10.30pm: Rain is falling heavily, invisible in the darkness except under the street lights. Across the street, I can see the porch light of the neighbors home. It is dull and partly hidden by the bare branches of a tree, not yet come into leaf. I can hear rain, and sirens. Every night we hear some sirens. I don’t know what this means because in a time of Pandemic the meaning of everything is mysterious. You have to think about it. Are sirens fire trucks or are they ambulances coming to take the sick?
In Italy, the hospitals at the center of the SARS-CoV-2 epidemic say that patients come in two waves. The first wave is at dusk. The second wave is early morning. The nurses imagine that the morning wave are people who have survived a terrible night and have waited for dawn to seek help. The dusk wave are people who have had a terrible day and are afraid of what the night will bring.
Now, another siren comes. From the other direction. Is it the same one returning or another?
Me? I am not in Italy. Just Seattle. We are a little famous for having one of the first community transmissions of this Virus in the USA. You probably heard the story? This guy came back from Wuhan on Jan 15th. He got sick within days, so went to the doctor. They found he had Covid-19 and he was put in an isolation tent designed to contain Ebola – he never even touched a doctor. He had his own medical team and medical robots. It was High Tech. But the low tech part was likely his ride from the airport home. Someone was missed in the contact tracing. 6-weeks later we had many community cases with Viral Genomes matching his specific strain. So, the fact that people were not tested after that was a big mistake.
I stopped working from the office over 3 weeks ago, and am now working and baking and living at home. Right now, it’s raining. I’m sitting here feeling muffled. Muffled by distance from friends, muffled from seeing what is going on in my own city, muffled from the rain, wondering “What do the sirens mean?”.
March 29: Settlers with Internet
Tonight I have sore hands. It’s not only from washing them a lot, but from a mistake in the dilution of bleach I was using to wipe down the kitchen counters. I was kind of eyeballing 10%, which is the recommended dilution, and spilled some. Bleach is HARD to wash off! It’s silly, I mean, I have no experience with bleach. I’m more of a apple cider vinegar and dirt kind of person. But here I am figuring out the sanitizing power of bleach and sneaking around after the family goes to bed to sanitize things. Go figure.
One of the things sociologists do to understand trends is to ask everyday people “What are you doing MORE of today, and what are you doing LESS of?”
When we ask that today in time of Coronavirus pandemic we get lists like this:
- cooking and baking
- reading news
- using social media
- thinking about securing my food (growing it, having chickens, storing it, hoarding it, hiding it, leaving the city)
- wasting time online
- reading books
- shopping online and getting delivery
- watching shows
- worrying about money
- worrying about hygiene and health
- washing my hands
- dreaming about travel
- realizing who my real friends are
- walking the dog and spending time with animal companions
- connecting with my family
- exercise inside
- feeling I need to keep my house safe
- Hiking, camping, being out in nature
- Spending time with people
- Shopping for fun
- Shopping in brick and mortar stores
- Planning for expensive items or travel
- Eating out
- routine medical trips
- wasting time in traffic
- Connected with others
- Feeling safe in the world
The things that people are doing speak to this cocooning or building a fortress home. In the past weeks I have gone from less frequent trips out, to viewing the doorknob as a danger zone. From going skiing outside and considering that “Safe” to not leaving my neighborhood because of the principle of not having “fun” in potential crowds of any kind.
In this home fortress, the things we turn to are celebrations of self reliance. It’s as if we an illusion of agency in planting seeds to grow some lettuce, or baking bread from flour we’ve bought in bulk. Look, I’m going to be okay because I have 10 lettuce and some squash in fall! The irony is that the stores are full of bread. The chicks that are all sold out at the feed shop won’t lay an egg for 5 months. While we do well to stay home, our contributions to safety are passivity. Do nothing. Go nowhere. The action is elsewhere – testing, tracing, treating. We can’t bake that.
Tomorrow, I plan to make bagels from scratch. Because I can’t do anything else.