re skipping haircuts and pedicures, though.

As for a place to hunker down and ride out the storm, I worried a little bit for the first time yesterday when New Mexico announced it was closing its parks. While I am currently not anywhere near New Mexico, I am now concerned that other parks might follow suit. The next two reservations are in South Carolina county and state parks, and I am monitoring their websites and following them on social media. Perhaps the state park where we are currently staying would relax its maximum 14-day rule given the special circumstances. They certainly have the room; over half the campsites are unoccupied.

If those reservations fall through, I’m sure there will be somewhere else to set up camp; there are many private parks in this area, and non-full time campers are canceling reservations. The diesel and propane are full, and I can turn the ignition and go if an area begins to show a concerning rate of infection. Right now, coastal Georgia and South Carolina are holding their own.

If the situation turns dire, I may reach out to you, Dear Readers, for a piece of nearby real estate to self-quarantine for a bit. No hookups required, and that’s a reassuring plus in these uncertain times.

Please take care of yourselves and be patient and kind to others.

Sunday, March 15, 2020

We were on our way to Beaufort, South Carolina today, but the numbers of infected (including Beaufort County) are creeping up slowly, so we’ve decided to stay at the campground. There will be no more meals out for me here in Savannah, and I won’t be going into town for the St. Patrick’s Day festivities on Tuesday. I’m also skipping a previously scheduled trolley tour later this week – too many surfaces and travelers from who-knows-where in the seats.

Yesterday’s trip to the grocery store was similar to what you have all described around the country, especially when it comes to cleaners, sanitizer, and toilet paper – all out. I was a bit surprised by the lack of onions and potatoes, but I guess people figure they take longer to spoil.

Stay well, my peeps!

Monday, March 16, 2020

Illinois has closed its state parks, but so far our next two parks (one county, one state – both in South Carolina) are still open. We went through our pantries for meal planning today, putting hummus and porcini mushrooms on the list. Roughing it!

Along with upcoming destinations, we are monitoring the Internet about our most recent stops with lots of travelers and crowds – Mardi Gras and the Concours. We count the number of days since we left and hope we were ahead of the virus then.

We talk a lot about whether we could be carriers, and our social responsibility to stay away from others. With my compromised immune system I feel pretty positive I’d be sick if I had the virus. But who knows?

In the meantime, the weather is beautiful here in Savannah, the spaces at Skidaway Island State Park make social distancing a breeze, and it’s time to make some lunch.

Love to you all!

Tuesday, March 17, 2020

Happy St. Patrick’s Day!

Funny, it felt significant a few days ago when the City of Savannah announced it was canceling the St. Patrick’s Day Parade. Now my friends and I fret not only about upcoming reservations, but also whether Georgia may close its parks and evict us from Skidaway Island State Park at any moment. We thought we were so organized and squared away last year when we made three months of mostly state park camping reservations up the East Coast; who knew private campgrounds would have provided more certainty?

Florida and North Carolina have both announced statewide camping closures, so can Georgia and South Carolina be far behind? We cull together the latest closure information from state websites, social media, and Campendium.

There are over 1 million full-time RVers in the United States. It seems counterintuitive that full-timers with on-board bathrooms and kitchens are being evicted, but park bathrooms remain open. I understand what a risk we appear to be on paper, and hopefully there will be space for all of us when recreational campers cancel private campground reservations.

Meanwhile, at Skidaway, my camping sign declaring I hail from Seattle is probably causing additional social distancing!

Wednesday, March 18, 2020

I’ve been thinking a lot about how we stumble into wisdom at our own paces. Six days ago I was on a tour in Savannah when a friend in Seattle texted that she was worried about me, wanting to know if I was taking the threat of COVID-19 seriously.

I told her we were still out going and doing and trying to support local businesses, but taking precautions.

She is such a good friend. She didn’t respond in all caps, or call me and scream in my ear.

She was at a place of knowledge and understanding I had not yet attained.

Now, as I sit is social isolation, surfing news from the communities we recently left to track the progression of the virus, I find I am somewhere in the middle in terms of comprehension.

This study From Great Britain published two days ago is very sobering. I posted it on a Facebook Amelia Island group page in response to the moderator’s “THE FLU IS MORE DEADLY” diatribe, and he excluded me from the group. Sigh.

Thank goodness public places are being shut down, forcing people to stay at home. Otherwise, they wouldn’t. Some still aren’t.

I don’t want to get sick, I don’t want to make others sick, and I don’t want to try to navigate the already overburdened healthcare system.

Only you can decide what’s best for you and yours. Please make an informed decision.

Thursday, March 19, 2020

I am overwhelmed by the outpouring of kindness, concern, and generosity from friends and blog followers since this new normal began. So far it looks like we will be able to complete our time in Savannah, and the plan is to head to Charleston for our two-week reservations on Monday. In the meantime, I have had offers to stay in Florida, Mississippi, South Carolina, Maryland, California, Wisconsin, Texas, and Washington. I am truly fortunate!

Love to you all!

Friday, March 20, 2020

The news came late last night on social media: Our next campground in Charleston, reserved from March 23 to April 6, is closed. My friends were up early to go scout out a place to land for a month, and they just returned, successful. We will split up for now, and whether we will get to continue our trip together through May is not up to us at this point.

I am lucky; I feel healthy. And, blog followers I have never met have offered a spot in an RV park an hour away for at least three weeks. I’ll figure it out from there.

It is possible that domestic highway travel will be restricted, but I am trying hard not to futurize and to take things one day at a time.

Suddenly being mobile does not feel like such a good thing! I still have lots of offers and options, and I’m resilient and resourceful, so don’t you worry about me; I’ll do enough worrying for the both of us.

Saturday, March 21, 2020

With two days to go until I break camp and head to another park for a minimum of three weeks, I have been thinking about how to spend my time, especially alone, as Susin and Clinton and I are splitting up.

I have a couple of yoga DVDs I bought (IN 2018!) and haven’t tried. There’s also free yoga on Roku. I think now might be a good time to find ways to relax mind and body.

I have been thinking about participating in National Novel Writing Month, which occurs each October. Why not do it now?

Sunday, March 22, 2020

I sat down and had a good cry last night. My time with Susin and Clinton comes to an end, at least for now, on Monday, and I went over to their place, packing up the random things I had left at their campsite. Susin said it felt like a breakup – that’s mine, this is yours – and she was right. At dinner I felt awkward and inward, mulling over all the news and research of the day, feeling like Debbie Downer because everything that came out of my mouth was COVID -19 related. Social creature that I am, I fretted about being alone for a protracted period of time, and I did not relish the thought of all that “me time.”

One upcoming government campsite closed, the other likely to, I looked further ahead, to the private campground in Kitty Hawk, North Carolina, on the Outer Banks. I phoned to turn our two-week reservations into four, and the clerk said that would not be a problem, except for the fact that the Outer Banks are now closed to visitors. On March 17, Dare County closed its bridges to non-residents. The Florida Keys followed suit on March 20.

My next park, a private one, is still open, but on Facebook, residents are crying out to oust visitors. Locals lament that their small 93-bed community hospital cannot handle both residents and visitors.

That’s when I fucking lost it. It sounds easy to just park somewhere and stay inside, but what if I got sick? Would the community have treatment available? Who would take care of the animals? Might I be run out of town at the end of a pitchfork?

I phoned a friend, who has her own share of woes. She is immunocompromised like me, and her husband was recently diagnosed with stage four cancer. She offered her driveway, but through my tears I replied that Washington is so far away, and such a hot zone, that it doesn’t feel like the right fit at the moment.

I’ll make a decision today. It’s our last day at this Georgia campground. Even if it remains open, which is unlikely, the maximum stay is 14 days.

Monday, March 23, 2020

There’s always that moment in a book or film about the apocalypse, when the band of desperate wanderers find a welcoming safe haven of like-minded individuals who are rebooting civilization, and they finally get to breathe a collective sigh of relief.

That’s what it felt like pulling into the RV park today.

You almost wouldn’t know that anything was awry outside the security gates. There was plenty of traffic on the highways, and the parking lots at shopping centers were more fiberglass and metal than asphalt. The only clues of a pandemic were a highway traffic sign at the Georgia/South Carolina border entreating to stop the spread by staying home.

I parked and phoned the office from the rig, requesting curbside assistance because of my immunodeficiencies. They were more than happy to accommodate. Everyone was all smiles and welcomes, and the man who escorted me via golf cart to the site was superb.

As a full-timer I understand each state’s desire, and mandate, to protect its citizens, but park closure after park closure began to feel targeted – personal somehow. What a relief to be in a place that caters to RVers.

People are out walking dogs, chatting with one another and waving. The grounds are lovely and beautifully maintained. Landscapers are busy at work. The Amazon van pulled up to the office, making deliveries. The park has started taking some precautions, however: the clubhouse and gym are closed, but curiously, the pool is still open.

Thank you to everyone who reached out to me after yesterday’s entry. To say that today is a better day would be an immensely laughable understatement.

Tuesday, March 24, 2020

I learned today that many KOA campgrounds are closing. I naively thought RVers would be able to stay in privately-owned campgrounds. My heart goes out to them.

With a safe haven at least for now, I am spending the day deep cleaning and trying to keep my mind off things. My Crohn’s disease medication is scheduled for Thursday delivery, and I’m crossing my fingers it goes smoothly.

A neighbor introduced herself from a distance, said the owners of the site told her I was coming, and told me to let her know if I need anything. I am so fortunate that I feel guilty, thinking of those holed up in tiny spaces, those who have no spaces to feel safe, and those who are sick.

I am planning ahead. If I get sick and must venture out for medical care, I phoned a friend who owns a store, asking if he could spare an n95 mask. He put it in the mail right away. I also called my Elks Lodge in Seattle, which will close indefinitely tomorrow, and they are mailing my new card today; my membership expires April 1, and now is not the time to be without it in case I need a lodge for camping. (I have read that many lodges are waiving the membership requirement for RVers if they are sponsored by a member.)

In the meantime, I check the websites and social media pages for the park and the state of South Carolina for updates every few hours, and I have signed up for email and text alerts wherever possible.

Hope for the best. Prepare for the worst.

Wednesday, March 25, 2020

The most exciting thing to happen today was an invasion of big red ants, whom I suspect hitched a ride from the campground in Savannah. I knew better than to leave my water hose hooked up there; ants will use those as a personal freeways into a rig.

I had enough Raid to repel the marauders, then ordered more from Amazon in case they return. I hope they wait awhile before launching another assault, because delivery will be in about seven days.

I was pinching stragglers with small pieces of paper towel and throwing them away, then thought better of it given the preciousness of paper products presently. The fly swatter works too.

There are more state park closures by the day. South Carolina intends to honor camping reservations made before March 24, which I hope portends the governor’s willingness to allow non-residents to remain in the state. Today the he asked anyone coming into South Carolina to self-quarantine for 14 days, and residents are up in arms about what they consider to be a moronic expectation that people will comply, especially if they are here for a 14-day vacation.

Given the online rancor directed at non-residents, I scrapped the thought of driving around to see the sights in the car. For now I am focusing on making myself as inconspicuous as possible, and I have no intention of going outside the gates of this sanctum.

Meanwhile at the park, people are playing pickle ball and tennis. Seems odd to me, but I don’t make the decisions.

Thursday, March 26, 2020

The last couple of days have been good for catching up with my peeps – a flight attendant who is still flying; a friend in Seattle who hopefully just has a cold or allergies; Seattle friends stuck in California; a Michigan friend exposed to COVID-19 and waiting out home quarantine; a Minnesota couple aged 70+ and 80, hunkered down at home. I haven’t talked on the phone this much in a long time.

So far I don’t know anyone personally who has the virus, and that must be a good thing, right?

Friday, March 27, 2020

Do you ever have those mornings where you wake up, raring to go? Boundless energy, everything is possible, immediately handle anything that comes to your mind instead of putting it off, kinda mornings?

I’d say I get one of those every two weeks or so. I had one today.

I made the bed. I showered. I tweezed my eyebrows, if for no other reason then to avoid copious amounts of discomfort later. I put on earrings, which I haven’t done in two weeks. I used the blow dryer to dry my hair, instead of letting it air dry. I took the dogs out to face the day, and I knew it was also time to face my current dilemma.

My fear surrounded the mail area at the park.

Some RV parks make deliveries directly to your site. That is not the practice where I am currently staying. Yesterday, anticipating some Amazon boxes, I phoned the office to inquire about the procedure for getting mail and packages. I was informed that all parcels are delivered to a small, unused gatekeeper shack at the park entrance, across from the office.

When I opened the door to the small area designed for one person, I was relieved to see no one else was in there, and there was hand sanitizer on a shelf above all the boxes on the floor. I had already touched a high-traffic surface – the door handle – and now I was going to have to touch some more stuff I wasn’t thrilled about. Letters and small parcels were separated into two bins, A-M, and N-Z.

While I was flipping, a man did not wait outside, entering the tiny area with me. I sputtered, “If you need to get your mail right away, I’ll leave until you’re done, because my immune system is suppressed and I really need to keep a distance from people.“ He raced out, mumbling profuse apologies.

I loaded my box and envelope into the passenger seat of the car, sanitized my hands, drove back to the site, and left the items in the car for 24 hours.

I’m sure some of you will think that is an over-abundance of caution. I have many friends who continue to support local business by ordering curbside-delivered food and take out, for example. All I can say is that studies have suggested the virus can live on cardboard for up to 24 hours. I can’t risk it.* But just like all viruses, it needs a host to survive, and (as long as the items in a box are not perishable and do not require immediate unpacking), both the outer box and everything inside are perfectly safe to touch infection-wise after a day has passed.

Nevertheless, I knew this procedure was untenable, especially now that delivery is the only method I will use. (Did I mention a case of wine is in the pipeline?)

People are always running to and fro here at the park, picking up trash, landscaping, and readying for new arrivals. An RV will show up soon when they are out leaf blowing and opening sun umbrellas at a site. I approached one of them, from a distance, this morning.

I told Monty my name, the site I am staying in, and my issue. He told me he would be happy to drop off my parcels, as long as the park said it was OK. They did, and the timing was perfect, because soon thereafter Monty delivered the cooler that contains Stelara – my Crohn’s disease medication – to the table outside. The drug must be refrigerated, so I didn’t wait 24 hours, but after opening I cleaned my hands.

A little while later, Monty returned, this time with a large envelope of mail from my mailbox in Seattle.

There it sits, on the outside table, and in 24 hours I’ll know what’s inside.

(You can also see my pocket knife and Clorox wipes in my official, new package opening area.)

I am thankful for so many things, but today I am thankful for Monty.

* For any of you who think I might be over-reacting, a novel virus is spreading around the world, for which there is no immunity, or a vaccine. It kills some people, and some people get so sick they need hospitalization. I am immunocompromised, hunkered down in an area where I know no one, in a small community with a 95-bed hospital serving several counties. The place where I get my medical treatment is a hotspot 2,500 miles away. RVing friends recently broke down, and they have understandably but nevertheless frustratingly had a helluva time getting the help they need. I check in with myself daily about whether I am giving in to unwarranted and irrational fear, and I am not. Promise.

Saturday, March 28, 2020

It is no longer shocking that this year’s camping reservations are dropping like dominoes. April 6 at Myrtle Beach fell two days ago, and yesterday the State of Virginia cancelled all April dates. I was due there April 27 – May 11. They phoned yesterday on how I would like to proceed, and I optimistically told them to keep May 1-11.

Sunday, March 29, 2020

I wash Toad once a year, whether he needs it or not, and I felt quite accomplished while I was completing the task. Neighbors walking by introduced themselves from a respectful distance as I worked. They saw the website address on Toad, read the blog, and offered help if I need anything. Isn’t that lovely?

So far I have kept my license to practice law active, paying yearly bar dues, and reporting continuing legal education (“CLE”) credits every three years. This is my CLE reporting year, and I have completed none of the 45 credits required for this three-year period. (On average, a one-hour online class is one credit.) I have until December 31.

At the beginning of 2020 I was wondering just how and when I was going to fit in all those seminars. Now I know. I just completed my first online session, on legal writing. Only 44 classes to go!

Monday, March 30, 2020

Today, I couldn’t take it anymore. After a whole week of not leaving the confines on the park, the dogs and I took a drive around. We stayed in the car. I needed to mail the annual premium payment for my long-term care insurance, and the drive-up mailbox at the post office was just what I was looking for.

This is my first time in this area, which is probably best admired on foot or bicycle, or in one of its resorts or condominiums. There wasn’t much to see other than empty parking lots and closed restaurants.

I wasn’t honked at, flipped off, or barraged with eggs. Thank goodness.

It felt good just to get out.

Tuesday, March 31, 2020

It’s time to close out this post; it’s beginning to get a bit unwieldy, and the new month will bring new information, new experiences, and new challenges in this changed world. But before I go, I wanted to spend a moment practicing my thankfulness.

I am thankful for the drug that helps control my Crohn’s disease, even though it makes things a bit, um, inconvenient at the moment.

I am thankful for a safe place to stay.

I am thankful for an outdoor space to relax, be in nature, get a change of scenery and soak up the sun.

I am thankful for the South Carolina weather, which has been sunny and in the 70’s.

I am thankful for Rocket, Pinkie, and Boss Tweed, who provide normalcy, companionship, and routine in uncertain and frightening times.

I am thankful for the delivery people who keep me from having to venture out for needed supplies, like groceries and medication and pet food. I am thankful for all the people behind those deliveries, in fields and boats and planes and ports and semis and warehouses and stores.

I am thankful for the internet, a strong WiFi signal, and unlimited data plans. But, I also know that too much information can lead to over-anxiousness, fear, and dread, so I do my best to put the devices down for a few hours every day.

I am thankful for artists, the press, and scientists – people who have been under-appreciated of late.

I am thankful for a modicum of financial stability not associated with punching a time clock. I lived that life, and I am so fucking worried about how people are literally going to survive.

I am thankful for health insurance not tied to a job or spouse, and I hope these events are a wakeup call in this country that healthcare is a basic human right.

I am thankful for the first responders and healthcare providers who have always put their lives on the line for us every day. It’s just more obvious right now.

I am thankful for books and shows and movies and documentaries, which are much needed distractions.

I am thankful for perfect strangers who have offered help, from blog readers with a place to hunker down, the couple who own the RV site where I am staying, and residents in the park who have offered to help.

I am thankful for the health of my family and friends, who, as far as I know, so far, do not have the virus.

I am thankful for my friends – my chosen family – who lift my spirits with invitations, texts, phone calls, video chats, memes, emails, and posts. You are my lifeline. Keep it coming, please. There is lot of difference in alone, lonely, and lonesome, and right now I am cycling through all three on the daily.