Day 70: Quiche Down

May 21, 2020
Day 70

Ten weeks ago I met with two clients in person. We were unsure. Was it ok? We sat apart, sort of. The next day, I came home from my office as we all tried to make sense of the pandemic closing in on us. I scrambled to get my son in for an important medical appointment that day, suspecting correctly that by the next week, it would be too late for something non-emergent. We read the news non-stop.

Ten weeks ago. There is a lot of joking about time these days, like what even is that? What day is it, does it even matter? And at the same time, time is a serious thing. What I mean is, we are not even three months into this and the country has become acutely focused on “reopening,” “getting back to business,” and other similar expressions. After all, it has been three months. The economy is in shambles. People are hurting. What choice do we have… this is the thinking I’m hearing.

I’m not really keen on weighing in on it. I feel too tired today. My opinion feels unimportant in a cacophony of opinions. Ninety-thousand Americans have died of this virus so far, and there is so sign that that’s even remotely the end of its toll on human life. Its toll on other things – livelihoods, mental wellbeing, folks who have absolutely no choice about working, those living in unsafe relationships, children who are suffering – when I open that door, I feel I could just fall and fall.

I want us to be making decisions based on scientists’ input and based on as much care as possible for people’s lives. But who decides what that ultimately means and looks like? I saw a video just now of a guy in a nearby Costco who refused to wear a mask. His reason? “Because I woke up today in a free country.”

I was not feeling well this morning. Headache, scratchy throat, slightly nauseous. I think it’s most likely seasonal allergies. I just ate a mango-coconut fruit ice thing – Pearl asked me to get them and I’m glad I did – that tasted like the beach. I’m taking the day off from running and might even skip a walk. Listening to my body.  

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It’s later now – 5:30pm – and I am waiting for the quiche to finish baking. I wonder how many quiches I’ve baked since quarantine started. Probably one a week, at least. I just read this sentence in the Washington Post, which is how I know things have really gone amuck: “First, all those stay-at-home orders have led to more stay-at-home pooping.” Yep, the WaPo is now reporting about pooping.

My new mixer arrived and its sunny yellow is already making me happy, without even having used it yet. I have to wait until Monday’s PeaPod delivery to make cookies since we are plum out of chocolate chips, but I may try something else, maybe muffins are in order.

Today I came across my college graduation photo. There I am, baby me, walking across the stage in my cap and gown, shaking Judith Shapiro’s hand. It was a proud and happy moment, to be sure. I think often about Peter Juviler, my advisor and mentor in the political science department -- may his memory be a blessing -- our long conversations in his office, towers of books everywhere, about human rights and political movements and women’s rights and Jewish identity. I was a Russian Studies major, to the surprise of many who know me only more recently and assume I studied something like English. I wish I could talk to Peter now.  

I just refilled the feeders on our kitchen windows and watched as all the birds flocked to the dinner buffet. Then I read that Trump said the country will “stay open” no matter what happens at this point. Aaaaaand the quiche just slid off the plate as I took it out of the oven. I am not going to cry, though it absolutely pains me to waste that much food. I am going to eat what’s salvageable and then call it a day.

Some days are like this and all things considered, I remain on this side of grateful, but oh, my friends. My heart breaks for us. I wish this were cheerier, but here we are. I hope tonight's dispatch finds you well as can be, and I'm hitting "send" with love. We will keep getting throught this, because that is what we do. That is who we are.