One of my roommate’s engineering friends designed some masks, which his mother sewed.
With a copper wire at the top to pinch in place across the bridge of my nose, the mask fit snugly. An inner pocket held a replaceable filter in the form of a folded half piece of a mechanic’s paper towel.
Once in place, I didn’t feel smothered by the mask at all. Plus the first time I tried it out, the weather was cooler. We picked up the masks prior to shopping for groceries. Rumor had it that grocery stores would start requiring us to wear masks and adhere to one-way aisles. There weren’t any one-way aisles when we later went shopping, but we could only enter through one door and exit through another. Every basket had their handle cleaned by an employee and hand sanitizer was readily available once we entered with our basket.
One thing we didn’t have to worry about going to this particular location was “Wearing a Mask While Black.” Even during a pandemic, racism still existed. Despite wearing a mask as a safety strategy during this pandemic, black people had been harassed for covering up their face. My roommate was more concerned than I was since she was unambiguously black whereas I was an incog-negro. Nonetheless, we were fine since the vast majority of the grocery employees were also people of color.
For two weeks in a row, I’d optimistically visited the TP aisle.
The week before, I’d bought a 4-pack of Kleenex. Not just as a substitute for TP. I also have allergies, which is why I’m never out of Kleenex. Down to my last roll of TP, I’d used it only for long calls and Kleenex for short calls.
As soon as I wheeled past the first set of doors with my freshly sanitized basket, I saw a postmodern, contemporary coronavirus art display: a tower of toilet paper. It startled me. I asked one of the two employees who were guarding it for one of the 4-roll packs–not that there was a choice of size. I didn’t care which brand it was. When I use it, I will think of Charmin UltraStrong. (By the following week, there was actually Charmin UltraStrong–no more using the TP substitute teacher. Who am I kidding? I’m going to use whatever’s available.)
On a stroll around the neighborhood, now sporting my new mask,
I noticed that the price of unleaded was 20 cents cheaper than the last time I’d filled up the tank weeks ago. Since I only drive about twice a week during the quarantine, I don’t yet need to take advantage of the discounted gas.
At my nearest convenience store, there were additional precautions in place.
At first the employees wore masks and a plexiglass shield was installed to separate them from the general public. Now these signs appeared, especially since the rethinking about who needed to wear a mask had changed. I’d been gifted a mask right on time.
Another one of my roommate’s friends gifted us two masks apiece.
It was a different design. On my first through third attempts, I still hadn’t adjusted it to my face correctly. Unlike the first mask, I had to drape its strap over my head as if it were a facial apron, shape the copper wire across the bridge of my nose, and then adjust the drawstrings at the bottom to tie them behind my head. I fought between having the mask so snug that it crushed my nose and making it so loose that it slipped down my nose. What I eventually figured out was that I needed to first gather my dreads into a ponytail, higher than I normally place it, in order to rest the strap on the ponytail. Then pull the drawstrings to adjust it snugly.
Then I trekked a mile and a half to Drive-Thru Postal in order to fax some paperwork.
(Ha, a fax!) As I walked up to the window, I noticed that their reduced hours stated that they would close at 4 PM. I hadn’t even left my apartment until around 4:30, but I got lucky since the mail carrier hadn’t arrived yet, so they couldn’t close until he/she did.
But what concerned me even more was the threat of this wonderful mom and pop postal service closing permanently. This wasn’t due to the pandemic nor the lack of business, but rather their lease being under threat of termination.
A few days later, the price of unleaded had dropped again.
This was after the revelation that the cost of a barrel of oil had hit -$37. I didn’t understand how gas prices remained above a dollar. After all, gas station owners could still make money through things that were sold inside the store. Nonetheless, I still had no reason to gas up my car. So far, I’d gassed up my car only once during this shelter-in-place. One of the upsides to being sequestered for six weeks.
Before being sequestered, I wouldn’t have dreamed of audio editing while working a customer service job.
After all, that requires wearing two headsets since my work laptop has limited functionality. Over the weeks, new habits have formed and for some inexplicable reason, I want to multitask more than ever. The challenge is that I have a daily goal at work. During the slow times, I tend to lose patience and become tempted to log off. While doing something meaningful in between calls, I’m able to weather through the slow times and get things done. Usually it’s watching educational videos and reading, but on this particular slow day, I’d done all that and STILL hadn’t hit my goal. So, I draped another headset on to edit, using one ear and work using the other.
To ward off cabin fever and perhaps clear the mind jumble of multitasking, I took another walk.
Besides saving gas and perserving my sanity, walking to perform light errands allows me to document the revolution as told by fliers on the neighborhood utility poles.
The latest walk scored another in-demand item:
disinfectant spray. For several weeks, I’ve searched high and low on the shelves for these gems. Usually, I just made beeline for the gaping hole in the cleaning product aisle, hoping that at least one or two bottles remained. What I’d find instead were the ugly stepsisters: glass cleaner and air freshener.
As Texas slowly reopens, I’ll see if supplies will be replenished in a more timely fashion or if a surge of new COVID-19 infections will put us back in the hole.
My yoga studio was one of the last nonessential businesses to shut down. As a matter of fact, they made several accommodations prior to the city’s demand that nonessential businesses shut down.
They sanitized surfaces such as door handles and counters more often. We stopped exhaling through our mouths. They marked the floor so we could place our mats 6ft away from one another. We no longer signed our names on the clipboard, but only swiped our cards, which a few days later became making a reservation online for classes to make the whole process completely contactless.
Despite all of those efforts, they still had to comply with the city of Austin’s declared shelter in place order. They devised a virtual workaround after a week. All I have to do is register for the classes I want to attend, then click on the link they send 15 minutes prior to class.
Every day at noon, I take either a 60-minute Bikram class, a 60-minute Inferno Hot Pilates class, a 90-minute Ashtanga class, or a 90-minute Intermediate Bikram class. This has been the easiest yoga challenge ever. Absolutely amazing how easily one can attend a daily yoga class in one own’s living room when there’s next to no social life–only prolonged social distancing.
Having a midday mediative activity has truly helped me stay focused and not drown in time. My days are divided into “before yoga class” and “after yoga class.” And thanks to working from home Monday through Friday, I still have a sense of the weekends.
Nonetheless, walking outside, even if it’s merely taking the long route to and from checking the mail, has become far more precious than it’s ever been. I know the air is cleaner these days, but seeing new things in 3D, rather than on a 2D screen has been wonderful.
For Earth 2.0, or however one’s keeping track, daily meditation will continue long after the shelter in place. As a matter of fact, all the fanciful illusion that smokescreens reality will be confined in fictional works. Let’s see if the rest of my fellow Americans will follow suit.
My earliest recollection of a reoccurring anxiety dream was when I was a preschooler. I had a digestive issue as a young child, where if I ate French fries or “mixed” my food versus eating all of the greens, then all the mashed potatoes, followed by all of my meat, I’d vomit.
The reoccurring anxiety dream at that time was that my maternal grandmother would be strapped to a horizontal circular slow-spinning disk above which were very large sharp blades. Just as they started chopping her up, I’d wake up to vomit. Since I was a child, my dream showed no blood or entrails gushing forth, but the mere suggestion that someone I loved was being chopped up, made me nauseous. I’d wake up from that dream in time enough to run to the bathroom to throw up. Eventually, I outgrew that digestive problem and never had that particular anxiety dream again.
Straight out of college, I went into the Peace Corps to teach math and science in Tanzania. That experience ripped me out of my comfort zone. During that time, the reoccurring bad dream was that my teeth had fallen out. That was probably around the same time I’d started grinding my teeth. The worst of those dreams was after my teeth had fallen out, and then insects and centipedes crawled out of the sockets. As soon as I completed my service, those dreams ended.
I continued being a teacher in other foreign countries, but didn’t have reoccurring anxiety dreams until I returned to the States to teach at a high school in Austin, TX. I can truthfully say that out of all the ridiculous students and parents, nothing compared to the bullshit of the educational system within which I found myself. (That’s another blog post.)
The reoccurring dream during this time and long after was that in the middle of a dream, I’d misplace a shoe, my keys, or car. Then I’d spend the entire dream anxiously wondering around to find the missing item. I’d never find it.
At one point, I got hip to those dreams and would take control of them by manifesting lost item. It felt like cheating, even within the dream, but at least that version wouldn’t reoccur.
So, the latest dream, where I was on vacation with extended family–perhaps on a cruise ship, similar to the one we went on this past Kwanzaa–I needed a pair of flip-flops. Unlike reality, I unzipped a small carry-on, which contained nothing but shoes. I immediately saw the flip-flops, put them on and went on about my day–very unlike my previous got-to-find-my shoes/keys/car nightmares. I actually woke up feeling optimistic. And this was during the beginning of the COVID-19 shelter in place.
These days, I only read into dreams for sport. Sometimes they’re a source of writing fodder. Yet, I’ll take optimism where I can it, especially during this pandemic.
All the creative pursuits on my social calendar dissolved, starting around March 1st. Most were flat out cancelled, but some optimists declared they were merely postponed. Even though I wasn’t going to SXSW, I knew the shit got real when it was cancelled.
Since I already worked from home, I didn’t make any special work-related arrangements. Yet, for both mental and social health, I continued to exercise daily, attend yoga classes and a 60-minute workout class, minus the occasional high-fives.
The yoga studio, which was already pretty good about controlling the Petri dish conditions of the floor, stepped up its game, wiping the counters and door handles more frequently. Then we stopped the pronounced open-mouthed breathing, only breathing in and out through our noses. All ashtanga classes were temporarily suspended since they involved the instructor adjusting us.
The prohibition against not touching other people extended far beyond yoga and exercise classes. Jimmy Kimmel suggested the elbow bump. Trevor Noah did the “Wakanda Forever” greeting.
But hold up, wait! We couldn’t even touch ourselves? Oh, just not on the face? Whew! OK, I could live with that. The fun parts were below the waist anyway. Actually, once we’ve washed our hands with soap and water for 20 seconds, the playground was open for touching ourselves anywhere.
Once the president finally took the pandemic seriously and declared a national emergency on Friday the 13th of March, my fellow Americans did the predictable thing: they made a run on eggs, bread, and milk. Because when we’re faced with a crisis of Biblical proportions, we must make French toast! For some inexplicable reason, there was a run on toilet paper as well. Given the fact that a coronavirus infection didn’t cause diarrhea, I wasn’t sure why the need for all that toilet paper unless it was the side effect of too much French toast.
Unsurprising was the run on hand sanitizer, disinfectant wipes, and masks. For a hot second, prices soared on those items until the inevitable backlash. At least the French toast ingredients remained the same price although limits were placed on how many of some staple provisions could be purchased per customer.
The following Monday after the Friday the 13th national declaration/acknowledgement of the pandemic, I went grocery shopping as usual with my list on my phone. I noticed a few people with kerchiefs on, covering their nose and mouth, but the most telling signs were the nearly empty produce section, no fresh spices, no disinfectants and a total ghost land in the toilet paper section.
Yet, I got everything on my shopping list even though I had to improvise, especially the eggs. I reminded myself to be thankful that I found something eggy. Plus, I found other, slightly more expensive versions of carrots, turkey sausage, Brussels sprouts and boxed wine. At least the collards were cheaper than my original green leafy vegetable pursuit, spinach.
The way I celebrated St. Patrick’s Day, started off by watching the news
and hearing about how we needed to socially distance ourselves to prevent the escalation of the coronavirus while at the same time not coming down with cabin fever. Experts cautioned us to keep in mind that social distance did not equal isolation. As a matter of fact, one perfectly acceptable social distancing activity was walking around outside while maintaining 6ft from others.
My roommate and I already enjoyed taking an occasional long walk to a restaurant destination prior to the pandemic. Since our new next-door neighbor worked at an all plant-based food truck that was a good walk from us, we made that our latest eatery destination.
We walked to the location through a drizzle, but food truck wasn’t there. Although we’d passed many other food options, we discovered that most restaurants were temporarily closed. The ones that still operated didn’t allow inside dining. Most only took credit cards, which I totally understood. Cash was germy and required hand-to-hand contact.
According to the various signs that had cropped up like spring rain mushrooms, the only two options were delivery or takeout.
We ordered plant-based burgers to go at another food truck.
En route to home, I had the bright idea to stop by the liquor store to pick up some Irish cream. After all, it was St. Patrick’s Day. My roommate thought it would be wonderful if there was a mint-flavored version, but I told her she need not worry because I had fresh mint, thanks to one of the recipes I’d made that week.
A few days before Friday the 13th, I’d ordered business cards.
With my Etsy logo on the front and my books on the back, I rubbed my hands together, waiting for them to arrive, so I could network the crowd at every event I’d attend.
Well, it was a good thing I love rubbing my own hands together because by the time the cards arrived, I was no longer touching anyone else’s hands, much less handing them anything.
Years before, I’d adopted the habit of daily exercise.
That was my main reason to leave my apartment every day. Unlike the 1918 pandemic, those of us with access to the internet had access to many other things, especially since nonessential businesses had temporarily shuttered.
I found an ashtanga video to follow along with twice a week for the duration of the coronavirus-inspired social distancing. I enjoyed it even though I wasn’t surrounded by other people’s energy. With the patio door open, the warm breezes and far-off sounds of my fellow human beings wafted in.
That woman did the trick! Even though the video displayed a timer, which ran throughout the entire workout, I still found myself wondering when the torture would end. Another thing I liked about the instructor was that she had a real body. Not some surgically enhanced body. Very relatable.
One of my favorite Thursday wind-down activities was doing a weekly crossword puzzle.
(Yes, I always do it in pen!) I wasn’t about to go out just for the joy of getting the free weekly paper. My pre-pandemic weekly routine would have taken me near a stand to get that paper. I downloaded and printed it out instead. Not nearly the same experience, but it sufficed.
The following day, I found a 60-minute Bikram yoga class. Once again, another winning workout. I’d never worked out with a video at home before. Now, I’d experienced three fulfilling classes at home. I’d heard we may have upwards of 18 months of social distancing, so I’d have plenty of practice, turning my living room into an exercise space.
The upside of not commuting to and from a workout class was hitting my my weekly sales goal in 4 days. Everything I made on Friday was just the cherry on the top. Had I started out doing exercise classes at home, I could have saved both time and money. Yet, the biggest downside would have been missing out on the community aspect of attending a class. That’s truly what this pandemic robbed from all of us, second only to the loss of lives.
Prior to the order to shelter in place, I’d asked my fellow yogis to pray that tax day be delayed until June 15th. They all laughed at me. Well, the joke was on them: two weeks after I’d made that prayer request, the government officially announced that tax day was postponed until July 15th. Even better! Now I had more time to make money and pay last year’s taxes.
As the pandemic unfolded, two weeks after the government announcement, my grocery-shopping experience continued to evolve. First, I had no problem finding a parking space. Secondly, I joined the tail end of a queue, standing 6ft behind the person in front of me. Unlike a line at an amusement park, the grocery line moved much faster.
I listened to music with my headphones and snapped a few pictures.
Once I finally got to the entrance, an employee directed me to receive a basket and a wet wipe from another employee. I looked her directly in the eyes and said with a smile on my face, “You’re doing such good job.” She was taken aback at the compliment. I also made direct eye contact and smiled while I said, “Thank you,” to the guy who handed out the wet wipes and baskets. After all, I had a customer service job that I did from home. I knew the stress of working with the general public. At least I could hang up on the assholes.
I searched for any reason to leave the apartment
while also distancing from others even if it was merely walking the long way around the apartment complex after checking the mail. One day, my roommate and I took a short walkabout to mail a letter. Somehow, in the course of progress, public mailboxes had become scarce. I normally mailed things from the leasing office, but it had temporarily closed. So, we mailed the letter at the nearby strip mall, but continued walking down the strip to settle a debate: whether or not the liquor store was still open.
I argued that it was nonessential, so it had to be closed. As we walked the strip, we saw all the temporarily closed establishments, but the pizza joint was open (for delivery or takeout only), the Goodwill was open, and lo and behold! the liquor store was open. Had I any faith that it would actually be open, I would’ve brought money and ID. I was prepared to wait outside since I couldn’t prove my age. (An inside joke for a 49 1/2 year old.) Fortunately, one of the employees recognized me and stated that I looked at least 21. Thank goodness because it was hot outside.
I remarked how amazing it was that a liquor store was considered an essential business. Another employee informed me that the powers that be wanted liquor stores open, so the people who needed alcohol wouldn’t be in another crisis. Unbelievable.
I guess for politicians that was cheaper than universal health care. What I hadn’t realized at the time, even for those of us who didn’t struggle with alcohol, we would drink more along with stress eat.
On another walk to complete a light errand just to get out of the apartment,
I came across a rent strike poster. The City of Austin hadn’t yet declared an anti-eviction policy. During this time, even the federal government was still debating about a one-time payment to select Americans. Some politicians even wanted the country to reopen by Easter rather than provide monetary assistance to furloughed Americans.
As weeks rolled by, car insurance companies offered credits due to their insured drivers who drove less. Students facing food insecurity received meals they would have otherwise eaten at school, delivered via their former bus route. The latest Bond movie announced postponing their release a few days prior to the closure of all the movie theatres. Live TV shows sheltered their TV talents at home, who then had to use their phone or laptop to do their jobs.
With social distancing, I had to research how to conduct an audio interview remotely in order to pursue my podcasting dream. As if I didn’t suffer from enough analysis paralysis. Nothing my little nerdy self loved more than to read up about something and kick the can down the road instead of taking action. I figured most people would agree to a remote interview, but perhaps this would actually help temper people’s cabin fever now that we were all sequestering ourselves.
Originally, I’d planned to step up my podcast production schedule by completing a season’s worth of one-on-one interviews during March. I’d practiced using the USB mics, recording, transcribing and editing enough. The time was ripe to start scheduling interviews and knocking out episodes.
I sent an email blast to several friends who I’d known or suspected had tried CBD, so I could interview them and capture how they first crossed paths with that particular hemp product. Since I’d been in sales for a couple of years, I knew that not everyone would respond. I just needed 12. OK, make that 10. OK, I’ll settle for 8.
Like the rest of the world, I downloaded Zoom and never looked back. The first remote interview was with a friend who was far more nervous about trying new technology than I was. He was comforted by the fact that I was learning that new platform as was he. I requested that he use earbuds so that the audio quality would be better. At the end of the 25-min interview when I’d stopped recording, he laughed. He commented that he hadn’t needed the earbuds at all because he could hear me just fine without them. That was when I learned to double check that a tech nervous person had plugged earbuds/headphones in all the way.
Nonetheless, I had no time to dwell on minor errors. Part of my slow progress to getting my first podcast season together was that, outside of working, I also juggled illustrating for my third book, The World’s Sexiest Dictionary.
I’d bought an iPad in February for the express reason to use a drawing app. What a game changer! I was far more talented with writing than drawing, but that technology turned my feeble attempts at illustrating into something more publishable. All of my rough draft illustrations were very labor-intensive watercolors.
With better technology, they now looked like this:
Again, I didn’t dwell on minor errors.
Despite all of my traditional creative endeavors–writing, podcasting, illustrating–perhaps the most creative thing I accomplished was not marinating in negativity. The skies blued and the gatekeepers’ gates opened up. Every morning before getting out of bed, I envisioned the best way to schedule the day, then attack. Some view adjusting to the changing times as mere flexibility, but creative responses provide options worth pursuing.
