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.