Thoughts during the apocalypse, Part 30.

The brace that holds my aching knee together.

Twelve weeks in, and I'm finally going to call a halt to the proprietary labeling of these posts as apocalyptic, as seen above. Thirty is a nice round number. The nation, whether we're ready or not, is transitioning back to a more normal pace. Not everything will be back to normal immediately; this crazy National Hockey League plan for resumption of the season is a prime example of that. But life must go on for those of us that were not among the nearly 100,000 Americans that succumbed to COVID-19.

I come back at a disadvantage.

My sore left knee, which has been a constant source of aggravation over the past month, has reached a point where medical examination is almost an absolute certainty. I now believe the issue to be with the meniscus or the patellar tendon, given that the kneecap is locking in position with the slightest lateral movement. It has become so difficult to get in and out of my cars -- even the convertible, with its wider doors -- that I am going to have to skip my weekly trip into Boston for Italian takeout from TABLE by Jen Royle.

My first TABLE takeout in March, yummy chicken parm.

However, this comes at a time when she will be preparing to return to more normal operation at her Hanover Street restaurant -- and for a future expansion. Her friends supported her well during this period of takeout-only ordering, and as a result, she has been able to go ahead with plans to convert a now-vacant storefront in the same building into "TABLE Mercato," which will be an Italian café and market with "grab-and-go" takeout, she said on Twitter.

Good for her. I've said it before, it has taken balls the size of small moons for Jen, a Mansfield native and former broadcast sports reporter (and Emmy winner) to transition into an entirely new career, and I've been glad to support her in a small way by making the weekly trek up there during the pandemic.

Back to the knee, however; I'm hopeful that there won't be a sudden surge of new coronavirus cases because of this rush to normalcy, because I've been hesitant to go to a medical facility during this time out of fear of infection. I'm one of those high-risk characters, of course … 66 years old, diabetic, five years since my mild stroke and so on. That I've been as active as I've been and not been infected may be a minor miracle.

Yet the rest of the world is not stopping out of deference of my pain. I am looking out over a backyard that is going to seed just 10 days after its last mowing. I toughed it out and did the front yard yesterday afternoon, but I was slower than cold molasses running uphill and the knee locked twice, causing a considerable amount of residual pain. But I still managed to complete some 6,000 steps -- and at least from the street, it looks as if someone lives here.

Maybe I'll try to do the backyard later today -- perhaps after the coverage of the SpaceX launch. It's 80 degrees outside right now, so I can wait. There's more straight-line walking involved in mowing the backyard, which will help.

Another issue that arose, and I won't overly dwell upon it here, is that I enter the possibly-post-pandemic period with absent friends.

One is the woman who has cut my hair since my college days. I learned yesterday that she has a serious illness (non-COVID) which required surgery just before the lockdown period began, and is unlikely to return to her salon. This is heartbreaking.

The other is a woman that has meant a lot to me for 35 years or more. We stopped communicating on Feb. 28 for reasons that are unclear. It's not the first time that has happened over the years, but this time, it feels permanent. I'll say no more because I don't want my remarks to be misinterpreted in any way. I'll just say that if this is the time to move on, then move on I shall.

And that includes this blog. Future posts will not carry the "Thoughts during the apocalypse" title unless we really do lapse into a full-blown spike of new cases because too many ignorant people can't wear a goddamned mask into a supermarket. By the way, if I can get out of my house, I still will wear masks and rubber gloves until told it's not necessary. I'll deal with my glasses fogging up, although I really wish they'd knock off these one-way aisles in the supermarkets. Nobody pays attention anyway.

Right now, my greatest challenge is to get down the basement steps to the laundry area and to wash my underwear. I have a 32-day supply of shorts when the drawer is full, and for the first time since I instituted that system more than 25 years ago, I have emptied the drawer and am going commando under my adidas running shorts.

TMI? Hey, nobody put a gun to your head to read these posts.

One other tidbit of information … I'm going to slow down the production of my podcast, "The Owner's Box," during the summer, at least a little bit. I've cranked out 24 episodes since Halloween, and lately, I was firing them out at a clip of one every six or seven days instead of the timeframe of 10-14 days that was the original intention. I have been quite pleased with the response to the podcasts, but it's time for me to pause and smell the forsythia, or whatever it was that my mother planted many years ago that's still growing in the yard, no thanks to my incompetence as a groundskeeper.

The official podcast mug.

Don't worry, "The Owner's Box" will still be with us. I have a few guests in mind for June, and maybe I'll crank out a remote episode or two when I head to the Cape for vacation in July. And remember, if you're lucky enough to be one of my guests, you will receive one of these spiffy 13-ounce coffee mugs as pictured at right. All but one of my past guests have received one so far, and there are plenty more in the box. And the packing boxes in which I send the mugs comes with enough bubble wrap to provide hours of mindless bubble-snapping entertainment to the recipient.

OK, then. Let's stop with the apocalyptic theme of these posts and try to find some semblance of hope for the future -- although from some of the scenes I'm seeing on TV, it really looks as if the educational system of the United States has failed the nation by providing a generation of morons that can't understand that they should really listen to smart people and not the stupid asshole they put in the White House by accident.

As you can tell, the theme of these posts probably won't change much.

Stay safe, people.