Coronavirus was the topic du jour when our friends visited this past weekend.

We met through our now-grown children. Not long after we left New York to move to Oregon, they moved to New Hampshire where they have a home in the beautiful, tucked away village of Peterborough.

Unlike us, L&L are retired, which means they are at liberty to travel. They have family in southern California, and a daughter doing graduate work at Berkeley, so they took a month to start in San Diego and then drive up the coast, their adventure culminating in a visit to Seaside.

“Are you worried L&L are bringing the virus to your door?” a mutual friend from New York inquired.

I said I was taking steps to control the situation by swabbing every hard surface in my house with a bleach solution and we were already maniacally washing our hands à la Lady Macbeth and avoiding large gatherings.

“Maybe I should make them walk through a sheep dip before they come in the house,” I joked.

Once they arrived, our guests were very willing to discuss the virus.

Mostly they expressed concern their Jet Blue flight set to depart in 10 days from San Diego to Boston (after visiting Astoria and laying eyes on the Columbia River, they turned their rental car around and headed back to California) would be cancelled and they would have to drive across the country to New Hampshire.

“Even if it’s not canceled, you might not want to get on a plane,” I suggested. The idea of getting on a plane right now is about as appealing as getting on a cruise ship, in my opinion.

Our visit wasn’t much impeded by the virus, although we heeded the Center for Disease Control’s advice “older adults” i.e. anyone over 60, should “stay home as much as possible.” We walked the beach (isn’t salt air cleaner?); had a few meals out, notably at Baked Alaska in Astoria and in Seaside at the U Street Pub; we got coffee in Cannon Beach at Sea Level, and visited a few galleries.

After their first night when they stayed with us and we ordered Thai Me Up takeout. L & L stayed two nights at the Sandy Cove Inn which they said was “very nice” with real art on the walls and very clean, and conveniently close to the beach for viewing sunsets.

Mostly we hung out at our house and I cooked.

And we talked.

We had a lot of catching up to do, but we also talked a lot about coronavirus.

“It’s like worrying about the tsunami,” I said. “It could happen.”

My husband pointed out evacuation routes and signage as we gave them the area tour. I joked how my own plan in case of earthquake and tsunami is not to run from the wave, but to walk towards it.

Might as well get it over with, is my thought.

“I hate camping,” I said. “Imagine me surviving the wave and then having to deal with weeks if not months of no electricity or hot water. That’s not happening.”

We joked how being older puts us more at risk of contracting coronavirus, but also how our age gives us the liberty to care a bit less what happens to us.

“It’s really more a matter of how you want to die,” I said. “Not that most people get to pick.”

Laurie texted me Monday morning to say they were on I-5, headed south. They didn’t think much of Eugene, where they stayed one night. Her impression was of dreariness and impoverishment. That bummed me out.

Meanwhile I’m washing my hands about 25 times a day and practicing social distancing. It’s air kisses or waving from now on only. No hugs, please. I use disinfectant to daily wipe doorknobs and hard surfaces. I’ve washed every sheet, every towel, and every dishcloth in scalding water, and washed the wood floors down multiple times with a solution of tap water and vinegar even though I just read most household cleaning products will kill coronavirus, but not white vinegar.

You can make your own inexpensive antimicrobial spray by mixing one part household bleach to 99 parts cold tap water. Spray this on surfaces and leave for 10 to 30 minutes. Note this is bleach. It will ruin your sofa.