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I’ve pretty much been a lifelong omnivore with about three years of eating no mammals. (I used to love telling people that and they’re reaction would be, “But you’re eating chicken!”) Since then, I’ve rarely cooked pork or beef, substituting in ground turkey, turkey bacon or turkey sausage. Now, I see the writing on the wall, written in meat.
The COVID-19 pandemic continues to expose the fragility of our infrastructure, namely the lack of healthcare for employees whose jobs weren’t previously thought of as important enough to provide such a benefit. The general population acknowledges, perhaps for the first time, that healthcare is a human right. Corporations, which haven’t offered much outside of an underemployed hourly wage, have started to do the bare minimum by offering paid sick leave. That would at least encourage employees to stay home if they’re sick.
Yet coronavirus treatment costs thousands of dollars. So, even if someone has paid sick leave, that wouldn’t begin to cover that medical bill without health insurance.
One of the inevitable consequences has finally reached the shores of the meat packing plants. If they’re anything like what I’ve read in The Jungle, then I’m surprised we hadn’t reached this point back when there was still a TP crisis.
Although I still consider myself an omnivore, I’m no longer buying any meat, outside of eggs, while this shit is still going on. Even if I eventually must become a vegan because of this situation, it seems better to wean myself off meat rather than go cold turkey.
I’m sure the next reports will be about how the coronavirus affects chicken farms. Even if the stories haven’t reached me yet, egg and poultry prices haven’t noticeably increased–yet. Not like avocado prices. The best way to lose my taste for a certain food is for the price to soar out of my beyond my budget.
I’m probably being optimistic, thinking I can be an ovo-lacto pescatarian. None of those jobs involved in the food supply chain offer health insurance. Perhaps grocery store supervisors would be the first across the board to already have had that in place before this crisis–along with employees at upscale grocery chains where I can’t afford to shop.
Then again, I don’t completely understand the food supply chain. As I continue to order takeout once a week from some local restaurant, I’ve discovered that they’re prices for meat dishes haven’t increased. That’s at least an omnivore’s silver lining. So, it’s now become more affordable to buy already cooked meat than to buy it at a grocery store and cook it at home.
As if I needed another sign of the devil at the grocery store!
I’d been hunkering for trail mix. Recently, some of the bulk foods have returned. The bulk items in which customers use a scoop are still off limits, but the bulk foods that come fully enclosed a dispensing container are back. I had so much trouble with this mix pouring out that employee had to take the container down and shake it several times to fill half the bag.
At one point, I told her that I felt so bad that she had to go to so much trouble to assist me, despite her cheerfulness. As soon as I saw the sign-of-the-beast price, I burst out laughing and showed it to her. She said she’d share that experience with others.
Never one to miss an opportunity to dress up, I celebrated “May the 4th Be with You!”
After all, roughly half of my walk-in closet houses costumes from the days when I used to produce my own spoken word and storytelling show, The Austin Writers Roulette. I’ve recycled this Princess Leia costume many times over, but never with a mask. This burst of impractical creativity felt more exhilarating than usual. Just what the doctor ordered during this COVID-19 pandemic.
In addition to this being my regular grocery shopping day,
I shopped for three special recipes for the next day’s celebration, Cinco de Mayo: two “Mexican” recipes and a coconut margarita recipe.
The first dish I cooked was something no self-respecting Mexican would ever eat
–or at the very least, consider “Mexican.” It had “tater tots” in its recipe name, but like any potato, meat, bean, corn, cheese and hot sauce dish, I absolutely loved it.
For my second recipe, which used ingredients commonly found in Mexican food, but wasn’t quite a Mexican dish, I made something that could either be thought of as a burrito pie or taco casserole or some such thing, but this recipe used tortillas as its carb rather than tater tots. All in all, still very delicious.
The only recipe I felt absolutely confident about was the Coconut Margarita.
Not that I necessarily needed a recipe since, as my favorite type of margarita, I had been making these for years. I just wanted to see if there were any interesting twists on it that I’d find delicious. There weren’t.
Little did I realize at the time, but this would mark the last time I bought meat at the grocery store for a while. As it stood, I’d only bought poultry on a regular basis: eggs, turkey and chicken. Since I’m an omnivore, I’d order red meat at restaurants.
Yet, now with meat packing plants closing down due to the pandemic, I’m no longer buying meat except for eggs. Even for takeout, I’ve been ordering seafood.
A lawyer friend of mine took me to task, telling me that my buying habits wouldn’t change how they processed meat. Plus lessening the demand would merely put more people out of work.
Yet, she misunderstood my position. With meat processing places shutting down do to illness among the employees who worked there, the price of meat has increased. I stopped buying avocados last year for the very same reason. Regardless of how anyone processes food, if I can’t afford it, I don’t buy it.
I’d love to vote with my dollars. Have my spending habits influence better practices up the food chain, but the reality is, there are many other food choices I can make. What I look for in recipes are tastiness and affordability. I generally cook nutritious dishes, but my Cinco de Mayo recipes weren’t quite that. I tried to compensate by not eating large portions in one setting, but let’s face it: since I made both to alternate between lunch and dinner, I just slow trained through those less than good nutrition dishes.
The other sinister consideration was perhaps I’d do myself a favor by weaning off meat. I’ve known for a while that the US consumed resources at a 5 planets/yr rate. The next iteration of “meat processing” may not be something I actually want to eat.
We’re either heading for a more dystopian society or we’ll bounce back better than before. Or, and this may be the dismal truth, dystopia will exist for those of us who don’t make the financial cut while systemic improvement will exist for those who can continue to afford it.
While watching a horror movie, I texted a friend, who had grown up in a home where indigenous medicine was practiced,
about one of the scenes where people were cleansing themselves with smoke from an herb bundle. Sage perhaps? She confirmed my conclusion.
She told me the practice was called “smudging.” People smudged to cleanse the energy when they moved into a new place, or when something bad has happened, or to eliminate negative energy or serious problems. She had me at “cleanse the energy.” Since my roommate and I’ve been sheltering in place, the energy had become stale and emotionally strained.
My friend volunteered to bring me some of her sage the following day. She arrived wearing a mask and I opened the door while wearing mine. Although we avoided embracing one another, it was such a joy to see a friend in the flesh rather than virtually.
She handed me a plastic ziplock bag, which enclosed a short bundle of sage sticks. Even though that was the point of the visit, she stood just outside the doorway and I’d backed up at least 6 ft away and we talked for a while. I would’ve offered to set a chair out on the porch for her to sit, but she was en route to visit another friend who was recovering from surgery.
Following what I’d read about smudging, I lit the bundle of sage sticks and cleansed myself, then I walked around all the rooms in the apartment. Before cleansing my roommate’s room, I asked her if she wanted to be cleansed first.
I believe in prayer and even the power of positive thinking. It’s more challenging when the whole world is undergoing a prolonged trauma though. Every little bit helps. Smudging once a week, daily yoga, daily microdosing CBD & CBG, sleeping 7-8 hours a night. Just as important as the preceding list of self-care, I’m still working from home.
In the past, underemployment has been a source of my insomnia. Despite all my big plans for multiple streams of income, my day job has been my Steady Eddie. I’ve not abandoned hope in those other pursuits. I’ve just slowed down my frenetic pace. I’ve read that being under prolonged trauma, such as this pandemic, drains one’s energy. Instead of being full of untapped energy due to the lack of a schedule, people are zapped of energy. I calmed down and dedicated myself to doing a little at a time until a project is done.
Especially the 156 illustrations I must complete for my third book. Initially, I tried to whip out an illustration a day. Then, I reframed the whole process and considered it a part of self care since I enjoy coloring and painting. Once I scaled back my ambitions, I began truly embracing my shortfalls and mistakes as another creative way to do things. After all, I wouldn’t want every illustration to hit the same note.
With my recent illustrations, I’ve become more efficient with some techniques and have learned some new tricks, especially with shading and highlighting. Cannot say that’s directly related to burning sage. Yet, the atmosphere in my little creative cave hasn’t been unconducive to progress.
I’d drank during virtual book club meetings, writers’ meetings, and other social events.
Yet getting together with other people across the States who I work with was a bit different since I’d never met most of them previously. We’re all customer service reps, called guides, who work from home and set our own hours.
Normally, the supervisors fly into a big city and invite nearby guides and guides who were willingly to fly into town, to work at a makeshift call center. They’d provide special training on the latest system update, but also test it out, so the supervisors could see in real time how it works with a few guides before unleashing it to the rest of the team.
With everyone in self-quarantine, all guides who wanted to participate in this latest virtual guide happy hour, just registered for the Zoom link and for an hour, we all politely chatted like the strangers we mostly were. I purposely set up in front of my rough draft paintings because they are an instant conversation piece. Who can resist what appears to be a quilt of naked people?
I explained that the paintings were rough drafts for my third novel, which of course led to the inevitable question about my first two books. One guide even questioned whether there were two previous books. I happily dashed into my bedroom, retrieved Tribe of One and The Adventures of Infinity & Negativa. I held the books up to the camera. I told the other guides that once this third book was done, I’d change the profile picture on Slack, holding my newest book.
Although I’m not a bourbon drinker, I bought this particular brand because Matthew McConaughey and his wife donated PPE to first responders.
I figured I could put some money in their pocket for that. Plus, I wanted to expand my happy hour selection.
I first tried it over ice with a splash of tonic water and margarita mix.
After going to the grocery store, I filled a goblet with fresh fruit: blueberries, strawberries, and mandarin slices. Then I poured the bourbon over it and let that marinate for about 20 minutes as I prepared dinner. Next I added a splash of margarita mix and tonic water. I called it a bourbon fruit cocktail. Leagues better than my first attempt, but still wasn’t quite a go-to drink.
Then, my roommate hit upon a classic idea: jello shots!
Both a nostalgic and delightful dessert drink. Previously, I’d only used my Korean celadon tea cups for tea, a shot of Baileys, and a midnight snack size portion of trail mix. Yet they were the perfect serving size for jello shots.
The first batch of jello shots were made with dark cherry.
I shared the above picture with one of my friends who summed up her thoughts with two quotes: 1) “Whisky is liquid sunshine.” ~George Bernard Shaw; and 2) “The darker the berry, the sweeter the juice.” ~Unknown. Although I’d always heard the expression as “The blacker the berry, the sweeter the juice,” which is an old folk saying and references the 1929 novel, The Blacker the Berry: A Novel of a Negro Life by Wallace Thurman. The second batch of bourbon jello shots were raspberry flavor and still delicious.
The bourbon laced dessert I didn’t like too much was the Godiva dark chocolate pudding.
The strong bourbon taste overpowered the chocolaty goodness. Perhaps I hadn’t waited long enough for it to set. Or too much alcohol was used. The texture wasn’t pudding-like. And then there were coconut flakes. I normally love coconut, even with dark chocolate, but with all other things being “off,” the coconut flakes seemed like an out-of-place texture.
I stuck with the jello shots.
At one point, I looked up at the calendar and realized I hadn’t had a happy hour with the “insurance ladies” in over a month. At one point, all of us were insurance agents, but currently only one of us was. Nonetheless, I sent a group text that we were about due for another virtual HH. None of them responded.
Well, fuck me.
Reminded me of the time I was a preschool teacher. At the end of the day, there were about five 3-year olds sitting at the table with me, waiting for their parents to pick them up. I got the bright idea to start a rendition of “If You’re Happy and You Know It.” I didn’t get past the first line of the song. No child joined in singing with me and none of them clapped.
At least I laughed at being rebuked by those preschoolers. This felt far more personal.
I calmed myself down and promised not to send another text although I double and triple checked that the message had been delivered. I took several deep breaths and acknowledged that everyone was becoming edgier due to being self-quarantined for over two months.
Then I remembered those preschoolers.
Maybe it wasn’t the request to hang out virtually, talk and drink that was problematic, but the implied obligation to be “happy.” What other catchy phrase can we call it? Discussion Drinking–no. Wine Whining–not quite. Thirsty Thoughts–oh, wait, I hear it now–and no.
The following morning, I DM’d one of my friends who I’d texted, using our workplace messaging system. She told me that she had missed the message since her son had been using her phone to make movies. Yet, she later replied to the group text, stating she’d prefer Saturday, so her hubby could watch the kids.
This prompted another friend to reply that she’s been battling poison ivy–yes, I thought of the Batman villain first–and requested we meet the following Saturday or the one after that.
I’m so happy that I’d calmed myself down and gave my friends the benefit of the doubt for not responding sooner. Not only did I spare myself and my friends a lot of drama that none of us needed, but I struck a wonderful compromise: I had a zoom call with one friend and we’re still working on scheduling a bigger HH.
Prior to many Americans taking the impending pandemic seriously, but just in time to be racist, the mob-mentality overcame some people, who in turn blamed Chinese people for the coronavirus. In practice, racists targeted any nearby Asians. To the point of shunning them on social media, in public and committing acts of violence against them.
Whenever I feel angry about something, I try to respond in a positive manner that is within my reach. No matter how small. So after my Saturday Ashtanga class, I hopped in my car, and ordered Vietnamese takeout, Het Say. If some were being hostile to Asians, then I’d do the opposite. Besides, I genuinely enjoyed that mom and pop restaurant, which was so near to my apartment, my roommate and I would occasionally walk there to eat.
By the following week, no restaurants allowed a dine-in option. Yet, I’d set a precedent the previous Saturday. I easily convinced my roommate to hop aboard to support another local restaurant. Besides, this gave us a reason to leave the apartment. We ordered from Hank’s, a restaurant that had such a welcoming ambience that the consolation was ordering from them to keep them in business. As the employee handed us our to-go orders through the drive-thru window, I joked that it was too bad that we couldn’t order a cocktail as well. He corrected me. Yet, I pointed out that I hadn’t seen cocktails on the online take-out menu. Nonetheless, we got two cocktails to go.
The next Saturday, my roommate chose the restaurant, Salvation Pizza. They allowed us to walk in the restaurant to pick up our orders, but we were very aware to stay 6 ft away from the other customers. I enjoyed talking to everyone more than usual when speaking to total strangers.
Neither my roommate nor I had ever eaten at TenTen’s Nova Kitchen, but since all the proceeds would go to the employees, we supported them that Saturday. My roommate hopped out of the car to get our orders. They politely asked her to return to the car and text them our names for curbside service. Apparently the unlocked front door was only for their use: drivers and curbside food runners.
As more businesses shuttered and a shelter in place order was issued, people weren’t merely losing their jobs, but for some, their health care since it had been a job benefit. There were businesses that were still open, but had not provided health care prior to the pandemic. Now those businesses were in the spotlight. Essentially any business that would put their employees in harm’s way, but not provide at least sick leave, were incentivizing their employees to come to work sick for as long as they could.
Since moving to Austin 11 years ago, I hardly ever ate at a national chain restaurant, but I made an exception for Olive Garden, which was one of the first to announce they were offering sick leave to their employees. They had the most user-friendly websites for to-go orders, offered buy one get one free entrees and when we drove to pick up our orders, they had trays in every other parking space so that no two customers were close to one another. Several employees approached the cars and ran orders to customers. Things looked very well orchestrated.
We put another local favorite in the rotation, Colleen’s Kitchen.
I was so happy that they still operated. By good fortune, this restaurant already had a pickup window prior to the pandemic. I’d been going to Colleen’s ever since they opened. Given their southern cuisine and down home decorations, I’d asked them why they didn’t offer chicken and waffles, which seemed like the only thing missing from their menu. Well, not any more!
Of course I had to order that along with an individually wrapped roll of toilet paper. Like many restaurants, Colleen’s had a supply of toilet paper for its own business use, but without any dine-in customers, they did the next best thing and offered TP on their to-go menu.
Not only that, but I also ordered one of their cocktail kits, which came with chopped fruit,
fresh fruit juice and bottle of sparking wine as well as 4 promotional plastic stemless wine glasses. I’m saving those glasses for an after-the-pandemic celebration out in a park somewhere.
The following Saturday, we ordered from a restaurant that we’d discovered on one of our prepandemic walks. 1618 Asian Fusion, which I’ve blogged about before due to my roommate’s and my long-winded, but hilarious conversation about the origins of the number “1618”. Turned out to be the address. (forehead slap)
By the time we ordered from the black-owned soul food restaurant, Hoover’s Cooking,
the Texas governor had officially opened up some businesses, including dine-in options for restaurants. Hoover’s was still in curbside and delivery mode, which suited us just fine since we were very willing to allow others to test the waters with dining in.
Earlier in the week, a major meat-packing place had closed due to coronavirus infection among the employees. There was a mild panic that we’d go meatless. I normally cook poultry at home, which was why I made a point to order sausage and ribs from Hoover’s. I am an omnivore after all, even though I rarely eat red meat these days. I made an exception this weekend.
And if my lunch plate looked a little light, it’s because I saved room for a slice of heavy cherry cobbler that I’d ordered.
There was a time when I could’ve eaten the entire thing in one setting. Nowadays, I have to limit my sugar intake to a couple of tastes. At least I get to have cherry cobbler for a few desserts.
For the next Saturday, we went to another part of the world: Argentina.
I’d spent my 46th birthday and some other special meals at the Buenos Aires Cafe. Of course, I ordered empanadas, but I still had some other options that I hadn’t tried before such as the grilled chicken and polenta. This restaurant had two sets of doors. As soon as we opened the second set, a small table blocked anyone from entering. Yet, our orders were already bagged up and waiting for us. Now THAT’s service!
Not sure when I’ll feel comfortable with dining in again, but I’ll continue to support one local restaurant every Saturday through my to-go orders.
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.
I know what you’re thinking, but no, it’s not that. What I’m talking about is putting oneself in the financial position to make money. Not something that I’ve thought about until the last couple of years in my professional life. Everything I’ve learned about being an entrepreneur came from reading books, attending a one-off workshop, watching videos and doing a lot of trial and error. Result: spending $3 to make $2.
On occasion, I’d take stock of my life and analyze what wasn’t working since I’m a Virgo and analyzing is one of the things we do best. Then, I’d strategize about how I could tweak, pivot, or out-right change to improve my situation.
This philosophy stood out to me because for all of my forays into entrepreneurship, I’ve thought that as long as I’ve tried to put out the best product as possible, regardless of what that product was, then the money would flow in. Ha! Quality control and cash flow are two different things.
The challenge with a simple truth is its deception. As much as I wholeheartedly agree with getting out of my own way to allow financial stability to flow, I still pine for my financial path to be lined with things that motivate me to leap out of bed, stir my creative juices, and make me lose all sense of time. What position must I assume in that case?
