July Golden Shovel #18

Science speaks, but who listens? Crossroads are where

Two sides meet, to yell, perchance to talk. Few

Are comfortable with the uncertainty of a new disease that got

From somewhere to here. We waited anxiously for a vaccine,

But when it came, only half took it. There were many

Who thought the vaccine was a Trojan horse. They have

Refused vaccines until they got sick, then wish they’d gotten

It. They beg for it in the ICU, but now they are too sick.

 

source: Where Few Got Vaccine, Many Have Gotten Sick

Covid Events, Cancellations, and Postponements

(from my datebook—EDITED)

March 10, I attend a performance of Hamilton as a guest of a friend.

March 11, I ride the subway for the last time.

March 13, Gender & Transformation workshop canceled.

March 14, I eat in a restaurant with a friend, for the last time, and shop for groceries, for the last time.

March 15, the funeral of an old colleague of Jack’s is postponed to an indefinite time.

March 15, movie discussion group (Sorry We Missed You) is canceled.

March 18, lunch with a friend canceled.

March 20, book group 2 postponed.

March 22, plans to see Drunk Shakespeare are canceled.

March 23, talk at CUNY by Victoria Phillips on “Women, Power, and Intrigue in Cold War Berlin” is canceled.

March 24, book party for Ann Snitow’s posthumous book, Visitors, and a book by Daniel Goode is canceled.

March 25, Vivien Gornick and Alix Shulman in conversation at the Center for Fiction is canceled.

March 26, Big Words reading on the theme of “Dreams” is canceled.

March 26, opening day for baseball season is canceled.

March 28, the group of Mets fans I was going to join at Bobby V’s bar in Stamford is canceled

March 28, Women Writers in Bloom Poetry Salon meets via Zoom.

March 29, New York Antioch Alumni chapter gathering postponed.

March 30, staged reading of a play by Robin Rice is canceled.

March 31, check-up with my doctor is canceled.

April 1, my women’s group meets via Zoom, on regularly scheduled day.

April 3, book group 2 (The Bad-Ass Librarians of Timbuktu) meets via Zoom, postponed from March 20.

April 4, New School panel on Ann Snitow’s book Visitors is canceled.

April 4, book group 1 (T.R. Reid's The Healing of America) meets via Zoom, on regularly scheduled day.

April 8, dentist appointment is postponed.

April 11, Pauline Olivieros's music meditation via Zoom.

April 12, family meets via Zoom, a new event.

April 14, North Star gala is canceled.

April 15, income tax deadline extended to July 15.

April 16, book group (A Long Petal of the Sea) meets via Zoom, on regularly scheduled day.

April 17, Gender & Transformation panel on Ann Snitow’s book Visitors is canceled.

April 17, Publishers Weekly happy hour via Zoom, a new event.

April 18, Women Writers in Bloom Poetry Salon’s 9th anniversary via Zoom, a regularly scheduled event.

April 19, New York Antioch Alumni chapter meets via Zoom, postponed from March 29.

April 19, family meets via Zoom.

April 21, National Gallery writing workshop, via Zoom.

April 24, book group (New York Times special section, "One Nation, Tracked") meets via Zoom, on scheduled day.

April 25, staged reading of Jen Abrams's How to Queer a Stroller, via Zoom.

April 28, New York State primary is postponed.

May 1, Gender & Transformation workshop is canceled.

May 2, Orpheus Chamber Orchestra concert is canceled.

May 2, book group 1 (Homegoing) meets via Zoom, on regularly scheduled day.

May 3, family meets via Zoom.

May 6, women’s group meets via Zoom.

May 6, dermatologist appointment is postponed.

May 7, book group (The Testament of Mary) meets via Zoom.

May 12, podiatrist appointment is postponed.

June 3, women’s group meets via Zoom.

June 6, Orpheus Chamber Orchestra concert is canceled.

June 23, New York State primary rescheduled is canceled.

July 1, dentist appointment is rescheduled??

July 29, dermatologist appointment is rescheduled??

The future?????

Poems for Before I Die, 2

I will die.

I am a human.

Death is always the end

of each human’s story.

Death is there,

Invisible,

Not announcing itself,

Waiting for its chance.

Sometimes it will catch you

Unaware

The sudden heart attack

The massive stroke

Blood clots wandering

through veins, arteries, capillaries.

Sometimes it bangs on your body,

The breathlessness that alerts you

To those blood clots

Collecting in your  lungs.

The abdominal pain that alerts you

To the cancer on some organ

that’s playing Bach’s Requiem.

The cough that whistles

Lung cancer.

Sometimes it’s caught by surprise,

the mammogram,

the pelvic smear,

the EKG.

So many diseases

Waiting to sneak up on you.

If you thought about them

All of the time

There would be no future.

Usually Death comes singly.

You might not know anyone

Who died

All of last year,

Or the year before.

Pandemic is Death made global.

It waves its name in front of your face.

It prances and cavorts and plays

With the doctors and nurses

Who stand between we humans

And Death.

Pandemic assaults everyone

Whether you get sick or remain well.

You are marked

by the fear

by the anticipation

by the relief

of waking up each morning,

Still breathing.

SOL28: Missed a Day

            I couldn’t find myself a moment to sit and reflect yesterday, so I’ll do yesterday’s slice today.

            I had my usual freelance copyediting of short book reviews, cleaning up files for the magazine I work for and getting them ready for the next stage by 1 p.m. But there were an unusual number of cases where I had to go back to editors for second go-rounds. In one case, a sentence had four “how”s introducing examples, which I hadn’t noticed the first time because of other questions. In another case, the editor had deleted an entire review because he didn’t know how to answer his supervisor’s editorial question; I offered a suggestion that was accepted, but undeleting the review created a whole mess of other problems that took time to fix. There was more.

            And in the middle of this work, I got an e-mail that the staff copyeditor was out that day because his mother was in the hospital, in the ICU, probably with Covid-19. That stopped everything for me, mentally, emotionally. This is the closest the disease has come. I work from home, so I’m not afraid of being infected. But my colleague is young and just got married, and I hope his mother pulls through and is one of the 85% of older people who get well.

            It was the nearness of the disease that paralyzed my slicing, I think. I would like to have missed this day entirely. In fact, let’s skip this entire year.

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I’m participating in the 13th annual Slice of Life Challenge over at Two Writing Teachers. This is day 28 of the 31-day challenge.  It’s not too late to make space for daily writing in a community that is encouraging, enthusiastic, and eager to read what you have to slice about.  Join in!

SOL14: Coronavirus Update, Part 4

Yesterday I said I would sit out this pandemic and took up my former student’s offer to shop for me. Then, this morning, a good friend called and asked to have lunch. She lives in the neighborhood, so I would only have to walk a few blocks to a restaurant that is never crowded (though the food is good). I said yes.

            We spent an hour talking about the coronavirus and what we believed and didn’t believe. She’s been much less cautious about it than I have, riding the subway, meeting people. In fact, her lunch date for today with two other friends had canceled on her. I had slept pretty well and think what I feel is just the common cold.

            After lunch, I went grocery shopping—and spent $84 on what is mostly staples. I’d been in California last month, so my refrigerator had been almost emptied, and I hadn’t gotten around to replenishing staples. So...

2 boxes Nature’s Path Heritage Flakes

a dozen eggs

1 liter olive oil

1 liter 2% yogurt

2 small containers of coffee yogurt

half-pound of goat gouda

1-pound box penne

half-pound butter  (into the freezer)

1½ cups milk (I wanted buttermilk, but there was none

1 pint blueberries

1 pint grape tomatoes

5 bananas

a fennel bulb

10 ounces mushrooms

1 pound of salmon

            I would not have felt comfortable asking my former student to buy all of this. I wore gloves throughout and while putting away the food once I was home. I’m still staying away from the subway.

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I’m participating in the 13th annual Slice of Life Challenge over at Two Writing Teachers. This is day 14 of the 31-day challenge.  It’s not too late to make space for daily writing in a community that is encouraging, enthusiastic, and eager to read what you have to slice about.  Join in!

SOL 11: At the Post Office

I went to the post office today to buy stamps (yes, I still use the postal service). I was trying to use my credit card in the machine without touching anything with my fingers. It wasn’t easy, and I said, “Nobody wants to touch anything.”

            The postal agent, a small, older African-American woman, said quietly, “Ever again?”

            “Well,” I said, “not until things get back to normal.”

            “When will that be?” she asked.

            “Maybe after the election?” I suggested.

            She laughed out loud.

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I’m participating in the 13th annual Slice of Life Challenge over at Two Writing Teachers. This is day 11 of the 31-day challenge.  It’s not too late to make space for daily writing in a community that is encouraging, enthusiastic, and eager to read what you have to slice about.  Join in!

SOL3: Coronavirus Update

I live in a co-op building with about 100 apartments in New York City. Today we all received two pages of “suggestions” for avoiding or transmitting the coronavirus. These include wiping elevator buttons after pressing them, but also to use hand sanitizer when you’ve been in locations with other people (like walking down the street in this city? getting on a bus or the subway? going into any store?), preferably before you come back into the building. And there are already containers with disinfectant wipes by each of the elevators.

            The suggestions also include stocking up on disposable surgical masks. Now, I have heard multiple health officials on the radio say NOT to do this because they should be reserved for medical and health personnel who will be in contact with sick people. If “civilians” buy up these masks, they won’t be available to those who really need them.

            The New England Journal of Medicine says that the death rate from this coronavirus is somewhere between 1.4% and 1%, while for the flu it’s about a tenth of that. It is pretty low, but more dangerous for older people and those with other health problems, like heart disease, diabetes, and obesity. Somehow, this list of 11 “suggestions” in bold-face type feels less helpful to me. Am I being too sanguine?

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I’m participating in the 13th annual Slice of Life Challenge over at Two Writing Teachers. This is day 1 of the 31-day challenge.  It’s not too late to make space for daily writing in a community that is encouraging, enthusiastic, and eager to read what you have to slice about.  Join in!