Gilded

By the morning the wet snow had frozen so the driveway was covered in a slick ice. She walked carefully out to the mailbox to get the paper and back in the warm kitchen, she flipped through stories about the new covid vaccine, sipping hot strong coffee. "Soy milk, bacon, fusselli, bedcover" she wrote in her little book.

A shower later she left for her studio. The higher angle of the sun had melted the ice and the day went by easily. Her husband was in Maine for a week, working on a bathroom in their summerhouse. He managed a small waterfront club there, where the old money families from Philly and NYC raced their sailboats. Many bought her paintings.

She worked on small pieces, as big ones were a harder sell now; she concentrated on notans, dark/light patterns. She gilded panels and painted the designs on them. The gold reflected light, any light, even in darkness. They changed so they seemed alive. She pictured where buyers would hang them in their homes: next to a hallway door, going up a dark back staircase, in a small bedroom by a lamp?

On the way home she stopped to buy a bedcover, but they were all gray, so no. She got all the other things on her list, and a lottery ticket. Checking later, not one number matched. She scoffed.

At home she made dinner for her parents and mother-in-law. She and her husband lived on the third floor. Two caregivers helped out. It worked out. Everyone chipped in. An everyone was vaccinated now.

The next day it was sunny and 50. Her husband came home, happy with the bathroom's progress and they resumed life during covid time. It was quiet and peaceful, and they both liked the change to him working from home. There was so much time, time to talk, time to do projects around the house and gardens, and especially time to babysat their growing granddaughter once a week.

Weeks went by and the grimey snow of February melted into gardens. The chickens clucked at the grass, a crow announced a passing fox, bushes sang with birds. She installed a tiny picnic table on an arbor, and filled it with sunflower seeds and walnuts for the birds and squirrels.

The government sent out stimulus checks, 2K for each person, to help the economy wrecked by the virus. She and her husband bought a small chicken coop for their summerhouse with it. She painted swooping landscapes lit by the moon, and sailboats in a blaze of gold. The vaccine had the virus under control and when the summer came everything reopened. Huge parties were had. People hugged and kissed on the street, laughing too loudly. The worst was over. Everyone sighed. So many paintings sold that summer that she bought herself a new easel, and they put some money in their granddaughter's college fund. They planned trips to Mardis Gras and Ireland.

In August the news trickled in. Somewhere in South America, or India, a person coughed. The new corona virus spread quickly, jumping borders, crossing oceans. It found it's way inside every home in every country. Millions died. The stock market crashed hard. It was worse than before, much, much worse. They locked down. No one left the house. No one visited. The economy tanked. The stock market lost half it's value. They used every can of food in the pantry, every egg, every potato and every tomato and zucchini they could grow, only going to the store when they had to. And they survived, again.

Another vaccine was quickly developed and there was relief. The stock market roared back, but life did not return to normal. There was still widespread unemployment and homelessness. So the government sent out more checks, 5k to every person this time. They used the money for a new used car.

Life resumed in a way. She gilded panels and painted woodlands and paintings of dusk and dawn. She painted sailboats on the starting line and hills in winter. She painted the weather's edge, and roads in a forest. Fewer sold. Many restaurants didn't reopen. Many stores remained empty. Only well off kids went to college.

It was three years later, when life had resumed normality when it was announced, another virus, a different strain this time, not a corona virus like Covid, but from the ocean where it lived. It was deadlier than any they had ever seen before, and moving blindingly fast. People died on the street, their bodies left there. All businesses and schools closed. The stock market closed to avoid bottoming out. The internet shut down. Gold and currency lost it's value as food and water became scarce. A loaf of bread cost $100. It was a catastrophe and many lost hope. The government sent out 10k to each person. She bought 20,000 lottery tickets and won five and a half million dollars. She scoffed.

Every scientist and lab in the world worked together on a solution. Trillions later a super drug was developed that worked against all known viruses. She gilded a four foot panel in two layers of 24 carat gold and left it bare.