On March 24th, two days after I turned 47, I loaded our apartment-sized freezer into the back of our Subaru. It was a tight squeeze, but everything fit.
It was a big step. It meant we were leaving Brooklyn for a long time. It meant we weren’t planning on coming back until things settled down.
Even now I have a hard time remembering what those days were like. We didn’t know what was happening and we didn’t know what would happen.
No one was wearing masks yet, we didn’t know.
We suspected that things would be better in New Jersey. That we could go outside and take a walk, build a swing set, a playhouse. Plant a garden. Even though it meant two weeks self-quarantine it was worth it, we said.
We were right. We missed a lot in Brooklyn, but we had a better time. The kid had a better time.
That freezer lives in NJ now, but the new one – identical in every way – was just delivered to us in Brooklyn this morning.
One day shy of six months – it feels like we’re back, but we still don’t know what will happen.
