JUNE IS BUSTING OUT ALL OVER

 
Dear George, 

 I’m confused about where we stand with the pandemic. Some days the news sounds like it’s almost over, even though the disease will continue to be around for the indefinite future. Other days infections and deaths are reportedly on a sharp rise. Our own lives are about halfway back to normal. We’re been going to the Symphony and the Linton chamber music series again with no masks required. Aside from doctors’ offices, most places have dropped a mask mandate. Maybe 10% of people I see on the street are wearing a mask. We’ve also started going out to eat more than we have in the past two years, though we’ve yet to return to the movies. As an older person with a finite number of years left, I’m eager to be doing more in the world and am simultaneously cautious about taking risks. we recently learned that a long-time friend, a few years, younger than us and fully vaccinated, came down with Covid for the third time, was hospitalized for two weeks, and is currently in a nursing home. Gives one pause. 

 One of the best things for us is that OLLI (the university-sponsored Osher Lifelong Learning Institute) has resumed in-person classes, and Katja and I both enrolled this term, having taken a break in the winter. Katja is doing a cooking course on spices, a poetry workshop, a literature course on spies and detectives, and a course called “Let’s Do Lunch” which meets at restaurants around the city on Fridays. I’m taking Advanced Poetry for about the eighth time and a course called “Learning with Laughter through Improv.” I signed up for the Improv course with high hopes that it would offer dramatic personal change, helping transform me to become more open, uninhibited, and spontaneous. So far it’s not as life-changing as I wished, and I’m nowhere near as amusing as I imagined myself to be, but still it’s good for me. My poetry class has pretty much the same people each quarter, we know one another well, and the atmosphere is supportive. We’re not the world’s greatest poets, but everybody appreciates one another’s efforts. 

 Last week Katja couldn’t find her purse. She’d last had it when she went to visit a friend in a nursing home, but she was certain that she’d brought it home with her. I helped look. When she comes home she normally puts her purse in the kitchen, or, if not, she takes it into the solarium. We both searched the kitchen, then the solarium. Then both of them again. The foyer, the living room, all the upstairs rooms. In grocery bags, underneath furniture, behind doors, etc., etc. Every square inch. Katja began to worry that her purse was stolen. I constantly nag at her for living the kitchen door unlocked with her purse in plain sight. Maybe this time my fears had come true. Katja called Visa and American Express to report her missing cards. The next morning we drove to the nursing home, but no luck, and we stopped at all the other places she’d been: The Framery, Whole Foods, CVS. Still no luck. Fortunately I’d made a list of all the cards and documents in her purse. Katja prepared to start calling while I took one last look around. I went into the solarium. There, leaning against the vacuum cleaner near the table, was Katja’s purse. In plain view. We couldn’t believe it. I guess we don’t look near vacuum cleaners. We were very glad that the thief hadn’t gotten it, and we plan to be more mindful about where we put valuable stuff. 

We’ve rarely gotten together with friends since the pandemic started, so we were excited when a poetry class acquaintance from OLLI invited us to a riverboat party on the Ohio. Her daughter had given her the boat cruise as a Mother’s Day gift, and she invited 16 OLLI friends to join her and her partner. It was a lot of fun. The boat was equipped to hold about two dozen visitors. It took off from Newport and cruised up and down the river on both sides of downtown Cincinnati, along with a side trip up the Licking River for a quarter mile or so. Everybody brought tasty food, and we nibbled along the way. I’m not the world’s greatest party-goer, but it was an enjoyable occasion. Katja, on the other hand, is the world’s greatest party-goer so she had the best time. 

 I went down to the kitchen for a midnight snack last Saturday night, and, when I turned the light on, there was a mouse scurrying about the kitchen floor. Then on Sunday night Katja also saw a mouse. Maybe the same mouse, maybe his twin brother. I baited two mousetraps with peanut butter on Monday night. Two little dead mice on Tuesday morning. They were cute creatures with beady black eyes, and it made me sad. I hoped that I’d solved our problem with Mr. and Mrs. Mouse, but I put the traps out again anyway. Two more dead mice on Wednesday morning. Then two more on Thursday. To make a long story short we’ve caught two mice every night for a week. Do all these mice live in our house? Are there a hundred of them? When I was a teenager I used to enjoy catching mice in our kitchen on the river bank, but now it’s a grisly affair, and it’s more unpleasant every day. I’m not sure who’s going to run out of steam first. Me or the mice. 

Love, 

Dave

A LETTER TO AARON RODGERS

 

Dear Aaron, 

I’ve thought about writing a letter to you in the past. I grew up fifty miles north of Green Bay, and, aside from God, family, and country, people in my home town worship the Green Bay Packers. I followed Don Hutson in grade school, cheered rabidly for the Packers during the Lombardi Super Bowl era, and have been thrilled by the team’s resurgence during Brett Favre’s and your tenures as quarterback. In addition to your world-class athletic skills, I’ve also respected you as an intelligent, articulate person with good values and a sense of humor. Needless to say, I’ve been confused and disappointed by the recent uproar regarding your choice to not get a Covid-19 vaccination. You’ve expressed your desire to have a conversation about the issue rather than continued confrontation and hostility. Hence, this letter. 

Here is my understanding of the situation. While the NFL encourages vaccinations, it does not require them of players Approximately 5% of players have chosen not to get vaccinated, and there hasn’t been much hullabaloo about this. According to NFL rules, unvaccinated players are required to be tested daily and to wear masks when in public situations. When you were asked if you were vaccinated on the weekly radio show on which you appear, you replied, “Yeah, I’m immunized.” As you subsequently acknowledged, this was a misleading statement since you haven’t been vaccinated with any of the approved Covid-19 vaccines. Regarding mask-wearing, you’ve said, citing Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., that you consider this to be an unjust rule and have deliberately chosen not to follow it in various situations. 

 The most widespread criticism of your behavior has to do with judgments that you lied to the public about being vaccinated. While you claim that you were telling the truth that you’ve been immunized (by an alternative homeopathic treatment), you have acknowledged and taken responsibility for misleading people with your statement. Personally, I think you made an unfortunate mistake in the radio interview, and owning up to it is the best course available. (You should have just said that you’d chosen to do an alternative treatment.) 

 A further issue is the nature of the treatment you have undergone. The main component is ivermectin, an anti-parasitic drug used to treat intestinal worms and lice in horses. However, the Food and Drug Administration has not authorized ivermectin for use against Covid-19, stating that there is no evidence of its effectiveness in combatting the disease and that use of large doses in humans can cause comas and seizures. You indicate that a major influence in your decision was advice from podcast host Joe Rogan, but, of course, Rogan has no medical expertise. Nor does Fox News host Laura Ingraham, another major proponent of ivermectin. From a medical and scientific standpoint, there don’t seem to be adequate grounds for your decision. Consistent with this, the NFL rejected your appeal to have your alternative treatment accepted as a substitute for Covid vaccines. 

 You’ve also argued that “personal health decisions in my opinion should be private.” While this sounds almost self-evident, it’s also the case that, with a world-famous figure like yourself, health decisions can have significant consequences for teammates, loved ones, the many persons you come into contact with, and millions of fans. That’s neither personal nor private. One concrete example is your being excluded from the Kansas City game because of a positive Covid test, a Packers loss which the team might well have won if you’d been vaccinated and eligible to play. You’ve stated that “I’m not, you know, some sort of anti-vax, flat-earther.” But your public statements have given impetus to the “anti-vax, flat-earther” movement. According to recent CDC data, unvaccinated people are 6 times as likely to contract Covid-19, 10 times as likely to be hospitalized, and 11 times as likely to die from it, compared to vaccinated people. Recommending and modeling non-vaccination to the general public by someone of your celebrity increases the likelihood of infection, hospitalization, and death in the general population. 

My sense is that you’ve been surprised and distressed by the media controversy regarding your health choices and would have much preferred that these matters had remained private. It’s as though you’ve been caught up in a furor not entirely of your own making, and I sympathize with that. What to do about it is a puzzle. You could, of course, opt to be vaccinated and make that information public. I’m struck by the fact that none of your public statements advocate vaccination for the general public. Since your own reasons for an alternative treatment are idiosyncratic (i.e., your report of an allergy to an ingredient in the Pfizer and Moderna vaccines), I personally think that you could draw upon the great bulk of scientific information available and encourage others to get vaccinated. I hope you consider this possibility and change tactics. 

Sincerely yours, 

David L

The Outing

DEAR GEORGE: Katja and I have enjoyed Sunday brunches at the Broadway Cafe for at least thirty years. We bring along the Sunday Enquirer, and Katja does the Jumble while I scan the TV Week and read the sports pages. The Broadway chefs are breakfast masters. Perfect fried eggs or French toast, delicious hash browns, crispy bacon. A delightful end of the week for families and retired folk.

All this, of course, came to an abrupt halt with the arrival of the pandemic. The Broadway closed its doors to indoor dining, and we stopped going to restaurants altogether. We finally got vaccinated this past March, and we’ve been thinking about going out for breakfast ever since. It took a while, but we made the big decision this past weekend.

We arrived about eleven a.m. There were fewer cars in the parking lot than I remembered, and we found a spot in the front row. The front lobby was empty, and we stood by the hostess’ stand for a few minutes. Restaurant staff flitted by. Finally a masked waitress came out of the kitchen. I couldn’t tell if we knew her or not. She handed us a couple of disposable paper menus (clearly intended for one use only) and asked for our drink orders. Katja said water and black coffee, and I said the same. She pointed toward the dining area and said we could sit anywhere we wanted. There was one couple seated on the north wall and a family of five in the opposite corner. Most of the booths and tables were walled off with cellophane tape and had “Closed” signs. We found a booth far away from the other diners.

As we sat down I noticed a QR code on the wall just above our tabletop (one of those square bar codes with lots of squiggly black lines and white spaces). A small sign just below it said “You can place your order and pay your bill here.” I pushed on the bar code two times with my thumb, but it didn’t do anything. When the waitress came I asked her how to order with the bar code. She said I could take a picture of it with my smart phone, then follow the prompts and email my information to the kitchen. “But,” she added, “I can take your order in person.” Katja ordered two eggs over lightly, whole wheat toast with butter on the side, and bacon. I ordered the same except for link sausage. Normally the waitress would bring a little tray with a variety of jams and jellies, but instead she asked if we wanted grape or strawberry. Apparently offering a tray that other customers had used meant danger. Katja chose strawberry, and I chose grape.

Fifteen minutes later the waitress returned with our order, just as Katja was finishing the Jumble. She gave each of us a cellophane wrapped package containing black plastic silverware and one napkin. The silverware wasn’t the more expensive sturdy grade that we get at the Party Source but small-ish bendable utensils that might come with a McDonald’s Fun Meal. There were no salt and pepper shakers on the table (also to avoid contamination), and the waitress brought little packets at Katja’s request. The food tasted as good as we remembered it, and we ate it up more quickly than usual. Katja complained that the coffee was horrible, but I reminded her that it’s always been horrible. The waitress didn’t return to ask how we were doing but she did finally bring the check. As we left the dining room was empty.

We waited quite a while at the cash register. I joked that we could just walk out without paying, and my evil self wanted to do so. Finally a kitchen worker came out. The bill was $18.50, about three dollars higher than it used to be. The kitchen guy didn’t ask how our meal was, but he did say, “Have a nice day.” To commemorate this historic event, I took a selfie of us standing outside the front door. We had taken the big step of re-entering the world. Unfortunately the world wasn’t quite ready. LOVE, DAVE

What I've Learned From The Pandemic

DEAR GEORGE, Our lives have been significantly altered for over a year because of the coronavirus pandemic. With growing hope that we might return to normal in the foreseeable future, I find myself trying to figure out what it has all meant to me. Here are my thoughts so far. LOVE, DAVE.

(1) The pandemic is like prison. The pandemic means different things to different people. One of my acquaintances loves working at home and dreads returning to the office. Another is mourning the loss of both of his parents to the virus. For Katja and myself it’s been mostly a matter of home imprisonment — confined to the house, cut off from contact with friends, most of our normal world inaccessible. Life’s pleasures typically involve going places and doing things, and fourteen months of restrictiveness have resulted in a felt loss of control and bouts of boredom and hopelessness. (2) My wife is a pretty good cell-mate. Despite divorce filings rising 34% during the pandemic, I’d say that we fellow prisoners have actually been more mutually supportive than we normally are. Together in the same boat, we’ve managed to share a few laughs every day. (3) The pandemic is a major test. In the most dire circumstances the pandemic has meant coping with the death of loved ones, job losses, business failures, neighborhood decay. In my own case it’s been more a question of resourcefulness — how to restructure my life in meaningful ways, given the loss of so many options. (4) My grade is a C-. A year ago I made a list of things I could do more of. Start a new home exercise program, read more books, do an art project, study Spanish, write more poetry. As with my New Year’s resolutions, I failed at all of these. Personal change is difficult to bring about. My only significant adjustment has been to watch more TV. That’s o.k. — I enjoy watching TV and it’s entertaining. But it’s also lazy and nonproductive. (5) Others are alien beings (and so are we). Out on the street most of us wear masks, concealing our faces, smiles, and nonverbal expressions. When passing on the sidewalk people move as far apart as possible, sometimes stepping into the gutter or onto an adjacent lawn. We now live in a world where everyone else is a potential threat to one’s well-being (and we ourselves are threats to others). How alienated can the populace be? (6) The pandemic is politicized. One might think the pandemic to be a public health matter, but, thanks to an unnamed former president, it’s a political monstrosity as well. Half the country (the other half) is the enemy. I feel angry when I see people in indoor spaces who refuse to wear masks; resent the millions who choose not to be vaccinated; and, with the exception of Gov. Dewine, am generally disgusted with the actions of red-state governors. It’s amazing that we can’t find more common ground since everyone faces the same global disaster. (7) Social isolation isn’t all bad. Some people have prospered during the pandemic. The takeout restaurant down the street is doing a whopping business. For myself I find that my faulty hearing has been largely “cured” during the pandemic (thanks to TV closed captions and lack of conversations). I also suffer much less from social anxiety (given minimal social contact). Much of the time I feel more at peace than I did before the pandemic. (8) One solution is a sense of mission. After months of stagnation, I rediscovered a major task that I’d put off for years and years. We have an upstairs room that I regard as my “junk room”. It’s filled with stuff that I’ve accumulated over forty plus years — treasures from yard sales, antique stores, flea markets, etc. The piles of stuff grew out of control a decade or two ago, and I’ve long been thinking about cleaning it up. With so much new free time, it seemed like my chance had come. The job took about a month, but I was totally engrossed and managed to create order out of chaos. This was my most satisfying accomplishment during the past year. (9) Family is the bulwark. We would have had a much harder time, were it not for the support of our sweet family in New Orleans. J, K, and the kids flew up last month, and, with all of the adults vaccinated, we did a lot of activities that we’d foregone for a year: the zoo, out to eat at a fancy restaurant, multiple thrift shops, Findlay Market and Jungle Jim’s, three-ways at Skyline Chili. They gave us concrete hope that our lives were changing for the better. (10) Dogs help too. Dogs don’t worry at all about the pandemic. If anything, they appreciate getting petted and walked more. My son J. drove up from New Orleans in March 2020 on his way to California and left their miniature schnauzer, Iko, with us. Having this furry bundle of energy in the house has made our lives much more lively and enjoyable. (11) Returning to “normal” is a challenge. With the exception of our recent family visit, Katja and I continue to pretty much shelter in place. Keeping isolated seems to have become our fixed pattern, and sometimes I worry it will go on forever. We need to take some more baby steps to break free.

The Turning Point?

DEAR GEORGE, In the grand scheme of things, this is a significant time. One year ago the nation went into a pandemic lockdown, and our lives changed drastically, becoming much more constricted. With more and more vaccinations given every day, we may be seeing the light at the end of the tunnel. In the midst of this medical crisis, we’ve also just ended the worst four-year presidency in American history, and we’re seeing a gradual restoration of democracy. 2021 looks more hopeful by the day.

Katja and I got our second Moderna vaccination last month, and, paradoxically, I seem to have gotten more depressed as a consequence. While you’d think this would be exhilarating, virtually nothing in our life has changed. I’m choosing not to do online OLLI classes or to go out to restaurants or other public places. No travelling, no gatherings with friends. My doctor has advised me not to return to the fitness center for a couple of months. In part because of my own lack of creativity, the last twelve months have been a loss of priceless time.

On the up side, there are signs of spring everywhere in our neighborhood — yellow flowers, the first white flowering tree blooming outside the bank, green buds on the shrubs and trees. I counted fifteen dandelions on our morning dog walk. Patrons are starting to return to our Ludlow Avenue restaurants, and the art museum resumed its normal hours last week. Perhaps we’ll soon start normalizing too.

One significant event in our household is that the repair technician came last week to restore our Hammond Chord organ that has been languishing for decades in my upstairs junk room. My parents bought the chord organ in the early 1950’s so that we children would have the opportunity to play music. Though not the most complex or sophisticated instrument, Vicki and I were serious aficionados. When Vic and Doris sold our house on the river in the early 1970’s, Katja and I rented a U-Haul trailer and brought the chord organ to Cincinnati. The last time it was played was about 1990 when J crooned love songs to K, his college sweetheart. I’ve been playing it for about an hour a day for the last week. The pages of music have turned yellow, but the books are full of great classics (e.g., Old Buttermilk Sky; Five Foot Two, Eyes of Blue; I’m Getting Sentimental Over You), and I’m amazed at how quickly playing the chord organ comes back.

We do have other exciting times coming up. J and family are coming to Cincinnati in April for a weeklong visit, and Katja and I will go to California in July for her niece’s wedding. I plan to return to the fitness center by early summer, I hope that my writers’ group will start meeting by then, and I expect that OLLI will resume in-person classes in the fall. Time to break out of my funk and start enjoying life again. LOVE, DAVE

A Coronavirus I Ching Reading

Dear George, 

Having drifted into a state of total lethargy,  I haven’t checked the I Ching even once since the pandemic began.  That’s ridiculous.  The I Ching, of course, is the ancient Chinese Book of Changes.  Drawing from Confucianism and Buddhism, it provides guidance for moral decision-making and action.  One typically consults the I Ching by asking a question and then tossing three coins six times in a row.  The pattern of heads and tails for each coin toss results in either a solid or broken line (see citations at the end for details), and the six lines are arranged vertically in a stacked hexagram as in this example:   

Hexagram 43: Kuai - Breakthrough (Resoluteness)

Each possible hexagram, subdivided into an upper trigram and a lower trigram, represents a  specific life situation.  With six coin tosses, there are 8 trigrams possible and 64 (8 x 8) hexagrams possible.  The 8 trigrams represent heaven, lake, fire, thunder, wind, water, mountain, and earth.  The I Ching provides an interpretation for each of the 64 hexagrams.  Each interpretation includes an Image (the state of mind a superior man would adapt under the circumstances) and a Judgement (the best strategy for action under the circumstances). 

I asked the I Ching, “How can I best cope with the pandemic?”  Like Michelle Obama, I find myself increasingly experiencing “low-grade depression”.   Most of our major pleasures in life have been closed off, and I wake each morning with a sense of dread and an expectation that there is nothing to look forward to.  I tossed the coins six times and recorded each solid and broken line.  My hexagram (shown above) is titled Kuai (Breakthrough [Resoluteness]).  The upper trigram is Tui (The Joyous, The Lake), and the lower trigram is Ch’ien (The Creative, Heaven).  The hexagram suggests that the lake has evaporated and ascended to the sky where it will discharge itself as a cloudburst, hence the imagery of a breakthrough.    

Richard Wilhelm’s commentary.  In the most highly regarded rendition of the I Ching, translator Richard Wilhelm writes:  “This hexagram signifies on the one hand a break-through after a long accumulation of tension, as a swollen river breaks through its dikes, or in the manner of a cloudburst. On the other hand, applied to human conditions, it refers to the time when inferior people gradually begin to disappear. Their influence is on the wane; as a result of resolute action, a change in conditions occurs, a break-through. The hexagram is linked with the third month (April-May).”

My comments.   As usual, the I Ching is uncannily on target.  April-May, of course, is when the coronavirus’s major surge began in the U.S., including a sharp increase in hospitalizations and  deaths, shelter in place mandates, the prohibition of large public gatherings, and the closing of restaurants, bars, and many retail establishments.  Like most people, I’ve experienced more and more tension since that time, and my mode of coping, frankly, has been that of an “inferior person”.  Morose, passive, self-pitying, hopeless. 

How can one break through the paralyzing funk that the pandemic produces?  First, it’s helpful to recognize that there are wide differences in how people respond to the situation and that depression isn’t an inevitable alternative.  Many people, of course, experience catastrophic personal losses — of loved ones, of jobs and income, of their businesses or families.  People in our age group are likely to feel particularly vulnerable to the virus and may fear the prospect of an imminent death.  At the opposite extreme, some regard the pandemic as a complete hoax and adopt a far more cavalier attitude.  Or persons may not let themselves be overwhelmed by the situation.  In occasional instances, the pandemic provides a desirable opportunity for financial profit (e.g., pharmaceutical companies).  Likewise, there are divergent ways of viewing the pandemic.  Probably a majority dwell on the fact that 1 of 60 Americans have been infected by the virus, while others are reassured that 59 of 60 haven’t been.  Experts estimate that 1% or fewer of infected persons are likely to die (though, on the other hand, 99% or more will not).  

It seems to me that two things are required for a breakthrough.  The first is to adopt a less exaggerated and more realistic view of the pandemic.  I spend endless hours soaking in frightening information from the media (which concentrates almost entirely on death rates and largely ignores rates of recovery).  In looking at relevant statistics, our odds, in fact, are pretty good.  Second, I think a breakthrough occurs which one engages in meaningful, rewarding activities that provide a renewed sense of mission.  Something beyond watching Netflix and taking naps.   A lot of my own gloomy state is linked to the loss of so many activities in our community.  I have lost my poetry classes, but I can still write tons of poems.  The gym has been shut down, but I can do a challenging exercise program at home.  The same for blogging, reading, art, music, photography, and playing cards and Trivial Pursuit with Katja.  I’ve been a slug-a-bed for much too long.  Hopefully finishing this blog post will be the first step in a personal breakthrough.  Time will tell. 

Love,

Dave 

SOURCES: 

Wilhelm, Richard.  (1950). The I Ching or Book of Changes. Cary Baynes, trans. Bollingen Series 19. Introduction by Carl G. Jung. New York: Pantheon Books. 3rd edition (1967), Princeton: Princeton University Press.

mindsports.ni, “Interpreting the I Ching” 

taopage.org, “Content of the I-ching” 

the-iching.com, “43. Parting (guài). Breakthrough”

 

Excerpts From My Coronavirus Journal

Dear George, 

I’ve had lots of time on my hands since retiring, but now, because of the pandemic and stay at home orders from the governor, it is virtually endless.  One of the things I’ve done to keep productive is to start a daily Covid-19 journal.  Here are some excerpts.

Love,

Dave

Thurs., Apr. 16, 2020.

It’s been 45 days since Governor DeWine ordered schools closed and 25 days since the Ohio Board of Health issued a stay-at-home order.  Job losses in the state have surpassed 855,000, and, as of today, there’ve been 389 reported deaths (an under-estimate of unknown magnitude).  As retirees, Katja’s and my situation is not nearly as catastrophic as that of millions of others.  We’ve pretty much stuck to the stay at home rule and have lost, at least temporarily, most of our main life pleasures: OLLI courses at the university, eating out, movies, concerts, art museums, the zoo, library visits, sports events (NBA, NCAA, French Open, Wimbledon), my line dancing and zumba classes, Katja’s shopping expeditions, our respective writing groups, and social gatherings of all sorts.  We cancelled a family trip to New Orleans and will almost surely miss a long-expected July trip to visit loved ones in California.  It’s unknown when we will be able to see family members again.  Perhaps most of all, it’s unclear when our community and society might return to any semblance of normality, or whether this will even happen at all during our lifetimes.  Too much to contemplate. 

Sun., Apr. 19, 2020

We and the doggies, Iko and Li’l Paws, actually slept in till 11 a.m. this morning.  Iko had climbed onto my chest and was sleeping there, while Li’l Paws cuddled next to my rib-cage.  J brought the dogs up from New Orleans one month ago and left them in our care while he and his family are in northern California.  It’s been a blessing for us.  The dogs fit right in, and Katja and I are happy to have them.  Something brand new at a time when the pandemic has taken so many things away.  I do four walks and 12,000 steps a day with Iko and Li’l Paws, plus lots of rough-housing and petting.  An unexpected benefit is that my blood pressure has dropped from 140/85 to under 120/80.   

Wed., Apr. 22, 2020 

More people in our Ludlow Ave. business district are wearing masks.  I’m going to guess 50%, more for solo walkers, less for couples.  I’ve taken to wearing my blue bandana when I go into stores, but pull it down when I’m out on the sidewalk where I maintain physical distance.  I find all of this distressing.  In the beginning days of the pandemic, my sense was that strangers were being more friendly to one another, exchanging smiles and hellos, encouraging words.  Now people spread as far apart as possible and avert their eyes.  We are all turning into alien beings. 

Wed., Apr. 29, 2020 

It’s well-known that the novel coronavirus is much more lethal for elderly people.  Age, however, factors in beyond the prospect of dying from the virus.  At age 82 we might have up to ten years or more left to live (if we’re lucky).  However, are our lives going to be radically diminished because of the lingering pandemic?  Will we be wearing masks and keeping away from others in public for the rest of our years?  Avoiding stores and restaurants?  Right out our quality of life is seriously diminished.  I’m hopeful we’ll be able to recover some portion of it without having to risk illness and death.   

Fri., May 1, 2020

I woke up this morning with a feeling of dread.  Laying there, it dawned on me that it had to do with social isolation.  Up until recently I’ve been active member of five groups that met weekly: a writer’s group, two writing classes, two group exercise classes.  Plus going to a variety of events when we were part of big groups, e.g., concerts, musical theater, opera, art exhibitions, the zoo, etc.  Now all of that’s gone, at least for the foreseeable future, and Katja and I spend nearly all of our time by ourselves.  I never think of myself as a particularly social person, but now even I am feeling socially deprived.  

Tues., May 5, 2020

Katja’s crown on a front tooth came out, and the dentist’s office, just reopened, was able to see her the next morning.  New age dentistry was upon us.  We waited in the car, rather than the waiting room, till a masked staff member came out to escort Katja in while maintaining a six-foot distance.  Katja wore her mask too.  They took her temperature, asked her questions, and she cleaned her hands with Purell, washed her hands in the sink, and soaked them in Lysol for 30 seconds.  The dentist in his protective equipment fixed her up in half an hour.  We headed for home, nervous about having been out in the contaminated world.  

Thurs., May 7, 2020

What groups are experiencing disproportionate deaths during the pandemic?  People over 65, particularly those with underlying medical conditions like heart disease or cancer.  Health care workers.  African-Americans, Hispanics, Native Americans.  People in nursing homes, prisons, group homes, immigrant detention centers.  Lower income people and/or those lacking health insurance.  The homeless.  Meat-packing employees.  People who live or work in crowded, high-density locations.  For the most part, the disenfranchised members of our society.  

Sat., May 9, 2020

Usually I try to find something humorous when I meditate on life, but, along with climate change and the Trump presidency, I can’t find anything amusing about the pandemic.  I googled “COVID-19 jokes” and was surprised to get a number of hits.  Most of the jokes were mildly humorous at best.  Here is my favorite”  “So far my self-isolation life is remarkably similar to my normal life.”  (Too true.)  

Tues., May 12, 2020

Katja is off to her doctor’s appointment to check out severe pains in her hand.  She was excited about going, and I was mostly nervous.  Katja said she would wear her gloves and mask and would be fine.  She said the doctor’s office wouldn’t be open if it wasn’t safe.  I thought to myself that the doctor’s office is opening even though it isn’t safe.  Perhaps I’m overly cautious.  Or maybe Katja is overly risky.  Or some combination of the two.  

Wed., May 13, 2020

Our local newspaper carried the stupidest article about pets and the coronavirus today.  The general theme was that the coronavirus is very upsetting to dogs and cats.  They’re not used to having humans home all day, and it messes up their routines, especially sleep patterns.  Also getting petted so much is stressful and makes pets cranky.  They can get injured from jumping around and playing so much.  Because they’re not confined, dogs and cats are getting into more fights.  I say all this is hogwash.  Our visiting dogs love having the humans with them all day, and they can’t get petted enough.  They don’t get injured jumping and playing (though their humans are more likely to).  All in all, the pandemic is like utopia for pets.  

Mon., May 18, 2020

Today Katja and I took a trip to the Party Source in Northern Kentucky, billed as the nation’s largest liquor store.  It is big, like a Kroger super-store.  But talk about nonessential trips.  We only had three bottles of expensive whiskey left in the house, so that was a seemingly good reason to go.  Sort of.  I picked up a cart at the entrance, and then an employee wiped down the handle with disinfectant.  A stupid system since I was already infected from touching the cart.  I bought more whiskey than usual, either to delay a next trip or to drink more whiskey because of the pandemic.  If we wind up infected, at least we can stay in a stupor.   

Sun., May 24, 2020 

So, does the coronavirus have a silver lining?  I’ve been trying to think of positives that have resulted.  The most obvious is that we have gotten to have two sweet dogs in the house that otherwise wouldn’t be here.  Katja and I necessarily spend more time together, and I think we’re more positive to one another as a consequence.  I’m more in touch by phone and text with several loved ones.  I watch more funny sitcoms on Netflix.  Katja has been cooking up a storm, lots of delicious meals.  I’m more careful about staying well.  On the other hand…   

Tues., May 26, 2020

Our streets have been near-empty at night since the pandemic started, and I walk the dogs in the business district because at least it is well-lighted.  Tonight Lil Paws barked at an apparent homeless man who stepped out of an alley, and he started following us, screaming gibberish at the dogs and waving his arms.  Both dogs started barking wildly and strained at the leash to get at him, which only made the homeless man more agitated as he followed us.  I pulled the dogs into the street and over to the opposite sidewalk.  The homeless man stayed on his own side, but continued to shout obscenities at the top of his voice.  The near-violent episode still makes me uncomfortable.  

Mon., June 1, 2020

Kroger is having its current Lean Cuisine sale (5/$10), so I decided to stock up.  I skipped our nearby Clifton store because I read that three employees had the coronavirus, and I skipped the second closest store in Corryville because Katja said hardly any of the customers wear masks there.  Instead I drove 10 miles to the Harrison Avenue Kroger store on the West side.  About half the customers were wearing masks, and half weren’t.  As an in-store mask wearer myself, I identified with the former group and looked somewhat askance at the latter group.  Though I wasn’t fanatic about it, I think wearing masks when in close proximity indoors is  considerate.  So it was easy to tell the good guys from the bad guys.  In my mind, I imagined that the non-mask-wearers were Trump voters.  Just another example of our society becoming polarized.        

Wed., June 3, 2020 

I can’t believe that it’s already June.  Dr. Amy Acton issued a stay at home order for Ohio on March 23, and we haven’t eaten out or gone to any sort of event since that time.  72 days of “sheltering in place.”  All these days run together, and, even though the reopening process has begun, it’s going to be some time before we’re comfortable venturing out.  

Our Street During the Pandemic

Dear George, 

The bustling night life is one of our pleasures in living next door to the Ludlow Avenue business district.  Arlin’s Bar is always full of patrons, crowds are coming and going at the Esquire Theater, people are getting ice cream cones at Graeters, late shoppers are at the Clifton Market, and the street’s many restaurants are thriving.  Now, with the city and state under stay at home orders, Ludlow looks like a scene out of one of those apocalypse movies where there’s only one human left on earth.  I walk the dogs there every night, but always with a sense of isolation, loss of community, and vulnerability.  Perhaps from fantasized muggers, perhaps from deadly germs in the air.  Taking some night photos helped my mood a bit.  Here’s how our favorite street is looking nowadays.

Love,

Dave

Hunkering Down

Dear George,

It’s a beautiful spring day in Cincinnati.  Sunny, temps in the mid-60s.  I was much too warm wearing my sweatshirt when I went out earlier.  For the most part, our street scene looks normal.  Dog walkers, joggers, families with baby carriages, old folks carrying groceries.  Invisible to the eye, however, is the horrendous threat which confronts our nation and the world at large.  

Like many places, we are under a Stay at Home order in Ohio.  Because Katja and I are retired, this is less disruptive and life-changing than it is for many people.  We enjoy being home and have lots of things to do.  We’ve watched favorite shows on TV; I’ve been doing some felt pen drawing and poetry writing; Katja is cooking up a storm.  Ventures to CVS or our neighborhood grocery store feel more hazardous, and we wash our hands frequently and disinfect our doorknobs.  

J and his family have gone from New Orleans to Northern California where K’s sister lives, and they will be there for some unknown period of time.  J drove up to Cincinnati first with their two doggies, Iko and Li’l Paws, and we enjoy having their company.  The dogs are lying at my side as I type this, apparently content to be in our household.      

I have no idea whether or not Katja and I will come down with this infection, nor, if we do, how serious it will be.  The same goes for our nation, our community, our loved ones.  There’s just so much uncertainty, and I have no idea whether our lives will return to normal.   We are simply going to do the best we can.  I do plan to stay busy with my blog.  Our thoughts are with all our family and friends.

Love,

Dave