Skip to main content

Covid19 Journal Entry 8


March 29, 2020

At last I shelter in my own space and with an imposed two-week quarantine because the governor says so.  Yesterday, I prepared as best I could, but I plan to make an appeal to my doctor to help me get tested even if I am asymptomatic, given the circumstances.  I want to have access to my classroom, that is of the biggest concerns I have. I do have remote lessons to prepare!  Oh, how lucky am I?

Today’s observation – BIG WIND greeted me as I pulled onto campus and has pressed on throughout the night and today. There are black vultures riding it like kite surfers on the Mediterranean at Tarifa.  As I unloaded my bicycle and pushed it onto the porch, a huge limb crashed to the ground and shattered behind me.  Major spring cleaning by Mama Nature!  More normalcy from the big world beyond our drama. Gratitude.  Today I hear the ghost sounds of the others who share the Carriage House dorm with me, and my pup presses his nose to the crack beneath the door, inspecting who might be on the other side, confused about why it is not open so he can greet the girls as they come down to do their laundry or just to say hi. All their check-ins with me are now virtual until I get out of quarantine. I talked with a few of them through my window, admiring their good spirits and fortitude.  Their families wait this out on the other side of the globe, even a day ahead of us.  Here is one of the common threads I share with these kids.  WE all live far away from our families while at school.  We hold space for each other to be homesick or worried.  We envy the freedom of the birds who migrate overhead.

Today’s idea – Alliances are more vital now than ever.  A notion for rugged individualism is better deferred for the easier times. In Queens, New York there is a group of community activists who created an assistance alliance. They printed flyers and distributed them on the doors of each apartment throughout their neighborhood, asking – “what do you need?  Here is our number – just call.” Alliance cultivates such blossoms out of the compost of all the shit. Maria Popova shared today: “Hope – and the wise effective action that can spring from it – is the counterweight to the heavy sense of our own fragility.”

Today’s image – My stricken Colorado amiga has become one of the recovering from Covid19.  She described her experience as swift to arrive and brutal to endure.  She first noticed, out of nowhere, her stomach began to hurt a lot and thought, “What have I eaten?”  By that evening she was in the first throes of it – intense body aches, headache and a growing fever.  She called her doctor who told her these were clear symptoms of the virus. She prescribed something for her symptoms and told her to go to bed. “Call 911 if you have trouble breathing.”  By morning the body aches racked her with chills and higher fever.  There was nothing she took to relieve the headache. By day three she was coughing and on the floor with nausea as she hugged the toilet. Her doctors prescribed more meds for someone to drop at her door and reminded to call 911 if she had breathing complications.  Otherwise stay home in bed. She did all this on her own!!! There is an app she used to get a neighbor to pick things up, but they were left at her door too. Gratitude to that neighbor! After day four or five, she couldn’t remember, she felt the illness subsiding and has been in fragile recovery since.  She is joyful that she can come downstairs for a cup of tea and a movie or a book.  This virus demands such a strong and sturdy constitution and plenty of resolve from its dance partners.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

2020 Pandemic Journey Day 44

May 4, 2020 Today’s idea – What has the fog of our modern conveniences begat? I read an article last night published in 1950 by Berton Roueche’ titled The Fog . In October 1948, a toxic smog settled on the borough of Donora, PA. This town is tucked away on a meander of the Monongahela River in the Allegheny Mountains.   During that time, it was home to three huge mills, a steel plant, and a zinc and sulfuric acid plant. The towering factory stacks of these industries pushed out thick plumes of coal smoke all day and all week. Also, given the town’s proximity to the river, boats and trains added their emission to the cocktail. To seal the deal, Donora sits in the topography of secluded bluffs and hills that allow for little or no wind to carry the smoke and fumes out of town.   So the place was known to be a smutty, smokey mess, tolerated by residents who referred to the sulfurous stench as the smell of money. On this weekend in October, a thermal inversion put a tighter li...

Covid19 Journey Day 20

April 10, 2020 Today’s idea – Maybe we’ve needed this for a long time.   To be stopped so we could take a long moment and assess what is alive in us and what is mere rote living, what is unnecessary and what really matters; what we carry by empty habit. To know that busier doesn’t make us more worthy- a good work ethic is not to be confused with constant motion.   We’ve needed this to   learn how to be together as family again, to sit together in conversation, to listen to one another, to play and read together, help solve problems even do homework together, cook together, sit around a table again. And to say to each other, here are boundaries, this is okay and that is not okay because we do that for the ones we love. We needed this to understand that isolation can be hard on some people sheltering in place, the abuser with the abused,   those that must shelter alone, those who need consistent home care for a chronic illness or condition, the family receiving h...

Death Might Be Just A Holy Rend

  Death Might Be Just A Holy Rend And life a faithful pillow - a pillow to go flat, a spirit to drift off,  glaciers to melt and raise the sea. The blueprint is clear - Expect a tiny storm of mercy–  full of crows and bottle flies to debride the corpse,  to tithe the land.      And respect the putrid demise - things that fall apart make space for miracles.   Yet there persists the memory of breath rinsed in lavender and salt air. Then the dreams for blood and semen to revive, to metabolize  every tired, sad gospel into a hatch of octopus. Death confesses everything as she conjures her necrosis, as she feigns redemption, fools us with false devotion. She believes our defiance will set her free.   We must let grief to be the thread and needle to darn the rend, renew the cloth. then we can grasp the nascent green of winter wheat in spring.