March 31, 2020
Sheltering-in-Place
Day 12
“Oh Hell”
It is the mildest of all expletives, a modest, simultaneous explosion of wonderment and previously unchecked emotion, consciously targeting no-one but meant for everyone. It is spoken softly, a tense, troubling, stage-whisper that does not quite reach life’s pricey, front-row seats.
It is also a card game. A family favorite that you can play online.
This then is a story of several “Oh Hell” moments.
The coronavirus exploded when we were in California. We could no longer fly, we would have to drive.
“Oh Hell”
Commentators and pundits are fond of the term “new reality” to describe life in the coronavirus era. I prefer shifting reality because nothing has been defined; we are standing between quicksand and a minefield, terra-firma within reach but the path to safety uncharted.
The time horizon for this disruption was initially defined for me on the trek east. I viewed a better future in terms of days as in “the drive from California will take a week. We will gather the family around in Vermont and all will be well.”
I am not alone; this is who we all are. We are not long-term thinkers; we have short time horizons. Out lives are defined by 90-minute, not 100-minute films, 140-character tweets and 10-second, sound bites, the more alarmist the better as in Sunday’s White House pronouncement: “I would not be surprised if the U.S. death toll reaches 100,000 to 200,000 lives.”
We arrived home, safe and unscathed, feet firmly planted on solid ground. Then we realized we would really have to self-quarantine for two weeks.
“Oh Hell”
It began to sink in; the new reality was shifting and to survive we would have to become shape-shifters.
Our two-week quarantine was the price we would pay for our madcap drive across 14 states, teeming with a disease few knew was already hiding in their homes, offices and cars, on their clothes and the endless Amazon packages piling up out front.
Back on the farm our lives would not be so different, we would hide ourselves from everyone including our family, some of who live 900 feet away and after two weeks, all would be well. Hopefully our second son would flee New York, the others would shelter in place and April would be a lot different, better than March.
But then President Trump did the unexpected. He listened to his health and science advisers.
“Oh Hell”
President Trump had hoped to relax the CDC’s coronavirus guidelines by Easter. I hoped he would not relax the deadline because I trust the scientists not the politicians. I got my wish and the President kept the CDC guidelines in place until May. Most of country is locked down. Our son is still stuck in Brooklyn. Others are in Boston and Providence.
Reality had shifted again. And my life grew a bit darker.
Coronavirus Tsar Tony Fauci told us Sunday that statistical models showed that the virus unchecked could kill one million to two million people in the U.S. If mitigation works perfectly his sidekick Deborah Birx, the second trusted face of the epidemic, warned 100,000 to 200,000 Americans could die.
This is so terrifying even Donald Trump listened to them.
For the first time since I first heard the work coronavirus, I was afraid. Honestly, it scared the bejesus out of me.
“Oh Hell.”
For 100,000 people to die, about 5.25 million Americans will have to get the virus. For a million to die 52.5 million Americans will have to get sick. To calculate the death rate I used the New York statistics which show that about 1.92 per cent of those who get the disease, are killed by it.
“Oh Hell”
Our new time horizon for the return to a more normal life is now May. Spring comes to Vermont in May. The snow is almost always gone by May. Our farm awakens in May. Our lives change every May. It is time to plant outside, transplant really. Life begins here inside under lights. Lettuce, onions and light root-light seeds are already nestled upstairs in tiny pots filled with warm, moist earth. Our ewes lamb in early May. The barnyard will be filled with life in May, predicting, promising a better future.
“Oh Hell”
For now, we have the card game. “Oh Hell” is like bridge, players bid and take tricks, but it is much easier to play. It is very competitive but unlike hold-em poker it does not take hours to complete a single game. And unlike bridge it does not take a lifetime to become a master.
Our family has played it sporadically for years. For some of our cousins it is a blood sport. We played it with everyone here at Christmas and we played several more games with two of our sons and their spouses/girlfriend on New Year’s eve in Rhode Island.
Two nights ago we played it online: two players in Boston, two in Providence and two in Vermont. The online game only accommodates four players so we doubled up. The game has video and audio. So there we all were, playing, talking smack like we were in the same room. Sort of.
For a couple of hours the very real barriers that haunt and separate us retreated. Thoughts of the virus faded to the back of our minds. Some members of our family were right there on the screen. I could not hug them but I could see them, hear them, play with them, know that for now they are ok. I even won a game, an exceedingly rare victory.
So one more:
“Oh Hell”
Be safe.
Sheltering-in-Place
Day 12
“Oh Hell”
It is the mildest of all expletives, a modest, simultaneous explosion of wonderment and previously unchecked emotion, consciously targeting no-one but meant for everyone. It is spoken softly, a tense, troubling, stage-whisper that does not quite reach life’s pricey, front-row seats.
It is also a card game. A family favorite that you can play online.
This then is a story of several “Oh Hell” moments.
The coronavirus exploded when we were in California. We could no longer fly, we would have to drive.
“Oh Hell”
Commentators and pundits are fond of the term “new reality” to describe life in the coronavirus era. I prefer shifting reality because nothing has been defined; we are standing between quicksand and a minefield, terra-firma within reach but the path to safety uncharted.
The time horizon for this disruption was initially defined for me on the trek east. I viewed a better future in terms of days as in “the drive from California will take a week. We will gather the family around in Vermont and all will be well.”
I am not alone; this is who we all are. We are not long-term thinkers; we have short time horizons. Out lives are defined by 90-minute, not 100-minute films, 140-character tweets and 10-second, sound bites, the more alarmist the better as in Sunday’s White House pronouncement: “I would not be surprised if the U.S. death toll reaches 100,000 to 200,000 lives.”
We arrived home, safe and unscathed, feet firmly planted on solid ground. Then we realized we would really have to self-quarantine for two weeks.
“Oh Hell”
It began to sink in; the new reality was shifting and to survive we would have to become shape-shifters.
Our two-week quarantine was the price we would pay for our madcap drive across 14 states, teeming with a disease few knew was already hiding in their homes, offices and cars, on their clothes and the endless Amazon packages piling up out front.
Back on the farm our lives would not be so different, we would hide ourselves from everyone including our family, some of who live 900 feet away and after two weeks, all would be well. Hopefully our second son would flee New York, the others would shelter in place and April would be a lot different, better than March.
But then President Trump did the unexpected. He listened to his health and science advisers.
“Oh Hell”
President Trump had hoped to relax the CDC’s coronavirus guidelines by Easter. I hoped he would not relax the deadline because I trust the scientists not the politicians. I got my wish and the President kept the CDC guidelines in place until May. Most of country is locked down. Our son is still stuck in Brooklyn. Others are in Boston and Providence.
Reality had shifted again. And my life grew a bit darker.
Coronavirus Tsar Tony Fauci told us Sunday that statistical models showed that the virus unchecked could kill one million to two million people in the U.S. If mitigation works perfectly his sidekick Deborah Birx, the second trusted face of the epidemic, warned 100,000 to 200,000 Americans could die.
This is so terrifying even Donald Trump listened to them.
For the first time since I first heard the work coronavirus, I was afraid. Honestly, it scared the bejesus out of me.
“Oh Hell.”
For 100,000 people to die, about 5.25 million Americans will have to get the virus. For a million to die 52.5 million Americans will have to get sick. To calculate the death rate I used the New York statistics which show that about 1.92 per cent of those who get the disease, are killed by it.
“Oh Hell”
Our new time horizon for the return to a more normal life is now May. Spring comes to Vermont in May. The snow is almost always gone by May. Our farm awakens in May. Our lives change every May. It is time to plant outside, transplant really. Life begins here inside under lights. Lettuce, onions and light root-light seeds are already nestled upstairs in tiny pots filled with warm, moist earth. Our ewes lamb in early May. The barnyard will be filled with life in May, predicting, promising a better future.
“Oh Hell”
For now, we have the card game. “Oh Hell” is like bridge, players bid and take tricks, but it is much easier to play. It is very competitive but unlike hold-em poker it does not take hours to complete a single game. And unlike bridge it does not take a lifetime to become a master.
Our family has played it sporadically for years. For some of our cousins it is a blood sport. We played it with everyone here at Christmas and we played several more games with two of our sons and their spouses/girlfriend on New Year’s eve in Rhode Island.
Two nights ago we played it online: two players in Boston, two in Providence and two in Vermont. The online game only accommodates four players so we doubled up. The game has video and audio. So there we all were, playing, talking smack like we were in the same room. Sort of.
For a couple of hours the very real barriers that haunt and separate us retreated. Thoughts of the virus faded to the back of our minds. Some members of our family were right there on the screen. I could not hug them but I could see them, hear them, play with them, know that for now they are ok. I even won a game, an exceedingly rare victory.
So one more:
“Oh Hell”
Be safe.
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