Pandemic Ramblings Again
A few weekends ago I planted some more marigolds and other wildflower seeds, and despite the constant smoke in the air, and the 100 degree temperatures outside, they all happily sprouted, throwing themselves upwards towards the orange glow of the sun. Back in March I planted a few pots of wildflowers, and one of them continues to bloom today, in October. Over the past 7 months I have created a little garden on our balcony, some failures (tomatoes), some epic successes (zinnias and marigolds that bloom and bloom and bloom), and some real surprises (a jalapeno plant grown from seed that continues to provide us with fiery little jalapenos). Over the past 7 months we have been living a life of shutdown because of the pandemic, which got worse in California during the summer, unlike many places in Europe where it let up a little (but is now coming back with force). For seven months we have not been much further than the grocery store, or for a walk by the river. Seven months, two plus seasons, and a few more to go, and it feels like an eternity.
I’ve watched plants grow, bloom, and die, cycling through the year, from the same spot in my home: a big table that serves as a family dining table, game table, superhero imaginary land table, and sewing table. I’ve placed a cake for each of my kids’ birthdays on that table this year, watching them turn 6, 3, 5. We developed plans for turning their bedroom into a bedroom slash schoolroom on that table, a place where they would feel comfortable sitting in front of laptop screens in the daytimes, but also comfortable sleeping and playing and creating. I’ve thrown dreams, thoughts, worries, anger, and astonishment into my journal on this table, I’ve taught myself to sew, made hundreds of masks that I have donated, and some others that I have sold, right here on this table. Earlier this year, before Covid interrupted our lives as we then knew it, Cesar painted an anatomical heart with the words “family” around it on this very table. The same table we purchased three years ago from a thrift store for $20, right before we moved into this apartment. This table carries many memories, and hopefully will carry many more.
Writing anything outside of my journal has however proven difficult. I had so many plans in January: stories, essays, memories… Notes and quotes jotted down, an idea for a new book, all types of things. But on March 13th everything changed, and then a few weeks later I got sick for a few weeks, and my focus on everything changed. Everything is documented in my journal and through photos, and maybe one day more, but for now other projects are on hold for the duration. At the time there were no tests available here for people who were presumed to have Covid, so my doctor told me to assume I had it, and to isolate, and go to the hospital if I had trouble breathing. For someone who is never sick the whole “trouble breathing” thing is difficult to judge. Is that when I can’t breathe? When I am gasping for breath? Or is it when my breath is labored, but continuous? In any case, I didn’t leave my apartment for three weeks, and while my breathing went back to normal, months later I am still tired all of the time (but can’t sleep because of my anxiety), and my arthritis feels so much worse than it was when I went to see my doctor in January. Joint pain comes with the territory of growing old, but it shouldn’t get worse because I am less active, quite the opposite! In any case, I feel lucky to be OK, and that my kids were not visibly affected, and that Cesar hasn’t been sick.
Then again, there is no guarantee that, despite all of our safety precautions, he won’t get sick. We can’t afford for him not to work, but work is not always safe either. It’s a double-edged sword really: the service industry barely ever offers health insurance, and many people aren’t eligible for unemployment, so you have to work, but your safety depends on how much your bosses and the customers respect you as a worker. We have seen so much blatant disregard, both from restaurant owners/managers and customers, but as long as people keep thinking that the virus has pissed off elsewhere (or never existed), then this disrespect will continue.
And as I posted on social media this past week, the virus disproportionately affects Black, Hispanic, and Native American communities, so if your first reaction is to shrug and blow the virus off as a hoax, then your privilege is really showing.
If I look back at myself 4 years ago, I see a person who was worried about the future, and worried about a presidential election that people told me not to worry about. But I saw the Trump signs on my walk to the park in Carmichael every day, and I saw that blonde lady usher her grandkids in the car or in the house whenever I walked by with my little kids, blatantly ignoring my then 2 year old’s “hello!!”. I saw the congratulations balloons she placed on top of the Trump signs in her front yard after the election, a blatant sign telling us that we really weren’t wanted there. That anxiety never left, just became a constant drone in my head that I live with. This year I don’t have the hope I had in 2016 though. If 4 years of this hasn’t taught you anything, and you prefer the status quo to a better world where everyone has a chance, then I don’t really know what to tell you. Benefitting from the status quo is a privilege, obviously, but not being affected by the status quo is also a privilege.
Not believing the virus is as dangerous as it is is also a privilege. It’s easy to stand up and say that there is nothing to worry about when you have the best healthcare and doctors and medicine in the world on stand by. Thinking that wearing a mask is a choice is a privilege: your act of “freedom” could mean death to another. Being anti-vaccination comes from an inherent amount of privilege that anti-vaxxers will probably deny. The privilege to be able to afford healthcare services if they do fall prey to an illness such as the measles or other. The privilege to assume that they are more important than another person (because herd immunity relies on a society that believes in working together rather than for oneself). The privilege of not having had to see children suffering and dying from diseases such as polio and diphtheria. The privilege of having the time to believe in conspiracy theories over science, a privilege that those who create the conspiracy theories count on. I would have thought it blatantly obvious that these alternative facts (haha) are created exactly to divert one's attention from what is actually taking place in front of their eyes, but I always forget how gullible people are. But the amount of time and energy it must take to really believe in all this crap is insane… And quite frankly drives me bonkers. There are so many more important issues at hand in this world! Racism, systemic prejudices, bigotry, hatred, white supremacy, climate change, wars, death, natural disaster and so on.
Last month (or maybe it was August, the weeks kind of blend together), I walked past the state Capitol on my way to the grocery store, and was surprised to see hordes of unmasked families walking towards the lawns, loads of little kids, teens, people of all ages, some with giant US flags, some with banners, and the usual evangelist paraphernalia. It made my jaw ache, that anxiety of being too close to people who obviously couldn’t care less about the virus, so I stayed far away from them. It was also one of those really bad air days, where the sky was filled with smoke particles and ash, and the temperature was over 110 Fahrenheit. But these people crammed themselves into the Capitol gardens to listen to some evangelical dude sing his praise to Jesus. It’s funny how CHP let them into the grounds quite happily (I witnessed one officer open the gates and invite people in), but when people stand there protesting against police brutality they are met with tear gas. Not really funny, not really surprising: the hypocrisy of it all. Just two hours ago I saw the cops high fiving a bunch of Trump flagged cars, and then turned around to tell me that it wasn’t a nice thing to do, flipping them all off. The words “fuck off” flew out of my mouth… Because yes, fuck off.
Two entire seasons spent in shutdown mode, living off one income when we had been just getting by on three, and now that the nights are drawing in, and the temperature is finally coming down a little. We are OK, as a family; Cesar and I have always been resourceful, and together we are making it through these times. I now dream of living on remote islands (Scottish Hebrides come to mind), and running, running through the fields of my Rutland years, growing a large garden and feeling the cold wind on my face. Dreaming of a permanent home will always be part of my make-up, a longing for something I’m not even sure about anymore. For now this is home, but that is because my family is home, and home is where my family is. While we are OK, many others are not, and the only way to guarantee that everyone makes it through this is if we work together. That means looking out for each other, pitching in where we can, and just being kind. Also, voting for a better than what we have government now please. Remember that millions of us cannot vote, immigrants of course, but also people who are incarcerated, on parole, or who have been convicted of a felony - in some cases permanently even after release. We don’t have voting power, but we do have voices, and I hope that you will listen to our voices. I mean… You are more than happy to take all the taxes we pay, so it would only be respectful to also listen to our voices and rights too. I know that my personal politics are a lot more on the left than makes most “liberal” Americans comfortable, but I don’t think we are in a place where comfortable works. Right? If you are comfortable then maybe spend some time thinking about those who are uncomfortable and share the load?
Yesterday I learnt that local Sacramento agencies consider the local median income to be $86,300 (which sounds insane to me, I don’t know anyone here personally who makes that much money). If the minimum wage is $15, and someone works 40 hours a week, that only adds up to $28,000 a year (before tax). So, even if two people are working 40 hours a week at the minimum wage of $15, yearly they still only make a combined $57,600. The average rent in the Sacramento area is apparently $1,500 BUT units in downtown and midtown Sacramento actually average out at $2,200. So you don’t even have to do the calculations to understand that $15 an hour is not a living wage here. And many places aren’t even at $15 an hour yet! Even before Covid people were struggling, juggling everything to make things meet, and it doesn’t take much in those situations for everything to collapse: illness, loss of work and no unemployment, no savings, no family to lean on, and so on. There is no set in stone solution for dealing with the ravages of Covid, but there are so many better ways to handle it than what we have seen so far. And what better moment than now to make changes that matter?
The virus isn’t going away, and while we finally have a little lull in California, I don’t doubt that it will be back soon, and we need to be prepared to be doing this for a few more seasons. Also, we all need to make plans for what we need to do when Trump refuses to step down and/or gets reelected. Hope for the best and prepare for the worst and all that.