Thoughts during the apocalypse, Part 14.

The view of an inclement day from within Fulton Pond Studios.

It's a cold, wet and dreary day here in the midst of the coronavirus apocalypse -- especially so within what I like to call "the palatial confines of Fulton Pond Studios."

"Fulton Pond Studios," of course, is what would be the dining room of my house if I needed it to be, which I do not. I live alone and when I have guests, we usually chow down in the living room and watch the big flat-screen TV. But when my parents expanded this house in 1985, they decided that it needed a dining room (we used to eat in the kitchen when I was a kid). After my father passed in 2001, my mother gradually turned the dining room into her base of operation -- and as her mobility decreased in her later years, just about every facet of her life unfolded in the room with the view of the pond in her backyard.

Now, in my fifth year of living in the old homestead, I have converted the dining room into a recording and broadcasting studio. I bought a mixing board and microphones suspended from mechanical arms, and while the room isn't soundproofed, the professional equipment produces high-quality sound for my podcasts, which became a great way to occupy myself in retirement even before the coronavirus trapped all of us inside our homes.

But the room also has its drawbacks, especially in the winter. There isn't a lot of insulation in these walls and a lot of windows, and the wind tends to blow off the water, which chills the room far more than any of the other rooms in the house. It's not like when I lived in a dormitory on Lake Michigan and the winter winds seeped right through the cinder blocks -- Fulton Pond is small enough for me to clear it with a 3-wood swing from my backyard -- but it can still get cold until the winds turn around in late May or June.

I still spend a lot of time in here, however, because it's where my best connection to the outside world takes place. I've recorded all 18 of my podcasts here and I have a 19th on the way shortly, and occasionally I'm contacted by other friends in this new media to join them on their shows.

That was the case this morning, as my old friend Ed Berliner (see http://www.theownersbox2020.com/2020/03/thoughts-during-apocalypse-part-10.html) contacted me for a spot on a four-person podcast that can be seen on his Facebook Live feed, and at noontime, I was beaming live across the nation along with two of his friends from the broadcasting world, Kim "Kid" Curry from northern Colorado and Kimba Schnickelfritz (seriously, that's her name), a woman who has been a fixture in South Florida radio for many years.

We appeared on a full screen split into quarters (I was the guy with the Montreal Expos tri-color hat), we were both light-hearted and serious and the conversation was topical. I can certainly handle myself in political or current-affairs talk (although I'd like to say "...ummmmm..." a little less), and nearly two hours flew by.

Well, almost.

About two-thirds of the way through the show, I heard a "crack!" noise in the backyard amid the gusts of wind. I knew immediately what it was. There's a old, dead maple tree on the other side of the fence, and when it sheds large branches or parts of its trunk in windstorms, it doesn't respect property boundaries. I had to quickly exit the picture -- almost dragged the mixing board off the table because my headphones' cord was wrapped around my foot -- and survey the damage momentarily.

Fortunately, the big branches that came down landed in a grassy area and missed the nearby toolshed. It will be an easy clean-up when this storm passes by. I raced back to the laptop and its camera, made my hasty apologies for interrupting the symmetry of the telecast, and we finished in style.

I did crank up the heat in the house to try to warm up this room, which brought a few of the rooms up to near-sauna levels. Fortunately, the price of heating oil is dropping as well as the price of gasoline, so I haven't broken the bank to spend a little extra time in the studio.

Now, for a few other thoughts while watching the horizontal rain:

Holding breath is optional.

** There is goodness in the world.

If you've been following these apocalyptic missives over the past two weeks, you'll know that I found one miserable, old protective breathing mask in my basement and have run it through the wash three times in hopes of being able to comply with directives claiming we should wear masks while out in public. I don't think the old mask has much life left in it.

Earlier today, a former classmate of mine from Mansfield High messaged me and said that she had a few extra masks and would be more than willing to offer me a couple. What a terrific offer that is. Thank you, Ellen.

** Almost time for me to make my weekly trek up to Jen Royle's restaurant on Hanover Street in Boston's North End for takeout (of course, it's called TABLE by Jen Royle). An order of short rib Bolognese, penne and sauce and extra meatballs is waiting for me, and my mouth is watering just thinking about it.

Please, Charlie Baker, don't make me stay at home. My weekly TABLE trips have helped keep me stable. Mansfield does not need a serial killer to emerge amid these troubling times.

** See you all tomorrow. And please wash your hands after you clear away all the lawn debris from these ill winds!