Sheltered in Place: Day Unknown

I stopped counting the days of Shelter in Place after 80, but I know we’re somewhere past 100.

It’s hard coming to terms each day with the same knowledge we won’t see family or friends in person for many more months, and moving past the daily unease of the economic and public health crisis, not knowing when our family may be upended by job loss or illness.

Moving forward requires searching for moments of joy, cultivating gratitude, sticking with healthy routines, and calculating what risks are necessary or acceptable in my own household.

Everything my partner and I do these days is dedicated to food and shelter. We work, and send our child to daycare (so that we can work), so that we can afford rent and food. Everything else has to wait. Haircuts, vacations, meeting friends, venturing into outdoor dining, none of these support our priorities right now, and each of them puts us at higher risk, so they all have to wait. I understand may families see daycare as an unnecessary risk, and may judge us for our decision to send our kid to a group preschool. Luckily the science thus far shows young children to be especially bad at transmitting COVID19, and I feel comfortable with the long list of new safety protocols we and the teachers must follow to send her. And my child has never been happier. If she was still home with us, I’d have not had a clue she was capable of learning her shapes and colors. I feel less comfortable with having to work in an indoor office, but grateful to have employment.

Going to the art studio seemed unnecessary, so even when I was allowed to return, I didn’t make it a priority. Luckily it’s already suited for physical distancing, and there are openable windows and doors to allow fresh air circulation. My studiomates thoughtfully came up with a shared Google calendar so we can plan staggered use of the space.

Upon returning to the studio to paint, I am so happy to be back. Working alone, listening to podcasts, and painting forest scenes, I’m given a taste of life unchanged by the pandemic. It feels good. I get a break from the anxieties that I know will be waiting for me after I leave the studio. Crises and worries I must attend to, but for a few hours, can wait.

Pandemic Diary Day 43: Roses, Joy, Sorrows, and Leonard Cohen

This morning I went for a walk and listened to the new Cheryl Strayed NYTimes podcast, Sugar Calling. Strayed called writer Pico Iyer in the April 15 episode titled “Joyful Participation in a World of Sorrows.” Iyer talks so beautifully about living with unexpected loss and coming to grips with impermanence in a conversation rooted in the uncertain circumstances we all find ourselves in today.

I felt inspired as I listened. I stopped to smile at the bluejays and robins that crossed the trail, grateful this bizarre world put me on a new routine that allowed me to better notice such things. I walked back through the neighborhood and enjoyed luscious roses in bloom. I couldn’t get over the intoxicating smell of the blossoms on a grapefruit tree, until I passed a giant lime tree.

I felt ready to take on the day with a better attitude. Remembering “if not now, when?” and “time is always a gift, never a burden,” along with the words from Strayed and Iyer, I was certain I could enthusiastically search for joy.

Yet, it’s day 43 of a shelter-in-place order. I haven’t shared a meal with anyone but my spouse and child for about two months. My child hasn’t been able to play with another child in all that time. She waves at pictures of babies and children, which looks adorable, but feels completely heartbreaking, as she desires social connection like all of us.

Yesterday we got the (not too surprising) announcement that shelter-in-place would be extended until at least the end of May.

I’ve been marking the days on my calendar. May 31st will be Day 76.

Staying home is the right thing to do. The medical community does not have adequate equipment, and they are not yet empowered with therapeutic treatments known to truly help virus patients. There’s not yet evidence that infection gives immunity, and we don’t have contact tracing or reliable tests. Staying home is the right thing, and I know it, but it doesn’t make it easy to come to terms with.

I tried to return a defective box fan to a hardware store during my toddler’s nap. Returns are not permitted under the health and safety order. This makes sense, but it was just enough of a disappointment to crumble my fragile emotional state. The rest of the day felt like an avalanche of failures and disappointments, trying to get my child to eat her lunch, frustratingly battling the EDD website as I attempt to file my unemployment claim, finding the washer downstairs was already in use by another tenant.

How does one balance joyfully participating in a world of sorrows, and allowing oneself to feel their sorrows?

Mindfulness expert Jon Kabat-Zinn writes in Full Catastrophe Living of embracing and surrendering to the challenges of human crisis to experience greater well-being. I see the value in this, and have read and listened to countless testaments to its efficacy. But where do Fred Rogers’s lessons fit in this? When do we “name and feel our feelings” and know it’s okay to feel those things—without being bogged down by them? How do we draw and hold that line?

I’m not at all sure, so for now I’m going to keep taking a half Unisom before bed to turn off my mind. Playing The Essential Leonard Cohen as my pre-bedtime soundtrack. Searching for joy, making sense of a growing pile of sorrows, and seeking balance between the two will just have to wait until tomorrow.

Pandemic Diary: SIP Day 37

Today is Wednesday. Yesterday was Tuesday. Tomorrow is Thursday.

It’s the 37th day of Shelter-in-Place in Alameda County, and the 1st day of a requirement everyone over 12 wear masks pretty much all the time.

I usually listen to podcasts (music might have a better effect on my mood and mental health, but podcasts make me feel engaged and a bit less isolated) while doing my nightly clean-up. Last night I enjoyed 99% Invisible’s latest “Masking for a Friend.”

Pandemic Diary: SIP Day 36

Today I took a short drive to a beautiful trail. It had legal street parking, was only ten minutes from my apartment, and there were wide, relatively level trails that were totally appropriate for a toddler wearing a leash-backpack.

It was absolutely beautiful. The weather was cool and the air was crisp and delicious. The redwoods and huckleberry surrounded us and it was basically my dream come true.

Not so for little Lulu, who seemed to completely loathe the experience. I brought Cheerios, water with a silicone straw sippy cup (the kind that are a real big pain in the ass to clean). I didn’t try to force her into a carrier or a stroller. We brought Meow-Meow (a leopard lovey that Emmylou calls Meow, but pronounces like “Mao"). All that in my bag of tricks, I didn’t have anything else. She cried most of the time, made me carry her half the time, and wailed on the drive home. Life is rarely about getting what you want, especially if you are a parent, or a child.

Sorry, no photos were captured in that glorious redwood setting.

During the last disaster that had me stocking emergency supplies (California wildfire season of 2019) I swore I would stop buying so much food at once. I’d buy more canned goods here and there to slowly stock emergency supplies, but for regular groceries, my new goal was to shop more like I had one of those mini fridges that are common in European apartments.

It would reduce food waste in regular circumstances (you can’t cook or eat what’s hiding behind the cilantro and beer), and during a planned power outage during wildfire seasons (we were cautioned that last year’s planned outages would be repeated in the future).

The current ongoing crisis has forced me to do the opposite. Instead of buying $12-$20 of groceries every day or so, I’m buying $200 of groceries every week or two. Limiting our trips out, knowing the risk of exposure, time to wait in lines, and likelihood of empty shelves in certain sections.

I feel jarred and a bit embarrassed when I grab an item, and return to my cart—my instinct says “whoops! that’s a stranger’s cart! You’ve never had a full-sized shopping cart overflowing! Oh wait, no, that’s mine…”

I’m still concerned this will lead to food and financial waste, which seems especially criminal now. So now, I do a fridge clean and reorg more often, and I have to admit: we eat a lot of eggs and string cheese in this house.

Pandemic Diary: SIP Day 35

I’ve been thinking a lot about the differences between loneliness and solitude.

You don’t have to be alone to feel lonely. Ask any awkward teenager at a crowded high school. Whether you’re in the company of thousands, or in the company of your very favorite people on the planet, it’s still possible to feel lonely, and it’s still possible to want to be left alone.

My solo hikes and walks are a healing and much needed source of solitude right now.

Pandemic Diary: SIP Day 34

The other day I wrote about the fantastic trail I can reach on foot from my apartment, saying I’d never tire of it. That’s true, but I remembered the value of variety today.

I hiked a trail that was completely new to me. I ventured there first with Lulu, but realized quickly that it would not be safe for a toddler. I turned back, and left my daughter home with dad. I returned alone and marveled at the beauty. Even better, I was able to take my mind off the virus from time to time. Not knowing what might be just around the corner, or where to step for a sure footing, I was forced to pay close attention to my present moment experience. It was a challenging and narrow trail along steep terrain, and simple misstep could have spelled serious disaster.

Pandemic Diary: SIP Day 32

I made it 32 days before having to begin a claim for unemployment insurance, so that’s something.

My state has a program that allows partial UI with reduced hours, so I know I’m lucky to be in a better place than many others.

There’s 22 million people in front of me, hoping these benefits come through and the system itself avoids collapse. I’m probably not the only person who feels like they ordered a burger, paid for a filet mignon, and got served a shit sandwich. We’re all dining on shit sandwiches. Obviously while alone in our separate homes, because otherwise we’re wearing masks, and doing things like eating in public is a thing of the past anyways, (at least for those of us who are lucky enough to have homes).

Happier notes from today:

My kid loves scrambled eggs. They’re easy to make, and I found gluten free toast that tastes good, so I reliably enjoy a great early lunch most days, alongside a very happy kid.

Emmylou tried to jump today. She’s been working on it for months, but she’s finally starting to figure it out better. We practiced jumping together as a family and it was joyful.

Alameda County issued an order requiring face masks in public from now on. My incredibly talented friend made me a bunch last week and they are terrific, so I’m ready.

Since parking violations are not enforced, I found free parking directly in front of work when I went in to do the mail today.

I made tofu and veggies with butter masala sauce for dinner and it was delicious.

Pandemic Diary: Day 31

I hadn’t planned on letting my kid watch TV until she was 4.

Today we watched 2 episodes of Daniel Tiger, and 1 and a half episodes of Sesame Street.

To those hold out parents who have been able to keep screen time from their toddlers during life under lockdown, more power to you. It’s not easy. To those who would shame me, citing data and anecdotal info on early exposure to screens, I would say: show me the data on what happens to a child (and her parents) when that child is not allowed to play with other children for months on end. Or interact with adults other than her parents. There are no rules or best practices anymore.

Here’s what I’ve been wondering:

Will we eat in a restaurant again in 2020?

Will my child have a playdate in the next few months?

When will we use playgrounds again?

The answers to the questions above are not yet available. In the meantime, we are learning animal sounds (seal barking was added today) and focusing on smaller questions to stay employed and well fed.

Pandemic Diary: Day 29

It’s been almost a month since I came within 6 feet of someone other than my husband or child. Except for those moments where you pass someone quickly but don’t have the available space to be 6 feet away when doing so, on the sidewalk, a trail, or in a store. Or to insert a credit card and then leap back to the yellow line marked on the floor as instructed by the masked cashier.

Like most everyone else, I miss people and places.

The fifth week of this has been easier than the second one. We’ve all found better routines and better coping strategies.

I started hiking on Sunday, and am determined to go on a solo hike every day from now on. I felt so good on Monday I did two more long walks after my hike. My legs have been incredibly sore. That soreness that feels simultaneously bad and good. Good to feel something. Good to feel something other than anxiety and exhaustion.

While trails are open, parking lots have closed, since people weren’t following social distancing guidelines the first few weeks. Jeff and I trade off throughout the day with childcare duty, so I don’t want to waste any personal or work time driving around anyways. That means I’m hiking the same trail every day; one I can walk to from our apartment. Fortunately, if you have more than 20 minutes to hike, it’s a truly epic trail. I can’t imagine I will tire of it.

Today I took a different fork in the trail on the way back. My expectation was that it would be a dead end after a while (this trail is city-maintained, meaning the resources and upkeep are not near what our local regional parks receive. There are a few trails offshoots that have fallen to the elements and will remain so forever).

Instead of a dead end, I found an opportunity to walk through the creek the rest of the way back. I can’t think of very many times in the last decade when I have experienced such pure childlike delight.

Pandemic Diary: Day 27

This blog was started with the intention I would track my journey making art while figuring out how to be a parent.

When it began, I was a stay-at-home parent, and learning it didn’t work so well to have a baby in the studio with me, no matter what the other hip moms on Instagram were doing.

In January, I started a full-time job and my kid started daycare. I was nervous for the transition, but it went great. I was able to get to the studio from time to time, and it was easier to afford a new tube of paint.

We had just settled into our new groove. Then everyone’s world turned upside down.

I pivoted my blog to more stream of consciousness for now, after a colleague recommending logging your daily actions to keep the days under self quarantine from blurring together. You can expect me to continue to venture off the topic of art for a while, but I don’t mean for the original mission to be forgotten.

I remember the last time I went to the art studio to paint. It was a bit over a month ago. One of my precious Fridays off from work while Emmylou was at daycare. I wasn’t feeling motivated, so I didn’t stay for long. I had been thinking of taking a rare mid-day nap.

While I was at the studio, I had a moment to catch up to my wonderful studio mate, Janis Anton, who I miss seeing. She told me about having coffee with a friend who said to her: “you’re the last person I’m seeing in a public place for a while.” We both thought that sounded extreme. And now we know better, and I wish I had spent more time meeting up with friends in February and in the first week of March, and catching up with Janis on that day. I wish I had spent longer painting, too.

Making art hasn’t been a priority lately, as almost every waking moment is dedicated to childcare and work, making meals and cleaning them up. The increased time at home has upped my cleaning game. Keeping things tidy enough to make it feel good to be here all the time. I try to bleach the bathroom twice a week, and clean things like the high chair and floors more often than I used to. Vacuum nightly. Without the blessings of daycare, I clean and rotate Emmylou’s toy and book selection daily.

Last weekend I paused my new daily grind to grab a few supplies from my art studio, as I realized this stay-at-home order is going to go on for a while. No real idea when it could lift, but I feel certain it’ll be longer than the current date of May 3rd.

Our home is a tiny two bedroom apartment. We have two workstations set up, as both my spouse and I are doing the full-time WFH thing. One is smushed in the bedroom, with our bed, hampers, and hang-to-dry laundry items in full view of every Zoom work call. The other is in the kitchen, where I use the toaster oven as a laptop stand, and pray the shelves above don’t give way and send pantry items crashing down on my head. This is to say, we don’t have a lot of extra space, and the need for childproofed space narrows the options for anything new I bring into the space. An easel requires a not-so-minor set up and take down, exclusively during hours my child is asleep. I went for it today, and it felt good. Because it’s not going to be easy to make time and space for, it’ll take more conscious effort to do (as all new good habits require).

Like my paintings, the new process is also a work-in-progress.

Pandemic Diary: Day 26

It’s hard to have a conversation these days that isn’t about the virus, or the effects of the virus, or how we are doing because of the virus. COVID-19 is an all encompassing situation. It blankets the globe and every aspect of everyone’s life, and just about every thought we find time to think.

In effort not to be consumed by doom and gloom, people are looking for the positive. I know that’s something I need to do more of.

But each time I’m asked “what’s something positive that happened to you today?” or “for you, what’s been the best part of quarantining?” it feels like a flippant dismissal of the grave nature of this unfolding disaster. Did people ask things like “what was the best thing that happened to New Orleans residents during Hurricane Katrina?” or “ what was something positive that happened to you on 9/11?” I don’t think so.

But life goes on, even in its disrupted and distorted form, and even as this disaster evolves and continues to claim lives and livelihoods. We cannot exist in a permanent state of despair, or rather, we should not.

Looking for the positive in this situation is hard for me. Today was the first day in 26 days where I found something that made me really smile, so hard my face felt funny.

Today, my daughter learned about blowing bubbles.

Pandemic Diary, Day 23

Online I see the documentation of the stay-at-home activities of my childfree friends. They’re making sourdough starters and reveling in their new found sufficiency as bread bakers. Some are making cakes, drinking during the daytime, taking Zoom yoga and cardio classes, reading books, and picking up hobbies like finally playing the guitar in the corner, practicing a second language, or finishing once-abandoned knitting projects.

I know many of them are also busy working, or if not working, dealing with the extreme stress and uncertainty of navigating temporary or long-term unemployment. The current situation is no picnic for anyone. Although I did see a young couple (no children in sight) having a picnic today, popping cava at 10:30am.

We’re alternating work and childcare throughout the day on a schedule that begins around 7am and officially goes until 10pm. I don’t have to fill as many work hours as my spouse, nor are my hours billable, so at least the work pressure is not quite so extreme on both our ends, as I’m sure it is in some families. Jeff was up working until 2:30am last night, and I am in awe that he didn’t complain when we got up at 6:50am to start the day with our kiddo.

Today is my second day going back to the office to check mail and handle a few security access related issues. When I started my job a few months ago, I felt excited and a bit intimidated to be working in a skyscraper. It’s not the first place I’ve worked that had some location prestige (I used to work in a building that was directly across from 30 Rock and Radio City). But it was a major shift from working inside the home. I felt like I needed new clothing that would make me appear worthy of my professional environment. Not much time has passed, but the only attire that matters to me anymore is gloves and masks.

Part of me feels relieved to be needed outside the house, to have a change of scenery, though it is hard to move past the climate of paranoia that hangs over anywhere outside a private residence right now. I feel pressured to hurry when I’m out, but it’s more of a mental trick, as I have to admit there isn’t a real rush (except for that childcare/work switcharoo schedule at home).

How are you adjusting to whatever your new routine is?

SIP: Day 19

I’m not actually sure I’ve got the day count correct, but if not, it’s certainly been about 20 days since my region issued its first official shelter-in-place order. A second one with tighter restrictions and a timeline extension came out a few days ago. I guess we all knew April 7th probably wasn’t the end of it, and it’s hard to imagine May 3rd could be, either. Still, those dates offered almost a glimmer of hope. Then I see Georgia’s governor reopening beaches and insisting that he’s just now learned asymptomatic people can carry and transmit COVID-19, and I wonder how hopeful any of us can realistically be for the next few months.

The last three weeks at home have been a challenge. Two parents working full time, at home, while watching their child at home, full time. No playdates, no playgrounds, no small errands to break up the day. Lots of tears, lots of frustration, lots of Zoom meetings.

Globally, we’re all experiencing a collective grief with many stages, and unlike anything else we’ve imagined. Maybe you’ve already read the HBR op-ed “That Discomfort You’re Feeling is Grief.”

Over the first three weeks, that grief manifested in anxiety and fear for me, cyclically fed by constant scrolling on my phone, looking at news I dread but simultaneously feel compelled to consume from morning till night. I do turn my phone completely off each evening, which helps, but I recognize I need more boundaries.

The confinement and isolation made me often irritated, usually stressed, and sometimes just plain angry. A slow internet connection could spark rage that I’d have gladly dealt with by kicking holes in the wall, throwing my computer out the window, screaming at the top of my lungs, or literally pulling my hair out. (I didn’t do any of those things, it’s simply an admission of the animal impulses I suspect I’m not alone in fighting from time to time.)

Then another stage of grief washed over. I started to feel really tired, and sad. Definitely a sadness about the entire situation, the loss of both livelihoods and lives in every community across the earth. Also a personal sadness, as I grieve things in my life that were going so well and feel ripped out from under me. To have struggled so much with trying to be a stay at home mom, finally admitting it wasn’t working, getting a job, and finding I was good at my job and my child was great at daycare. The last few months were a revelation for me in getting traction, in finding forward movement in my life. The disruption and likely reversal of those gains, well, it sucks. I know there’s bigger fish to fry as we all navigate life with this novel coronavirus, and my worries pale in comparison to those others are grappling with. Regardless, I get to grieve. It cannot be avoided or reasoned away.

Because not all news is bad news all the time, here’s a few things that have been happy over the last few days. My daughter is developing more language. She has recently added to her vocabulary: shoes, bubble, boo-boo, be-bo (belly button), don’t, and no. It’s exciting to watch her learn to communicate with us beyond crying and signing “more.” Her comprehension always astounds me; what she can point to or do in response to something I say, or what she clearly recognizes in a book. Perhaps I can take it as a lovely reminder that human beings are often capable of much more than they seem.

SIP: Day 18

Let’s just call it a mental health day and leave it there.

SIP: Day 15

Today is day 15. This afternoon it was announced the shelter-in-place order has been extended through May 3. At least 33 more days.

Working hard at my job to help prove my worth keeps me busy, as does watching a toddler all day. We came up with a schedule to help us switch off between dedicated work and childcare time and today may have been our most successful day so far.

Feeling sad for my friends who work in the floral industry, who I hope can pay rent and mortgages and who I hope will still have a business in a few months. Thinking of all the best flowers, scents, colors, and blooms, that appear in April and May and how they will languish without people to sell and buy and enjoy them. Thinking about what it must be like to run a flower shop and consider not having any revenue from critical holidays like Easter and possibly Mother's Day. Thinking about peonies and freesia.

Baking gluten free brownies right, eating an apple, and drinking some bourbon.

Watching the spinoff of The Good Wife.

That's all for now.

SIP: Day 12

I texted a friend in Seattle to ask how she was doing. She let me know she’s alright, but it’s hard to focus when working from home. Later she said it was hard to focus in general, with “the end of the world” going on, and that she wished she could check out, and wake up in a few months when this is all over. I rather agree.

Neither of us believes this is the so-called “end of days” nor do we think there’s any chance we can “just check out for a while.” But the ominous feeling is all around, and the cognitive burden feels so heavy. There’s no one to share the load with so we can take a break, because everyone is carrying their own load right now. No one is exempt from a global pandemic. Living in the richest country in the world and knowing we ran out of a $0.75 face mask in the early weeks of the outbreak reveals this country to be the third world nation a few residents already knew it to be. (Being white, middle class, and having almost always had health insurance, I’ve lived in a privileged version of America, but I cannot deny the darkness woven into our national fabric for so many, as this country was built on the brutal enslavement of other human beings. The same voices saying “grandparents and others are willing to sacrifice themselves for the greater good of the economy” are just repulsive echos of their ancestors, who justified slavery with economic arguments.)

I haven’t left the apartment in 10 days. I’ve been ill, and unable to get tested, I have no way of knowing if this is a run-of-the-mill common-cold coronavirus, or if I have the novel coronavirus COVID-19. I’m being treating with presumed bronchitis, per a telemedicine appointment where I was prescribed antibiotics, and assured that if I did have the novel coronavirus, a healthy person of my age would likely only have a mild case, and start to see a turn around at about 8 days. The jury is out on diagnosis because they have more pressing matters, like the shameful lack of test kits, PPE, and ventilators. I am to remain home until I am at least 3 days asymptomatic, a future date I am eager to get to. National, state, regional, and local parks are all shutting down as people fail to practice social distancing. When I do get out, I imagine it will be for little more than to buy groceries or check the mail at work, donning a mask and gloves, prepared to decontaminate my clothing and anything I bring into the apartment upon entry. For now, I am resting, and spraying things with bleach.

Quarantine is mentally exhausting and watching after a toddler is physically exhausting. You’d think we’d all be sleeping well when finally given the chance. I’ve heard most friends are drinking, or taking Unisom, or Klonopin, or stocking up on curbside delivery of cannabis. It’s hard to sleep when it feels like the end of the world.

SIP: Day 7

Today, Facebook wanted to remind me that 5 years ago today, I was in Guatemala (or perhaps freshly returned and uploading photographs of the trip to social media). It was a splendid trip, and I hope I can one day be lucky enough to travel there again.

Jeff and I hiked through massive colonial ruins in Antigua, buildings that once put to shame anything else being built in the Americas at that time, but were ravaged by repeated earthquakes. We dined on meals that will forever occupy our memories, and ate breakfast on a rooftop next to pineapple plants while a volcano erupted lightly in the distance. We learned about the history of chocolate harvesting and consuming and made our own chocolate bars. We took a cooking class taught entirely in Spanish at a time I spoke none and Jeff understood very little, and still made the best chili rellenos I’ll ever have. We spent days living in a round house with our host Jean, a retired Sisco bigwig, and looked out peacefully upon a lake surrounded by mountains.

Today, I am sick. If like me, you’ve found yourself unwell amidst the COVID-19 crisis, you know that due to extreme test kit and PPE shortages, doctors are simply saying “stay home” to anyone with any symptoms that are not urgent or emergent. It’s hard not to be paranoid and concerned, but given the circumstances, it will probably be a very good thing if I never find out if this is “it,” or simply a seasonal cold or flu.

Until I am 3 days symptom free, I do not plan to leave my apartment. There’s not many places to go with all non-essential businesses closed, and there’s great risk with most outings, but I do look forward to feeling well, and taking a walk outside. In the meantime I will have to settle for walks down memory lane, traversing the cobblestone streets of Antigua, Guatemala.

SIP: Days 5 & 6

This is the first weekend of SIP (Shelter In Place). Because the situation makes all our worlds so much smaller, mostly comprised of our own homes, I wonder if it will be hard to distinguish weekends from weekdays.

One point of clarity between the two: we don’t have to struggle to work or bill 40 hours while simultaneously watching a child who needs hands-on attention for most of the time between 5:30am-8pm. I’ll refrain (for now) from getting too in the weeds on my feelings about how incredibly unrealistic the WFH expectations on parents during a global pandemic.

It is a blessing to have someone in the house who is totally oblivious to COVID-19 and all the life disruptions and scary things that come with it. That said, she’s not oblivious to the disruptions. Children thrive on routine, and we’ve just ripped her away from the only routine that really gave her a sense of balance in her life (daycare). Meltdowns have already been frequent and I’m setting the bar low for what it’ll be over the coming weeks/months.

Not much I want to share today.

Here’s two things I wish I’d put more priority on recently:

1. Buying junk food, particularly gluten free jo-jos at Trader Joes. I considered buying a few boxes when I did a big grocery run about three weeks ago, before I really got a grasp on the seriousness of what was coming, but did have an inkling. I ran out of those cookies a while ago, and I really don’t recommend sheltering in place with only the basic necessities. Junk food has a place of importance, too.

2. Watering my plants. I cherish them more now that I’m inside with them almost all the time. I’ve left them to languish a bit, and I hope they’ll perk back up with renewed attention.

What do you wish you’d put more attention toward in the weeks before shit got real?

SIP: Day 4

On the subject of live as I know it now being unrecognizable to the person I was a week or two ago, I’ve been thinking about things that feel useless but used to feel essential.

• Makeup. I don’t see a point to putting on mascara or lipstick to walk around my apartment. And for all those video calls, I hear Zoom has a “touch up my appearance feature” anyways.

• Haircuts. My hair stylist is a friend who I adore, and she’s terrific. In the past, I’ve been a combo of too lazy and too frugal to go as often as I should. Two weeks ago, when all we were discussing as a nation was how to spend 20 seconds lathering your hands with soap for washing, I considered going in for a pixie cut to help me remember not to touch my face. I look back on my ideas in the not-so-distant-past, and feel embarrassed for their shortsighted lack of understanding of what was to come. When you are ordered to shelter at home, salons close. Keeping up a short cut is difficult. Maybe my hair is going to be an unruly, unstyled mess for the next several weeks or months, but hey, let’s see what that Zoom “touch me up” feature really does. And heads up to all the post-apocalyptic tv and movie producers: a more realistic choice is for everyone’s hair to be long, undyed, and perhaps dreaded. I hope my stylist friend will be flooded with paying business at the end of this, and I may get that pixie cut when the time comes. But for now, I’d rather not have my husband touch up my hair with dull scissors.

• Not making the bed. I’ve always been a bit lazy with that habit, so while I love a freshly made bed, I rarely do it or mind when it doesn’t happen. Now it seems crucial to daily life. To bring structure to the day. To make my home-now-also-office feel worthy of the day.

I’m sure I’ll think of more. What have you found to be a little pointless in life on lockdown?

SIP: Day 3

A colleague suggested keeping a diary or journal during this time, to keep the days from blurring together.

In the Bay Area, we are under a “Shelter In Place” health and safety order. While it’s not marshall law, and the official penalty for noncompliance is a misdemeanor, it’s clear there are also penalties to the health and safety of our community. We’re taking it seriously.

If you’re living somewhere the local government hasn’t yet implemented this policy, it’s coming to you soon. No one is exempt from a global pandemic.

If you’re reading this in the future, and can’t quite recall what happened during the COVID-19 crisis of 2020 in America, here’s some of the basics of “shelter in place,” or as it’s quickly being abbreviated, SIP. All businesses deemed non-essential have closed. Gatherings nationwide of 10 or more people are considered unsafe nationwide, but here you’re really not supposed to be within 6 feet of someone you don’t share your home with. Those who can work from home are. Daycares, schools, and universities have closed, and the kids are all home (or in the case of many college students, and international students, stunned as they search for affordable housing). Many who started to work remote have already been furloughed or laid off since Monday, only four days ago. The economic ramifications are still beyond what we can fathom.

Under SIP, residents are only to leave their homes to give or receive essential services. This means banks, healthcare facilities, laundromats, pharmacies, and grocery stores continue to be open, albeit with limited hours, long lines, and depleted shelves. All non-urgent health concerns are now postponed, or treated by phone or video as the healthcare system is overwhelmed. Hospitals have implemented no-visitor policies.

We can go outside, but not inside one another’s homes. Whether walking down the sidewalk or standing in line, the recommendation is to keep at least 6 feet of distance between yourself and anyone you do not live with.

Regional parks are open, for now, though facilities like restrooms are closed. Hikers are to maintain “social distance” of 6+ feet from others.

Travel by foot, bike, scooter, car, or public transport is reserved for those “essential” trips, and distance rules apply there too.

All bars are shut, and all restaurants that remain open do so only for delivery or curbside pickup.

Yesterday I went to work briefly (my office gets mail, so we play a role in keeping essential services going, for example, allowing a company to get their payroll). A 22 floor skyscraper was mostly a ghost town. On my way out, the elevator doors opened and I moved to exit. Another person was waiting to get on, and as soon as they saw the elevator wasn’t empty, they looked panicked and quickly leapt backwards.

My brother-in-law reached recently mentioned that when a disaster arrives, life becomes completely unrecognizable from what it was only days ago. This is true, and we are only at the start.

In the face of doom and gloom I never predicted for my lifetime (or at least, not so soon, as I feared the toll of climate change between now and 2050) I should take a moment to mention things I am grateful for.

I am so grateful to have a partner. He’s compassionate, supportive, and fun. If we have to be stuck in quarantine, I’m glad he’ll be there.

I am so grateful to have a job and a paycheck. That security is such a blessing. I have no words that really sum up my feelings there. But I can say that having a job, and having coworkers I can virtually connect with, allows me to have social contacts I very much need, and I feel so much gratitude in being able to hear their voices express calm or optimism.

I am so grateful to have my child. It’s easy to get under one another’s skin when living in limited, close quarters, with no break in sight. I’m glad there are three of us here. And my child has literally no idea what’s going on. She’s upset at the change in her routine, and being denied access to play equipment, her peers, and her amazing daycare teachers. But she is developing day by day, and the pure delight she expresses at being tickled, or dancing, or showing us she can point to her head, eyes, nose, and mouth when we say those words in Spanish, is a source of joy that will keep us all going.

That’s all for today’s log.

I’ll leave you with a picture of my child using crayons.