Monthly Archives: April 2020

Journal of the Coronavirus Year, Part Four

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April 27, 2020

It has been three weeks since I last wrote. The United States now has over 54,000 deaths from Covid-19; we are leading the world. We are number one. In Virginia there have been 453 deaths. The first death in Virginia was just over six weeks ago. 

The rules for staying at home, the closing of businesses, and social distancing vary by states, but in most cases we are restricted to groups of ten or fewer, must stay six feet apart, and wear face masks when in public. However, resistance to regulations by a small but very vocal minority now has emerged. In Wisconsin, for example, about 1000 people assembled in Madison, shoulder to shoulder without face masks, carrying signs. Some signs said “I Want a Haircut.” 

Governors are working on plans to reopen businesses, with regions collaborating. Georgia, one of the last states to close businesses, now is one of the first to reopen, including nail salons, tattoo parlors, and bowling alleys. 

The economic hardships are very real. 26.5 million new claims have been filed for unemployment benefits. It is predicted that many retailers will never reopen. The states are struggling, too, and are revising budgets. 

At last Thursday’s White House briefing, the President suggested that perhaps injecting Covid-19 patients with disinfectant might help. This suggestion later was withdrawn.

Gradually many of us have begun to realize that this is not going to be over in a few weeks or a few months. Or a year. This virus does terrible things to the human body— blood clots and strokes. It is terrifying. Even once the states reopen their economies, I wonder who will feel safe in going back to shopping malls? to hair salons? to movie theaters? baseball stadiums? church services? to movie theaters?

I have been thinking about how once upon a time, we went to movie theaters to watch scary movies. One of the best of these movies in my opinion was Aliens starring Sigourney Weaver playing the lead role of Ripley combating aliens who looked like our worst nightmares. But Ripley was courageous and she acted out of love to save a little girl—a stranger’s child. She entered that elevator and strapped on her gear as she descended to meet the alien monster.

We can do that, too. And many of us can do that just by staying home. 

And She Stepped Out the Door

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April 18th, 2020

Today is the wedding anniversary of my parents Serena Leveau and Joseph Robert Crocker. They married on this day in 1936 in Wheaton, Illinois, at the home of my mother’s half-sister Edna Lindstrom. They were both 27 years old. 

They were living in Chicago at the time they met. My father was going to the University of Chicago, working on his doctorate degree. My mother was working as a dietician for the Bell Telephone Company employee cafeterias; she had graduated from the University of Minnesota, and what had brought her to Chicago I do not know. 

My mother said they met at a party at a student’s apartment close to the University campus and were married three months later. I doubt they had friends in common for that party. His friend probably said, come on, let’s go to this party, you need a break. And her friend maybe said, hey, I know someone having a party, let’s go. 

And so they met and three months later they married.

They had four children, two sons and two daughters. 

And six grandchildren.

And ten great-grandchildren. 

Think of all the lives and all the histories and all the jumble of wonderful, sad, and amazing things that happened because of that meeting. 

Four.

Six.

Ten. 

It must have been a cold and perhaps snowy February night of that party. Perhaps my mother hesitated at the door of her apartment. Maybe put on her coat and then took it off again. And then slid her coat on one more time.

And she stepped out the door. 

Four.

Six.

Ten. 

April

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April 15, 2020

The sun is dropping lower
And I am here by the barn
About to enter the pasture
To collect the windfall of sticks

But then I see the young red fox
Intent on his hunting
Meadow vole for dinner
Eyes focused on the ground
Paws plucking at the grass

And I step back quietly
Drop my hand from the latch
on the pasture gate

The sticks can wait.

The Journal of the Coronavirus Year, Part Three

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March 30, 2020

Today the governors of Maryland and Virginia and the mayor of Washington DC all declared lock-downs of their jurisdictions. A week ago all three officials had called for citizens to stay at home except for essential business. Today’s declarations are not much different, except they have the weight of reinforcement—imprisonment and/or fines for offenders. The numbers of confirmed cases are rising dramatically here—-over 1,000 confirmed cases in Virginia. 

Basically citizens are restricted to their homes except for required work and essential errands meaning buying food and medicines. 

The man in the White House withdrew his aspirational idea that everything would be back to normal by Easter and the churches packed, and called for social distancing to the end of April. He also said if the fatality rate was not more than 100,000 in the United States then he would have done a good job. 

April 8, 2020

We are approaching Easter. We now have 3,340 known cases of Covid-19 in Virginia with 63 deaths. 

CDC and the White House now recommend that we wear home-made masks when we go out in public, but not the N95 masks because those are in very short supply and are needed by medical personnel. At first we were told that masks would not protect us, they would only protect others, and that we would need training in how to put the masks on, so no one needed to wear masks. Now people are sewing masks and demonstrating how to sew them on YouTube. 

Going to the grocery store has become a fearful expedition for many, and for those who work in the stores it is frightening, too. Many grocery stores have begun limiting the number of customers in the store at one time, have set up one-way aisle systems, marked the floor with tape for six foot distances at the check-out lines, and installed plexiglass shields to protect the cashiers. My last trip to the store was March 11th, but my son brought me food from Costco on April 1. I have a good supply of frozen and pantry foods, it is the fresh items I will run out of. There are food shopping services, but they are swamped with customers. One friend said it took her several days to get an order through—she was successful at 1:35 AM—and it will be delivered in five days. For we Americans accustomed to instant gratification, this is an adjustment. 

A tiger in a zoo was diagnosed with Covid-19, apparently contracted from a keeper. 

Meanwhile, it is spring. On my hilltop the pear tree has finished blooming, and the crabapple and forsythia blossoms are fading, but the red bud trees and Alleghany serviceberry tree are blooming. The serviceberry was so named because it was the one of the first trees to bloom when the ground was soft enough to dig graves after the winter, and hold funeral services. 

Last night through my open window I heard the spring peepers.