[Note: I haven't blogged for about 3 months. I debated about whether to post this piece or not. It's very introspective and self-centered. But I felt I needed something to transition from blogging before the pandemic to blogging after. I am really trying to figure out what my blog should look like when life has pretty much closed down except for home. Anyway apologies if this is too diary-esque.]
We got home from Budapest the middle of March. For two and a half months I stayed inside our condo except to walk in the park or on Cherokee Road with Tony. At the end of May Louisville entered its early opening up, and I ventured out to see my physician for my annual physical and to get my hair cut. Then we left for the lake, getting here June 1 and planning to stay until October.
It has now been about three months since I blogged.
The two and a half months in Louisville were basically event-less. Life was one-day-after another; no narrative push. Everyday was the same, and everyday felt like I had accomplished nothing. I had a lot of trouble concentrating, mostly caused by the fear of the disease and by isolation. I felt alone and disconnected, except for Tony who carried me through. I stopped doing a lot of things I normally do--and could have done in my Louisville condo--such as reading, writing (book, blog, emails, etc.) and thinking interesting thoughts. As one of my FB friends wrote," how can life be so terrifying and boring at the same time?"
Now, don't get me wrong. I am not saying my experience of the pandemic is worse or even as bad as that of most people. I am retired, so don't have to worry about working from home of losing employment. I have a comfortable place to live that is bright and safe and uncrowded. And I live in a state where the Governor (Andy Beshear--remember that name) is smart and careful.
But the truth is that life for me has changed, as it has of course for all of us. And what, I query, is the role of blogging in the strange, weird and frightening world where we now live? For me blogging was always about things I did, places I went, books I read. In pandemic-Louisville, I didn't do anything--unless you count reading (and in some cases re-reading old) mysteries and other books that don't require a lot of concentration, and watching too much TV. I have friends who are documenting their time in quarantine on FB. One of my friends, Donna, who has a second house in France, would always write a summary of what she and her husband did (and ate) each day they were there; it was like living vicariously in France. Now she's back in Texas and also documenting what she's doing, reading, eating, etc. Somehow she manages to make the daily detail sound interesting and funny. I am in awe of her, because I can't imagine how to turn the tedium of ordinary life into a daily series of interesting anecdotes.
We are now in Michigan in our little house in the UP and life is much better here. We have outside, which we lacked in Louisville except for walks. We have a lake and beautiful scenery. My concentration has returned, and I can read all kinds of books again. There is very little virus here so far because the UP was virtually isolated during the winter, but it is appearing and people are vigilant because of the lack of healthcare infrastructure. Nevertheless, we have four friends whom we can socialize with. It's a kind of three-way bubble, and we follow all the protocols: no inside gatherings, trying to keep six feet away from each another, being careful about food we share (everyone has their own salad bowl or their own appetizer tray), etc. But sadly, we have had to dis-invite all the out-of-town visitors we'd been looking forward to seeing this summer. No company this year.
But the problems remains: what to blog about and more fundamentally how to make a life interesting enough to record.
Here is what Tony and I have discovered for our version of life-in-the-pandemic. We recognize that our comfortable bubbles float in a sea of horror. The election, the protests, the disease, the way Trump is making everything worse. And of course we continue to obsess over all this. We try to balance it by acts of support: self-isolating and distancing, donating money, writing letters, keeping abreast. But lamenting the fact that we will not be able to travel as we usually do in the winter or worrying about living in isolation in Louisville for seven months doesn't really help. Instead, we have tried to shape days that are marked by some kind of special pleasure. We don't do this everyday, of course, but we do look for opportunities. It can be as simple as having a drink together before dinner on the deck to making special meals. (Eating and drinking play a major part in our special days.) Reading a book together and talking about it. (Currently we're re-reading and newly reading Hilary Mantel's Cromwell trilogy.) Sharing meals or drinks--sitting outside and observing social distance--with our four friends is an especially great treat. Together with the regular pleasures--swimming in the lake, walking with Cindy and Jill and their dogs, watching DVDs with Tony after dinner--the particular pleasures that we purposefully shape are what define our lives for the moment.
It has now been about three months since I blogged.
The two and a half months in Louisville were basically event-less. Life was one-day-after another; no narrative push. Everyday was the same, and everyday felt like I had accomplished nothing. I had a lot of trouble concentrating, mostly caused by the fear of the disease and by isolation. I felt alone and disconnected, except for Tony who carried me through. I stopped doing a lot of things I normally do--and could have done in my Louisville condo--such as reading, writing (book, blog, emails, etc.) and thinking interesting thoughts. As one of my FB friends wrote," how can life be so terrifying and boring at the same time?"
Now, don't get me wrong. I am not saying my experience of the pandemic is worse or even as bad as that of most people. I am retired, so don't have to worry about working from home of losing employment. I have a comfortable place to live that is bright and safe and uncrowded. And I live in a state where the Governor (Andy Beshear--remember that name) is smart and careful.
But the truth is that life for me has changed, as it has of course for all of us. And what, I query, is the role of blogging in the strange, weird and frightening world where we now live? For me blogging was always about things I did, places I went, books I read. In pandemic-Louisville, I didn't do anything--unless you count reading (and in some cases re-reading old) mysteries and other books that don't require a lot of concentration, and watching too much TV. I have friends who are documenting their time in quarantine on FB. One of my friends, Donna, who has a second house in France, would always write a summary of what she and her husband did (and ate) each day they were there; it was like living vicariously in France. Now she's back in Texas and also documenting what she's doing, reading, eating, etc. Somehow she manages to make the daily detail sound interesting and funny. I am in awe of her, because I can't imagine how to turn the tedium of ordinary life into a daily series of interesting anecdotes.
We are now in Michigan in our little house in the UP and life is much better here. We have outside, which we lacked in Louisville except for walks. We have a lake and beautiful scenery. My concentration has returned, and I can read all kinds of books again. There is very little virus here so far because the UP was virtually isolated during the winter, but it is appearing and people are vigilant because of the lack of healthcare infrastructure. Nevertheless, we have four friends whom we can socialize with. It's a kind of three-way bubble, and we follow all the protocols: no inside gatherings, trying to keep six feet away from each another, being careful about food we share (everyone has their own salad bowl or their own appetizer tray), etc. But sadly, we have had to dis-invite all the out-of-town visitors we'd been looking forward to seeing this summer. No company this year.
But the problems remains: what to blog about and more fundamentally how to make a life interesting enough to record.
Here is what Tony and I have discovered for our version of life-in-the-pandemic. We recognize that our comfortable bubbles float in a sea of horror. The election, the protests, the disease, the way Trump is making everything worse. And of course we continue to obsess over all this. We try to balance it by acts of support: self-isolating and distancing, donating money, writing letters, keeping abreast. But lamenting the fact that we will not be able to travel as we usually do in the winter or worrying about living in isolation in Louisville for seven months doesn't really help. Instead, we have tried to shape days that are marked by some kind of special pleasure. We don't do this everyday, of course, but we do look for opportunities. It can be as simple as having a drink together before dinner on the deck to making special meals. (Eating and drinking play a major part in our special days.) Reading a book together and talking about it. (Currently we're re-reading and newly reading Hilary Mantel's Cromwell trilogy.) Sharing meals or drinks--sitting outside and observing social distance--with our four friends is an especially great treat. Together with the regular pleasures--swimming in the lake, walking with Cindy and Jill and their dogs, watching DVDs with Tony after dinner--the particular pleasures that we purposefully shape are what define our lives for the moment.
So here are some of our special pleasures. And I hope that blog posts that follow will be less introspective and more fun to read.
- My Birthday, which always comes at the lake. Me at 72. Presents rom Tony. Dinner at the Harbor Haus, where we sat in a private room besides an open window. Best martinis in the Keweenaw.
- Eating at home. Two Lake Medora traditions: pizza from the Co-Op and Chicken Medora, a weekly meal.
- Making martinis at home for a pre-dinner drink.
- More pre-dinner drinks on the deck: Aperol Spritz (memories of Europe)
- Grilling at home and al fresco dining.
- Swimming. We have had such great summer weather, I might get up to enough strokes that I can swim across the lake.
