BJ's Blog

I waited until Saturday to look for a testing site. Based on my symptoms and history of asthma, I discovered I qualified for a free test at Walgreens but their first available appointment was Monday. Dave called InstaCare, who said to come in. The young PA entered the exam room then quickly exited to add more PPE to his wardrobe. Funny, the nurse hadn’t done that…. Although I lacked a fever, still possessed my sense of taste and smell, and maintained a good oxygen level, he determined that I should be tested. So I conjured 3 milliliters of saliva–a fair bit!–then left. I was to quarantine, with my family, until I received the results.

I waited until Sunday to log into Intermountain Healthcare’s “My Health” account. No results yet. I read, I rested, I played out various scenarios. If I hadn’t heard by 5 pm, I couldn’t make it to Costco before they closed. If I tested positive, I would need to shop online. About 7:30, I logged into Costco’s “Instacart” and started shopping. After I submitted my order (8:10 pm), I logged into “My Health” and discovered that the results had been posted.

Should I cancel my Costco order? Could I shop at Smiths the next day? Stop by campus? Resume my exercise routine? Make plans for fall break? What *did* I have? Allergies? A cold? Stress-induced fatigue? Malaise? I didn’t want it to be COVID, but I wanted it to be something.

I grew up surrounded by scientists. Between the ages of 5 and 10 I lived on the grounds of Cold Spring Harbor Labs (CSHL). We lived in the Stables, or what once were the stables.

I witnessed the influx of scientists in the summers when the Lab hosted lectures. They would walk to the beach, talking all the way, then sit tentatively in the sand for a few moments before returning for afternoon sessions. They gathered on the lawn of Blackford Hall to eat barbecue in the evenings. Occasionally, my dad would invite a few over for dinner. Those nights seemed to last forever: men (they were almost always men) absorbed in conversation about things I knew nothing about. When the summer ended, we reclaimed the Lab grounds, the beach, our home.

Between diaper changes, preparing meals, feeding kids and men, and cleaning up after kids and men, my mom and my aunt talked about the scientists. I heard about their affairs with their technicians, their lack of table manners, their eccentricities, which I already had begun to notice.

More later…

After feeding the cats, before anyone else wakes up, I sit at the kitchen counter as daylight begins and the room becomes brighter.

So what?

Observing my movements. Noticing my environment. Describing the scene. To what end? So whoever someday reads this may know my state of mind? Why would they care? I live in a house with two people and two cats. It’s turned fall–September 22–and tomorrow I turn 58. The world still roils with COVID-19. Angry politicos battle for power. I’m tired, sad, listless.

Now what?

I’m borrowing words from my syllabus, the questions that guide students to reflect on their community-engaged learning experiences. What? So what? Now what? At least those are the ones I recall. But I can’t answer “now what?” because I’m trapped in this space and time of pandemic. Still living one day at a time.

I can feed the hummingbirds, until they leave for the year. I can water the flowers, while they continue to bloom. I can wash dishes, fold laundry, mend shirts, knit shawls, read books, practice yoga, drink coffee, eat yogurt, type letters on a keyboard and watch them become text on a page and posts on a blog and artifacts of a moment in a day from a life of a woman passing time.

to regain control, which I seem to have lost, over my behavior. I drink too much. when the day ends, I cannot think of anything else to do, so I drink. and then I keep going. past the point of a nice buzz. past the half way mark on the bottle of wine. sometimes down to the bottom. and I totter around the house in blissful abandon. raving perhaps. definitely self indulgent. so far not enough to get sick. small consolation that. and reciting to myself that line from Frank Sinatra: “I feel sorry for people who drink because when they wake up in the morning that’s as good as they’re going to feel all day!” ha ha ha. and then I wonder if my ex was right all along: that I am the one with the drinking problem. so I vow to drink nothing–or at least less–tonight. and as the day wears on I begin to think that a drink at the end of it would not be the worst thing. in fact, just one drink would be so nice. smooth the edges off, slip away from the churning worry, drift into oblivion. until 5–or if I’m lucky 6–hours later I wake to start all over again.

I didn’t cause it; I can’t control it; I can’t cure it. (Al-Anon) | The Big Book (AA)

Today’s girls need courage, confidence, and character. | The Blue Book (Girl Scouts)

I rode my Genuine Buddy scooter to campus. I parked in A2 by Tracy Hall. I stowed my helmet, retrieved my mask, and walked toward Shepherd Union. I greeted two people, our neighbors, who appeared to be returning to their car after a walk through campus. I followed the sidewalk between Tracy Hall and Elizabeth Hall, around Stewart Bell Tower, and through the plaza to the east doors of the second floor entrance. I used my ID to open the door. I used the numbered key pad to access the Center for Community Engaged Learning. I used my key to open my office, SU 324A. I turned on the lights.

I returned a box of pens, pencils, and Engaged Faculty Retreat evaluation forms to Natalie’s shelf. I collected a Canine Companions for Independence calendar, last year’s annual report, and a folder of strategic planning materials. I packed the “Nevertheless She Persisted” picture that Christie gave me in January. I looked at the objects on my shelves: three photos (graduation photos of Jake and Maggie and a closeup of me & Dave in Norway), three figurines that Maggie gave me for Christmas (a Buddha, cat, and dragon), two snow globes (Las Vegas and Portland), magnets, a vial of sand from Japan that Chrissy gave me, two bobble heads (a dog and Data), an empty tin of mints from Colorado, several magnets with photos of Borrego Springs, two magnets from the National Gallery of Art, and a “Kindness Matters” magnet.

I turned off the lights. I closed the door. I followed the sidewalk back to the parking lot. I didn’t say hello to anyone. I replaced my mask and put on my helmet. I drove around campus, stopping at the duck pond and turning off at A9 by the construction of the welcome center. I drove up the hill. I turned right onto Taylor Avenue and left on Country Hills Drive. I passed Beus Pond. I entered the roundabout. I took the second right to continue onto Country Hills. I turned right onto Bona Villa Drive and left onto Ross Drive. I pulled into the driveway and shut off the ignition.

I wanted to write about the shoulder season: when the tourists haven’t yet arrived, when the locals have the park, the town, the landscape to themselves. Like campus yesterday. The time between semesters, when students haven’t yet returned, when staff and the occasional faculty member have campus to themselves. The sounds of nature resume. A hush falls over a place that typically teems with crowds, voices, music, bells. I remember Bryce Canyon in April and October–cold, empty, still. The before; the after. The in-between times. I could stay in that space forever, I thought. I longed for that feeling. I retreated to Torrey in an attempt to capture it. Away, by myself, apart.

Mask dreams: when you venture out into the world then discover your forgot your mask, or your mask doesn’t fit, or you’re the only one wearing a mask in a crowded place.

Computer dreams: when you spend so much time on your laptop that you dream about all of the apps suddenly rearranged or disappearing from your desktop, or you can’t find your laptop amidst all of the other laptops in your house, or you cannot boot up your laptop at all–it just dead.

More to come I’m sure…

I’ve read or am reading

• A Long Petal of the Sea – Isabel Allende
• Do Nothing: How to Break Away From Overworking, Overdoing, and Underliving – Celeste Headlee
• Year of Wonders – Geraldine Brooks (for the third time)
• The Daily Good (daily)
• The New York Times (daily)
• The Salt Lake Tribune (daily)
• The New Yorker (weekly)
• Literary Hub (weekly)

I’ve watched the following shows and movies

• The Valhalla Murders
• World on Fire
• The English Game
• Once Upon a Time in Hollywood
• The Untouchables
• The Departed
• Guardians of the Galaxy
• Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker (twice)
• Jaws
• In the Heart of the Sea
• Oceans 11
• Jeopardy, KUTV News
• Rachel Maddow, Lawrence O’Donnell, Brian Williams
• PBS News Hour
• Weather Channel

I finished knitting one prayer shawl and started another one.

I colored one of the pages in my adult coloring book.

I cut my bangs (too short).

I’ve experienced a 5.7 earthquake and a 4.2 aftershock.

I cleaned the house (three times).

I witnessed the spring cleanup of the house perimeter: clearing, trimming, and uprooting.

I’ve written 2 blog posts and started 3 others.

Stop Trying to Be Productive

Against Productivity in a Pandemic

Why You Should Ignore All That Coronavirus-Inspired Productivity Pressure

What Our Contagion Fables are Really About

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