I’m 60. As of yesterday, I’m working from home.
Despite my age, I have three small children. New York City schools closed last week. They will remain closed until April 20, supposedly, although I’m fairly certain they won’t reopen then. So the oldest child (six) was home all day.
And then our local day care place closed. So the middle girl (three) was home too.
My wife was already working from home. She’s a lawyer, and unless she has a court appearance or a deposition scheduled, she can do everything anywhere she can get an internet connection. She has access to her firm’s document management and storage system, billing system, and Lexis/Nexis. All that good stuff, all cloud-based.
I was able to keep going into the office through last week. Working at home would have been impossible, all five of us (there’s a baby, too) in a not overly large NYC apartment.
But my wife, with my whole-hearted approval, has decided that it’s best for her and the kids to sit this thing out for a while in her hometown in Newfoundland, Canada. There’s an empty house available where she and the kids can self-isolate until it’s safe for her to come out. There are no reported cases in the town where she’ll be, and no one in her family has had contact with anyone from outside the town in quite a while, I’m told.
Someone in the family arranged for the electricity to be turned on at the house, and for internet access, and stocked the place with food and supplies.
So they should be good. I’m relieved. And now there’s room for me to work at home.
Miss them, of course, but I think they’re better off where they are.