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Month: March 2020

Day 16: Uncertainty and Certainty — Random Thoughts

Tuesday 31 March 2020

I am no longer certain about anything regarding school. We've been out for almost three weeks now and we have another three to go, but the rates of infection here in South Carolina are not decreasing. I, and many of my students, suspect and fear that we won't be heading back this year. But we could be wrong; I hope we're wrong.

I am no longer certain about Papa's condition. Something neurological seems to be going on, and with COVID-19 pillaging our country right now, it throws the whole medical community into comparative chaos. It's not a simple matter getting an appointment with a doctor anymore.

I'm no longer certain I want to update this daily. It's been my longest streak: over 100 consecutive days at this point, stretching back to December 22. I've been doing it more out of a sense of stubbornness than anything else. "I've made it a month: might as well try to make it two." "I've made it two months: might as well try to make it three." And to what end? And if I do continue, to what loss? A few minutes' time every night to make a record for -- for whom? I don't even think it matters.

I am certain about the value of the increased time we've been spending together. Being it home makes schooling both easier and more challenging, but we're spending more time together as a result of everything being shut down -- nightly walks, movie nights (tonight, Hugo -- E loved it; L claimed it was boring but still demanded we pause it when she went to the restroom), evening games of Monopoly, afternoons spent in the backyard messing around.

Day 15: Monopoly and Growth

Monday 30 March 2020

We were playing Monopoly again tonight (E’s choice), and E was having a hard time of it. He really didn’t have any property, and he was landing on L’s or my property fairly regularly. He soon grew fussy.

“I never win at this game!” That sort of thing.

L and I kept encouraging him to continue, but he was reaching a point of frustration that seemed like it might overwhelm him. And then he landed on one of the two orange properties that he was missing.

“I’m buying it!”

I glanced at my own marker: I was standing on the final orange property he would need.

I turned to L, who is always our banker, and said, “Oh shoot, I forgot to buy that property.” I looked her dead in the eye, hoping she would realize what was going on.

“Oh, you wanted to buy that?” She grabbed the card and traded it for a little cash.

I turned to E: “I’ll sell it to you.”

The point of the story is not helping the Boy like that. The point is L’s reaction. There was no “That’s not fair!” There was no immaturity. There was the simple understanding that we were going to try to help the Boy in some little way because his seven-year-old patience had reached just about the end of it.

“Our little girl is growing up,” I said to K when I told her about it later in the evening.

In the afternoon, he’d brought in some wisteria blossoms and declared, “I’m going to make some perfume!

Day 14: Another Sunday

Sunday 29 March 2020

The Boy is sometimes too sweet for his own good, I think. "Perhaps all seven-year-olds are like this," I want to say, but I know it's just not true.

There would be the dim coffin-smelling gloom sweet and oversweet with the twice-bloomed wistaria against the outer wall by the savage quiet September sun

This is not to brag on our child, for we've certainly done little, I think, to develop this side of his kindhearted demeanor. And this is not to suggest that he's always like this: he can be as selfish as any other kid his age, but those moments are often short-lived and his sense of generosity and fair play returns.

He often comes with a snack and offers to share with anyone around. When he was collecting rocks today, he wanted to make sure he shared with everyone in the family.

But it often shows in places one wouldn't expect, like normally-competitive situations -- boardgames.

Tonight, while playing Monopoly, K was hemorrhaging cash. She was down to a few ones and fives. Sure, she had a fair amount of property, but she had a definite liquidity problem. E, on the other hand, literally had a pile of $100s. He grabbed a few from his pile -- not even counting -- and gave them to K.

"Here, Mama."

"No, honey. That's very kind, but you don't need to do that," she smiled.

"But it's my money. I can do what I want to with it," he protested.

Later, he tried to do the same with me.

He did not, though, ever offer L any money, so I suppose the generosity doesn't always overcome sibling rivalry...

Day 13: Landscaping

Saturday 28 March 2020

A house is a never-ending project, inside and out. There's always something to fix, move, repaint, replant, shorten, lengthen, reinforce, replace, recalibrate, nail, screw, fasten, dig, hoe, spread, gather, clean, spray, scrub, feed, kill, water, or simply do. Our yard has been part of this ever-growing project, with a couple of landscaping elements that weren't even there when we moved in and some that were there long gone, and some that we put in ourselves also long gone.

Our driveway planter has now grown and joined the original planter in the front yard that has changed very little since we moved in.

It also grew at the road end as well: the elderberries that were languishing in the backyard are now in the front yard, and we can't just plant elderberries in the yard and be done with it...

Day 12: The Project

Friday 27 March 2020

The Boy's teacher was ambitious: a project during their time out of school. "Design your own island." The Boy came up with Ice Cream Island, with volcanos that spew ice cream, a chocolate lake, and a whipped cream waterfall...

The Girl let him use her paints with the understanding that she could help.

Day 11: Safe in Bed

Thursday 26 March 2020

Everyone is safely in bed, and I find myself thinking that this is the sweetest moment of the day because I can reassure myself with the knowledge that everyone is in the safest place imaginable -- their own bed. "We made it through another day," I can think.

In the past, this thought rarely popped up. These days, it's a daily realization.

In the past, this thought reassured a fear (that something could go dreadfully, nearly-fatally wrong) that I rarely experienced. These days, that anxiety is a daily shadow, adding a touch of gray to most everything if I let it. And when I think of it after not having thought about it consciously for some time, I'm grateful for the respite.

This is not to say I go around in near-paranoia about COVID-19. But I realized today that we go through this crisis with the assumption that nothing is going to happen to us -- all those who are sick, all those who die, they are not us and will not be -- just like we do with everything else. Smokers know that inhaling smoke into the lungs can ultimately result in cancer, but because it doesn't happen 100% of the time, everyone has that wiggle room: "Yes, it happens a lot, but it won't happen to me."

With a pandemic, though, I don't know that we could really function any other way. We go through all the precautions yet still have to take chances, going out shopping with the realization that asymptomatic people could be anywhere but with the hope that social distancing and proper hygiene will ultimately keep us safe. I don't know that we could function any other way and not fall into a depressed fatalism that paralyzes.

So when everyone is in bed, I can say to myself, "They're safe once again."

Yet how many dangers lurk around us that, were we cognizant of them, would paralyze many of us with terror? Maybe none; maybe countless. Just look at the run on supermarkets that just occurred. When people are scared, they panic. Panic leads to pandemonium. Just how close to societal collapse are we at any given moment? Probably much closer than we like to think, so we don't think about it. We all do our part and rely on everyone else following suit.

Online scavenger hunt
Online scavenger hunt

If there's any blessing that comes from this whole thing, it should be the realization -- a collective epiphany -- that we are much more fragile than we would ever like to think, both as biological and societal organisms. The technology of modernity has led us to believe that we're invincible, but, of course, we aren't. I wonder if a loss of that sense of invincibility is the terror that would paralyze some. In other words, a willful obliviousness to our own fragility.

Day 10, Part 2: Blooms and Games

Wednesday 25 March 2020

Day 10, Part 1: Perspective

Wednesday 25 March 2020

A video from March 10 detailing the pandemic in Iran and officials' refusal to take it seriously:

A video from March 24 detailing the pandemic in Mexico and officials' refusal to learn from Iran:

 

Day 9: Conferencing

Tuesday 24 March 2020

Our admin staff held the first video conferencing session today at 9:30 on Google Meet. We'd had an informal one earlier in the week, but with everyone talking, it was far too chaotic for me. I thought I'd lose it. Very hard to follow. It seems everyone learned from the experience: the principal was unmuted, everyone else was asked to mute themselves. Questions went in through the chat box option.

E's class had their first video conferencing session on Zoom today. At 12:30 everyone logged on and the chaotic chatter began. The teacher had a clever idea: use classroom management techniques for quieting everyone. "If you can hear me, touch your nose." Everyone got a chance to chat and tell everyone what they were up to. The Boy seemed awfully quiet. When his turn came, he simply passed.

I held my first online conferencing session with students just after the Boy's. I used Google Meet. It stinks. After participating in a Meet and leading one, I've determined that it is useful for chaotic nonsense only unless everyone is muted but one or two. Next time, Zoom.

Still, it was a relief to see the kids again. It's only been a little over a week, but it feels like so much longer. "It's so much different than, say, spring break," I told them. "During a break, you know that in a week or two, you'll see your students again. Here -- who knows when we'll meet in person again?"

Afterward, once it finally stopped raining, I suggested to the kids that we take the dog for a walk. They jumped on it enthusiastically. The simple pleasures are becoming pleasures for them again. If there's one bright side to this whole pandemic, it's that.

On the walk, the Boy and I got to talking about favorite books and authors. "I think my favorite author is Roald Dahl," he said, then asked me about my favorite books.

"I think Absalom, Absaom! is the best book ever written," I said, wondering how he'd respond.

"Is that a book a kid could read?"

"No, most definitely not." I wouldn't even suggest to my best readers in honors classes to tackle that book. It's beyond challenging the first time through. Perhaps not as bad as Finnegan's Wake or even Ulysses, but quite a challenge.

"What other books do you like?" he asked when I'd finished explaining all that.

"I'm partial to Charles Dickens," I said.

"Didn't he write Moby Dick?" asked L.

"No, that was Herman Melville. But now that I think about it, I believe I see a little similarity between Dahl and Dickens."

E raised his eyebrows as he does when he's excited.

"They both tend to give characters names that somehow reflect their character." I explained how "Trunchbull" from Matilda seems to be a portmanteau of "truncheon" and "bull."

When we got back, I introduced E to "Lunch Doodles with Mo Willems." "Do you know how he is?" I asked.

"Yeah, he wrote the pigeon books and pig and elephant."

Then, at a little past three, I get this statement from the governor:

At this time, students, parents, and families should plan for South Carolina’s schools to remain closed through the month of April. Our dedicated teachers and school administrators have done a tremendous job in making it possible for our students to learn at home. We understand that the prospect of schools remaining closed for an extended period of time places stress and strain on parents and children. Rest assured, if there is any way to safely open our schools earlier, we will do that, but schools must remain closed to protect the health and safety of South Carolinians.

So it seems our adventure is just beginning. The worries will build, I'm sure, as the cases rise in our little state, and as our president begins to make noises that indicate he thinks money is more important than lives, I wonder if a crisis in government might accompany the crisis in our national well-being.

But as long as everyone ends up safely tucked in their beds at night, my primary anxiety is assuaged.

Day 8: Rain

Monday 23 March 2020

It was supposed to rain all day today. It was also supposed to be a day off school today, which would have made the rain seem particularly dreary as we would probably have gone out and done something on this early spring day. Since this is the sixth day without school, it just felt like the new normal.

In the morning, while K was reading with E, I spent some time working on a couple of web sites I’m creating, one for a friend’s about-to-be-launched home organization company and the other an online guide for the church we usually attend (the parish built a new church just a few years ago). The virus, though, has put a damper on both projects: no one would start a business right now, and the church is closed.

Once I completed what I wanted to do, it was nearing lunch. And it was also about time that I help hang L’s pegboard that she got from Ikea two months ago. I don’t like to rush into anything. And I didn’t have the appropriate drywall anchors. And I kept forgetting to get them in Home Depot.

Of course, there had to be some playtime. The Boy and I worked with Legos: he built a car; I built a suspension bridge. When she saw it, K laughed that I should have been an architect. (Forget for a moment that it’s actually civil engineers who design bridges — I knew what she meant.)

“Actually, I did. For several years.” I took drafting in high school to that end. “But then I realized I didn’t want to do that for the rest of my life. And besides, if I’d gone that route, who knows if I would have ended up in Lipnica?” Which is to say, who knows if we would have met? A change in career choice determined who I married? Perhaps. Perhaps not. It’s impossible to say.

It’s that kind of dumb luck — or lack thereof — that has me worried now. Our family is largely isolating itself, but someone has to go to the store occasionally, as I did this morning. (Only one dozen eggs per customer, I learned at checkout.) How many asymptomatic people are walking around? We take precautions, but in the end, it’s just a crapshoot in a sense. Just like so many other things in life that seem inevitable, I suppose.

Finally, in the afternoon, it stopped raining for a while. The kids and I went out to walk the dog. In the evening, it seemed like it had stopped again, but by the time we’d gotten ready and headed outside, it had started misting again. And then stopped. And in crawled L, rollerblades still on, to tell us, “Come on! It’s stopped! Let’s go!”