One of the recommendations for this time at home during the virus pandemic is to learn a new skill. While I would have preferred to master one I chose, I had instead to learn how to use Zoom. Not to be confused with Zumba, the dance exercise, Zoom is an application for computers, phones or tablets that allows people to “meet” in “virtual rooms.” In the photo above, some of the employees of Zoom are pictured having one such get together.

Because regular meetings of people are prohibited, many of us have had to find ways to connect face to face, or at least image to image, with one another. Zoom uses the camera and microphone on a given device to send a person’s image and voice to others. Much more capable than Facetime, the Apple application which allows us to talk to one another, Zoom has the capacity to host large meetings, to allow breakout sessions during them, to allow people to take turns when facilitated by the host, and other things I have yet to discover. Since I really don’t want to spend my whole time at home learning Zoom, that is as much as I am likely to know.

The Friars from our church set up separate Zoom sessions for each of the Mass times yesterday. Since we go to the 11:45 Mass, for instance, we logged onto Zoom at 11:30, giving us a chance to virtually meet and greet one another. One positive addition to this way of meeting was that each person’s name was displayed under the picture like a name tag. We often only know each other by sight, so now we had names. We also had a chance to see people’s living rooms, their uncombed hair, and their pets.

Most fun was the majority’s inability to use the application smoothly. If I had ever wondered how families interacted before they entered church, I now had my answer. “No not that button.” “Get that image off the screen.” “You are only showing your pants leg.” “Let me work this myself!” While the majority of microphones were on mute, per the Friar’s instructions, each new person entered noisily and clumsily, interrupting the already semi-chaotic gathering. I guess people who come late to Mass also come late to Zoom!

I would love to know if anyone else has attempted to master a new skill.  Please share. One at a time. Just like on Zoom. (Don’t worry. I can’t see or hear you.)

Years ago when we took a family trip on a cruise line every time we stepped into an elevator we were greeted with a rug embroidered with the day of the week. I echo my blog friend Maggie about having trouble knowing what day it is at the moment. I could use a set of those rugs to use in my house!

While the world is doing a reboot, to use computer terms, we are in that time illustrated on the Mac by a little whirling circle. Wait. Wait. Wait. And there isn’t even a helpful indicator that the reboot is 78% or whatever done. Nor is there a note that the process will be over in 4 hours and 6 minutes as my computer lets me know.

We are all in a period of unknowing. It did finally sink in to my psyche that there won’t be a quick return to normal. When I know how long updating my computer takes, I can schedule it accordingly. This virus gives us no such option. It’s here. We’re here. We get to deal with it.

Years ago I spent many hours in “these rooms,” the code phrase for recovery groups. They are big on slogans, most of which used to drive me nuts. “I am too sophisticated for such cliches” seemed to be my orientation. Mea culpa! The phrases that sustain me the most at the moment come from those meetings. “Just for today.” “One day at a time.” “This too shall pass.”

And as for attacks on our leader, I understand them. I voted for a different leader too. But to quote the old line, “you gotta dance with the one that brung you.” He’s who we have. May we at least stop looking to him for leadership. Harry Truman, President after Roosevelt, had a sign on his desk “The Buck Stops Here.” That sign is nowhere in sight at the moment, but seemingly is being  passing around as if we were all playing “Hot Potato.” We aren’t. This isn’t a blame game. We really are all in this together. One day at a time.

While it is true that people over the age of 60, particularly over the age of 70 and even more so over 80 are especially prone to fatalities from the coronavirus, we also have a great deal of wisdom that we need to share with those around us who are much younger. I grew up with several important family stories which taught me from an early age that life is unpredictable, that events far away can have a huge impact on our lives, and that the stock market doesn’t guarantee financial security. I believe that while I am greatly distressed by the present pandemic, I don’t experience it as something no generation before me has had to endure.

Above is my grandfather who was called into service in World War 1 for a conflict which took place across the Atlantic Ocean. He had no fervent desire to go fight, but he had no choice. The government drafted him. My generation knows that the government can draft its citizens. Many of my generation had to go across the Pacific Ocean to fight in a war that they opposed. They went.

When he returned home, my grandfather contracted the Spanish Flu. He nearly died, but my grandmother nursed him through it. Despite our cavalier approach to that flu–“we know so much more now”–we are actually in the same situation they were. The flu killed left and right. It wasn’t fair. It didn’t discriminate. But as the older generations repeatedly told us “life isn’t fair.”

My father’s mother invested the life insurance money from her husband’s death in the stock market and lost it all. My father never trusted financial predictions of endless prosperity. “What goes up always comes down” could have been his motto.

My mother was in high school when her family tuned into the radio to hear that Hitler had just invaded Poland. She told us about that moment from time to time. “Our whole world changed in a minute.” The world is like that.

When I think about helicopter parents who have steadfastly tried to shield their children from challenges, I reflect on my own upbringing. I learned that my family had known hard times. It makes me realize I can deal with them too.

Yesterday Connecticut’s governor joined with the governors of our adjacent states, New York and New Jersey, in closing all gyms, movie theaters, casinos, restaurants, bars and grills. The only activity that I had been participating in–the gym– was now off limits to me. I actually had already stopped going last week since I am in the high risk category for the virus because of my age.

Worrying, despite how frequently I find myself doing it, apparently is a poor substitute for physical activity. Throughout my life I have held a superstitious belief that worry  prevents disaster. In fact, my husband used to tease me after something I had fretted about didn’t happen by saying “see, your worrying paid off.” But all the old adages are true that worrying produces nothing positive and harms rather than helps my health.

Fortunately the trainer from my gym was able to develop a routine to continue exercising at home. I sent him photos of possible substitutes for equipment we normally use. My kitchen counter is the right height for the pushups I had been doing. The wall is perfect for wall slides and wall sits. A set of bands I have can be anchored in a closed door and allow many upper body strength building movements. The stairs are a perfect substitute for the platforms I work with.

I plan to do this routine three times a week until I am able to return to the gym. If I am home for an extended period(highly likely)he will send a slightly harder routine in six weeks. I worked very hard to gain the muscle mass and strength that I had lost over the years, and I don’t want to lose it.

Of course there is no substitute for the warm welcoming group of friends I know at the gym. I miss them and the staff. I know there are many people facing much more dire circumstances than mine at the moment. Still I wanted to share one way I am coping with being “sheltered in place.”

For many years I have heard people harass each other’s complaints by saying “that is such a first world problem,” implying that it was really an inconvenience compared to the real issues facing most of the world. But the insanity around toilet paper in the United States during this virus outbreak really takes the prize. Where to begin?

First, why the mad rush to buy toilet paper? I heard one explanation that it makes people think they have done SOMETHING during a time of great uncertainty. However, I prefer the answer given to a reporter yesterday who asked a shopper why she was buying it. Her reply? “I don’t know why, but everyone else seems to be doing it.” (Apparently she never heard her mother ask her “if everyone jumps off the roof are you going to?”)

Second, what does it say about us as a people? Nothing good, that is certain. Millions of fellow human beings are in refugee camps, in shacks, homeless, and without basic toilet facilities. I cannot imagine their response to our childish hysteria over lack of tissue. Our country is showing its underbelly and it isn’t pretty. It certainly looks as though we worship the Dow Jones Average and toilet paper.

Is this what it looks like as a country falls apart? “Not with a bang, but a tissue.” (With apologies to T.S. Eliot)

Around the world a lot of people are either ill, waiting to be ill, afraid of being ill, getting over being ill or being gravely ill. Everywhere in our country there is an abundance of panic. A close friend just returned from the grocery store where she said the shelves were stripped of many items and people were clearly acting irrationally.

I am seeking ways to remain as calm as is possible, despite the widespread hysteria. I am not consistently successful! But among the things I am not worried about:

• Running out of toilet paper. A new phone book will be delivered any day.
• Running out of books to read. I have a pile of books I have never gotten to!
• Having no choices of things to watch. Netflix and Amazon could keep me entertained forever.
• Being socially isolated. It is spring now and I can walk outside while I am healthy.
• Having no one to talk to. My friends are a phone call away.
• Having no on-line connections. My readership keeps climbing and I have a group of blogging friends.

For those of you who have a faith life, you will know of the many ways I experience moments of calm through prayer and reading.

Panic disturbs the body and doesn’t help protect us in this crisis. I hope we can continue to help each other calm down. None of us has control over the disease. We can attempt to corral in our own fear and seek rest in these times. Peace friends.

Sadly for the last four years the leader of the United States has been obsessed with keeping people from crossing our southern border. He has asked for billions of dollars to construct a fence such as the section pictured above. Money has come from many sources, and that has left many designated projects unfunded.

But the coronavirus doesn’t care about walls. It also doesn’t care that a nation has turned towards isolationism or nationalism. And now it has crossed around the planet, proving that we fool ourselves to believe that what happens in another part of the world doesn’t concern us.

May we realize that nothing has changed since the immortal words in 1623 of John Donne.

For Whom the Bell Tolls by John Donne

Peace to all around this shared home.

In the mid-1960’s I visited my uncle in New York City and learned about “pay television.” Paying for the service meant he didn’t have to endure ads, but could just enjoy the shows. Sadly, in the intervening years, “pay television” in its earliest form disappeared, replaced by paying for cable service with all the shows now replete with ads. In some areas, such as ours, it is difficult to get any reception without paying for the cable service, so we pay to watch countless ads. Such a deal! (And don’t get me started at being bombarded with ads at the movie theater after paying for an admission ticket!)

Fortunately the old style pay television has been replaced by streaming services such as Netflix. For a monthly fee, we can watch countless shows. Our family shares the service, and we all find shows we like. Sometimes, however, if a child has been watching, the algorithm suggests that I might like another superhero movie!

Netflix reaches millions of homes and is able to produce a great deal of original programming of its own. Most recently I was delighted to watch a documentary series, Babies, which recently premiered here. Through a series of six episodes, I was able to learn all the newest research about babies, including their motor development, sleep patterns, food requirements,  and attachment needs.

Why when my babies are full grown and the grandchildren are no longer babies either would I be riveted by the series? Well, first there is the cute factor. Babies from all over the world feature in the films. But mainly I love learning how much more we now know about what goes on in the first year of a baby’s life. I met researchers who carefully explored common ideas, now proved incorrect, about growth and crawling. I loved their dedication to science designed to help parents bring up these complex beings.

Overwhelmed with the news today? Watch Babies.

My generation of Americans, born just after World War II, has been aging averse as long as I can remember. Only adults as smug as many of us are could come up with the phrase “70 is the new 50.” But as the coronavirus spreads around the world, it becomes clear that thinking doesn’t make it so when it comes to age and disease. In the current health crisis, 70 is not the new 50 at all. In fact, 70 is 5-10 years into the category our Centers for Disease Control consider high risk of complications and death from the virus.

At first I took this caution to refer to people my age with underlying health issues such as diabetes, health struggles and COPD. My doctor disabused me of this belief in a chat I had with him last week. While it is true, he said, that the risk is higher for those with underlying issues, healthy people my age are still at greater risk. Apparently our immune system weakens with age, healthy habits or no.

At church Sunday I found many of my friends also having to adjust to the reality that we are those designated as “elderly,” “old” and “at greater risk.” Our church has recognized the risks and has already altered many time honored practices. In time we may have to stay home.

Sadly, the head of our nation, also one of my generation, has been constantly spewing lies about risks and containment. Because very few U.S. citizens have been tested, our numbers look very low. Once wider testing begins, it will become obvious that any time for containment passed many weeks ago. People without any known exposure are becoming ill across the nation.

I am adjusting to this new reality. I am an older adult. I need to be extra cautious, avoiding going places, scrupulously washing my hands, staying away from anyone with a bug. I would rather be 50, but I am not!

My grandchildren live next door and the weather has warmed up just enough for spring training to begin. While they lack a hoop, they are undeterred in their efforts to perfect their basketball skills. Although they can’t practice shooting, they can endlessly dribble the ball and swoop in to take it from the others. There is a constant thump in my office which overlooks the driveway where they play.

The sound reminds me of the tennis ball hitting our garage door over and again as I tried to improve my swing. I liked the noise, but it had a way of getting on my mother’s nerves as I recall. The door was metal, and I imagine the sound was rather annoying.

It was just warm enough today for the first motorcycle rider to floor his machine on the two straight blocks of our street which lie between two stop signs. Spring approaches for sure when that happens. Fortunately the storm windows block some of the noise. It’s early yet for the lawn mowers and weed whackers, but their loud sounds are soon to arrive.

Winter has been very quiet, with the snow plows only passing after one storm and the snow blowers being tucked away into garages. Spring is signaling its arrival with its seasonal cacophony and I smile a little as my ears adjust.