Day #359 Writing Through COVID-19: Day #1 in Quarantine

I feel fine.

Dan's throat is a little sore, but he's also fine, using a slightly wider definition of the term.

Despite our fine-ness, we spent the day obsessing over each minor ache or weary moment as possible COVID confirmation. 

I wish my students would examine complex texts with half the scrutiny Dan and I gave to our every breath and sniffle today. 
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I spent the morning online scheduling my COVID test, questioning (and then rescheduling) my second vaccination, and making arrangements for my mother-in-law to proceed with her second vaccination dose without me on Friday.

Let me pause here to tell you about Kathy. She is my country neighbor and dearest friend. Thirty-six years ago I met her at a neighborhood bridal shower (mine!) where Kathy held her shy 4-year-old on her lap while dabbing at her own dripping nose with a tissue. Her authenticity and humor magnetized my affection. Clicking at my keyboard tonight, I realize I have a million words to write about Kathy.

What I'll say now is that she is a recently retired nurse. She has had both of her vaccination shots. She is in the volunteer team that is vaccinating our community. 

When I called her today to ask her to take Dan's mom in for her second COVID vaccine, I knew her answer before she picked up the phone. Iowa Neighbors.

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I had long happy phone conversations with Stuart and Palmer today. I ran three slow miles on a trail where I would not contaminate anyone with my potential (?) COVID germs. I used the Hy-Vee curbside grocery pickup service and was giddily impressed. I may never go back to RL shopping!
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One last thought: Today my students carried on with their learning in my absence. They edited videos, designed yearbook spreads, practiced poster presentations, and dug into the background reporting for news stories. Part of me wishes they'd missed me more, that they couldn't function without me. That would make me feel needed! But most of me is super proud that they are independent, capable, and eager to produce even in my absence. 

Enough.
Be well.
Write. 

My heart.

Day #358 Writing Through COVID-19: Dan Tests Positive

Yup.

I was on the final mile of my COVID marathon. I could see the finish line.

Then someone (my husband) stuck his big old farm boot out and tripped me. 
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Dan's fine. Just an odd-feeling sore throat.

I'll stay home for the next two days. I'll also get a COVID test. 

I'll keep you posted.

Enough.
Be well.
Write.

Allison

Day #354 Writing Through COVID-19: Sun, Vaccine, Obituaries (and Wolf is standing!)

What a beautiful day on Eagle Avenue! I ran three miles on the gravel with a 2-mph SE wind and a perfect 50-degree temperature. 

After lunch, it warmed up to 63. I sat in the sun reading for an hour. 

I don't want to think that my happiness is weather-dependent, but I must say I felt a lift in my spirits. I smiled all day--until Dan beat me 2-1 in Ping-Pong tonight.
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Our county's public health system was not able to schedule enough eligible people for its upcoming Monday vaccine distribution, so they opened up a back door to "non-eligible" folks willing to fill up the empty slots. Two of those will be my daughter who lives in Des Moines (and works in Cass County) and my husband Dan.

This is happy news for my family, but I can't help but think the vaccine roll-out favors those with internet access, connections, and wherewithal to track down vaccine opportunities. 

No one wants the vaccines to go unused. And I know eligible people who for various reasons are declining the vaccine. (A 74-year-old friend of ours says he wants to wait for the one-dose Johnson & Johnson version. His diabetic wife is allergic to eggs and fears she won't tolerate COVID vaccination.)  

So while I am glad that two more of my loved ones will be COVID protected, I am concerned that many in my community are missing out on or refusing the vaccine.
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A few days ago, my sister Adrienne suggested I write our parents' obituaries. She explained that doing it now will be less difficult than when stung by grief. We'll only need to make small edits when needed. 

This is a good idea. But I can't begin to outline my parents' lives' trajectories, accomplishments, and milestones, let alone know what to prioritize. This circled me back to an idea I thought of months ago when I took part in an Oklahoma State oral-history project.

Oral-history projects record conversations with people who have lived through a range of experiences. My reliance on Zoom during the past year of COVID has given me the skills to do this!  

So tomorrow at 1 p.m., Adrienne and I will log onto Zoom with our parents to record our dad talking about the early years of his life. The plan is that over the next several weeks we will visit with both parents about their lives and record the videos for posterity. 

Their stories, in their voices, will chronicle their lives for their grandchildren and beyond (and help me write their obituaries).

When I called my dad today to explain the project (sans the obituary dimension), I asked him if he was willing to talk about his childhood tomorrow. 

"Oh my, yes!" he said. I heard sunshine in his voice.

Enough.
Be well.
Write.

Allison

Screenshot from a video of Wolf pulling
  himself up to standing. <3

Day #352 Writing Through COVID-19: Fitness

The thermometer hit 60 today, and I was there for it.

After school, I headed to the rock-quarry trail and logged my first two outdoor running miles of 2021 at a don't-write-home-about-it 11:25 pace. Neither the distance nor speed warrants notice. But the fact that I ran at all after a day of teaching and before Emma's cycling class deserves a can-do cheer.
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At 61, I am not yet in the grave. But for each day my body cooperates to give me 30 minutes of running or a good sweat on a bicycle, I am thankful.

Tonight, when I beat Dan in Ping-Pong 21-19, I marveled not so much at my win as at our sexagenarian coordination, eyesight, and balance!

Fitness was once in my life a given, then a choice, and now a gift. 

Enough.
Be well.
Write.

Allison

This boy! My heart!

Day #351 Writing Through COVID-19: My Son and His Dog

 

Nali and Stuart, heading west

My youngest son Stu, 26, headed west four years ago. He's worked temp jobs to support his trout fishing and mountain biking, bear hunting and rock climbing. He moves around a lot to maximize opportunities to bow hunt elk, mule deer, whitetail, pheasant, bear. He writes about his outdoor pursuits at Iowa Slam. (A slam, he's gently explained to his non-hunting mother, is achieved when a hunter bags every hunt-able animal in a particular area).

Stu currently shares a single room in an AirBNB in Utah with his twin while they're working the ski season at Sundance.
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While out west, Stu has holed up in various (shall I say?) holes. He's lived in basements and trailers and, for extended periods of time, in tents and out of his car. 

With him for the past five years has been Nali, a black lab named after Mt. Denali, the highest peak in North America, which hovered above Stu the summer he worked in Alaska as a fishing guide. 
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My son is what my husband and I call "a thinking kid." This label is both an attribute and a burden. Stu thinks hard about his decisions, his actions, and his words, which can be a heavy load. 

He structures his time to prioritize a balance of physical health, mental health, service to others, financial responsibility, and of course hunting. Recently, when he lost a decent-paying job he had (reasonably) enjoyed, he reminded me that his entire identity was not lodged in his job; many aspects of his life were going well.
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I've spent too many paragraphs introducing Stuart because I'm resisting this next part.

One of the things Stuart prioritizes each day is his work with his Nali. She is an amazing hunting dog, trained to serve as Stu's right-hand she-dog on his countless expeditions. More than that, she has been his constant companion during his time out west. 

Recently Nali has been sick. She's been lethargic. Blood in her urine. Seizures. The vets ran tests, prescribed medications.  Stu adjusted her diet. 

I think you know where this is going.

It isn't a kidney infection or a UTI. It isn't the dog version of epilepsy. 

The mass revealed near her spine in ultrasound was biopsied and confirmed to be advanced cancer. 
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Our family has loved many dogs. This means we have also known profound sadness.

These next weeks will be hard for us. 

Enough.
Be well.
Write.

Allison

Day #350 Writing Through COVID-19: Klackers and Tape Recorders?

This afternoon, as I arrived at the YMCA for spin class, I wound my way through a cluster of sixth-graders. It was a beautiful near-spring day, 54 degrees. A few kids were masked. A few bared their noses but masked their mouths. Some wore masks under their chins. 

I almost used my teacher voice to tell them to mask up. But they were outside. And fairly distanced.  Frankly, at this exhausting point in the pandemic, I no longer know what the rules for masking are when 12-year-olds are arguing (or was it flirting?) outside the YMCA in balmy(?) weather.
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When I was 12, in 1972, the fad was Klackers. This noisy, semi-dangerous toy was soon banned when too many Klackers shattered and injured Klacking children. 

Klackers were a significant part of my life for about a year. I don't think about them often. But I remembered them tonight when I saw the kids outside the Y. Will the 12-year-olds of 2020 remember masks as "that thing we did for a year" in junior high?

I also remember from that era the early tape-recorders. Once my dad brought one home from his office. It was the size of a suitcase. It had two plate-sized reels and a tape (literally!) on which magical sound was recorded. (Tape! Record! Tape-recorder!)

Klackers dissolved into the past. Tape-recorders evolved into the future, becoming tighter, improved versions of themselves. We now press a single button on our phones, record anything, edit effortlessly, and share it anywhere. 
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Will masks go the way of Klackers? Remembered only in the recesses of the internet and Grandma's stories? Or will they stay with us, like the tape-recorders, evolving and improving and melding seamlessly into our lives?
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I thought I was going to write about cycling class tonight.

I guess I wrote about Klackers. 

Enough.
Be well.
Write.

Allison

My son Max with his son Wolf, on the job in NZ

Day #349 Writing Through COVID-19: What probably isn't COVID

This evening Dan said his throat is a bit sore. 

I whisked the temple-thermometer off its prominent place at the kitchen desk and recorded his temperature: 99.4.

Next, we Googled temperature as COVID indicator and learned that contrary to Jeopardy and Trivial Pursuit, 98.6 is only a "very crude estimate" when determining a fever.

"Fever" is, in fact, considered to be 2 degrees above whatever your own personal baseline is (which in Dan's case, and in mine, is not known).

Dan said he'd had a long day outside in the wind. Can wind cause fever? 
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In pre-COVID days, my husband would not have mentioned the hint of a sore throat. One of us would need to be bathed in sweat and nearing convulsions before the other would start hunting for a thermometer. If we were lucky enough to find one, it would not have functioned.

But COVID has its own set of rules. 

A scratch in the throat, a drip of the nose, the itch of a cough: high alert! 

Dan thought back to his proximity to others yesterday at church. He realized that when he'd helped our neighbor with a truck problem today, neither had worn a mask. 
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Despite (or because of) his early COVID scare last June, Dan has been named our family's "head of the snake." He seems to be the weakest link in our chain of COVID precaution. Time and again he forgets his mask, or ends up shaking someone's hand, or (afterwards) realizes he hadn't distanced himself. 

That said, he has come a long way from his early days of the pandemic, when I had to beg him to wear the mask he abhorred.

I get it. Masks are uncomfortable and eye-glass fogging. And in the early days, their use seemed to broadcast fear and/or rigidity. Had it not been for my insistent daughter in Spain begging us all to take the damn pandemic seriously, I might not have been a mask "early adapter" myself.
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I am 2.5 weeks past my first COVID vaccine, so I feel pretty safe against the virus even if Dan has brought it into this house. 

Tonight, using nothing but my unscientific intuition, I'll guess Dan's COVID  probability at 20%. 

We'll see what tomorrow brings.

Enough.
Be well.
Write.

Allison