Showing posts with label WFH. Show all posts
Showing posts with label WFH. Show all posts

April 3, 2022

WFH: Week One Hundred Eight

This week marks the official end to full-time working from home. Starting tomorrow, we're supposed to be in the office three days per week. [Technically speaking.]

Practically speaking, there's some wiggle room—probably through the end of the year. Our leadership recognizes that we need to re-adjust our lives after two years of working from home, and some people are still uncomfortable about being in the office, mixing with lots of people, indoors.

I've made the pilgrimmage a couple of times during the “optional” return-to-office period; for all but one of those visits, I received a follow-up message that someone who had been in one of the same buildings had tested positive for COVID-19 ... (despite the requirement to be vaccinated, or have a valid exemption, to work onsite).

How about we reckon with whether the old way of doing things really made sense?

I'm all for being onsite if we're getting together as a group, brainstorming in a room with a whiteboard.

But to sit in conference rooms all day, meeting with colleagues in far-flung offices? Nope. I can do that from home—and not resent early-morning meetings with folks in Europe and late-day meetings with folks on the other side of the Pacific.

Have we forgotten how most of our team members sat at their desks wearing headphones, so they could effectively concentrate on their work in our open-plan office environment? [Sure, a serendipitous conversation would occasionally break through.]

Count me in the less-than-enthusiastic camp about returning. And certainly with no plan to spend 90 minutes or more of my day sealed up on a commuter shuttle bus.

I did get my hair chopped off, though. I could say that it was time to look respectable again, but in reality it had just become a nuisance.

Our county has recorded 310,016 cases of COVID-19 and 2,272 deaths—well over twice the number of cases, but only 135 more deaths, than the last time I shared these numbers (Week 62). I know many more people who've contracted the virus (some, more than once); fortunately none required hospitalization.

December 31, 2021

Farewell to 2021

Wrapping up another year with a somewhat random assortment of little things, starting with some bright foliage on a winter's day.
This year I learned about the U.S. Postal Service's Operation Santa program when a colleague suggested we form a team to fulfill some wishes. As one of Santa's elves, I adopted letters from five children and spread some Christmas magic.
Strolling back from one of those trips to the post office, I was surprised to find several goats (and a dog) tethered to some lampposts. Their nomadic herdsman emerged from the library, a stopover on his way from place to place.
I'm still working from home (week 95), with occasional visits to the office (once that became possible). My hair is even longer, I've shed another pound, I've gotten vaccinated, boosted, and have managed to stay healthy. I lost a distant member of my extended family (who had serious pre-existing health issues) to Covid-19.
I developed a fairly regular cycling routine, which led to climbing more than 102,000 feet over more than 3,000 miles. I'd planned to climb up Bernal once a month, but fell short; my last climb was in May. Shorter days turned after-work rides to after-work hikes, until our timekeeping switched from daylight savings to standard.
For some variety, I finally explored a hilly neighborhood park that I'd long meant to visit.
A tomato plant sprouted unexpectedly in early May. It wasn't the variety I normally cultivate; maybe it was my reward for pressing a (spoiled) cherry tomato into that box?
Springtime gusts sent an empty bird's nest to the ground, and I was astonished see some of my own hair woven into it. A bit of lint, and hair, does escape the filter and make its way out of the clothes dryer's vent; I'm guessing that's how my avian friend scavenged it. I surely would have noticed if a bird had plucked (!) any strands from my head. [There's a newly-coined word for that: kleptotrichy.]
The Computer History Museum recognized Lillian Schwartz with a Fellow award (albeit without the fancy celebration that would have happened in the Before Times). Those of us who tuned in live had a creative opportunity to honor Lillian and her art by contributing to a word cloud.
Words of inspiration. Words to live by. In the year ahead, and thereafter.

July 25, 2021

WFH: Week Seventy-Two

Welcome to the workplace.

I found the tattered balloon arch ironically fitting (though I'm sure they meant well).

We now have the option to return to the office, and a few of my colleagues had eagerly done so. (Not I.)

Despite all the protocols (e.g., complete a survey each day, attesting to your lack of symptoms or exposure), within the first three days some had received messages that a person who'd visited the same building on the same day had tested positive for Covid-19.

I spent no more than a few (masked) minutes indoors. I cleaned up my desk; after 15 months, surely I didn't need whatever papers were still scattered there.

I ate my lunch outside, alone. And was pleased to enjoy a walk through a now-thriving restored natural habitat.

A few days later, I received a message that someone who'd visited one of the same buildings had tested positive ...

May 16, 2021

WFH: Week Sixty-Two

A very important milestone for me this week: I am, at last, considered fully vaccinated against COVID-19!

When I successfully booked the appointment for my first shot I was, in a word, stunned. To be honest, I had been deeply cynical. Congratulations, you're eligible! Good luck trying to get scheduled.

After several tries over the course of two days, when I landed a slot it felt like I'd won the lottery. I was surprised at how happy, how relieved—euphoric, even—I felt. Post-shot, I discovered Tweety Bird on my arm—which brought another smile to my face!

I don't think I've ever felt lucky to run a fever and have chills before, but on the day after my second shot those reassured me that my immune system was working.

I'm not planning any radical adjustments to my lifestyle, but I welcome the chance to spend more time in the company of my vaccinated friends. And even though I have been comfortable joining (socially-distanced) groups for our club's rides, I had held back from leading rides until I'd had my first shot.

When will I feel comfortable returning to the office? The plans are uncertain, and ... let's just say, I'm not eager to be in the vanguard.

Nearly one million county residents are now fully vaccinated (nearly half the population). Still, the county has tallied 118,569 reported cases of COVID-19, and tragically 2,137 confirmed deaths—which is heartbreaking and horrible to contemplate.

March 7, 2021

WFH: Week Fifty-Two

There was a hint of color in the sky, on my evening walk. I've been encouraging down-in-the-dumps colleagues to get outside. Even if they just take a walk around the block. Fresh air, sunshine ... it's not hard to give a wide berth to others you might encounter.

It's been a full year since I transitioned to working from home. Our team has demonstrated good productivity, despite all challenges. Structured social engagement (video calls for morning coffee, afternoon tea) has mostly withered away. There is an expectation that we will return to the office, in some form, this fall; my position on that is: Wait and see. If it entails wearing a mask for the entire day, that would make me miserable. If it means sitting in a conference room on video calls with remote colleagues, well ... I can do that at home.

To brighten my days, and mark the passage of time, I decided I wanted a page-a-day calendar. Torn between two (birds, and nature scenes), I picked up both.

My last haircut was in February, 2020. By the second time restrictions were relaxed, I didn't see the point. I fully expected another lockdown, leading to another awkward growing-out period. [I was right.] My hair may soon be longer than it has ever been. I'm kind of used to it now, and some people have commented that it looks good.

Cheerful sidewalk chalk art is a thing of the past. Face masks (cloth, or single-use) litter the sidewalks and roadways.

I'm trying to bike more regularly; when our club couldn't host rides, I'd plot a simple route and my chief ride buddy would join me. That way, we could look out for each other. All the spring and summer cycling events have been canceled, postponed, or gone “virtual.”

I continue to minimize my time indoors around other people—because, I can. For me, the calculus has been straightforward: “If I do Thing X, permanently wreck my health or die as a result, will I have thought it was worth it?” Not surprisingly, the answer is: No. No weekend getaways. No restaurant dining. No social gatherings.

I'm not eligible to be vaccinated, yet; there isn't enough vaccine, still, for everyone who is eligible (and wants the shots). I know at least 11 people who have been vaccinated; their reactions have ranged from nothing, or a sore arm, to headache, fever, and fatigue, to much worse. I also know at least 12 people who contracted the virus (and recovered). “Do. Not. Get It.” they counseled. [Well, that's my plan.] Of those 12, at least one person tested negative, but subsequently had antibody results that were off the charts. At least three were presumptive cases (not tested, but symptomatic—two with family members who did test positive). I have not lost any friends or family members, but I know people who have.

The week closed with 111,839 reported cases of COVID-19 in our county, and 1,859 confirmed deaths. Which [see above] is an undercount.

December 31, 2020

2020 Retrospective

Herewith, some signs of the times.

I got my happy smile from a neighbor's weekly update during late summer:

I'm still working from home (week 43), and there is a cadence to my productivity level. I've learned, when it dips, to take some time off. When my colleagues ask what my plans are, I doubt they're surprised to hear: “To be not in front of a computer screen for 8-9 hours per day.” It's that simple.

Of course, I have ridden my bike: something more than 1,376 miles and 68,200 feet of climbing, my lowest stats since I started keeping records in 2005. A more interesting statistic, I think, is that the miles I drove weren't much more than that.

My last haircut was in February; it hasn't been this long since I was a teenager. There were a few months where I could have gotten it trimmed, but I expected that the salons would be shuttered again (true, that). Once it was long enough to tie back, why would I cut it only to grow it out again? One day, on a whim, I put it up in pigtails—unexpectedly to the delight of my colleagues.

Thanks to a semi-regular exercise routine and healthy meals, I've shed about eight pounds. I sleep better when I get some exercise, even if it's just a walk around town. I've come to prefer the side streets—not only are there fewer people to pass, the neighborhoods are more interesting than the main drag.

Some colleagues have moved out of the area, and I'm sad that our paths will rarely (if ever) cross again. Moving to the Bay Area was the right choice, for me; I don't expect to stray far from this place.

I am comfortable living in a region with more diversity, not less; though I was surprised to learn (from our health department's COVID-19 updates) that the majority demographic in our county is Asian.

May we look back to the challenges of 2020 as a low point in our lives, and look forward to more love, kindness, and healing in the years ahead.

July 26, 2020

WFH: Week Twenty

The oleanders bloom all summer. And here we are, late July and week twenty of working from home.

When I was growing up, it was during the summer that I realized my mom had scheduled the rhythm of our life. One day was designated for housecleaning, one for grocery shopping, one for laundry. If the weather cooperated, there were beach days, too.

And so it is now, for me. Saturdays, of course, are for cycling! I've found the optimal (early morning) days for grocery shopping, and Sundays are for laundry: I tug the sheets off the bed with me as I rise, and they're washed (and sometimes dried) before I finish my breakfast.

Sundays are also for the occasional stroll to the local farmers' market. I've optimized my route, shunning the busy sidewalks for a (shadier!) back street. They've chalked socially-distant circles to help us line up at the booths, but that does nothing for the clueless who simply gather in the middle of it all to chat. Like the guy who stood less than two feet behind me, mask pulled down, gabbing with two (masked) friends.

This is why we can't have nice things.

He was facing away from me; I edged myself slightly forward, anyway. That seemed safer than asking him to move, or (imagine!) wear his mask.

Last week I was excited to score an appointment for a haircut, a luxury I haven't enjoyed since February. Salons in our county got the all-clear to open on Monday; before the day arrived, the county reversed itself and shut everything down again as of the end of Tuesday. In the grand scheme of things, my (now) ponytail simply is what it is: a reminder of the passage of time.

June 7, 2020

WFH: Week Thirteen

Last week, I felt it was time to reduce the frequency of these dispatches, as I will be working from home for (possibly) the rest of this year. But this week, I do have some words to say.

I don't know what the history books will make of this ugly period in our nation's history, but it will not be kind. (Nor, should it be.)

I watched footage of protesters, having stopped traffic on one of our local freeways, bashing at the windows of the trapped cars. I felt terrified, and I wasn't even one of those drivers. I recognized that I am privileged not to feel afraid as I go about the ordinary business of living my life.

Are we the only species that has evolved to be cruel? To take satisfaction, or even pleasure, from inflicting suffering on others? I don't know anyone who raised their children to be cruel; but if, for some sad reason, your family did, please ... rise above it.

I am old enough to remember the tumult that swelled during the 1960's. My family fled the city for the suburbs, and it took me a few days to sort out what was unsettling about my new school.

All the faces were white.

My urban school hadn't been heavily integrated, but there were black and brown faces among my classmates. Even as a child, I found myself uncomfortable in a place where everyone looked just like me.

Last fall, I waited to cross a major thoroughfare that bisects our campus. A family (mom, dad, and toddler in a stroller) waited alongside me. I wondered why they were there; not because they were Black, but because the nearest park and the nearest residential area is some distance away.

I smiled at them. The father scowled at me. “Are you one of them geniuses that work here?” he asked.

Ouch. There was a lifetime of pain behind that question.

“No,” I smiled, “but I work with some!” The walk signal started counting down. It's a wide street, but the normally impatient drivers waited without turning across our path.

“Hah,” I said. “We got some respect, for your baby; normally they just drive right on through.” That led to a little pleasant conversation before we parted ways, and I left wondering what that toddler's life experience will be. Better than that of her parents, I hoped.
I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.
More than 56 years have passed—a lifetime, for some—since Martin Luther King Jr. spoke those words. The content of the character of too many of our leaders, and fellow citizens, is appalling.

May 31, 2020

WFH: Week Twelve

I had a most unusual dream this week: I was walking down the aisle of a supermarket, and there on the shelf were a few packages of toilet paper. And facial tissues. [True story.]

When the novel coronavirus emerged, I took in the news with some alarm—at a distance. I'd understood, in an academic way, that such an event was possible (inevitable, really). I just didn't expect to see it, in my lifetime.

As the pandemic began to build, I was grateful for the privilege to switch to working from home. But at the same time, I could not see how this would end.

As the virus began to spread in our county, I was grateful for the protective course set by our leaders. I was puzzled that people were hoarding bottled water and toilet paper. I did not expect that, three months later, our markets would still be struggling to stock even facial tissue.

I surveyed my food supply; would I have enough to eat if I needed to quarantine myself for two weeks? And if I became sick, what might I want to eat?

I surveyed my medicine cabinet; I didn't have enough fever-reducing medication to get through one week. I was not alone in that anxiety; the shelves had been stripped bare, everywhere. It was a massive relief when I found one last box at my local pharmacy.

As more became known about symptoms and severity, having a pulse oximeter seemed sensible—the better to notice a decline in lung function before too much damage might be done.

Working from home is now the norm, not the novelty. Our team can work effectively, but so many opportunities that organically develop from serendipitous connections and conversations are lost, now.

I believe the safest course is to minimize close, unprotected or prolonged interactions with other people, and I can do that. Even as restrictions are relaxed, I will watch, and wait.

Five years ago this week I found comfort venturing out on a simple and familiar route: just one hill to climb.

The week opened with a confirmed 2617 cases of COVID-19 in our county, and closed with 2776 (a 6.1% increase).

The end is not in sight. One hill at a time.

May 24, 2020

WFH: Week Eleven

Ten years ago this week I pedaled up a difficult hill to watch a stage of the Tour of California. The organizers pulled the plug on this year's race, long before COVID-19 emerged.

This was a short week (thanks to an extra day off) during which ... nothing remarkable happened. And, like so many others, I'm feeling a bit housebound—despite getting out and biking 59 miles.

I found that free day to be surprisingly unsettling. Is this what it would be like to retire without a plan? Wake up with nothing to do, nowhere to go, no one to visit? Sure, there are plenty of chores I've endlessly deferred, but at some point I'll work my way through all of them. [It will take a while, truth be told.]

But then, what?

My life has been pretty structured for a long time. Monday through Friday, work (and sometimes bike). Saturday, bike. Sunday is typically reserved for chores and puttering around. (And sometimes for biking.) Special events, weekend getaways, and longer trips are plotted on the calendar.

Now, what?

The week opened with a confirmed 2453 cases of COVID-19 in our county, and closed with 2617 (a 6.7% increase). That's trending in the wrong direction, but a consequence of more testing or more viral transmission?

May 17, 2020

WFH: Week Ten

Friday morning my heart sank when I discovered that my clock had stopped. How would I get it repaired, now? Wait a sec ... 4:05 (give or take, the clock had been running a little fast) ... I woke up during the night and thought it was odd that the window blinds were rattling, ever so slightly. The windows were closed, no breeze ... was it an earthquake?! [Yup.] Evidently it woke me, though I didn't feel the wave; yet it was strong enough to interfere with the swinging pendulum of my clock, the epicenter more than 250 miles away.

During my morning workouts, I have been exercising my brain by watching the original Cosmos series. Sometimes I need a break and listen to a contemporary podcast, instead. And sometimes, I get stuck. I've watched episodes 8 and 9 two or three times.

Why did the nuclear force sound like magic, to me? Protons, electrons, and neutrons I remember from basic chemistry, but (alas) I never studied physics. I was reminded of a time—long before we had the world of knowledge at our fingertips [thanks, Google]—when I approached a colleague with a physics degree: “I abase myself before you, but ... I realized today that I don't remember how gravity works.” He laughed. [cf. Gravitation]

And speaking of Google, of course I was familiar with the origin of the name. But I had never before heard the term googolplex (Episode 9), and now I see just how clever a name is the Googleplex.

The dissonant yellow blossoms that pop up on my red salvia bush seem out of place, but remind us that the world is imperfect. I'm grateful to be working, grateful to have work as a distraction, and grateful to be able to work from home. This is my life in 2020, and I see no change on the horizon.

Ten years ago this week I enjoyed one of my favorite organized rides, Strawberry Fields Forever. This year's edition has been postponed, optimistically, to October.

Five years ago, I lost my mom. It has been five years, already? I was fortunate to spend most of her last day with her. That morning, I knew. Somehow I understood that day would be her last. Both of her children were at her side, bringing her whatever comfort and peace of mind might come from knowing that she was not alone when she took her last breath that night—a privilege that all-too-many heartbroken families cannot have, today.

Long before I heard Carl Sagan intone “We are made of star stuff,” I absorbed it from Joni Mitchell:
Well maybe it's the time of year
Or maybe it's the time of man ...

We are stardust
Billion-year-old carbon ...

Life is for learning.
The week opened with a confirmed 2339 cases of COVID-19 in our county, and closed with 2453 (a 4.9% increase).

May 10, 2020

WFH: Week Nine

How about some local fauna to go with the local flora? Anna's hummingbirds enjoy my feeders as well as my garden.

One bonus of spending all this time at home is catching sight of some less common visitors. I've spotted a single Bewick's wren and Nuttall's woodpecker this spring. California scrub jays are common, including one that briefly perched with a stem or twig that looked to be a good 15 inches long; they must be nesting nearby. The crows can be quite pesky. I wondered what set them off yesterday at 6 a.m., when I woke to the most raucous ruckus I've heard to date.

The house finches have been flitting about; they had been nesting in the attic (!) but disappeared after I moved into the house, many years ago. (And after a determined squirrel took up residence, counter-measures were taken to screen off all favored points of entry.)

Most days, I take a break to enjoy my lunch outside. Western fence lizards quickly scurry for cover in the bushes when startled. Honey bees busy themselves with the lavender in my garden, while the bumbling black carpenter bees have better luck with the red salvia. (They're too heavy for the pliable lavender stems; I wonder how they manage to fly, at all.)

Ten years ago this week I conquered Fremont Peak, a climb I have rarely repeated.

One year ago I celebrated Bike to Work Day with like-minded colleagues; this year, the event has been pushed out to September ... but we may still be working at home.

This week, I ventured out on my first bike ride in ten weeks.

My victory for the week was upgrading my Internet service. Over the past two weeks, it had degraded to the point of being unusable (upstream, 600 kbps). To head off an expected disagreement with my service provider, I invested in a new modem, first. So far, so good ... 10 Mbps upstream. [Yes, that sounds pathetic to those of you who live in places with modern infrastructure.]

This week's entertainment included the rarely-seen By Jeeves. Sure, it wasn't a critical success; but, you know what? It was goofy. It made me laugh. And I haven't laughed in a while.

The week opened with a confirmed 2231 cases of COVID-19 in our county, and closed with 2339 (a 4.8% increase).

May 3, 2020

WFH: Week Eight

I'm sure our local transportaton agency had the best of intentions when they posted these signs, but ... they're rude. [My mode of transportation was my own two feet.]

I've been puzzled by the people I see walking (or biking) through the neighborhood—alone, not another human in sight—wearing masks. Puzzled by (healthy) colleagues struggling to get groceries delivered. Puzzled by people leaving packages, mail, and groceries in the garage for 24 hours or wiping them down with disinfectant. But, I'm over it. If it brings them peace of mind, let it be.

After all, there are still (still!) people who haven't gotten the memo, like the woman I saw during my walk who sneezed ... into her bare hand. [Sigh.] 'Tis the season for springtime allergies ... but sneeze into the crook of your arm. Please.

Everything gets dusted with yellow-green pollen, and here's a major source: oak trees in bloom.

Our first hot days of the season reminded me that I'd intended to make some curtain panels that will fit a particular bare window, to block the sun from baking my upstairs hallway and pumping heat into my office. How many times have I thought about that, and even taken measurements? [Don't ask.] This week, finally, I tackled the job. It was embarassingly easy (and quick).

Ten years ago this week I savored a springtime commute (by bicycle). Oh, how I miss those rides!

One year ago this week I pedaled through the damp redwood forest, despite being somewhat under the weather. That would not happen, now.

One month ago, I was 1.5 pounds heavier. I've settled into a workout routine that's 30 minutes of cardio, plus another ~15 minutes of resistance and floor exercises, four or more times per week. Supplemented with the occasional walk into town (it's still there!) and yard work.

When I made the first batch of this lentil soup a few weeks ago, I opted to keep it vegan. This time, I picked up the bacon it called for ... and that made all the difference.

A highlight for the week was a visit with my chief cycling buddy, spent chatting at a sensible healthy distance outdoors in the garden. We both needed that.

After watching On the Basis of Sex, a snippet of a poem by Mary Oliver echoed in my head:
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?
I think (I hope?) my time on the planet has been a net positive, albeit on a much smaller scale.

The week opened with a confirmed 2084 cases of COVID-19 in our county, and closed with 2231 (a 7.1% increase).

April 26, 2020

WFH: Week Seven

One last, perfect, red camellia of the season.

The time I spent washing windows last Sunday was well invested. Spotted with dirt, I was finding them increasingly dispiriting now that I spend most days gazing at the world through them. [Of course, that also meant it rained on Monday.] Eight down, eight to go. [Or fourteen, if I get ambitious.]

There are more vehicles driving out of the neighborhood. People are getting antsy; I can understand that. This is all starting to feel less like an interlude and more like the next act of the play we call “real life.”

Lots of people are walking, and biking, through the neighborhood. Tempting as it is to ride, I have taken the conservative approach and stayed off the bike. Because, however unlikely a crash might be, I don't need to risk burdening our stressed medical workers. My inner voice would torture me without mercy: “They asked you to do one thing: Stay home. How hard is that?”

My hair is longer than it has been in many years; some of my colleagues have resorted to buzz cuts.  Ten weeks after my last haircut, it's now long enough to be annoying, and just long enough to tie back in a stubby ponytail.

The spring weather was spectacular on the date scheduled for this year's Tierra Bella, which (like so many other cycling events) could not be held.

One year ago this week I visited an unfamiliar part of the state and cycled in a new event, thanks to my regular ride buddy. When I'm comfortable getting back out there on a bike, I wonder how I'll do? [I won't be tackling a metric century, that's for sure.]

Ten years ago this week I biked to Half Moon Bay for lunch, following a route I don't think I have repeated, in full.

Fifty years ago this week marked the debut of Earth Day. Being a somewhat precocious youngster, in addition to whatever activities our school set up for us, I took it upon myself to do more. My parents humored me as I dragged trash out of the then-undeveloped wooded area behind our house. Years later, my coworkers and I would routinely eat outdoors (weather permitting), and it was our habit to leave each site cleaner than we found it. To this day, I am regularly dismayed at the sight of the discarded tires, appliances, and furniture I pass when biking on our back roads. I pick up small stuff, whenever I can—biking, hiking, or just walking around the neighborhood. And big stuff, too—with help! It was fitting to watch Koyaanisqatsi this week; somehow, I'd never seen it (till now).

I took in two more “Best Picture” winners that I'd not seen before, Unforgiven [1992? really?] and The Shape of Water. It was satisfying to see some bad guys get their just deserts; I needed that.

And to close out the week, the star-studded Take Me to the World: A Sondheim 90th Celebration. What a privilege to see so many intimate, emotional performances; more than one artist seemed on the verge of tears at the end of their song. And a beautiful tribute, while the honoree is still here to enjoy it.

The week opened with a confirmed 1903 cases of COVID-19 in our county, and closed with 2084 (a 9.5% increase).

April 19, 2020

WFH: Week Six

I'm not a television viewer, but was exposed to the airwaves in order to watch the broadcast of Jesus Christ Superstar last week. I'm not sure what I expected, but the combined stream of commercials for prescription drugs and those that were pandemic-themed did nothing but heighten my anxiety.

Those drug commercials are ridiculous. Seriously. Soothing music, lovely images, and a legalistic recitation of possible side effects (all ghastly, and pretty much the same from one remedy to the next). This is what people watch, all the time?

My mom has been gone for nearly five years (already?), and I am relieved that she is not here, now. Even if she might have weathered this storm, we would not have been able to keep her calm in a sea of catastrophic 24x7 news reports.

I still smile when I think of the Thanksgiving we spent in Manhattan. When she was young, she had worked in the city. When she was older, she grew afraid of it (thanks to the nightly news). Somehow, I persuaded her that we should spend the weekend there and see the parade, live. We had dinner at Tavern on the Green and walked around Rockefeller Center in the sunshine. Another night, I scored a pair of tickets to see Showboat by waiting at the box office for a cancellation, but that left no time for dinner before the show. I figured we'd duck into a hotel restaurant later; flipping through her Playbill, Mom pointed to an ad and said “Let's go here.” And there we went, strolling up 7th Avenue after 11 p.m. (!) to the Carnegie Deli. Reality: 1, Nightly News: 0.

Five years ago today I sought solace where I can always find it, along the shoreline, as I prepared to lose her. I could use a coastal walk today. But that's out of reach, for now.

Ten years ago this week marked my first bike ride to the Panoche Inn—which immediately became one of my favorite routes.

One year ago this week I stopped a moving minivan with my bicycle (without any damage to me, or the bike).

Our cooking class for the week was Molten Chocolate Cake, which looked surprisingly easy. Our chef made a point of taking ramekins out of the oven at different times, to demonstrate what happens if you don't let them bake long enough (or, too long). He mentioned a recipe that's possible to freeze (before baking), which would make this practical (since I'm not going to eat four of them). [Well, I could, but ... I would certainly regret that.]

For entertainment, I watched the 25th anniversary performance of The Phantom of the Opera, which was so stunning I watched it twice. I was lucky enough to see it on Broadway during its initial run, but not again since. I particularly loved seeing four former Phantoms (plus the Phantom of that night's production) reprise The Music of the Night. I wish I could have seen all of them in the role. “Silently the senses abandon their defenses ...

I finished The Adventurer's Son, fully empathizing with the family's frustration, anger, and despair as the authorities clung to the warped narrative they'd concocted. Which the media ate right up. [Nightly news, see above.] And by quoting from her poem Sleeping in the Forest, the author introduced me to the work of Mary Oliver.

This week I heard that one of my colleagues had fallen ill with COVID-19 (and recovered); that's the first case for someone personally known to me. The week opened with 1621 confirmed cases in our county, and closed with 1903 (a 17.4% increase).

From another poem by Mary Oliver:
When it’s over, I don’t want to wonder
if I have made of my life something particular, and real.

I don’t want to find myself sighing and frightened,
or full of argument.

I don’t want to end up simply having visited this world.

April 12, 2020

WFH: Week Five

As it turns out, there are a few pink blossoms tucked deep inside my white camellia bush. Two distinct shades, in fact.

Ten years ago this week I eyed the weather forecast and skipped the event I'd planned to ride.

One year ago today I managed not to lose my footing on a slippery hike that got me and my hiking partner thoroughly muddy. In the pre-pandemic era, we were mulling over the timing for a return trip this spring. That was then.

This is now. Given that asymptomatic people can spread the virus, we're all supposed to wear face coverings now when we're near other people—keeping a safe distance from one another is also necessary, but no longer deemed sufficient.

I have fabric, I have thread, I have skills ... and a sewing machine.

The machine was an uncharacteristically extravagant gift for my 13th birthday. [Which makes it, yes, quite old.] I grew up in a family with a grandmother who crocheted, and embroidered, and sewed outfits for me. It was a way to save money—well-understood by those who had weathered the Great Depression and rationing during the second World War. I had learned to sew using her classic black Singer machine.

Time to figure out how to treat my Singer to some long-overdue lubrication, and get to work.

There are many patterns for fabric masks circulating online, and I decided to make two varieties. After reading an article in Popular Science, I was intrigued by the idea of using NWPP (non-woven polypropylene). What a great use for some of the surplus reusable bags in my collection! I could easily sacrifice three that I would never use. After deconstructing, laundering, and doing some geometrical planning, I had enough material to make three three-layer Surge masks.

I can also make a lot (A Lot) of simple fabric masks.

I borrowed The Adventurer's Son from a local library, thanks to Libby. (The library buildings, of course, are closed.) And yes, I know that story does not have a happy ending. “Movie” of the week was a contemporary performance of Jesus Christ Superstar (with Alice Cooper as Herod?!).

I watched the talk Larry Brilliant gave when he was awarded the TED prize. “Early detection, early response,” he said. In 2006.

Someone chalked “Hello” on my driveway, and that called for a response. Did I have some chalk? (Yes!)

The week opened with 1207 confirmed cases of COVID-19 in our county, and closed with 1621 (a 34.3% increase).

April 5, 2020

WFH: Week Four

“You should take a vacation!” our friendly HR automaton scolded me (again). No matter that sheltering-in-place is hardly a “vacation.” [Use it or lose it.] Needless to say, trips I'd been plotting for March and late April could not proceed.

So this week, and next, are short weeks. My laptop is powered off.

Neighbors are doing what they can to spread cheer. I strolled into town, to the Post Office, before the rains would move in and erase this fanciful stretch of sidewalk.

I decided to make a loop, rather than retrace my steps, and found an unexpected bounty of wild lupine in an otherwise weed-strewn patch of dirt. While I paused to snap a photo through the fence, a woman who'd been walking nearby and chatting was more bold. “There's an opening in the fence. Why not pick some? They're only going to die.”

Here's the thing about walking through a familiar neighborhood during different seasons. You just might discover a blooming dogwood tree—which you'd never expected could grow here.

The rain was coming for us, but my umbrella was ready.

The lupine wilted pretty fast, but perked right up with some fresh water. I tucked a few into my garden; some had pulled clear of the ground with their roots, when I'd tugged at them.

Ten years ago this week I enjoyed a long ride to the Pinnacles, before it became a National Park.

Five years ago this week I cruised past the wildflowers and reservoirs of south county.

One year ago this week I frolicked on the hills and curves alongside the Calaveras Reservoir. They will fade to brown before I next see them.

One month ago today, I was two pounds heavier. Eating healthy (and less), along with my morning exercise routine, is paying dividends.

My movie choice for the week was Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri. To counteract that darkness, I also streamed Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat, which was ... very trippy and very 60's. (Universal Pictures is sharing one Andrew Lloyd Webber musical on Fridays, free, for the next few weeks.)

The week opened with 646 confirmed cases of COVID-19 in our county, and closed with 1207 (an 86.8% increase).

March 29, 2020

WFH: Week Three

The beauty of the white camellia is fleeting, as the blossoms are quick to turn brown. Somewhere on that same bush there are light pink blossoms, but it might be too late in the season to find one.

Ten years ago this week I sauntered up the Bay Area's benchmark climb at a leisurely pace.

Five years ago this week I benchmarked my new wonder bike on a familiar descent. [Wow, it's been five years, already?]

One year ago this week I chose a sensible local ride.

This week, I realized that the days are all muddling together, blending into one stressful, unending day. I started putting marks in the squares of a good old-fashioned paper calendar. WFH. Post Office. Grocery store. I'm still taking the conservative approach and not biking outdoors.

I was all set to try a new lentil soup recipe, one that made the news recently because a nurse (who was about to retire) ate it for lunch every day. For 17 years. I had picked up everything I needed ... or so I thought. I pawed through my collection of spices. And then, made another pass over all the jars and tins. Nope. No whole coriander seeds.

The markets are sold out of many things, but I didn't expect to find an empty space on the shelf where those seeds should be. A clerk was restocking spices in the next market I visited, and I got lucky: there were just a couple of packets left. [Hmm, did everyone get the same idea from that story?]

I skipped this week's pastry lesson (Crêpes Suzette) in favor of a competing session (fried rice). The trick, we learned, is to open a circle in the middle of the mounded rice and scramble the eggs there before mixing it into the rice. (Aha!)

For entertainment, I watched a recorded performance of A Midsummer Night's Dream, which San Francisco Ballet was able to share (for one week only) with those of us who had purchased tickets. Puck was, well, puckish ... Cavan Conley stole the show, I thought. The dancers took their bows to an empty house and not to the applause they deserved. They've promised to perform this work again next season. (And hopefully, by then, we will be able to enjoy it live.)

The week opened with 302 confirmed cases of COVID-19 in our county, and closed with 646 (a 114% increase).

March 22, 2020

WFH: Week Two

My decision to walk into town, despite the occasional rain shower, was an unexpectedly lucky one. There were a handful of others out and about, including parents leading two young kids. (”Where are we going? Why?“) Everyone gave each other plenty of space.

I stopped at the post office, finally recycled some old eyeglasses in the Lions Club's collection bin, and was the only customer in a large clothing shop. I had a gift credit to spend, and expected there would be few shoppers early on a Monday afternoon. I was the third customer of the day, they told me; and I might have been the last.

Shortly after I got home, our county issued a “shelter in place” directive, shutting down all non-essential businesses as of midnight.

That order spawned raging debates on multiple cycling mailing lists about whether cycling was, or was not, permitted, and whether a six-foot gap between cyclists would be an adequate protective distance. Outdoor activity was considered an “essential activity,” but cycling was not specifically mentioned; it took a few attorneys to clarify what “by way of example and without limitation” means. Our club canceled all upcoming group rides. Solo rides, or rides with members of your own household, would be fine.

But, what if you crash? This would not be the time to add to the burden on our already-stressed healthcare system.

More of my colleagues were adjusting to working from home, which went from voluntary, to recommended, to mandated. We're trying to preserve the social structure of our team, gathering most mornings and afternoons for 30-minute coffee/tea breaks. Getting to meet their children, as well as their pets, helps to lift everyone's spirits.

A couple of years ago, one of our colleagues completed a curriculum for professional pastry chefs. (To relax, he insisted.) He'd share his assignments with us; what a joy it was to find some wonderful treat on your desk in the morning. An experienced instructor, he has decided to give us a weekly lesson. This week, chocolate soufflé. It looked so straightforward ... especially with his electric mixer to whip those egg whites.

As the week progressed I felt anxiety mounting. How will this end? Is it just a matter of time before every one of us falls ill? And recovers, or ... doesn't?

For my cinematic distraction of the week, I watched He Named Me Malala, from which I learned more than the facts of her story, but also gained a window into attitudes and beliefs that are utterly unfamiliar to me.

The week opened with 114 confirmed cases of COVID-19 in our county, and closed with 302 (a 165% increase).

March 15, 2020

WFH: Week One

The camellias are still blooming. What a glorious mess they make! I'll no sooner rake up the fallen flowers than I'll hear “plop” as another drops to the ground, as if to mock me.

The week opened with a backache that worsened when I'd lie down to sleep. Adding to that misery, my body was disinclined to get a full night's sleep. It was high time to improve the ergonomics of my workspaces. I use my dining table for video conferences because it offers a nicer background than the desk in my office. But those chairs were not meant for continuous hours of sitting. Once my “new” monitor arrived, I was happy to spend most of my workday in a proper chair, at a proper desk, in my home office.

Many years ago, after doing the math and reflecting on the inconvenience of making trips to a gym, I invested in my own equipment. [Which, sadly, mostly sits unused.] It was high time to lubricate the chains and get moving. I was determined to get some serious exercise into my daily routine, and my back felt better when I was upright.

I've read a few reports over the years that the best time to exercise is before breakfast. Not being a morning person, and needing to get out the door early on most mornings, that just wasn't happening for me. Until now. No more morning commute! Door-to-door, that saves an hour of my morning (and my evening). I can wake up naturally (no alarm!), work out, shower, eat breakfast, and start my workday.

Even I was surprised at how quickly my body tuned itself up. I rapidly graduated from a 20-minute session to a 30-minute session, then to a more challenging program, and then to ramping up the intensity.

To challenge my brain at the same time, I cracked open my copy of the original Cosmos series (which, inexplicably, I had never seen). So many things I hadn't learned, not to mention things learned and forgotten! Did I ever know that Eratosthenes calculated the circumference of the Earth more than 2,000 years ago?

During the last week of February, I had made a trip to San Francisco—on public transit—for a business meeting. Light rail to Caltrain to BART, and the reverse. I was wary of my fellow travelers and had kept my distance. The weather was chilly; I wore gloves. I brought my own travel-sized bottle of hand sanitizer and was particularly mindful of what I touched.

This week brought news that two exhibitors at the associated conference had subsequently been diagnosed with the novel coronavirus, COVID-19. The news ricocheted around the few of us who had attended the meeting; we confirmed that none of us had ventured near the conference space, nor interacted with anyone from the exhibitors' company.

Our bike club's big annual tour was only about six weeks away; should we cancel it? Other spring events were shutting down or postponing. As the week opened, we stayed the course but wondered if the county would issue or deny our permits. Riding your bike is one thing, congregating at rest stops and for the meal at the finish is another. Could we adequately ensure that people kept a safe distance from one another?

As the week drew to a close, the CDC recommended canceling events of 50 people or more for the next eight weeks. And that was that: there could be no celebration of cycling on our scenic roadways, this spring.

The week opened with 37 confirmed cases of COVID-19 in our county (population, about 1.9 million), and closed with 114 (a 200.8% increase). I decided to distract myself by watching a movie, and chose this year's Best Picture winner, Parasite. Which led to another night of disturbed sleep.