Dear future hubster

Dear future hubster, I don't know if it's a good thing, but I wanted to let you know that this week is the first time since the lockdown started that my household doesn't have any pesto. Why yes I like living dangerously. 

Dear future hubster, there are a million theories about how the "new normal" will be like. Nobody knows, of course, and that's the most unnerving thing. We don't know what to prepare for. And we don't know what's socially acceptable anymore. For people like me, sticklers for rules and also super anxious about what everybody else thinks it's a special kind of not fun.  BUT. Since "allowed" is no longer going to cut it, and we don't know what others are comfortable with, I expect some groundbreaking habit to creep up on us.  We will have to ask people what kind of interaction and what closeness they are willing to engage in. Is it ok to hug? Can I sit here? Whispering ok, or is that too close? And don't even get me started on the "can I touch you" bits. Basically, we will have to constantly be ASKING FOR CONSENT.  Revolutionary. And it only takes a global pandemic. 

Dear future hubster, It's been a while. I've been hiding away, not just because it's strongly recommended to the point of mandatory, but also because I've been angry. I've been angry with pretty much everybody, and you in particular. I took it very personally that I have to go this alone, got irritated at any advice on how to deal with being stuck inside with your family or significant other, snarkily commenting that yes it must be awful to be with the people you love, and I would snap at anybody who'd tell me to take care of myself. I don't want to, OK? There's supposed to be somebody else to take care of me, so in turn, I can take care of them. Where's my future hubster when I need him most, this is what we were supposed to tell our grandchildren, how grandma made spinach twice a week but also gorgeous garlic bread so grandpa couldn't really complain, and he thought it was funny that she kept bumping into the furniture well into the secon...

Dear future hubster, I hope you're well. I really do. I never put this line in emails because honestly, why would the other person not be well, but right now, all I want to know first thing of everybody is whether they are ok.  I hope you have enough food even if it's getting boring, and toilet paper, or replacement. I hope you're safe, don't need medical attention, but would have access to it if you did. And I hope you have people to talk to, since we weren't smart enough to exchange numbers before this happened. I know there's this poem out there about the people staying home and reading and listening and exercising and healing. I know we're all trying to make sense of this all, put some meaning where there isn't any, because otherwise we might go crazy much faster. I know we're looking on the bright side and trying to make the best of a difficult situation. I just hope you know, hope we all know and don't forget to acknowledge that th...

Dear future hubster, since half of the world has already gone into lockdown and it's only a matter of time till the other half follows suit, we've heard truckload of advice on what to do and what not to do. Take care of the elderly. But preferably from a distance. Don't wear a mask, unless. Don't go outside, but stay healthy. Preferably active. Wash your hands and clean your phone and if you have a spouse and 4 or more children then sorry but somebody will have to leave. Get used to it but also don't give in. Find healthy coping mechanisms - which I'm afraid my neighbour thinks includes constant singing, and unfortunately they are not a good singer and our bathrooms are spookily connected so I can hear them through the pipes. What is healthy for one might be mildly unpleasant for the other. However. When you do all of those things and cook your increasingly boring meals and drink your coping mechanism liquor and watch all the documentaries available and...