Day #167 Writing Through COVID-19: Bad Day

I am sick and tired of COVID-19.

During the summer, I found the isolation peaceful. The clearing of my calendar gave me room to slow down, #GlowUp, enjoy the tranquility of the farm, exercise, play Bridge.

But today I am stressed. 

My mother-in-law is anxious and unhappy.

My parents are confused and lonely.

My students are BORED. Who wants to sit in class, facing the front, denied group work, denied movement and interaction?
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I planned an activity involving group discussion for my Eng 9 students and used ZOOM as our format. 

FAIL.

The kids needed to move apart from each other to prevent feedback, so many went outside. But the ZOOM program demands strong wifi. When they moved outside, several were dropped from ZOOM. As they re-entered, I had to re-assign them to their breakout rooms.

Can we just say shitshow?

We salvaged a positive: In the final minutes of class, we talked about how hard it is to develop and learn new systems of interacting while maintaining distance. The students said using a chat platform (sans video) might have worked better.
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So in the afternoon when my second section of Eng 9 met, we tried an online chat program.

It was blocked by our district's tech protections.

I went to Plan B (or maybe this was Plan C, given that Zoom was Plan A) and had kids "discuss" on a shared Google Doc. 
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You don't need the gory details. Let's just say it wasn't pretty.

But even worse than the disaster of my English class discussions were the sad and bored faces of my Intro to Journalism classes today. 

My teaching style has always been interactive. In my non-COVID teaching, I tell my students they are guaranteed at least one activity each day that invites them to get out of their seats and interact with each other. 

I've had to abandon this tenet of my teaching style given the COVID constraints on my room.
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My attempts to create interactive learning via technology were rough today.
My attempts to teach without student interaction were stale and flat. 

I want normal.

Enough.
Be well.
Wear a mask.
Write.

Allison

Day #166 Writing Through COVID-19: Can Someone Explain?

I'm worried about my parents. When I moved them back to their care center four weeks ago, the facility was maintaining its strict months-long policies of limiting residents' interactions with the outside world. They'd convinced me they'd protect residents, learning from mistakes and successes of other care centers across the country and the world. They'd managed to contain the virus to only two cases among their more than 400 residents.

A month ago, they were cautiously beginning to allow 30-minute outdoor, distanced family visits. They took every resident's temperature daily.

Then this week the care center experienced a devastating sprinkler-system malfunction that caused significant water damage to an independent-living building. People in the damaged area--who have not been under the strict COVID precautions of my parents' building--were suddenly without housing. As the care center scrambled to find rooms, they looked to my parents' building. 

Solution?

How do you tell people that, not only have they been flooded and displaced, they will now be moved into a section of the facility that is in COVID lockdown?

I understand this is a beyond-2020 difficult problem. (Hey, the term "2020" is destined to mean "worst ever.") 

But as my parents' daughter, I am dismayed that the "solution" is to intermingle residents who are not restricted with those who are.

In other words, the facility is flinging open the doors. 

While my parents met this announcement positively ("Can we go to the family reunion next weekend?"), my siblings and I are beside ourselves with concern.

How can we keep our parents safe within these drastically loosened mitigation strategies? When my sister called to ask administrators this very question, she was told we need to learn to "live with the virus." In no uncertain terms, she told them that our parents, should they contract COVID-19, will not be "living" with it.
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My dad's sister Frances died shortly after COVID grabbed us by the throat. His last living sister, Edith, died on July 4 at the age of 104. 

A two-day reunion/double funeral is planned for next weekend in Buffalo Center, where the Berryhills grew up. Their mother was a school teacher who met their father (a farmer) when he stopped to ask for a drink of water.

Because my parents' care center has rescinded COVID restrictions, my siblings and I must explain why we will not take them to the funerals. 

We can do this because our parents understand and trust our judgment. They have been accepting of our guidance and decision-making over the past five months. 

But with their care center's decision to loosen COVID precautions, I am panicking.

My dad can't remember how to open an email. My mom can't remember what she said two minutes ago. 

How are these (dear) people supposed to remember to wear masks, maintain 6-foot distances, avoid touching (any!) surfaces?
______________

I do not understand the logic in loosening nursing-home COVID precautions at the same time our state is topping out as the #1 increase in positive testing.

The explanations as of now are falling short. 

Enough.
Be well.
Keep writing. Keep writing. Keep writing.

Allison

This dear bald baby looks so much like my own! These grandma arms need to hold him.

Day #165 Writing Through COVID-19: Stretching Our Nerves

I made it through the first week of COVID teaching. I am confident that my under-six-foot interactions with students and colleagues have been brief and masked (at least on my part). 

I did this mostly by hiding in my room, behind my retractable stanchion barrier. 

But this morning my routine was slowed when I couldn't get my new contacts in (I'm switching to contacts to eliminate the glasses-fog I experience when wearing mask/glasses/shield).

This meant I arrived at school when students were walking through the halls on their way to their first classes. 

I would say 2/3 of the students were not masked during passing time. Our board's position states that masks are "expected" when distancing cannot be assured. What does "expected" even mean? When our board considered this wording, one member said she was confident our students would "do the right thing." 

As I passed a football player, wearing his game-day jersey, I greeted him cheerfully: "You want to play some football?"

"Yes!" 

"Then get a mask on! If you want a football season, we've got to stay healthy!"

I repeated my mask-up cheer to three more players before I reached my room. Rah! Rah!
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Iowa is #1 for positive test percentage in the nation today. Our numbers are higher than they've been since April. The governor has shut down bars and clubs at 10 p.m. in the college towns as a (half-hearted?) attempt to lower the curve. 

The infections introduced through reopening schools will begin to show over the next few weeks. If there is anything we should have learned by watching the pandemic ebb and flow across the world, it is this: the virus is always two weeks ahead of us. 
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Dan's mom is having a hard time. This is the amazing 91-year-old who lives in her own home one mile from us. She and I have been learning to play the accordion together for the past four years. Since March, I've brought her groceries and helped her avoid the public. She's sewn me literally dozens of masks.

But when I returned to school 10 days ago, we decided to forgo our (masked) accordion practice until we can be confident my interactions with students are not bringing the virus home to the farm. This might mean we won't practice together again until a vaccine is available.

Today she called to say her "nerves hurt" again. We've been through this before, most recently five years ago. It means her anxiety is causing her physical discomfort. She describes it as "someone stretching my nerves." 

Pre-COVID, my mother-in-law kept active playing piano several times a week for the chapel services in a nearby care center. She visited (and advocated for) many residents. She did all of her own shopping and errands, cleaned her own house, and found time to stop by MY house and run the dishwasher and washing machine while I was at school. She basically ran circles around all of us.

After five months in lockdown, the toll of this virus is pulling at her nerves. I've set up a telehealth appointment for her on Tuesday. Last night I practiced Zooming with her so she will be familiar with the setup when she sees her doctor. 

I'm angry that our country has not been able in five months to return to safe reopening. I'm frustrated that Iowa is not keeping its residents safe. And I'm worried that this pandemic is stretching our nerves.

Enough.
Be well.
Write.

Allison

Look at those cheeks!

Day #164 Writing Through COVID-19: Zoom, etc.

I've been trying to Zoom with my parents daily since they returned to Friendship Haven 27 days ago. I don't want to lose the bond I felt when they lived with me. 

But my efforts have been undercut by my dad's glitchy laptop. First, he lost his video camera on Zoom. I couldn't see my parents' faces as we talked, but they could at least see me--which I told them was all that mattered!

But then my dad lost audio capability as well. The care-center tech support was not able to fix it, so today I made arrangements for my dad's sister's grandaughter's husband Jason (got that?!) to troubleshoot his laptop issues tomorrow. 
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My interactions with my parents--face-to-face this past summer and now on Zoom or phone--are fogged with their confusion. I am not angry or even irritated by their loss of acuity and memory. Still, at times, it takes effort to modulate my voice to erase tones of boredom or judgment as they fumble through what used to be simple computer tasks and free-flowing conversation.
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Both of my parents report bubble-blowing to be a joyful part of their days. 

Could we all just take hold of a jar of bubbles and send some opalescent spheres of contentment into the atmosphere? I'm reading a lot about "self care" these days, and I think bubble-blowing is underrated. 
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My newspaper editors will be Zooming next week with leaders in the Des Moines CORE for Advancement organization. My students are landlocked in a mostly white, mostly conservative, rural Iowa community. Yet they feel the urgency of this summer's reawakening of the civil rights movement. They want to engage in the hard thinking of addressing racial inequity in our country, our state, our town, our school.
--------------------------- 

Enough.
Be well.
Write.

Allison

Is there anything sweeter than baby friends? On

the left is Leah, born July 11. Wolf arrived one 

day after his bestie.

Day #163 Writing Through COVID-19: The Honeymoon

There is a honeymoon phase of teaching at the beginning of each new year. Students are settling in. As they grow more comfortable and confident, their personalities peek out. As a class, we're easing into some shared humor. Students are working hard. Attendance is nearly perfect. We're building energy. 

Who wouldn't love teaching in this atmosphere?
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Today my broadcasting class experimented with creating a new intro to our news show using Zoom to match the COVID feel of our year. 

One of the AHS Journalism values is "Celebrate good tries, even if we fail." 

That pretty much sums up our attempt today. Our concept (a "Brady Bunch" opening of the team, followed by closeups of the producer, anchors, and video tech) failed miserably on our first try. But the laughter and goodwill outweighed the frustrations, and by the end of the hour we had worked out several bugs: Hold your computer steady! Remember to unmute yourself! Does the group wave look too cheesy? 

Tomorrow they'll come "looking pretty" for our actual filming. 

Editing classes are all about collaboration, interpersonal skills, and building confidence in oneself and in one's teammates. In other words, Editing is Life Skills 101.

"Eye of the Needle" team working on our intro. 

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Another teacher in our building is out for quarantine. A neighboring community's varsity volleyball squad is quarantined after sitting together to cheer on the JV squad scrimmage. 

While our numbers in Cass County remain relatively low (107 cases; 6% positivity for the past 14-day rolling average), I can't help but see potential for virus spread at every turn. 

Consider this photo of students on the first day of school:

Remember, our school board declined to mandate masks and instead voted on wording to "expect masks when social-distancing cannot be achieved." Board members who spoke out against mandatory masks said they were confident most students would mask up voluntarily. 

Hmmmmm.
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Back to my classroom.

Aspects of my teaching that had over years become effortless (moving around the classroom, breaking students into small groups for immediate short discussions, spontaneous adjustment of plans to add movement when kids looked sleepy) are now in the do-not-do column.

I feel sorry for kids sitting in desks and facing forward all day. In my non-COVID world, I prioritized physical activity at least once each period. Desk-bound was never how I wanted to teach.
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I'm sad about this. Still, I am excited to teach tomorrow.
I get to wear scrubs.

Enough.
Be well.
Write.

Allison

P.S. Tonight I received a text from a former student (a 2010 graduate) who is now an English teacher herself. She said she wanted to tell me how much I mean to "so many students and former students." She is teaching in a school that is adhering to tighter COVID safety protocols and said she hoped I could stay safe. 

Oh, you wonder why I love teaching? 

Day #162 Writing Through COVID-19: Masks (Have we talked about this before?)

I made adjustments in my classroom on Day 2. I threaded two paper-towel rolls onto the retractable stanchion cords to make it quick for kids to grab a towel for wiping down desks as they enter my room. This eased congestion and helped them to touch only their own towel.

As soon as one class left, I dashed around the room squirting disinfectant on each desk. This also works as an air-freshener: my room now smells like cheap tequila. 
-------------------

My seniors are sad. Today they told me that last year's graduates lost April and May of their senior year, but they're "losing" their senior year right from the start: football games, Homecoming, fall musical...all can be canceled at any moment.

They don't know yet what expectations will be in place for the crowds. Can they cheer with their friends? Isn't shouting an aggressive way of distributing the virus? Will their peers wear masks while shouting "D-E-F-E-N-S-E"? Will everyone social distance and offer air hugs after touchdowns?

Our school has its first scheduled football game this Friday. 
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This feels like such a small thing to the 60-year-old me. But the 15-year-old who still lives inside me can relate. I lived for Friday nights. My first kiss happened at a Ft. Dodge Dodgers football game (yikes). I can smell fall air and remember the giddiness of it all. I see the harvest moon rising over the bleachers.
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Moment of the day: My newspaper class talked about the confusion and awkwardness surrounding the vague masking policy in our school. "Recommended" and "expected when social-distancing cannot be achieved" has by Day #2 morphed into "anything goes."

While I saw an uptick in masking in my own room on Day 2 (likely in response to my emotional appeals of yesterday and this morning's email I sent telling my students how much I appreciated masking in my room), my journalists said that it is hit-and-miss throughout the school. 

Even the kids who tell me they are "pro-mask" (I am dismayed that we use the conflict terminology of pro/con on a public health issue) say they feel unease and odd social pressure when masking expectations wax and wane from class to class.

One of my editors said that initially, she'd been anxious about my class because she knew I was going to be hypervigilant on mitigation strategies because of my age, previous cancer, and responsibilities for caring for elderly family members.

Instead, she said Room #408 was one of the calmest for her because I'd drawn boundaries for distancing and expectations for masking. "I could relax," she said, because everyone around her was wearing a mask and respecting distancing. 

Her words made my day.
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I ate lunch alone again, outside and in the sun and fresh air. Because my prep period aligns with lunch, I have 70 minutes of non-teaching time in the middle of the day. 

Eating alone is lonely. My fellow English teachers have stopped by my lawn chair to say hello. I've shared my carrots. We are texting when we normally would have popped into each other's rooms. This helps.
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Tonight when I Zoomed with my dad for a game of Bridge, his laptop camera was again not working. Nevertheless, we played a good hand and lost only 5 IMP points on our failed attempt to make game with 3NT. 

Regardless, we had fun talking through strategy, counting tricks, weighing options.

After Bridge, my mom joined us and I told her about my teaching day. She told me about blowing bubbles.

Enough.
Be well.
Write.

Allison

Trying to be a grandma from too far away. I can't
wait until Wolf is able to actually see me when we Facetime.
Look how chonky (his Irish mama's word) he is! 
Andrea says his thighs are fattening up!

Day #161 Writing Through COVID-19: The Kids Are Back!

How was the first day of teaching during a pandemic?

I'd say it was a mixed bag. 

• It was pure joy to see my editors. It felt easy and right to be back together, picking up with jokes and memories. A journalism lab is not like most classrooms. It's a workspace where everyone is pulling together for a shared project--with the students in charge. I hover around the edges, trying to keep them legal and reminding them of AP style and objectivity. 
• Words that capture the essence of my editing classes today: reunion, energy, empathy, uncertainty, and love.
  
• Several students voiced approval of my scrubs, and the others nodded with understanding when I explained that my new look was to keep myself and my family as safe as possible. When I got home tonight, I went straight to the laundry room and shoved the scrubs in a hot-water wash. They were wonderfully comfortable. I might never go back to dresses and heels.
  
  
• Wiping desks between classes felt like carrying water in a sieve. Desks are surfaces that will surely transmit the virus. Kids touch their faces, their masks, their eyes, then their computers, their desks. The next kid comes in and touches the same surfaces, as well as his/her/their own eyes, face, mask. To me, wiping down desks between each class is a no-brainer. So I tried. I tried to keep the kids ready to enter my room at bay while I sprayed the desks. I then asked them to take a squirt from the big hand-sanitizer jug on the front table, grab a paper towel, wipe their desks, then zigzag back to the front of the room to deposit the towel in the wastebasket, return to their desk...Do you get the picture? The first time we did this (at the beginning of second period) the kids and I were bumping into each other. I felt like I was playing COVID pinball.
  
  With each period I improved my system.
  
  But then I ran out of paper towels. So I greeted my last class of the day by telling them to go get a towel from the bathroom, which meant they all had to clog the hallway with more traffic all push a towel-dispensing bar by the bathroom. Not a perfect system. Sheesh. 

For every cautionary measure I take, I am met with huge gaps in containment. There's a part of me that suspects all of my adherence to best practices will be for naught.
-------------------

One of the activities we did in my journalism classes today was a News of Summer 2020 Kahoot game. The first question asked how many positive COVID cases had been reported in Cass County. 

Most of my students missed this question. Many chose the lowest answer choice (Between 20 and 30). Only a few knew we are now over 100 cases.

On a positive note, most students knew George Floyd was the man whose death reignited the civil rights movement this summer. 
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I did not go into the hall today. Therefore, I don't know how many students wore masks in this shared space where social distancing cannot be assured--which according to our school board's directives is where masking is the expectation.  TBC.
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Tonight's blog does not feel like the rounded construction of an essay. Instead, it feels like scattered thoughts thrown Pollock-style against the page. 

Bear with me. It's only day #1. 

Enough.
Be well.
Wash your hands.
Wear a mask.
Write.

Allison

Wolf! Six weeks old, wearing a onsie from his grandma in Iowa
and mittens and hat from his grandma in Belfast. 

Day #160 Writing Through COVID-19: 23 Weeks

It was 23 weeks ago that Iowa schools shut down for COVID-19.

Tomorrow my (new!) students return, come hell or high water. 

Literally.

Our state positivity rate (14-day rolling average) is at 7.8%. Many countries consider a percentage over 5 (or even 3) to indicate the virus is not controlled. The Atlantic district is currently hovering near 8%.
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Last night as my son Max in New Zealand made his closing arguments attempting to persuade me to take a 12-week COVID leave from school, he told me about the recent (small) outbreak in Auckland.

Because NZ's lockdown was quick and effective, the country went more than 100 days without a case. 

Then last week they were alarmed by new cases in Auckland that likely came in via cold storage. The country used DNA testing to determine who might have contaminated whom. 

At first, they saw no connection. The two early "spreaders" had not spent time in each other's proximity.

However, they had both used the same elevator--although not at the same time!

Was the virus lingering in the elevator air?

Was it passed between two fingers that touched the same buttons?
--------------------

Meanwhile, here in Iowa, I feel like a bit of a freak for demanding a mask and a six-foot bubble.

From my perspective, in the US of A, I'm hypervigilant. Half a world away, my son sees me as reckless.
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Today I received nine emails related to school, many with explanatory documents, spreadsheets, and videos attached. 

Unfortunately, I'm already in the starting blocks. The official has the gun raised. At this point, I can no longer absorb advice from my coach. The race is on.
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I held my final Zoom sessions with my incoming freshmen throughout the day. In all, I met with 15 of my 29 newbies. Our conversations were light and hopeful (although several were delayed by technology glitches, which is the new normal). Each student was able to tell me reading preferences, and I helped them understand the lunch schedule and how to find my room. I got to smile at them without a mask. Success?

LEARNING FROM COVID: 
I think in future years I will invite students to introductory Zoom sessions before school starts. I've really enjoyed meeting them a few at a time.
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I just got another admin email. It's 8:53 p.m. School starts in 11 hours.
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This morning during my week's long run, I was interrupted by three phone calls:

1) My dad, struggling to get his church service pulled up on Facebook.

2) My husband, struggling to get his iPad lighting adjusted.

3) My daughter, who--thankfully--had no computer issues and just wanted to chat.

NOT NOW, I gasped to all three.
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Day #160 comes to a close.

Day #1 starts tomorrow.

Enough.
Be well.
Write.

Allison

Sorry (not sorry) if I've already shared this one. 💗

Day #159 Writing Through COVID-19: Growing Readers

Beautiful Saturday!

I was able to hold small-group Zoom sessions with more of my incoming freshmen this afternoon. They gave me more favorite book titles: "Everything, Everything," "American Sniper," "Harry Potter" books, and "This Is Where It Ends,"  three of which I've read and another I know about.
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Sometimes teachers wonder how to prove kids have read books. Here are my suggestions:

• Trust them.
• Invite them to tell you about the books they've liked. 
• Ask them if the book was a mirror, a window, or both--and how.
• Believe them.

Sometimes teachers wonder how to get kids to read. Here's what works for me:

• Listen to them.
• Read voraciously and eclectically in YA, high-interest non-fiction, and accessible "adult" books.
• Spend half your salary on books for your classroom library.
• Hand kids (sanitized) books that will suck them in and hold them tight.
• Or give them a different book.

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One Zoom session today was attended by three boys who told me they were best friends. 

As luck would have it, they all had siblings who were involved in my journalism program. I promised not to compare them to their brothers and sisters (but I do admit I love teaching multiple students from the same families).

Later, as I considered this, I thought about how kid after kid after kid gives me gifts of effort, trust, and time. 

Over 23 years of teaching, I don't think I've had a single student who didn't worm himself/herself/themselves into a nook or cranny of my heart. Even the students whose behaviors rubbed against me like sharkskin (and I against them) made me a better teacher. 

My job--what I'm PAID for, for chrissake--is to support, advocate for, and grant a wide swath of love to my students. For the next 9 months, I will commit to the 81 students on my roster.
------------------------

"Did you all sign up for this session together intentionally?" I asked the trio of boys.

They laughed and said yes.

Actually, I feel sorry for people who don't teach teens. It's the best job ever.
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After Zooming with students, I Zoom-Bridged with my dad. Oh, we played beautifully, which is not always the case,

Before I signed off, I asked my mom to come onto the screen so I could see her. She and my dad argued (mildly) if they'd blown bubbles today or yesterday. 

Again, I turned my computer camera to show them the view across our terrace and into the farmland, bringing happy sighs from all three of us.

"That makes me homesick," my mom said.

Enough.
Be well.
Write.

Allison 

My math-teaching daughter in Denver with her look-alike dog.

Day #158 Writing Through COVID-19: Meet the Students

The most important 15 minutes of my day occurred between 3:15 and 3:30 when I met the two students who will be joining my English 9 class through remote learning via Zoom this semester.

I am luckier than most teachers, as I have both a laptop and a desktop computer in my room. This allows me to hook the desktop to Zoom and still use my laptop for everything else.
-----------------------

There's nothing like meeting new students to remind me why I love to teach. They told me about books they've been reading: "Juvie Three," "Hunt for Red October," and "Inheritance." They helped me determine the best angle for the computer to pick up their classmates' faces. We tested the sound quality from various spots within my cordoned teaching zone. 

I suggested they unmute themselves and speak up with questions and comments because unless I am looking at the screen (which I won't be), I will not see them raise their hands. 

I told them to call my phone two minutes past class-time start if they are still in the Zoom waiting room, and I've forgotten to let them in.

I explained how we'll use the same Zoom link each day, and where to find it on our Google Classroom. 

We talked about how and when to reach me with questions. I showed them how to access the class list to find friends to connect with for further understanding.

I was proud of these kids for keeping themselves and their families safe by joining school through the Remote Learning option, and I told them that.

When our meeting ended, I actually felt excited to teach again. 
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After school, I stopped at Walmart and bought two sets of cheap scrubs. 

I love dressing up for school. I love wearing pretty dresses and bright colors and fun sweaters.

But last night I called my son's girlfriend who is a pediatric emergency-room nurse and had a big old talk about why nurses wear scrubs. 

She explained they assume contamination. Germs are carried on clothing, she explained. Some of her co-workers go so far as to remove their scrubs before entering the house, put them in a bag (which goes directly to the washer) and then shower before interacting with family. 

Should I consider following scrub protocol? I asked.

"You should probably assume you've been contaminated," she said.
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After three days of maneuvering through the AHS hallways with increasing confidence in my masked, hyper-vigilant persona, I'm tempted to say "I've got this."

Then I remember that 50 people have populated our building during the past three days.

Come Monday it will be 500.

I'll wear the gray scrubs.

Enough.
Be well.
Write.

Allison

Look who's laughing now!
Wolf will be six weeks old tomorrow. 

Day #157 Writing Through COVID-19: Boundaries and Peanut-butter Cookies

Day #2 back at school, still without students.

This afternoon a colleague stopped by and didn't realize the barrier I'd constructed with staggered bookshelves was intended to keep people out of my safe zone. He walked right past my rampart and plunked down in MY desk chair. I was over by the window, where I stayed through the duration of the visit.

I should have asked him to move to my student seating area. But I'm still trying to find that elusive sweet spot where I can establish my own boundaries without hurting anyone's feelings.

So why am I mousing around the feelings of people who are not adjusting their behaviors to CDC recommendations during a pandemic? Good question.

Iowa Nice is sometimes a liability.
----------------------

My think-space today was dominated by assessing my own sense of safety; counteracting behaviors of others whose parameters are looser than mine; and practicing firm, diplomatic defense of my boundaries.

I hope come Monday I have a wee bit of brain left over to actually teach.
---------------------------

Since the bookshelves-as-boundary idea obviously isn't working, I contacted HR and asked for a retractable stanchion to mark off my space more clearly. Two hours later, the stanchions were delivered to my room. I appreciate my district's efforts to accommodate my safety needs. 

But I would not have these needs if:

1) We were teaching online.
2) We used a hybrid system that established consistent distancing.
3) Masking and distancing were required and enforced.

------------------------

This afternoon our rock-star FCS teacher wheeled a cart through the halls (masked, gloved, and wearing a RAYGUN "Iowa Needs Sex Education" t-shirt) to deliver peanut-butter cookies. "Stress baking!" she announced cheerfully.

On every level, it was the best cookie of my life.
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After school, I came home and sat in the sun. I began reading "I'm Thinking of Ending Things," a novel my friend and fellow English teacher Randall gave me today. But on page 10 my head began to bob, and I then napped for 40 minutes sitting (mostly) upright on the porch.

That's tired. 

Enough.
Be well.
Write.

Allison

As Andrea says, Wolf's little hand "just melts me."

Day #156 Writing Through COVID-19: First Day Back (and Haircuts!)

This is my report.

At 7:55 a.m. I entered my school building through a less-used side door and went directly to my classroom, avoiding human interaction, but seeing from a distance four colleagues walking towards the auditorium for the opening meeting. None of them wore masks.

I attended the district welcome via Zoom in the seclusion of Room #408. 

The presenters had some technology missteps, which we must accept as given. COVID has taught us to move slowly, one-way, through grocery stores without blasting past contemplative shoppers blocking the aisle. We can be patient with colleagues as they maneuver the complexities of presenting live and via ZOOM simultaneously. (We will all be asked to perform this juggling feat next week!)
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In my classroom, I've created a physical barrier of three short bookshelves and a music stand to delineate "student space" from "teacher space." It looks silly, but if I do not firmly establish a six-foot distancing rule with my students, I will end up having to quarantine for two weeks if any of them get sick (which they will).

I wore my facemask and faceshield even when alone in my room today to build my stamina and familiarity with these layers of protection. I do get a glare off my shield.
----------------------------

Then at 10 a.m., a student stopped by to return the yearbook camera he'd used during the summer softball season. 

Suddenly my best-laid plans gang aft agley: the student jauntily walked right through my barriers, handed me the camera bag, then tried to thrust his computer into my hands and asked me to help him with the "admin password required" to download the app he needed for an online college class. 

My classroom organizational style of past years is 100% shared space. "My room" is "our room" and my students (normally) are free to move about at their discretion. Under non-COVID conditions, I would happily grab his laptop and work my tech magic.

So when instead I barked, "WAIT! You need to stay outside of the barrier!" my dear student was at once confused, embarrassed, and maybe a little ticked off. 

Who could blame him?

I'd changed all the rules of Room #408, without warning.
--------------------------

In truth, I am thankful for this awkward preview of what will come at me times 100 on Monday. I told the student I was glad he had given me this painful/awkward practice run. He knows me well enough to know that even my most awkward teaching moments are fueled by good intentions.
----------------------------

In the afternoon we had two meetings with our building staff in the wide-open space of the comments area. At the first meeting, I'd guess 75% were wearing masks. The second time we gathered, I saw only two colleagues without them.

I hope this means that as staff sees others masked, they will feel encouraged to do likewise. 
-------------------------

This morning my dad was assisted by the Friendship Haven tech team to fix his ZOOM camera. Success! Although my parents have seen me as we've ZOOMed these past three weeks, I hadn't seen them.

So tonight when we ZOOMed for a bit of Bridge, I got to see their smiling faces--and their much needed haircuts! 

Enough.
Be well.
Write.

Allison           

Haircuts for all of us!

Day #155 Writing Through COVID-19: On Math and Medals

Today was my lovely last day of summer. 
I ran three miles.
I enjoyed morning coffee with two friends on a socially-distanced patio.
I got my hair cut (first time since March) and heard a first-person account from a woman who was down with COVID for 12 miserable days.

I practiced the accordion with my mother-in-law.
I played Bridge via Zoom with my dad. 
I sat in the sun.
I wrote a poem.

"How we spend our days is how we spend our lives." --Annie Dillard
----------------------

Today was also my Denver daughter Palmer's first day with students in her new school. Although she teaches math and I teach English, we share a teaching style she calls "hummingbird." We dart and hover, logging thousands of steps each day within the 400 sq. feet of our classrooms.

"I try to be a positive person," she prefaced the report on her first day. But her students mumbled behind their masks. "Teachers are listeners. We listen to kids. I couldn't hear them, and I could only see half of their faces." Furthermore, she couldn't dash over and fix a computer glitch, or move in to make a private comment. She said she felt as if everything that makes her a good teacher has been hobbled.

I reminded her that the first trips to Hy-Vee during COVID were exhausting, as every movement demanded full concentration. If school manages to stay in session, our new distanced teaching styles will eventually feel more natural.
----------------------

After unloading her worries, Palmer began talking about her new students. Her voice lightened as she laughed about the first-day eagerness we see each fall. She had shown her students the trailer to "Hidden Figures" and shared the cornerstones of her classroom philosophy: Grit. Loving-kindness. Honesty. 

She invited her students to explain how one of these priorities resonated with them, and then to choose a song that would illustrate this.

"Sounds like you wish you taught English," I said.

"Oh yes!" she laughed, "But we also reviewed mathematical symbols!"
---------------------

As Palmer relayed all the things that had gone WELL in her room today, she said, "I really have the best job."

True.

I wish it was safe.
--------------------

Texting with fellow teachers tonight. We've been told there will be plenty of space to socially distance in the auditorium for the Welcome Back at 8 a.m. tomorrow.

Originally this event was scheduled for all 300 district employees, but then voices rose in chorus to say NOT A GOOD IDEA. Subsequently, the Board asked the administration to rethink this arrangement and allow teachers to attend via zoom from their own buildings.

I will attend, alone in my classroom.

My (almost as old as me) math-teaching friend down the hall said she'd be doing the same.
--------------------

Smiling like a hero.

A few years ago our principal's theme for the year was something related to winning. She gave us each a medal on our first day back. Somehow my math-teaching friend and I made a competition out of who could wear their medal the longest.

With a few cheats (borrowing other teachers' medals, stuffed in their desk drawers), we both wore the medals for the entire year!

Tonight we decided we need to bring them back.

If there ever was a year that deserved a medal, this is it.

Enough.
Be well.
Write.
Or do some math.

Allison

Day #154 Writing Through COVID-19: ZOOM ZOOM

At 9 a.m. my school board met via ZOOM to re-consider the language of masking in our return-to-learn plan. Ultimately, they did not mandate masks, but they strengthened the wording to EXPECT masks (as opposed to "recommend masks" of the earlier draft) when social distancing cannot be achieved in grades 6-12. They kept the softer "recommend" in grades five and down, where our students will be more static in their classrooms.

I appreciate the effort board members made to voice their concerns for safety. 

I appreciate the board member who asked why they had adhered to all of the recommendations from the department of public health EXCEPT the recommendation to mask up. 

However, I did not appreciate a board member's comment about "evidence" she'd read showing the value of masking as well as evidence that masking is harmful. 

???????????????

In my classroom, we analyze sources and evaluate evidence. Just because anti-masking articles can be found on the internet does not mean they deserve equal billing with recommendations of epidemiologists and the CDC. To claim there are "two sides" on masking recommendations is a false equivalency. 

-----------------------------

Next, I ZOOMed with the coming year's yearbook editors. I reminded them of their collaborative task, then said I'd sit on the deck while they (without me) made choices about the book's theme and direction.

Happy on the deck while my editors are working
 (without me)!

When I returned, they excitedly told me about the theme, colors, and graphic ideas that would propel their message. 

Teaching editing is, time and again, a challenge in loosening the reins to allow students to practice collaborative leadership and problem-solving. Sometimes my best teaching is when I just remember to stand out of the way.
--------------------------

Next (can you guess?) I ZOOMed with the English Department to complete our analysis of the gaps our students may have experienced when school shut down in March.

Our time was again a blend of positive planning and angsty risk mitigation. 

We were joined by a teacher outside of our department who teared up as she talked about her child's comprised health conditions, and her uncertainties in returning to work. 
----------------------------

Well, ZOOM meetings filled up my day. So it was only this evening that I, at last, called my parents to check in. 

My dad wanted to talk about his plans to ZOOM in to his sisters' funerals/family reunion scheduled for the first weekend in September.

I was glad he seemed to understand his best hope for "attending" is to do so via ZOOM. I told him my brother and I had earlier in the day problem-solved the tech needed to make this Virtual Funeral happen.
---------------------------

I then asked to talk to my mom.

I've had five months of training in what to say to invite her into a relaxed and happy conversation.

"I bet it's nice to get outside with Vern."

(She tells me about waking at 5 a.m. to take him out. She tells me about Vern's love of hardboiled eggs, and his weakening teeth.)
------------------------------------

"Have you had a chance to blow bubbles?" I ask.

When she says no ("The weather isn't right here."), I tell her how fun it was for me to walk past my kitchen window this summer and see bubbles wafting up. 

"I knew it meant you and Dad were out blowing bubbles on the lawn!" 

We talked about working puzzles together, playing Bridge, sharing poems.

"Our time with you was the happiest we've been in years," she said.

I felt the spikes of tears behind my eyes.

"Me too."

Enough.
Be well.
Write.

Allison

Someone's getting cheeks!

Wee Angel Man

Day #153 Writing Through COVID-19: Suspense. And Why I Write.

Ten minutes into my long Sunday run, my dad called. "Are you busy?"

Still fresh and breathing well, I asked if I could call him back in an hour. "Yes, of course."

But 45 minutes later my phone rang again. "Your mother and I went outside for a bit. We thought we might have missed you calling me back."

With one mile to go, I was now gulping air like a guppy. "ALMOST. DONE. I'LL CALL. SOON--"

I hung up and tried to pound out the final stretch. 

But my concentration was shot. Instead, I began to imagine all the reasons my dad would call me twice within an hour. It must be an emergency.

Something with my siblings...

Or my mother had had another TIA--or a full-out stroke...

I told myself not to think of the worst. 

Maybe they were calling about Vern. Or the upcoming family reunion (that no one has told them yet they will not be able to attend...nor will I, as a contagion-carrier from the unmasked ACSD).

My run had been good until the last mile, which was slow and uncomfortable, physically and mentally.

I got into the car and blasted myself with the airconditioning until I'd stopped panting, then dialed my dad.

"Hello, Alli." He sounded okay. I hoped for the best. "This isn't an emergency," he said. (Oh? Maybe you could have mentioned that the first two times you called?) "But I wanted you to know we found the charger to the scooter!"

I felt a surge of relief push against a surge of dismay, something like a tornado of response. 

I was, in fact, intrigued to know the finale of the five-month missing-adaptor story. 

My dad had found the charger on top in their storage unit, on the seat of his first scooter (he's on his second, designed to work both indoors and outdoors). I'm guessing he and my mom were placing items in the storage unit on the crazy day they were moving to my place and somehow set the scooter's charger on the other chair's seat.

I love a happy ending. So I'm glad he called. 

But twice during my run? Sheesh.
---------------------------------

What a beautiful day on Eagle Avenue. 

I must call it my last day of summer. I have meetings with students and colleagues over the next two days (and a haircut!), and then Wednesday brings me to our first of three in-service days. 

We will be in class with students a week from tomorrow.
---------------------------------

I know 2020 is by all measures a crazy, disrupting, scary, terrible year. But as I close down my summer, I realize the following:

I am in better physical shape than I have been in years, having run more than 200 miles since mid-June when I started keeping track. 

My relationship with my parents has experienced deep healing, at a time in my life when such reconciliation was no longer even on my radar. 

I've been writing almost daily for the past five months. Writing demands I pay attention. It forces me to reflect. It requires me to distill my thoughts, sort my meaning. When I close this blog with the admonition to WRITE, it is because I believe writing (blogging, journaling, letter-writing, book-writing) is how humanity can slow and focus our thinking. 
------------------------------------

So tonight I'm realizing that Summer 2020 might have been my best (worst) one yet.

Enough.
Be well.
WRITE.

Allison

Last night I dreamed I was holding this boy.

Day #152 Writing Through COVID-19: Distance Practice (and Welcome Home, Vern!)

Old friends stopped by this afternoon. We sat on opposite ends of the deck. I served one tray of snacks to them and placed a similar plate in front of Dan and myself.

It was awkward-lite. I'm willing to endure some discomfiture to assert safe distancing during a world pandemic. I find that these things help:

• Visualize scenarios ahead of time.
• Plan actions and words to assert caution (with a smile!)
• Use posture to say "distance!" When our guests pulled into the driveway, I went out to greet them but stopped five yards short of their car and gave a hearty wave, shortcircuiting the non-COVID welcome of hugs and handshakes. 
• Practice the karate stance! Regardless of your caution, people will break into your bubble. Be ready to stand back, hold out your arm, and say "I don't want you to get sick!" which reminds people that YOU don't want to get sick either.

-------------------------

I emailed our district's HR director to ask for more specifics about my options for (maybe?) taking 12 weeks at home. I didn't expect an answer until Monday, but instead, on Saturday afternoon she sent a detailed email, several documents, and links to further my understanding of my options. 

Regardless of what I end up doing, I am grateful this woman has been so responsive to my concerns. 
--------------------------

I checked in with my dad tonight. His voice lifted as he said talked about getting outside to walk Vern since their quarantine lifted yesterday.

"Was Vern glad to see you?" I asked.

"Oh my yes! He barked for two minutes straight!" my dad laughed. 

Poor Vern. Did he think my parents had abandoned him forever?

My pleasure at my parents' reunion with (the ever-shedding) Vern was outsized and excessive. 

But a 14-year-old dog reuniting with his people after two weeks is worth celebrating.

Enough.
Be well.

Write.

Allison

Wolf's mama sent this photo with a "Cute Outfit Alert"! Right?

Day #151 Writing Through COVID-19: Iowa Can-Do

This morning I met via Zoom with our district's human resources director to discuss options for me returning safely to teach. She was excellent, listening to my concerns and thinking through options including adding a plexiglass barrier between me and my students and eliminating my time in the hall while students are passing unmasked. She also said my age, history of cancer, and care-taking responsibilities for my mother-in-law might qualify me for a 12-week leave. 

I hadn't even thought about that on a serious level. My goal has been to buck up, mask up, establish a posture of "don't come near me" and avoid contagion. 

But this afternoon Max and Andrea (in New Zealand) lectured me with the mathematics of the pandemic. As of today, our community's infection has doubled more than 6 times (1, 2, 4, 8, 16, 32, 64) in 124 days.  We number 90 cases today.

Max said that without tightening restrictions, we can expect our county's infection to double at the same rate: another six times in the next 120 days: 128, 256, 512, 1024, 2048, 4098. By December, nearly half of our county will have contracted the virus. At Iowa's current 2% death rate, we will experience COVID 80 deaths in our small community by Christmas.
-------------------------

A little later Eloise called from Florida. Her dominant message was to remind me that the virus is always two to four weeks ahead of what the community perceives. At some point, she said, Cass County will get serious about its contagion rate and decide to lockdown with masks and quarantining. But the upswing does not stop on a dime. When (if) we decide to pull the reins, it will take at least two weeks to slow the runaway horse.
----------------------

No Iowan wants to sound histrionic. We are can-do, pull-your-own-weight, stay-calm sort of people. My daughter reminded me that this dimension of my Iowa identity is usually a good thing. But in facing the realities of a pandemic that has not yet peaked its first wave in our state, opening our schools with Iowa-Can-Do is Iowa-Foolish.

Enough.
Be well.
Write.

Allison

Daily FaceTime with my sweet grandbaby.

Day #150 Writing Through COVID-19: Lost Learning, and What Love Looks Like

Today I zoomed with my English teaching team to discuss gaps in learning we anticipate after losing the last quarter of the school year to COVID-19.

We spent 30 minutes unloading angst about returning to the classroom. We needed to say aloud our fears and frustrations before we could focus on the content we teach.
-----------------------------

Determining "gaps" means accepting the likelihood our students have done only minimal reading and writing during the past five months. 

My freshmen also missed out on major units of study. They did not read "The Odyssey" (their ancient-lit baptism) or "Romeo and Juliet" (their first date with the Bard). 

I love teaching these classics. They unlock allusions and open a treasure trove of humor. More important still, these works invite students to experience emotions of fellow humans--and to contemplate deep themes--across hundreds and thousands of years. How cool is that?

But so what? (The ultimate COVID Question!)

Maybe my students were learning other things this spring, such as how to survive as teenagers in small-town Iowa during a pandemic. That's content I wasn't tested over at 16. 

Is some learning more worthy or valuable than other learning? 

Maybe all learning is good.
----------------------------

This afternoon when I called my parents to set up Zoom for Bridge, my dad said my mom was having a hard time on day #13 of their 14-day isolation.

Tomorrow they can, at last, leave their rooms, although they still cannot congregate with other residents or take off their masks. 

When I see how hard these two weeks in their tiny rooms have been, I am even more glad I was able to provide them with several months of light, space, and farmyard to move about in. 

"At your place, we could go outside and blow bubbles," my dad said today. "That was so nice."
----------------------------

Today is my youngest sibling's birthday. On the phone, I told my mom a memory from that day: 

My sisters and I turned cartwheels on the hospital lawn while Mom held up our little brother to the second-floor window "to watch us."

This memory led me to another: in preparation for our family's new baby, my mom had purchased shoe bags for my sisters and me. When we unzipped them on the morning of our brother's birth, we each found a babydoll and a hand-sewn layette. 

When I think of my mother, with four children under the age of 9, preparing these precious gifts of love, my heart hurts. 

Gotta love the internet. This is almost exactly what I
 remember our shoe bags to look like--except ours were
 pastel in color.

When I mentioned the dolls in shoebags to my mom, she was delighted. "I'd forgotten that, but now I remember!" she said.

As memories do, that one linked me to the next: the fishbowl. 

When my parents went on vacations, we would be left with a babysitter and a fishbowl of small wrapped gifts. Each day we could reach into the bowl and pull out a trinket: a wind-up toy, a novelty cereal spoon, Silly Putty.

We loved this ritual. As the fishbowl emptied, we knew our parents were closer to coming home.
----------------

I encourage my students to revisit poems throughout their lives. Yes, maybe they read "The Road Not Taken" in 7th grade, but it will mean something else in 9th grade, and still something more when they have enough life experience to consider "how way gives on to way" in their own experience. 
-----------------------------

Today as I revisited childhood memories with my mom, I see them in a new light--an appreciative and forgiving light that had been clouded out much of my life, until she lived with me during COVID and in mental decline. 

In this light I see my mother's 34-year-old hands guiding the cloth of tiny doll clothes under the foot of the Singer sewing machine. 

I see her, huge-bellied with her fifth pregnancy, packing four shoe bags, each with a small baby doll and layette.

I see her holding her newborn up to the hospital window.

She loved us.

Enough.
Be well.
Write.

Allison

For Adrienne: Wolf at one month and one day, dozing off after lunch.

Day #149 Writing Through COVID-19: Yearbook~a Wedding~No Masks

What a day.

This morning I met via ZOOM with the yearbook editors for 2020-21. Their theme ideas reflect the burdens COVID asks them to carry: 

• Courage Today, Leaders Tomorrow
• Challenges Build Leaders
• The Challenge Is Ours
• Our Path Forward

One of the students participated by phone because she was en route to out-of-town for COVID testing.

-------------------

This afternoon I met in a public park--distanced across a wide picnic table--with a lovely couple planning their wedding ceremony. This will be the seventh wedding I've officiated. The wedding was originally scheduled for early June, then postponed until September.

V&J were surprisingly upbeat, considering the upheaval of their original plans. As we sketched out their ceremony and considered options for vows, the humid Iowa air was electrified by the laughter in their voices. Of all the hats I've worn, Wedding Officiant might be the most joyful. Love is a many-splendored thing.

At the conclusion of our planning, I asked the happy couple to identify a family member or friend who could conduct the ceremony if I am in quarantine. 

I will write the script, but if I'm in lockdown, they'll need someone else to read it. 

Their wedding is set 19 days after my students return.

-------------------

Our school board met tonight via ZOOM. Two weeks ago they met face-to-face, albeit distanced, in the high-school media center. However, given our community's recent outbreak involving kids and administrators' families, they smartly returned to an online meeting tonight...

                                                                            ↙

                                                         ↙

                                     ↙

                ↙

...to discuss plans to put students and teachers into all-day indoor meetings (more commonly referred to as school), starting next week.

-----------------------------------

The board opened with public comments: letters from parents, teachers, and members of the community voicing concerns about reopening. (In transparency, I was one who submitted a public comment, asking for the strengthening of their directives. Students should not merely be "encouraged" to wear masks. They should be "expected" to. Masking should be required in the school's public spaces such as hallways.)

Five of the letters asked the board to tighten expectations on masking and distancing. The sixth urged the board to open school and voiced the difficulty her family faces with childcare if both parents are working and schools are closed.

---------------------------------

Next the county public health coordinator spoke. Board members asked her directly about our increase in cases. We are now at a 9 percent positivity mark. Was this number expected to go up? 

She said yes. 

They asked if the CDC also recommended masks at this level of positive testing. 

She said yes.

They asked her if doctors she worked with recommended masking.

She said yes.
----------------------

Despite the public comments urging tighter restrictions, and despite the direct recommendations from our department of public health, and despite an articulate and heartfelt address by one of our newest board members to require masking in un-distanced spaces, the board voted 3-2 to continue with its current language that says masks are merely "recommended."

----------------------

After the meeting, I dashed off thank-you emails to the two brave board members who acknowledged their responsibility to LEAD our community during a pandemic. 

I then emailed our district's HR director, asking to meet (via Zoom) to discuss the accommodations I will need to protect myself and the 91-year-old mother-in-law I care for. 

Enough.

Be well.

Write.

Allison

It is still winter in NZ. Wolf is asleep near the fire. 

Day #148 Writing Through COVID-19: A Letter From My Mom

 My mom sent me a letter.

• She said they had found a book, didn't know where it came from, but thought it might be mine because it was full of funny poems like the ones I'd shared with them during their stay.
  (Yes, I'd sent it via Amazon, with a note. We'd talked about it on the phone as well.)
  
  
• She said she and my dad cannot leave their rooms until August 14 because of COVID control.
  (Nice alliteration, Mom.)
  
  
• Vern Dog is at Critter Camp for two weeks.
  (I was the one who dropped him off.)
  
  
• Nurses take their temperatures and bring their meals.
  
  
• My dad and she have been reading a book about elephants aloud to each other.
  
  
• This reminds her of her own mother, who read each year's new Laura Ingles Wilder book from cover aloud on Christmas Day.
  (She has told me this at least 100 times.)
  
  
• My mother said her mother died in her early 50s.
  (True. I know this.)
  
  
• Because my mother's mother died so young, she never learned the truth about Laura Ingles Wilder: that it was her daughter who actually wrote the books (under her mother's name) and painted the family to be far more perfect than in real life.
  (My mother talked about this many times while she lived with me. It seemed to gall her that the happy stories were less than accurate.)

• The next paragraphs delved into how terrible Pa was in real life, moving the family from place to place and leaving behind unpaid bills.
  (I'm not checking the accuracy of any of this. What I do understand is that my mom loved the Wilder family stories and felt betrayed when she learned they were fictionalized.)
  
  
• Mom said again that Pa left town without paying his bills.
  (This woman has a black-and-white sense of right and wrong. Not paying bills = wrong.)
  
  
• In the next paragraph, my mom again said she was reading "Elephants" with my dad, adding how cozy it is to read to each other and learn about elephants.
  
  
• She said they were in isolation until Aug. 13.
  (This is one day short of Aug. 14, which she said at the beginning of the letter, but I get it. These days blur together.)
  
  
• Vern is at Critter Camp for two weeks.
  (Yup.)
  
  
• Their newspapers are coming regularly.
  (Thank god.)
  --------------------------

The letter ended abruptly without a closing or a signature, but the handwriting is careful and surprisingly precious to me. Her repetitions feel like refrains, circling back to say: 

We're in our rooms.
We read to each other.
The Laura Ingles Wilder books were a sham.
Vern is at Critter Camp.
Pay your bills.

Enough.
Be well.

Write.

Allison

SWEET KIWIS: Wolf's first playdate with his friend Leah, 
born the day before he was.
Their mothers attended prenatal Le Leche classes together,
then shared a hospital wing!

• 
  

Day #147 Writing Through COVID-19: My Community

This blog has no pre-determined plot arc. When my school shut down five months ago, I decided to blog about my COVID-19 experience. I didn't know how the weeks would unfold. I have simply tried to capture what I am experiencing during a time of isolation and uncertainty.

As it turned out, my parents dropped into my lap/life only a few days after my school shuttered for what turned out to be the rest of the year. For most of spring and summer, this blog space was dominated by their care, their quirks, their struggles, and the unexpected joy of rebuilding our previously strained relationship.

This week, while they've been quarantined back at Friendship Haven, I've ZOOMed in to play Bridge, and have talked to them daily. Sunday I logged them onto Facebook for church, then ZOOMed again in the evening to set them up to watch "The Music Man" on Youtube. 

Each time I talk to them, their voices surge with what I can only call love. They keep telling me how much they liked living here, how lovely the farm was, how NICE they found their time with me to be.

They sound homesick. 
I'm homesick too.
------------------------------------------

If I am to stay true to my purpose of recording my experience during COVID-19, I cannot ignore what is happing now in my community. My intent is not to blame or exacerbate the difficulty. 

But to glaze over what is unfolding in Atlantic would be to abandon my effort to record this experience. So here I go:

On Friday 9 new COVID cases were reported in Cass County. Saturday added another 12. Previously, the highest number recorded in a single day was four. Our total is now 74. Sixty-five percent of our cases have been in people under 40.

Sunday morning I learned that our school's volleyball program has suspended activities for the next 11 days "in following Return to Learn plans and recommendation of Public Health."

Then at noon, I received an email from one of our school administrators, explaining that she and a family member had tested positive for the virus. I commend her openness. COVID, like any health issue, deserves the privacy an affected person requests. But her willingness to tell the community of her diagnosis, and to work with Public Health to track those who've had contact with her, shows a public-service attitude. 

As the day unfolded, so did the back story: Atlantic is experiencing a swell in cases in our young people--and by extension, their families.
-----------------------------

This afternoon I told Dan that I planned to contact (again) our school board members and administrators and ask for a masking mandate; or if not that, at least a masking-in-the-hallways requirement; or if not that, at the very least allow teachers to set mask expectations in their own classrooms. 

My husband, meeker than I, suggested I hold off. He thinks all schools will be teaching online by October. 

What are we hoping for here? That our situation will become dire enough to send us home where we can be safe? 

Three of my children have told me bluntly that they don't think I should teach this year. 

Oh my.
------------------------------

I must not close this post without acknowledging my gratefulness for an otherwise beautiful Sunday.

I ran on the trail.
I ate farmers'-market tomatoes.
I kayaked on the farm pond.
I played the accordion. 
Harrison and I won a $20 gift certificate to Milk and Honey in Harlan for placing in the top three at an online trivia night political fundraiser.

Enough.
Be well.
Write.

Allison

Life is good.

Day #146 Writing Through COVID-19: Listen to Your Body

Listen to your body. 

Your body will tell you if it's cold, hungry, or (when climbing trees) up too high. 

I repeated this admonition hundreds of times while raising my kids. 

If you listen, your body will tell you when to rest, when to come inside and get a jacket, and when to back away from uncomfortable situations.

It was the advice I gave myself yesterday.
---------------------

For five months, Dan and I have avoided church services, grad parties, prom chaperoning, dinners with friends, family visits, and envelope-stuffing with the local Dems. 

Our rare public outings have been to the weekly farmers' market. The event is outdoors. It is easy to keep a distance from others. Most people wear masks, and we can smoothly circumvent the few who don't. 
-----------------------

But now that my parents are lodged back in Ft. Dodge, and school will start two weeks, I am inching out of my bubble, exploring how to interact with the community while still maintaining some measure of safety.

So last evening we attended a gathering to celebrate a life event with friends.

Earlier this week, Dan got cold feet, wondering if we should even go. I assured him we could leave if we didn't feel comfortable. 

-------------------------

We lasted about 10 minutes. A grandma greeted us with outstretched arms. This lovely woman sat beside us on bleachers for years of watching our sons and her grandson play football and basketball together. Of course, I wanted to hug her. 

Instead, I backed away with my stiff-armed "stop" signal between us. "I don't want to get you sick," I mumbled through my mask.

"Oh, I'm not worried about that," she said. 
-----------------------

We took a seat at a back table occupied by only two others. I don't know who they were because introducing ourselves would have meant shouting into their faces over the music. I had a sudden realization of why bars are hotspots for spreading the virus. 

Other than the servers, Dan and I were the only masked people we saw. (Dan removed his after we sat down, but then leaned over to tell me he thought we should leave.)

-----------------------

No one forced us to accept the invitation. Obviously many people did not share our hangups with an indoors unmasked gathering of lots of people. 

As long as our national government leaves COVID-19 response decisions to states, and as long as Iowa gives these decisions to individuals, distancing and masking will be individual choices.

So I listened to my body.

It told me that under my mask, my upper lip was damp.

It told me I was not thinking joyfully about the happy event we were there to celebrate. 

Instead, it was calculating the distance between myself and others. 

It told me I was anxious. 

It told me to leave. 
------------------------

So we did. 

Enough.
Be well.
Write.

Allison

Is there anything sweeter than a baby wrapped in 
a hand-crocheted blanket?