Today was my first full day in my new role as long-distance tech support for my dad.
I was able to take remote control of his computer through ZOOM this morning and show him how to adjust the volume on Youtube. Can we put that in the WIN column?
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Tonight I called to assist in getting my mom's movie started. I repeated directions for hovering and clicking again and again. At last, my dad was able to start the video, unmute the sound, and enter full screen!
When I hung up the phone, I realized my pulse was elevated. I wiped sweat from my upper lip. Tech support is not for the faint of heart.
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With my parents no longer in my household, I was able to loosen my full-armor COVID isolation and spend some (still distanced, still masked) time with my daughter's step-children.
I had about 20 minutes with each child. J and I sat on the deck as he played his saxophone. Then a masked C played the piano while I (masked) listened from across the room.
By the time it was M's turn to visit, an afternoon storm was blowing in, so we sat on the covered porch to watch the rain while talking about books: Clap When You Land, House Arrest, Alone Together, and Dear Martin. M will turn 16 this week and talked about how COVID restrictions have upended her party plans. Her progress towards her driving license has been delayed. She's nervous about returning to school online, and she misses her friends.
I've been working with high-school students for years. I understand that each is firmly positioned in the center of her own universe, where slights, inconveniences, and emotions are outsized and dramatic. This is developmentally appropriate.
Yet as I listened to M, I realized that while COVID has kept me home, it has not stunted my (very weak) social urges.
Five months for a 60-year-old is a few flips of the calendar; for M it is a huge chunk of her young life.
My most important people (family) are with me; hers (friends) are not.
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My mother-in-law and I are trying to decide what we'll do about playing accordion together once school starts. Thirty minutes of squeezebox hardly constitutes a full social calendar, but it has at least given this 91-year-old daily conversation with another human.
While earlier in the pandemic she was skeptical of the virus (a heavy consumer of right-wing radio), she has since been converted by her daughter, a health-care worker in Seattle who has seen the damage of COVID up close.
Tonight when we talked about it, I told her I would do what she felt comfortable with. Although we didn't make a decision, I sensed she would like me to stay away during my first weeks/months of school.
On the one hand, I want to think I will be able to mask/shield and distance myself from students and colleagues to assure I maintain my health.
On the other hand, I cannot read our district's return-to-learn plan with any confidence we will not spread the virus.
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Another daughter, the one who lived through Spain's COVID outbreak only to follow her Navy husband back to Florida where she's again in the thick of the virus, asked me today if I've considered just retiring.
I suppose I could.
But I don't want to.
But I don't want to.
I don't feel old yet.
I love my job.
But by continuing to teach in a setting that science says WILL bring COVID-19 to students and teachers, am I playing the lottery?
Will my willingness to play (combined with others' willingness to play) result in COVID deaths of students and teachers?
Probably.
This is a dark way to end a blog post.
Enough.
Be well.
Write.
Allison
Screenshot snagged from a video of a snoring baby Wolf.
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