We’ve done this long enough that most days it seems almost normal. The masks, the distance, the hand washing. But every once in a while, the strangeness of it hits me. This odd isolation of the pandemic. I felt it as I sketched this scene.
Working behind plexiglass screens at the reception desk. A spare desk with a jar of clean pens and a tray for dirty ones. A giant bottle of hand sanitizer and a box of tissues prominently displayed. Big yellow stickers explain, politely, the new rules of engagement.
She wanted to see the sketch. Normally, I’d just hand the book to her. I held it up for her this time, more than 6 feet away. Sketchbooks are for looking at up close, for turning the pages of if you want to. I miss some things about the old normal.