Dear Family, Friends, and Diary,
I had pneumonia in my 30s. It hurt. It was scary. It shortened my breath for years. Survive with it in my 70s? I have my doubts. And the thought of family spread is horrifying. This is the thought that woke me at 3:00, and kept me awake. Maybe diary-writing will help.
A week ago, I started a diary of "our new journey to the Land Of Social Distancing (LOSD)". I feel like that was, perhaps, the journey to end all journeys and now we simply start Week Two of the Rest of Our Lives (WTROL), the new normal.
Saturday, March 21
Breakfasts are better nowadays. There is no need to grab something and run off to the gym or Zumba or shopping. We can relax and catch up on the news from overnight. Oops, maybe we can either relax or catch up on the news. New York's governor Andrew Cuomo is the new rock star of the political pundit world. His no-nonsense, we-can-get-past-this-even-though-it's-bad message rings true, unlike the garbled federal message. I like Cuomo's presentation better, but I am filled with doubt about his New York optimism. (Who would have thought a guy with a NY accent would be accused of being optimistic?)
From breakfast, it's on to our normal "work". For Marianne that means cleaning and some time out in the art studio. Earlier this week, the young woman who does house cleaning for us came, but we paid her and sent her on her way. That seemed like the proper action for "isolationists" like ourselves. I expect I will need to break down and do house cleaning as well. It's only right.
For now though, my morning job was to walk for at least an hour. Where I walk is limited: east, west, north, south. Today, I chose south, passing first by the closed campus of Fresno City College. They must expect the closure to last, since they have nice professional signs to that effect.
Further along, the small Food King, kind of an oxymoron, was quiet. Beyond snacks and easy food for now-absent FCC students, their selection is limited, but social distancing seems doable. In fact, keeping the six-foot separation specified by social distancing protocol was easy on my whole walk, since there were hardly any people out in the dreary weather, not even many cars.
My goal was Irene's, our go-to place for simple meals, this time for gift cards. I don't know how these small places will survive, but it seems right to give them a little cash flow. They only serve take-out now and are staffed with the young partner in front and a single line cook in the kitchen. The young man filled out the gift cards and expressed hopeful optimism that things would get better "in weeks". I hope he's right.
Back home I tried to be helpful by tidying up my "dressing room". In the old days, this little nook off the master bathroom was a busy place, with gym clothes coming and going. Now, the clean workout shorts, and shirts, and socks, and towels simply wait in their baskets. I wonder if I will ever feel comfortable going to a gym again for fear of viral infection. Such a shame, since I was probably in better shape than I had been in decades. I don't like this part of "new normal".
I also saw my "Dopp Kit" sitting there. Again, in the olden days, this was used almost daily for the gym clean-up or grabbed and thrown into a suitcase for travel. Will we travel again? I have my doubts, unless we and the rest of the world develop some sort of immunity to COVID-19. Discouraging. (Little factoid: The toiletry bag referred to as a Dopp Kit was first made by Charles Dopplet in 1926, but it became a common term with WWII GIs. My father called it that and so must I.)
The rest of the day was quiet. Reading, a bit more walking, phone calls to friends and relatives, and the mid-afternoon meal that replaces lunch and dinner. We have fallen into a traditional German pattern of just a single warm meal a day, with smaller meals early and late. I like this part of the new normal.
I felt I needed to try something with my camera, difficult on a gray day. The rose plants and bushes are just starting to flower, so I clicked two quick shots of a small bud. One shows the whole flower, reasonably sharp because of a small lens opening ("f11"). The other is softer pink, with just a bit in focus due to an open lens (f2.8). Which would you prefer?
Day eight, done.
Sunday, March 22
Kaiser Emergency Department After Visit Summary: "You have a viral upper respiratory illness (URI), which is another name for the common cold. It is spread ...". But I'm getting ahead of myself.
Did we have Day 9 plans? Not really. I woke up a little later than yesterday, with thoughts just a little less bleak. I made our coffees and read the Sunday papers with little enthusiasm. Marianne sipped only a little, since she continued the malaise she had complained about to her oncologist on Saturday. Doctor Box had said post-chemo weakness can last for months. In normal times, she would order a blood test to see if something else was happening, but for now, avoiding hospitals is better. "Keep an eye on it."
Marianne opted for a day in her mom's old recliner, huddled under an old comforter. I headed mostly-west for my morning hour's walk, searching for something, anything, to use as a camera subject. Nearby, the purple blossoms on FCC's parking lot trees seemed barely worthy, as did red and yellow flowers at neighbor Debbie and Annie's. Not contest-worthy perhaps, but OK memory markers.
Throughout my 75-minute walk, the streets seemed empty and sidewalks too, except for a few family groups trying to walk off the energy of their house-bound little kids. Good luck with that. For the most part, people kept generous distances, often shifting into the street when pedestrians were oncoming on the sidewalks.
I did see one group of guys practicing softball in a school playground, you know, those it-can't-happen-to-us guys. Really? 
Near the playground, one of the typical small cottages of our area had created a nice front yard display for Lent. For the most part, the new world has driven away traditional seasonal decorations. Will this be fixed for flags on the Fourth of July or lights during Christmas? It's hard to see this tunnel's end.
Back home, Marianne was still feeling puny, so I tried my hand at a big pot of black beans. I actually do them pretty well, when I can shop for the cheap cuts of meat the Brazilian-style recipes call for. Oh well, tasty or not, it makes the house smell comfy. (Verdict: Not a good batch. Too much bacon, too little dried or mysterious chucks of meat.)
As the afternoon wore on, Marianne did not improve: low-grade fever of 99.2F, shortness of breath going up stairs, crushing fatigue. At five pm, she made the call to the Kaiser help line. With her history and symptoms, we knew the normal end of such a call: "Go to Emergency". This time, the questioning was more serious, more detailed, but the result was the same.
By six pm, we were at the hospital Emergency Department (ED), a facility that had been augmented by admission tents in the driveways. We parked where we normally do (yes, we DO have a "normally" at the ED) and went up to the technicians and guards manning the outside entrance. No visitors allowed, except for translators, parents of small kids, and relatives for "end of life visits." They took Marianne in and I turned back to the car, the first time ever I have not been at her side at times like this. I hated it.
For three hours I exchanged text messages with Marianne as they took a chest x-ray and poked her for yet more blood samples. I forwarded the messages to Gabby and talked to Mamal, thankful for the not-quite-new-anymore technology.
While I waited, I saw other families arrive. An elderly-like-us man arrived in a car, his forehead covered in blood. He too was separated from his family, a son perhaps, and wheeled inside. Another woman arrived in a car that parked just in front of me. A technician came out to get her into a wheel chair, while her driver (husband?) watched and brought the bucket she continued to use for what little she had left in her stomach. A family of three arrived, following an ambulance with their patient, maybe a mother or wife or husband. They were held at the entrance for a half hour, until a nurse or doctor from inside came out to talk with them, and he escorted all three inside. I tried not to think about what that exception to the No Visitors rule meant.
Doctor Bass released Marianne about three hours after we arrived, with the Upper Respiratory Illness (URI), "common cold" diagnosis. Her chest x-ray was clear. Marianne's primary care doctor will evaluate if she needs further treatment (such as THE virus test). Otherwise, we should expect the condition to improve in one to two days. We'll keep an eye on it, just as Doctor Box had advised the day before. I was glad we had the clear chest x-ray for reassurance.
We could not help but wonder where this URI came from. I expect I have it as well, but have been discounting the congestion as seasonal allergies, so common here in the San Joaquin Valley. This URI is apparently acquired the same way COVID-19 is acquired and we got it despite our isolation, lock-down, and frequent hand-washing. Maybe it was during one of my quick visits to the local merchants for gift cards. Who knows, but there will be no more shopping for me. We will need to depend on neighbors.
Day nine, done.
Monday, March 23
The day started with a good night's sleep, a product of yesterday evening's exhaustion. From there it was normal: coffee and diary writing. The plan was to stay inside the whole day and we succeeded.
I re-read the Emergency Department discharge diagnosis and was struck again with how it read exactly as I can imagine a diagnosis of COVID-19 might, except for the "common cold" part. But we HAD been washing our hands. We HAD been staying "socially distant" from people, at least for the last ten days. Some virus contamination snuck in just before we isolated, I suppose.
Marianne regained her strength and vitality. My allergy-like common cold symptoms decreased. Still, it was an inside day for me. No walking 10,000 steps. I took only a single photo, a selphie with my feet up, looking out the front windows.
I read more than usual, mostly of Station Eleven, my current book about the collapse of civilization after the "Georgian Flu". I hope I get to the part soon of where a few survivors rebuild society.
For the most part, I ignored the television. News is not encouraging and I remain astonished at the _______ (fill in the blank) of President Trump. He speaks, and the stock market crashes further. Doesn't his party notice?
We made arrangements with less "elderly and compromised" neighbors for grocery shopping later in the week. Thanks. I had looked at grocery delivery services as well, but available appointments are days away and, besides, I KNOW our neighbors and the care they will take, both shopping and staying sanitized.
At the end, it was early to bed, counting on some of that "healthy, wealthy, and wise" stuff. It's needed.
Day ten, done.
Tuesday, March 24
I think yesterday was a bottoming out and we will get back to a more active, if isolated, life. The morning started early and progressed through my new normal: coffee, diary, breakfast, (paper) newspaper, putter.
Putter included arrangements for deliveries. The U.S.Mail came through, again. There had been a day last week when the delivery was missed, and my immediate thought was of our post-person getting sick. Nope.
The next delivery was from neighbor Steve. He had gone to The Market, one of our favorite grocery stores, and meticulously worked his way through our list. He found everything but eggs. Hens have not gotten the word that they need to work overtime. Thanks Steve.
Almost-neighbor Jean stopped while walking her dog Goose and we chatted. She offered a dispenser of bleach wipes, from the stash she got at Costco months ago, before it was fashionable. Thanks, Coach.
Our refrigerator is now full, and every time we open the doors, we see grandkid art. I hope they don't get too big before we can hug them again. Marianne has a Wednesday art lesson for them, "Whimsical Wednesday".
Speaking of grandkids, on my walk, I ran across neighbor Ellen and her twin grandsons and we talked from a generous distance before they returned home to bake the boys' birthday cake. They will be three tomorrow and I wonder if they will have any memories of these unusual times. Probably not.
The rest of my walk was uneventful, completely. The streets were so quiet that it reminded me of my current book, the one where most of humanity passes away from a foreign flu. Spooky. Along the way, I added to my mural photo collection, an elaborate musical painting and it's plain pumpkin neighbor.
On the medical front, Marianne had two interactions with Kaiser. First, her general practitioner called her with an evaluation of her Sunday Emergency Department visit. Bottom line: drink liquids, wash your hands, and exercise a little. Simple enough.
She also needed to get her pacemaker checked in anticipation of radiation therapy in a few weeks. Getting into the clinic was not much more complicated, just hand washing, but the inside was deserted. There was no one else even in the waiting room, in part because visitors like me were not allowed.
She does NOT want the pacemaker zapped by accident and her pacemaker technician reassured her that he had never see a case where that happened. OK, one more step on the cancer journey.
Back home, we blended back into our new pattern, mid-afternoon lunch and then free time, Art for Marianne and a photo or two for me, before I finished Station Eleven. The book did end with hope when, 25 years after the die-off, a small city with electric lights was spotted on the far horizon.
Day eleven, done.
Wednesday, March 25
We woke up laughing and joking for the first time in I don't know how long. This isolation will be a long haul, but so is cancer recovery, and life in general. We'll all make it through.
We seem to have a routine now; up (usually early), coffee, diary, breakfast, putter. Today's morning putter was a trip to the bank, one of the very few excursions into the wild for me. Guards at the Citibank door were counting that no more than 5 customers were inside at one time. The waiting line was marked with X's for proper spacing, although the three or four customers seemed to allow even more personal distance than called for. The teller window, the inch-thick plastic serving a new purpose, appeared to have a slight air flow from teller to customer. Customer-interface people at banks, groceries, restaurants, and any other open establishment are the front lines, along with medical and emergency personnel. I worry about them.
Back home, Marianne and I were in our new normal with reading, phone calls, and work on her art. I walked a little, looking for something to aim my camera at, buy gray skies didn't help. I did note a sidewalk message from a neighborhood optimist: "every little things gonna be all right". A song lyric, if I recall correctly. Whose?
Marianne had an art lesson for Ava and Sam and they worked via "Zoom", another new-normal part of lock-down life. Today's lesson included an art journal, probably a good idea for everyone, not just school kids.
Before and after her lesson, Marianne has been learning a new technique, one that produces fun characters. Here are a few, one of which she likes more than the others, but I like them all.
She now has plenty of painting time and looks forward to new products. Sometimes, they just jump off her brush. This painting, for example, was one she was unhappy with and she started to cover the whole panel in black. Mid-way through the reclamation, she turned it around, and noticed a painting. A good painting of a stormy sky, or whatever one wants to see. So, creativity sometimes just happens. Nice.
My creativity was limited to cleaning up the back yard, including the bocce court that will probably remain unused for weeks or months. I need to figure out how to have a game via Zoom. Any ideas?
And with that, it is occurred to me that the time for daily corona diaries may be ending. Too dull. Too boring. Too much sameness. Bad for diaries, but good for life. I'm ready for dull, boring, and same. I will finish off "Week Two" and see if there is a hue and cry for more. Otherwise, it will be a return to diaries-when-there-is-something-noteworthy, although travel diaries are probably a ways off.
Day twelve, done.
Thursday, March 26
Hoping for a dull day. Got it. Morning commute as usual: Coffee, diary, breakfast, putter. The comfort of routine.
Morning chores included boxwood hedge trimming, an annual task for which I normally have to carve out time. No problem with time nowadays.
I also brought in food and wine shipments, from Blain and Steve, respectively. We're good until milk runs out, in four or five days. No worries.
Speaking of food, and routine, we are OK with "dinner", in the old sense of the word, as the afternoon warm meal. Back in the real olden days, dinner was big and early and supper was smaller. Thursday's big meal was salmon (thanks Blain) and Chardonnay (thanks Steve). Consider shifting yourself, it's easier to limit overall food intake, in order to fight the "corona-roll", and it allows wine in the afternoon.
Son Geoff scheduled a "Zoom" session at 3pm our time, and I needed to learn something new. This was just a one-to-one conversation, but I can the usefulness in a many-sided gab fest. We just need more friends. I did get to see the driveway decorations mom and grandson were working on. Sean had drawn a picture of a person throwing up, with the caption "Help the person". I suppose that's how one seven-year-old imagines the sickness he is hearing about, and the right response.
After Zooming, it was time for walking (me) and painting (Marianne). I walked past the Selland's porch and noted the decorated wine bottle where there used to regularly be a 5 pm gathering. Joan did come out to chat, from a distance, but it's just an echo of the past.
Across the street, Blain and Ethan were enjoying the afternoon sun and the socializing opportunity. As is usual in today's environment, we talked about Coronavirus. I used to talk to the pair of FSU history professors about more interesting past events, but I guess this is history we are living through. I put in two pictures, one showing my socially distant view, and one cropped down to at least see faces. Conversations without faces are less fun.
Farther into the neighborhood, I swung by Vernissage, the local art gallery where Marianne has shown, run by friend Ma Ly. Of course, it is closed. Across the street, Ampersand Ice Cream, Quesadilla Gorilla, the beauty shop, the barber shop, the old music store with real vinyl, the massage place, and the coffee shop were all closed and deserted. The intersection of Echo and Weldon, normally busy on a weekday afternoon, was empty. I expect these are all hand-to-mouth businesses and I wonder how many will reopen. Not all, unfortunately.
Back home, our own production floor was busy: Marianne's bench held a new work-in-progress. She was enjoying the new painting technique and it is always encouraging to see the smile as she makes colors and transforms blank space.
And that was the day thirteen, done.
Friday, March 27
Up early, coffee, pre-dawn look at rose garden, diary, coffee for Marianne, breakfast, reading, order from internet, walk, lunch-dinner, another walk, finish book, start another, and early to bed. That's as exciting as it was, but I'll add details. I have the time.
Daily diary-writing has become a habit, useful for getting my head organized for the day. I have little evidence many read these, except my editor and a relative or two, unless I also post them on Facebook, then a few more "likes" are recorded.
Having time with Marianne, from morning coffee, through early-to-bed, is a plus for our new-normal. We've always gotten along, and there have been periods before where we were off on our own together, but this is less hectic and, strangely, less worrisome. Twenty-plus years ago when we got off a plane in Kiev and found ourselves removed from all that was familiar, it was just the two of us. A few years after that, we picked up a little car in Helsinki, squeezed in everything we needed, and left for months, shoulder to shoulder. Those were wonderful memories. Today's new normal is not so much, but still good together.
My daily exercise was an hour-long walk down into our local downtown, The Tower District. On the way, I passed closed shop after closed shop and there was hardly any car traffic. Ours is not a terribly prosperous commercial area, but it was improving before THE VIRUS struck. I can imagine many of these small places will never reopen. Two small groceries were open and one even had an egg truck parked outside, something I considered promising. I looked inside and they had just two gross worth of eggs, not enough.
I try to find photography subjects along the way, and often fall back on flowers. REAL photographers eschew these easy targets, but my imagination fails to find more interesting subjects. The lilies are here because Marianne likes them.
Toward the end of the walk, I passed Fresno High School, where the closed sign still implied an April reopening. Nope. The latest estimate is May 1st, but few have faith we will be done by then with isolation and stay-at-home. Some talk June and the most pessimistic imply 2021. "Flatten the curve" pushes the virus spreading season later, but hospitals may be able to keep up. So far, Fresno is doing a decent job. We'll see if April 1 fools us.
Back home we had a guest for barbecue lunch-dinner. Igor-the-head watched me cook the not-quite-steaks. Marianne's salad was better than my sausages, maybe because the meat had been in the freezer for quite some time. Our isolation is giving us a chance to use up some of our old food stock. At dinner, we estimated that we could eat for about three weeks on what we have today. Of course, by the end of those weeks, sausages like hese would seem a whole lot tastier.
After our daily hot meal, I went out for another walk in order to reach my 10,000-step goal. In the old days, my gym exercise was way more strenuous, but walking is about all that's practical today. It's ironic that the virus lock-down is rapidly decreasing my fitness. This does not make me happy.
Along the walk, I stopped at neighbors and chatted, from well more than the socially-distant six-feet. Coach Jean was there, with ball-chaser Goose. He's getting more exercise than usual as she spends more and more time walking and ball-throwing. Her Fresno State swim program has been canceled and most of her swimmers have been sent home, including one from the UK who arrived home to find both mom and dad down with the Coronavirus. That's why other athletes are staying in Fresno.
After the walk, I finished my Clive Cussler book and started on Malcom Gladwell's Talking to Strangers, a more serious read. In fact, it was serious enough that I lost interest after a few pages. I find it difficult to read seriously in our current environment, just as I have turned away from watching TV news. Marianne and I used to be real news junkies, but I find the virus drumbeat too discouraging, especially if you-know-who starts talking.
So, this is the end of "Week Two of the Rest of Our Lives (WTROL), the new normal."
Day fourteen done.
I don't yet know what will happen with these diaries in the days and weeks going forward. On the one hand it is useful therapy for me, and pushes me to take pictures, if nothing else (but, I need to do better shots!) Years from now, I can imagine the record will be useful for personal history. Accurate memories need to be written and photographed, recollection is not enough, especially among us "elderly", a label I did not self-apply, before now.
Stay tuned,
John and Marianne
Nicht weinen, weil sie vorüber! Lächeln, weil sie gewesen! (1899, Ludwig Jacobowski)
Don't cry because it's over, smile because it happened. (never, Theodor Geisel, aka: Dr. Seuss)
Life turns on a dime. Sometimes towards us, but more often it spins away, flirting and flashing as it goes: so long, honey, it was good while it lasted, wasn’t it? (Stephen King, 1963)