In November of 1969, I became very ill. I was freezing cold, curled up on the heat register of my house and wondered what was the matter. I had other troubling symptoms, including my eyes turning yellow, that alerted me that I needed to get help. I saw a doctor, learned that I had hepatitis A and moved back in with my parents for a two month rest and recuperation. I slept a great deal, ate a lot of white rice since I could digest it easily, and waited for the disease to be over.

After a couple of weeks, I was visited by an official from the county health department. Hepatitis A was a reportable disease and he needed to try to figure out how I had become infected. No one in my family had the bug, nor did my closest friends, so he made a list of all the places I had eaten out. He took this information back to the office and continued with the very laborious process of mapping all the places I had eaten food. He did this for other new cases of the disease also. Eventually he found a cluster of pins on his map at the Tastee-Freez drive-in. Armed with this information, he was able to go to the place, interview the workers, identify and isolate the ill employee. He also closed the restaurant for inadequate sanitary procedures.

I remembered this when I began to read of what it will take to reopen my state’s businesses. When the disease is sufficiently contained, when there is adequate testing both for the illness and for antibodies to the virus, new cases will prompt a thorough contact tracing outward from the new victim. This is a kind of reverse of the process I was involved in. In this new mapping, the known carrier is the starting point, and her contacts will be quarantined and monitored.

Many Americans have lost any understanding of PUBLIC health. We have competent health professionals who continue to try to minimize disease throughout a community. I am not just responsible for my own health, but for others’ as well. I welcome the contact tracing to come, knowing it is an effective check of the rampant spread of any disease.

Every once in a while I rediscover a word and reflect on its relevance. For me, as I am at home for a month now, I have been thinking about “palimpsest.” The original application for this word comes from the practice of reusing a piece of parchment or other material by writing over the previous writing. As shown above, traces of the original still show through, even though the new text stands out more clearly.

But when I was thinking and then writing about my muscle memory, I realized that as I was exercising I was experiencing my body as a sort of living palimpsest. Here were my biceps, once swinging from the monkey bars, now lifting weights. Here were my quads, once pumping my one speed bicycle up steep hills, now being raised to help my sore knees. And there was my brain, simultaneously focusing on the task at hand while musing on all the similar tasks in the past.

This layered experience, not precisely nostalgic, seems to be a constant companion during this pandemic. Perhaps because my life is totally slowed down and contained in a narrow sphere, I have become more contemplative. Whatever the reason, I find that I am frequently in several overlapping places at once. I am peeling the carrot in my kitchen, remembering fixing dinner on the houseboat, thinking of cutting up carrot sticks for my school lunch. Layer on layer. A rich way to enjoy finding connections of present and past. An unexpected benefit of quarantine.

When I was growing up there were a number of promotions that required you to dial in from the telephone. Sometimes it was for money if you knew the password of the day. Other times it was to get a chance to dedicate a song to your secret crush.(This occupied much of my fifth grade after school times with my best friend.) Then there was the “lucky caller number seven gets a chance to win tickets to….” I was often caller number six it seemed, that is if I ever got through to the person answering. There was no rapid redial feature on those phones. One had to patiently dial a digit, wait for the dial to return to home, then dial each additional digit in turn. It took a long time to call back. And you had to call back over and over, hoping to have someone pick up the phone.

This practice came back to me lately as I have been trying to get through to the grocery store on-line service. I am using the computer this time, rather than the telephone, but the process is very nearly the same. “No delivery times available. Times for delivery are released throughout the day,” says the helpful web page for one store. “No delivery times available. Try again later,” says another. Sometimes by the time I have filled a cart with my desired items the available time slot has disappeared.

Yesterday by some miracle of modern science, I not only got a time slot but my basket didn’t empty before I checked out. And even better, it allowed me to add more items until the shopper began my order. I quickly called a family member and said to add things before it was too late. Last evening a very lovely young couple arrived and placed our purchases on my sidewalk, six feet away from my front door as I requested.

In this dreadful time, I am taking my thrills where I can find them. Right now it is “dialing for groceries!” You can hear my victory chant across the neighborhood when I score.

Yesterday morning as I settled down on my mat to do my home version of my exercise routine, I was pleased to notice that my muscles seemed to know what I was asking of them. My trainer has me using routines that I was already familiar with from our time together at the gym. While they have been adapted for me to use resistance bands instead of the cable and weight system I use there, the sensation in my muscles is familiar. I can even hear Colin’s (my trainer) voice in my head. “Throw your shoulders back. Keep your back on the ground. Add resistance if that is too easy.” It makes me incredibly grateful that I had begun this practice in person at the gym. Before that I would have had little idea of what I was supposed to do. In fact, in years past, when I tried working out alone from a book I nearly always pulled or tweaked some body part, discouraging me from any further attempts.

But in addition, as I blasted my music and did my core routine on the floor I started remembering many other times and places I had exercised. I used to rush over to the YWCA after I taught and before I picked up children from school and swim laps. I even tried out a gymnastics class for adults. I did a season of Pilates at the local athletic club. Thinking about high school brought back the awful requirement of running up and down the bleacher stairs. Worse yet were the 10 minutes allotted us to shower(en masse), get dressed and get to our next class one or two flights of stairs away. That was aerobic itself!

And in the end I thought about how I took my body being fit for granted when I was a kid. I ran, biked, swam, climbed, slid, jumped and hula hooped for the pure joy of it. I can’t say that my routine these days gives me as much joy. But it does give me a large measure of satisfaction. That will have to do.

 Even at two I have a mischievous look. Is that rabbit safe?

When I try to find “the wisdom to know the difference,” as is written in the contemplative piece from two days ago, I struggle. I tend to lean towards action, assuming that I can change many more things than I can. I resist discovering the things that I cannot change. Especially now, when so many people around the world are truly struggling, I feel especially helpless. Helpless and I are not agreeable companions!

On the other hand, in addition to changes I can make by myself, for myself, as I described yesterday, there are things I can do. No, I can’t change the leaders of this nation. But I can contribute money to a campaign to unseat him in November. No, I can’t stop the pandemic, but I can follow the request of our governor to “stay home, stay safe.” If someone is approaching me on the sidewalk, I can cross the street to ensure a safe distance between us instead of playing “sidewalk chicken” with the other pedestrian.

I also can thoughtfully consider other opportunities that come my way to help others. Our U.S. Senator Murphy recently woke in the middle of the night with an idea to supply books to children out of school who have no books at home because of poverty. These kids traditionally rely on the now closed public libraries or books from their now closed schools. He coordinated with a local bookstore and asked for contributions to hand books to children when they came to their school playground to pick up their free meals. He raised $120,000 from 3000 constituents in a few days and was able to supply 4000 books to kids. Since I love books, libraries and kids, I sent him some money.

I really do need wisdom right now. Daily I struggle to know what I need to accept and what I can change. My superwoman complex takes a  hit and I see myself as one human among many trying her best to live in these times.

In a time of great uncertainty, sometimes it feels as though the only thing I have the ability to change is my clothing! The serenity writing cited yesterday continues as the writer asks for the “courage to change the things I can.” Clearly there are more things I can change when faced with the pandemic, but sometimes it is hard to think of what they might be.

As I wrote yesterday, the biggest change I have had to make has been to detach from most of the national news. This did take a degree of courage, since it activated FOMO(fear of missing out) in me. FOMO has a firm grasp on American culture with many of us desperately trying to never miss any bit of news. However, like restricting children from eating all of their Easter candy because they will become sick, I have had to restrict my viewing for the same reason.

I have also had to provide more structure to my daily life than I had previously considered. Retirement had freed me from the set academic schedule that controlled my life for so many years. I loved now getting to decide to go out for a meal instead of cooking a time or two a week. Nothing fancy, just someone else’s cooking. Since the places are all closed I have accepted making dinner every night. That change required less courage, but it has been significant nonetheless.

I have also had to confess that I am much less together than I like to pretend. As a self-sufficient oldest child, I patented the “I have got this” approach to life. My alter ego, “go getter,” needed little help and always offered help to others. But I have major ups and downs during this disease outbreak. It takes courage for me to be vulnerable, but I can change and connect with people around me from weakness as well as from strength.

Tomorrow I face the challenge of knowing which is called for, acceptance or change.

An oft quoted meditation, often attributed to the theologian Reinhold Niebuhr, asks for the “serenity to accept the things I cannot change.” His actual prayer differed in a significant way by stating “serenity to accept the things that cannot be helped.” Today and for the next two days I will quote various parts of that text in relation to the present time.

If I wanted to I could watch the news 24/7. I could also be completely insane! In order to maintain a healthy blood pressure, sleep well at night, and get along with my husband, I limit myself to the daily press conferences of my state governor. I also read the emails from my U.S. Senator, U.S. Representative and local state legislators. In each of these communications I learn of the toll of the virus and what is being done at the local level to deal with it. None of these bring partisan politics, blame or accusations to me. Occasionally I will learn of a difficult struggle between our governor and the President of the United States to acquire life saving equipment for our state in the middle of a severe outbreak of illness. That is more than enough exposure for me.

Why when I have generally followed the news pretty regularly? Because when I am exposed to national news, particularly from the White House, I react with a strong urge to DO SOMETHING TO CHANGE OUR LEADERS. But I can’t. They are, to use some of the available synonyms above, “unvarying and inflexible.” And living in the space with the need to do something without the power to do it is traumatic. And I don’t need any more trauma.

So in relation to the national handling of our disease I am no longer embroiled. I really can’t change any of it. And believing that I can just damages my physical, emotional, mental and spiritual health.

Tomorrow I’ll look at the things I can change.

I have baked our bread for many years, using a recipe that makes a very hearty loaf. Mixing whole wheat flour, sesame seeds, pumpkin seeds, sunflower seeds, poppy seeds, honey, oil, salt and yeast, I produce bread for toast that, when covered with almond butter, makes a very filling breakfast. Because we are both home and had trouble finding any sandwich bread anywhere, we have been using this loaf for all occasions. Of course this meant that I needed to restock my ingredients. Although I had backups for most of them, I could see that I would soon run out of some. I can substitute for many, but yeast is pretty essential to the way I bake.

Some people wake up during this pandemic and wonder how others are doing. Feeling helpless, they try to do what they can in little ways such as calling a shut-in or sharing groceries with a neighbor. Other people apparently wake up during a pandemic and wonder how they can profit from other peoples’ needs. There are a lot more of the second category of people in this country than I would have ever imagined.

I buy the French yeast pictured above that comes in a one pound vacuum sealed bag. I take out a small quantity and store it in the refrigerator. The rest I rewrap and freeze. This one pound bag usually costs around 6 dollars. Usually is the key word. My usual supplier, King Arthur Flour, lacks not only flour but also yeast. Turning to the internet I learned that for 32 dollars I could buy the same package from one of “entrepreneurs” now populating Amazon.

Shame on them. Shame on all of their fellow exploiters now profiting from sales of things others need. And no. I didn’t buy it from Amazon. I found a small business that would mail me some. For 7.98 I will have a new one pound bag. And gratitude galore.

I was saddened as I read of the devastating effect that Americans not buying cheap clothing was having on the underpaid overworked seamstresses in Bangladesh. Suddenly they are without work with no prospect of work ahead. But then I turned to the back of the same Business Section of the New York Times and read:

Earlier this month, Eric Richard was in Bali, Indonesia, enjoying the tropical weather and carefree life of a retiree. Last summer, at 29, Mr. Richard had quit his job as a corporate operations manager to become a “digital nomad.” Now he is hunkered down at this parents’ house in Michigan…In recent weeks, he said, he has seen his net worth drop by more than $100,000. “It’s definitely not a great feeling to say the least,” Mr. Richard said.

I thought it must be a joke, but it was April 2, not April 1, and it was an actual story. Our man child Eric espouses the FIRE movement explained above.

The FIRE movement was born during the stock market’s historic 11-year-long wealth-creating run. Professionals in their 30’s and 40’s were saving up million-dollar nest eggs and quitting their jobs in the prime of life to live off investments.

Oops! It turns out that being ignorant of history has actual consequences. I don’t have much more to say since the insanity, self-centerness, smugness and results speak for themselves. Only one question. What is a “digital nomad?”