The partial but increasingly growing, self-imposed isolation has begun.

I am writing these words on Sunday, and it will be a couple of days before they are out in print and online. Who knows what will happen between now and then, what with how fast this coronavirus is moving and affecting society?

Like many of us, I am voraciously consuming news about the COVID-19 pandemic. No need to panic, but definitely time to respond, to take steps and to not be stupid – as in overreacting and moving into the old Cold War bunker out in the backyard or ignore everything and go about life as usual with a false sense of invincibility.

And even though it appears most people who get this darn thing will come through it OK, I do think a bit of alarm is understandable and maybe even helpful. But please, keep perspective.

I went to Costco on Saturday. I needed a few things and had been waiting until my list was long enough to merit a trip there (toilet paper was not on the list). I had tried the day before, but there were cars parked everywhere, including in spots I’m sure were not actual parking places, and I saw maybe just a dozen shopping carts available outside the store. Yikes. I came back Saturday morning about 20 minutes before the store opened, so I could park within sight of the store.

By the time I shopped and fled, the place was jammed. The butcher told me the day before they sold out all the products they made from scratch (meatloaf and mashed potatoes, chicken enchiladas, mac ’n cheese, etc.), and were working feverishly to catch up and restock. The checker told me they had just experienced their highest volume sales days two days in a row.

I kept looking at the overloaded carts that went by me. Every one had in it at least one giant size or multiple packages of the following: toilet paper, paper towels, cleaning products, liquid hand soap and the like. I saw one of the big flat carts that had stacked on it about half a pallet of ramen meals.

There’s preparedness … and then there’s whatever this was.

When I was growing up in Florida, there was a regular drill when a hurricane was approaching. It was fairly simple, and it made sense. And it was adapted based on specific circumstance. For example, we had a neighbor with a swimming pool who was often out of town. If he wasn’t there when a storm approached, we’d go over to remove and stash the cushions from his outdoor furniture and throw the furniture into the pool. In a hurricane, everything becomes a potentially lethal projectile.

Since then the state has created an incredible preparedness and response network, including staging areas of material, which can be relocated quickly depending on where the storm will hit. It’s a model for the nation.

Anticipate, prepare and do what makes sense.

Our son was supposed to fly into Spokane this week. My husband wisely nixed the trip. Sam agreed. He texted: “Although I’m not in a high-risk group, should I catch something on the plane and visit my, ahem, elderly parents, well …”

And he’s right. Bruce and are I are in our 70s, which is the hardest-hit population, with the highest death rate. And while we don’t have the kinds of respiratory or immuno-suppressed ailments that appear to be exacerbating factors, by virtue of our age and the fact that we do have some health things we’re dealing with, we reside in COVID-19’s target demographic.

The good news, if it’s even appropriate to think in those terms yet, is that this pandemic seems largely to be skipping the children. A silver lining to be sure.

I remember when I first began writing about historic landmarks, I’d spend time tromping through cemeteries in Spokane and in rural areas of the region. I saw so many grave markers with the date of 1918 on them and often a simple “Baby Jones” or “Infant girl Smith.” Those, of course, were the result of the infamous Spanish flu pandemic that infected fully one-third of the world’s population at the time and killed 20-50 million people (675,000 of whom were Americans), mostly between the ages 20 to 40.

And for those of us with the target on our backs now, we love the little ones in our lives, but they could quite likely carry the disease to us when we grab them up in the hugs that we love to give them. A lot of things need to change, at least until we’re on the downside of the coronavirus bell curve we are climbing. And yet, we don’t want to scare the children.

Washing hands, social distancing, limiting large-group exposure, staying home more, covering a cough with the crook of our elbows, not shaking hands and not touching our faces – easy(ish) to do. Not hugging a grandchild is a whole lot tougher.

And then there’s the issue of trying to work at home. I do that already. But my husband goes to people’s homes and businesses to do his work. If you are a server in a restaurant, for example, you can’t work from home. Kids are out of school. How do you manage child care and still work?

I don’t need to itemize all the hurdles and problems we’re in the midst of, or are coming. Or to jump into the discussion of how and why we’re not farther along in dealing with this. Conversation for another time.

We’re here now, so for now, let’s just proceed with an abundance of caution, do what the virologists and health care professionals tell us.

But let’s begin the process of thinking long term, getting set up, preparing for next time, too. Like with hurricanes, it’s not if, but rather when one will hit. Let’s get smart about these viruses. They may well be the hurricanes of the future.