Day 116 - Seeing

“Are you seeing anyone?” asks my brother-in-law. 

“Seeing anyone or seeing anyone?  I don’t see anyone!  Ever. At all.”

Day 115 - The Stand

The good thing about reading The Stand by Stephen King, which is about a disease that ravages the world, is that it makes our real government look downright competent. 

Day 114 - Hot Chocolate

When I come home, my mom bakes cookies.  On Day 114, hot chocolate cookies.

Day 113 - The Connecticut Campus

Here's the Connecticut Campus of Northern Virginia Community College.

Day 112 - Tick

Yesterday, I looked down while floating in the pool and saw a tiny tick had burrowed into my arm.  I squeezed it out.  Now I wait for the telltale bullseye . . .

Day 111 - Best 4th Ever

The 4th of July is my favorite holiday.  Spending the anniversary of the birth of our country at 26 Columbus Avenue at the Salem Willows in Massachusetts with my family is sacred.

I can only recall one year of my life that I did not spend Independence Day there.  45/46 years I have been there, following the tradition of gathering with my extended family at my mother's childhood home.  This year, with the death of my beloved Aunty Jane and the sale of the house, the tradition has ended.

This year, I miss the house on the cove.  I miss the omnipresent red, white and blue, the bustle, the predictability.  I miss the longest day of the year.  I miss my family.  I miss Aunty Jane and Uncle Jean Paul.

That one year that I didn't spend the 4th in Salem, I was in Guatemala for the entire summer, learning that in Spanish there is a version of the past tense that expresses something that happened habitually in the past.  I had trouble switching to that tense yesterday while continuing my learning with my Guatemalan teacher via Skype.  Often, my verb conjugation is just wrong.  This time, I knew the right version, but I didn't care to switch to a past tense to say how we used to celebrate the 4th of July.  I'm not ready to say that we used to do anything.  

I'm more comfortable with the present tense.  Here is what happens on the 4th of July.

It is a day of rituals.  We leave Connecticut at dawn, bustling with anticipation to drive the three hours to my Aunty Jane and Uncle Jean Paul's house to arrive before 10 am, the start of the parade.  We greet with hugs the dozens of family members from every generation who are milling in the front yard, slurping coffee (and maybe an early beer) while munching doughnuts and blueberry cake before the start of the Horribles parade during which assorted groups of boisterous neighbors wander-march down the street with makeshift costumes and floats celebrating and satirizing, tossing candy to children.  Sometimes the house has a theme, and we costume ourselves to match the bunting festooning the porch and the clever cardboard decorations on the lawn.  

After the parade, folks adjourn to sit and visit in the compact backyard and deck overlooking the cove where the tide will come in and out as the sun beats down.  The sea salt perfumes the air.  The people are the same every year.  Most of the day is spent idly visiting with those people we only see once per year.  Happy 4th!  What have you been up to?  Some things change.  But not the important things.  We age.  With each passing year, young kids grow older until they run around after kids of their own.  

My dad blasts off his impressive cannon from its perch on the sea wall every hour on the hour, startling the crowd with impressive booms.  Little people muck in the marsh, trapping minnows.  When the water is high, there is kayaking and swimming.  At some point, groups meander through the quaint neighborhood that seems awash with red, white, and blue, walking down to the small amusement park a few blocks away for skeeball and arcade games.  The carousel sings.  There is a vicious air hockey tournament.  We cash in tickets for trinkets.

The eating.  So much eating.  As the beer and soda supplies diminish, as our skin pinkens in the sun, we consume special treats until we bloat.  Each of us has a favorite.  At lunch, the bell rings, and soon plates are heaped with "vegetarian" sausages and peppers, mac and cheese, chips, salads.  Chili.  An entire separate table crammed with desserts.  Rice Krispy treats.   Chocolate peanut butter bars.  The white-frosted cake dotted with blueberries and strawberries to resemble a flag.  

And the popcorn.  The popcorn from Hobbs, the green shingled stand with the round roof on the edge of the rocky beach, a place that has been there for much longer than I've been alive.  The popcorn is infused with salt and yellow butter.  We hunt for the yellowish pieces, knowing they are the tastiest.  I buy a trash bag full of the world's most delicious popcorn to present to my mother for her to hide away in her freezer so that she can eke it out every once in awhile to taste the 4th of July all year round.  

As night falls, fireworks.  Sleepy, whining children.  Tipsy adults.  Final hugs.

"Best 4th ever," someone will announce each and every year as we part.  Those words, too, are a tradition.  "Best 4th ever."  

Day 110 - Cooking Shows

I've been watching a lot of cooking shows with my mom.  It's interesting to see the range of situations that each one presents, particularly since I've been cooking more since the start of the quarantine.

We watched Jacques Pepin layer a lasagna with soothing precision.  It was so calming and educational.  And we binged Season 2 of a series called The Big Family Cooking Showdown in which teams of three family members apiece are presented with various challenges in a limited amount of time.  All of the hurry and tension in that show makes for a different mood.  There's less emphasis on technique and more focus on the competitive aspect of producing a tasty meal.  Plus, the added difficulty of coordinating with a group of people.  I've never really cooked with other people so that makes for an interesting dimension.  Finally, we've been watching a Netflix adaptation of Samin Nosrat's book Salt, Fat, Acid, Heat.  Each element has a different episode dedicated to it.  She transports viewers to foreign lands to investigate the influence of each.  I feel as though I have traveled to Italy, Japan, and Mexico alongside her.  The markets!  The patient and unique approaches to producing tasty dishes! 

The best part is sitting by my mom, hearing her commentary and reflection.  It's wonderful to learn what she knows and what she is learning and appreciates.

Day 109 - Building

This was the day I entered an establishment for the first time since March. Weird. 

Day 108 - Dinner

Since lockdown began, one hundred and eight days ago, I have been keeping track of the days in my black and white composition notebook.  Each day I sit down and write the date, the number of that day, and my schedule.  

Since I've arrived in Connecticut, I haven't done that even once.  I haven't written in my journal.  I haven't listened to my playlist.  I've just relaxed.  It's nice.

On Day 108, my mom let me make dinner for her and my dad--red pepper harissa soup and scallion sour cream biscuits.  It was weird to be in a different kitchen, but nice to feed them.  How strange and gratifying to make food and share it immediately after so many months of cooking for myself.

Day 107 - Lazy

It’s hard to believe that I was ever an overachiever in high school because now when I come to my childhood home, all I want to do is sleep and eat and lounge. 

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!

Add caption

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.  

Day 76 - Volunteering

I started my new volunteer position.  I'm working with a Mexican man in his seventies who wants to be a citizen.  We are studying civics and English together through videoconferencing.  This is my first experience teaching someone whose English is so basic, and it is a good challenge for me.  At this time when there is so much pain in America, it feels both strange and gratifying to be talking about founding principles.

Day 75 - Protests

Protests are continuing across the country in response to the death--the murder--of George Floyd.  There are no words for the horror.  Ordinarily, I would feel compelled to join the protests.  But the danger of Coronavirus keeps me home.

I watched on television what was happening at the White House, 12 minutes away from me.  It was riveting.  I watched as protesters and a line of Secret Service police officers gripped either side of parade barriers in a vicious tug of war while the crowd hurled projectiles toward the White House.  It was terrifying.  I was shocked that police did not strike out at the protesters.

People stood so close to each other with masks often dangling off their faces.  In the hours that I was watching, I never heard a single commentator note that there was a threat of superspreading of COVID-19 due to the thousands of protesters gathered in cities across the country.  People are angry, justifiably angry about racism and so much more  The unemployment.  The poverty.  The lack of a social safety net.  The inequities are laid bare.  It's going to be a long summer.

Day 74 - Vocabulario de la Pandemia

When I read Harry Potter in Spanish, I learned vocabulary related to witches and wizards.  I can tell you how to say magic wand and goblin and scar.  Now I am studying Spanish with Guatemalan tutors via computer during the COVID-19 crisis and am learning how to say curfew and quarantine.  Today I learned that there are two different words for masks.  A mask that covers your entire face is a mascara.  A mask that you wear over your nose and mouth is a mascarilla.  

Day 73 - Muting

I miss asking my students how they are doing and hearing their voices without telling them to unmute themselves first. 

Day 72 - Stories

I spent a part of day 72 looking for stories.  I've asked my students to write narratives about their own pandemic experience.  I want them to incorporate research to help explain and investigate their experience.  And I'm trying to find exemplars for them.  I want them to focus on the world and their world, to reflect, to question, to analyze.  I'm fascinated by the ideas related to COVID-19 that they are considering:  

• Mental health and self-isolation
• How will we prepare for future pandemics?
• How will the pandemic affect places of entertainment such as amusement parks, movie theaters, concerts, etc.?
• Disney
• The pandemic’s effect on the environment worldwide
• How do the lifestyle and risks of the pandemic relate to service in Iraq?
• Anti-lockdown protests
• Socializing via Zoom
• Life during quarantine
• How people will interact in the future
• Baseball and the pandemic
• Effects on health care workers
• Scientific evidence in Covid-19
• Working in a restaurant during the pandemic 
• Coronavirus stigma
• Grocery shopping
• Video games
• Ramadan
• Baseball
• Shutdown
• Small businesses
• Controlling the virus in communist China vs democratic America
• Relation between Bible and pandemic

It makes me think about my story.  What is it?  I guess I try to tell a little bit of it every day here on the blog, but what will it look like when I shape it up and revise it?  Shouldn't I try to do just that if I am asking my students to do so?  I've always liked writing about things as they happen.  Sudden memoir appeals to me.  But how will I shape these memories into a coherent narrative?  How will any of us?

And what am I expecting from my students? That's a great question.  I should be able to present them with some kind of clear rubric so that they know what they are supposed to be doing.  I keep trying to find a perfect example of what I am imagining, but I'm struggling.  Partly that is because all of the current published narrative writing is so immediate that it doesn't include a lot of research.  But partly that is because I want to be flexible, to allow students to investigate their own authentic experience.  I'm curious to know how they are making sense of their current experience.  I'm curious about their curiosity

I have a whole master's degree in this kind of writing, but I don't think I have ever asked my students to do it before.  It's hard to distill three years of study into one short paper.

Day 71 - Gas

In honor of the beginning of Week 11, I got gas for the first time since this started.  It took me 71 days to go through a single tank.

Day 70 - Reading

It's not that I don't read the news at all, but I read it out of the corner of my eye, squinting at the headlines and skimming paragraphs to get the big ideas, rarely reading an article start to finish.  I try to ignore politics.  The man in charge told us to drink bleach.  What more could I possibly need to know about him?  He's so atrocious that there is no sense in getting exercised over his classless attacks and grandiosity.  I just look to November.

And the numbers of dead grow.  Why track them daily?  It's self-preservation, but at what point does that attempt to keep myself from being exposed to the overwhelming tragedy turn into callousness?  The New York Times' Sunday front page spoke to that danger this week with their tribute to the nearly 100,000 Americans who have died of COVID-19.  Just a simple list of 1,000 names, ages, and places with small, telling details lifted from their obituaries, a relentless gathering of vibrant people who have been lost.

It's easy to remove myself from what's happening because that is precisely what I have been asked to do.  Stay home.  The very morning that grim roster of names appeared on the front page of the NYT marked my 70th day in self-quarantine.  After skimming the NYT front page that remembered the deaths of tens of thousands of Americans, I spent the morning reading a new cookbook.

I have been reading books with the same strategies that I use to read the news--moving my eyes over the words and retaining just a little.  I have trouble concentrating.  I have started at least 7 books over the course of these past 70 days, but nothing has stuck.  I've tried kids' books, funny books, apocalyptic books, books I have already read, books people have given to me, books everyone likes.  I got a couple of hundred pages through one book and then just trailed off.  This trend is particularly noteworthy given that last year I binged on books in a way I have not done since I was a little kid.  I read 1-2 per week, gobbling insatiably as I stretched out in the bathtub.

But on the morning of day 70, I opened a cardboard box that the Amazon fairy had left outside and lifted out a tome of a cookbook that I have been eyeing for months:  How to Eat Everything Vegetarian by Mark Bittman.  And I read.

I started on page 1 and read all of the advice about how to stock my pantry and how to use a knife.  I read details, minute details.  I read dull details.  I retained them.  I read more dull details.  I read them hungrily:

To measure dry ingredients, follow the 'spoon-and-sweep' method:  use a spoon the put the ingredient in a dry measuring cup of the size called for in the recipe, heaping it a bit over the top.  Then rest the flat side of a knife or spatula on the rim and swipe the excess off the top.  Resist the  urge to dip the cup in the container holding the ingredient; it does make a difference to how much you get.  For measuring spoons, fill them with the ingredient and use the same swiping technique to level it off.  fill measuring spoons to capacity with liquid.

I knew this.  Of course I already knew this; my mom taught me.  But the simple, reassuring poetry, the conversational exactness of it is so compelling.  I can't bring myself to read the articles about all of the people who are going hungry without jobs as the virus ravages the world, but I can focus on how to put my flour in a spoon.  But not for long.

I moved on to the next chapter.  As people die and go hungry, I sit next to the window, looking out at my petunias, enjoying the morning sun and skimming a few suggestions about some about various ways to add grains to salad.  

Day 69 - Just a Nice Day

Trying to get used to what a nice, slow day of summer involves during a pandemic.  If I am sorely tempted to go out into the world given the sunshine and the long days, I fear what others who are less convinced of the importance of social distancing are going to do.

Day 69 was sunny and a tad hot.  I sat outside and listened to Harry Potter in Spanish while reading along in the Spanish translation.  I went for a walk with Beth.  I cleaned.  I talked to the cat.  I yearned to be waiting in line for an hour to enjoy drinking sangria with my friends at some outdoor seating at a restaurant.

Day 68 - Concession

Two months ago, I laughed at my student who wrote that she was concerned about missing her eyebrow waxing appointment.  I am no longer laughing. 

Day 67 - Realization

It doesn't matter how many activities and Zoom sessions I pack into my days.  When the sun goes down and the news comes on, there's still a pandemic.  It waits.  It lurks around the edges, lunging into my peaceful little world.

Day 66 - Another Victory!

My students are writing persuasive essays regarding whether they think we should return to campus in the fall.  I invited the president of NOVA to come speak to them about it, and she came!  It was exciting for students to have a window into decisions being made that have such a powerful effect on them.  It was rewarding.  Now here's hoping their essays are strong . . .

Day 65 - In Which We Talk About Groceries Again

Pivotal day here in self-quarantine land.  My Whole Foods ordering and pick up experience could not have been easier.  I placed my order on the computer in the morning, picked a time, and drove over.  On the way, I checked in (with some feature that allowed me to turn my location on so they knew when I was coming).  I pulled into a designated spot.  A woman asked my name, and then she put my groceries in the car.  And I drove off.  There were only a couple of things that weren't available.  Almost everything was there!

It's thrilling that I will be able to peruse a recipe, get the goods (without wondering if they are all going to come), and cook within a 24 hour period.  Feels life changing.  The first thing I made?  Pre-packaged veggie sushi.  Mmmmmm.  

Day 64 - Victory!

I was nervous about tonight's class--very.  But it went really well!  I was prepared; students were engaged.  It is a challenge to keep students' attention during any 3.5 hour class, but during a Zoom session it seemed impossible.  But I think I managed to pull it off.  I am hopeful for the rest of this summer class.  I have a lot of work to do, but I'm learning some tricks.

Day 63 - In Which We Talk About Groceries

I used to talk to my friends and family about where they were traveling.  Now, we talk about grocery adventures as though we are describing our voyages to foreign lands.  Where did you go?  How was it there?  What did they have?  What did you buy there?

I'm pondering some curbside pickup at Whole Foods, but there is so much to consider.  Will they have items in stock?  Will I accept substitutions?  Will their delivery be safe?  Will I actually be able to get it in a timely fashion?  The thrill is genuine and maybe a little pathetic.

Day 62 - Summer

Today felt like summer outside.  The windows were wide open, breezes blowing.  I wasn't relaxing with a book as I would have preferred, but I finally got into a groove with planning my class.  Hours and hours slipped by while I concentrated fully.  It felt wonderful.  The past few days I had been feeling a bit resentful of all of this work I have to do when I would rather be traveling, but today fit just right.  

Day 61 - Under Pressure

Jimmy Fallon and the Roots released a video of "Under Pressure."  I got hooked on it, partly because it is fun to watch, but partly because I am definitely feeling under pressure.  It seems a ridiculous challenge to teach a 17 week class in 5 weeks to begin with.  But with the added stress of it being a full class of 27 students, as well as having to meet via Zoom for 3.5 hours twice per week (with only one day between to do homework) it is quite a challenge.  I had much of it planned, but once I realized how many students I have, I had to scrap the whole course and start fresh.  Eek.  

Day 60 - Planning

After spending weeks dreading having too much time on my hands after the semester ended, I am now feeling pressed for time since my summer classes begin on Monday.  I had thought that I would end up with small classes and pass a leisurely month and a half guiding them personally through their writing assignments via Zoom.  So I'm scrambling a bit to figure out how I am going to teach 25 little boxed faces staring at me through the computer.  And also how I am going to teach a 17 week class in 5.5 weeks.  And also how I am going to sustain students' attention for 3.5 hours at a time two times per week.  At night.

Day 59 - Nightmare

I dreamt that I finally went back to teach in person--and I showed up to class without a bra.

Day 58 - A Medal

I had a tough month in January, and at the end of it, I declared, "I deserve a medal!"  And my friend Beth awarded me one. 

It's a weighty medallion that declares "1st PLACE" with five raised stars on one side; the other side is emblazoned with "WINNER" beneath a trophy.  It hangs by a broad red, white, and blue ribbon.  It has its own velvet bag for safekeeping, but I prefer to have it out hanging around my apartment so that I can admire it.  This is no dollar store medal.  It's legit.  And I won it, fair and square.

But it seems that January 2020 was just a warm up for the rest of the year, and I'm not quite done earning my medal.  Neither are you.  Still, I have come to wear it on special days when I need a reminder of how tough I am.  And today is a special day because I have submitted my final grades (with the exception of one pesky one).  But still, it is hanging around my neck.  I will soon fix myself a drink and celebrate.

I'm #1.

Day 57 - Please End, Semester

One.  More. Day.

Day 56 - The Mall

When I told a friend I was meeting L at the mall, she started to scold me for violating social distancing without realizing that I meant The Mall.  L and I had a windy, chilly, sunny, beautiful walk—6 feet away.  Wide paths mean lots of room to steer around people.  The Smithsonian buildings, the Washington Monument, the Lincoln Memorial, the Capitol Building--all stunning.  Even the White House looked pretty.  It's strange to see all exercisers moving around and no tourists meandering.

Day 55 - Offerings

My friends and I exchange treats when we see each other.  Sometimes they are bringing me groceries I've asked for as they kindly aid me in my self-quarantine.  But often we trade a little bit of whatever we have cooked or some small gift. Here, have some of this pasta salad I made.  Here, I baked this banana bread.  Have some.  It doesn't replace a hug, but it is so nice to give and receive a little something.  

Day 54 - Mail

Correspondence has long been a source of joy for me, and I find that lately when I am feeling off-kilter and aimless, I drag out my two boxes of assorted unsent cards and postcards and sort through them, considering whom I should write to.  On day 54, I stacked up some mail I had recently received, turned on some episodes of Community that I had watched years ago, got out my lap desk, curled up on the couch, and started to scrawl greetings and thank yous.  There are so few things right now that are guaranteed to delight, but mail is one of them.  I have kept every card that I have received in the past 54 days and now have quite a collection on the wall.  Each offers a little spark of happiness, and I recall the thrill of opening the envelope and knowing that someone was thinking of me.  

Day 53 - Grooming

Today I showered, shaved, and donned a dress.  Trifecta.

Day 52 - Just A Perfect Day

The song “Perfect Day” by Lou Reed has been on my playlist for the past couple of weeks. I realized today that it makes me a little sad when I hear it. It’s a slow, little gem of a song about a day of rest that was dazzlingly unremarkable.  Today I removed it. 

But then I had a sort of perfect day in quarantine. It was unremarkable really. But I got a lot of boring chores done, cleaned my house, cooked soup, laughed remotely with people I love, did some work, took a walk, got a book as a present from my mom,  took a bath, pet my cat. It was round and satisfying. 

Day 51 - Talking to Strangers

I just spent a couple of hours on the phone with customer service representatives for Priceline, attempting to get a refund for my flight to Jordan for a trip that I was planning to take in July. It should have been infuriating because in 5 different phone calls, I got 5 different answers of how to resolve my situation.  But it left me only mildly miffed because it felt so novel to be able to chat with strangers.  Other than lifting a hand in greeting to every neighbor I pass on my walks, I haven't made small talk in weeks.  Tomorrow I'm going to call my health insurance company, and I'm sort of looking forward to it.  Strange times.  

Day 50 - Walk

Day 50 (and week 8) began with a walk outside in the May sunshine while talking on the phone to my best friend.  It made the whole day better, start to finish.  The day before, I went on two separate walks with different friends.  These were live, though we were masked and separated by the appropriate number of feet.  Although there was a defined distance between us, there was a closeness, too, as we admired flowers and houses and found new paths together.  And this was also a good day.

Walking is how I socialize now.  Walking and standing around outside people's houses.  

When I restarted this blog just over 50 days ago, I knew I would be walking alone in a new way.  I have definitely been moving my feet a lot more than I had been.  I am grateful for that and for so many things about this time.  

Day 49 - Summer Cometh

This song by Jimmy Fallon called "Starting to Crack" seems to sum it up nicely. 

After 7 weeks of completing the end of the semester via Zoom, sticking to my carefully prepared schedule, I'm starting to worry about this upcoming summer when I won't have as many responsibilities.  I'm dreading it, actually.  I'm grateful for all of the stability in my life, but I'm going to have to impose artificial structure to keep myself productive.  Easier said than done.  I have one more week with some student interaction, a week off, and then (hopefully) a summer class to attend to.  I'm working on doing some virtual volunteering with refugees and taking some online Spanish language lessons, too. 

What else?  All suggestions welcome.

Day 48 - Gaming Peapod

There's a game to online grocery shopping.  Set the alarm for 1am.  Throw items in cart, check out quickly so that you can reserve a time two weeks in the future.

Then spend two weeks curating the items in that cart carefully, lovingly down to the last possible moment the night before the delivery, all the while recognizing that you are unlikely to get all of the items you ordered.  If I order the expensive coconut milk instead of the cheap coconut milk, will it come then?  What about if I order two expensive and two cheap?  Better to have too much or not enough?  It's easy to get overzealous.  No small bags of oranges?  No problem.  I'll order a big bag.  And that is how I ended up with 8 pounds of oranges yesterday.  Oops.

Day 47 - Outbreak

I've had trouble concentrating on reading for the past couple of months, even before I started to self-quarantine.  Every time I settle down in the tub with a stack of books at my side to try to get started, I end up on my phone scrolling through Facebook.  I'm too distracted.

I'm still depriving myself of news, though it feels a bit more natural to avoid it now.  I skim the newspaper for the headlines.  I've been staying away from NPR and watching only a few minutes of Anderson Cooper each night.  (I was frustrated that Anderson was missing earlier this week but forgave him his three day absence when I learned he had just had a baby boy).

Last night I wanted some entertainment.  Better Call Saul kept me busy for weeks, and I just watched the weird cultural treasure that is Tiger King.  My friend D has given me an extensive list of quality films to watch, but I didn't feel like I could give them my attention either.  I crave a long, long book that I can immerse myself in, but that takes a commitment and enough focus to get involved with it.  I have toyed with the idea of The Stand by Stephen King, but do I really want to spend my leisure time reading about a fictional pandemic?  That seems like self-torture.  But it's oddly tempting.  Nah.  I don't usually revisit books, but I thought maybe that would be a good approach.  I tried to get started rereading BFG by Roald Dahl book.  That didn't take either.

So I just gave up on the idea of distraction altogether and scoured Netflix for a movie about pandemics.  Screw my delicate media blackout.  Bring on Hollywood.  I'm all in.  I watched Outbreak.  I spent two hours immersed in an exaggerated depiction of a virus escaping into the world.  Even telling you what happened won't ruin it for you because the whole thing is so bad to begin with.  In the dizzying conclusion, Dustin Hoffman and his crew needed only a few hours to locate the one monkey who could help them that was wandering around in suburban America using a five year old as bait, then helicoptered with daredevil stunts back to the militarized town that had been quarantined, used that host monkey to produce a serum, tested it, administered it successfully, and intervened in a military plot to bomb the infected town.  Dustin also got the girl.

Even though Outbreak was a ridiculous movie, it made me feel slightly better.  Partly that was because of the happy ending, which I gobbled up despite the improbability of the whole adventure.   Sure, there were a lot of bodies, but there was joy at the end.  The world seemed neat and manageable.  Moral.  There were capable, committed scientists flinging coffee at white boards in frustration.  There were evil government agents who were punished in the end.  It was tidy.

Maybe I do want to read The Stand?  Maybe instead of hiding from my complicated feelings about the state of the world, I should immerse myself in them.  That approach has worked for me in the past when I have been in traumatic situations.  Why not now?

Day 46 - The Fall

I'm preparing to teach a synchronous class this summer.  It will have an appointed Zoom meeting time twice per week for 6 weeks.  The class is scheduled to meet 6pm-9:30pm on Monday and Wednesday nights, but I won't be able to hold their--or my--attention for three and a half hours.  I'm imagining alternative ways to conduct the class.  It's an interesting challenge for this brief moment in time.  I'm planning to have their writing assignments relate to their recent experiences during Coronavirus.  Whereas this semester's students I had already known personally for 8 weeks before we went virtual, my summer students will be completely online.  I won't be able to engage in small talk with them in the same informal, trust-building way.  That's a little frustrating, but I can shrug that off.  I'll find ways to manage for this snapshot of time.  Ultimately, it will probably make me a more creative teacher.

I've been idly wondering what fall would look like for me and my students.  One day, I was startled to realize that I would likely have to wear a mask while standing in front of the classroom.  I imagined having to make sweeping pantomime arm movements to get my point across since I couldn't rely on facial expressions.  It is hard enough on Zoom when students' cameras are blank; picturing a room full of assorted masks with eyeballs above them staring at me seemed uncomfortable.

But it turns out that masks are not going to be my problem.  I was shocked to learn yesterday that there is very little likelihood that I'll be teaching in a classroom at all for the rest of this calendar year.  Over the past few weeks, I had mused that maybe we would not return to campus in the fall, but I still felt unprepared to hear it from our college president in an open meeting yesterday in which she explained that barring some great scientific advance, those of us who teach subjects, such as writing, that don't require a hands-on experience, will not be starting the semester on campus.

That was jarring. Planning a 6 week summer class to meet entirely online seemed novel, but the idea of continuing to stay in my apartment through the end of December?  That is a lot to take in.  It's overwhelming to imagine being by myself for that length of time.  If Day 46 feels long, imagine what day 146 will feel like?  Or 246?  Will I self-quarantine until January?

I feel grateful that I have the opportunity to stay home and take care of myself and my family.  But wow.  Just wow.

Day 45 - Tea on My Computer

I spilled tea on my laptop during a student conference today.  I cursed, ran for a towel, and started to panic that my most important work tool was going to be destroyed.  After some time with my hair dryer, the computer is fine, but it got me thinking how spoiled I am.  My biggest worry at work is having an accident in which I lose access to a computer.  I don't have to worry about having access to personal protective equipment that will save my life.  I'm so grateful to these health care workers who are putting their lives on the line day after day.

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.