COVID-19 Musings
Note: The snippets here do not unfold in classic story-like fashion
Nature keeps humming along while the novel coronavirus wreaks havoc among humans. Flora and fauna are enjoying a respite from the relentless Homo sapiens assault. A herd of Great Orme Kashmiri goats with long luxurious coats and horns that curve back on themselves are scampering through the deserted streets of Llandudno, Wales. No longer afraid, they have descended from the high peaks and limestone cliffs of the Great Orme to forage in town while the humans shelter inside. In San Francisco, animal control receives calls about coyote sightings in urban neighborhoods.
We saw and smelled the acrid airborne aftermath of the California wildfires, felt the winds. Our earthquakes jostle and rock; when they are of sufficient magnitude I hear a peculiar low buzz. Where are the charred forests, incinerated towns, and collapsed buildings? Today’s enemy is silent and invisible, ratcheting up our paranoia, gnawing at our psyche. I read that guns and ammo are in high demand and lines snake around the block. Who knew you could shoot a virus?
Our younger son, quarantined in his dorm room for the past 12 days after developing symptoms that may or may not have been COVID-19, runs to the window when a person passes, excited to see another human. I take nature photos and record the earliest crickets for him so he has a thread to the outside world.
I uncovered my first salamander of the season sheltering in place under a moist bag of soil. It froze when I moved the bag. A week ago, I read a first hand pandemic report from Italy shortly before retiring for the night and felt paralyzed, as if my heart had stopped for an instant, as if I was that salamander.
On our walk the other night it seemed we were engaged in some illicit activity. The stillness was eerie, streets largely empty of vehicles and people. An owl hooted in a nearby tree and I was enthralled for a few moments, before remembering why the familiar is now surreal.
A small cluster of aphids has tentatively set up shop on the flower heads of one of my succulents. They seem as cautious as I feel when I see anyone on the street or at the grocery store, wondering if they might be ill, giving them the widest possible berth.
Birds visit my feeder in throngs, stocking up on food so they have the energy to incubate their eggs and raise their young in the weeks ahead. We didn’t stock up when there was a mad rush for toilet paper and other supplies, so we’ve been considering what we might use if grocery store shelves remain empty. We ventured out to score some toilet paper, taking advantage of the special “senior” shopping hours in the hopes it would confer some advantage. I am cashing in on having just turned 60. A few individual rolls of TP graced the otherwise empty paper goods shelf. With the 2 rolls we were each allotted, we felt as if we’d just won the lottery.
My husband and I have been down so many rabbit holes, discussing how to protect ourselves from all possible contact with the virus. It is an impossibility, a riddle, a sly trick. There is no correct answer. When we went food shopping we gratefully took the disinfected cart, selected our items with a bagged hand, wiped down the car door handles and steering wheel. At home, we cleaned our groceries before putting them away, handling everything as if diffusing a bomb. As we finished, the cat rubbed her jowls on the paper bag handles. How do you disinfect your cat?
Our cat is delighted we have more time at home, curling up in our laps and sleeping blissfully through our anxious days and nights. I am no longer setting an alarm in the morning, sleeping until I wake.
I had my first COVID-19 dream in the early morning. In my dream I read in the local paper about two new restaurants that had opened next to each other near our local old-fashioned Star Grocery. In need of food for dinner, I walked down the hill and squeezed my way past shoppers crowding the sidewalk, selecting their produce displayed outside Star. Nick, the second-generation owner, had moved all the produce cases onto the pavement. While I appreciated the advantages of having people out in the fresh air, I was worried by how little space there was and felt paranoid about touching the fruit and vegetables. I wondered whether the two new restaurants nearby could make it financially during the pandemic. Balancing a large tray of lightly seasoned chicken breasts I had just purchased, I carefully made my way over to an outdoor area where you could have your meat grilled. A pleasant middle-aged gentleman assisting with the grilling helped me adjust the parchment paper under the chicken. To better grab the edge of the paper, he licked his finger and pulled it up. I was gripped with fear and told him this was not good practice, given the risk of virus transmission. He apologized. I decided to grill the chicken at home, looking at the spot that had some saliva on it and fretting as I walked, wondering if I should wash the chicken and how to avoid the danger it posed.
My hands feel as if I’ve just visited the mountains, my skin dry and papery from all the washing and wiping. If I sneeze or feel a catch in my throat, I am instantly hyper-alert and worried. My husband tries to reassure me with probability calculations.
Over forty years ago, when I was a student at U.C. Berkeley, there were a wide variety of eccentric people who were regular fixtures on the campus and around town. One gentleman always sported a thin jumpsuit that was a shade of white early on, but darkened considerably over the years. He also wore booties, a hat, goggles, gloves, and a bandana over his nose and mouth. He was ahead of his time.
The earliest and most delicate spring flowers are giving way to hardier blooms. Apple blossoms are opening furtively. A month ago the winds and rain caused a shower of wild plum petals in what now seems like another era, an era when we were still blithely carrying on with our daily routines. Each day as the sun rises and sets, I marvel at how familiar everything seems in an irrevocably altered world.
