Shelter-in-Place Day 142

 Having reached 11pm on the evening before what will undoubtedly be a very busy day at work, I am cheating a little and copying my Practical Poet blog entry here. Day 6 of the Sealey Challenge. A 95 page collection.

 

I'd heard Morgan Parker interviewed on Commonplace, and I think because of that, I felt like I could hear her voice especially clearly in these poems. A very smart voice with a unique way of using language, but most importantly, so bold and clear and passionate. I wish I hadn't had to read this in one day for the challenge. It would be better savored, a little at a time - and I hope to do that with this book, after the challenge is over.

Shelter-in-Place Day 141

I suppose it's time for another note regarding the latest COVID-19 numbers.

Global Cases: 18,752,917

Global Deaths: 706,761

US Deaths: 158,249

California Deaths: 9,808

Sonoma County Deaths: 42

While I am well and my family is well, as are the people I know (friends, coworkers, relatives), people I know are one step removed from people with the coronavirus. And last week, my work schedule was shuffled as two different teams had to step away from work pending results - although HIPAA (Health Insurance Portability and Accountability Act) acts as a gag order for supervisors and management alike, so no one can really talk about anything and we're left to speculate and draw conclusions and piece things together from diplomatic hints.

I am back to making the absolute most of every day, as I did in April with the poetry submissions and blogging. The Sealey Challenge has helped. Today's book: Crow Mind by Tobey Hiller. 

Shelter-in-Place Day 140

I had thought I would be too tired to post. I was up until after 12:30 this morning doing what I love most - genealogical research. I have paid the price today, and the lack of sleep and hot weather had such a soporific effect on me. Still, I made it through without napping, worked from home all day, sent out poems, read more for The Sealey Challenge (Pith & Piffle by Jim Gronvold), wrote, and did my yoga workout. Now I'm going to go collapse and sleep at least eight hours. Lord willing, and the creeks don't rise. 

Shelter-in-Place Day 139

Today I was able to spend a day at home, alone, listening to Commonplace podcasts while I watered, weeded, and folded laundry.

I also opened a filing cabinet drawer and started to look at the paperwork inside, to see what I might discard.

It was a revelatory experience. 

I can see now, as though reading the biography of someone I used to hear about, or knew by reputation, somewhere in my memory, that for many years, I was a writer. That is to say, I wrote short stories and snippets and scenes and poems and drafts of novellas and novels. I attended classes and workshops and readings. I was apparently serious enough about all of this that I wrote hundreds and hundreds of pages, and kept the drafts and the feedback for decades.

Seeing all that paperwork - much of it printed on still-attached perforated pages recycled from computer-generated reports in the early nineties - has given rise to such a mix of strong emotions, I am compelled to try to articulate them somewhere. And this blog seems as good as place as any. It's quicker than a journal, anyway. Quicker to type than to write something longhand. 

Here are some of the things I'm feeling:

• What happened? Where did that earnest (oh, so earnest) writer go? Because although I now have an MFA in poetry and have been writing poetry, to have created so much prose content points to an ambition that seems alien now. So I'm disappointed that I let it all drop so completely. As though I abandoned a dream that had, at one point, been primary.
• What's with my memory? It's not just the ambition I don't remember. I'd forgotten about fifty percent of the stories. A few I don't remember even after skimming them, although clearly they're my creation. Fascinating. 
• I wrote a lot of crap. I mean, it was really young, naive, clever but superficial work. Nothing with much staying power, and I can see from my current perspective - thanks to, what? age? lived experience? - that most of what I wrote was tidy but avoided emotional honesty. Or only dealt with the trappings of an emotional sincerity. Perhaps it's a little bit of Jo March pre-Professor. So I'm embarrassed for my past-self, embarrassed and maybe even a little ashamed that she thought what she was doing was good enough to submit to top publications. I was just too young.
• But I was not only young, I was stunted. I'm writing this now with as much self-love as possible, but I can see that I was not available emotionally to myself or, I believe, to other people. I was not living in the moment at all. I was high-strung, intense, even driven. Or I was almost melodramatically dreamy and reflective. Untethered, either way. Broken. It's almost as though I had an early childhood self, who was bright and happy and energetic, judging from family lore and photos and home movies. And then I was a mostly neurotic idealistic stinted and blinkered self for two or three decades. Decades. And then, what? Life, I guess. Life and some major life events, and the blessing of influence from some people, all helped work a transformation that, if continued, represents a completely different self, and perhaps my only opportunity to write anything real. Anything worth keeping. Or, even if I don't write at all, represents a self worth being. 

At any rate, those are my current thoughts on the subject. Having spent the rest of the day working on a submission, attending a poetry reading and part of the Library Commission meeting, reading Dan Bellm's Practice, doing yoga and cleaning the house - not necessarily in that order - I'm just about ready to throw in the towel. It will be tomorrow soon!

Shelter-in-Place Day 138

Day two of August. Walked the dog as usual, then met a friend at an East Bay Regional Park and walked around for a while, catching up. Then came back home and tore down most of a tool shed (of sorts) next to a larger shed (S's writing studio, at the moment). The demolition took a couple of hours, even with help from D., but now the space is less likely to be the hideout for rats that it has been for years. We also threw a lot of junk away. Yay, us!

In the evening, D. and I drove to the next town north to look at an area where a house is on the market. Just to look and keep the dream alive. I made ratatouille with garden veggies for dinner but didn't feel like eating it. I'm feeling beat, but I did manage to read my second book in The Sealey Challenge, and I did submit poems to another journal, and blog. So yay, me! 

That is all. 

Shelter-in-Place Day 137. Welcome to August

As is evident, I did not blog for a month. 

I worked in the branch and from home. I weeded, saw a few friends in a socially-distant way, wrote drafts of poems, critiqued other's poems, practiced yoga, walked the dog, cleaned the house. Rinse. Repeat.

But August 1st is a good day to start something new, and I've decided to try what's known as The Sealey Challenge, an idea first floated by the poet Nicole Sealey to read 31 books of poetry in 31 days. It's a more do-able challenge because they can be, and often are, chapbooks. 

More about the concept can be found in this Lithub article. I also plan to submit poetry again daily in August, blog daily in August, and (since I started, I'll probably continue) even tweet - heaven forfend! - the titles I read.

I am sure I have bitten off more than I can easily chew. But I shall endeavor to succeed in my goals, regardless. 

Shelter-in-Place Day 104

More than two weeks ago, my father-in-law died. I can't quite believe I haven't blogged since then, but there it is. 

It was a Saturday night, the 13th, the day which would have been my mother's 84th birthday. My father-in-law would have been 90 next month. This has colored the last couple of weeks, of course. Even though by all accounts he died peacefully, and because of dementia, we felt in some ways that we had lost him years ago, it is still very sad, and the end of an era, and we say goodbye to a remarkable man. 

Here's what I wrote in a social media post about him, just after a post about a poem I'd had published:

I need to share that Saturday night, my father-in-law passed away. The publication of a poem is swell, but really, all I can think about is the man who was like a (disciplined, French-speaking) father to me for 37 years. My heart is with his children, his family and friends, and the loving staff at the memory care facility where he'd been living. I will always be inspired by his daring escape as a teenager from communist Romania to pursue a dream of living in the United States. He worked and studied tirelessly for decades, and in some ways, he was one of the most serious people I've ever met. But he was also amazingly gregarious, and his Santa-like laughter at his own "dad" jokes will never leave my memory. Rest in peace, beau-père.

Grief can't be scheduled. It side-swipes you. It makes you tired, makes you forget to breathe normally. D's sister is making most of the arrangements (such as can be arranged right now), and the two of them have been talking about everything. Apart from driving D. to the memory care facility the night of his father's death, late at night, to meet his sister there, I have tried to stay out of the picture. My sister-in-law's hurtful accusations in a surprise email, years ago, claiming we were stealing their father's money - entirely untrue, and never apologized for - has kept me very cautious in terms of any contact with her. I can't trust her not to go suffer some other sudden delusions at some point. I'm wary. 

He'll be cremated once they process the death certificate, but they're behind by 3 weeks in the county. Then he'd wanted to have his ashes scattered off of the side of the WWII ship for which he'd volunteered, but that won't be happening any time soon. It's okay. I know from experience that cremains keep. It took my siblings and me five years to get together to scatter my own father's ashes, along with his mother's. 

These are pictures that capture the best of my F-I-L's spirit:

 

In pandemic news, Dr. Fauci spoke the other day during the first press conference of the Corona Virus White House Task Force team in moths: "...we are all in it together. And the only way we’re going to end it is by ending it together." The reported death toll from covid19 for the world just passed 504,000, and in the US, in many states, the numbers continue to rise. There are over 10 million reported cases worldwide. But in Arizona and Florida and Texas and parts of California, people gather to eat and drink and shop without masks or social distancing. It really is as though many people have just decided they're tired of staying home, of wearing masks, of considering how their actions combined with the common asymptomatic nature of the virus might affect those people around them who might be at risk.

The president continues to say stupid things and continues to fail to provide any real leadership. It's one debacle after another. I just hope things change for the better with the next election. 

Shelter-in-Place Day 85

Today makes the end of a second abbreviated work week: 3 x 8.5 hours in the library building, fielding inquiries and helping satisfy requests for curbside pickups. It's nice to feel as though I'm doing something helpful again, and although it's somehow tiring to wear a mask all day and wash one's hands that often, the most challenging aspect to this experience has been seeing among a colleague or two a much more lax attitude regarding PPE. Put your mask on! Keep it on! 

That is all.

I've felt twinges of guilt and a sense of unfinished business having abandoned this blog for nine days. But I am also aware that more than anything, I am writing these entries for a non-existent audience, and that means, fortunately, no one will be disappointed by my lack of contributions.

Shelter-in-Place orders are still, sort of, in effect. But there are some restrictions that have, at the moment, been loosened. Hair salons can open. Bookstores. Nurseries. Restaurants, I think, if seating is separate enough. 

But I do not intend to visit a hair salon or restaurant or bookstore, anyway. I am wary. There is still too little we now abut this virus.  And I just looked at the count for the first time in days: we've just topped 2,000,000 cases in the US, over 7,360,000 cases world-wide. 416,201 deaths. Dr. Anthony Fauci (hero for many) warns that this isn't over yet. 

In the streets, in cities in every state in this country, people are protesting the racism that is still with us - still! - and a culture of brutality, especially racists brutality, in law enforcement. There are calls to dismantle entire police departments. Will it be enough to make real, lasting changes happen? I think of Rodney King. Those protests didn't do enough, if we're here, still. Again and still. 

I am a white woman writing from within a place of privilege. I am not a racist. But am I sufficiently anti-racist? That's the more pertinent question. 

Shelter-in-Place Day 76

Is it a coincidence that I went back to work today and had my first glass of wine in weeks tonight? 

Maybe not.

And it's clear I probably shouldn't have gone there, because after drinking that one and only glass, when the neighbors who lived behind us started up with their daily foul-mouthed abuse of their kids and dogs, which includes the sounds of the dogs yelping as though they're being hurt, and whining, and curses ("Get your f*cking ass out there and pick up the f*cking dog sh*t!") - and tonight the added bonus of something being thrown - I found myself slamming the screen door into our own backyard, knocking sharply on the door to the shed where S. was hanging out, loudly asking her if she was okay (so the neighbors could hear the question), then throwing, on my own part, a plastic watering can across our yard before slamming the screen door again on my way back in. I'm a bit ashamed of my own temper tantrum, which alarmed both S. and D. - but I think the message got across/through the fence because I could then hear the very unconvincing sound of the man of the house saying, "bad dog, bad dog" in a reasonable tone and volume, no doubt for my benefit. I've already called CPS about the situation once in the past. And this is, I think, the third set of dogs they've gone through in the last four years. (I don't know what happened to the others.) It's kind of exhausting, and apparently something I just am not willing to tolerate gracefully when I've had an alcohol.

It might also have been a contributing factor that at that moment in a live video stream on my screen, the Sonoma County Library Commission was rather genially approving a 2020-2021 budget that would include excessive cuts to staffing while maintaining most of the services and outreach. Not sure who they'll have providing those services and outreach if we're that short-staffed. And I'm sure the Union will put up a fight. Again, exhausting. And all this after a day when curbside pickup was rolled out at five branches with a big marketing campaign (emails, newspapers, website) before we'd had a chance to do a small trial run. Over 225 requests before 3pm today for our branch alone, and 9 people to satisfy them while the phones rang off the hook. 

Tomorrow, as they say, will be better. And I have warned myself away from the pinot. It actually doesn't help anything. 

Shelter-in-Place Day 75

I'd neglected to mention the highlight of yesterday - D. and I watched NASA/SpaceX launch the Dragon capsule, on its way to intercept the International Space Station, with "Bob and Doug" onboard. Not this Bob & Doug:

This Bob and Doug:

It was a very emotional moment for both of us. D. and I both got very choked up. The launch went so well - just beautiful. 

But what really got to me? When they showed the men and women seated at their stations in ground control, wearing face masks. I just cannot describe how surreal and strange and moving that image was. Maybe you had to be there. I'll never forget it, though. 

Shelter-in-Place Day 74

Protests all over the country after the recent death of George Floyd in Minnesota, a black man who was pinned to the ground by a police officer with his knee on Floyd's neck. For nine minutes. The incident (I hate that these things still happening) reminded residents of the county of the death of a young hispanic boy, shot by police several years ago, and so there was a big gathering in downtown Santa Rosa - 100 to 200 people -  a couple of blocks from the library.  As darkness fell, things grew violent. There was vandalism and a pepper spray response from the police. Similar crowds elsewhere earlier in the week prompted the POTUS to tweet incendiary remarks, which started a feud between Twitter and the President. The country falls apart due to a pandemic and resulting economic collapse and he plays golf. Twitter tags his posts for fact check and inciting violence, and he signs and executive order trying to restrict social media. 

I have much to say, and yet I am at a loss for words. 

Shelter-in-Place Day 73 Back to Work

Today, ten of us had an in-house day of training as one of two teams that will be offering curb-side service for patrons at our location - one of five branches in phase one of this limited re-commencing of services for the community. I was happy to be back, especially among the stacks, and to see some of my colleagues. But it was interesting how tired I felt by the end of the day. I've grown soft!

Shelter-in-Place Day 72 (Back-to-Work Eve)

Tomorrow I go in for training, prior to the opening of curbside pickup for patrons on Monday. I just attended a 2 hour zoom union meeting; the reopening, even of this limited service for limited hours and with strict precautions and training, is a hot topic. 

Too soon, too rushed, not enough training, not safe, according to most people, many of whom are vocal and even defiant. I am a little blown away by the degree of fear and the harshness of the criticism. I too have become rather wary of some of the administration's decisions - but I think they're rolling this out with not a little forethought and care, especially because of feedback from union reps and branch managers. But it would seem that the library employees, on the whole, are fairly terrified of all of the many "what-ifs." Maybe because I live with two people who have been going to work since the SIP started, I believe that we can only live in isolation for so long. Maybe I'm wrong, and we've only been very lucky. But I also don't want to be controlled by fear. Tempered, sure. Not controlled. 

Shelter-in-Place Day 71

I seem to have whatever disease it is that plagues biographers and genealogists. Nor do I want to be cured. I only intend to manage the paper and ephemera-hoarding symptoms to save my children, at least a little, from this process of sorting in the future. 

I lost myself today in boxes of my grandmother and mother's paperwork, which I had still not properly consolidated/discarded since the former died in 1996 and the latter in 2006. The task is made a bit more daunting because my grandmother had kept paperwork from her husband (who died in 1970) and her father (who died in 1963). 

My great-grandfather was fairly wealthy, and he left an estate that my grandmother drew from until her death. There were hundreds of stock dividend receipts, tax returns going back to the 1930s, medical bills, receipts from pharmacy trips 50+ years ago, postcards from trips my grandmother took in the 1920s...the list is extensive.

 

A lot of it I can finally recycle. There's a bag of papers I will remove SSNs from then recycle, and some I will scan then recycle. Still other items, I'll keep. Because so much of it is fascinating. 

My grandfather's family owned the first livery-stable in Leesburg, Virginia. When he married my grandmother, an upper-class Connecticut Yankee, his gaggle of sisters was appalled. After my mother was born, the little family moved to Colorado and tried their hand at ranching. Knowing that background, how ill-suited they were for life in the West, somehow makes me especially touched by facts like their list of 1953 expenses including $20 for "milk for lambs."

Shelter-in-Place Day 70

It was a blisteringly hot day today, so I did what I could to stay inside after walking for over an hour home from D's work - having dropped off his car. By Thursday, I should have my vehicle back from N., who has been borrowing it for weeks, because I really haven't needed it. But it does appear that I'll be returning to work in the near(ish) future, at least three days a week, and although I am a supporter of public transportation in general, I'm less keen than usual under the current conditions to be on a bus for an hour to and then from work. 

On the pandemic front: Sweden's experiment with keeping things open to enable herd immunity seems to have failed. 

There is, apparently, a growing belief in conspiracy theories related to the virus, none of which I feel up to dignifying with a description at ten at night, but which are related to billionaires, power and control versus freedom. Why are the people most fired up about being "free" to not wear masks or get vaccinated also the loudest? (I guess I answered my own question.) I am not a fan of paranoia or trolls.

We are nearing 100,000 deaths in the US, a figure Dr. Anthony Fauci described early on as possible, although he'd hoped it wouldn't get to that point. Internationally, the figure is above 5.5 million. 

I hate to finish this post on that note, but all of the other sentences I just wrote, and then deleted, were trite or poorly-phrased. I did find a stack of stories I penned when I was 8 and 9, all of which have drama, conflict (sometimes even death) and "happily ever after" wrap-ups, so apparently I've been practicing "cheerful-if-contrived" endings for years. 

Shelter-in-Place Day 69: Memorial Day

A heat wave has just started. After watering the flowers and veggies, I stayed inside where it was cooler. Then, having succumbed yet again to the siren song of genealogy, I did not post this entry (or enter this post, if you will) until, technically, the 70th day of sheltering in place. However, with the magic of the forgiving "Published on" feature, I am able to pretend that didn't happen, and that instead I once again made some inane observations before going to bed for the night. 

Seriously, though, I could explore census pages and digital graveyards for hours and hours and hours without breaking for food or sleep. I am also working on a friend's family history, and I keep running into very interesting tidbits. But can I just say that as cool as it is to learn that two brothers married two sisters from another family, it can also be very confusing that they proceeded to name their sons after the child's uncle. John names his son Frederick and Frederick names his son John. Yo. Think of the future complexities for genealogists! :)

Shelter-in-Place Day 68

Some shots from yesterday's visit to the Mt. Tamalpais Cemetery in San Rafael:

              

I'm so grateful that my friend (who regularly visits and photographs cemeteries) suggested the socially-distant outing. I am coming to love cemeteries for their peaceful atmosphere and all of the human stories they contain. Every stone represents at least one life, and I think about those lives as I read the names and dates, the endearments and snippets of poetry and little quotes. There's the added bonus of bird watching; we saw or heard crows, finches, a grey heron, turkeys, deer and lizards during our stroll. I was also able to visit the grave of one of D's friends, who died in 2002. Jane, you are still missed. 

Shelter-in-Place Day 67

Lovely cemetery walk today with a friend, and am in the throes of genealogy now - minutes before midnight - so I am only posting those two little tidbits, plus news about returning to work. Tomorrow, I shall flesh out some of the details and post photos from the cemetery visit. As one does. 

Shelter-in-Place Day 66

As of tomorrow, Sonoma County will open up to allow another set of businesses, including curb-side pick up for libraries. However, the library does not yet have a plan - or if it does, it has not received agreement from the union for rolling it out.

Regardless, I can now see that if I am called back to work, even for part-time, I could in theory stop this "shelter-in-place" day count. Except that so much else will still be shut down, it feels like it would be inaccurate to say the crisis is over just because my particular job will be back in some capacity.

Unemployment in the county is now at 15.2%, which is apparently the highest it's been in 80 years. I'm so grateful to have work, and I'm looking forward to being back in whatever capacity is safely possible. 

Shelter-in-Place Day 65

Although some businesses have opened up in the county, most have not. The SIP continues. I heard during tonight's SEIU (union) zoom meeting that there have been nearly two dozen new confirmed covid19 cases in the county for the last three days in a row. The local paper indicates that there were 96 total new cases in the last week, while it took a month to reach that same count early in the outbreak. While the library discusses how to implement curb-side pick up of materials, it is doubtful that this can happen before June at the earliest. So my time at home continues, with the only breaks being grocery trips every 10 days or so. But Monday, S. goes back to work after a 3-week vacation; and since hasn't spent the time trying to get her permit, let alone her license, I'll be back to playing taxi.  

In contrast to two nights ago, when I was up until 1:30am doing genealogy, I'm hitting the sack before 11 tonight; tomorrow is one of the afore-mentioned shopping days, and I'll be borrowing the car. Which means taking D. to work early. 

Shelter-in-Place Day 64

The Covid virus dashboard at Johns Hopkins just reached five million confirmed cases worldwide. There are, undoubtedly, many more that have not been confirmed. I am writing this as a way of anchoring myself, however grimly, in the broader present moment. 

While I start my third knitting project since learning the skill, which is to say my third "maybe this time there's enough yarn to make an actual scarf" since the SIP order, and while I power-watch The Office episode after episode, millions of people are fighting, suffering, dying, and continuing to spread a virus that is still not easy to prevent or contain. 

I feel as though this pandemic has brought out both the most trivial and the most noble within us as a species. People are battling against time to find vaccines, better testing, better tracking of the virus at an international level. As individuals, we're learning that it's all right to live more slowly, to buy less, to connect with our own families, plant our gardens, notice the natural world around us. But on the other hand, some people are finding ways to profit from the ennui that many are experiencing. Or they're turning to conspiracy theories or are finding fault with what we did or didn't do. I suppose this is just how the world operates anyway, writ large because we're in a kind of crucible. And I know that I'm not saying anything profound that hasn't been said in a thousand other places. Nor do I need to be, I suppose. 

I am just recording a sliver of my own view from this place, in this moment. 

Shelter-in-Place Day 63

Today would have been my paternal grandmother's 106th birthday. This fact is strongly in my mind because I am deep in genealogy work, and because I just reconnected with her sister Hazel's grand-daughter, a woman who (as I mentioned previously) saved my life when we were both preschoolers.

The story goes like this: I had gone into the pool in her back yard - I might have been two years old - and she'd come inside to tell our mothers, who had been chatting. According to the family legend, she'd whispered, "Becky's in the pool," so very quietly, they'd asked her repeat the sentence a few times before they finally understood what she was saying.  My mother ran outside, saw me floating, and jumped in to the pool and pulled me out. One might think this would have left me afraid of water, but on the contrary, I like to be underwater, and I have a memory - whether imposed by the retelling of the story or otherwise - of being at peace that other world. My mother never once spoke of this dramatic episode without adding, "And I had a brand new pair of tennis shoes which I ruined by jumping into that pool to save you." Usually, the comment was accompanied by a rueful head shake.

Somehow, that story made me think of this photo. My mother and I had a great relationship, and she was a fantastic mother. But I think there were moments when she felt more than a little exasperation at my...shall we say, "lack of focus"?

Shelter-in-Place Day 62

Well, it was bound to happen. Because the library has offered access to genealogy databases outside of the library buildings, I knew I would follow the siren song of research eventually.

So tonight I've been digging through Ancestry to find out whatever-became-of a few second (3rd?) cousins. There's more to the story than this, but it may need to wait until after tomorrow, when I send old family photos to the person with whom I just reconnected. Cryptic, I know. But not because I mean to convey mystery, but rather because it is late and I'm hip-deep in looking up 1960s High School Yearbook photos, marriage and birth and divorce and death records, FB profiles, obituaries. 

This is honestly more dangerous than jigsaw puzzles for me. In a few hours, someone will have to remind me to sleep. 

Shelter-in-Place Day 61

At the library, when you weed books, it's a process of going through the collection to discard those items that are stained, torn, have broken spines or contain dated (and in some cases such as medical books ,not just dated but inaccurate and potentially life-threatening) content, or have not been borrowed by patrons for years. In our branch, most everything circulates at least once every couple of years. For new fiction, multiple copies of the same title will circulate multiple times a month. I miss weeding. Because I miss handling the collection and being surrounded by all those books, and all their potential, whether it is wasted or not.

At home, while sheltering in place, I have been weeding our collection of things. Not everything and not in a completely systematic way, but chunks at a time. Today I finished sorting doll clothes and Barbie™ clothes, and more people clothes, too. Maintained: a few items of Barbie™clothing from the early seventies, most of the American Girl doll items from S.'s "Sammy," and in its own special collection in navy bins, more of D's old t-shirts and baseball caps. The man has easily over a hundred old well-worn tees and hoodies, logo'd with the names of films and departments within the film industry and NASA and the San Francisco School of Mortuary Science and the like. Discarded: a yellowed t-shirt from the 1989 London production of the musical Metropolis and the green t-shirt I bought on my 16th birthday at the Oregon Shakespeare Festival that time my mother and I went when my grandmother couldn't (shingles), and it was a senior citizen trip and we had absolutely no money at all but my mother let me get that shirt. I tested it, and you could still see through it if it was folded in half, that's how worn out it was. Goodbye t-shirt. Hello again, still-abiding memory.  

                                                                                                                     

I'm reading the eBook edition of Educated by Tara Westover and am listening to the audiobook What is the Grass? by Mark Doty. Both very good reads thus far. especially because both of them keep poking at me at a deep level, over different topics and for different reasons. Westover's father reminds me only a little of my own - in particular, in the way in which he could not be trusted to parent. Doty's examination of Whitman makes me want to re-think my own opinion of the man. I had thought him egotistical, blowsy and a blow-hard. I did not think he had anything to say to me. But now I admit that his more mystical and cryptic lines appeal to me, and if nothing else, the certainty he seems to have that his poems will be read, and the way in which he leans toward an inclusive view, can teach me something. It doesn't change what seems to be a rather narrow view he presents of the role of women as anything other than procreating beings. But in so many other ways he was so ahead of his time, I can mostly forgive him for it. 

Shelter-in-Place Day 60

Started the day with a zoom meeting with local beekeepers, and this evening, joined in on a zoom 25th wedding anniversary vow renewal. Truly a sign of the times. In between, I did house and yard work; I will be paying for it tomorrow. But it's a good kind of ache. 

The local paper printed a story about the library reopening for curb-side service. We (by which I mean the administration) is working with the county health officials, but we're not there yet. 

I just looked at the national and international news to see what I might want to tag on to the end of this post to provide a sense of the pulse of the world; but it all seems too sad or grim to repeat. That may be because it's late, I'm tired, and I don't have the energy to spin it or write from a philosophical distance. Thank goodness (Lord willing and the creeks don't rise), tomorrow will offer a fresher perspective. 

Shelter-in-Place Day 59

Calling it a day early, without the zoning out in front of Netflix that has become all too common during this SIP. I spent more time reading today instead, and borrowed the car to run errands (empty mineral water bottles to the recycling center, a feed store stop, chiropractic appointment, etc.). I also did my daily exercise routine, called a friend, and checked the queenless hive. Spotted two emergent queen cells, so we shall see if they are successful. The two crows I feed came closer to me today than they have before. I don't really think I can get them to eat from my hand, but I'm glad they are more relaxed around me now.

Shelter-in-Place Day 58

An uneventful day that ended with a two-hour Union zoom meeting to discuss ongoing negotiations with the library administration over budget considerations and whether/how employee salary might be affected in the next four weeks and next fiscal year. I found it interesting but not surprising that the people with the most strongly (and repeatedly) voiced opinions were less likely to consider perspectives other than their own. And I guess that's all I want to say about that.

Equally sobering, but in a different way entirely, was the episode I then watched of Cyswllt (Mewn COVID), an almost-real-time drama in Welsh about the pandemic, starring very well-respected Welsh actors who have filmed most of the series from their own homes. I am so sucked in by compelling acting and good scripts, and easily influenced by what I watch. So now I feel on edge. It's just as well I gave up on Game of Thrones. 

4,443,793 confirmed covid19 cases worldwide; 302,462 deaths - 85,906 in the US and 27,641 of those in New York. 

Next week, D. goes back to work his usual schedule, and the week after that, S. goes back as well after her vacation, although she's feeling burned out with retail after a year of it, and is trying to think of ways she could make a living doing something she loves (art, writing). First step might be getting her driver's license....

Shelter-in-Place Day 57

Although I don't think I anticipated spending nearly two months sheltering-in-place, I admit that when we left the office that last day, I took with me the photo of my daughters and artwork they had given me, which I'd had posted around my desk. Just in case it's a long time before we return, I thought. 

And while I can now start to envision a day when I will return to work at the library, I know this will always be a time apart. Maybe the first time apart of several. Or many. That's the thing with the unexpected. Once it happens, you can perceive it happening again - you start to expect the unexpected. 

There is probably a comparison between this kind of thinking and PSTD or a the results of a history of childhood abuse. And if it were not so late at night, I might dive deeper into exploring this. But as it is, ten minutes ago, I didn't think I could manage to post anything at all in this blog. I was wondering why I was keeping track of anything in this way. 

But if posting daily has taught me anything, it's that I don't have to disappointment myself if I choose not to. More and more often these days, with the space and time and quiet possible in this situation, I am showing up for myself and doing what is healthiest for me. And the more I do so, the stronger those muscles get. Hallelujah, amen. 

Shelter-in-Place Day 56

I do not know that I have anything worth saying in a blog post today.  I am tempted to not write anything, but one might as well admit that an extended shelter-in-place during a pandemic includes days that have no huge significance, apart from gratitude that the family remains safe and well. So here's the dull (but safe and well) rundown, without even the details that I might have mustered had I more umph and gumption. As though the two things were distinct.

We had more rain, which was nice. 

After I put umbrellas up to cover the hives I looked again at the incoming bees at new one where I had seen them ball the queen on Sunday, and I saw foragers bringing in pollen. Which means brood is coming. I'll know more when it's hotter, but this is a good sign.

I cleaned. I worked out as part of a new yoga/tabata routine I'm doing. I read a few chapters of an Arthurian novel. I wrote a little draft of a poem, and called my computer-less, cell phone-less coworker to catch up.  N. came by to make rose petal jelly and we chatted. I planted potatoes. I did a sugar run to Safeway at 9pm with S. (Thereby negating the workout.) I watched some of season 7 of The Office. 

And finally, I managed to make a mundane blog entry, and I forgave myself for what I did and did not do, and I told myself I would make more of tomorrow than I did of today. 

Shelter-in-Place Day 55

Tonight in my local poetry workshop (via zoom, of course), a few poets shared prose poems or poems that reminded us all of journal entries. They were solid pieces - I don't mean to belittle them in any way by making the comparison. But it was interesting. 

It was also interesting how many common themes or images we, as a group, seem to be presenting. I've seen this happen before in other poetry groups, and it feels like a sort of collective consciousness at work. This week, there are dogs in the poems. That week, crows. Now the branches of trees. Now cars, now playing with time. With music. Who knows how synchronicity works? I find it fascinating, regardless.  

We had rain today, and yesterday, another death in the county, bringing the total to four and, I think, pushing out the return-to-normal (or whatever "normal" will be) timeline that much further. The Johns Hopkins site lists 4.1 million reported cases, over 80,000 deaths in the U.S. More worrisome, to me, are the cases of children showing symptoms of something like Kawasaki diseases related to covid19. That kind of thing - side effects, mutations - could really launch one into a panic. On the other hand, more and more people seem to be wanting to congregate. What? Why? asks the introvert who read post-apocalyptic fiction as a child...

On a completely different note, although related to Mother's Day, I recently started to go through a box of old toys and dolls from my childhood, D's childhood, and from the recently-departed childhood of our own kids. One of the things I found, in triplicate, was a stuffed dog with jingle bells in its ears that was my first stuffed animal, whom I called "ba-ba." Maybe it was a dog and I thought it was a lamb. But then again, the greyhound and whippet-type strays we owned when I was little were called "Rabbit" and "Bambi," so it might not be surprising if I was a little confused about which animals were which. This photo shows the horrifying progression of decay from what must have been the first iteration (unless this was something my mother or brothers owned) to the last (which was undoubtedly my sister's but not as well...loved...by her as it must have been by me). The note on the red edition was penned by my mother. 

 

I documented them with the camera and thanked them and let them go. Perhaps when my poetry group meets next, skin horses will appear in the stanzas. 

Shelter-in-Place Day 54 - Mother's Day

I was blessed to be able to spend most of the day with the kids, hanging out. We didn't do anything special; it was just a nice day. I did check one of the hives - only to find workers dispatching a queen, which tells me she wasn't a good layer, or there's another queen in the joint, or both. I'll have to check back in a few days when the weather's better to see what I can see.  And I started a new fitness regimen which left me surprisingly tired and sore for such a short workout.  

In honor of Mother's Day, here's to my two moms - the one who raised me, and who still visits my dreams at least once a week, fourteen years after her death:

Allison, 1936-2006

Diane, 1948-2015

...and the one who gave birth to me as a teenager, and whom I still miss after nearly five years without her.  I was doubly blessed. I can still hear their laughter without much effort. Such great women. It's just a weird coincidence that the pictures I found to best represent them here are shots in hats. 

I am grateful that they're not having to live through this pandemic, mostly because they both faced health challenges, and the fear of the virus would have been frightening and stressful. 

But then again, I can't help but wish they were here. 

Grief comes with its own brand of selfishness. 
        

Shelter-in-Place Day 53

Another hot day, and one which I spent gardening and meeting with friends at a 6' distance in a backyard (BYOB). I collected patterns for making masks but did not yet make them - which gives me a Mother's Day task. N. came by for S. to help her with a hair dye job (from faded green tips to purple tips). S. read more of book two of her fantasy novel series to me.

I am perilously close to "tea with the Smiths" here, but it was a blissfully uneventful day. And somehow, I don't care that I don't have profound or clever thoughts to report. . I am content and hopeful that tomorrow will be a good day. A part of me wonders whether this is because there were a few niggling things that have been resolved: an email I'd needed to send sent, the Jaguar gone, a leak I was worried about in the front yard inspected and seen to be nothing serious, laying some stones in place, witnessing pollen going in to the new hive.... It really is the little things. Also, I have strengthened anew my resolve to eat healthfully and get into better shape, and recording that in a blog that at least one person sometimes might maybe read makes it so very official, too. So there's that.

Shelter-in-Place Day 52

Today was a significant day for our family, because it marked the departure of what had been a landmark in our driveway for *ahem* years. The 1990 V12 Jaguar convertible, which we called "M." (because who is a cooler British female than Dame Judi Dench as M?)

Note the mask-and-glove wearing man who did the pick up. A sign of the times.  

  There is a longer story behind all this, but the short version is that while this vehicle, which D. purchased for $1, was fun while it lasted, it had become an albatross that D. c/would not deal with when it came time to smog it for registration. We played chicken once for two years, then I had it fixed and it was greatly enjoyed again for a while, and then it sat, un-smogged, again for nearly two years. He didn't want to fix it up enough to sell it and he didn't want to fix it up to keep it. We donated it. And while D. no doubt felt some sadness at seeing it go, it was only his insisting that it had to go that prompted the donation. The week before it left, he told me he felt absolutely nothing about it going away. The day before it left, he admitted that he was a little sorry to see it go. But he agreed with his coworker, who had said, "In two years, you're not going to say, gosh, I sure wish I still had that car sitting under a tarp in my driveway." 

Shelter-in-Place Day 51

And now for something completely different. Except, not really. But this post is all about the bees. 

I inspected the Sonoma Mountain hive today, and didn't look at more of the brood nest than this one frame, which told me what I needed to know. Great pattern of worker and drone, sealed and unsealed, a few eggs, nectar around the edges. The big bees are drones - no queen on this frame that I could see. This hive is a little drone heavy right now, but the quantity and tightness of worker brood reassured me. The holes in the pattern might represent cells for bees to go in for heating the brood but also could reflect hygienic behavior (pulling out any larvae with problems). The population was not exactly happy about me going in, but I bet they appreciate the extra frames I gave them for brood and for storing more honey and the new super (box) on top. The hot day helped this process. I'll check the new swarm this weekend to see whether I have a laying queen yet. 

Shelter-in-Place Day 50

Once you say "day 50," it feels like a real chunk of time - a percentage of the year that is significant. And there will be at least another twenty days to follow. I suspect I may not be the only person waiting to see if there are spikes in covid19 cases as a result of both the loosening of restrictions and the protests in locations where restrictions have not been lifted as much or as quickly as some people want. N. has a ticket to fly to New Jersey in the second half of the month, but is wary. S. was invited to spend time with a friend in Oregon, with a long drive each way probably driven by that friend, and I don't know whether that's wise. The parental units for both parties need to decide on the matter. But again, I'm eyeing the news for spikes and developments.

In the meantime, I'm staying in touch with friends whom I might otherwise see on a regular basis, attending zoom work and poetry meetings, working on the house and garden and tending the pets. Today I processed a dozen or more frames of nectar and honey; the nectar and uncapped honey will be frozen for use as sweeteners in baking and preserves, etc., as otherwise it will ferment and I'm not up for making mead at the moment. 

Honey from extractor into a filter & bucket 4/22/20 extraction. 

The honey will be jarred and given to friends and family. My next task will be rendering all the wax, because almost all of these frames are old and I won't want to reuse them in either hive. So that will mean candles as well. I feel like a pioneer, but really these are just the things that most beekeepers do on a regular basis.  

Shelter-in-Place Day 49

I wrapped up a few little dangling tasks today, which are like dangling participles but require more paint and glue than from and to.  But again, it was a day that was full of activities and without real rest, and yet, I feel as though I have little to show for it. I suppose I would have even less had I truly done nothing, however....

There is much talk this week about the Japanese Giant Hornet having made it to the US (Washington state), where it can decimate (decapitate) whole colonies of bees. Its sting, too, is apparently horrific. I hope they're able to track and contain it before it heads south. At least it's not an "invisible enemy" like SARS Cov2. But yikes!

 

Shelter-in-Place Day 48

I have left posting this until too late in the day. After watching/listening to a four hour Library Commission meeting (and alternately, a poetry reading for the first couple of hours of that), frankly, my brain is fried. 

So I'll just note the current coronavirus statistics: 3,584,118 confirmed, 251,562 deaths. But of course, these are just the figures we know and that are noted on the Johns Hopkins site. Some people say they're very low estimates, other people (perhaps including those protesting the shelter-in-place extensions) say they're grossly exaggerated. 

And I'll add that in addition to making insurance phone calls and doing eBay tasks and chores today, I've also undone about twenty rows of knitted scarf because I made the mistake of trying a new stitch and couldn't fix what I broke. Also, the bees are no longer being robbed in the new hive, but one of them stung me on my eyelid without warning (normally a bee yells at you quite a bit and gives you a lot of heads up before she stings, unless you've stepped on her). I'd been sitting a chair watching the hive for a long time, but I'd started hoping I would see the queen emerge (to mate). I swear bees are mind-readers and heard me focusing on their queen and took umbrage. Oh, well. I put a little honey on it and a little ice and you can't even see it, and I can hardly feel it. Occupational hazard. 

Shelter-in-Place Day 47

I installed the new swarm colony early this morning and then spent a couple of hours sitting next to the hive watching it. The truth is, I could watch beehives most of the day and not get bored.

This probably harkens back to my ant-keeping days, and it makes me wonder how much of my personality is comprised of this observer trait.  And whether that's helpful for a writer, or a sign of laziness and passivity, or just the neurosis that results from a childhood in which it is necessary to assess one's environment for potential flare ups of mental illness or anger.  Or a little of each.

Or hey, maybe it just goes along with my tendency to overthink everything. See above.

And at any rate, I have always loved critters, as evidenced by many a pose with pets and at petting zoos from the days when my hair was blonde and my skirts were short.

Shelter-in-Place Day 46

Well, that didn't take long.

Yesterday, I said goodbye to a bee colony I'd had for more than two years. It was just too dwindled to protect itself against robbing. But then today, I got the call that someone had a swarm for me. Yippee! I arrived after it had been captured by our local swarm catcher extraordinaire, whose wife said this makes thirty-three swarms he's handled this season.

I picked up the box about half an hour ago, and everyone was snug and quiet. I almost doubted that they were in the nuc at all, but I put my ear to it and could hear a deep hum, and I could feel the heat from them on the box. It was a feral colony living in a tree about five feet from where it swarmed. I'm especially happy to have a local, acclimated group. I'll transfer them to my hive box tomorrow very early. They'll be able to keep the robbers at bay, so that's good.

In other suburban farming-type news, we finally confirmed where the wood rats were getting in to the shop (and attic!) and we were able to stucco the large hole closed. But not before I found a sick specimen in a patch of insulation I was removing from the shop ceiling for that very reason. I hate hate hate killing anything. I even feel twinges of guilt about ripping up weed after weed after weed. But this critter was on its way out anyway from a poison we'd used - after much research into whether it would affect secondary predators and whether it was a painful death - no to both, as far as we could determine, or we never would have used it. D. dispatched this one, although he too doesn't like having to kill anything.

It rained this evening, which was a surprise, but I think tomorrow will be dry. The 8pm howls and fireworks are getting louder and crazier. There were two or three huge BOOMs tonight. I'm telling you. It's very Star Trek red hour to me.

Nearly a quarter million deaths but over a million recoveries. I thought writing that would be a positive thing, but actually, I don't like those odds.

Shelter-in-Place Day 45 - May Day

We have survived April.

Today, Sonoma County extended the shelter-in-place order, with some modifications. I didn't see an end date; it will be in effect until it's no longer in effect.  3,344,274 confirmed covid19 cases worldwide. 2 deaths in Sonoma County. Not likely that I'll be back at work Monday. Speaking of which, I spent nearly three hours listening to most of a Library Commission budget meeting, and at this point in the evening, I don't have it in me to even start to describe what that was like. Long and inconclusive might sum it up best.

This morning, I braved Costco. This afternoon, I worked with my beekeeper mentor to assess a hive that as of 8:30am was being robbed. In fact, I spent the first hour of my morning spraying down the hive, knowing that it was probably too late for that tiny population.  Later, I did an hour-long workout.

The chronology of my day is distorted in this post. Here's the real run-down:
Fend off robbing bees (and getting soaked in the process)
Costco run
Walk Dog
Budget Meeting on zoom
Beekeeping with mentor (tearing down most of a hive)
Work-out
Dinner
Welsh soap-opera watching
Episodes of The Office
Reading & knitting when possible

More work on beehive equipment tomorrow, and likely extraction of nectar (do I dare make mead?), just as I had cleaned out the extractor.

Shelter-in-Place Day 44

I gave blood today. Literally. But before that, I was already feeling rather anemic as I listened to my talented poet friends read their hit-it-out-of-the-park poems. Especially when I then read my feeble attempt. I realize this sounds very woe-is-me, but it's just that I could see a real difference between where they were with their work and where I was today. I'm not smart enough to do this, I thought.

But I also thought that I have a choice: I could take that feeling of inadequacy and the probably-disproportionate low self-image, throw my hands in the air, have a little pity party with little pity party piñatas and pity party cupcakes and punch, or regard the experience as something that can be a teacher. (Actually, the pity party cupcakes might have helped with any low-blood-sugar contributing to the feelings...)

After the poetry zoom session, I walked for an hour to D's work to pick up the car so I could get S. from work and then go to the blood donation, and for the whole walk (actually, much of it was a jog, because I was late), I thought about how I could improve that inferior poem. And I thought about other poems I want to write. And how they could be better. So I guess for better or worse, I'm not ready to throw in the virtual towel yet.

Shelter-in-Place Day 43

I spent far too long today knitting and listening to Commonplace. Not the worst use of my time, and I certainly did other (more important) things as well, including a workout and emailing the Library Commission to express the desire I share with so many of my coworkers to find alternative ways to promote the library and support our communities. I think most of us would be willing to work from home to answer technical and reference questions, perform library advisory, translate a backlog of things into Spanish. But so far, working from home has not been allowed except to a very few people.

As reported in publiclibrariesonline.org, apparently, San Francisco public library employees are busy right now in spite of branch closures:

As employees of the City and County of San Francisco, many library workers are being activated on a regular basis as Disaster Service Workers (DSWs) to perform a variety of functions – food pantry workers, contact tracing, cataloging of government documents, bilingual community outreach, among other assignments.

I think at least one of my colleagues has proposed that we volunteer to help with services such as these, but at the moment the Library administration and Union are negotiating how to meet an expected budget shortage, whether/how payroll might be affected, when/how we might return. And then the Commission will weigh in and have the final say about most decisions. Having sat in on a Union zoom meeting last night with about 70 other people, I can say it's complicated. 

Interesting to note that the same article mentions Seattle library is considering opening only their restrooms as a start to help communities. A very valuable service, but I can only imagine how much sanitizing would be involved to protect staff and patrons right now.

Shelter-in-Place Day 42

Today was the first day I can really say I felt emotionally vulnerable since this "SIP" started. I think I was triggered by listening to the news for a few minutes and then going to two different grocery stores only to realize that in both cases, it was before 9am on a Tuesday, and therefore designated "senior" shopping time. And when I went back out to the stores, I saw a couple of cases of very loose interpretations of "social distancing" by people who frankly did not look well. 

My heightened emotions and briefly shaky mental state gave me only the smallest sense of how difficult this pandemic must be if one is concurrently dealing with mental illness.

Of course, thinking about other people who are suffering is only sometimes a good way to snap out of your own anxiety and refocus on compassion. Other times, it can be counterproductive. What helped today was the knowledge that what I was feeling would soon pass. As it did.

Shelter-in-Place Day 41

I had thought to write about the bee hive inspections and "manipulation" I did a few days ago in this blog post, but it will have to wait for another day. At least we have good weather right now, so that any queens who are needing to find a DCA (drone congregation area, aka speed dating hookup spot) will be able to go out, mate with seven or more males - who then die - and find her way back to the hive to start laying. Provided she can find her way back and does not get eaten by a bird, lost, fly into an oncoming car...it's a dicey world out there.

Speaking of which, yesterday I found a dragonfly who had lost most of one of her four wings and was all but dead. I was so saddened. I wanted to help. I couldn't. Both I and my older daughter wanted to be "bug doctors" when we were children. Maybe that feeling doesn't go away. I moved the dragonfly first from our pond, where it was floating, to the cement, then out of the sun. It was strange and beautiful, even in its broken state. Which reminded me of the world. I had the same helpless, it's-too-far-gone feeling with this alien-eyed insect that I sometimes do with the planet. 

It reminded me of the poet Adam Zagajewski's beautiful poem, here translated by Clare Cavanagh:

Try to Praise the Mutilated World

Try to praise the mutilated world.
Remember June's long days,
and wild strawberries, drops of rosé wine.
The nettles that methodically overgrow
the abandoned homesteads of exiles.
You must praise the mutilated world.
You watched the stylish yachts and ships;
one of them had a long trip ahead of it,
while salty oblivion awaited others.
You've seen the refugees going nowhere,
you've heard the executioners sing joyfully.
You should praise the mutilated world.
Remember the moments when we were together
in a white room and the curtain fluttered.
Return in thought to the concert where music flared.
You gathered acorns in the park in autumn
and leaves eddied over the earth's scars.
Praise the mutilated world
and the gray feather a thrush lost,
and the gentle light that strays and vanishes
and returns.

Shelter-in-Place Day 40

It was a day for lightening up: I took pictures of, then threw away,  guitar song sheets from 1973 (lots of things like Hang Down Your Head, Tom Dooley, Tingalayo and Get Together (by the Youngbloods). I also did the same with ribbons that I won swimming when I was 10-12 years old (Go, Marinwood Waterdevils!). Lots of 4th, 5th and 6th place colors, some 2nd, and one 1st.  I was not at all fast, and I hated the competitions, but I actually enjoyed practices in the early morning, with the steam rising from the pool to mingle with the fog.

I also sorted through papers today (so many papers!), weeded, weeded more, "went to" a poetry book launch on zoom, laughed for about an hour straight with the kids when N. stopped by and S. learned the joys of playing the mouth harp, and encouraged D. while he started to clean and fixed a couple of half-done light switches.

As I said, a day for lightening up. In many ways.

Where have all the flowers gone? Must be somewhere behind the weeds....

Shelter-in-Place Day 39

These days, the weekends are distinct only because neither D. nor S. work Saturdays or Sundays, and so they are here all day.

I have always had a terrible problem with being cranky at people who are relaxing while I am "working," but there is no way I can justify that crankiness now. These two are actually physically going to work during the week, while I am at home trying, but failing, to get Everything™done. They deserve to play D&D, nap, hang out, mod games, do nothing if they want.

Ironically, I got more done today than usual, so far. Submitted poetry before 6pm, weeded, cleaned the honey extractor equipment, cleaned the guest bathroom (yikes!), worked on a poem, listened to Commonplace while knitting (that was my break), and moved some empty boxes out of our bedroom. The idea has been to transfer an assortment of things, once I've gone through them and know what I'm keeping, into these boxes. But that's an idea that's been stalled out for so long, it's embarrassing.

Another important breakthrough happened, however, and I look forward to sharing it once it's a fait accompli. 

In the news lately, there has been a spike in calls to poison control centers because people are apparently following someone's suggestion aboutgetting light in the body or injecting disinfectants:

THE PRESIDENT:...So, supposing we hit the body with a tremendous — whether it’s ultraviolet or just very powerful light — and I think you said that that hasn’t been checked, but you’re going to test it. And then I said, supposing you brought the light inside the body, which you can do either through the skin or in some other way, and I think you said you’re going to test that too. It sounds interesting.

ACTING UNDER SECRETARY BRYAN: We’ll get to the right folks who could.

THE PRESIDENT: Right. And then I see the disinfectant, where it knocks it out in a minute. One minute. And is there a way we can do something like that, by injection inside or almost a cleaning. Because you see it gets in the lungs and it does a tremendous number on the lungs. So it would be interesting to check that. So, that, you’re going to have to use medical doctors with. But it sounds — it sounds interesting to me.
So we’ll see. But the whole concept of the light, the way it kills it in one minute, that’s — that’s pretty powerful.

Words fail me. 

Shelter-in-Place Day 38

I have a very short memory when it comes to some things. If I wanted to lie, I could say this comes from living in the present moment. (Ha! Not so....) I think it's more likely a defense mechanism learned early on and tied to compartmentalizing. This is just to say that I can hardly remember, at all, what day-to-day life was like before the pandemic.

I mean, if I thought about it, I'd get there. But the past has a very unreal quality to me. Early senility or associated disease? Let's hope not.

On a more humorous note, however, last night I dreamt that I had died (that's not the funny part), and the afterlife, I realized, was basically like a stage set of New Orleans a few days after Mardi Gras. I have never been to New Orleans, but this place had streets lined with creole townhouses, shuttered bars, jazz joints, and little cafes with bistro tables on the sidewalk. There was post-party detritus everywhere, and people were walking around looking slightly confused and regretful. The good news was that the deal was you had all the time you needed to spend at this place and figure out what you hadn't figured out while alive. It was like a cross between sheltering in place and Groundhog Day.

photo by Ken Lund, from flickr commons

Maybe I've been spending too much time alone.

Shelter-in-Place Day 37

Jarred up some honey today, wrote, submitted poems, had a zoom session with other poets, made a phone call to a colleague, did laundry and dishes and garden work, and had wine with a couple of friends at a social distance with masks (between sips) in the back yard of one of the women. Washed hands thoroughly afterwards. This is not the exact order of events, but it represents the day. Again, how am I not doing the other things on my to-do list when I have all day? It's a mystery. Although I will admit that the wine I had (on an empty stomach) made me feel as though my whole body had been novacained. So that represented a slow down in productivity this evening.

Shelter-in-Place Day 36

On the coronavirus front, here's the latest news that I think is worth noting:

• cats have tested positive for the virus. 😿
• the city of Santa Rosa expects a $20 million shortfall from decreased sales, hotel tax, and permit revenues. Next year, they expect property tax revenue to decline as well. 
• the county has put up signs regarding travel so that people can't claim ignorance if stopped by authorities.

https://www.pressdemocrat.com/news/10912106-181/sonoma-county-signs-discourage-nonessential

The loss of tax revenue will impact the library considerably, although I missed the budget meeting that discussed possible changes that will result. The Union and Administration are in conversation about payroll changes. I've not been as involved as conscious dictates I should be. So that will likely change now. At the very least, I can show up and be informed. 

Shelter-in-Place Day 35

I really don't understand how I can be home all day, be busy and active all day, and still manage to get so little done. The great plans I have before that first cup of coffee have typically come to naught by the time I go to bed.

But at least I got into my larger hive today to see what had happened to it, and it's not only queenright but there is a tiny brood starting up again and a tiny population to help them. I hope there will be enough workers to feed the brood. The other, smaller hive, has a huge population but frame after frame of drone brood - another type of problem entirely. In the next day or two, when the weather is even hotter, I'll do a little more work with both and may have my first honey of the season to process soon.

I also worked on poetry for hours today - my own and that of others, and did weeding and other around-the-house chores. And hope springs eternal that tomorrow I'll accomplish more.

Sunday, I helped neighbors weed the front yard of another neighbor who had left in an ambulance earlier in the week - essentially a 5150. We are doing what little we can to assist with his situation. It felt good to do something for someone else outside of the family, but it's nothing in the scheme of things. The death count in the city of New York alone is nearly 15,000 as of right now.  And I'm worrying about weeds.

Shelter-in-Place Day 34 and Married-to-D. Year 30

As our 29th wedding anniversary, today marks the beginning of our 30th year married. We celebrated by telling each other we loved each other. Which made today no different from every other day.

No dinner out, of course, although I made pork tenderloin with a glaze and mashed potatoes for him, and a quesadilla for myself before I joined a zoom poetry critique group meeting. No cards or presents, either, but we're not big on those anyway. We may try for sushi take-out later in the week, and next year, we hope to have a better celebration. But what will the world look like then, I wonder?

Today the price of oil went negative for the first time ever. The number of confirmed covid19 cases is nearly 2.5 million. Protests are popping up here and there because people (Americans) want the stay-at-home orders lifted. Protestors want to go back to work, restart the economy. They want their "freedom" back but do not seem to believe or care that it's not just their own health they put at risk with their actions. Just thinking about it makes me cranky.

I feel as though the protestors must not know someone who has been laid low or killed by this virus. According to the estimates, that won't be true for much longer.