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“There is a theory which states that if ever anyone discovers exactly what the Universe is for and why it is here, it will instantly disappear and be replaced by something even more bizarre and inexplicable. There is another theory which states that this has already happened.” — Douglas Adams, The Restaurant at the End of the Universe  Author Douglas Adams, photo by Brian Griffin, 1986, National Portrait Gallery I don’t need to tell you that our world has become as bizarre and inexplicable as anything in the loonier fringes of science fiction. Having just returned to my native California after a very long absence, I feel as if I’ve passed through a time warp to arrive on another planet in a galaxy far, far away, possibly in a parallel universe. Everything's different now, and not even my name has been spared. I’ve been called Karen since 1951 and always considered it a serviceable moniker, if not particularly romantic or inspiring. Karen is a Danish form of Katherine that’s said to mean “chaste or pure.” (Possibly my parents were trying to send me a message; if so, it didn’t take.) Yesterday I learned that in American pop culture “Karen” has now become synonymous with pushy, sanctimonious, anti-vaccine, down-with-science, quarantine-is-communism, let-me-speak-to-the-manager middle-aged women — like the Tennessee gal photographed holding up a sign reading “Sacrifice the weak, reopen TN .” When Las Vegas mayor Carolyn Goodman proposed reopening the city’s casinos early as a “control group” to measure infection rates, she was called “an idiot,” “an actual monster,” and worst of all, “a Karen’s Karen.”  Las Vegas Mayor Carolyn Goodman suggested opening all casinos, then shutting down only those with the very highest infection rates. "That makes no sense," said an aghast Anderson Cooper. Yikes! Obviously I'll have to change my name to something less cringeworthy. What’s trending now in California? For females, it's often nature themes such as Luna, Meadow, and Elm; pop culture faves like Khaleesi, Lennon, and Paisley; hippy classics including Freedom, Nirvana, and Karma; and such non-binary names as River, Bear, and Noor (which means “light”). Do any of those sound like me? I don’t think so either. But these days it’s getting trickier to define myself, let alone the cultural norms I'm supposed to live by. I miss the simplicity of Spain, which has a single national policy based on medical science. Lawmakers brawl over the details behind closed doors, but eventually they hammer out a plan and speak with a single voice, applying the rules uniformly throughout the country, with clear consequences (substantial fines, even jail time) for those who flout the law. You may not agree with every detail of the plan, but you always know where you stand in Spain. Here in America, it’s like trying find your equilibrium on a Tilt-a-Whirl fairground ride. For instance, the CDC tells everyone returning from abroad to quarantine at home for two weeks, avoiding shared workspaces, classrooms, and public transportation. So far so good. But does that mean I can or cannot go out for walks? Is it OK to put on protective gear and shop for food? When friends drop by, should I ask them to leave? I can’t find a word online about any of this, and believe me, I’ve looked.  This is what the CDC handed me at the airport. If I'm supposed to "Stay home," on what occasion will I need to "Wear a cloth face covering when in public"? Anyone have a clue? The only thing the CDC made abundantly clear is that I'm supposed to make notes twice daily on the form they gave me at the airport, recording any symptoms (cough, shortness of breath) and my temperature. Fun fact: even our body temperature has a new normal. The old standard of 98.6, established in 1851, has been recalibrated to a range of 97.5 to 97.9. Unfortunately, my readings kept falling short of those benchmarks, hovering around 95.5, then 94.3 and finally plunging to 93 degrees. I began to worry I’d contracted a sort of reverse COVID-19 (91-DIVOC?). Eventually, I realized the thermometer was broken. Whew! I tossed out the useless thing and had Amazon deliver a new one the next day. And this brings me to one of the other gee-whiz-this-really-is-the-future aspects of my life in California: insanely fast online ordering. Yes, Seville has grocery delivery and Amazon.es, but I rarely use them. Even during the lockdown, Rich and I found it quicker and easier to don protective gear and walk to the market one block over. Now, in perpetual confusion over American self-quarantine protocols, I’m playing it safe for everyone’s sake, staying home and ordering online from the market five blocks away. It’s astonishing. Almost before I hit “send,” I start getting texts: Shopping for you now … Out of that brand of honey, how about this one? ... Our driver is on their way … Minutes later the stuff’s at my back door. I couldn’t get groceries that fast if I sent Rich sprinting out to buy them.  I've even managed to purchase whole wheat flour, which has been unavailable for months in Seville (and much of the US, from what I hear). Being homebound, I can’t really comment on how the re-opening is going here, beyond noting that my region’s numbers are very low and state officials are proceeding cautiously and systematically, following the recommendations of qualified health professionals. (I know; what a concept!) Mostly the priorities make sense; markets, pharmacies, gas stations, drive-in movies, dog groomers. But I was shocked to learn that, inexplicably, beauty parlors are not yet on the list of essential services. In Seville, barber shops and hair salons opened two weeks ago, but in the flurry of activity surrounding our departure, I decided to wait until I was back in the US. Boy, am I regretting that decision. Yesterday I persuaded Rich to trim the seriously shaggy mess at the base of my neck. He did well in this test area and may get the rest of the job soon. True, there aren’t a lot of other candidates right now. Although some of those dog groomers might be able to pep up my style. Looking well-groomed, or at least not hideously unkempt, is my way of prepping for that glorious day when I come out of quarantine and go back into the world, possibly under a new name. Rainbow McCann? Dharma McCann? Nope and nope. I’ve also crossed Harmoni and Wynter off the list, because after a lifetime of proofreading, I couldn't abide going around with a name that looks like a typo. “Our names,” said essayist Logan Pearsall Smith, ”are labels printed plainly on the bottled essence of our past.” He’s right. “Karen” is writ large on the story of my life. Why should I give it up, just because it’s been temporarily appropriated as shorthand for a particularly appalling category of crackpot? Confucius says, “The beginning of wisdom is to call things by their proper name.” So hey, everybody, call me Karen. Are you in pandemic de-escalation? How's it going? What are you noticing as you venture out into the world? Let me know in the comments below. YOU MIGHT ALSO ENJOY SO WHAT HAPPENS NEXT? WHO KNOWS?
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 The journey started smoothly enough, with a nearly empty train from Seville to Madrid. How harrowing was it? I was reminded of a thriller I read when I was nineteen. This young woman is walking home from choir practice, alone, in the dark, knowing there is a vicious killer around preying on people her age. Obviously anyone with any sense would have clung to a pillar of the church — literally or in the person of the priest — and demanded sanctuary, or at least a ride home. But this intrepid idiot walks the whole way, past the graveyard and the old quarry, wondering if each snapping twig is just an animal and whether those are footsteps behind her or simply wind rustling the leaves. My point is, I was a bit jittery. In fact, I leapt out of my skin if anyone coughed, even if it was me. Our journey began Sunday with a walk to the railway station, our luggage stuffed with hand sanitizer, face masks, latex gloves, moist towelettes, three kinds of spray disinfectant, blankets, inflatable pillows, and enough Oatmeal Raisin Spelt Cookies to sustain life for days. I’d made a donation at the shrine of San Pancracio, the patron saint of health. My bases were covered. It was all systems go.  As you might imagine, San Pancracio, the patron saint of health, has been extra popular lately. Seville's railway station set the tone for the trip; it was as dimly lit as the set from an apocalyptic movie, with a few silent, masked figures skulking in the distance. On the nearly empty train, I sprayed our seats, arm rests, and tray tables with antiseptic before settling in.  A sanitation worker disinfects Seville's Santa Justa railway station. Photo: Niccolo Guasti/Getty Images “Did you see that?” Rich later whispered to me. Actually, he was practically shouting, but his voice was so muffled by the mask and shield I had to lean in and listen hard. “See what?” “That skinny, nervous guy who got on in Cordoba? He just left his seat and went to join another guy. They don’t seem to know each other. And now they’re sharing a bottle of water." Wow, talk about living on the edge. In Madrid our chatty cab driver gestured so much with his hands that I figured he must be steering with his knees, giving me something fresh to worry about for the short ride to the hotel. Rich had requested a room stripped of all pillows, blankets, and duvets, which we’d read are potential germ vectors; our boxy little room was very bare. As the team member in charge of hygiene protocols, I insisted our masks and shields stay on until we’d sanitized the room.  Just some of the protective measures we brought to the hotel near Madrid's airport. The upside down can at the back is the one that went berserk on us. “Saturate everything,” I said, handing Rich the extra-powerful disinfectant spray I’d ordered online. I headed into the bathroom with some household disinfectant, grabbed a hand towel, and got to work. I was swabbing the sink when a great cloud of noxious fumes rolled through the door, a hideous, a mix of cockroach spray, tear gas, and brimstone. “What the hell?” Coughing and choking, I dashed into the bedroom. Rich was wrestling with the spray can, which was spewing great geysers of chemical fog in all directions. “I can’t shut this thing off!” he yelled, arms flailing wildly, like the famous “Danger: Vacuum” scene in Airplane II. Gasping, eyes watering, lungs on fire, I croaked,“I have to leave. Now.” I tore open the door and sprinted out into the corridor. The fumes followed. I rounded a corner. Still couldn’t get my breath. Turning again, I finally found breathable air. As I collapsed against a wall, wheezing and coughing, I noticed maids poking their heads out of doorways, eyeing me with alarm. Meanwhile, Rich struggled manfully to subdue the spray can. Personally, I’d have been tempted to chuck it out the window, like a live hand grenade, but he was right not to risk the loss of life below. “I managed to get the cap on,” he told me afterwards, “but then it was spouting out the sides in all directions. Finally I turned it upside down, and eventually, it stopped.” Setting the can down very carefully on its cap, Rich flung wide the window and flapped the door until the air quality was such that I could return. “You said ‘saturate everything,’” he said. “I didn’t mean the lining of my lungs.” We laid out our blankets and inflatable pillows and eventually slept. The next morning we had a couple of the cookies for breakfast and donned the shields we’d be wearing continuously for the next 24 hours, masks we’d swap out occasionally, and gloves we’d re-sanitize incessantly. The Madrid-Barajas Airport, which ordinarily serves sixty million passengers a year, was deserted. Nothing was open, not even a coffee stand. Our Boeing 788, designed for 180+ passengers, had perhaps thirty, spaced widely apart. And yet, inexplicably, they’d placed someone directly behind us. Rich and I hurridly switched to a more remote seat. The staff fed us as quickly as possible, then darkened the windows and turned off all the lights. I slept for much of the ten hours to Dallas. Before landing, we were handed a form: Did we have any COVID-19 symptoms? Had we been with anyone who had the virus? CDC personnel met our plane and repeated the questions, but it seemed surprisingly perfunctory. We were through health screening, immigration, and customs in less than 15 minutes. DFW’s main concourse was jumping; the fast food joints were open and there were plenty of passengers, many brushing past us with unmasked faces. When I learned our flight was 80% full, my horrified expression must have been visible even through the mask and shield because the woman at the desk kindly arranged to keep the third seat in our row empty. Arriving in San Francisco, Rich and I zipped through a nearly deserted terminal to meet the Uber driver who transported us to San Anselmo, making record time over empty freeways.  Thanks to California's stay-at-home order, the Golden Gate Bridge is no longer jammed with traffic. Photo: Kevin N. Hume/S.F. Examiner We’re in quarantine for fourteen days to make sure we didn’t pick up the virus en route. It’s an honor system, and we intend to honor it fully. My sister Kate and her husband stocked the house with enough groceries for the duration, plus homemade bread, soup, and hummus. They left us two bottles from Sonoma Brothers Distilling: their signature gin and a gallon of hand sanitizer. This public-spirited company has risen to the occasion by retooling their factories to provide both essential products to a grateful nation.  Just some of the groceries Kate and Jeff dropped off to make sure we won't starve in the next two weeks. Now I know what you’ve been wondering. Whatever happened to that young woman in the thriller? Did she make it home safely? Well, she finally got frightened enough to run the last block; fumbling open her front door, she dashed inside and bolted the door. Had the danger, she wondered, only existed in her imagination? The last line read: “And then someone behind her cleared his throat.” Here’s hoping that COVID-19 isn’t going to provide us with that kind of shocker ending. So far we feel fine, our temperatures (checked twice a day as instructed) are normal, and we're grateful the long, unnerving journey is behind us. Yesterday, clearing out a cupboard to create more storage to accommodate all that food, I ran across this towel inspired by The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. It’s good advice, and I plan to keep on taking it.  Special thanks to all those who wished us luck on the journey. And bless you, San Pancracio, for doing your bit to watch over us along the way. More Pandemic Perspectives & Humor
International Travel — In a Pandemic? Are We Nuts? Coming Soon: Nostalgia for Quarantine? Scofflaws, Naysayers & Coronavirus Myths In the Pandemic: Desperate Situations, Ingenious Solutions Why We All Feel Hopelessly Unproductive in Quarantine Quarantined? Take Mini-Vacations. For Betty White's Sake Months of Quarantine? OK, If That's What It Takes Yes, You CAN Stay (Relatively) Sane During Lockdown "Stranded" in Seville's Pandemic Lockdown  I'm stuffing my suitcase with personal protection gear in preparation for my first international journey in the time of coronavirus. When I was in high school, three guys I knew took off on a cross-country hitchhiking trip in bad weather, and as they walked out the door, Sam’s dad said, “Well, if you ask me, I think you’re crazy.” That instantly became a catchphrase, and whenever anyone we knew was about to do something dubious — which, being teenagers, was fairly often — somebody would shake their head in mock solemnity and say, “Well, if you ask me…” Why am I thinking of Sam’s dad’s words right now? Because on Sunday afternoon, Rich and I are walking to Seville's railway station, boarding a train to Madrid, spending the night in a hotel, and flying out the next morning to Dallas then on to San Francisco. After two months in quarantine, rarely leaving my apartment, having minimal contact with fellow humans or any objects I haven’t disinfected myself, and eating nothing that I didn’t wash and cook with my own hands, I’m heading out into a very uncertain world.  I'm not sure this police officer in India read the "coronavirus mask required" memo correctly. Like many expats, I have important friendships, business interests, doctors, and family ties in the old country. Matters required our attention in California last summer, but when our Mediterranean Comfort Food Tour extended into fall, we decided to postpone everything until January. Then we discovered our closest Seville friends would be leaving for a year starting in April, so we delayed our departure until March. At which point, as you know, pestilence rose up and stalked the planet, so we hunkered down in our Seville apartment waiting for better times. Are those times here? Spain is cautiously emerging from quarantine. This week Seville entered Phase One, with outdoor bars re-opening and people flocking to them, hypothetically social distancing, in reality thrilling to the familiar-yet-strange sensation of rubbing elbows with a congenial crowd. The numbers could easily spike again. After many hours of discussion and countless glasses of wine (in the safety of our apartment), Rich and I concluded this was the best window of travel opportunity we might have all year.  Am I worried about our safety on the journey? Are you kidding? Of course! My packing list includes masks, gloves, hand sanitizer, spray disinfectant, extra plastic inserts for our face shields, and sufficient homemade raisin nut oatmeal cookies to sustain life for forty-eight hours. A few clothes? Possibly. Garlic and a crucifix? Still under debate. I remind myself that five people we know flew home safely from Seville to the US the day before the pandemic lockdown, on crowded planes, without masks or gloves, armed with nothing but hand sanitizer. I also recall the harrowing story of a couple we know who were vacationing with their two young adult kids in Asia when the pandemic hit. The police raided the house one night, accusing them of playing loud music. Our friends and their kids were thrown in jail for three days until they pled guilty to resisting arrest and violating curfew. After posting an enormous bond, they were taken to a bigger town, tried, and sentenced to nine months in jail. Now I know what you’re thinking; do they have hand sanitizer and social distancing in Asian prisons? I'm guessing not. Anyway, our friends' story goes on to include fines and bribes of epic proportions until they got word to a relative who knew guy who knew a guy who found them a “fixer” who sent a “shadow” who got them released. Last we heard the family was on a nine-hour ferry ride to the mainland, to be followed by six hours in a taxi to the airport and a seventeen-hour flight home.  No doubt my friends wish they had opted for this kind of exotic travel adventure instead. I am betting our journey won’t be quite that exciting. To hedge that bet, I’ve been reading everything I can find about travel safety in the time of coronavirus.  A train station in Madrid, Spain Train Safety Ideally, experts advise, avoid or sanitize high-touch surfaces such as handrails; when that’s not practical, stay as far from others as possible. “If you see someone cough or sneeze near you on the bus or train, and you’re more than six feet away from them, your risk is probably low,” says David Freedman, M.D., a professor of infectious diseases. Good to know!  The airline we're using has new protocols including fogging with an EPA-registered hospital-grade disinfectant in all public areas on aircraft. I used to think chemical cleaners were bad for us ... now I can't seem to get enough. Airplane Safety “The risk of the disease being spread through an aircraft’s airflow system is relatively low,” says Consumer Reports. “That’s because the air is continually filtered through a HEPA filter, which can trap viruses.” The real concern is the people nearby. A study showed that if a fellow passenger has a respiratory illness, there’s an 80% chance people in the eleven adjacent seats will catch it; if you’re not in that zone, your chance of contracting it drops to 3%. Of course, that study was done in the old, pre-pandemic days when you flew without hazmat gear. Still, if anybody near us coughs even once, I’ll be asking for them to be removed to the cargo area. (Just kidding. I’ll volunteer to go down to the cargo area myself.)  This Madrid hotel and the entire hospitality industry struggle to convey a warm welcome while social distancing. Photo: Room Mate Group Hotel Safety Everyone advises wiping down all hotel room surfaces with disinfectant wipes — which unfortunately haven’t been available in Seville for months. However, I did find a disinfectant spray and plan to saturate every surface in the room, possibly including my husband. “Hand washing remains your best defense for infection prevention,” says environmental microbiologist Kelly Reynolds. “Remember to pack your own disinfecting wipes.” (If only!) “I often bring my own pillow too, since hotel pillows could be full of allergens and residual saliva… I recommend travelers remove the comforter to avoid potential contact with lingering bodily fluids that can harbor germs.” Yuck! We’re asking the hotel to remove all pillows, comforters, and blankets before we arrive; I'm packing inflatable pillows and small, lightweight travel blankets. California Safety The virus curve has flattened to almost nothing in our area north of San Francisco, but of course, it may come roaring back in the fall, bringing with it a renewed need for quarantine and more protests, fueled by the anti-vaccine folks and the gun lobby, demanding the right to spread the coronavirus more widely. In other news, wildfires are predicted to be higher than normal (if the word “normal” means anything anymore). Murder hornets have arrived on the West Coast and will no doubt want to take in San Francisco while they are there. Seismologists say the Golden State is seriously overdue for a major earthquake. And don’t get me started on the ballyhoo and shenanigans surrounding the US election. Come to think of it, Sam’s dad may be right; we’re probably crazy to be heading back there. But as I often say, America is something you have to stay in practice for, and I don’t want to lose my touch. We plan to return to Seville in the fall, world events permitting. For now, on the verge of plunging into America's chaos and uncertainty, at least I can count on one thing: it will never be boring. Wish us luck as we set out on our journey this weekend! And if you're not already on the email list, sign up here so you don't miss a single looney story. More Pandemic Perspectives & Humor
Coming Soon: Nostalgia for Quarantine? Scofflaws, Naysayers & Coronavirus Myths In the Pandemic: Desperate Situations, Ingenious Solutions Why We All Feel Hopelessly Unproductive in Quarantine Quarantined? Take Mini-Vacations. For Betty White's Sake Months of Quarantine? OK, If That's What It Takes Yes, You CAN Stay (Relatively) Sane During Lockdown "Stranded" in Seville's Pandemic Lockdown 
For the record, those aren't space aliens' gamma rays going up Rich's nose and into my brain, they're just windowpanes reflected on our face shields.
Right now our front hall looks like a field hospital, cluttered with masks, gloves, hand sanitizer, and our new, most prized possessions: face shields. When we wear them, Rich and I feel like astronauts in a very, very low-budget horror movie, suiting up to leave the mothership. But the fact we can go out for walks together, for the first time in nearly two months, is worth all the effort it takes to ignore how ridiculous we appear. Here in Spain, we’re cautiously “de-escalating the State of Alarm,” as the government likes to put it. We haven’t even entered Phase One yet, but so far Phase Zero has been pretty thrilling, with new freedoms and many stores and services (including hairdressers!) open at last. A friend returning from an appointment at my favorite salon described the atmosphere as “weird,” with staff and clients swathed in plastic, wearing masks and gloves, and trying not to breathe any more than strictly necessary. Frankly, it sounds hideous and I’m not rushing down there any time soon. I flatter (or delude) myself that for now, I’m doing a decent enough job of home hair maintenance. 
Who says home hair color has to be done with chemicals?
As we inch our way out of quarantine, I find myself looking back on the extraordinary experiences of the past two months as a sort of bizarro world, parallel universe version of adventure travel. Looking up definitions online, I saw adventure travel involves “stepping outside your comfort zone,” “experiencing culture shock,” and “some degree of risk or physical danger.” Yep, we can check off those boxes. It’s also about the narrative that shapes our experience, and the stories, jokes, photos, and videos that define the journey and show us what it’s taught us about the world, our times, and ourselves. 
Like heading off to, say, the Albanian mountains or rural Greece, being overtaken by the pandemic has thrown us all into culture shock as the world we know disappears in the rear view mirror. We’re cut off from friends, colleagues, habitual haunts, and daily activities, while spending an unprecedented amount of time with our closest companion(s). Every day we absorb new language (contact tracing, index case, herd immunity) and new customs (20-second hand washing, elbow sneezing, evening clapping). Every headline and meme boosts our hyperawareness of the physical risks of our situation (including occasional impulses to hurl ourselves or our companion(s) into the trash compactor). Some of my fellow travel writers are still producing jaunty little articles about the six best tiki bars on Maui, but I don’t see much point in praising the delights of going abroad when international borders are closed, those tiki bars are locked up tight, and anyone with any sense is sheltering in place. Old-school travel articles feel tone deaf, irrelevant, and downright cruel to anyone frustrated over being trapped at home, especially those with fussy toddlers, angst-ridden teens, or a fed-up spouse. 
Everybody’s speculating about what the post-pandemic world will look like, with timelines ranging from next month to never, but the truth is no one can guess how this thing is going to play out. “The dogmas of the quiet past are inadequate to the stormy present,” Abraham Lincoln once said. “The occasion is piled high with difficulty, and we must rise with the occasion. As our case is new, so we must think anew and act anew.” With the past increasingly less pertinent and the future a mystery, we have little choice but to live — as the Buddhists have been advising for years — in the present moment. 
For me, the present moment is all about emerging from seclusion into the larger world. And that’s a journey as challenging and exhilarating as hiking in the Himalayas or canoeing on the Amazon river. I’m doing my best to comply with Spain’s four-phase plan, a classic piece of government bureaucracy that’s enormously complex yet surprisingly vague, subject to constant revisions, and hedged about with warnings that we’d better not run amok and cause the numbers to spike. Which apparently is government-speak for “Yes, we will arrest you for infractions of the rules, as soon as we figure out what we say they are.” 
As this chart shows, we’re now allowed out for walks and exercise by age group. Being 68, I can take a paseo (stroll) during the blue period (anyone over 14), to accompany my husband during the purple period (those over 70), or for exercise during the orange period (individual sports). No doubt if I put my mind to it I could also come up with a reason to be out during the only other time slot, the green period designated for kids under 14, but at this stage I’d just as soon avoid the darling little disease vectors as much as possible, so the question doesn’t really arise. The amount of time (one hour or two) and the distance we can travel (one kilometer from our home or anywhere in the municipality) are equally confusing, but luckily nobody’s paying much attention to those restrictions anyway. I’m grateful for the chance to go out, but already I’m faintly nostalgic for the cocoon of safety represented by weeks of being comfortably ensconced in my apartment. It’s a scary world out there. The virus curve may have flattened, but we still don’t have a vaccine to protect us if/when this thing comes roaring back in the fall. Other 2020 catastrophes-in-the-making include the world economy, US election, and our new friends, the gigantic carnivorous insects known affectionately as “murder hornets.” What’s next? Flesh-eating zombies? Oh right, something worse: climate change. With all that to look forward to, I suspect that in the months ahead, many of us will come to view the quarantine era as the calm before the hurricane. Life may echo Lincoln's words: “I pass my life in preventing the storm from blowing down the tent, and I drive in the pegs as fast as they are pulled up.” But this is where a lifetime of reading about travel adventures pays off. One of my favorites is Andrew Forstheofel’s 4000-mile walk from Philadelphia to New Orleans and then California. At 23, jobless, homeless, and single, he set off on foot with the vague idea of talking to people along the way and asking what advice they would give their 23-year-old selves if they could go back in time. The stories he recorded are marvelous, and in the end, most of the advice people would give their younger selves boiled down to this comment from a Maryland woman: “I wouldn't worry so much. I used to worry myself to death. And then now I realize the things you worry about, how many of them come true? Very seldom.” She’s right; even in these unnerving times, we don’t have to live in a permanent State of Alarm. As I ease into the neo-normal, I am trying to stay present to the moment, bake more bread, worry less, avoid binging on the news, and spend more time dancing with my husband. That’s my survival strategy and I’m sticking with it. I’ll let you know how it works out. What advice would you give your 23-year-old self, if you could go back in time? What do you think some of these people might have said to their younger selves? Let me know in the comments section below. More Pandemic Perspectives & Humor Scofflaws, Naysayers & Coronavirus Myths In the Pandemic: Desperate Situations, Ingenious Solutions Why We All Feel Hopelessly Unproductive in Quarantine Quarantined? Take Mini-Vacations. For Betty White's Sake Months of Quarantine? OK, If That's What It Takes Yes, You CAN Stay (Relatively) Sane During Lockdown Stranded" in Seville's Pandemic Lockdown  Meanwhile, inside the fridge... I don’t actually believe in jinxes, but watching WWII movies as a kid, I soon figured out that any soldier who said “When this is all over, I’m going to buy a farm…” soon became the next casualty. This made such an indelible impression on my young psyche that since then I've never tempted fate during a crisis by talking about “when all this is over.” But then, during a recent Zoom gathering, a friend said, “Boy, you must really be missing your dive bars.” And just for a moment, I let myself recall all the fun Rich and I’d had visiting the world’s loonier taverns; maybe someday… Then another friend sent me the Quarantine Diary I published last week, with the entry “Day 9 – I put liquor bottles in every room. Tonight, I’m getting all dressed up and going bar hopping.” “Bingo,” I said to Rich. “We are doing that one.” So Tuesday night, we got all dressed up and went bar hopping around our apartment.  Rich tending bar at the cozy dive formerly known as our living room Rich transformed the living room into a dive bar (an American expression describing a funky, downscale bar with local character and tacky charm). I was grateful he refrained from pouring beer on the carpet to create the usual stickiness and fragrance; otherwise the setting was classic, colored lights, rubber chicken, and all. After sharing a beer there, we each had a glass of wine in my office, which I’d remade into San Francisco’s famous Tonga Room, where he’d once taken me on a date. Their theme is tropical kitsch, with a pool in the middle where musicians play on a barge while “rain” falls from the ceiling. Sadly my shower nozzle didn’t reach far enough to recreate the downpour, but I found a YouTube video of the bar and played “The Lion Sleeps Tonight” to set the mood. Our final stop was The Cave, which Rich set up much like the forts we’d constructed as kids, from table cloths draped over furniture, except now he included a video fireplace and rum.  The Cave “One thing about the quarantine,” said Rich, sipping his rum thoughtfully. “I really appreciate stuff I used to take for granted. Maybe I needed a bit of shaking up. It’s like that time all those years ago — you remember? — when I went out for a haircut and got all the way across town to the barber shop and realized couldn’t remember a thing about that walk.” He’d been so shocked to find himself on automatic pilot that soon thereafter he proposed the first of our three-month train trips. It certainly did the trick; when we got back, we saw the city with fresh eyes. “I’ll never again take for granted the pleasure of walking in Seville,” he said now. “Or getting a haircut,” I added. My last salon appointment had been cancelled due to the lockdown, and the last forty-odd days hasn’t improved matters.  One of the great things about getting older is that I am a bit better at managing my own hair and considerably less worried about how it defines me in the eyes of the world. In fact, I find people in my age bracket, while we’re obviously not pleased at being on the front lines of medical risk, often cope with quarantine better than younger folks. It helps that we’re not juggling remote jobs and homeschooling kids. Beyond that, as the New York Times reported, many older Americans thrive in lockdown, modelling strength and resilience, “skilled at being alone, not fearful about their career prospects, emotionally more experienced at managing the great disruption of everyday life that is affecting everyone.” “It’s easier for you,” a young friend said during a Zoom call. “You’ve been through this sort of thing before.” Afterwards I said to Rich, “We have? I wonder how old she thinks we are. Old enough to have lived through the 1918 pandemic? The Black Death? Asteroids killing off the dinosaurs?” While I missed out on those exciting times, I remember plenty of other shockers, such as the Cuban missile crisis in 1962, the assassinations of two Kennedys and Martin Luther King, Jr., and the attacks of 9/11. In the weeks after the Twin Towers fell, I happened to catch a radio program in which young reporters interviewed people in their eighties and nineties, seeking perspective about how to handle the unimaginable. One woman cut directly to the real issue on the reporter’s mind. “Don’t worry,” she told him kindly. “You’ll do just fine.” Now, nearly two decades later, I find myself saying much the same thing.  Rich is taking the quarantine in stride, especially on sunny days when we can picnic on the roof of our apartment building with Seville's iconic Giralda tower in the distance. Time teaches us we are capable of surviving more than we ever imagined. As Eleanor Roosevelt said, “You gain strength, courage, and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face. You are able to say to yourself, 'I have lived through this horror. I can take the next thing that comes along.' You must do the thing you think you cannot do.” Speaking of horrors, last month, Texas Lt. Governor Dan Patrick (and others) said that the elderly should be willing to die to help the economy. Really? Because even from a mercenary perspective that’s a non-starter; an enormous number of movers and shakers are over sixty, including 90% of the world’s billionaires and 63% of Americas millionaires. Eliminating a host of powerful people over a short timeframe would send companies and global economies into freefall. And let’s face it, putting any government in charge of making judgements about which categories of human beings deserve to live is a very slippery slope. Especially when it’s a category everyone's going to find themselves in one day — possibly in twenty or thirty years, when the world is being run by kids who were homeschooled during quarantine by day-drinking parents. Beyond all that, society needs older people around, if only to say, “Don’t worry, you’ll do just fine” with the authority of experience.   Nobody knows what life will be like in the future, lending a strange, zen-like, live-in-the-present-moment quality to our days. But we’re catching a glimpse of things to come in the Spanish government’s just-released “Plan to Transition to a New Normality.” Spain’s kids are already allowed to play outside, this weekend adults can walk for exercise, and starting Monday — thanks, St. Martin of Porres, patron saint of hairdressers — beauty salons will open. (Did I hear cheering?) Outdoor bars aren’t far behind. (Yes, I definitely hear cheering!) The plan’s four phases include restrictions, mandatory protections, and warnings that if our curve pops up, all bets are off. But with luck and social distancing, the “new normality” is expected to be a way of life by the end of June. How will it all work out? Who knows? As the joke says, nobody ever expected 2020 to go viral. And I suspect the year still has a few whopping surprises up its sleeve; personally I’m braced for anything from aliens to zombies. We’ll just have to wait for events to unfold, remembering that, in the words of Yogi Berra, “It’s tough to make predictions, especially about the future.” What does the new normal look like from your quarantine location? How's your hair holding up? Your wine supply? What have your stopped taking for granted these days? Let me know in the comments below. More Pandemic Perspectives & Humor Scofflaws, Naysayers & Coronavirus Myths In the Pandemic: Desperate Situations, Ingenious Solutions Why We All Feel Hopelessly Unproductive in Quarantine Quarantined? Take Mini-Vacations. For Betty White's Sake Months of Quarantine? OK, If That's What It Takes Yes, You CAN Stay (Relatively) Sane During Lockdown  Myth # 247: When in doubt, wear more masks. One of the most astonishing things about America is that just when you think it has reached the limits of its own excess, that the hullabaloo and brouhaha have escalated to the ultimate crescendo and the tomfoolery has plumbed the lowest depths, it manages to surpass even itself. It’s a living embodiment of the saying, “Well, if you’re going to do something, you might as well go too far.”  American protestors fighting for the right to spread the coronavirus more widely in their community This week I’ve been gobsmacked by news reports about Americans gathering to protest the quarantine. Here in Spain, which has the strictest lockdown in Europe, possibly the world, we're all jealous of the freedoms currently enjoyed by those in the US. For the past forty days we’ve been home 24/7 except for short walks to buy essentials like food and medicine. We cannot, as we see Americans doing on TV, visit marijuana dispensaries, gun shops, tattoo parlors, and take-out restaurants; we no longer stroll or drive for pleasure, or gather in public places. If you tried to stage a mass protest, the police would instantly arrest you and slap you with a fine that would make your head spin. As drastic as all that is, the Spanish quarantine makes sense to me. I am very clear about its survival value when pestilence is abroad in the land. And while Sevillanos certainly do their fair share of grumbling, most are compliant. A quick glance at the past may explain why. During the Great Plague of 1647 to 1652 the city was rife with scoffers, deniers, and corrupt officials, and “quarantine measures were evaded, ignored, unproposed and/or unenforced.” As a result, while 5% of Spaniards perished in the pandemic, in Seville the fatality rate was 25%.  Evidently it hasn’t occurred to this anti-quarantine protester that it’s not an either-or situation. Quarantine wasn’t an attractive option in 1647, before God gave us Netflix and Zoom, and we still struggle with it in 2020. This just arrived from a friend. My Self-Isolation Quarantine Diary Day 1 – I Can Do This!! Got enough food and wine to last a month! Day 2 – Opening my 8th bottle of wine. I fear wine supplies might not last! Day 3 – Strawberries: Some have 210 seeds, some have 235 seeds. Who knew?? Day 4 – 8:00pm. Removed my Day Pajamas and put on my Night Pajamas. Day 5 – Today, I tried to make hand sanitizer. It came out as Jello shots!! Day 6 – I get to take the garbage out. I’m so excited, I can’t decide what to wear. Day 7 – Laughing way too much at my own jokes!! Day 8 – Went to a new restaurant called “The Kitchen.” You have to gather all the ingredients and make your own meal. I have no clue how this place is still in business. Day 9 – I put liquor bottles in every room. Tonight, I’m getting all dressed up and going bar hopping. Day 10 – Struck up a conversation with a spider today. Seems nice. He’s a web designer. Day 11 – Isolation is hard. I swear my fridge just said, “What the hell do you want now?” Day 12 – I realized why dogs get so excited about something moving outside, going for walks or car rides. I think I just barked at a squirrel. Day 13 – If you keep a glass of wine in each hand, you can’t accidently touch your face. Day 14 – Watched the birds fight over a worm. The Cardinals lead the Blue Jays 3–1. Day 15 – Anybody else feel like they’ve cooked dinner about 395 times this month?  This week my sister-in-law Deb wrote, “What do you do in an Airbnb in Sevilla during lockdown ... well, at Day 38, you carve veggies.” The result? Frankenspud. When I asked where she got the idea, Deb replied, “I just looked at the potato for inspiration. You know, like Michelangelo said, ‘Every block of stone has a statue inside it and it is the task of the sculptor to discover it.’”  Using nothing but a potato peeler, paperclips, and screws, Deb brought Frankenspud to life. Yes, we all have far too much time on our hands. One of the ways I’m spending my days is doing random bits of research. For instance, did you know the so-called Spanish Influenza actually started in America? Patient Zero was Private Albert Gitchell in Fort Riley, Kansas, who fell ill in March of 1918. As Gitchell’s fellow soldiers carried contagion across the battlefields of Europe, wartime governments suppressed the story, feeling it was bad for morale. Being neutral, Spain had no such compunctions and filled its newspapers with gory details, giving people the false impression it was the epicenter of the pandemic. The Spanish, on equally erroneous evidence, called it “French Flu.” On the home front, US officials insisted this was ordinary flu, but as death tolls skyrocketed, medical experts finally convinced lawmakers to deal with the public health issue. Milwaukee got the message and jumped on containment early, closing businesses, sending people home, urging them to wear masks; they had the lowest death toll in the nation. Philadelphia, on the other hand, simply advised residents not to spit, cough, or sneeze on each other, then held a long-planned Liberty Loan Parade designed to raise money to cover war costs. I probably don’t need to tell you — although some of the liberty-or-death types may need to hear this — after the mass gathering, cases of the flu spiked horribly, making Philly’s fatality rate the worst in the US, triple that of Milwaukee. In any pandemic, one of the first casualties is common sense. In 1918 word went around that the flu “didn’t like” the color red. Other “cures” included noxious fumes, sliced onions, quinine, and bloodletting. All of which proved as effective as wearing red. It’s easy to scoff at such foolishness, yet our own health experts have to post warnings not to attempt to ward off COVID-19 by spraying your body with chlorine, eating garlic, avoiding ice cream, or drinking bleach. Snorting cocaine won’t help with the virus either, although it might take your anxiety down a notch. 2020's "infodemic" includes a myth that we may have to trade human lives for faster economic recovery. You’ll be glad to know this is not true. Just this month a study by MIT and the Federal Reserve found that in 1918 “taking care of public health first is precisely what generates a stronger economic rebound later… Indeed, cities that implemented social-distancing and other public health interventions just 10 days earlier than their counterparts saw a 5 percent relative increase in manufacturing employment after the pandemic ended.”  Fact checkers at Snopes "found no mention of this supposed prophecy prior to the events of early 2020, which generally indicates it is a modern hoax." Myths, misconceptions, and conspiracy theories spread faster than the coronavirus. For instance, it’s not true, as Jimmy Kimmel jokingly suggested, that the virus was started by Netflix. Nor is it a government science experiment run amok; it passed to humans naturally in China’s quasi-legal wild animal market, and has nothing to do with 5G technology, GMOs, or a sinister plot by Bill Gates and/or Dr. Anthony Fauci. It’s not a fake. And you can’t make it go away by announcing an end date, as if it were Daylight Savings Time. Whenever I’m overwhelmed by loony cures, farfetched conspiracy theories, and the furious clamor of those who want the freedom to spread more coronavirus across America, I like to visit reality-based resources such as Snopes, BBC News Reality Check, FactCheck.org, CDC, and WHO. And here’s what I’ve learned. The science community has figured out that the spread of coronavirus is based solely on two things: 1. How dense the population is 2. How dense the population is
UPDATE! Deb's sister, Cyndie, has carved this wonderful Frida Kahlo parody potato, with licorice eyebrows and a radish rose in her hair. Marvelous! Just had to share it with you all.   Yay! I've just added six of these cool blue nitrile gloves to my collection of protective wear. I don’t like to brag, but I can’t resist sharing my good news: I am now the proud owner of four surgical masks and six of those cool blue nitrile gloves — all brand new and never worn or washed! I know, thrilling, right? I’ve been sanitizing and patching our old latex gloves for weeks and was down to my very last one, plus a few flimsy, floppy produce gloves Rich brought home from a grocery run.  I've dubbed this tired old glove "the last of the Mohicans." You can imagine how delighted I was when Rich arrived home bearing his treasures. “I could have gotten more,” he said, as he emptied his pockets in our Decontamination Zone (formerly known as the front hall). “But it just seemed wrong to take anything beyond what we absolutely need.” We’ve all read about supply shortages forcing doctors, nurses, and other frontline workers to fashion substitute face shields from random materials like plastic report covers; some healthcare workers, including those in LA County, have been instructed to reuse surgical masks. Back in the 1990s, when Rich and I were doing volunteer work in the former Soviet republic of Georgia, I was shocked to discover doctors washing out surgical gloves to use over and over again.  The Republic of Georgia, 1997 I’m even more shocked to find myself doing the same thing now. Desperate situations require ingenious solutions. At I write this, people all over the world are devising their own unique protection measures, using simple household items, a spirit of resourcefulness, and often, more flair than common sense. These makeshift masks offer yet more proof, as if any were needed, that we humans are the Earth’s most adaptable species. Five million years ago we were clustered on the savannas of Africa and today we inhabit every climate and terrain on Earth, with six of us living in outer space. Three of those astronauts —Andrew Morgan, Jessica Meir, and Oleg Skripochka — return to Earth tomorrow after 90 days on the International Space Station. I wonder if anyone has told them what’s been going on down here. Do they know they’re going to be stepping out of their spacecraft to discover a shockingly different planet than the one they left? No doubt the debriefing will start with, “The good news is that after 90 days you get to leave the space station's cramped quarters and social isolation …”  These astronauts are coming home to a different planet than the one they left behind three months ago. Andrew Morgan and Jessica Meir flank Commander Oleg Skripochka in the International Space Station. Photo: NASA One positive effect of the pandemic is that it’s reminding us just how much we owe to science. Remember polio? Smallpox? When was the last time you heard of anybody getting rubella or whooping cough, let alone bubonic plague? Like the astronauts, we rely on scientists to keep us as safe as possible in this hazardous universe. We follow their guidelines for avoiding contagion and reassure one another that it’s just a matter of time before researchers develop a vaccine for COVID-19. Unfortunately, in recent decades dark money has been funding a campaign to undermine our confidence in science and encourage us to ignore concrete data about problems even more worrying than this pandemic, starting with climate change. Right now the world is applauding our heroic researchers, doctors, nurses, and technicians. I’m hoping we continue to give them the same respect and support in the future when the pandemic is finally under control and we’re dealing with the next global catastrophe.  Protester at a march to raise awareness of climate change Science and technology have transformed our lives, especially in the last century. Where would we be without cell phones, antibiotics, or airplanes, to name but a few? And then there’s the really important stuff, like movie wizardry, online games, and social media. Without connectivity, we might never know about extraordinary feats of engineering like this. Brilliant! As for the following photo, I’m not sure the person who took it was an actual scientist, but the shot would have been impossible if French astronomer Pierre-Jules-César Janssen hadn’t discovered helium back in 1868.  One of the technological advances we’ve all come to know recently is Zoom, the nine-year-old video conferencing service which has skyrocketed in popularity; since March 2 installations of the app have jumped 728% and stock is now valued at $1 billion. Not only do we all now speak of “Zooming” with our family and friends, some of us (and you know who you are) are “Zumping” — that is, dumping their lovers via Zoom. More sinister uses include “Zoombombing” — that is, crashing a Zoom call to cause disruption or chaos, often to spread messages of racism and xenophobia in educational, religious, or business settings. Zoom has overhauled encryption to tighten security with passwords and admission protocols. Still, I suspect some of those who have Zumped in haste may now be claiming it was all a big Zoombombing mistake in hopes of smoothing things over. If anybody uses that excuse with you, they have a lot of 'splaining to do. If you’re innocently Zooming (or using other video conferencing systems) with friends and family, you may want to take the focus off the pandemic with themed, costumed Festiv(ir)us gatherings or online talent shows known as Coronapaloozas. Or if you’ve been baking lately, you might try creating a cake that looks like something else (here’s a starter how-to video) then astound your fellow Zoomers by casually cutting into it during a session. Humans are a very clever species. We never cease developing new skills and inner resources in response to evolving circumstances. Our ancestors survived for millions of years, outliving all sorts of other bright primates, largely because of an astonishing ability to adapt to change. As Dr. Rick Potts, who runs the Human Origins Program at the Museum of Natural History in Washington, DC., explains, “Going from upright walking, the first tools, changes in our body, the invention of fire, the increase in brain size and then the invention of specialized tools and ultimately the ability to take a story of something you saw outside and bring it inside a cave and paint it — all of these things represent a ratcheting up of adaptability in our lineage.” That’s why I’m confident that we can adapt to life in lockdown, even as it keeps getting extended. Astronauts, explorers like Earnest Shackleton, aviator Amelia Earhart, navigators such as Columbus and Magellan, and countless others learned that cramped quarters and social isolation can be endured for a long time in a good cause. And there’s no better cause than saving human lives. Just ask any of these heroes.  Stay strong, stay considerate, and above all, stay home, my friends! And let me know how you are holding on to your sanity, entertaining yourself, and adapting to the new lifestyle of our global village. Be sure to stay updated by signing up for announcements of new posts on this blog.  I don't know how long my friends Paula and Paul spent fashioning these makeshift masks, but they certainly deserve points for style! If anyone is rejoicing at the arrival of the coronavirus, it’s the Spanish dogs. We humans are on absolute lockdown, allowed out only for strict necessities, and subject to fines, even jail time, for noncompliance. But with a canine on the end of a leash, you can roam freely, so locals are sharing their dogs with neighbors in a daily rotation. Every dog in the city is basking in its newfound popularity and buff physique — although they’re also pretty exhausted, paw-weary, and ready to go on strike unless they get more treats to keep up their strength.  In New York, a foster dog is the latest quarantine accessory, right up there with hand sanitizer and masks. City animal shelters have depleted their entire supply of canines as people realize it will be more fun to shelter in place with a furry friend for comfort and companionship. Dogs are a blessing, but also a responsibility. In Hong Kong, two dogs tested positive for COVID-19, launching a flurry of creative homemade protective gear.  Canine coronavirus fashion Officials are not recommending protective gear for pets, so don't worry if yours are seen on the street clad only in their birthday suits. Scientists reassure us there are no documented cases of animal-to-human transmission, and it’s possible the virus is now adapted exclusively to our physiology. You can keep cuddling Fido and Fluffy, who are probably thrilled to have you around 24/7. “This morning I saw a neighbor talking to her cat,” a friend emailed me this week. “It was obvious she thought her cat understood her. I came into my house, told my dog..... we laughed a lot.” By week whatever-this-is of quarantine, many of us have an entirely new appreciation of frivolity. Most of us went into lockdown with grand thoughts about using the time productively, perhaps perfecting our Spanish, mastering the ukulele, and/or reading the world’s longest novel (which for the record is the thirty-volume Artamène ou le Grand Cyrus by Madeleine de Scudéry published in 1649 – 1654.). When the pandemic hit, I was deep into writing a book about our Mediterranean Comfort Food Tour, and at the news we were soon to be housebound I thought, “Great, I can finish the book in no time!” You know how much I’ve written? Not one word. And that’s OK. Because I’ve finally realized that the universe hasn’t given me a sabbatical for accomplishing projects, it’s thrown me a staggering challenge requiring every scrap of my strength and resourcefulness. Look at the spot we’re in. Our lives have been disrupted on every level. The entire planet has been invaded by a deadly hostile force we can’t see or contain or counteract effectively. Our future is uncertain. We are weighed down with constant unwelcome news. My routine activities include disinfecting all groceries and their packaging, sanitizing my hands and shopping cart, and re-arranging my entrance hall into an ever more efficient decontamination chamber.  My front hall has become a decontamination chamber, filled with hand sanitizer and presided over by my little shrine to San Pancracio, the patron saint of health. Is it any wonder I can’t find time to read a 30-volume novel? A grief counselor once told me that in the face of profound loss (such as a loved one, a job, a home, or a way of life) our bodies react physically in ways we don’t always expect. We feel tired, eat too little or too much, can’t concentrate, lose sleep, lack creativity, find ourselves losing track of … what was I saying? And because these are bodily reactions, we can’t solve the problem with our intellect or willpower. “Grief is bigger than us. It’s bigger than our efforts to manage it,” said Elizabeth Gilbert, author of Eat Pray Love, in a TED presentation on the pandemic. Grief, like life itself, is a mystery to be lived, not a problem to be solved. We must fully experience all the stages — denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance — before it begins to loosen its grip on us. What makes today’s grief unique is that we’re going through it collectively, and everyone on the planet wants to talk about it, all the time.  Like so many people, I spend hours every day connecting with friends on social media, looking at memes, and reading emails like this. “Just be careful because people are going crazy from being in lockdown. Actually I’ve talked about this with the microwave and toaster while drinking coffee, and we all agreed that things are getting bad. I didn’t mention anything to the washing machine as she puts a different spin on everything ... and certainly not to the fridge as he is acting cold and distant. In the end the iron straightened me out as she said everything will be fine — no situation is too pressing. The vacuum was very unsympathetic ... told me to just suck it up, but the fan was more optimistic and hoped it would all soon blow over! The toilet looked a bit flushed when I asked its opinion and didn’t say anything, but the door knob told me to get a grip. The front door said I was unhinged and so the curtains told me to ... yes, you guessed it ... pull myself together.”  When our curtains start talking to us, should we be worried?!? I can’t believe I’m typing these words, but I believe that anonymous author’s curtains have a point. Because in spite of everything, we are somehow managing to pull ourselves together. We’re dealing with our grief, our cabin fever, and the barrage of terrifying headlines. Our homes, street wear, and shopping habits have been revamped to meet antiviral hygiene standards we would have considered impossible even a month ago. We’ve mastered Zoom and various other technology to keep in touch with those we love. Every day we manage to get out of bed and draw on depths of strength, compassion, and resourcefulness we never knew we possessed. “Resilience is our shared genetic and psychological inheritance,” Elizabeth Gilbert said. “We are each and every one of us — no matter how anxious you feel you are, no matter how riddled by fear you feel — every single one of us is the genetic survivor of hundreds of thousands of years of survivors. Each one of us came from a line of people who made the next correct intuitive move, survived incredibly difficult things, and were able to pass their genes on.” That’s a comfortingly solid collective heritage to have at our backs. At the end of every day, the weary dogs of Seville gather with their humans on balconies and rooftops all over the city for the nightly applause in honor of the healthcare workers. The valiant efforts of these heroes, and of everyone who supports the effort by staying home, are beginning to turn the tide. The slight flattening of Spain’s curve is offering us all a glimmer of cautious optimism. Each night, the applause and shouting gets a trifle louder and more boisterous, and sometimes the dogs join in the chorus. No doubt they’re howling, “Hey, enough already. Let’s end this thing so I can get some rest!” Stay strong, stay considerate, and stay home, my friends! How are you surviving the emotional roller coaster of quarantine? What are you doing to lift up your spirits? 
At 98, feisty actress Betty White is considered a national treasure.
“I’ve seen a lot of people posting about how Shakespeare and Sir Isaac Newton came up with some of their greatest ideas while quarantined under the Plague,” said late-night host Jimmy Kimmel. That’s a pretty high bar, he noted, but never fear, modern-day folks in isolation are rising to the challenge. And then he played this. “You see,” said Jimmy Kimmel. “Times of crisis really do produce works of great art.” Need further proof? Look at the responses to the Getty Museum’s challenge to recreate favorite paintings using stuff found around the house. With one third of the world’s population on lockdown — or, as my California friends put it more cozily, “sheltering in place” — there’s an immense pool of talent with too much time on their hands, and the biggest, most bored global audience in history. It’s a match made in entertainment heaven. I’m sure that if John, Paul, George, and Ringo were in lockdown together they’d be producing stuff like this. Dare I say it? Genius! Meanwhile, Rich and I held our first Festiv(ir)us, an online party with themed costumes — in this case, attire from a favorite country. Undaunted by sparse resources (stuck in a rental condo, no stores open) Kathryn and Pete came onscreen gorgeously attired as ancient Greeks in bedsheets: flat for her, fitted for him — or as we soon dubbed them, relaxed fit and slim fit, like jeans. Rich went all out, inventing our own nation, Blogvonia, with a suitably eccentric dress code. Festiv(ir)us is wide open to goofy ideas and wacky themes, but there is one ironclad rule: no talking about the pandemic. Because right now we all need to take mini-vacations that let us mentally disconnect from the catastrophic events raging across the globe. The key is finding activities that are so absorbing they transport us to another state of consciousness, freeing us from everyday worries and cares. I wish I could report I’m achieving this altered state through zen meditation, but the truth is I’m mostly immersing myself in books, movies, and TV shows. Many people are testing their wits with challenges such as sudoku or the famous Nine Dots Puzzle, which back in the 1970s inspired the catchphrase “thinking outside the box.” 
The goal of the puzzle is to link all nine dots using four straight lines or fewer, without lifting the pen and without tracing the same line more than once. Stumped? One solution appears below.
Another great psychological getaway, at least for me, is cooking. I have learned the hard way that if I let my mind wander to the latest harrowing headlines, it’s all too easy to leave the honey out of the Healthy, Moist Banana Bread or put the World’s Best Irish Soda Bread into an oven set on broil rather than bake. Now I take care to give kitchen tasks my complete attention. I am not about to risk botching a recipe and having to throw out precious ingredients I won’t be able to replace until the next scheduled shopping expedition. Here in Spain, where people are taking the virus very seriously, most of us shop once a week, less often if possible. Grocery shopping day is an occasion, celebrated with a lunch of fresh fish, usually something simple such as Five-Ingredient Pesto Salmon; I prepare extra to put in a salad or Buttermilk Salmon Chowder for future meals. The next day we dine on poultry, such as my Chicken Marbella or Rich’s Foolproof Maple-Dijon Chicken Thighs. And when we’ve enjoyed every bit of the leftovers, we move on to vegetarian meals such as last night’s Cozy Autumn Wild Rice Soup. I like to think of it as Meatless Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday. Eating well reminds us to celebrate life’s small pleasures. It takes our minds off our anxieties for at least a few moments while we savor the first, glorious bites and utter a blissful “Mmmmm.” Let’s face it, if we’re going to hold on to whatever shreds of sanity we have left, we all need those kinds of respites, however brief. And (while we’re being totally honest) we also need respites from our quarantine companions. “You’ve got to write something about space rules,” a harassed friend said to me during a phone call last week. “How do you negotiate them? You and Rich spend months on the road together. How do you make it work?” I thought back to 2013 when we set out on our first three-month railway journey. We'd spent the early weeks establishing guidelines for organizing our time, occupying cramped quarters, and navigating differences. NASA astronaut Anne McClain, who knows a lot about sharing space, emphasizes that it starts with communication. “Talk so you are clearly understood,” she advises. “Actively listen, pick up on non-verbal cues…Talk about your intentions before taking action.” Sound advice. 
If you think you and your family are living on top of one another, consider the astronauts. NASA gives them special training in adjusting to life in confined spaces with others for long periods of time.
Even without NASA training, Rich and I learned early on that we had to be absolutely clear with each other about space. Despite our undying love and eternal friendship, we each need to be alone with our thoughts and our computers for hours every day. As a writer, I find this as essential as breathing, and I respect the fact that just about everyone has an online life to pursue — preferably without constant interruptions. Rich and I set aside specific blocks of time in the morning and afternoon for solitary pursuits. On our travels, such as our recent five-month journey, we agreed to leave each other in peace even when sitting next to each other in a tiny hotel room. In lockdown, with a whole apartment at our disposal, I retreat to my office, and Rich ensconces himself at his desk by the living room window. These are our sanctuaries, and we make it a practice to ask permission to interrupt one another if we need to pop in and check on, say, when we’re scheduled to Zoom with friends. 
My well-equipped gym includes a small step machine, yoga mat and blocks, and a sturdy pair of sneakers.
In addition to computer time, there’s a daily schedule for sharing my small, inexpensive stair step machine, replacing our daily hours of walking with hours of exercise in front of the TV. I’ve been watching the news and the third season of Stranger Things, and to be honest it’s not always easy to tell them apart. Mini-vacations, space rules, and daily routines are vital, but I believe the real secret to surviving the lockdown is kindness. Like the the kids in Stranger Things, we’re all terrified of a monster that’s turned our world upside down. If there was ever a time to cut our companions some slack, it’s now. Nobody ever said quarantine was going to be easy, and it doesn’t help that the end date keeps getting pushed back. So how can we stay motivated over the long haul? “I'm doing this for Betty White,” commented long-term reader Shéa last week. “Because I'm not going to be the person who passes it to someone who passes it to Betty White.” We all live within six degrees of separation from one another, including the iconic 98-year-old actress. You’ll be glad to hear that as of this writing, she is safe in home quarantine and showing no symptoms of the virus. I’ve taped a picture of Betty to my bookcase as a reminder that it’s my job to keep her that way. 
Stay home and stay safe, my friends! Let me know how you're surviving the challenges of quarantine. What are you cooking? Are you finding ways to exercise your body and your creativity? What can we do to take care of one another — and ourselves? Were you able to solve the Nine Dots Puzzle? Here's one solution. 
You can see what they mean by "outside the box thinking"!
 At the Louvre, an off-duty Mona Lisa embraces the new normal, kicking back to watch Netflix. Now that a run to the store has become an act of death-defying bravery, I made sure to send my grocery warrior out into the streets yesterday in full protective gear. Rich was swathed from head to foot in pestilence-baffling layers and wore our precious, next-to-last pair of latex gloves — washed VERY thoroughly after my food shopping expedition last week, the tiny rip in the thumb meticulously mended with duct tape. Here in Europe, we are taking this virus very, very seriously. You may have seen footage of the Italian mayors, who are using ever more colorful language to convince their headstrong constituents to honor the quarantine — or else! It never gets old. Here’s one from the Guardian staff, who carefully cleaned up the translations to avoid offending sensitive readers, while maintaining the I’m-coming-for-you-with-a-flamethrower attitude. My favorite scenes are the ones where the mayors personally chastise scofflaws, because something like this happened to me the day before lockdown became official here in Seville. Rich and I were headed out for one last, long walk, but first we met up briefly with my brother Mike and his wife, Deb, to make sure they had everything they needed and wish them luck. We were standing a careful six feet apart in Plaza de la Alfalfa when an older Spanish man walked up to us. “You shouldn’t be out here," he said. "It’s dangerous. Get off the streets. Get off the streets now! Go back indoors and stay there! You aren’t safe here!” He couldn’t have sounded more urgent if flesh-eating zombies were coming over the city walls. Gadzooks! Suddenly being out and about didn’t seem like fun anymore. In fact, it felt foolish and irresponsible. Rich and I went directly home and have basically been there ever since.  This view from the roof of our building is about as much as we can see of the world most days. But that doesn’t mean we aren’t leading a full and interesting life. Our calendar is jammed with virtual morning coffees, virtual happy hours, virtual dinners, and other online fun. Talking on Zoom seems to minimize awkward pauses and jerkiness (in the technology, that is, not the conversation), but we also use FaceTime, Google Hangouts, and Skype. I haven’t even had time to explore Delish’s new How to Throw A Virtual Dinner Party page, or Netflix Party, which lets you and remote friends watch the same movie or TV show and enjoy a live chat throughout it. To be honest, I’m not entirely convinced I want to be distracted during peak moments by my pals typing, “Hey, isn’t that the guy we saw in … in … no wait, it’ll come to me. You know, the one with the thing. The one about the guy with the thing.”  Remember Festivus for the rest of us? The one about the guy with the thing? And now there’s Festiv(ir)us. One of Deb’s in-laws is a fan of Seinfeld and the holiday created by George Costanza’s father: “Festivus for the rest of us,” featuring an aluminum pole and feats of strength. Deb’s family is gathering soon for an updated version they’re calling Festiv(ir)us, a festival for those in quarantine. I love this idea and have enlisted a congenial California couple to give it a go tonight. You pick a theme — NOT one associated with the pandemic! — and come up with costumes, decorations, and activities. “We’re in,” my friend Kathryn replied to the invitation. “But some consideration please that we are in Tucson with limited wardrobe options and closed stores!” I confess that I’d overlooked the fact that she and Pete were out of town when the pandemic hit. But they are legendary for their creativity, so I have no doubt they will come up with something. I can’t wait to see what.  Festive meals are good for the soul so I'm trying new dishes all the time. For lunch yesterday, I made Greek Gyro Skillet (see the link below for the recipe). As you can imagine, I’m cooking a lot these days, mostly comfort foods such as granola, One-Pot Creamy Smoked Salmon Pasta with Spinach, Greek Gyro Skillet, and Skinny Oatmeal Chocolate Chip Cookies (which are much yummier than they sound!). Luckily I discovered a recipe for the modestly named World’s Best No-Yeast Irish Soda Bread; it’s quick and easy to make, has the flavor and texture of “real” bread, and eliminates hazardous expeditions to the store when all you need is a loaf of bread. For a real change of pace, Stefania — a talented cook from Parma I met on our Mediterranean Comfort Food Tour — is offering private online Italian cooking courses. Buon appetito! My days are astonishingly full, but I always stop at 8:00 o’clock to applaud the heroic healthcare community, including all the service and support people. My friend Ann wrote in a comment on last week post, “I work at a nursing home locally and transport three residents to dialysis six days a week. I do everything I can to keep them and myself safe during this difficult time.” Ann, and countless others like her, are risking their lives on the front lines every day, and God only knows where we’d be without them. You’ll be glad to hear communal nightly clapping is beginning to catch on, cropping up in Atlanta, Georgia; San Anselmo and Mill Valley, California; Vancouver, Canada; and elsewhere. And some brave souls are going it alone. Catherine wrote me that reading my blog about Spain applauding healthcare workers inspired her to launch a one-woman nightly ovation on her front porch in Memphis.  Click on the photo to go to Catherine's Facebook page and view the video. In Seville, the clapping grows louder each night as more neighbors join in; occasionally I hear snatches of music. My brother Mike, who is taking delivery of a new guitar today, says he plans to join in. “As soon as the clapping stops, I’ll pull a chair out into the street in front of our apartment building and play.” I only wish I lived close enough to hear him. How much longer will the quarantine be in effect? Weeks, possibly months. And I have come to terms with that. Yes, I long for the day when I can walk in the sunshine. Go out with friends. Shop without head-to-toe protective gear. Visit my home state of California (where I was scheduled to fly today). Wash my hands without singing Zip-a-De-Do Dah for twenty seconds. But much as I want all those things, the cost is simply too high; I can’t justify risking human lives for a more pleasurable daily routine. Anne Frank spent 761 days in a secret annex, with little to eat, constant fear of discovery, and (horrors!) no Internet. I think we can step up to the challenge of spending too much time on the couch scrolling through Netflix trying to find something we haven’t seen yet. Staying home isn’t easy. It creates a profoundly disturbing disruption in our lives, in many cases daunting economic hardship, and often an excess of togetherness that gets on everyone's nerves.  But if you’ve ever wondered whether you had it in you to be a hero, to do something to help save the human race, now’s your chance to find out. Staying home for weeks or months takes grit and fortitude, but most of all, it requires clarity of purpose. When you consider that the first life you save could be your mom’s, your kid’s, or your own — or mine for that matter! — it becomes a lot easier to do the right thing. Good luck, my friends. Let me know how you’re doing, whether there’s anyone clapping in your area, and what you’re finding to help you stay (reasonably) sane in these crazy circumstances. |
Welcome!
I'm an American writer living in lockdown in Seville, Spain with my husband, Rich. My posts contain tips for living more comfortably in quarantine and keeping our mental equilibrium in these unsettling times. Send me your email and I'll notify you when new posts come out. 
Karen McCann
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