Does anybody see what I see?
Plenty do. But not the right people. Or enough of them.
It's been 4 months, and the disease's spread has worsened, touching almost every community at a rate that is plain to see from the hospitals, but still a bit distant to the average viewer at home.
I'm still in a work-from-home situation. John is getting ready to start 1st grade as a digital nomad. Tommy's preschool has somehow found the wherewithal to operate, so we will enroll him, but I'm nervous given his medical history.
Day 15 of quarantine.
Day 24 of quarantine. Local government had closed all outdoor play equipment for fear of surface transmission of the disease.
Day 27 of quarantine.
My work decided that thermal vacuum testing was essential enough to the public to endanger its employees. So, I got to travel to Northern California. I opted to rent a car and drive myself rather than risk the airport petri dish--plus the frequency of available flights had plummeted to the point of making driving actually a more convenient option. Not really having any measures of protecting myself beyond hand washing and masking, I took vitamin C and zinc supplements in the hope of fending off anything.
My hotel did not allow any guests to enter the lobby, and they were not offering breakfast. The streets were nearly abandoned. After my first graveshift, the fire alarm in my hotel went off. Turns out someone smoking had set it off, but no one else staying there seemed concerned; I was the only one who came to the lobby to ask what was going on. They advised me to remove the batteries from my smoke alarm if I wanted to sleep.
Day 39 of quarantine. I was only assigned for 7ish day stints, so I came home between them. One of the popular activities was running loose in the church's parking lot.
I decided to try some garlic ice cream in Gilroy. It tasted like regular vanilla ice cream with a garlic aftertaste. Not horrible, but not exactly something I would strongly recommend either. It's about what it sounds like.
Day 51 of quarantine. A day in a home-schooled life of a kindergartener. We were fortunate that Alison's job was already a "work from home" format, otherwise I'm not sure if we'd have been able to supervise John's last couple of months of kindergarten.
Day 53 of quarantine. John and Tommy doing buoyancy experiments in our little backyard patio.
Day 55 of quarantine. The parks are closed for playing, but not for picnics.
Day 70 of quarantine. In an effort to raise spirits of those quarantined, the ward put together a "drive-by" graduation party for the primary and secondary schoolers who completed their term in a subpar online format.
I had 4 trips, altogether. There was an interesting water feature near my hotel the last time I went out.
While I was away, the US manned space program resumed after being suspended in 2011. A billionaire with a big ego managed to edge out the storied aerospace firms that sent us to the moon.
Day 81 of quarantine. Bedtime is becoming a chore.
Day 84 of quarantine. We took a little drive up Azusa Canyon to an area near Crystal Lake. The road to the lake proper appeared to be closed. There were an awful lot of people about, as well. Everyone is getting a bit stir crazy. Notice our kid's hair.
Day 89 of quarantine. Tommy's babysitter, who had her daycare closed since the quarantine, decided to open up in limited capacity. It was very helpful to get Tommy out of the house, and John's school district decided to try out a day "camp" with small groups, masking, and lots of outdoor play. This time period was probably the highlight of the quarantine. We had a little reunion with Tommy's friend from Carolina's day care. Tommy's broken foot didn't even seem to bother him much.
Day 96 of quarantine. Brothers at war.
Day 112. Independence Day. Private fireworks lit our way to the airport as we decided, despite a worsening spread in Houston, to travel there for a vacation that we really needed.
Of course, our flight scheduled at a normal time ended up being a red-eye by the time all the schedule shuffling shook out.
We stayed part of the time at a vacation rental in Surfside, near the Gulf of Mexico. It was actually the first time I visited the beach near Houston, and Surfside was probably better than the popular Galveston options.
We were joined by the Gibbs-Browns at the beach. It was nice, as far as beaches go. Very warm and humid, but mostly tolerable. It's still a beach. Salty, sandy, yucky.
Texas didn't shut down the playgrounds, so we got to let the kids work out some energy there.
And spent plenty of time lounging about.
Day 122 of quarantine, we returned home on a packed flight. Not thrilled.
Day 130 of quarantine. Tommy turned 3 years old, with a superhero themed party, consisting of us.
Day 140 of quarantine. We took an early Saturday AM walk for Jamba Juice and to break in John's new scooter after he wore out the brake on his old one. The theater here is still closed.
Day 141 of quarantine. A common scene for at-home church. Our ward started offering outdoor services at 8 AM, only if you promise not to run around crazy. Not our speed, I'm afraid.
Day 146 of quarantine. We found a playground in Upland that didn't tape up their stuff, although they did put out a sign saying it shouldn't be used. By this point, fomite transmission has been considered a fairly low risk, although still possible.
As we face a new school year at home, I can't help but wish that we had the political will or compassion to care for our public health. Countries around the world have successfully suppressed the virus to low levels, enabling a manageable strategy of test-trace-isolate. My country never got there, in fact it spent half the time believing that masks were an "infringement" on liberty. The rugged individualistic spirit of my countrymen has devolved into an abandonment of collective action, and thousands die every week that need not to have. Armchair researchers peddle disproven medications as a panacea, much like Jude Law's character in the prophetic film Contagion. Wishful thinking of the executive, that the virus will just "go away" and that too much testing just makes us look bad, saps political will to take more decisive action. People who have lost their jobs as a result of the pandemic are denigrated as lazy and denied unemployment benefits by a sneering legislature, encouraging the poor and vulnerable of our nation to seek out risky employment in order to reclaim their access to healthcare. Politicians demand children be pushed back into in-person schools to free up their parents to put money in corporations' pockets without offering assistance in making the schools safer or even mandating basic health precautions. Children are declared nearly invulnerable to COVID-19 by the highest elected official in the land as hundreds fill our nation's hospitals.
It's a dark time in America. I don't think there have been darker days in my lifetime. I was pretty horrified when aircraft were crashed into buildings in 2001, but we have lost 50 times that number by this point to this disease, and the count continues to rise. There has been a lackadaisical federal response, leaving individual states to find their own way. Is it because the people are dying in hospitals and nursing homes, out of sight and out of mind? Is it because we're willing to take on horrifying natural experiments to compare public health approaches between state borders? "It is what it is"? I am ashamed of what we've allowed this country to become.
It's time for change.
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