Day 44 - #thestew

Lately it feels as though The New York Times is at the center of my universe.  It is the source of my news.  It is the newly discovered source of my curriculum for this summer.  And it is frequently the source of my recipes, including this one for spiced chickpea stew with coconut and turmeric, which apparently went viral as #thestew.  I haven't modified it much as I have only made it a couple of times, but it is hearty and satisfying.

Finally got to use my umbrella in the rain, and I took a chance that there would be no people walking on the pretty green path.  

Day 43 - Curbside Pickup

A masked and gloved person opened my passenger car door and shoved a pizza onto the seat beside me.  It was like some kind of reverse thievery.  I pulled to another part of the parking lot, removed my own mask, doused my hands in Purell and shoved a gooey slice in my maw.  The first restaurant food in a month and a half.  It was delicious.

I won't make a habit of curbside pickup, but I was glad to support a local business and splurge.

Day 42 - Joining the Club

I've mostly been winning at quarantine.  Lots of exercise, cooking, writing, and chatting with friends.  A regular schedule.  Productive work.  Good attitude.

And then came Day 42. 

To cap off Week 6, I woke up at 11:50 am, nursing a headache, rushed to the shower in time to make myself presentable to my family for noon Zoom, then spent a slothful afternoon watching Tiger King, eating day-old cinnamon rolls and pondering whether I felt crappy because I had somehow been infected with COVID-19.  Between the sleeping, the Zooming, the eating, the tigers, and the paranoia I feel as though I have experienced all of the key stereotypical elements of American quarantine all in one day.  I should have had a Corona to drink to top it off.

Instead, I did right the ship.  I ended the day with a (distant) walk with a friend in the pretty green and some yoga.  Back on track.  Onward.

Day 41 - Cinnamon Rolls

I have been watching Better Call Saul for weeks now.  Each season begins at a Cinnabon, and even though I don't usually like cinnamon rolls, I have been hankering for one.  So I made them.  Yes, I used a cheater recipe that involved baking powder instead of yeast.  Yum!

Cooking and baking continue to appeal to me during this time in quarantine.  I like making food for people, but it is also a bit freeing to be able to experiment and make mistakes, which is funny because thus far, everything I have made has been delicious.  I do package up some things to share with others.  I look forward to a post-quarantine dinner party.  One day . . .

Day 40 - Lent

40 days and 40 nights. I’m practically Jesus. 

Day 39 - Amongst My Assets

I have a lot of weeks stretching out before me.  I also have 3 juggling balls, a harmonica, tap shoes, and a lot to learn.

Day 38 - Dandelions

Two walks today. I’m getting a little tired of my neighborhood, but if I look closely, I find beauty in unlikely places. 

Day 37 - A Drive

I grabbed my purse, a now unfamiliar habit since I don't need it when I walk, strode purposefully to the car, put down the top, donned my mask, wiped the pollen off the windshield, drove two blocks, felt drops of rain from the ominous clouds, then slowed down to put the top down.  Of course there would be a surprise rainstorm on the one day I decide to use my convertible.  It's too bad because I looked pretty special with both my elephant-print mask and my yellow sunglasses.

I went for a drive to do some errands.  I have undertaken overseas vacations with less enthusiasm than I felt for this outing.  Driving and errands!  I cannot recall the last time I got in my car before today; I use it so seldom that I have been considering downgrading my car insurance. 

Cars go very quickly.  I felt myself zinging along, marveling at the rush.

Here in my house, in my neighborhood, I don't want for much.  Sometimes I need groceries, but other than that, I'm pretty content.  But going out made me want things.  I wanted to visit the library.  I wanted to get sushi and doughnuts.  I wanted to browse the grocery store idly.  I wanted to enter my friends' houses rather than talking with them from the sidewalk.

I've started craving pizza.  Maybe one day I'll have some curbside pickup as a special treat. 

Day 36 - Playlist

If variety is the spice of life, then routine is the condiment of quarantine.  Really I just said that for the alliteration.  Routine is actually essential, but "habit is the protein of the quarantine meal" just doesn't have the same ring to it.

Every morning, I wake up and follow approximately the same routine.  Make bed.  Do teeth.  Make tea.  I pull up the shades, hoping for some morning sunlight, and I sit at my dining table.  Then I start The Playlist.

Over the past 36 days*, I have developed a Spotify playlist called "every day" that I listen to--you guessed it--every day.

It starts with a Mama Cass song called "Make Your Own Kind of Music."  That is the song that was playing in LOST the first time we saw Desmond in his bunker.  In mid-March, I decided I wanted to listen to that song, and then I decided I wanted to listen to it again.  And again.  Then I started thinking about other songs that related to this experience of being by myself during a worldwide pandemic.  Some are obvious, such as Bob Marley's "Three Little Birds" and REM's "It's the End of the World As We Know It."

Over weeks, the playlist grew into The Playlist.  Each song is there for a particular reason.  Some remind me of travel.  I recall to Blondie's "The Tide is High" repeatedly on the Salt Flats of Bolivia because it was the only tape our driver had.  I sang along to "Brand New Key" on a cross-country road trip.  Some are there for no particular reason than providing comfort.  All of them bear listening to over and over.  I add or delete occasionally, but I rarely change the order.  And as of this past week "Movin' Right Along" by the Muppets is the final song to launch me into the day.

I've thought a lot about why I listen to these same songs in the same order every morning, and I haven't quite figured out the answer.  It seems as though it would be dull to do so.  As it is, there is so much repetition each day, but I look forward to this chunk of time when I am planning my day and singing along to some songs I like while sipping tea.

---
Looks like other people have their own Sally the Scallion.

*Honest to God, I wrote "years" the first time I wrote this.

Day 35 - “Tell Me How It Ends”

There have been a few pivotal articles for me over this past month. This is the most recent.   It’s jarring.  We’re in this for the long haul. At least I feel like I have some sense of where we’re headed after reading it. 

I can say at least one thing with certainty; I think it’s time to go ahead and cancel my gym membership. I won’t be going there anytime soon. Or anywhere else, for that matter. 

I took a book out from the library a couple of months back. It is entitled Tell Me How It Ends. They keep sending me notices that it is being renewed. 

Self-Quarantine Day 34 - Look Out, Gene Kelly

I've always wanted one of those giant, cane-handled rainbow umbrellas, but I wasn't planning to go for long walks in the rain, so it seemed a waste.  I stuck with my little collapsible umbrella.  But about a week ago, I realized that I am going to need to walk in the rain to keep my sanity this summer, so I indulged.  The excitement of using it this morning was enough to convince me to step out into the gray day.  I walked only a few steps from my door before realizing, with disappointment, that it wasn't raining anymore.  I brought the umbrella anyway, carrying it closed up and swinging it around.  Maybe next time I'll actually get to use it!

Self Quarantine Day 33 - The Gym

At 7:53 a.m., I turned over and looked at my phone, cursing when I realized I had plenty of time to get dressed and get to the "gym"--my living room.  My friend from college is a personal trainer and is streaming workouts nearly every day of the week.  I've only attended a few times, but it is good to get some strength training in.

My cat sleeps all day long, barely moving, but as soon as I start lying on a mat and poking my legs and arms around, Calliope Kiwi, becomes curious and sits and stares at me.  Why can't she choose another time of day to be awake?

Self Quarantine Day 32 - No Waste

I've now been self-quarantined longer than the longest month on the calendar.

I know every bit of food I have in my house.  It reminds me of when I was walking on the Camino, and I could recite my possessions.  I knew just what I was carrying.  While walking across the countryside with my backpack on, I would review the items in my mind, down to the last safety pin and band-aid.  Before I realized that I would be so aware of my food, I saved my big grocery receipts from my last trips to the store so that I could review them if I needed a reminder of what was stuffed in back of my freezer.

I'm not afraid of running out of food, not at all.  I have plenty.  I might have to resort to eating things that aren't my first choice, but I certainly won't go hungry.  Cooking is such a pleasing way to pass the time that I am happy when I have ingredients that I can use to make actual recipes.  But I can make do with rice and beans--or some equivalent--if I need to. 

I feel a particular responsibility to use all of my fresh food, and it is incredible how much better I am about using what I have when I am home all the time.  In regular life, it wasn't unusual for me to have a drawerful of produce go bad before I used it.  That waste doesn't happen now.  There was one small bit of cooked spaghetti that was too old to eat couple of weeks ago that I had forgotten about.  That's it in over a month.

So I'm winning my war on produce.  On day 32, I plucked the eyes out of some fingerling potatoes and cooked them up with fresh green beans.  My milk expires today, and I have left just enough to make a smoothie.  I have some hummus in the fridge right now that is nearing its deadline.  And there's lettuce that needs a salad.

Self Quarantine Day 31 - Bringing My Lunch

I looked around for something to eat for lunch and happened upon a frozen dinner buried in my freezer  It was a simple box, the kind of thing I would throw in my bag to take to school with me in a hurry.  And after all of this home cooked food I've had recently, it seemed like a special treat to microwave up a cardboard container full of tortellini with tomatoes and sit at my desk and pretend I was in my office.  I miss the weirdest things.

Self-Quarantine Day 30 - Mask

My friend H surprised me with a handmade mask on Easter.  Such an amazing gift.  I wore it to day for the first time to visit my 98 year old friend and shout at him from a distance.  It was remarkably comfortable, less awkward feeling than I would have thought.  I'm still not ready to wear it while I'm walking around my neighborhood, though.

I had purchased some overpriced medical masks on eBay just as news of COVID-19 was emerging.  I don't need them anymore, so I brought them over to him because he is still going out, despite my attempts to discourage him.  He is a lively and social man.  At first, I was so frustrated with him--and with his favorite television news program Fox News--because he didn't seem to understand the gravity of the situation.  He kept going out and doing errands.  But now, as he says, we are all "groundhogging."  He still goes to the grocery store and gets out more than he should.  I am so concerned for his safety, but I've come to think that if you make it to 98 and you want to go to the market.  Well, pandemic be damned.

Self-Quarantine Day 29 - With a Little Help from My Friends

I have had so many people help me to stay self-quarantined--friends bringing groceries and treats.  L provided homemade bread.  S has brought groceries.  B showed up with armloads of produce last week.  J with a beautiful Easter basket.  H with emergency treats to fill in the holes from the Peapod order which did not include (gasp) coffee.  I definitely could not quarantine without their assistance and support.  I'm grateful.

Self-Quarantine Day 28 - Alllllll-le-luuuu-iaaa!

I've had a beautiful spring Easter Sunday, and I’m feeling angry about it.  I woke rested, successfully made a new recipe (a Dutch Baby), ate brunch while chatting with my best friend, visited with my family during Noon Zoom, did some yoga, went for a walk in the sunshine with niece P on the phone, potted my herbs, and cleaned up the patio, all before starting to make dinner.

I was going to let the brunch be my Easter dinner, but as I pondered a frozen burrito, I worried that it would make my mother sad to imagine me eating something basic rather than a special meal, so I put on some music and started to cook.

All day I have been humming “Christ the Lord Is Risen Today,” a song I remember from my days in Junior Choir.  I don’t know the words, other than the lulling Alllllll-le-luuuu-iaaa that punctuates each line, but I love the song, so I looked it up and happened upon this recent version, released only two days ago.

The video is of the “Worldwide Easter Choir” from the Methodist Church.  It’s one of those recently popular Zoom versions featuring dozens of people with surging voices performing in unison inside their little boxes.  There’s something intimate about watching people sing from their homes:  some sharing earbuds, others with giant headphones, a grid of human colors.  

My eyes started to blur with tears, but I wiped them away when I noticed the lyrics on the bottom.  I read along.  Then I got to the end of the song, and I played it over.  Again and again and again, I played it.  I studied the words and listened to the holy sounds.  And with my two graduate degrees in English, here’s what I’ve decided about the true meaning of “Christ the Lord Is Risen Today.”  The subtitle, in fact, is “Fuck You, Death.”

Even though I had such a wonderful day, I’m angry because instead of being by myself, I should be in Salem, Massachusetts, in the Tabernacle Church along with my family, crying and hugging after the death of my Aunty Jane.

I wouldn’t call myself a Christian, but I grew up going to church, and now when the world is hurting so much, when my own family is in mourning, I find myself yearning to believe in a heaven where my Aunty Jane is reunited with my Uncle Jean Paul, her husband of 50+ years.  

But that doesn’t come easy to me.  I’m angry.  The world is in such turmoil that I can’t gather with my family.  I can’t even hug them.  How am I supposed to believe in this so-called risen Christ?  How am I supposed to sing out this fluff?  

Christ the Lord is ris’n today, Alleluia!
Sons of men and angels say, Alleluia!
Raise your joys and triumphs high, Alleluia!
Sing, ye heav’ns, and earth, reply, Alleluia!

No matter how I try, I’m just not feeling this make-a-joyful-noise nonsense.  But buried in amongst those Alllllll-le-luuuu-iaaas is much sterner stuff.  It turns out the writer of the hymn, ol’ Charles Wesley, wasn’t simply trumpeting out celebration of the resurrection.  That dude?  He had an axe to grind.  Listen closely to some of these words:

            Where, O death, is now thy sting? Alleluia! . . . Where thy victory, O grave? Alleluia!

He’s taunting death.  He’s gloating!  I can get behind that strategy.  I’m not feeling particularly celebratory, and I’m not sure about this idea of a risen Christ, but I am feeling on board with this “fuck you, death” strategy.  Aunty Jane died on Good Friday.  And though no one would accuse her of being a saint, she was a churchgoing woman, a Christian.  I like to think that my aunt, sharp-tongued though seldom profane, would appreciate my interpretation.

And I suppose, maybe, just maybe, if I squint, I can glimpse this vision of a faith in which this dude with long hair rolled a stone away from a cave and now that means my aunt and uncle are together.

Love’s redeeming work is done, Alleluia!

Fought the fight, the battle won, Alleluia!

Death in vain forbids His rise, Alleluia!

Christ hath opened paradise, Alleluia!

Happy Easter to all.

Self-Quarantine Day 27 - Rabbit Hole

You know you are way too far down the Facebook rabbit hole when you find yourself clicking on a video of Marlo Thomas cutting Phil Donahue’s hair.

My Peapod delivery came today. A nice man left the groceries outside my gate. I’m now the proud owner of a 2.2 lb jar of Nutella. Maybe I could use it as a makeshift barbel for exercise. 

In other news, my sister made a face mask out of an old bra.  

Self-Quarantine Day 26 - The 5th of July

My aunt passed away today.

My family celebrated 4th of July at her house every year.  So years ago, I gave her a copy of a perfect little picture book called I Like You.  She kept it displayed on a table in her living room.  It repeats the refrain "I like you because--" over and over again, giving different reasons, serious and silly.  It reads in part:

On the Fourth of July I like you because
It's the Fourth of July

On the Fifth of July
I like you too

It's rare to know that someone loves you completely.  But she did love me completely.  And she liked me, too.  And I liked her back.

Self-Quarantine Day 25 - Good Company

Day 25 was a blah day.  Not bad.  Just blah.  But being in quarantine by myself is similar to traveling alone.  There are productive days and exciting days and lonely days and blah days.  

Overall, even Day 25 just slipped by, I find that I'm remarkably good company.  It seems as though many people I know are tired of sharing constant space with others.  I'm not tired of sharing space with myself yet.  I miss my friends and my family and my students and even strangers, but this time by myself is interesting, too.  I have done a lot of things that I always say I'm going to do more of--walk, write, cook.  Those three things are always lurking around in my New Year's resolutions.  This wasn't exactly the way I expected to achieve those resolutions, but they are things I can control and enjoy.  And I feel so fortunate to have an opportunity to stay home and do them, especially since others with different jobs don't have the option to do so.

Self-Quarantine Day 24 - A Flat

I took my bike out for a quick ride yesterday in the sunshine before class so that I could mail a couple of letters.  Walking is wonderful, but the contrast of biking has been great.  I love being able to move quickly and am so proud of myself for getting my stupid tires inflated.  I've been looking forward to some longer rides.

I opted to go down the hill so that I could feel that thrill of wind.  Just as I started to pick up speed, I heard flap flap flap.  I stopped.  I paused before looking.  I already suspected the problem.

Flat tire.

Infuriating.  I can count on one hand the number of flat tires I have had on my car in two and a half decades of driving, but it seems as though whenever I try to ride a bike regularly, the tires fail and the whole experience ends up being more irritating than joyful.  And I give up.

But.  This is quarantine.  In quarantine we are patient and persistent.  We are different than in normal life.  We don't just give up.  We embrace drudgery and frustration.  I'll try to fix the fucking tire.

Self-Quarantine Day 23 - Sally the Scallion

I've been growing my own pet scallion.

What seems like a lifetime ago, but was probably only three weeks, I read this article called "Stocking Your Pantry, the Smart Way" in the NYT.  I heeded a lot of the advice, making sure I had enough vegetable stock and lemons to last me awhile.  Tacked onto the end of the article was this little tip:

Scallions:  If you leave the roots on and put scallions in a container of water on the counter, you can cut off the green tops, and they will grow back three or four times.  My mom taught me this trick.

So I decided to give it a try.  I propped up a little stub of white stalk with the squiggly roots in a dish of water and watched it.  I looked at it every day sitting right there on my counter, just as the NYT had told me to do.  And nothing happened.  Fake news.

I sort of forgot about it, but one day I noticed that the white stump had elongated into a green shoot.  Wondrous!  I started watching more closely, admiring its progress.  It peeked out a tad more each day.  I lovingly changed the pungent water as I changed my cat's water.  Over the next week or so, it grew an elegant, lean leaf.

It began to stretch so far that it looked like a real store-bought scallion.  One fine day an additional green spike poked out from the side of the white part.  I marveled.

I talked about my scallion, crowing about its progress to everyone I talked to.  My sister named her Sally.  Sally the Scallion.  Sure, I was teasing myself about how preposterous it was that I was so alone and isolated that I had developed a relationship with a scallion.  But I also felt proud of what I had cultivated.  Last summer, I had greedily eaten some tomatoes from plants that I'd stuck in the ground, but I had never loved a plant as much as I love my scallion.

For my whole life, my mother has nurtured plants both inside and outside of the house.   Her yard is an explosion of flowers and greenery.  When my sister J and I were little and spent the summer splashing around in the pool, yelling at her:  "Look!  Look at me jump!  Look!" Mom nodded absently, bent over her garden beds that kept her sane in the long hours of making sure we didn't drown. She has so many flower boxes that she keeps one next to the trash bin so that she can admire it even as she does that mundane task.  Although I have long appreciated the beauty of her gardens and the taste of her homegrown vegetables, I never quite understood the simple joy that comes from tending to a growing thing.

Now, as nature ravages the world with a new virus, I am separating myself, cutting myself off from that terror.  Simultaneously, I'm learning to watch closely and patiently, to love a small green column.  In this season of rebirth, of spring and Easter, I'm mourning, and I'm celebrating.  I'm feeling close to my family and far from them at the same time.

I decided to cut Sally. In recent days, gravity has pulled her downward until her tip touched the counter.  I chopped her up and ate her on my quesadilla last night.  She was delicious.  I stuck her white-crowned roots back in the water.  The NYT tells me she will grow again.  I've since added some more scallion stubs to the water.  I'm eager to watch them, too.

Self-Quarantine Day 22 - A Cure?

Me:  Are you sure we can't eat away the pandemic?
B:  I think it's possible, actually, which is why I'm giving it a go.
Me:  I appreciate the solidarity.

Self-Quarantine Day 21 - Spring

Went for a walk with J today.  We followed along with an Easter egg hunt that someone in the neighborhood had done.

It's hard to reconcile the beauty of spring outside with the devastation in the news.  Trees and flowers shout happiness.  I know that nature is spreading some vile plague across the world.  I know that hundreds of thousands of people are dying from it.  Here in my daily life, the only danger I see is the allergy-inducing yellow specks of pollen floating in the sunshine.

Self-Quarantine Day 20 - TV

I have been so concerned about getting into a routine that I haven't relaxed much.  Until today.  I ate pudding for breakfast and binged Better Call Saul until I dozed.  Then I binged some more.  I'm not sure how many episodes I made it through, but it felt good to veg out.

Self- Quarantine Day 19 - Bicycle

The other day, I tried to ride my bicycle.  I was going along on a flat road in first gear, which seemed odd.  I didn't have that wind-through-the-hair (or through the helmet) feeling, and then a jogger passed me, at which point I realized I probably needed to blow up my tires.  Problem is, I didn't have a bike pump.  But I sent away for one, and when it arrived, I steeled myself.  I have these weird European valves, and I can never manage to do it right. It is unfailingly a maddening process.  It stokes my temper.  It should be so easy to just blow up a bike tire.  But it isn't, and it makes me mad. 

But it was Day 19, and I am practically a homesteader now, what with my own personal scallion.  So I watched a YouTube video, and took a deep breath.  Success!  I filled the back tire without incident.  But when I went to release the valve on the front tire, it was stuck or broken or something.  I had to consult my triathelete friend C, who talked me down and through the process.  With a little bit of vegetable oil and some pliers, I was soon victorious and speeding through the neighborhood. 

Self-Quarantine Day 18 - A Stroll

An evening walk with friend B. Ambling along through the neighborhood, each walking on one side of the road as though we are shy teenagers pretending not to have a crush on each other. The trees flower. 

Self Quarantine Day 17 - "Tell the World the Facts"

My African American literature students discussed Ida B. Wells-Barnett today.  This doesn't seem like quite the time to be talking about lynching.  But some of her advice was mighty relevant. 

The very frequent inquiry made after my lectures by interested friends is 'What can I do to help the cause?'  The answer always is, 'Tell the world the facts.'

There is so much good journalism right now that is trying to tell the facts.  I salute those reporters.  We need them.