House Arrest

I learned at a very young age to never say aloud, “I’m bored.”

“I’ll give you ‘I’m bored’,” my father would say, his syntax always a challenge. He’d then assign me additional chores to help pass the time.

While I’m sure there are experts on the subject of boredom who, given an audience, could demonstrate exactly what boredom is, I’m content with my own notion that boredom is less about having nothing to do than just being weary of doing the same thing. Boredom is an active state, accompanied by feelings of lethargy and dissatisfaction. Ennui is its five-letter synonym frequently found in crossword puzzles. It is French and sounds quite dramatic if spoken in an exhalation and with a casual brushing back of one’s hair from the brow. Try it. It’s fun.

To stave off boredom for fear that Dad will come back from the dead and make me clean the garage, I’ve kept a journal of our self-quarantine.

Day 1: Didn’t leave the house. Didn’t know this is how shelter-in-place works, but Geri said it was. I know better than to argue. The day seemed normal enough. Read, did a couple of crossword puzzles, monitored the situation in Washington—resisting the urge to throw things at the screen images of Trump. Toilet paper inventory good at five spare rolls of 2-ply.

Made some garlicky sausages with mashed potatoes. Watched missed episodes of My Mother, the Car. To bed by 1:30 a.m.

Day 2: After being particularly sedentary yesterday, today I walked around the deck for about 10 minutes. Felt great, until I “hit the wall” at minute “8.” After a brief break, I finished the last two minutes. Plopped onto the couch to continue my reading of Plato’s Republic, which I read in college. In Greek, it’s much easier to detect the nuances of his dialogue and to see just how much is lost in translation. Watched Zorba the Greek.

Felt inspired in the kitchen: σπανακόπιτα, καρολίνα, and, of course, πλακοῦς. Opa!

Day 3: This isolation thing has me inspecting the house more than usual. It made me ponder the notion of dust and all of its many properties and how it has a remarkable ability to spread evenly across horizontal surfaces. I wonder if a little dust isn’t perhaps good for the soul. It is, after all, what we’re supposed to return to, after a quick stop at being ashes. I think that’s the order. Listened to Mozart’s Requiem in D minor until Geri got home. She was uninterested in hearing any of my musings about dust and said I was blocking her view of Inside Edition. Listened to Mahler’s Symphony No.2, Resurrection. It cheered me up.

Made an interesting “survivalist” dinner from one can each of beets, tuna fish, and pickled asparagus. Geri opted for a bag of Cheetos from her private stash.

Day 4: Addressed the dust situation again. Geri suggested I address the “situation” (her quotes) with a moist rag. Or maybe it was a damp rag? Is there a difference? I started on the highest shelf in the living room and found a book that I’d forgotten we had: “100,000 Names for Your Baby.” That’s a lot of names to ponder, even if you exclude the chapter on Texas towns that have become popular names for boys. I told Geri how I’d spent the day and asked her if she thought the names we had chosen for our two babies were good enough. You know? In retrospect. She took the book away from me.

There was plenty of leftover beets, tuna fish and pickled asparagus. Geri had a PB&J and chose to eat it in a different room, while I listened to Thelonious Monk’s Straight, No Chaser.

Day 5: Discovered three more books of baby names. Quit dusting. I tightened the handles on four saucepans. I might be obsessing. Not sure. Our TP supply seems adequate. I noticed that Geri’s hair seems to be getting whiter. Must be the light.

Day 6: Ate half-a-cantaloupe and played 13 games of computer solitaire. I had a friend tell me that he didn’t like computer solitaire because you can’t cheat. I made an espresso while I wondered what the point of cheating is in a game one plays alone. Are you going to be somehow rewarded? And if your cheating is discovered are you stripped of some imaginary title and humiliated like Lance Armstrong? Huh, what then? And then I tried to remember when I learned to play solitaire and who taught me. I have no such recollections. Maybe we’re born with solitaire as a genetic imprint.

Made chicken stock and watched five back-to-back episodes of “Chicago P.D.”

Day 7: The days seem to just rush by. Watched CNN while I untangled the 37 device chargers I found in a kitchen drawer. I tried to recall 37 devices we might have owned over the years but couldn’t get further than the four I’ve had. Because they were abandoned in a drawer, I thought they had outlived their usefulness, but why take chances? I neatly rolled each cord and secured each with rubber bands and put them back in the drawer.

Made matzoh balls for the soup I made on Day 6. They were delicious. I told Geri about my day with the tangled chargers. She looked at me blankly and said, “Who cares?”

Day 8: Bach’s Goldberg Variations (all thirty of them) accompanied my researching Israeli newspapers to discover if the crossword puzzles are in Hebrew, meaning that the “across” clues would read right to left. I once bought a food magazine in Paris, intending to read it on the long flight home. It was in French and I don’t read French, which only made the flight seem longer, especially when I tried to do the crossword puzzle.

Finally finished off the beets, tuna fish and pickled asparagus. You might wonder why I say “tuna fish” and not just “tuna.” I wonder that, too. It might be a cultural thing. Anyway, Geri had nachos.

Day 9: My daughter, who seems happy enough with the name we gave her, has been doing our grocery shopping for us—as well as for others—during this merciless incarceration. This is a particularly kind and wonderful thing for her to do. She dresses in very funny costumes as she performs her new-found duties. I laugh at her impersonations, but last week’s portrayal of the Grim Reaper was perhaps a bit much. Far be it from me to complain, but she forgot the kosher dill pickles. For much of my life, pickles and sauerkraut were my tribe’s staffs of life. We like pickles so much that we even wrap them in thinly pounded round steak and serve them with gravy, sauerkraut and bread dumplings (knedlíky a zelí) on Passover.

Finished the matzoh-ball soup. A pickle would have been nice.

Day 10: It’s Monday. I haven’t juggled in a long time, so I found three tennis balls and discovered that I’ve still got it. I cross juggle. Circular juggling is not for the faint-of-heart. Practiced my origami skills then, but I still can’t seem to get past the paper airplane stage. At least they fly. Practiced some charade moves in the bathroom mirror. Noticed the mirror needs cleaning. Have no idea where the Windex might be. An e-mail suggested that Tuesday coffee with Stephen is postponed until, possibly, October. Tried to cheer myself up with Rilke’s Book of Hours. Backfired.

Roasted a chicken for dinner while my Monday with Mel took place via telephone. Carrots with cumin and orange are a simple pleasure. So is a phone call that picks right up from it ended two months ago.

Day 11: Sent an e-mail to Texas Lt. Governor Dan Patrick thanking him for his “Do the Right Thing by Your Grandchildren and Just Die Already” economic relief program. I assured him that I would volunteer to do the right thing as soon as he does. Spent almost an hour wondering why anybody could possibly care what Britney Spears thinks about wealth redistribution. TP inventory still good.

Hamburgers tonight, with lots of thyme and a brandy-mustard-cream sauce. Oven-baked bistro fries. Geri likes almost anything with gravy.

Day 12: Forwarded a copy of yesterday’s e-mail to Brit Hume, he of Fox News, who wants most of my age group to die to save Wall Street. Made him the same offer as Dan’s, adding a common suggestion that begins with “Go” and ends with “Yourself.” The line’s getting longer.

Made corn chowder. Used frozen corn-on-the-cob and saved the cobs. These are uncertain times.

Day 13: Called a friend in New York who I haven’t seen or talked to in almost 50 years. He said, “What’s new?” I hung up. Who’s got time for that? Thought about it all day. Exhausted. Baseball should have started today. Bummer. Watched Fear Strikes Out. Didn’t help. Might have made things worse.

Hot dogs for dinner—Chicago style, of course.

Day 14: Couldn’t find my lace-up work boots. Geri asked, “Why do you need them? You don’t work.” Went back to Plato. Listened to music from the Byzantine era.

Made Sicilian meat sauce for pasta. Always use imported pasta that has been extruded through bronze dies. Coarser texture holds more sauce.

Day 15: Watched Outbreak, the 1995 medical thriller starring Dustin Hoffman. Edge-of-your-seat entertainment that I certainly didn’t need to watch in the time of Covid-19. Think I’ll pass on Contagion and Flatliners. Maybe something funny. “Blazing Saddles.”

Beans for dinner, then. TP inventory still good.

Photography by Courtney A. Liska

Rouladen

8 thin slices of top round of beef, each measuring 4 x 6 inches
1 ½ Tbs. Colman’s mustard
4 kosher dill pickle spears
2 tsps. dried marjoram
Freshly ground pepper to taste
1 Tbs. oil
½ cup finely chopped onion
½ cup finely chopped carrots
⅔ cup finely chopped celery
1 Tbs. flour
⅓ cup dry white wine
1 ¼ cups beef broth
¼ tsp. dried thyme
1 bay leaf

Pound slices of meat to ¼-inch thickness.
Brush top of each slice with mustard. Cut each pickle spear crosswise in half. Place spear in center of each slice. Sprinkle with marjoram. Fold over ends of each slice toward center. Fold other ends over to enclose pickles. Tie each roll with string. Sprinkle with black pepper.
Heat butter in casserole or Dutch oven and add beef rolls. Cook, turning as necessary, until nicely browned all over, 8 to 10 minutes. Remove beef rolls.
To the casserole add onion, carrots and celery. Cook, stirring, until wilted.
Sprinkle with flour and stir with wire whisk to blend. Add wine, stirring rapidly with whisk. Stir in broth. Add thyme and bay leaf. Return meat rolls to casserole. Cover and let simmer 1 hour.
Serve with sauce spooned over.