Just Another Saturday Morning in Pandemic Life
By: Lisa Poulson
Tags: Pandemic Diaries, Self, Covid Diaries, Creativity, Lifestyle

Photo by Daniele Levis Pelusi: Unsplash

Just Another Saturday Morning in Pandemic Life

I climb the stepladder and manage to unhook the window frame’s dual locks, the pads of my thumbs turning white with effort. When I pull the window out of its casing there’s a huff of dust, a squeal of rubber, a rush of air, a broken spider web glinting against the bright blue sky. The dust smells metallic. It would be fuzzy and bitter on my tongue.

Washing the inside panes of the windows was easy, but when they were done I felt a frisson of fear. Would the window locks open? Would I be strong enough to hold the bottom pane steady while using the force needed to unlock the top one? Would I be able to hold the two windows once they were angled nearly out of the casing? I was determined to try — clean windows sparkle with hope and possibility that felt as essential as oxygen after months of lockdown in San Francisco.

I take a deep breath and proceed, taking the weight of both double-paned windows onto my chest. I carefully step down the stepladder and, once my bare feet are planted on the floor, plié and extend one arm far enough to slide the corner of the sofa near without dislodging the windows balanced on my body. I turn and gingerly lay the two freed windows on the sofa. The outer panes are like feral objects in my living room.

My tools are ready — a turquoise plastic bucket of warm soapy water, paper towels, windex and a microfiber cloth for the streaks. I’d strewn old towels on the floor to capture soapy, sooty drips.

First, I give the gritty, dirty exterior panes a bubble bath. The water is warm, the bubbles capture rainbows in the sun, the dirt slides off in a satisfying way. Then, to mop up the soapy water, I use efficient, purpose built paper towels — they are as brawny as the ads say. I use them sparingly because trees.

After the surface dirt is removed, the real cleaning begins. I liberally apply the Windex — starting in the top corner of the pane, scrubbing and polishing with force. I get lost in the screeches of microfiber against glass, traffic from Franklin St down the block, spring breeze on my face. There’s sweat forming at my temples, but the window still isn’t perfectly clean. Anchoring myself on the stepladder, I arch my body out over the pane, into the open air three floors up from the street on this bright sunny day. Taking fast, fierce strokes back and forth across the window, I hear the loud pop before I feel it — I’ve snapped off some fingernails.

It takes a few hours to clean all seven windows — the kitchen, living room, dining room. I clean up the towels, put the curtains and furniture back in place, sink down in the living room chair to relish the view and a glass of ice cold lemonade I earned. I take deep swallows, deeper breaths and wipe the sweat off my brow before looking at the damage.

My long, dark, glossy nails, carefully manicured by other people every two weeks for nearly 20 years, are just another casualty of pandemic life. I don’t think about all the dominoes that have fallen as I get up and walk into the bathroom to search for a pair of nail clippers. I’m not sure the ancient clippers I find are up to the task. My remaining nails are thick — covered in acrylic and three coats of polish. I edge the clipper into place at the base of each nail, place my finger on the edge of the bathroom sink and then, as if I were releasing a guillotine, swiftly and forcefully push down on the clipper.

As the nails are sliced off, shards of dark red polish crack and fly around the bathroom. When I’m done cutting the nails I scrounge an old bottle of acetone to remove the bits of polish that are left.

I walk back into the living room, as the light shifts to that buttery late afternoon yellow, looking at the denuded, small nails that had lived incognito under my glossy prehensile talons all along. I stretch and ball up my tiny, capable, unglamorous hands, discovering them as if I’d never seen them before. No matter how messy and dark the world may become, I see that these little hands and I can clean, fix or make whatever I need to thrive.