I am plenty bored with Covid isolation. I want to go to a restaurant…go to a bar. Haven’t gone to bars much in my life, except in Aspen in ski times. I wish I’d done it more. Wish we had a local, like Cheers or whatever. But that’s going to be a long while, it looks like. In the meantime, we are stunningly lucky to live someplace where – after a few minutes drive – you can stand in a field like the one in this picture…get perhaps the best aerobic exercise there is (xc skiing) in beautiful solitude. Hilly and I were in this field and a series of connected fields much like it yesterday in the Southern Berkshires on xc skis for a couple of hours. Hard to feel sorry for yourself when you’ve got access to stuff like this, a few minutes away. Today, the snow is rushing down (a blizzard, we hope) and I just went out to the barn for a short workout. Now we’re hunkered down in this cozy old house. I’m in my study, pretending to write. Hilly’s in the kitchen, making an elaborate chicken stew from scratch for dinner. Her mother, Florence – who is with us for the duration and maybe forever – is sitting in the living room, memorizing The New York Times. Fine.
Hilly’s mother is my age…bright and able. But she has not been doing the Younger Next Year stuff. So no xc skiing for her. No lots of stuff. I know I repeat myself but I cannot tell you how critical that old exercise habit is. If you’re lucky enough to make it into your 80s, it’s everything. Or damn near.