Highlight

Do you know what I almost did yesterday? I almost shopped for a new handbag (online, of course, because the stores are all closed). I don’t need a new handbag under any circumstances at all; but the current circumstances in which I leave the house only for a daily 6-feet-minimum-distance-from-fellow-humans walk around the neighborhood, make any handbag, much less a new one, completely unnecessary.

I had to actually go somewhere on Saturday; I mean drive somewhere in the actual car, on the actual road. Traffic was lighter than usual, but the Capital Beltway is still the Capital Beltway, even in a pandemic lockdown. It was exciting to be legitimately out in the world again; and the most exciting part of that very exciting little trip was carrying a handbag. It wasn’t even my favorite handbag; it was just that carrying any handbag was a reminder that someday (soon, I hope, but someday) we’ll all be out in the world again running hither and yon with places to go and things to do and people to see; and when you’re out in the world, you need your stuff. You need your handbag.

*****

I was out for my daily walk one day, and I heard “Boys of Summer” blasting from a car stereo a half-block away as I turned the last corner toward home. It turned out to be a FedEx driver. I question his taste in music, but FedEx drivers and UPS drivers and mail carriers can do whatever they want right now, as far as I’m concerned.

*****
It’s been a little over ten days since the beginning of the quarantine, whatever that is. The guidelines keep changing and what seemed like a quarantine two weeks ago seems like an unbridled, reckless free-for-all now. It’s actually been semi-pleasant so far--a little claustrophobic and very uncertain, but not terrible. I’m hopeful that the Governor won’t impose harsher restrictions on movement, but I’m preparing for the possibility that my daily walk might become a memory and that even occasional handbag-carrying car-driving outings might have to be postponed for weeks.

And now? I’m going to go wash my hands again and maybe disinfect this computer keyboard.

*****
It’s Wednesday now. I’m waiting for my last work call of the day. Work has been busy, and good. My mind is occupied, and with the less-structured WFH daily routine, I think I’m doing better work. I figured out solutions to two different problems today. They weren’t huge problems, and I’d have figured out how to solve them one way or another, but I feel like the lack of structure is forcing me to be a little more agile, a little quicker on my feet.

I said that I wasn’t going to write about books again, but I keep finding corona connections in everything I read. In Wolf Hall, which I’m reading now, London has just been struck by an outbreak of sweating sickness. “The warm weather has brought sweating sickness to London, and the city is emptying. A few have gone down already and many more are imagining they have it, complaining of headaches and pains in their limbs. The gossip in the shops is all about pills and infusions, and friars in the streets are doing a lucrative trade in holy medals.”

Fun, right? So much for an escape into fiction.

*****
It’s Thursday now. I’m working on a proposal; or I was, until I took a break to write about working on a proposal. Quarantine life is meta if nothing else. It’s almost time for my walk, the highlight of my day. The sun is shining, and there’s a rainbow in my window. The little girls across the street were delighted that my teenage sons played along with their rainbow hunt, and we’re leaving it there for the duration.

I’m emailing back and forth with my neighbors. One of them just emailed me that she’s “busier than ever” despite the shutdown. Part of me wants to mock her for that, because she’s a competitively busy person even in normal times. Leave it to her, I thought, to turn a damned plague outbreak into round-of-16 I’m-the-busiest tournament game. I mean, really.

But you know what? I am actually really busy right now. I know. It’s ridiculous. Work is busy, I’m still writing, I’m checking on neighbors and family members and playing virtual drinking games with my sister; and of course, the house isn’t going to compulsively clean itself. I should call my neighbor, see if she wants to throw down. I can take her.

*****
It’s Friday now, an even nicer day than yesterday, and I wrote all day and now I’m writing some more. It’s been a long time since I worked on a proposal. It’s like riding a bike.

Apparently, we’re all going to get $1,200 checks from Uncle Sam now, which if nothing else will make it hard for Trump to make the socialism is bad case in November. I’m relieved that this thing passed just because it proves that the government can still actually do something, even if it’s mostly just handing piles of no-strings-attached money to corporations.

My workday is over and it’s time to go outside. There’s a fat-bellied robin hopping around my newly green backyard, pecking away at seeds or worms or whatever robins eat. The robin has no idea that this spring is different from any other spring.

Robins are pretty little birds. They’re neat and pleasantly rounded, and their orange-red breasts and yellow-orange beaks are just colorful enough to brighten the mixed light and dark gray of their compact little bodies. I’m glad the robin is here. He’s welcome anytime.

*****
I started walking at 5:30 or so. The sun was still bright and the sky was still blue and the birds were still chirping. It was quiet and very still. I kept looking up at the trees, and the leaves didn’t rustle at all, not even a little bit.

I was walking past a neighbor’s house. Her forsythia was casting a shadow on the side of her house, so I stopped to look at it. And I wondered if forsythia were named after someone named Forsyth, so I looked it up and it turns out that they were. William Forsyth was an 18th century Scottish horticulturist and a founder of the Royal Horticultural Society. My favorite spring flower is named after him.

Then I kept walking. A few houses later, I stopped again, to look at a tall magnolia tree, its pink buds contrasting nicely with the multi-colored roof tiles on a single-story house very much like my house. I wasn’t curious about the origin of the magnolia’s name. Maybe they’re named after another horticulturist, or maybe they’re named after someone’s grandmother. I don’t know. Maybe I’ll look it up.

It’s Saturday now, and it’s raining. No shadows today.

Only a week

I was just looking through my Google Docs drafts folder. I have a draft about a book I just finished reading, and another one with poems (don’t even ask), and another one about notebooks and paper, and another one about my neighborhood wildlife. In other words, the kind of stuff that I always write about. Well, except the poems. Maybe me writing poems will be how you’ll know that the world is coming to an end. But Coronacrisis 2020 is the only thing I’m thinking about, and so that’s what I’m going to write about, today and for the foreseeable future. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Speaking of neighborhood wildlife:

 “There are turkey vultures fighting over a former raccoon in the woods behind us and it just feels so March 2020” --My neighbor

****
The COVID-19 pandemic has given rise to all kinds of unexpected developments and outcomes, but let’s not forget the important things. Like spelling. Among the newspapers and online news services, there does not seem to be agreement on COVID vs. Covid vs covid, and I feel that I should weigh in. I’m qualified. I write stuff all day long.

First of all, I’m eliminating Covid altogether. COVID is an acronym for COronaVIrus Disease, so nothing about Covid makes any sense whatsoever. This leaves us with a choice between COVID and covid. COVID looks better, doesn’t it? Acronyms make more sense in all caps. On the other hand, coronavirus and disease are both lower-case words. So I think I’m going to rule in favor of covid. That’s official.

But let’s just continue to call it “coronavirus,” shall we? It’s a horrible thing but at least it’s fun to say.

*****
I’m still waiting for the first great coronavirus meme. I’ve seen lots of funny memes and jokes, but nothing really memorable. Nothing that will stand out as THE definitive Coronacrisis joke.

Most of the memes that I’ve seen so far have been toilet paper-themed. Literal bathroom humor. I’ve also seen some funny dog- and cat-themed memes in which the dogs are all overjoyed that their humans are around all day and the cats are like “you assholes are still here?” Work from home jokes are also funny--my Facebook friends are all complaining about disruptive, lazy co-workers who contribute nothing and try to steal other people’s lunches. I’m glad I don’t have toddlers at home. Of course, there’s also at least one Chuck Norris fact:

“Chuck Norris tested positive for coronavirus. Coronavirus is now under quarantine.”

Here’s my idea: Buddy the Elf in a business suit, saying “Coronavirus--THAT’S fun to say!”

I know.

*****

I used to order groceries online a long time ago, when my children were little and my police officer husband was never home, and a trip to the grocery store with tiny children took three times as long as the same trip by myself but I could never go by myself because my husband was never home when I needed to go and I wasn’t going to get a babysitter just to buy milk and eggs. I didn’t really like ordering online grocery delivery. In 2008 or so, the search and predictive analytics were not very good, and creating an online grocery order was really tedious. Once my children were old enough to be actually helpful on a grocery shopping trip, and then to stay at home alone, I started brick-and-mortar shopping again.

Oh that all seems a long time ago. Doesn’t everything pre-corona seem a long time ago?

Anyway, I finally opened an Instacart account, for grocery shopping in the time of corona. I set up the account on Wednesday, and the first available delivery date was Saturday. Thankfully, I didn’t need anything immediately, but this is part of our (sorry, I hate this expression too) new normal. Plan for your grocery shopping at least four days in advance. Anyway, Instacart is very easy to use, and you can tip your shopper right through the app. I tipped $10, and now I think it’s not enough.

Me to the neighbor quoted above: “We’re only in real trouble when ‘former raccoon’ becomes an Instacart selection.”

That’s pretty funny, isn’t it? I crack myself up.

*****

A year ago today, how would you have reacted if you’d been handed a roll of toilet paper with your takeout order? Yeah, I know.

This post was supposed to be all corona, all the time, so I wasn’t going to write about books. But I’m reading Christopher Isherwood’s Goodbye to Berlin, and it’s hard not to see unsettling parallels between 1930s Germany and March 2020 USA. Yes, I know; I’m always predicting the return of the 1930s. This is different, though. The coronavirus pandemic will resolve eventually. I hope it will happen sooner rather than later, but it will end at some point. But no matter when the quarantine ends, nothing is going back to normal.

Nor should it. If this crowned head of a virus has done one good thing, it’s been to force everyone to really see the gross inequities that make our economy unsustainable even in the best of times, and completely untenable during a crisis. It’s also made blindingly clear who’s really important in the world. I do valuable work, work that I’m proud of. But if I didn’t show up to work for a week--and if everyone like me didn’t show up to work for a week--things would be fine. There’d be a lot of badly written memos and instructions and a lot of poorly designed presentations, but no one would starve. But if the Instacart drivers and warehouse workers and food producers/preparers all stop showing up for even a day, then we’re all screwed.

*****
At the very end of Goodbye to Berlin, Christopher Isherwood is preparing to leave Berlin forever, to return to his home in England. He writes about the last chaotic and uncertain days of the Weimar Republic; the unrest in the streets, the clashes between Nazis and Communists, and the not knowing what was coming next. After the Nazis take control of Germany with stunning speed, he writes “Only a week since I wrote the above.” Then from the perspective of many years later, he writes “Even now I can’t altogether believe that any of this has really happened.”

So what am I going to do? I’m going to do what’s in front of me, one minute at a time, one foot in front of the other. I’m going to work and read and write. I’m going to hang out with my family. I’m going to check on my friends. I’m going to help my neighbor organize a food and supply delivery service for our older neighbors. I’m going to try not to get fat. That last part will be the hardest, or at least it seems so for now. I’ll update you in a week.

Rising up to meet us

It’s Friday, March 13. Our forsythia are in near-full bloom. Today, I was looking out the kitchen window as I washed a few dishes, and I saw a bright red bird perched inside one of the forsythia bushes. He seemed happy in there. He sat on a branch for a few minutes, and then he hopped to a deeper-in branch, and then he moved to the end of another branch, right on the edge.

I took my phone off its charger and came back to the window. The bird had disappeared, or so I thought. I looked out the window for a few minutes, and then he emerged once again from deep inside the forsythia bush and perched happily on the end of another branch. So I stood and watched him, and I took a few pictures.

It was about 5:30 or so, and I’d just come home from work. I wasn’t thinking about my to-do list or my morning-to-night schedule of weekend activities. I wasn’t thinking about groceries or errands or housecleaning or work or volunteer tasks. I was just watching the bird. Just standing, doing nothing except watching the bird. After a few minutes, he flew away.

Hello. 

*****
That was last day before the lockdown, I suppose. It’s Saturday afternoon now. I slept until 9 o’clock this morning. I never do that. But everything is cancelled or postponed and I didn’t have to get up and go anywhere today. None of us did.

*****
It’s Monday now. The Governor of Maryland ordered bars, restaurants, movie theaters, and gyms to close, effective 5 PM today. Shit continues to get realer by the day; and the festive, snow-storm-is-coming, quasi-holiday feel of last Friday night has given way to anxiety, and maybe a little bit of fear, even among people (like me) who a week ago thought that this would all blow over in no time.

My whole office is working remotely now. We’re lucky we get to keep working. I hope that this mess of a government can figure out a way to take care of people who can’t work and don’t have paid time off. We’ll see. It looks like we’re at least going to bail out the airline industry, proving once again that Republicans are all about socialism as long as it benefits rich people.

*****

A year ago, would you even have believed someone who predicted a national near-quarantine? No, neither would I.

Tuesday, March 17, St. Patrick’s Day. A year ago today, at this very time (5 PM), I was walking around Dublin. It was pearl-gray overcast and chilly, but not cold. Signs of spring were appearing everywhere. We had landed at Dublin airport at 5:15 that morning, though it felt like the middle of the night. We rode in a taxi from the airport to our hotel as the sky lightened from dark blue to light blue warmed by the rising sun. Even at 8 AM, the hotel lobby was filled with happy Irish families gathering to celebrate their national holiday. We had tea and scones in the hotel restaurant and after a short rest, we set out for the parade.

St. Patrick's Day parade, Dublin, 2019

My mother and my sister and her friend took a nap after the parade. We’d been up all night--no one really slept on the plane. But I’d gotten a second wind and decided to spend the afternoon walking and making myself at home in Dublin. I wandered around until I couldn’t walk anymore and then I took a taxi back to the hotel where my sister’s friend and I had a beer and shared a cheese platter in the cozy little bar while we waited for my mother and sister to dress for dinner. We had dinner at a pub a block away, and everyone laughed as I fell asleep, literally asleep, at the table. I fell into bed at 10 PM and slept until 8 the next morning, the sleep of the dead.

I remember how we all laughed at our taxi driver. “Be careful, ladies,” he said. “It’s St. Patrick’s Day, and everyone in Ireland is an asshole today.” I didn’t meet a single asshole that day. In fact, in that whole week in that whole beautiful country, I met only one asshole; and even he was more a curmudgeon than a true asshole. I made two friends in Ireland: Dan, our tour guide; and Orla, a beautiful crazy woman who was too drunk to remember hanging out with me at the hotel bar before another patron complained about her and the Gardai came to take her away. I hope that Dan and Orla are well. I hope that next St. Patrick’s Day, they’ll be with friends, hoisting a Guinness at their neighborhood pub.

That's Orla on the right. Isn't she pretty?
I promise you that she does not
remember anything about this evening. 

Well, maybe Orla should stick to seltzer. I think she’s an alcoholic.

Last March seems like such a long time ago, like it belongs to another era altogether. But the forsythia look more beautiful every day, and daffodils are coming up all over the place and the cherry trees are just starting to bloom. It’s golden and green and pink and blue everywhere I look. It feels a little bleak, a little worrisome; but it looks hopeful. It feels hopeful. Happy St. Patrick’s Day.

Say crack again

It’s the first full day of Daylight Savings Time, and I’m the only person I know who didn’t complain about the loss of an hour of sleep. It’s not that I don’t miss the sleep, because I do. But I love DST, though it's on borrowed time (get it?) For some reason, there’s a groundswell of anti-DST sentiment. If coronavirus doesn’t get to it, then an act of Congress likely will. But I’ll enjoy the long days for as long as I can.

You know what I won’t enjoy? Spring. You’re a bitch, Spring. Yes, Spring is pretty and shiny and bright, but she is the nastiest skank bitch I’ve ever met. Spring is a fugly slut. I do not trust her.

*****
I have a shitpile of stuff to do, because it’s Spring (Bitch). So I just spent an hour tearing through my to-do list, getting shit done. I checked on my sign-ups, created a new sign-up, responded to emails, wrote some more emails, figured out transportation for this week’s baseball scrimmages, and wrote a job posting for a junior coach for the swim team. I didn’t hyperventilate even one time. Spring and I fight every year, but this time, I’m going to win. I might have to push her in front of a bus, but I’m going to win.

*****
It’s Tuesday now. I went shopping after work, thinking that I’d just get a few groceries. I refuse to yield to coronavirus hysteria, but I thought it might be prudent to stock up a bit. Just in case, you know what I mean?

There are four known cases in Montgomery County, Maryland, where I live. And every day, there are more and more pressing calls for the local government to shut down the schools or limit public gatherings or some damn thing. I don’t know what anyone should do except wash their hands and stay home if they’re sick and clean everything in sight. I’m all stocked up on almost everything, just in case we have to self-quarantine, a term that I never used before last week and hope not to have to use again. Meanwhile, I’m planning to go to work tomorrow, because it’s Wednesday and I always go to work on Wednesday. I have to remember to wear pink, or those bitches won’t let me sit with them at lunch.

*****
It’s Wednesday and on Wednesday, we wear pink; and we freeze soup and we stock up on canned goods and frozen pizza. Swept up in the mounting anxiety, I stopped at Aldi for another round of corona-shopping, and I’m ready for a siege.

I did some corona research today, so now I know that the virus that causes COVID-19 is one of several coronaviruses that cause respiratory infections in humans. MERS (Middle East Respiratory Syndrome) and SARS (Serious Acute Respiratory Syndrome) are other coronaviruses; so called because the spiky protrusions on the round surface of the virus look crown-like. An infinitesimally tiny microscopic particle is causing whole cities to shut down. According to NPR, an 11-year bull market ended today; not because of trade wars or political upheaval here or around the world; but because of a teeny tiny little sphere like a crowned head, like Caesar. Do you remember what Gretchen Wieners said about Caesar? Why should Caesar get to stomp around like a giant, while the rest of us try not to get smushed under his big feet? What's so great about Caesar? Brutus is just as cute as Caesar. Brutus is just as smart as Caesar. People totally like Brutus just as much as they like Caesar!

*****
Things I saw today:
A man wearing a t-shirt with the words “Everything is going to be fine” printed in white on black
Water fountains sealed with garbage bags and duct tape
Daffodils
Forsythia

Things I heard today:
All coronavirus, all the time

It’s Thursday, March 12, and you know what? She finally cracked. Gretchen Wieners finally cracked.

Say crack again.

Crack. Crack. Crack.

In just the last 24 hours, all of the major sports have either suspended or delayed their seasons, the NCAA cancelled its conference championships, and the Governor of Maryland ordered schools to close for the next two weeks. And Tom Hanks! Coronavirus got to Tom Hanks, so I guess it’s coming for all of us.

I was in Safeway again this afternoon, collecting the last few self-quarantine essentials. I walked past two women who were hugging and laughing; joking that onlookers would judge them for failing to socially distance. I finished shopping, and got everything I needed. Fortunately I didn’t need disinfectant or hand sanitizer or (why?) toilet paper because those things were all gone. And I feel like I need to write this all down because someday when I’m old, young people will ask me what I remember about March 2020; and I’ll remember those laughing women and golden forsythia and the man with the “Everything is going to be fine” t-shirt. It’s a little crazy right now. Spring is a bitch, and she ramped it up a notch this year. But the t-shirt guy was right.  Everything is going to be fine.

Familiar

I was driving home from work yesterday and I noticed that I was noticing things. Do you know what I mean? I was driving down a street that I drive down every single days, twice each day; once in one direction in the morning, and then back again at the end of the day. It’s a nice street; residential, lined with mid-century suburban houses not unlike my own. One side of the street backs up to wooded parkland along the banks of Rock Creek. I think sometimes that it would be nice to have one of the houses whose backyard slopes gently down into the woods. And then I think about waking up to a bear on my patio, and I decide that my current backyard is just fine, thank you very much.

But back to the noticing things. I’ve driven on this street many many times in the 20 years that I’ve lived in Silver Spring and Rockville; and for the last two years, I’ve driven it almost every day. So I’m pretty familiar with it. I know most of the houses, and I see the same people out running or walking their dog; and sometimes, I get to work in the morning or I get home at night and I realize that I don’t actually remember having driven either way. It’s that familiar.

Yesterday, though, I saw things that I never noticed before. An addition going up on one of the houses, and a meadow-like front yard filled with what looks like bulrush or cattails, and a house with a beautiful red front door, with flower boxes on either side. That house is right on a corner, and I can’t imagine why I never noticed it before. Then I started seeing color; pale magenta pink on some of the trees, grass turning slightly but noticeably green, and then yellow.


What is that, I thought. It looked like a forsythia, but they only come out in March. Could it be some freak of nature, some new forsythia strain that flowers all year, or that blooms months early? Because why didn’t I know about this? I love forsythia and I’d surround my house with them if I could get them to stay in bloom longer. And then I noticed the sun, still relatively high in the sky at 5 PM, and I realized that it IS March, and that I was looking at the first forsythia of the year. It’s always, always, always later than I think.

*****
And now it’s really spring because yesterday, I sat through the first cold spring day baseball game. There’s no cold like spring cold. Even the words together sound cold. There’s a research laboratory at Cold Spring Harbor, New York; and I always think that the water there must be so much colder than anywhere else on the east coast. But I was dressed for the weather, and the sun was shining. Governor Thomas Johnson High School crushed Rockville. But it’s only a scrimmage. It’s still pre-season. I drove home from Frederick, from mountains to suburbs in just 30 minutes, the bright sun streaming onto I-270.

Last night, my son was invited to join his friends for a birthday dinner at a local sports bar. I joined two of the other boys’ mothers for dinner and a glass of wine at another table, and we all returned to the birthday boy’s house for another drink and cake for the teenagers. We divided the boys among us, 10 boys in three cars. Two of the ten have new learners’ permits. It won’t be long before they’re all driving themselves around. But for now, they can’t go anywhere far without us.
My son turned the radio to the local Spanish station, which was playing a Saturday night dance mix. “I love this station,” my son said.

“Me too,” said one of his friends. “They played ‘Esa Muchacha’ the other day.” “Esa Muchacha” was Juan Soto’s walk-up song last year. One of the boys in the car, a Yankees fan, scoffed, but quietly. The Nats fans have bragging rights this year.

“This is Silver Spring radio, for sure,” I said. We all nodded. This is where we live.

Later that night, we drove the three miles home, and as I drove up Bel Pre Road from Layhill toward Georgia, I realized that I’d been on autopilot almost the whole way; that I had almost passed my turn-off to continue and pass Georgia and continue down Bel Pre to Arctic, the street that I drive up and down every single day. And just then, I was in love with the familiarity, in love with knowing this place where I’ve raised my children like the back of my hand. It’s spring.

What, me worry?

Sunday morning, you sure look fine. I wish you were a little warmer and I wish I had slept last night and I wish I felt like doing anything other than sitting on the couch in sweatpants feeling sorry for myself. But it’s bright and sunny and it looks pretty, and that’s something.

I was writing something else, and I couldn’t figure out how to finish it and I also couldn’t find a single reason to care about it so I decided to just write about nothing. I’m depressed. Whatever.

You know what I should be doing? Well, I can think of a lot of things, but here’s one in particular. For some reason, I volunteered to run a bake sale on Maryland primary day, and I need to start getting that organized. I promise you that I won’t be actually baking anything for this bake sale (well, maybe one batch of cookies); but I guess I have to do something to get other people to bake or buy whatever we’re going to sell. Sign-Up Genius. Sigh. My children are almost grown and there’s so much about their childhood and teenage years that I will miss. Sign-Up Genius, I assure you, is not one of those things.

*****

It's Monday afternoon now. I snapped out of it right after I finished writing this whiny mess, made Sign-Up Genius my bitch, and crossed that particular chore off my long long list. Right now, I'm sitting in the parking lot at Rockville High School, waiting for my son to finish his first high school baseball practice. I get more work done in this parking lot than anywhere else. If only I could do dinner prep in the car. Better yet, if only someone else could cook for me. #GOALS

Because it's the first day of baseball practice, it's also the first day of spring sports season. It's almost 5 pm, but the parking lot is almost as busy as it would be at normal dismissal time. The annual spring onslaught commences and I'm not even worried; not yet, and not much.

What I am worried about is a really weird problem with my blog publishing settings; and by “weird problem,” I mean me; i.e., user error. I moved the blog in late 2018 because of some technical problem that I don’t remember well enough to describe. Now I find that the old site is getting tons of hits. I don’t know why and I don’t know how to fix it. So maybe you’ll read this or maybe you’ll never see it. Maybe no one ever will.

But am I panicking? No, uncharacteristically, I am not. I’m trying this new thing where I just calmly figure out what I need to do and how to do it and then just do it and get on with my life. Call it a resolution. I’ll let you know how that all works out.