As I look back, I see a series of emotional and behavior changes that none of us could have anticipated just 2 months earlier when we toasted to the new year. And now, as I write this today, April 17, it's hard to remember the feeling of the "old normal"--one that I had taken for granted my whole adult life. An old normal of freedom from invasion whether it be a foreign army or a plague. With two exceptions. In childhood I remember being called inside by my mother, ordered to rest for fear of catching the polio virus. I didn't quite understand what it was, but I knew it traveled silently through the air and could cause terrible paralysis damage to victims. Then in junior high came the Cold War-induced scare of nuclear war. Radiation would come from the air, we were told--another invisible enemy. Today you can find online now-humorous stories of kids crouching under desks during school drills and families building bomb shelters in hopes of surviving the deadly radiation sure to come. I remember giving a speech in school arguing in favor of those shelters, though neither I nor my family ever tried to build one. On some level we all knew it was absurd. (Below: a New York Times photo of a "duck and cover" exercise)
Those fears and responses passed, and now we're in another fear and response period--one with much uncertainty: the Covid-19 pandemic. As I look back to that first week--the last one of the old normal--I think of it as a time of trying to get a grip on what was happening. I remember joking that I wish I had studied for my ACTs as hard as I studied this virus--one showing disturbing signs of not being contained.
In the days following the governor's call for closures, all of my usual activities were cancelled. At home in Montview Manor, where all residents are over 62--a high-risk group for Covid--a series of new procedures were rolled out. By the end of the month, all gatherings in common areas were stopped, the building was closed to all but essential visitors and residents were urged to stay in their apartments. Sanitizer appeared in the lobby, and we were exhorted to wash our hands frequently. "Social distancing" had already become a household phrase. During those mid-March days, I remember thinking of Covid as the third invisible enemy of my lifetime, and I was quite diligent with the precautions. The only exception during week two and three was the lack of masks. Public health officials did not want to cause a run on badly-needed N95 respirators for medical workers, so we were not encouraged to wear them. By early April Gov. Polis encouraged masks--homemade cloth ones or simple surgical ones--for everyone going outside. I think of weeks 2 and 3 as the time of adjustment and making of new habits. I was pleased to find a no-sew pattern for a cloth mask that can be made in two minutes from a handkerchief and two loops of stretchy nylon or elastic. Meanwhile, I was becoming proficient with Zoom, the app of choice for groups wishing to communicate during this ban on in-person meetings. (More on that in a separate blog entry.) Daily, sometimes twice-daily walks in City Park across the street, became my new normal--a comforting reminder of the old normal, as many in the neighborhood showed up to walk dogs, go bike riding with their kids, or simply watch the beginnings of spring.
All the while information-gathering continued. Should we wipe down groceries or not? Is it necessary to wear gloves? What is the best way to handle shopping? We were encouraged to limit grocery shopping to once a week, and stores began instituting senior shopping hours. An unfortunate incident at my local Sprouts store--where two neighbors encountered a sick check-out clerk--caused me to change my allegiance. I now shop at Trader Joe's where I'm confident of their procedures. You can read about them here. Meanwhile, all of my information gathering continued. I spent at least two hours a day reading my digital New York Times, checking the spread in other countries as well as the emerging facts about the virus. And then there were the human stories--the deaths, the heroism of medical workers, the machinations of a US administration that belatedly acknowledged the pandemic while creating daily doses of misinformation. Dr. Fauci became almost everyone's standard-bearer in the battle to "flatten the curve", by then another household phrase.
During the second half of March I began to settle into a new home routine. I cooked more--something I've always liked to do, but now it had the added benefit of focusing my concentration. Neighbors, including me, offered to pick up things for others during their weekly shopping excursions. Many cultural offerings went online, including free daily streams of filmed operas from The Metropolitan Opera via the Met on Demand app. I'm a fledgling opera listener, so these streams were a wonderful opportunity. In addition, Youtube became my go-to source for inspirational music performances or plays, such as Jane Eyre by the National Theatre of London.
As the first week of April came to a close, I had become a nightly howler from my balcony. It's still happening, every night at 8 p.m., and many Denverites and others are joining in with voices or the banging of pots and pans. It's our tribute to medical workers and others who are risking their lives to help Covid victims. The battle had become more personal. There appeared to be no infections in my building, where a nurse is stationed in the lobby, 7 to 3 every day to check temperatures and monitor deliveries. However, Jeff, a friend in Denver, and Laura, my niece in Illinois were suffering from the virus, both recovering slowly. Reports of infections and deaths continued to dominate the news, but the conversations began to shift. When would it be time to begin a restart of the economy?
The economy had been in free-fall for awhile, rising or sinking like a leaky balloon, depending on the outlook for bailout plans in Washington. Battles for political power ensued. Meanwhile, far too little was known about the path of Covid infections and test availability was far too small. The race for a vaccine was underway, a worldwide effort, but no timetable was claimed. Shelter-in-place orders were just a month-old. What would be possible as spring became summer? What would happen to planned events? In January my biggest dilemma had been how I could attend the national square dance convention to be hosted by my club, The Rainbeaus, in July. It would overlap with The SAGE Singers planned debut at the GALA festival in Minneapolis. I dithered back and forth: Could I do both? I finally made a decision, but that decision is now moot. GALA 2020 has been postponed for a year, and the fate of the square dance convention is in doubt. "Man plans, God laughs" is an old saying I used to quote when things would fall apart. It now had a whole new resonance. (Next: my life on Zoom)
