Life in the Era of Coronavirus

It’s April 21, 2020.  We in Massachusetts have been under a governor-mandated  “stay at home” advisory for almost one month.  While I hadn’t been considering any moves to memorialize these surreal times, an episode on a podcast that I often listen to made me reflect and pivot.  The interviewee was a writing professor who, in the course of the interview, read on air an email correspondence that he had recently sent to his students.  The upshot of it was that as wont as we might be to desire to put as great a distance as possible between ourselves and this cataclysmic event laden with worry and blame fixing and uncomfortable changes in behavior, we may at some point want – or need – to give finite shape and substance to it all.  In other words, we may arrive at a point in time when we wish to draw parallels or simply give adequate expression to a particular context.

If I were to be asked to capture (in general terms) what changes this crisis has wrought, or what the outward and most visible signs are that we’ve been yanked out of our customary behaviors and thought processes, I’d put it this way: I see more people outside in my neighborhood, more families walking or cycling together and having conversations, more people running (either solo or in pairs), more dog-walking, more children playing in their own yards.  Throughout the day I hear voices from all quarters of my neighborhood, voices on top of voices: laughter, measured tones, angry outbursts, crying from babies, barking – ranging from high pitched to deep-throated.)  There are, as well, expanded and earnest efforts in social media to engage other media users; people want to understand each other better, they want to encourage participation, and they want to feel that despite the fear that they’re experiencing, they won’t be having to endure this crisis alone.  Yet inasmuch as the outward signs should make manifest greater connectedness, we continue to wage a battle against feelings of loneliness and isolation that result from living under a “stay-at-home” mandate.

For better or for worse, I’m the first one to declare a partiality for solitude and alone time.  My inner thoughts are my greatest companion (to the detriment of my social relationships).  I was in conversation with my sister the other day when I admitted that with all this imposed social distancing, even I was beginning to fray at the edges, and I regularly limit my interactions with people.  It’s somewhat of a tired joke that family members are surprised when I actually do answer my phone.  I can tell, because there’s a split second of silence, followed by a stuttering and sometimes inarticulate conversation preamble.  With such people-avoidance skills to my credit, I am thus qualified to speak with authority about “social distancing in the time of corona”.

My healthy way of coping and staying in control is to make lists.  So, I will provide here my gratuitous list of recommendations, what I choose to call “How to Navigate a World Replete with the Deadly COVID-19” (because everything should be given a name):

1.    Avoid places and events that draw large numbers of people.  (For me that’s been a snap, I do that naturally.)  For others, stay away from Walmart – that’s a large group magnet.

2.    Before ever leaving the house, measure out six feet on the floor; the impression of what that distance looks like might stick better when you’re in a real-world context.  Now go forth and always maintain a separation according to the following chart:

Population	Min. distance to be maintained
Adults: ages 18-20	6 feet
Adults: ages 21-39	At least one state or 100 miles, whichever is greater*
Adults: 40 +	6 feet
Children: ages 0-11	25 feet**
Children: ages 12-15	Should not be anywhere in sight or within hearing distance***
Children: ages 16-17	6 feet

*This group has no regard for human life other than their own (as shown by most recent “Spring Break” gatherings in Florida and St. Patrick’s Day bar-hopping in Southie.)  This recommendation is purely punitive.

**Have you ever witnessed the distance that a cough or sneeze can travel among this demographic?

***Although not proven to be any more threatening as a transmitter of potentially deadly viral particles, the sheer contrariness of this population will put your teeth on edge.

3.    Wash hands after contact with any surface that has been touched by any other human ever.  Moreover, don’t touch any part of your face, even when trying to excise a dog hair from the food you’ve been chewing.

4.    Make ample use of hand sanitizer. . . if you can find it.

5.    Wear a mask when away from the house, and not the kind that conceals your identity as you protest “stay-at-home” mandates.

6.    Use bleach as the preferred disinfectant. . . again, if you can find it.  Vinegar won’t disable a virus, but you will probably lick any mold problem with it.  And unless you just can’t stifle your curiosity about an ammonia-vinegar combination, don’t mix those two and think that it will somehow miraculously become an effective disinfectant; you’ll just end up with chlorine gas (which may trigger coughing and/or breathing difficulties).  Hydrogen Peroxide and vinegar?  Nope.  Those two produce a toxic peracetic acid, irritating to the eyes, skin, and respiratory systems¹  And, if you’re successful in sourcing hydrogen peroxide, you should be overcome with guilt that you’re bringing harm to the “home-style colorists”, depleting product for an entire target market of women scrabbling for viable alternatives.

7.    Avoid heretofore serene, bucolic, undisturbed (by humans) areas, such as rail trails, nature preserves, and wildlife refuges.  They have now become the destinations of every family on earth, whether they lived sedentary lives before or not.

8.    Either take up cooking or subscribe to one or several cooking blogs.  Maybe you can push yourself to start your own “plate up” blog and stage singular and imaginative and evocative photos on Instagram.

9.    Take advantage of newly-offered delivery services from your favorite wine & spirits shop.

10. Remember that you’re not alone. . . although you should be for the sake of everyone’s health, including your own.  With equal parts irony and reassurance, it’s still good to know that we are in this together; otherwise, the frightfulness of this pandemic would paralyze us.

When all is said and done, we should marvel at our own ability to adapt.  Regardless of the occasional snit or outburst, we harbor a genuine sense of hopefulness, we persist in believing that a new normal will establish itself, one that allows us to re-engage with family and friends in meaningful and enduring ways, and restore both our collective and individual sense of purpose.  This beastly COVID-19 virus may bend us to its will for a while, but I refuse to allow that it will permanently cow us.  

¹This information to make me appear smart came from devonlive.com.  I wouldn’t recall anything that required 11^thgrade chemistry mastery.

Split Leash - a dubious solution

Two dogs technically don’t comprise a collection, or – to be more precise – a pack, but when I head out the door with Mona and Bowie for their daily walk, it has that feel.  There’s the initial search for harnesses; Bowie’s habit of plucking them from the hall basket and depositing them who-knows-where has me combing several rooms for the first few minutes; it’s fortunate that they’re fluorescent (the harnesses, not the dogs.)  Next is the floor routine in order to attach a split leash.  Mona, older dog, always gets clipped first.  Despite her eagerness, she will sit patiently while I root around in her mass of fluff for the ring on her collar.  Bowie is meanwhile performing back flips, alternating them with valiant efforts to free Mona from her harness.  Bowie’s turn.  He dutifully sits on command, gives me one-and-a-half seconds to find his collar ring and properly affix him to the second lead, and then charges to the door. . . usually still “unaffixed”.  With nose pressed to the glass storm door, he allows himself to be tethered to his best pal.  (Mona’s joy is tempered as she is reminded once again how times have changed; she muses, not too long ago Mommy loved just me, and took just me for long, uncomplicated walks, and if I wanted to stop and sniff something interesting, I could do that. . . in an uncomplicated way.)  

Before we leave the house and stutter-step our way down three short flights of steps (and not in a way that suggests that I’m striving to warm up my core), my pockets bulge with poop bags, treats, tissues, house key (with an attached sharp-eared kitty charm-slash-personal-protection-weapon that reassures me that I’m well-armed should another dog attack my pups or a psychopath ambush me), and cell-phone (to track my steps, as well as comply with my daughters’ demands that I be reachable.)  Anyone with small children understands the complexity of “leaving the house”; whenever I leave the house with these two small dogs it invariably calls to mind those early days with Megan and Lindsey.  Back then, just as excited about the possibilities that “leaving the house” implied, my girls – especially Lindsey – would bounce around and wriggle with delight, but they would never spontaneously (at the very moment when one’s foot was reaching tentatively for the next step), jerk on their leash and catapult you into the bushes next to the front steps.  

The split leash is in some ways ingenious, but also cruel.  If you’re unfamiliar, it is a “V” attachment for the lower end of a single leash, converting it into a double leash.  I had tried the two separate leashes and found that entanglement was a recurrent problem.  I wearied of the constant exertions to creatively and gracefully extricate myself once encased.  (There was no one better way to do it, whether I twirled in a 360-degree circle, or sumo-stepped my way over this leash first, only to find that I’d literally stepped into another trap.)  One day on a section of rail trail in the South End of Newburyport, I ran into an older couple who were intrigued by the split leash.  Is it easier to walk two dogs that way, they wanted to know.  From my vantage point it’s easier, I sheepishly admitted.  Rather than “guiding” me first in this direction, then immediately in that direction, Bowie (because that’s usually who’s doing the “guiding”) instead tugs Mona.  In a way, they move together. . .  symbiotically, one could say.  In truth, Mona will be trotting along, in front, trying to enjoy our outdoor time, when a sudden jolt will launch her sideways; only residually will I feel it as it travels up the rest of the leash.  To the older couple I simply explained that this was a pleasanter alternative to engaging in an interminable game of Chinese jump rope.

I look deep into Mona’s eyes, sense the unformed question, and assure her, he won’t always be a puppy.  Wishing for it, not wishing.  And Mona remains skeptical.