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).

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.

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).

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).

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).

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).

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.