Book Report: The Bluest of Blues

8. Fiona Robinson, The Bluest of Blues: Anna Atkins and the First Book of Photographs (2019) (4/29/2020)

This lovely children's book is about English botanist and photographer Anna Atkins (1799–1871), the only daughter of renowned chemist, mineralogist, and zoologist John George Children. Raising her as a single father, he taught her to be curious, passionate, methodical, and observant. He was also close friends with photography pioneer William Henry Fox Talbot and astronomer John Herschel—who invented the cyanotype—which no doubt influenced her adoption of photography as an artistic and recording medium. She was the first person to assemble a series of photographic illustrations in a book, the self-published Photographs of British Algae: Cyanotype Impressions, in October 1843. She went on to produce two more volumes, as well as books on ferns and flowering plants. Only 17 copies of Algae, in various states of completeness, are known to exist, housed in major museums around the world. In March 2015, Google dedicated one of their doodles to her on the occasion of her 216th birthday.

But back to Robinson's book: it is rendered mostly in blue, with occasional splashes of red, reminiscent of a poppy that, in this telling, she preserved between the leaves of a book and that launched her on her path of observing and recording. The illustrations are montages of pencil drawings, watercolor paintings, vintage fabrics and wallpapers, wood veneers, and photographs, including, of course, cyanotypes that the author made herself. She also includes instructions on how to make your own cyanotypes. It's a rich book, about a fascinating person whom I wouldn't mind traveling back in time to hang out with. Here are a few of the illustrations (as always, click on the images to see them large on black):

Atkins was also an accomplished scientific illustrator.

A page from her Algae book, with
hand-lettered caption

And to keep up the stats from the Covid-19 string of posts:

Monterey County now has 206 confirmed cases—up 58 in the last ten days—and there's been a fifth fatality.

Book Report: Ongoingness

7. Sarah Manguso, Ongoingness: The End of a Diary (2015) (4/28/2020)

I have been slowly making my way through a long book on the great influenza of 1918: today I realized that I'm only halfway done. I thought, "What if I try interspersing some short books, so I feel some sense of accomplishment?" I turned to my shelf and found Sarah Manguso's Ongoingness, a very short book indeed: 95 pages. Not only that, but many pages contain only a few lines. It's like reading poetry.

In fact, it is (almost) poetry—prose poetry—and philosophy. The subjects Manguso tackles are ineffable: the passage of time, the creation of self-meaning, the slipperiness of memory. In it, she examines the need to record—she has kept a diary for over 25 years, written 800,000 words—and the way that need changes, with age, and especially now that she is a mother. Her project seems to be to make peace with the ongoingness, the relentlessness of time, and possibly with mortality itself. I flagged a few passages:

Living in a dream of the future is considered a character flaw. Living in the past, bathed in nostalgia, is also considered a character flaw. Living in the present moment is hailed as spiritually admirable, but truly ignoring the lessons of history or failing to plan for tomorrow are considered character flaws.

I still needed to record the present moment before I could enter the next one, but I wanted to know how to inhabit time in a way that wasn't a character flaw.

Remember the lessons of the past. Imagine the possibilities of the future. And attend to the present, the only part of time that doesn't require the use of memory.

*     *     *     *     *

My life felt full before I became a mother, but I've found that trying to say that I prefer having the baby to not having him sounds aggressive. In fact I'd felt affronted, before I was a parent, when parents told me, even in the gentlest terms, that they preferred having their children to not having them.

Maybe the trouble is that the shape of life is elastic, that it can feel and be full at variable levels of fullness. Or maybe we're poor judges of our own lives' fullness. Or maybe the concepts of emptiness and fullness are poor metaphors for happiness, if in fact happiness is what we're talking about.

*     *     *     *     *

The best thing about time passing is the privilege of running out of it, of watching the wave of mortality break over me and everyone I know. No more time, no more potential. The privilege of ruling things out. Finishing. Knowing I'm finished. And knowing time will go on without me.

Look at me, dancing my little dance for a few moments against the background of eternity.

Well, there's an apt segue back to the great influenza, in this time of Covid-19.

Hiatus

I will be going on hiatus from my blog while I transition to Wordpress. Blogger, since it became part of the "Google family" (or whatever it's become), is no longer usable—photos disappearing, all sorts of crap code getting inserted into the HTML. Stay tuned. I will post an announcement here when I'm back up and running there. (Though I might keep my book reports here, because they're simple. Assuming I ever get back to reading books. I've been caught up in reading book manuscripts. But I'm almost done . . .)

Covid-19: Words

Greg posts regular photos of him and
"the cat" "checking the perimeter"; this
one was titled, "The cat says, 'Dude, snow?
This is bullshit.'"

One of my stalwarts on Facebook is a fellow I've never met, and may never meet, a friend of a woman I've likewise never met, may never. What a funny world we live in! But actually, both of them are two of my favorite people to follow on Facebook, him for his acerbic wit, political incisiveness, and photos; her for her ruthless self-honesty and creativity—musical, sculptural, and (also) photographic. He lives in Iowa, she in Baltimore. I believe the two of them actually know each other in the flesh, though I could be wrong. Our connections can be so very virtual anymore.

He—his name is Greg—is also a wicked-good writer, with a blog that I enjoy following: he uses a lot of cusswords and pillories the current administration regularly (he's got plenty of fodder, to mix metaphors), but he also writes tender tributes, insightful, or merely fun, explorations . . . and more. He's always a pleasure to read.

The other day Greg commented on FB, "We need a new word to describe how mega-unctuous Mike Pence is." When I said I thought that word summed Pence up perfectly—why look for a "better" one?—he responded: "'Mega-unctuous' doesn't flow very well. It doesn't slide trippingly on the tongue. We need a word that sounds as lubricated as Pence's flattery—a word that melts the way lard does on medium low heat." Someone else did suggest "oleaginous," which would seem to do the trick, but Greg didn't bite. The question remains open.

Today on our walk David and I were discussing the recent—and I suppose ongoing—"protests" of the stay-at-home orders. A few days ago I posted an article on FB, asking what the upside is, and who exactly is staging these events. I was hoping to spur a discussion, and it worked—interesting, polite (not always a given) conversation ensued. 

Today, after a lull in said conversation, my niece remarked, "There's a pretty exact explination. Its gun-rights folks. You can only assume what they'd like the outcome to be." To which I thought, well, yes—and no. It's bigger than gun-rights folks, though there is a certain (perhaps close to one-on-one) overlap. There's a whole class/cohort/what have you of people who hate government just because—not understanding, apparently, what it actually does for us all . . . or at any rate, most of us—those of us who haven't sunk below the surface and drowned.

On this afternoon's walk, I tried to come up with a term for that cohort. What about anarcho-libertarian? Anarchy being, by one definition, the "absence or denial of any authority or established order"—which is what they would seem to want; and libertarian being "a person who upholds the principles of individual liberty especially of thought and action." Individual liberty at the expense of anything else. So in my mind, there is a term for those folks.

But what about the other side? What am I, in a simple, succinct term? I'm not a socialist, though I believe in socialism, tempered by democracy, even to some degree by capitalism. I don't like big government—especially not as it's practiced nowadays, here in this country. Which, actually, I wouldn't call "government": I'd call it oligarchy, wannabe tyranny, corporate capitalism run amok. Nevertheless, I believe government—well-functioning government—is not just necessary, but a key ingredient of democracy. I am somewhat progressive, but I'm also a pragmatist—which is one reason I never jumped on the Sanders bandwagon. Elizabeth Warren is a pragmatist. I was so sorry to see her drop out of the race. I'm sorry Biden is it. But I will be voting for him, because . . . the alternative is unthinkable.

In any case, I couldn't think of a decent term to describe me and most of my friends. I'm not really sure how to describe friends of mine who continue to call themselves Republicans, either (as opposed to the GOP politicians in Washington, who are soulless, grasping, greedy . . . is monsters too strong a word?). I wish we could all—all of us who are still reasonable, who still recognize that we live in a society together with other people, who understand that it can't be "each person for themself," or however we write that nowadays— . . . I wish we could sit down and talk together about how screwed up things are now. And how to make things better.

But even that seems impossible. 

(And truth be told, in what I wrote above? That "us vs. them" rhetoric makes me uncomfortable, but oh lord, what a divide we have in this country today.)

Whew. Okay. I wasn't intending to go there, but there I did go. I will end with a link to one of Greg's funny-but-not-funny blogposts and two more words. He used the first word in the post, and it's one that I want to retain. The second word is a relative, and yeah, I guess I want to retain it too.

First, haecceity: that property or quality of a thing by virtue of which it is unique or describable as "this (one)"; the property of being a unique and individual thing. Isn't it marvelous to know that there's a word for that? It's actually from medieval scholastic philosophy, coined by followers of Duns Scotus: a "non-qualitative property responsible for individuation and identity." In other words, "this-ness," or essence. It derives from the Latin haec, meaning "this."

Second, quiddity: whatever makes something the type that it is: essence. (It also means quirk or eccentricity.) It derives from the Latin quid, meaning "what."

So there are (at least) two really good words for essence, a rather inchoate notion, and yet I can't find a word for the opposite of anarcho-libertarian? What's that about? If you've got any suggestions, send 'em my way.

*****************

Monterey County confirmed cases of Covid-19 today stand at 148; 4 fatalities.

Stay inside. Stay sane. Work on your vocabulary while you have this time. Stay healthy.

Covid-19: Death

Today I'm just going to post some links, because I don't have the energy. Today, I've been feeling profoundly sad at what is going on—all the lives lost.

So, the first link is to today's episode of This American Life, called "Black Box." Specifically, "Act Two: State of Emergency," in which "producer Miki Meek talks to two emergency medical service workers in New York about the sheer number of 911 calls they are responding to, and how they are coping under the stress of being on constant high alert." The calls are predominantly for cardiac arrests, but in almost all cases, the victims present with coronavirus symptoms. One call after another, without stop. I can't imagine. One of the workers even mentioned that when he got a call that was "just a normal suicide," it was a relief—simply, for the moment, not to have to worry about the virus. The episode is six minutes long. It's worth a listen.

Link #2: the obituary of John Horton Conway, a "magical genius" in math. As the New York Times sums him up, "He made profound contributions to number theory, coding theory, probability theory, topology, algebra and more—and created games from it all. He died of the coronavirus." One of the games is called the Game of Life, which he described as a "no-player, never-ending game." Randall Munroe, on his xkcd website, created an animated memorial to Dr. Conway in the style of the Game of Life. (It's also in the obituary.) He was proudest of discovering surreal numbers, and of conceptualizing the Free Will Theorem. Read the obituary. Conway was quite something.

And #3: I haven't written about the death of John Prine, and I won't now, but it still, almost two weeks later, feels like a huge loss—like we've all lost one of our best friends. His songs of the "in-between spaces," as he put it, are part of the musicscape of so many of us. I'm glad they will live on, but damn. Last year when he was inducted into the Songwriters Hall of Fame, he commented: "I gotta say, there’s no better feeling than having a killer song in your pocket, and you’re the only one in the world who’s heard it."

Here's the iconic "Angel from Montgomery" sung by him and Bonnie Raitt last November:

(And then, as if coronavirus isn't enough, I turn to FB and see a post about Nova Scotia: at least 16 dead in a shooting. In Nova Scotia. This after seeing frequent mentions that March was the first March since 2002 without a school shooting—only, of course, because schools are closed. The insanity persists. So tragic, so sad.)

So much death. RIP to all the souls who have left this earth.

**************

Monterey County's numbers crept up by 5, to 141, and there has now been a fourth fatality, a 72-year-old man.

Stay inside. Hug the ones you love (virtually as needed). Stay safe.

Covid-19: What is coronavirus?

Structure of a severe acute respiratory
syndrom–related coronavirus
virion

The other day I started exploring the question of coronavirus, but deflected into a more elementary look at viruses in general: what they are, how they work. Today I'm back to the original question, because unlike certain other flus we've been hit by in the past—e.g., the "Spanish" flu, H1N1 (1918); the Asian flu, H2N2 (1957); the Hong Kong flu, H3N2 (1968); or the swine flu, H1N1 again! (1999), coronavirus is never described with those Hs and Ns—which stand for the glycoprotein hemagglutinin and the enzyme neuraminidase, the molecules that stud a virus particle and allow attachment to "receptors" on cells. (The numbers describe the specific shapes of those molecules.) Nor are SARS and MERS, two other coronaviruses. Instead they have (if I'm understanding correctly) less specific "spike" glycoproteins—which is what makes them a lot harder to analyze and find a vaccine for. (Remember: four coronaviruses are responsible for the common cold, and there's no vaccine for that. Then again, the common cold doesn't kill.)

In my research (i.e., googling), I found a few interesting (and readable, written for laypeople) articles that address the novel coronavirus we are dealing with, SARS CoV-2. Rather than try to summarize them, I'll clip a couple of quotes and provide links. They do make for fascinating reading, as I, nonscientist that I am, try to make sense of this submicroscopic and potentially deadly world.

3D atomic scale map of the
SARS CoV-2 protein spike
which the virus uses to
invade human cells

First, in February, the coronavirus "spike" protein's genome was mapped, opening the way for a vaccine. As one of the researchers in question, Jason McLellan, explained:

Though the coronavirus uses many different proteins to replicate and invade cells, the spike protein is the major surface protein that it uses to bind to a receptor—another protein that acts like a doorway into a human cell. After the spike protein binds to the human cell receptor, the viral membrane fuses with the human cell membrane, allowing the genome of the virus to enter human cells and begin infection. So if you can prevent attachment and fusion, you will prevent entry. But to target this protein, you need to know what it looks like.

Hence: genome mapping.

Speaking of vaccines, here is an overview of "everything you need to know" about a coronavirus vaccine (maybe), and an article from Johns Hopkins on research being conducted there (both from March).

Then, responding to rumors that SARS CoV-2 might have been engineered in a lab in Wuhan, is "The Coronavirus Was Not Engineered in a Lab. Here's How We Know" by Jeanna Brynner. Here, researcher Kristian Andersen explained about looking

at the genetic template for the spike proteins that protrude from the surface of the virus. The coronavirus uses these spikes to grab the outer walls of its host's cells and then enter those cells. The [researchers] specifically looked at the gene sequences responsible for two key features of these spike proteins: the grabber, called the receptor-binding domain, that hooks onto host cells; and the so-called cleavage site that allows the virus to open and enter those cells.
 That analysis showed that the "hook" part of the spike had evolved to target a receptor on the outside of human cells called ACE2 [angiotensin-converting enzyme 2], which is involved in blood pressure regulation. It is so effective at attaching to human cells that the researchers said the spike proteins were the result of natural selection and not genetic engineering.

 In the above image, the ACE2 binding domain is green.

This is all heady, complicated stuff, and I suppose I could go on and on. But I'll stop there. Except I did find another YouTube video! Here you go: Pharmacology—Coronavirus Made Easy! It explains the spikes! And more.

Today's count for Monterey County: 136, up 17 from a couple of days ago; still only 3 deaths—whose ages, I learned today, were 97, 92, and 93.

Stay inside. Stay informed. Stay healthy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A couple of weeks later I found this excellent article: "Coronaviruses: A Brief History." So I am filing it here.

Covid-19: 1918 Influenza, redux

A couple of weeks ago I wrote about the "Spanish" flu from a personal point of view. Today it's been on my mind because of a Washington Post article I saw: "Europe Thinks It Is Past the Peak of the First Wave of Coronavirus." I don't usually respond to such things, but today I did, perhaps because I saw the story when it was only a few minutes old. I said, "Key words: 'first wave.' Without testing, we still don't know what sort of immunity there is in the general population." Which inspired a hearty—and generally polite and well-informed—conversation. Sometimes it's okay to read the comments.

Among the points raised (well, this one by me) was that the 1918 pandemic started in the spring, then quieted down, then reappeared in a particularly virulent second wave in the autumn. Someone remarked, "The second wave of the 1918 pandemic came because people left their homes to go out in the streets to celebrate the end of the war. Once they came out, thousands of new hosts were available to the virus. If they had stayed in, eventually the virus dies out with no hosts."

Of course, I had to check. And what I found is that (a) the second wave was due in part to infected soldiers returning from Europe en masse, but also that, yes, (b) there was one parade in particular that is tied to a catastrophic resurgence of the disease, in Philadelphia, in September 1918. It's called the Liberty Loan Parade, and was organized not to celebrate the war's end (which wasn't until that November), but to raise money for the war effort. The city's director of public health okayed the event, saying some fatalities earlier that month had stemmed from "old-fashioned influenza or grip," the "Spanish" flu being no longer a threat. Oh no? The details vary depending on the source (here, for example, is a thorough story in Smithsonian magazine on the hundredth anniversary of the parade; and here is one from last month in the WaPo), but the parade drew 200,000 spectators along a two-mile course. Within ten days, a thousand people had died, and some sixteen thousand by the following March.

The point I was making in pointing this second wave out is that we don't have immunity. And until we can do solid testing and tracking—or more to the point, have a vaccine—we are fools to think that this virus will "just go away" and we can "open back up" without serious restrictions in place. Perhaps not as severe as now; but perhaps so, I don't know—and the experts aren't issuing any guidance yet, so perhaps they don't either. We need to pay attention to history. The 1918 pandemic provides plenty of lessons, even if the world is very different today. Biology hasn't changed, though. And this thing isn't "just the flu."

Me, I'd much rather listen to a scientist than to the buffoon in the White House. Who today, by the way, was busy tweeting that his followers should "LIBERATE" Michigan, Virginia, and Minnesota—essentially, inciting insurrection. Which is illegal. But Comrade Teflon don't care. Comrade Teflon don't give a . . . Yeah, okay, don't get me started . . . (Anyway, here is our national treasure Heather Cox Richardson's take on 45's tweetorial antics today. And here is an eloquent fuck you from a frontline nurse.)

I am still inching my way through The Great Influenza by John Barry, and today found a nice little write-up on a talk he gave in 2005 at Johns Hopkins—a school that features prominently in his history. I'll leave you with that.

No new stats for Monterey County today.

Stay inside. Stay smart. Stay healthy.

Covid-19: Strategic National Stockpile

This afternoon I went for a drive over to Carmel Valley to meet a friend for a walk. On the way there, I listened to our governor, Gavin Newsom, expressing sincere gratitude to our front-line workers—in this case, grocery store checkers and stockers. He'd heard that they consider themselves "not essential, but disposable," in the current pandemic, and he wanted to make sure they knew: they are fighting the hero's fight, for all of us. His words brought tears to my eyes.

I got to the small parking area only to find it full up, and no friend in sight. A big black Jeep pulled out, releasing a spot, and I pulled in. Then waited. Texted my friend. Waited some more. Called her—no answer. So I left, and on the way home I listened to a fascinating interview by Meghna Chakrabarti with Greg Burel, former head of the Strategic National Stockpile. (The linked story also references other stories, from the WaPo, Time, and other news sites, about the SNS.)

It used to be I did all my radio listening while driving. I miss listening to the radio . . . Not that I can't continue to listen now. I just don't think about it when I'm not in my car!

Wikipedia has a seemingly good article on the history of the SNS. It got started, they say, in 1998 by Bill Clinton, after reading a novel by Richard Preston, The Cobra Event, about bioterror- ism. He convened military and medical experts, and within short order vaccine and pharmaceutical stockpiling for civilian use had been authorized, to be carried out by the Centers for Disease Control. (Such already existed for the military.) The Strategic Pharmaceutical Stock- pile became the Strategic National Stockpile in 2003, under joint management of the Department of Homeland Security and the Department of Health and Human Services.

As Wikipedia explains, the SNS is "the United States' national repository of antibiotics, vaccines, chemical antidotes, antitoxins, and other critical medical supplies," including respirators, masks, and so many items so sorely needed across this country right now. The stockpile is spread among secret locations throughout the country, and is worth some $7–8 billion. Most people don't have a clue that it exists—or, until recently, that they might actually need it. (Yet another case of a necessary government service that, being invisible, doesn't convince people that government itself is necessary.)

The USDHHS's Public Health Emergency website has more information as well. But then again, I'm not sure we can trust anything this administration allows to be published on dot-gov websites. On April 3, Jared Kushner claimed that "the notion of the federal stockpile was it’s supposed to be our [i.e., the federal government's] stockpile. It’s not supposed to be states’ stockpiles that they then use." Which is patently wrong, as Mr. Burel explained today.

God, I hate this "administration."

In any case, I heard only part of the interview today. Tomorrow I will set aside an hour to listen to it again.

And thank you so much to all our front-line responders. Thank you so. so. very. much . . .

Meanwhile, my friend? She just forgot about our walk. It's hard to keep track of time these days.

***************

Today's count for Monterey County: 119, up 11 since yesterday. Holding steady at 3 deaths.

Stay inside. Don't listen to people who say, "It's only the flu." Thank your grocery store checker. Stay healthy.

Covid-19: The Ears Have It

Yesterday I posted a plea on FB, asking for ideas for this blog. Sheltering in place doesn't provide a lot of stimulation, after all. I only got one suggestion, though: ears—perhaps a response to my statement that "I'm all ears."

Well, what better subject, then, than podcasts—specifically, podcasts focusing on the coronavirus. Fortunately, others have beat me to it, so my task is easy. Here are "the 7 best coronavirus podcasts," from an article published on March 20. And yes, I could just stop there and let you go to the link, but that would defeat my purpose here, wouldn't it?

The author of the article, Nicholas Quah, starts out by mentioning that the standard go-to's for solid news reporting are of course covering the virus as well: the New York Times's "Daily"; Vox Media's "Today, Explained"; Slate's "What Next"; and the Washington Post's "Post Reports." But not surprisingly, numerous more specialized podcasts have sprung up, of varying quality—hence the article's roundup of "the 7 best":

1. America Dissected: Coronavirus (Crooked Media), an offshoot of a fairly new podcast that looks at "America's deeply broken healthcare system and general relationship to science," hosted by physician and former city health commissioner Dr. Abdul El-Sayed.
2. Coronavirus Daily (NPR), allowing the listener to keep up with incremental developments in our battle with the pandemic.
3. Coronavirus: Fact vs. Fiction (CNN), brief segments hosted by CNN's chief medical correspondent Dr. Sanjay Gupta. "He'll make sense of the headlines, speak with the experts and give you all the information you need to stay safe and healthy."
4. Viral: Coronavirus (ThreeUncannyFour), sporadic episodes providing reassurance and guidance "without the hype and hysteria."
5. EPIDEMIC with Dr. Celine Gounder and Ronald Klain (Just Human Productions), a twice-weekly discussion by an infectious diseases specialist and the former U.S. ebola czar on the science and public policy implications of Covid-19.
6. Coronavirus Global Update (BBC World Service), "daily updates on the coronavirus and its impact on health, business, and travel."
7. Coronavirus Daily Briefing (Ride Home Media), a daily 15-minute update on the pandemic, including copious links to various related headlines on the website, for those wanting even more.

Happy listening!

*************
 County count is up 8, to 108; deaths, thankfully, holding steady at 3.

Stay inside. Stay safe. Stay sane.

Covid-19: New normal

The other day I encountered a thoughtful piece of writing by Julio Vincent Gambuto on what might come next, once we do start to "open back up." It is titled "Prepare for the Ultimate Gaslighting," and it explores how they (you know who they are) will be working untiringly to return us to exactly the same overconsuming, underfulfilled, unsustainable, alienated place we were before everything came to a crashing halt. They will do this by trying to convince us that all this never happened: It was just a glitch! Forget about it! Back to normal!

Gambuto's point is that we are now in a remarkable position to soberly weigh what we really want our own lives, our society, our world, to be like as we begin to move forward again. Many of us (not all of us by any means: some of us really are struggling right now, even more than before) have been given an opportunity to not just slow down, but to stop and reevaluate our blessings, and our true needs in life. What comes next can be a time of positive change as we reach out to others less fortunate than us; work hard to bring about a more people-focused, less power-hungry government (out with the GOP); fight for a healthier environment—and more. There's so much that needs doing, so much distraction, denial, disinformation, and destruction to undo.

It is quite an opportunity. I'd like to be able to say, let's not screw it up. Unfortunately, my hopes aren't high.

Then again, the GOP (including five SCOTUS "justices") did not succeed in their attempt to derail last week's bid by Jill Karofsky for a seat on the Wisconsin Supreme Court, and I keep seeing prognostications that Texas could turn blue, which might then send other southern states blue, so . . . maybe, just maybe, the tide is already turning. Fingers crossed.

To close, here's Stephen Colbert—because he's wise, because he's funny, and because at the end he gives us a way to help others even now, during this unusual time.

Or, now I see that Trevor Noah is on board with "the great reopening debate," so here's a little more for you to (perhaps) enjoy (with a plug for Feed America at the end, for another giving opportunity):

 
Enjoy!

*****************

Today's count for Monterey County: 100 confirmed cases of Covid-19; holding steady at 3 deaths.

Stay inside. Stay hopeful. Stay well.

Covid-19: Food shopping

As I mentioned early on in these posts about the virus, my husband and I are accustomed to taking dinner plans a day at a time. Late afternoon comes around and we'll have three options: scrounge leftovers (or make nachos), go out to a restaurant, or head to the market and buy some groceries. The last option may involve me seeking out an interesting recipe, if I am cooking; if David's cooking, we usually just go for the basic animal protein, green veg, and rice/potato accompaniment. A typical week sees us paying a visit to the market four, five, even six times.

All that has changed now. I haven't set foot in our local Safeway in . . . is it over a week? That time, the store had supplied six-foot-spacing floor tiles for checkout, and we were only allowed up to the conveyor belt one at a time, as the checker had to wipe the belt down between each order. There weren't that many shoppers on that occasion, so I don't know if they are limiting the number of people allowed inside at once, as they are at Trader Joe's and Whole Foods.

We are getting low on scroungeables in the fridge, so tomorrow I am going to have to get real and draw up a shopping list. Then . . . go shopping. I am not especially happy about it. But, we gotta eat.

Friends of mine have been shopping remotely: sending in an order online, or shopping by phone, with the shopper explaining what's actually available (substitutions are the norm). I'm not sure I could do that. Well, I could, but I'd probably have a lot less variety in my diet. I like to browse, see what catches my eyes while having a conversation with my stomach and taste buds—they get a say too.

I've even been having trouble ordering takeout food, never mind that familiar menus from our favorite haunts are available online. But it's not the same as sitting in a restaurant, smelling the food that wafts by, seeing the bustle in the kitchen, enjoying the ambience of the dining room full of fellow patrons, and again—checking in with my taste buds as I peruse the menu. "What are we in the mood for, hmmmm? Artichoke-truffle ravioli? Diavola pizza? Or something else entirely, for a change of pace?"

This afternoon we went out to stock up on wine and beer at BevMo. On the way, David remarked that we needed some cat kibble, and PetExpress is more or less on the way. We might as well pick up some canned food as well, he said.

But when we got there, it seemed there was curbside pickup of online orders only! We got out of the car to investigate further, and no, thankfully, it wasn't that draconian. However, the store itself was blocked off—no browsing. The young woman sweeping up said she could help us, and asked what kind of kibble we wanted. It took a moment for us to remember the brand. After all, we usually just look for the right packaging on the shelves: the pretty metallic pink and copper bags. But we finally mustered up the name, and she went and got what we needed: salmon (à la veg, but who's counting), chicken (also à la veg), game bird, and salmon-tunachovy. Yes, the cats eat better than we do; and no, they couldn't care less about all the variety—as long as we don't try to feed them beef. 

For the canned food, we will have to go online. And hopefully they will supply photos. Because that's how we shop: by looking.

BevMo, same but worse: only online or via email. No friendly person at the door to ask if they could help. Fortunately, when it comes to wine and beer labels we do have a better idea of names; we've got our favorites. It shouldn't be hard. Fingers crossed.

I am adaptable. The current situation requires me to be a bit more strategic than usual, less in the moment. But it won't last forever. And in the meantime, I can think of it as cultivating new skills. Nothing wrong with that.

Meanwhile, tonight was the last of our leftovers. Tomorrow, mac and cheese with tuna, with fresh salad? I think we have enough to scrape together one more decent evening meal on Wednesday. So that means, Safeway run Thursday. I will prepare myself.

*****************

Today's numbers for Monterey County: same as yesterday; updates no doubt coming.

Stay inside. Stay hydrated. Stay healthy.

 

Covid-19: Poem

So far for the past few weeks I've found something in the day's events, or in my personal explorings, to relate to Covid-19 in a constructive way. Today, I'm simply tired of it all—the *president's ignorance and narcissism and greed, and the GOP's pandering; the rising numbers of deaths, the fear shimmering everywhere; the fact that so many people were unable to gather in community to celebrate their holidays of Passover and Easter (though people did celebrate, of course they did—even if the community convened via computer screen).

So today I'm simply going to offer a poem that, to me, in a way speaks to what we're going through—or perhaps to "it all."

The Way It Is

William Stafford

There's a thread you follow. It goes among
things that change. But it doesn't change.
People wonder about what you are pursuing.
You have to explain about the thread.
But it is hard for others to see.
While you hold it you can't get lost.
Tragedies happen; people get hurt
or die; and you suffer and get old.
Nothing you do can stop time's unfolding.
You don't ever let go of the thread.


And although we can't stop time's unfolding, there are things we do have it in our power to control—one of which would have been, as a nation, to confront this pandemic vigorously and early on. Today a friend posted an 80-page sheaf of emails that were sent by several dozen officials and medical experts starting as early as January 28, trying to impress on our "leadership" what was coming.
They knew . . .

They knew.

**************

Today the number of confirmed Covid-19 cases in Monterey County rose by another 5 since yesterday, to 87; the number of deaths, thankfully, remains at 3.

Stay inside. Stay vigilant. Stay positive. Stay well.

Covid-19: Masks

Commuters in Tokyo

As of yesterday, Angelenos are required to wear masks when they go out for "essential" services. This includes not just customers and clerks at grocery stores, drug stores, hardware stores, and pharmacies, but also workers in the gig economy—ride-share drivers, food and grocery delivery folks—and professionals providing social services, including domestic counseling, gang intervention, and homeless assistance. Also included in the order, according to the LA Times, are "hotel and laundry workers, plumbers, electricians, exterminators, custodial/janitorial workers, handyman services, funeral home workers, moving services, HVAC installers, carpenters, day laborers, landscapers and gardeners, and property managers."

Here in Monterey County, no such order exists, and I doubt it will: our infection rate has remained  slow, and it's easier to practice social distancing in our low-density environment. Which doesn't mean I'm not seeing lots of masks. People are erring on the side of caution. Good for them.

That said, my husband, David, has to go to his workplace sometime next week to pick up a few things he needs to teach a special class—and his workplace is requiring anyone entering the campus to wear a mask.

He mentioned that to me on our afternoon walk, said that's his plan for tomorrow: to make a mask or two.

While I was waiting for the dog to do his business, however, I checked email and saw a notice from our local weekly paper that some kind souls, parents at a private school in town, are "donating 42,000 masks to the Monterey County Health Department, Community Hospital of the Monterey Peninsula, Seaside Family Health Center, Monterey County Emergency Operations Center, Salinas Police Department, post offices, Meals on Wheels volunteers, and others." It just so happened, "others" included the general community—and today: as long as you could get to a certain parking lot by 6 p.m., a mask could be yours!

That would solve David's problem. We jumped in the car and headed over. But all we found was a few other puzzled-looking folks, who didn't know anything; they'd just arrived. One thing was clear, though: there were no masks in sight. I wonder if there was such a run that the donors ran out right away.

In any case, it looks like David will be sewing a mask or two tomorrow after all. Though first he's going to check with a friend who's been making them. If she doesn't have any left, I'm sure she'll share her pattern.

Here's a video on the effectiveness and importance of masks, by Jeremy Howard, a research scientist at the University of San Francisco. It's interesting—and it includes a crafting lesson: how to make your own mask out of a t-shirt. That bit starts at about 6:45.

He also made a video about the Czech Republic's decision to require all citizens to wear a mask (it's here), and a week ago one Viktor Novomestsky commented: "As a Czech citizen, I can tell you that it's really working. To this day, there are 3,257 cases of Covid-19 in Czech, and 'only' 31 deaths. The decision to make it mandatory had really a huge effect (of course besides other measures, as closing the borders, airports, state-wide quarantine etc.). But compared to other EU countries, we are doing really extremely well." There is a $400 fine for not wearing a mask. Even nudists have to wear one! Indeed, many other comments on the above video are from other Czechs who wonder, "Why aren't Americans wearing masks?"

Well, maybe more of us will be wearing them as this plays out. In the meantime, I'm considering if I have any clothes in my closet that I no longer wear but whose fabric I still enjoy. Maybe I'll make a donation to David's mask-making project.

**************

Current stats for Monterey County: 82 confirmed cases (up from 71 yesterday, but not all in one day; it seems some new cases were added over the past week as more testing has been done); deaths remain at 3. Interestingly, 45 percent of cases are in people under 35; only 24 percent in people over 55.

Stay inside. Go outside—wear a mask? Whatever you do, stay healthy.

Covid-19: Immunity

Today I'm trying to better understand how immunity works—again through the entertaining medium of YouTube. The first source I found on googling is excellent (and fairly advanced), but it's all through Vimeo or slide shows, so I can only share the link here. Nonetheless, it's well worth viewing: Harvard Medical School's "How the Body Reacts to Viruses."

But back to YouTube. Here's a nice video that explores the history of the discovery of immunity and of the power of vaccination:

Here's an animation from TED, a source I trust, from a couple of years ago: "How Does Your Immune System Work?"

Here's an animation on the same topic from Kurzgesagt ("In a Nutshell"), a source I know nothing about, but the video is humorous! And educational. It's about bacterial infection, but infection is infection.

Handwritten Videos (similarly unvetted) tackles the immune system as well—by Sharpie:

Well, that's good for starters. I'll be studying up. One thing I've learned in doing this research is that I'm fortunate (and glad) to have so many millions of soldiers in my own personal army of protectors. They work hard.

P.S. Kurzgesagt put together (their fastest ever) a video on the coronavirus specifically; it was posted on March 19 and quickly became the most viewed Kurzgesagt video ever, with 21 million views as of five days ago. People do want to understand what's going on. That's good.

Though that said, today a FB friend of mine, who I rather thought was informed and reflective, posted a comment: "Just a side thought... There have been WAY more deaths this year from Influenza in the USA than from Covid-19." Fortunately, he got push-back—including from me, of course. This sort of ignorance is so rampant in this country. It's baffling. And it doesn't need stirring up.

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Today's count for Monterey County: 71 confirmed cases (up 2 since yesterday); still 3 deaths.

Stay inside. Stay healthy. Stay sane.

Covid-19: Playing hooky

Playing hooky, that is, from Covid-19: I spent the whole day outdoors! With a friend! Doing work! Sixty-two miles from the place I've been sheltering for three weeks!

Before you protest that this is irresponsible, I will just say: we saw not a single soul (except those passing us in vehicles and a few random individuals along the roadside), so there was no danger of getting too close. To anyone, that is, but Lynn. And although I couldn't 100 percent vouch that she's been sheltering responsibly herself, well, I know Lynn, and yeah: 98 percent for sure. She is the epitome of responsibility. Which I can't necessarily say for any of the people I keep my distance from in the supermarket or at restaurants serving me takeout or passing too close on the trail. So I felt as safe as it gets.

Not only that, but spending four hours in the car jabbering with a smart, engaged, interested, interesting person was exactly what I needed, after three weeks not socializing except by phone. (Which is not to say my husband is not smart, engaged, etc.—he certainly is all that. But he's not much of a jabberer. And: variety is the spice of life. Right?)

I always learn so much from Lynn, whether it's something about history—today, for example, it was the homesteaders along the Big Sur coast in the late 1800s, and the sawmill operations making redwood railroad ties; or what we're watching on TV—Ozark and Intelligence came up; podcasts—Radiolab lately on Covid-19, and some of the things she's learned about this virus and other viruses; our personal tastes in music—we seem to largely agree. And so forth.

And then there was the place we went: Mill Creek, a gorgeous redwood canyon that I had never before visited. And the work we did: spot maintenance of the trail, which mostly meant cleaning up some sloppily sawn trees that were just left at the trail's very edge, plus one campfire ring clean-out and rebuild. The spot maintenance was largely aesthetic, since the trail was mostly quite passable; but who wants topsy-turvy lopped-off tree limbs lining the way? We did also remove a few down trees from the trail itself: practical work.

Mostly, it was just a great pleasure to enjoy the redwoods, the rushing creek, the mounding carpets of redwood sorrel (Oxalis oregana), the occasional not-yet-spent flowers of Trillium ovatum—whose common name, delightfully, is Western Wakerobin—the misting fog. Also the walking, the sawing, the lopping, the shoveling of ash and tossing of rocks—the work itself. In excellent company.

Here are some photos I took (click on them to see them large on black):

Mill Creek Trailhead

A lovely campsite. If we'd been in the wilderness, the structure
would have been a violation and we would have dismantled it.
But we were simply in National Forest, so it got to stay.
The campfire, however, was overbuilt . . .

. . . and so we made it more modestly enjoyable

Turkey tail fungus (Trametes versicolor)

Trillium flower

Redwood sorrel, with flower and raindrops

Closeup of the redwood sorrel flower, with insects

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Today's stats for Monterey County seem to be the same as yesterday: 69 confirmed cases, 3 deaths.

Stay inside (says the gadabout). Stay safe. Stay healthy.

Covid-19: A Thursday drive

Comanche's grave: MacDonald got
special permission from the army
to bury her on post

For our afternoon walk today, we went to the former army base known as Fort Ord (now BLM land and a National Monument)—to a path that I think of as Sgt. MacDonald’s trail because of a road dedicated to him that we pass by. He was in the Horse Cavalry during his army career. We usually walk out to the grave of Comanche, MacDonald’s horse for 23 years after he left the service in 1965 and became a maintenance worker on post. He’d ride her in ceremonial occasions, often dressed in historic military garb. It was a nice walk; a fair number of people, as usual these days, but mostly wide trails or roads, so social distance was easy to maintain. (In fact, the road we do use to reach the horse’s grave is called the Jerry Smith Corridor, after a county supervisor. But I still call it Sgt. MacDonald’s trail, because it leads to Comanche.)

As we got in the car to head home I asked, “What about taking the long way back—going for a drive?” And so we did: kept going on Inter-Garrison Road, turned at East Garrison to meet up with Reservation Road (I remembered wistfully the days when I’d meet a friend to go bike riding at what actually was the decrepit old East Garrison, as opposed to the fancy housing development it is now). It was a treat to wind along just above the fields of Salinas—to see distance and space and vegetables growing in the fields. The dirt back parking lot into Creekside Terrace has been blocked off with boulders, but people were parked along the road; likewise, the main Creekside parking area is closed, but dozens of cars were parked at the bottom of the hill outside the gate. People will go hiking. Field workers were harvesting lettuce—they are essential workers, of course.

It had been three weeks since we’d ventured much farther than our local surroundings—the supermarket, a two-minute drive; a couple of restaurants serving takeout, ten minutes away max in opposite directions; a couple of walking spots that are a five-minute drive. So it was wonderful just to go for a drive on a beautiful afternoon. It took us maybe twenty, twenty-five minutes. What luxury!

Once we turned from Reservation Road onto Highway 68, we were hugged by brilliant green—the hills are in their springtime glory right now. And then we started seeing the blankets of purple lupine: they obviously are loving all the rain we’ve gotten in the last few weeks. It did my heart—and eyes!—such good to see the Technicolor lushness as well as to feel the openness of all that land, something I’ve been missing on our local little walks. I’d forgotten how used I am to ranging and roaming. I can’t wait until that’s the norm again.

But of course, I must wait. In the meantime, though, I may well sneak in the occasional drive—not to reach a destination, but simply for the pleasure of getting out and about. And remembering the beauty that remains all around.

(Photos are from my archive.)

Monterey's numbers jumped a few in the past couple of days as statistics have been updated. We now stand at 69 confirmed cases, and sadly there's been another death to bring the count to 3.

Stay inside. Stay safe. Stay healthy.