Days #224-226 Writing Through COVID-19: Finding Comfort, Choosing Happy

It was a difficult week at AHS as the student injured in last Sunday's accident remains in a coma. We are fragile and frightened. Emotions are raw.

Despite the challenges this week, I can remind myself I have the best job.

I am basically paid to spend my day with funny, vulnerable, brave, young people. They're inquisitive and creative, easily distracted, passionate. They are hungry to discover who they are and how they can use their skills and voices in meaningful ways.  

And because I'm an English teacher, I get to introduce teenagers to brilliant poets and writers who help us understand ourselves and the human condition. We write daily to discover our own questions and insights. 

Even on hard days, we find reasons to laugh.

Even in hard times, we support each other.

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

Our district held parent-teacher conferences on Wednesday and Thursday. I met via Zoom with dozens of parents/grandparents/guardians to discuss their students' learning. 

P-T conferences are always a workout. Back-to-back 12-hour days of intense conversations leave me wiped. Conducting conferences on Zoom this year added a technology twist: parents showed up with bad audio; two sessions froze due to unstable internet connections; I had to juggle my screen-sharing to avoid accidentally displaying grades for the wrong student. 

However, on the plus side, I had high parent turnout. I think Zooming in for conferences was easier than finding childcare, driving to the school, and waiting outside classrooms. I hope when the pandemic is over we can retain some of the positives we're learning. Parents should be given an on-line conference option even when we're not social distancing.

I ended Day #2 of conferences with the same baseline thought I've had since my first year of teaching 37 years ago: Parents love their kids. They want to know I love them too.
-----------------------

I logged a crisp three miles on the trail Friday and again this morning while listening to an audiobook by my new favorite mystery writer: Louise Penny. I accidentally bought All the Devils Are Here, the 16th book in her series about Inspector Gamache. (I thought I was buying The Devils All the Time, which I'm now reading in pulp, and which is also excellent, if grisly.) I liked Inspector Gamache so much, I circled back and am now listening to the first book in the series. 

Penny's writing reminds me of the Crime Queen genius P.D. James: rich, multi-layered characters; thoughtful, startling prose. That they're also rich mysteries is a bonus! Discovering Penny and realizing I have another 14  Gamache books in my future is a happy thought.
----------------------

I like happy thoughts. 

My brother calls me Pollyanna, as if my desire to invest my mental energy in positive spaces is a weakness. 
----------------------

A few weeks ago I blogged about a student who penned a poem about the Blanky he still sleeps with as a 14-year-old. I rejoiced as his classmates praised his poem and his refusal to let go of the soft fabric comfort that helps him feel calm as he falls asleep, refusing to bow to others' judgement.
---------------------

Let me say this: Finding ways to comfort oneself--with a blanket or happy thoughts--is an essential life skill. Rather than look at self-comfort and self-calming as weaknesses, we should see them as strengths.

Days are tough. 2020 days are tougher. 
--------------------

Last night I delivered a new puzzle to my mother-in-law. I played two hands of Bridge via Zoom with my dad. I shared a couple of funny dog TikToks with my kids. I mailed a package to my grandson in New Zealand. 

These actions made me feel happy. 

I'm cozy now under a soft blanket.

Enough.
Be well.
Write.

Allison

 

Wolf is finding his voice!

Day #223 Writing Through COVID-19: Looking for Light

It was March 18, three days after Iowa shut down its schools in response to COVID-19, that I decided to record, on a micro-scale, what was one person (I) was experiencing in what looked to be a strange and uncertain time.

It's been 223 days since then. 
That's about 32 weeks.
More than seven months.
Sixty-two percent of a year. 

Our country is on its third spike.
I cannot see the end of this.
------------------------

Three days after March 18, my parents moved in. I'll call that Phase #1 of my COVID experience. As I look back on it now, it was the honeymoon. We had nowhere to go. Our goal was to stay home and stay safe. We did this with bubbles, puzzles, poems, and Bridge--daily heart meds delivered in tiny teacups. Our distress over Randy's horrific COVID illness and the anxiety of learning to social distance were real. But we were hunkered down in a simple way. Looking back, that time looks sunny.
--------------------------

Phase #2 was my return to school in August as I moved my parents back to their care center and braced myself for teaching in a district that "attempted" social distancing and "expected" masking. 

Except for an outbreak that quarantined one of our sports teams and several faculty members before school officially started, our building, district, and county hovered in the low range of COVID positivity for weeks. 

In late September, for a few days, when our county positive rate fell below 5%, I returned to the normalcy wearing dresses rather than in the COVID scrubs I can throw in a hot-water wash at the end of a day of potential contamination. 

I think our county was lulled into believing we could bluster our way through this virus, mostly un-masked and frequently un-distanced, because for months we'd barely any cases. We're in the middle of nowhere. 

But this morning Cass County has the highest positivity rate in the state: 22%
-----------------------------

Is this Phase #3?

With the positivity above 20% ("uncontrolled outbreak" level), our school board decided to require masking last Friday. 

That evening our community (distanced, masked--or like me, home with a radio) cheered the high-school football team as it advanced in the playoffs. 

On Sunday our small town found itself reeling with a tragic accident involving our precious youth.

The election looms.

This past week has pummeled me. 

I'll need to look for light today. It's sure to be there somewhere.

Enough.
Be well.
Write

Last night's #IowaSky

Day #222 Writing Through COVID-19: Affirmations

There's no way around it: today was hard. 

We endured.  

The AHS student in Sunday's accident came through surgery and is in a medically induced coma to allow his brain to heal. The outpouring of support for him and his family is surging across Southwest Iowa and beyond. 

My first two class periods were especially difficult as my upperclassmen students were teary, worried, and just sad.

My third-period class is freshmen. Most of them, like most of the school, dressed in gray sweatpants and flannel shirts today, the style choice of the injured boy. Last night students flooded social media with the call to wear gray and flannel for #32Strong. It was a visual way for our school community to rally for our classmate/teammate/friend/student. The classrooms and halls were filled with #32Strong's unique and personal style. 
---------------------------

We have guardian/parent-teacher conferences scheduled for Wednesday and Thursday of this week. These will be conducted via Zoom, for obvious reasons. (Cass County's 14-day rolling positivity percentage today was 21.5.)

Today my freshmen recorded videos introducing a grownup in their lives who will attend their conference this week, or who cares about their learning. 

I will play their introductions at the beginning of each video conference, or if the person is not attending, I'll send the clip via email. 

To guide the students toward strong introductions, I gave them two examples. One said, basically, "Here is my mom." The other told about my own mother's bread-baking, her poetry recitations, and her creativity in planning richly themed birthday parties. 

My students then brainstormed memories, adjectives, and thankfulness they associated with the person they chose to introduce. They then wrote lovely affirmations.
------------------------------

I have used versions of this activity as far back as 1989 when my students at Audubon High School recorded their introductions on VHS tape. 

I love this assignment because it gives kids a chance to express positive thoughts about their grownups, even if (as teenagers) they are often more focused on the negative. Furthermore, it gives my students' grownups a chance to hear affirmation from their teens.

Pre-Covid, when parent-teacher conferences were held maskless and socially un-distanced, I was sure to have a Kleenex box handy when I showed the videos. 

We all need to find ways to tell each other why we appreciate them. 
------------------------------

Tonight when I called my parents, I told my mom how I had "introduced" her to my students. I heard joy in her voice, and what might have been tears.

I needed to tell her.

She needed to hear it.

Enough.
Be well.
Write.

Allison

Big, Bald, and Beautiful
Wolf Hoegh

Day #221 Writing Through COVID-19: Depleted

I've felt blue today. Sundays are rarely the best days of the week for me. As much as I love my job, I feel Sunday stress as I look at the papers I haven't graded, the emails piling up, and the prep needed for the coming week. 

The Iowa clouds and cold today felt like a pall.

I did manage four miles on the trail, and I'm reading a compelling (horrifying!) book, sent to me by my sister. So that was good.
-------------------------

But this afternoon I received news that a student in our school was critically injured in a vehicle accident while duck hunting this morning. Our community is stunned and hurting as a morning of friends in the out-of-doors turned into the unthinkable. I have not had this student in my classes, but I felt the news as a physical tightening in my chest. He is in surgery in Omaha tonight, with the Atlantic community praying and sending white light.

This accident hurts me at the mother-level as well. I think of how much joy and energy my sons have garnered as outdoorsmen. The boys in today's incident could have easily been my own; I feel them as my own.

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

So I was already feeling destabilized when my husband and I received (not drastic, not insurmountable) news from one of our children that will require some re-thinking and re-planning from our end. 

I won't go into it now because it is NO BIG DEAL in the grand scheme of things.

But yeah. Tonight is hard. 
------------------------

I'm not sure why I'm even writing about this here. This blog series, for the past 220+ days, has ostensibly focused on life during the pandemic.

The weight I'm feeling tonight is not directly related to COVID-19. Yet I can't help but feel I am beaten down, weakened, and strained by this unrelenting health crisis. 

My reserves of resilience and positivity are depleted.

Enough.
Be well.
Write.

Allison  

Something positive:
Beautiful Wolf modeling his new ear protection. 
This wee man refills my reserves of hopefulness. 

Days #219-220 Writing Through COVID-19: Seeking Silver Linings

We did it. Atlantic High School required masks on Friday, and we survived.
Of the approximately 440 students in our building, three opted to move to remote learning rather than wear masks. I happen to have all three in my classes. They all Zoomed in during their first "missed' class, and I did my best to help them feel welcomed and included.
---------------------------
This is tough. Masking during a pandemic, according to health experts, is needed if people want to move about socially. As evidenced in school Friday, most are willing to comply with a rule designed to contain spread of the virus.

Nevertheless, if students and/or their families choose to move to remote learning rather than wear masks, I want them to know I respect their nonviolent expression of their opinions.

"I may disapprove of what you say, but I will defend to the death your right to say it."
--Voltaire, paraphrased by his biographer.

--------------------------
In Intro to Journalism, we study the Tinker vs. Des Moines Supreme Court decision that assures students their civil rights (including free speech and press) while at school. As we study the case, we learn how a small group of students expressed their opinions (wearing black armbands to protest the Viet Nam war) despite the consequences: in this case, school suspension.

I cannot support students' political expression only when it aligns with mine. Supporting my non-masking students is important to me in maintaining my ethical equilibrium.

So while I support our district's decision to require masking when public space, I also support my non-masking students' choice to stay home and attend school remotely.

I'm walking a tightrope.

“The test of a first-rate intelligence is the ability to hold two opposed ideas in mind at the same time and still retain the ability to function.” 

--F. Scott Fitzgerald

---------------------------
Today is Saturday. It was only 30 degrees when I headed to the trail for my run this morning. I donned three layers of shirts/jackets, gloves, a gator, as well as three headbands (one fleece). The sun was out, the wind minimal. I planned to run four miles, but I felt good went for six, since tomorrow's weather is forecasted to be colder and snowy.

I then rode my unicycle!
--------------------------
There are many aspects of my life that are diminished by this pandemic. I haven't held my grandson. I can't teach the way I want to. I can't play the accordion with my mother-in-law. I still haven't held my dear friend's baby (now nearly four months old) or seen her new house. I can't visit my kids. I can't hug my neighbor; we have coffee on the phone. I missed my aunts' funerals. I've missed three weddings. My face feels chapped under my mask. Everything. Is. More. Difficult.

So bear with me when I try to find ways my life has IMPROVED during the past six months, including the reason I'm compelled to write about time on the trail today:

• I've regained fitness through running that has given me the confidence to ride my unicycle after avoiding it for two years.
• I have simplified my life.
• I reestablished relationships with my parents.

Silver linings do not erase the clouds, but they ease the fog.

Enough.
Be well.
Write.
Allison

My glowing daughter-in-law with Wolf,
determined to suck his thumb even through his hoodie.








x

Day #218 Writing Through COVID-19: Masks and Tik-Tok

Our school board voted 5-0 to require masks for the next 30 days. Since August, the board has voted along 2-3 lines against a mandate at least twice. Today, with the county positivity rate above 20%, with our local public health officials asking the schools to mandate masks, and with teachers and community members presenting petitions, the board agreed to the 30-day mask mandate.

I think the 30-day window doesn't make a lot of sense. We are always three weeks behind the virus. Thirty days is unlikely to bring our county numbers under 5% where it needs to be. The board members said framing the mandate as temporary is a compromise for those who want no masks. 

The meeting was held over the noon hour, which is also my prep period, so I was able to attend, as was a lead editor of our student news site. Students in my afternoon classes seemed positive about (or at least okay with) the new rule, especially as a less extreme strategy than moving to hybrid or online learning.  

Tomorrow will be our first day of required masks. Our principal will not be in the building due to a pre-scheduled absence. 

I'll let you know how it goes. 
-------------------------

The second event of the day involved the Tik-Tok video I'll post below. 

On Tuesday, the National Day on Writing, I asked my students to spend a few minutes writing about what writing has done for them, how has it helped them, why it has brought them satisfaction at various times in their lives. As we then shared out our thoughts, it became clear to me that 15 students had produced 15 unique answers.

Spontaneously, I invited my students to share their "Why I Write" answers on Tik-Tok. We threw the video together in the final two minutes of class. (You can hear the bell ring in the video!)

It was a celebratory way to end the class period. 
-----------------------

I posted my first Tik-Tok on Oct. 7. of my darling grandson. It has been watched almost 200 times. 

The Why I Write clip was my 12th post. As of tonight, it has been viewed 30,000 times, with over 5000 likes. 

No one really knows why some Tik-Toks pick up speed like that, but as with anything widely spread on social media, it has garnered comments: some positive, many funny, and a few rather mean. 

When my students came to class today, they immediately started talking about their video's popularity. 

While filming, most of the kids removed their masks so they could be heard clearly. But the viewers don't know this, so many of the comments scolded the kids for not wearing masks.

Others suggested I (the teacher) had forced "lies" from the students because surely no one really likes to write (??). 

As a class, we read the comments, both laughing and sharing our dismay. One boy said the negative comments tell us more about the sad people who post them than about us. When I offered to take the video down, or to shut off the comments, the students were adamant: leave it up!

I did stress that if any of them decide they want the video removed, or want the comments turned off, they can email me privately and I will do it without naming them. That is, every person in the class has veto power over our shared video.

The class period was one of those exquisite teaching days when students are honestly thinking, discussing, and learning. The class bonded as individual students shared their heads and hearts on an authentic issue from the real world. 

Enough.
Be well.
Write.

Allison

Day #216-217 Writing Through COVID-19: Outbreak and Breakdown

The positivity rate in Cass County this morning is at 21.1 percent. We are second-highest in the state, due in part to an outbreak in a local care facility, one my students used to visit on Community Service Day to interview the residents, wash windows, help with crafts. It is a lovely, loving place for 90 beloved grandmas, grandpas, mothers, fathers, sons and daughters. Yesterday's news report said the facility has 23 active COVID cases.

The Cass County public health director cautions that the increase in Atlantic's positivity is not only from the care center:  "We're seeing a wide range (of cases) from kids to older adults, coming up now at a very alarming rate." She said community spread is up because people are not recognizing COVIDsymptoms: "By the time they get tested, they've walked around for the whole time with COVID."  “We are seeing a lot more people that don’t think it’s COVID, and by the time they get tested, they’ve walked around for the whole time with COVID."

Masks, anyone?
-------------------------------

This morning I'm taking my mother-in-law to Omaha for her root canal. We were able to request that the evaluation and procedure are taken care of during a single visit to minimize the number of trips to the city. She'll have her post-op exam here in Atlantic (where the COVID positivity rate is 21.1 %, remember?)
-------------------------------

My friend who is teaching totally online to remote learners in Des Moines is at her wit's end. Her students don't want to turn on their cameras while Zooming, so she teaches to a blank computer screen. Students keep themselves on mute, preferring to answer minimally in the chat space. 

Last night she called to brainstorm ideas for engagement in this strangest of times. Her entire teaching style is based on relationships and interactivity. She said she feels like she's in a bad romance: giving and giving to a "boyfriend" who ignores her. 

Today she said she'll sing to her class until they turn their cameras on. Her lyrics are something like "If you want the singing to stop, you'll need to turn your cameras on! I can sing all hour if need be...."

Desperate times call for desperate measures.

Enough.
Be well.
Write.

Allison

My son holding his son

Day #214-15 Writing Through COVID-19: Root Canals, Covid, and Why I Write

My mother-in-law's worries about her upcoming root canal continue to dominate my days. But honestly, I can't bear to write about it. 

So here's the short version:

There is no short version. 

There is only the long version, which involves my mother-in-law wanting a solution that does not exist. It entails multiple phone calls, lots of re-explaining. As my husband said, this is only a foreshadowing. As much as we celebrate Dan's 91-year-old mother's youthfulness, her confidence and health are no longer on the upswing.
-----------------------------

I've requested a sub for Wednesday to take my mother-in-law to her Omaha appointment. If all goes as hoped, her dental work will be completed in one fell swoop and we'll do follow-ups from Atlantic.

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

In other news:

The 14-day rolling average for Covid testing positivity is now above 15% in Cass County. This puts us into the category that allows our district to request to move to online teaching/learning.

I'm pretty sure that if our district is still unwilling to require students to mask up, they will not be aggressive in moving us online.

We got an email from admin praising us for our success with our mitigation strategies (distancing and wearing masks when distancing isn't possible). It said we've had only minimal Covid transmission in our building. 

Yes, we've only had one Covid case in the high school this fall if you don't count the cases that erupted in August involving several students and administration. 

Yes, we can all be happy about this. 

But most kids don't wear masks. Most kids don't distance. 

My face is chapped. 

I'm lonely eating lunch alone in my room while my colleagues eat lunch, unmasked, in the workroom together. 

I'm weary.
------------------------

Tomorrow is the National Day on Writing, sponsored by the National Council of Teachers of English. 

The question asked each year on this day is Why do you write? 

I write to make sense of my days, to find meaning in the small moments. Writing is centering. It draws my wide and wild thoughts together, to a point where the pencil meets the page, where only one word can be written, and then the next. 

You may or may not write regularly, but I invite you to try it tomorrow. Open a page and open your head and heart. Put some of that into words. 

Enough.
Be well.
Write.

Allison

Wolf, 15 weeks 

Day #213 Writing Through COVID-19: Let's Worry About This

I woke to a 5:30 a.m. call from my mother-in-law. She'd had a rough night and asked me to come over and talk with her. The door would be open, she said, which meant I would enter her house for the first time since I returned to the (potentially contaminated) classroom two months ago. 

I made a quick cup of coffee, threw on sweatpants, grabbed a mask, and headed her way, a mile down the road. 
-------------------------

My mother-in-law is a creative, intelligent, complex woman. She has been nothing but supportive, nonjudgmental, and kind to me in the 36 years I've been married to her son. Our relationship has always been positive, but in the past three years, as we've practiced accordion together almost daily, our friendship has deepened. 

Until COVID, she played the piano for chapel and visited with residents in the Elk Horn care center almost daily. When I was teaching at school, she would whisk in and tidy my kitchen, run a load of laundry. 

Remember, this woman is 91. 

She is also a conservative Christian who left our church when the ELCA voted to allow gay pastors to serve in our congregations; she fears cities and their bustling diversity; she resists travel and uncertainty.  In other words, she holds core beliefs that are very different than mine. 

We do not discuss the differences in our deep convictions. Instead, we silently love each other where we can.  This calls for a Venn diagram:

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

Her concerns this morning were related to the anxiety she feels about an upcoming root-canal procedure in Omaha. She's not worried about the dental work itself, but about going into the city, and about her (in)ability to sit through the appointment with her over-active bladder issues. 

She'd worked herself into a panic over an appointment still five days out, imagining worst-case scenarios until the anxiety manifested itself physically: she said it felt like her "nerves were being stretched," a description she's used in the past during her most anxious episodes.  
----------------------------

I was able to get her a doctor's appointment at 1:30, so I taught the first part of the day before taking her to the medical center. The appointment went well, with a gem of a doctor who listened patiently as my mother-in-law described her symptoms. The doctor offered medications for both the over-active bladder and the anxiety, then nodded with understanding as her patient rejected all options. 

My mother-in-law hates taking any medicine; it makes her worry. So we are faced with a circular conundrum: medication could reduce her anxiety, but taking medication increases her anxiety, so she refused medication, so she remains anxious. And the over-active bladder situation, which is exacerbated when she's nervous, remains a problem.
---------------------------

So we walked out of the appointment without medications, but with a blip of optimism at hearing the doctor remind my mother-in-law that her bladder issues are worse in the night, and that during a daytime dental appointment, she will be fine. The doctor also suggested adding an extra pad inside her Depends. 
--------------------------

Sorry. No one wants to talk about urine. Except maybe third-graders. 

But this was my day.

My mother-in-law is still physically strong and mentally sharp. She deserves control over her medical decisions. It is my role to return to her the nonjudgmental kindness and support she's given me over the years. So that's what I do. 

It's hard to see her spinning in a cycle of worry. 

I spill my frustration onto this page. 

Enough.
Be well.
Write.

Allison

Day #212 Writing Through COVID-19: What a Year(book)

It was a good Thursday. My yearbook staff is THIS CLOSE to finishing the 2020 book. Tomorrow at 9 a.m. we will run the index and hit submit!

The deadline was last July, but I refused to finish the book without students, who'd basically fallen off the face of the earth on March 13. 

Let me say this unequivocally: the #1 job for each of us during the spring of 2020 was to isolate and get through the day. I do not fault last year's students for not finishing their assigned pages. I do not know the pressures and difficulties they experienced during this time.

But when school resumed this fall, my new staff was tasked with finishing last year's book. I am beyond grateful for their willingness to pick up where the pieces left from last year. Here's a picture of the amazing team that FINISHED THE BOOK!

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

Tonight I Zoomed with English teachers across the state who would have (in a non-Covid year) been meeting at the annual Iowa Council of Teachers of English convention. 

It was a lovely, healing gathering. One woman played the harp for us. One told of her plans to attend a weekend crafting retreat.

The poem shared by the group's organizer touched my marrow. Again and again, poetry turns the pain of human experience into something beautiful. Here is Covid, reimagined through a poet's lens: How Will This Pandemic Affect Poetry?

Tomorrow is Friday.

Enough.
Be well.
Write.

Allison

Days #210-211 Writing Through COVID-19: Laughing Matters

I called my parents last night. Their voices were sad as they talked about Vern, but we were able to laugh together recounting some of his antics: learning to open the refrigerator door; bee-lining for the asparagus patch to munch on dried stems; barking each night at 5:45 p.m., as if he could read the clock, to tell us he was ready for his supper--with half an egg on top, please. 

My dad said my mom would need to adjust her early-morning routine of waking at five and taking Vern out for a long walk. Of course, she could still go for a walk without Vern, but the purpose is missing.
------------------------------

This evening I Zoomed with my parents to see their faces and play some Bridge. "How are you?" I asked my dad. "Well, we're missing Vern," he said. But his voice wasn't as sad as yesterday. My mom appeared on the screen smiling, wearing a bright purple blouse with a gold chain. 

When my dad and I opened our game of FunBridge on the shared screen, my mother quipped, "I'm taking early retirement!" as she headed off to bed. 

"Early retirement at age 90?" We all laughed.
-------------------------------

My parents have lost so much of their once-good minds. Their memories are holey, whispy. My dad's vocabulary, once far broader than mine, loses words each day. My mother still has her words, but no longer an anchor holding her steady in the here and now.

Nevertheless, both of my parents still seem to deliver and appreciate a joke. This is incredibly important to me, as their wit has defined their conversational styles, their love of wordplay, their alternating self-deprecation and hyperbolic self-promotion: "Smartest Man In The World."

I need to hear them laugh.
-----------------------------

Tonight my dad kept telling me he couldn't hear me, so I kept talking louder. Finally, I said, "Is  your volume turned up?"

He sheepishly realized he'd turned down the computer volume earlier in the day. When he turned it back up, we had a good laugh.

Enough.
Be well.
Laugh.

Allison

 

Wolf carries the Berryhill laughing genes.

Days #208-209 Writing Through COVID-19: Remembering Vern

My dad sent an email to Adrienne and me after our Saturday visit:

Dear Daughters,
I want you to know what a wonderful present you gave us yesterday afternoon. After you two girls left yesterday, your mother told me that she had been feeling unhappy, lost and angry all forenoon due to her Alzheimer’s problems. However, she said that she had had a wonderful time all afternoon laughing and joking with you two girls. She told me three times last evening how happy she had been laughing and remembering with you two girls about your time growing up.
--------------------------

Our time together on Saturday felt like the best of times from last spring and summer. We built off each other's stories, even if we hadn't remembered the details ourselves.

My parents can no longer create joyful repartee alone. It takes a bit of oil between their rusted gears to get memories and laughter moving. Saturday was a gift for all of us, but it's not enough. My parents' hours are filled with too much monotony and isolation. I must find time in my days to call, and time in my weeks to visit. 
-------------------------

On Saturday Vern was limping. My parents wondered aloud if his toenails were bothering him. Adrienne said they had a Monday vet appointment scheduled and would check the limp then. 

I petted Vern a little, I think. I wasn't paying attention because I didn't know it would be my last time with him. 

I do remember asking my mom if they were still serving him half an egg with his dinner. She explained (again) that Vern was eating soft food now because of his sore teeth. And yes, he liked his egg. 

When our visit concluded and we moved the picnic fixings back to the apartment, Vern wrapped his leash around my dad's legs, adding peril to our already unbalanced effort.

Before leaving, I took a photo but did not assure that Vern's face was visible. The picture shows my smiling parents, but Vern is ducked behind them.
------------------------

I'm remembering these small details tonight because this morning, prior to the vet visit, Dad called Adrienne and said they'd decided to put Vern down.
---------------------- 

My parents had broached this idea when they were living with me this summer. In fact, one morning when I came down with breakfast, my mom's journal was open beside her as she scanned the dictionary. She said she was looking up how to spell "die." She'd been writing about Vern. 

I tried to assure my parents that Vern was not in pain. He seemed genuinely joyful when I came downstairs with the food tray. (He'd learned I'd slip him a bite of pork chop or a bit of bacon. He'd also learned how to open the small refrigerator door. Who says old dogs can't learn new tricks?)
-------------------------

But when I called Adrienne this afternoon, she told me how when she'd taken our parents and Vern to the vet, he'd agreed, given the dear old dog's increased discomfort and incontinence, it was time to put him down. 

As the vet tried to lift Vern up on the table, the dog yelped in pain and had to be muzzled. My parents and sister petted the good boy as the vet shaved Vern's leg and found a vein. They all cried silently as Vern grew weak, sat down, and lay still. 

"Do you want to pet him?" my dad asked my mom after the vet had left the room to give my family some privacy.

 
"No," she said. "I petted him when he was alive."
-------------------------

One of the things my dad said today that provides a little comfort is that he'd looked up various dog breeds' length of life. Few dogs live as long as Vern did: 16 years.

When I told my son Harrison tonight that Vern was gone, he shared a story my mom had told him: Uncle Stafford (my brother) owned Vern during his puppy years. He thought my parents should have a dog and offered them his much-loved pet. My dad wanted the dog, but my mom resisted. At last, she agreed that Dad could have Vern if he agreed to give a dollar to charity for each dollar spent on the dog. 

My dad agreed. Vern moved in with his new people. He promptly chewed up a seatbelt that cost $300 to replace. Heifer Project appreciated the donation.

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

My parents gave Vern's uneaten food to the animal shelter. They told Adrienne I might want Vern's cage. Given my children's proclivity for adopting dogs, I will take them up on the offer. 
-------------------------

When they had said their goodbyes, the three turned to leave. 

Then my mother went back and petted Vern's head.

Enough.
Be well.
Pet your dog.
Write.

Allison

Rex, Waylon, Willet, and Vern

Vern with my parents, May 24, 2020

Day #207 Writing Through COVID-19: A Visit with My Parents (and my unicycle!)

Beautiful Saturday.

Dan is harvesting corn.

I dawdled through the morning, then ran four lovely miles on the trail. 

And then I tackled a goal I'd set for myself at the beginning of summer: I climbed back on my unicycle.
----------------------

I learned to unicycle eight years ago at age 52 when I saw the window for learning the one-wheeled ride closing fast. I'd always intended to learn and realized it was now or never. I watched Youtube videos and learned that it would likely take 10 hours of practice to learn the uni. 

I am not well coordinated, so I gave myself 20 hours to learn to ride. I figured if I practiced 10 minutes a day, I could learn it in four months.

I began by parking my car and Dan's truck close enough together that I could "ride" between the two, with my arms outstretched and touching both vehicles. 

Eventually, I moved onto the high-school track, where I'd touch a side fence with one hand as needed. 

I still remember the glorious feeling the first time I took off and felt myself balance on that single wheel. It was like flying. 
---------------------

I rode for several years--even in a few Homecoming parades. I took my wheel to the trail and could ride for a half-mile or more. 

But then, three years ago, while wheeling down the T-Bone, I met some bicyclists who called out goodnaturedly "You lost a wheel!" 

I laughed--but lost my concentration, and went down brutally. My knee was whacked. Not only was my unicycling sidelined, but I couldn't even go for a run for a few weeks. 

The incident scared me off the uni, and that scare led to avoidance. A year ago, I would have told you my unicycling days were over.
--------------------

Enter COVID-19.

My parents lived in my basement, requiring me to run up and down a flight of stairs a dozen times each day. My knees grew stronger.

With social life erased, I found time to run again (333 miles since June 9).

With all that running and no access to restaurants, I lost 20 pounds. I'm more physically fit than I have been in a decade; it was time to try the uni again. 

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

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

This afternoon I headed to Ft. Dodge to visit my parents. I haven't seen them in the flesh for 10 weeks, and this might be our last lovely weekend for an outdoor visit.

When I arrived at Friendship Haven, I saw a woman sitting outside who I didn't recognize. But I recognized her dog: VERN!

Yes, it was my mom. But she wasn't wearing one of the five blouses she wore during her nearly five months with me. When I parked the car and greeted her with a masked and distanced air-hug, I told her I recognized Vern first. We laughed. I felt a connection in her eyes.
------------------------

I'd worried about this visit. The closeness I felt with my parents when they lived with me this summer was hard-fought. We came to our experiment with a rocky past. We had a couple weeks of confusion and uncertainty. We had to feel our way into our roles, our time together, our interdependence. 

I knew that when my sister from Davenport had visited my parents at the farm, my mom had found it stressful, which compounded her confusion. She spent most of their visit darting in and out of the house, wondering why they would not come in.

As I drove to Ft. Dodge, I braced myself for a difficult visit.
-----------------------

To my relief, the visit was lovely. 

When I first arrived, my mom brought out the bubbles. My parents and I waved bubble wands, delighting in the bubble wave we unleashed. My dad said they'd invited other residents to join them in bubble-blowing, but with little (no) success. 

"They don't know what they're missing!" I assured them.
------------------------------

My sister Adrienne joined us for the first hour. My parents had set up four (distanced) chairs. I asked them if the aides had helped them, but the proudly said they'd done it themselves. On the seat of my mom's walker was a tray with a bag of popcorn, a bowl of candy bars, and a bowl of fruit salad. My dad had made a pot of coffee and provided cups. 

"This is in reverse!" I exclaimed. "You are bringing me a tray of food!" 

It was a pleasure to be at the receiving end of my parents' hospitality. I ate fruit salad I wasn't hungry for, drank coffee that exceeded my day's caffeine allotment, and downed a candy bar I didn't need. My hunger was not for food, but to tell my parents I appreciated their gifts.
-------------------------

The afternoon conversation was dominated by laughter as Adrienne and I shared our memories of church as children. I told about finding a book in the church library that I read during the service while sitting in balcony, dreaming of the day I, too, would sail around the world. 

Adrienne recalled her best times at church to be working in the nursery where she tended babies and also had access to the box of Nilla Wafers.
--------------------------

After Adrienne left, my parents and I reflected on the afternoon, and then on their time living with me on the farm. 

We grew misty as we talked about the gift of unexpected time together. 
--------------------------

My parents did not always approve of the choices I made. 

My parents did not know me on a personal level as I evolved into my adult self.

I did not know (or care) who my parents were as individuals when they raised us. 

That COVID-19 gave us the chance to re-meet is nothing short of what Donald Trump might call "a miracle.

Enough.
Be well.
Write.

Allison

My parents (and Vern)

Day #206 Writing Through COVID-19: Homecoming, COVID Style

Today was the culmination of Homecoming week. The radio in the kitchen is broadcasting the final minutes of our football team's trouncing of the Red Oak Tigers as I type.
------------------------

As a teacher, I have mixed feelings about Homecoming. The lunch games and music played in the halls between classes provide welcome levity. But the disruption to classes, the drama of royalty (We needed to be reminded who was popular?), and the distractions of float-building, dress-up days, and spirit-stick competition pretty much render the week useless in terms of teaching/learning.

I've learned to minimize my expectations for the week or go crazy trying to teach while ignoring the Homecoming elephant in the classroom. 
------------------------

But this year was different. The royalty (??! We still do this?) was crowned on Monday night after the JV football game, which short-circuited the usual week of catfighting as people accuse each other of campaigning or spreading rumors. 

The traditional all-girl (??! We still do this?) dodgeball tournament was replaced by trivia games played by individual students on their computers. I don't think the trivia competition generated much excitement among students, but it eliminated the sweaty, angry/gloating post-game emotional dumps that inevitably landed in our classrooms following the dodgeball games. 

Instead of a parade, student groups made posters and planned distanced stationary displays along a route through town. This "reverse parade" allowed people to drive by safely in their cars and honk to show appreciation and Atlantic spirit. The usual hoopla and chaos of parade organization were downsized, and students did not have to spend hours each night at float-building, hormones raging under the October moon, and then come to school the next day sleep-deprived, hearts afire.
------------------------

Sometimes traditions need an overhaul. COVID-19 has changed a lot about the AHS traditional Homecoming. A scaled-back Homecoming suited this old grandma just fine. My students were calmer. The balance between celebration and schooling felt more manageable. 
------------------------

COVID-19 has given us a new lens to filter our life-view. We've adjusted daily routines; we've avoided unnecessary contact; we've recalibrated what in our lives deserves to stay and what needs to go.

"We've always done it this way" is a questionable defense for schools to employ when justifying choices. 

COVID-19 gives us permission to rethink priorities. I'd say the 2020 version of Homecoming was an improvement. 
------------------------------

Here's to hoping we can start next year with a clean slate,  re-engaging the uplifting aspects of Homecoming while letting the toxic aspects drift, along with COVID, into the past. 

Enough.
Be well.
Write.

The Wolfman, decked out in a hand-crocheted hat
and blanket from loving friends.

Day #205 Writing Through COVID-19: To-Do or Can-Do?

Last night I wrote about sinking. 

My to-do list is still longer than my can-do list, but for the most part, I kept myself afloat today. Let's call it the elementary backstroke: I wasn't moving fast, and I didn't make much forward progress, but I also didn't go under.
----------------

I have to admit this morning was rough.

Last night Dan wanted me to help him with the data transfer from his combine to JDLink, the program that analyzes basically every square foot of every field. 

Dan learned to type (read about it here) in 2001. Thus began his struggle to join the digital world. 

He now has a smartphone and an iPad. He can participate in our family's WhatsApp group text (although he doesn't get most of the jokes). He checks markets and online auctions. He enters data on Excel. But none of this comes naturally to him. He wants physical gears and wrenches and o-rings and calipers; the computer is ethereal.
-------------------------

Meanwhile, as a teacher, I'm neck-deep in education-related technology. But I'm not the tech genius Dan wants me to be. Furthermore, I only work on a Mac. Dan's tech issues are on the PC side of things.

So last night, when Dan wanted my help with the JDLink that had only uploaded data from two of the harvested bean fields, I was at a loss. I don't understand the program (or frankly, even what he's trying to do).

When I woke up this morning I had a plan: I'd take a personal day and teach myself how to understand JDLink. I would watch the videos and read the explanations, and Just. Learn. It.

I submitted a leave request and prepared sub plans. If learning JDLink didn't take all day, I hoped to get a run in, maybe answer some emails. 
--------------------

"I put the bank deposit book in your car." The first words Dan said to me this morning. 

I told him I was taking a personal day to learn JDLink and catch my breath.

This did not go over well. Dan thought my plan was inefficient. If I was going to learn the ag-equipment-computer side of things, I would need his help, and his day was already planned and full.
--------------------

Dear reader, I am slogging in the details. Basically, this was one of those run-of-the-mill I-see-black-and-you-see-white conversations long-married folks have all the time. 

Ultimately I canceled my personal day and went to school.

There I had a good day: positivity, energy, learning.
-------------------

I feel like living in COVID is like moving through the days under a weighted blanket. Everyday things, non-COVID-related things (like transferring data via JDLink), demand energy reserves that are already depleated. 

Our tempers are shorter. 
Our faces are mask-chapped.
We're tired of the vigilance it takes to move about in public spaces.
We haven't enjoyed a night in a restaurant together for six months.

I might be angry.

Enough.
Be well.
Write. 

Allison

Look at this beautiful kiwi! 

Days #203-204 Writing Through COVID-19: Sinking

Most days I'm tired but still swimming.

Some days I get water up my nose.

Today I'm going under.
---------------------

My newspaper editors met today via Zoom with an anti-racist student activist and a teacher who advises an anti-racist group at Valley High School. As my students entered the room, several said, "I'm nervous." Our Zoom session was important and valuable. But talking about racism isn't easy.

My broadcasting students finally uploaded the show that was due last Friday. Let's all share the blame.

Year-bookers (bless their hearts) are closing in on the 2020 yearbook that last year's seniors abandoned on March 13, 2020, a day that will live in infamy.

My freshmen are watching the 1957 film "Twelve Angry Men," analyzing it initially in terms of how people behave in discussions, then also how historical, feminist, and anti-racist lenses might impact our view of the film.

This is all good. I know that. But it is also draining.
--------------------------

Between each class, I sanitize the desks.
I (try to remember to) take attendance.
I open the Zoom room and ask quarantined and remote-learning students to turn on their mics.
---------------------

I'm falling behind.

I need to catch my breath.
I need to answer emails.
I need to go for a run, which I haven't done since Sunday.

I'm gasping for air.

Enough.
Be well.
Write.

Allison

Days #201-202 Writing Through COVID-19: Memories and Memory

I played online Bridge with my dad on Saturday and Sunday. We lost miserably Saturday (It was our computerized online partner's fault!), but we played two hands competently on Sunday, earning back seven of the nine IMP points we lost the day before.

Playing online Bridge is of late the highest quality time I spend with either of my parents.

Gone are the leisurely summer breakfasts, discussing books and poems and the movies my parents had watched the night before. 

Gone are amiable afternoons with the three of us hovered around the Ping-Pong table, working on a puzzle, delighting in each successful placement of a piece. 

Gone are the surprising moments I'd glance out my kitchen window and see opalescent bubbles floating by, then walk onto the deck and shout happily to my parents on the lawn below as they waved their bubble wands.
-------------------------

While they lived with me, I discovered ways to engage my parents in meaningful conversation by sharing a poem or a story. The three of us would often talk for an hour or more, sharing insights and memories. 

Those conversations are now in the past.

On the phone, or on Zoom, we manage decent 5-minute exchanges. I tell them about my day or show photos of Wolf. But the opaque veil of technology and distance now prevents us from gliding into the effortless conversation we knew last summer. 
----------------------

So I settle for Bridge. 

When my dad and I play, we are again equals. He knows the game; I remember the bid. Our conversation is genuine as he talks through which card to play and I agree or challenge him. He explains his choice, and I usually acquiesce. (He does know the game.) 

Yesterday, after I painstakingly logged him onto Zoom, guided him through (We do this every time!) turning on his mic and camera, helped him adjust his chair so I could see more than just his forehead, we began our game. 

Then we played another. Good times. 

I was ready to log off when he brought up Saturday's hand. He recounted the dissatisfying bidding sequence, the failure of our computerized partner to respond to our bid, the unfortunate opening lead...

I was stunned. This man, who can barely remember a four-digit sequence, who needs remedial instruction to "click on the red M on the white box that looks like an envelope," who can no longer remember how to delete emails, somehow remembered our Saturday game of Bridge in vivid detail.
-------------------

My freshmen students last week watched TED talks and discussed learning/grading/schooling. A recurring theme in their observations was that it is much easier to learn when the content is student-selected or relevant to their lives and experiences.

I think my dad's memory functions under similar pressures. He loves Bridge. I'm sure he spent considerable think-time after Saturday's Bridge game mulling our mistakes, reconsidering our plays. He thereby logged it into his memory.
-------------------

Tonight I wrote about the connection I've been able to maintain with my dad by way of Bridge now that he's back in Fort Dodge. 

I need to write about my mom. But it will be harder.

Enough.
Be well.
Write.

Allison

Endnote:

Harrison invited me to join him on his dog-training walk with Waylon tonight. All I had to do was walk alongside, carrying an empty shotgun. Beautiful evening. 

“How we spend our days is of course how we spend our lives. What we do with this hour and that one is what we are doing.” --Annie Dillard

How ridiculous is it that we are BOTH on our
phones as the other took the photo? Sheesh.

200 Days of Writing Through COVID-19: Swamped

Today is #200.

Nothing in my teacher training prepared me for the Zooming, the wifi issues, the mic missteps, and the time-suck I'm experiencing as I teach face-to-face learners and online students simultaneously. 

If I were teaching only online, I would plan lessons utilizing Zoom's breakout rooms and shared Google Docs. 

Teaching face-to-face, I would reclaim minutes lost to adjusting computer camera angles, apologizing for delivering entire lessons on mute, and toggling between muted virtual learners ("Please unmute!) and real (albeit distanced) learners in front of me ("Speak up so our virtual learners can hear you!) 

I end too many classes thinking "I need to do better." This really does feel like first-year teaching all over again.

Each day I narrow my focus to the here and now: I can't teach in the past; I can't teach in the future; all I have is this moment, and at this moment I will do what I can.
---------------------

In some ways, COVID has made me a more balanced teacher. 

Pre-pandemic, I saw Job #1 as teaching young people to become voracious readers; confident, clear writers; and thoughtful, aware contributors to group discussions. Job #2 was to keep students engaged enough to prevent classroom chaos. (This was the "babysitting" part of my job.)

But what I've witnessed in the push for schools to reopen while the pandemic is still stretching its jaws tells me that our country values my Job #2 over my Job #1. Yes, it's nice if the kids learn something, but more importantly, keep kids occupied so we can get about our business.
-----------------------

My dad now has the camera and mic working on his desktop computer. This allows us to Zoom again. This afternoon we played two hands of Bridge on FunBridge. In order to start, I needed my dad to plug in a sequence of numbers to the Zoom login. 

When I gave him three digits, he could do it. When I gave him four at once, he needed me to repeat it. 
-----------------------

My dad loves to read and wishes he could write, but frankly, he's a numbers guy. He remembered phone numbers like a savant: If he knew the name, he also knew the phone number. 

When my kids had math questions in high school, we called Grandpa. (I credit him with three of my children pursuing math majors in college.)

This is why today's Zooming with him was so hard.
---------------------

I am the daughter, not the doctor.

My dad's mental slippage is not something the doctor--let alone the daughter--can control.

But I can feel it. And I can record it here.

Enough.
Be well.
Write.

Allison 

Wolf is showing off his new nappie,
his hefty thighs, and his big feet! 

William Wolf Hoegh with his amazing mama.