Sometimes it does feel like I'm stuck in an episode of Little Pandemic on the Prairie. I sew face masks. I build (well, assemble) shelves. I make my own disinfectant wipes.
I haven't been baking bread only because there hasn't been any flour on the shelves in New York since the beginning of the pandemic.
(Also, anything I bake I eat.)
Now I'm about to attempt the trickiest, most daring, feat yet, and give myself a haircut. I used to cut my own hair all the time when I was young and poor, but it's been a long time. And I was never very good at it.
On the other hand, it's not as though anyone is going to see me.
(This tree in Grand Teton National Park has nothing to do with the coronavirus, except that red fuzzy growth of any kind now makes me immediately want to wash my hands.)