Day 106 - Cake

How many slices of leftover birthday cake is it socially acceptable to eat per day?  Unclear, but I’m pushing the envelope. Wouldn’t want it to go stale!  Cake eaten with fingers while floating in the pool is divine. 

Day 105 - My Birthday

It was a sparkling, perfect sunny day.  I floated in the pool for hours while visiting with my sisters and nephew.  I opened a mound of presents and cards from my parents and friends.  I ate a delicious homemade meal made by my mom and had dinner with my parents.  And my mom made me cake.  What a cake!

Day 104 - A Drive

Six hours and 2 pees after leaving my house in Virginia, I arrived and got to hug my mom and dad!  Hooray!

Day 103 - Negative

My test from Monday came back.  I am negative for COVID-19.  Off I go to Connecticut tomorrow!

Day 102 - Workbook

Last year when I studied Spanish in the lush gardens of a school in Antigua, Guatemala, I insisted on conversational practice; I steadfastly refused to study grammar.  I was kind of a brat about it, looking back, but I really just wanted to increase my fluency so that I could travel comfortably for the rest of my sabbatical.  I sat across from my teacher and laughed and laughed with them, chatting for hours.  We had a great time, but I certainly didn't perfect my verb tenses.  Still, I was effectively launched into my 3 month Latin American journey.  My Spanish got me by.

During my twice per week Spanish lessons this summer, my initial goal was different:  kill time.  Here I am in Alexandria, Virginia for the summer in my little apartment.  Stranded.  I thought I was going to have slow dripping hours to fill.  It turns out that between teaching and tutoring, I've been well-occupied--even busy.  There are even times I have wished for a day off.  

For the first couple of weeks of my summer lessons, I caught up with my Spanish teachers.  On Thursdays, I meet with Elba, a smiling sprite of a teacher I first studied with 18 years ago.  On Fridays, my teacher is Carmen, a raucous and sweet grandmother who greets me each week by proclaiming, "Mi amor!  Mi vida!"  We traded quarantine stories, and I learned lots of new pandemic-related vocabulary.  Our lessons are two hours long, and I was exhausted by the time 5 pm came.  

As the weeks progressed, I started to get frustrated by the frequency of the corrections of my verbs.  One day, I declared, I want to start from the beginning.  I decided to embrace the grammar rather than resist it.  So I ordered up a workbook, a thick one, the kind you buy with dread on the first day of Spanish class in college.  But I actually felt a little thrill when it arrived.  

Last year. it would have felt like tortura to sit still and fill in the blanks on stem-changing present tense verbs, but now it feels oddly soothing, the way people describe feeling while doing adult coloring books or needlepoint.  I sit upright at the table like a dutiful schoolgirl.  I even use a pencil.  I never write in pencil.  The time passes smoothly as I focus all of my attention on the logical rules of grammar.  I might not remember the rules, but they exist.  There is a right way to do it.  There is an answer.  

Day 101 - Two Walks/Day

I'm trying to initiate a two walks/day plan--one early, one late.  I worry about the fall when the days start to shrink and my mood falls along with it.  Actually, now that the summer solstice has passed, the light has technically already started to fade, though it is currently 8:27 pm, and the sun has not set yet.  Walking is good medicine.  I want to be prepared.

I still don't move enough during the day.  It's hard to accumulate a lot of steps walking from the dining room to the kitchen to the bathroom to the office.  Maybe I should be walking around the block every hour, too.  Being sedentary is no good.

Day 100

I made it!

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Day 99 - A Test

I celebrated day 99 by having an abrupt Russian nurse jam a lengthy Qtip up my nose.  When I flinched, she scolded me and assaulted the other nostril. Results in 48-72 hours. 

Day 98 - A Book

Finally, finally I have tricked myself into concentrating on a book.  Thank you, Liane Moriarty and Nine Perfect Strangers.  I started out reading it then switched to listening then back to reading again.  Eventually, I got hooked.  When I'm sprawled on the couch, entirely absorbed, it feels like having hot tea when you're chilly.  Just so soothing.  I don't know why it has been difficult to focus on a book for all of these months, but I'm enjoying the contrast.  It's just in time to go visit a pool and float and read.  Maybe I'll be able to make progress on the other 9 or so books I have started since the pandemic began.  

Of course, now that I'm reading, I don't want to do anything else but read.

Day 97 - New Social Contract

My neighborhood is such that there is minimal traffic, and it is always easy to give each other space.  That's why I rarely go to another neighborhood to walk.  Mine is ideal in having plenty of space to avoid other pedestrians.  Sure, I see other people, but we have adapted.  New conventions dictate that we find a way around each other that keeps us safe, one of us crossing the street or veering off the sidewalk to make a giant loop around the other.  In this pandemic world, there is a constant community awareness and negotiation of how we move in space together, apart.  

I start planning my movement as soon as I spot another person in the distance.  Whether we are striding toward one another or moving in the same direction, we keep careful track of each other.  Usually, the shift in trajectory happens smoothly, but sometimes it feels like an awkward junior high dance as each of us tries to get out of the other's way.  Who will step out of her planned trajectory?  Who will continue forward?  It's a slow motion, nonthreatening game of chicken.

And then there is the wave.  As we pass (not 6 feet apart, more like 10+), we meet eyes and lift our hands slightly, sometimes murmuring hello.  This greeting is particularly important when wearing a mask which makes it difficult to detect a smile.  Still, it's important to recognize each other, to express small thanks for participating in this dance.  The wave is the new curtsy.

As I was walking yesterday, merrily chatting to my friend on the phone, I heard someone shuffling behind me.  Someone coming toward me.  Someone near me.  It was daylight, but I was as startled as though I were in a dark alley.

 I stopped in my tracks, turned, and saw a young woman who was less than four feet away from me and still moving down the sidewalk in my direction.  My jaw dropped.  

"What are you doing?" I demanded.

She paused, looking panicked, then scurried past me, holding a plastic shopping bag and looking a little ashamed.  Though not enough.

Day 96 - Testing

I decided to get a COVID-19 test so that I can be absolutely sure that I don't have the virus before heading to Connecticut in a week.  I have no symptoms and haven't been in direct contact with anyone, but asymptomatic cases seem to be problematic.  Why not be sure?

Arlington County was having a free drive-thru and walk up testing event, so I drove over to check it out.  I could just stay in my car (top up) and crack my window to let someone stab a swab up my nose and get results in a few days.  Easy.

I thought it might be busy and was up early, so I went 15 minutes before it even started.  I tried to pull behind a line of cars with their brake lights on, and a cop waved me away, telling me that it was already full.  I kept driving to survey the situation.  I passed dozens of cars lined up around the corner from the site. 

When I reached the site itself, I yelped at the sight of a long line of people stretching down the sidewalk.  The line was at least a hundred people long.  They looked as though they were camped out to go to a concert.  Most had masks, but they were definitely not six feet apart from each other.  From the safety of my car, I exclaimed.  No no no no no no.  Ewwwwwwwwww.  These people!  How could they stand to be so near each other knowing that each one of them had some suspicion that they were already infected with a deadly virus?  Gross.  Horrifying.

I decided to turn on the re-circulation of air in my car.  No need to share any oxygen with these people.

When I rolled up to the intersection where four police were standing around monitoring traffic, not a single one of them was wearing a mask.  Are these people reading the same news I am?

Trying to get a test felt like the riskiest thing I had done since March!

I went home and called my doctor.  I'll see about getting a test next week from her.

Day 95 - Day Off

I took this week off from Spanish class, thinking I would be overwhelmed with grading, but it turns out I had a bit of a gap on Day 95 when I was done with some work and hadn't received the next batch of grading.  I was nervous to be without an activity taking up my time, but it actually felt kind of nice to have a day off.  I walked.  I cooked.  I read.  Some days it doesn't feel good at all to have time on my hands, but somehow it worked this time.  

Day 94 - Forgotten Day

I try to come up with something somewhat memorable for every day.  I allow myself to write about it the next day.  Day 94 is the first day that I have forgotten to write something in time.  Not a bad run.

Day 93 - Morning Walk

I got up at 6 am to go for a long walk while talking on the phone to B, but later in the morning, I crashed and was pretty useless for the rest of the day.  It was a great way to wake up, though, chatting idly while moving through the unseasonably cool air.  Refreshing.  

Lately I've been thinking about how I need to start walking even more.  I'm not even walking for the length of time that I would ordinarily spend in the car going to and from work--about 80 minutes total.  Given that I'm not moving my body much the rest of the day, that should be a minimum target, so I measured out a route today in my neighborhood that took me about that length of time.  But then I napped.  Hmmm.

Day 92 - Glorious Plants

I haven't been as devoted to my plants as I could be.  They are out there.  I look at them when I come in and out of the house.  But I don't tend them.  I throw some water out there occasionally, but my landlord is really the one who is passing the hose over them regularly.  When I think of it, I fertilize. 

Despite my attention to the scallion early on in the pandemic, the herbs are neglected, though I do use the basil from time to time.  I had big plans for planting containers of tomatoes, but somehow time slipped away.  Spring was cold, and I kept delaying.  Now it feels too late.  I suppose that's just as well.   

The petunias look beautiful, though.  I bought those on a lark, not realizing that they would spread and fill out.  It's just a little strip of them along the fence line, but they make me happy, all pink and bright and starting to sprawl.  I don't think I'll ever be much of a gardener, but that little burst of color is joyful.  Maybe what I've realized from the scallion is that I'm more of a quality than a quantity plantress. 

I'm most excited about my morning glory which is starting to wind itself around the fence.  I had two plants at first, but one of them passed away quickly.  I coaxed the remaining one, asking it to grow, watching it closely.  It was disappointing for many weeks, but just over the past few days, the tendrils have reached out and upward.  I look forward to buds and to the eventual morning when I wake up to flowers.

Day 91 - Zits

In the Zoom age, zits are particularly troubling because you have to look at yourself for long periods of time on the computer screen.  

Day 90 - Lockdown Countdown

Serious lockdown begins today as the 14 day countdown to visiting my parents in Connecticut begins. No more kite parties or beach expeditions. There’s also a countdown until my composition class ends. Summer will get a bit less stressful once it is over. 

Day 89 - How Woke I Am Not

I gathered some of my online African American literature students today for a Zoom meeting.  Typically, we do all of our work asynchronously--just trading words but not in real time.  There is a strong structure to the online class that doesn't allow for the same reflection and interaction that takes place together in a classroom.  I decided that times being what they are we needed a non-mandatory meeting.  Four students showed up to talk today.  

I facilitated, but I tried to focus on listening because my white voice should not be the loudest one right now.  I took some notes, just fragments.  

What struck me most was a Black student who proclaimed, "I have realized how woke I am not."  Right there with you.

Here are some other words I jotted down:

pain

anger rage

tired drained exhausted

hope

normalized

building my brain

genuine

moment

the media has invested in the story

staged

investing and advancing

narrative--changing the narrative

who am I?

this has shaken my whole everything

there's a lot more unlearning that i have to do.

raw

 

Day 88 - Verbos

Spanish class was a mess today.  I felt every day of those eighteen years since I had last studied irregular verbs.  It was ugly.

I fondly remember my first week of Spanish class in Guatemala when I spoke only in present tense.  I am.  You are.  He/She is.  We are.  You are.  They are.  Even that was tough because of the two kinds of being--ser and estar.  Permanent, impermanent.  

But it gets so much more complicated when you start to situate yourself in time.  

Now I'm trying to figure out how to live in a different mood, not even a tense.  The subjunctive mood.  It requires a complete reorientation regarding possibility.  I have to think about whether things are real or just possible.  Then I have to make the endings match the meaning.  Learning languages is magical and maddening.  To think that I have to completely alter the way I view the world and wrap my tongue around it.

Day 87 - Companions

I have a motley stack of books that follow me around my apartment, each representing a different activity that I am engaged in during this time.  Their presence is satisfying, reassuring.   They keep me company. 

When I went to Delaware, it was so strange to put these into a bag and carry them somewhere.  I'm used to them being my companions around the house.  I miss using bags.

SURVIVAL:  My trusty composition notebook quarantine journal, which holds my daily schedule and to do lists.  It follows me everywhere.  

WRITING:  My sparkly gold journal with my daily musings.  

COOKING:  My 3 ring binder holding my growing quarantine cookbook.  And the new cookbook, of course.

CITIZENSHIP WORK:  My textbook and notebook for working with the man studying for the citizenship test.

SPANISH:  My Spanish notebook and dictionary

WORK:  The Norton Anthology of African American Literature

Day 86 - Shaking My Head

One of the questions in the interview to be a citizen is "What is the name of the president of the United States now?"  I posed that question to the man I am working with who is studying to be a citizen.  When he replied "Donald Trump," I shook my head from side to side, and he was surprised.  "That is wrong?"  

"No, that is right."  I shook my head again.

He nodded.  He understood.

Day 85 - Beach

A pretty day at the beach. It was sort of relaxing, but it was disquieting, too. Strange to be out in the world and on edge about avoiding people.  It would be easy to pretend that everything is okay.  But it’s not. 

As I was lying on the beach, I checked my work email and learned that I’ll be teaching remotely this fall. The disconnect between that enormous news and the carefree attitude of the people on the beach was difficult to process. 

Day 84 - Kite and Puppy Party

I declared Day 84, June 7, my birthday observed.

I had ordered a bunch of kites so that my friends and I could fly them at an appropriate social distance.  In order to have the kite party, I needed just the right weather, so I chose a day that looked like it might be nice.  It was!  It was a beautiful day. 

We hung out near the Netherlands Carillon under a big shady tree.  We sprawled on the grass and chatted idly.  H brought foster puppies, and we lolled alongside them.

We ran, coaxing our kites to fly, and even got them up in the air, rainbow shapes and waving tails against a blue sky. 

It was so nice to see all my people.

Day 83 - Balance

I called my 98 year old friend on Day 83.  I try to call him every week or so to check in and see how he's doing.  We chat about health and family.  We talk about the weather and my students.  I was going to steer away from politics, but I couldn't help but ask him what he thinks of what is going on in the news.  Whenever we talk, I try to listen to what he thinks because he has had such a long and interesting life.  

I often disagree with what he says about people of color, and I wasn't surprised to hear that he doesn't support the protests.  What struck me is how much of what he says comes directly from Fox News' talking points.  He thinks that everything is blown out of proportion.  He thinks that "they" are taking over D.C.  I wondered if that was a reference to Mayor Bowser writing BLACK LIVES MATTER on 16th St in front of the White House.  I told him that there are already quite a lot of black people in D.C.  I kept quiet about gentrification and how the numbers are actually falling . . . He was worried about the Democrats trying to get rid of the police.  He also reminded me that he had a break-in a few weeks ago, and it was a "Spanish man."  And that the arresting officer was also "Spanish."  

But in addition to the racist commentary, he also talked about his life experiences.  His Fox News commentary sometimes contrasts with what he says about people in his life.  He spent time in the military working with people of color.  His daughters had black friends over to the house.  He talked about how Native Americans are treated poorly and his concerns about them.  Earlier in the conversation, he had talked with me about how I was learning Spanish and reminded me of his travels around South America and told me that he had once studied Spanish, which I didn't know.

He kept trying to rein himself in, telling me he shouldn't get going.  I tried to balance my desire to be respectful with my commitment to not tolerate prejudice.  I didn't tell him that I went downtown to express my solidarity with the protesters.  Maybe I should have.  Maybe I will.

Day 82 - Connection

I sent my African American Literature students a message today asking how they are and whether they want to have a Zoom session to discuss the protests.  Within moments, I got back several messages thanking me for asking about them and telling me how they are feeling.  The responses are heartbreaking.  I do not feel the pain that African Americans feel right now.  I can't possibly.  But I am trying to listen hard. I hope we will be able to have a productive session.  I want students to lead it, to make it their own.

Day 81 - My Socially Distanced Protest

I woke up early and drove down to DC.  I was there so early that I practically broke the nightly curfew that is intended to control unruly protests in the wee hours.  Holding my little cardboard rectangle that said BLM, I walked (marched?) through the quiet, nearly empty streets from the Mall to the White House by myself, greeting the construction workers, security guards, and joggers who were out as the sun rose. 

As I approached the White House, I encountered some boarded up stores and hotels.  The plywood was tidy, though.  One hotel had carefully placed Black Lives Matter placards in the center of each plywood slab.

Graffiti marred the Treasury Building.  

BLACK LIVES MATTER 

We Are UNARMED!

FUCK the system

I CAN'T BREATH

The English teacher in me wanted to correct that last one, but I hadn't brought my own paint.

The office buildings downtown are usually so pristine that the tagging stands out especially starkly.  Given the number and size of the protests that have taken place recently, the area was remarkably free of trash.  I came across a worker who was picking up the few empty bottles and refuse.  I thanked him.

I stood before St. John's, the beautiful yellow church.  I posed for a selfie in front of the church with my sign, near the spot where Trump had brandished a Bible earlier in the week after police had cleared out the park using tear gas against peaceful protesters.

Lafayette Park across from the White House is completely barricaded off with high black fencing.  It looks like a cage, but the atmosphere was definitely not threatening.  A few bored and tired looking officers were slumped on a bench in the park, their riot shields off to the side.  There was no particular police presence at 7am, which makes sense because only two protesters remained from the previous night, a couple of punk white kids leaning against a shopping cart packed with supplies--granola bars and moon pies--with a little sign reading "Black Lives Matter."  I sat down 6 feet away from them and talked to them.  They had been up all night and were glad to see me.  "Are you the next shift?"  After we chatted a few minutes, the exhausted girl croaked out "Hands up!"  I answered quietly, "Don't shoot."

Just a few feet further down the road were two blissed-out evangelical Christians dancing in trances to some crackling godly music.  The biggest crowd was the journalists who were setting up their live shots for the day with lots of heavy camera equipment.  Someone from Univision took a shot of me sitting there on the ground with the White House behind me.  A young woman walked around with a box of Krispy Kremes and came over to me and the punks.  She offered the doughnuts around, and inside the box was written YOU MATTER.  "They're fresh," she said.  I didn't think I had earned one.

I walked on back to my car and drove home.

I don't think I did much to end systemic racism, but I bore witness.  I feel as though I participated a little.  I showed up in some capacity.  I exercised my right to speak out.

  

Day 80 - A Nap

Today I finally got tired.  After watching and reading the news around the clock for a week, I tucked into bed at 1pm for an hour.  Everything felt better after that.  And then I got up and persevered.  

Day 79 - Paving in Suburbia

They're paving my street.  Those are the uniforms on my street.  Not uniformed officers, just some guys with dayglo vests working hard in the heat, spreading tar, making the road smooth.  Meanwhile:

Day 78 - Race in the Classroom

Protests continue.  Today, police used tear gas on peaceful demonstrators outside the White House so that Trump could have a photo op outside a nearby church while holding a Bible.  These actions are terrifying.

I met with most of my students in conferences on Day 78.  I'm struggling with how to talk with them about the murder of George Floyd and the response.  I had so much to accomplish during our conferences that I didn't really have time to check in with them.  Ordinarily, I like to integrate current events into the classroom, so maybe I will try to do something in my class meeting tomorrow.  The Zoom format does not lend itself well to organic conversations with 25 people, though.

As for my online African American literature class, that is even more difficult.  Students will soon have to write a discussion post about Ida B. Wells-Barnett and how her investigative journalism on documenting and speaking against lynching relates to modern times.  That will definitely be a guided way for them to analyze the situation.  I've put up an open discussion but not many people have participated.  I need to get more creative, but it feels so paralyzing and overwhelming that I'm not sure what to do even though I think having conversations about race right now is so vital.

Day 77 - 9.4 Miles

9.4 miles stretch between me and the White House.  It would take me 15 minutes to drive from my cozy suburban house to 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue.  I wanted to go demonstrate during the day, but I am too concerned about catching the virus.  I shudder to see people packed in together.  I yearn to support the voices who are speaking out.  But I didn't go there yesterday during the sunny day of non-violent protests, and I didn't go there last night while fires raged and tear gas was sprayed in Lafayette Park.  

Instead, I sat perched on the edge of my couch.  It is odd to watch the unfolding drama on television and to feel so distant.  I found myself flipping back and forth between MSNBC and CNN, trying to follow the events in D.C., getting impatient when the camera flipped to other tense cities across the nation.