Covid at Coe, week 5ish: learning new things I didn't want to learn

When Coe's administration was making plans to go back to in-person classes in the midst of a global pandemic, I predicted we'd have enough cases by week 4 or 5 that we'd have to go online.

I am happy to say that I was wrong! We are still operating on campus!

Why did I guess week 4 or 5 for a big Covid outbreak? That's about the time every semester when The Fall Semester's First Cold starts making its way around campus. So I figured the same thing would happen with Covid.

Yet neither Covid nor a cold have really been circulating much at Coe, and I'm relieved.

Though we haven't had the giant outbreak I'd feared, we have had some Covid on campus. 

The New York Times is compiling data on Covid in colleges, and shows that Coe has had 36 positive cases of Covid out of 1400 students, so 2% of the student body. The NYTimes chart lists all cases since the beginning of the year.

Above us on the list is Clarke University with 28 (they enroll about 1000 students), so about the same percentage as Coe. Below us is Cornell College, also about 1000 students these days, with only 3 cases! There was a writeup in the local paper about their protocol. For comparison, Iowa State University in Ames, has had 1247 cases out of about 35,000 students, 3.6%, according to the NYT chart. 

When students arrived on campus here at Coe, they were ALL tested with the swab-up-your-nose-into-your-brain test. Faculty got tested, too (ow), during the week before classes started. About 25 students tested positive at that point, so they were quarantined, and those who'd interacted with them were isolated. 

I don't know if all colleges were proactive, testing all students. Probably that's easier at a smaller college. 

Early during the semester, I was concerned when I saw students hanging out in groups outdoors without masks, or sitting very close together outdoors with masks. 

Others must have seen this, too, because right after classes started, two emails went out: one very sternly-worded email from the Dean of Students, telling students they'd be kicked off campus if they were not following Covid precautions! 

And the other from our mascot, Charlie Kohawk, telling students that he would be walking around campus, randomly giving out gift cards to students who WERE following Covid precautions. Our rule: wear a mask anytime you're on campus except when in your room or when eating. 

Here's Charlie in one of his "Protect our Nest" videos:

This Good Cop/Bad Cop approach must have been fairly effective; I haven't seen so much rule-flaunting these days.

I don't see students much at all, to be honest. It seems that they're pretty much staying in their rooms--to eat, to study, and to relax. That's good--for Covid mitigation. But it's really strange. 

We are all getting used to doing college in the era of a global pandemic. I teach one class online, and my Writing Center Theory and Practice classes in person, so I get to do both. I'm finding I like teaching online more than I thought. It does take a lot of work to consider how to divide up 90 minutes worth of material into segments (most of us do this anyway--it's just good teaching), and figure out what will provide active learning for students sitting and looking at screens (breakout rooms for discussions, quick polls and quizzes, using the chat function to get responses).

I'm starting some material that really requires discussion this week. I'm using online forums, breakout groups, and the chat function on Zoom to help facilitate discussion--whole-class, free-flowing discussion is weird on Zoom. It's hard to read nonverbal cues on Zoom. It's hard to think when all those faces are looking at you in a big block--or when you're staring at black squares if students have their videos turned off. . . 

And in the classroom, having students six feet apart makes group work challenging. Not impossible, though; I've done it. I also have to remember NOT to walk around when I teach! That's hard for me!

In other news, the city is still clearing up debris from the derecho, which was 7 weeks ago on August 10. 

Tree debris in our median. Our street has already been cleared once and there's still more to go.

Our roof still has a hole in it, and the rain was coming in today. We've had shingles and a dumpster trailer in our driveway since Thursday afternoon, waiting to be used, which has been a bit frustrating...hoping they'll work on the roof tomorrow.

This is where the rain comes in . . . .

Between Covid and the derecho, learning new things--ones that I really didn't want to learn.

I still remember talking to my mom after my dad was diagnosed with cancer--because of the nature of his cancer, they had to give up going to Elderhostels. Mom pointed out that that Elderhostels was what they did before--learning about history and nature and such in beautiful locations. Now they were learning about cancer at home. I thought that was a pretty awful trade-off.

As a teacher during Covid, I've learned more than I ever wanted about Zoom and about effective teaching online. As a homeowner during a weather catastrophe, I've learned about insurance, contractors, and positioning buckets under a dripping hole in the roof. I didn't really want to learn those things, but what are you going to do?

I've also learned that I can be flexible. I can deal with things I never even guessed I'd have to deal with. 

Anne and I went to the Farmer's Market in Hiawatha today--I bought sweet corn, a watermelon, apples, beets, and peppers. Burgers, sweet corn and watermelon for dinner tonight: a summer meal before the weather turns cooler next week. That's my reward.

Our derecho in photos

I've been working on a new craft project, a tiny basket made of pine needles. 

I learned how to do this from watching a YouTube video that appeared in my Facebook feed a few days ago. After I watched the video, I knew I needed to make a basket.

The needles came from the huge white pines that used to stand along the eastern side of our home, the pines that were snapped off about ten feet up their two-foot diameter trunks in the derecho that passed through Cedar Rapids one month ago. I consider the basket to be a small memorial to those pines.

It's been exactly one month since the derecho, and I haven't posted on this blog the whole time. I've been a writer not writing, which seems odd for me. In most times of stress in my life, I've used writing as a way to process what's going on, to ease my mind, to sort through my own thoughts. But I haven't been able to write since the storm, even though I kept thinking I should.

By now, the story of the August 10 derecho has been shared by many people, reporters, bloggers, photographers. And at this point, it's probably been eclipsed by the story of Hurricane Laura and the California wildfires. But we're still living the derecho here in Cedar Rapids. More than 1000 homes were placarded as unsafe to enter after the storm. Businesses, already stressed from the pandemic, have closed. Some residents still don't have internet or landline phone service.

And our streets are still lined with debris: fences, insulation, pieces of shingles, and trees, trees, trees. Piles of branches, now crisp and brown. Eight-foot-long logs, chain-sawed at each end. Uprooted monsters with trunks at one end and slices of lawn and black Iowa soil at the other. It's hard not to think about the destruction when I'm reminded of it every time I go somewhere.

Here are some photos from the time of the derecho; I'm just going to park them here in this blog because I'm not sure I want to make a derecho scrapbook.

So here's a video of what the derecho was like:

Bruce and I were both working from home. We watched from the main floor for a while. I looked out, willing the trees to "bend, not break!" but eventually, the terrifying sounds of wind and of things hitting the house drove us to the basement. 

Eventually, we came out to this.

Our majestic blue spruce toppled over onto the house. Branches broke through the siding and roof. As of today, September 12, we still have holes in our roof, covered by blue tarp. Thanks to our friend Justin for patching the roof!

Our backyard in the moments after the storm passed through, August 10, 2020.

Cars were trapped in the garage for several days, but a bunch of colleagues and friends came with saws and pruned away enough branches to let us out! Thanks Jon, Wes, and Nathan!

Everyone said "don't get taken advantage of by out-of-town storm-chasers! Hire local people!" but that was impossible. Local crews weren't answering their phones--I'm sure they were completely overwhelmed. So we hired a crew from Atlanta, who took the trees off our house and garage.

At one point, the National Guard arrived! That's the view from our front door. Under all those trees is a power pole . . . 

Here's a photo with me for scale.

We were without power for one week, which was actually not bad. Robbie and Aubrey's outage lasted almost 2 weeks. So they stayed with us, which was a bright spot!

Playing Yahtzee and working on wood projects.

Our internet came back on after 2 weeks, and the insurance adjuster arrived September 3. Our contractor is ready to start working on the roof, but we've had rain all week, so they've been on hold while we worked on strategic placement of buckets in our leaking attic. Weather is supposed to be nicer this week, so we hope the roof will get repaired.

We'd already been working with a local nursery to redo our front plantings, and they plan to get them in this fall. 

Through all this, we've had to readjust work plans; the derecho put power and internet out at Coe, too, and many beautiful trees on campus came down. So the college postponed classes for a week. Oh, and that's right: there's still a global pandemic, so we got Covid tests and are teaching in socially-distanced ways. . . . overlapping crises: it's all so 2020. 

Signs and Wonders

May you live in interesting times.
                                --a curse, reported by an early 20th c. British ambassador to China

Look around, look around
At how lucky we are to be alive right now.
                                --Hamilton

Despite the signs that the coronavirus is still surging in the U.S., that colleges are already experiencing outbreaks (despite the fact that fall classes haven't started yet), and that people are  desperately willing to believe all kinds of misinformation about cures, 

Yet the natural world keeps surprising and delighting me with wonders, most of them right here in our yard. Let me share a few with you.

Look at this caterpillar,  munching its way through a bit of my dill plant. 

It might become a butterfly like this one.

Speaking of insects, I got to see a cicada emerging from its shell the other night. 

It was at once a horrifying and amazing sight: a wonder to behold!

Despite the insect life, tiny pickle-sized cucumbers on my cucumber plant are growing into useful produce. 

I made tabouli out of this cuke and tomato, the parsley, some mint, and even some second-chance green onions I sprouted in a juice glass on the counter!  I find it pretty wondrous to be able to make almost an entire dish with stuff from my garden. 

I have heard that more people have been into gardening this summer because of Covid. I hope all the newcomers to gardening have satisfying experiences.

One amazing wonder of this month wasn't alive. It was comet Neowise, which made a once-in-7000-years visit to our solar system. When I heard it was easily visible, I became obsessed with seeing it. I missed Hale-Bopp, which apparently came through in 1997, but I was busy then. And Halley's comet, in 1986, was a dud. So this was my chance!

We decided to go out of town to see it so we would be away from the bright lights. We drove northwest, and after we got off the highway, I told Bruce to watch for "a small road" for me to turn on. 

We found a gravel road, turned, and discovered probably a half-dozen or more cars already parked at the side of the road, and people out looking heavenward with binos!

It reminded me of the solar eclipse in 2017, when I joined a group of people congregated by the side of the highway in Missouri to Experience Totality. Strangers became friendly--we chatted together and encouraged one another.

Same thing the night we went to see the comet. The people there helped us find the comet. We could easily see it with our binos: there it was below the Big Dipper, with its fizzy tail, going somewhere.  Without binos, you could see it best out of the corner of your eye--it didn't quite want to be seen. It's a Wonder: it deserves to be a bit hard to spot.

The next night, we took Anne with us, and met Robbie and Aubrey at the same place. Robbie took this amazing photo, above.

Last week, activist and congressman John Lewis passed away at age 80. His death hit me: I remember learning about him in my FYS back in 1980: SNCC, Pettus Bridge, marching and speaking with Dr. King. His dedication to voting rights and racial justice--despite all, including the current administration--is an inspiration. 

I heard about this commemoration of John Lewis, involving ringing church bells. Our church doesn't have bells (how many do, really?), but I knew where there was a bell: on Coe's campus. So I asked the administration if Coe was going to commemorate John Lewis in this way. President McInally liked the idea, but was out of town. He asked me if I could organize the bell-ringing.

The time for the bell-ringing was less than 24 hours away, but we were able to do it.

The younger people who came by to help ring hadn't heard about the movie Selma, so I urged them to watch it. That moment when the entire group of protesters kneels down in prayer--as one--on the bridge gives me chills just to think about it. I remember watching it and thinking "Oh Christian brothers and sisters! Where are you now?"

An essay by Lewis appeared in the NYTimes today, the day of his funeral. In it he reminded us:

Though I may not be here with you, I urge you to answer the highest calling of your heart and stand up for what you truly believe. In my life I have done all I can to demonstrate that the way of peace, the way of love and nonviolence is the more excellent way. Now it is your turn to let freedom ring.

It's time for all of us to follow in John Lewis's footsteps. He was a wonder, and he wanted us to be wonders, too.

Covid Summer: another graph

While the number of Covid cases in the US has continued to rise for the past few weeks, I've been consoling myself by looking at the number of deaths, which for a long time, kept falling.

Maybe they've got some good care protocols figured out, I thought. Maybe the virus isn't as dangerous as we'd first thought.

Bruce gently reminded me that the death rate is a lagging indicator, though. And the past three days, I've noticed that it's starting to catch up.

Do you see the little bend at the end of this graph where it turns from being a downward slope to an upward one? That's where the 7-day average starts to change: once again, the number of deaths from Covid in the US is rising.

Sadly, almost the entire country is experiencing a rise in cases--today, all states but Vermont, New Hampshire, and Maine are either "mostly the same" or "rising."

Despite this, the president is threatening schools that if they don't open in the fall, they'll lose federal funding. And there have been no general updates about Coe's plans for having in-person classes, so I'm continuing to plan for f2f.

For example, I reserved a room for the Writing Center's first staff meeting--an important event for reconnecting with consultants, setting a tone for the year, and introducing new staff. Usually, we cram into the Writing Center Space for a fun photo op, complete with hugs, laughter, and whooping.

From fall 2019. This is not going to happen in fall 2020, alas.

This year, we'll be meeting in Sinclair Auditorium, which usually holds hundreds. Now its limit is 100.

Sinclair Auditorium when the presidential candidates visited last fall.  It'll be me up on the stage for our meeting. Gazette photo.

We found out this morning that the roommate of one of Aubrey's co-workers has a roommate who tested positive for Covid. Aubrey's co-worker tested negative, but she and Robbie are self-isolating for a while anyway. Yikes: that's about as close as we've gotten to Covid so far. At least as far as we know. We're going to bring them some pesto Sunday night--our usual time for dinner together. Maybe we'll have a distanced meal, maybe we'll just meet via Zoom.

Meanwhile, the weather's turned cooler after about 2 weeks of hot n humid. We had one monarch caterpillar on our milkweed, but I can't find it now: eaten by a bird?

On the other hand, a tulle row-cover has kept the Evil White Butterflies from laying eggs on my kale; no green caterpillars there!

And we are about to begin tomato season.

Summer rolls on, despite Covid.

Covid turnaround for July

One month ago, I would not have guessed that things would be where they are today, Covid-wise.  One month ago, June 1, it looked like maybe we'd flattened the curve. The number of covid cases was kind of in a plateau--maybe a high plateau, like a mesa? Things looked pretty calm.

1 July Covid cases in U.S. graph from NYTimes.com

But one month ago was about when many states in the US started opening up, allowing restaurants and bars to open, and stopping regular briefings on the virus. States that had shelter-in-place orders were lifting those orders (Iowa was one of very few states that never did have an order).

At first, things were OK. But then. Well, you can see for yourself, and you probably have. The hardest hit states are in the south, with Florida, Texas, and Arizona all reporting big surges in infections and hospitalizations, but the Times noted that 39 states (!) had growth in reported cases over the past 2 weeks. Including Iowa.

It's gotten so bad that many states are pausing, or even reversing, their reopening decisions. And even Republicans are starting to wear masks and urging people to wear them. Not Trump, of course. He is such a disaster.

I've noticed more people NOT wearing masks when I've been out. The other day when I stopped in at the grocery store for just a few items, the only other person I saw with a mask was the cashier. And today at the post office, the workers were wearing masks, but none of the customers (except me). One customer was a gentleman who looked to be over 65. . . what are people thinking?

I think they are thinking that Covid is over. Maybe they haven't seen the graphs.

There were no recommendations for mask-wearing in the guidelines for reopening schools this fall that Iowa's Department of Education published this week. There was some odd language about not allowing people to be shamed for not wearing masks. ("Teach and reinforce the prevention of stigma associated with the use or non-use of facial coverings to support a respectful, inclusive, and supportive school environment.")

Meanwhile, Coe seems to be forging ahead with its plan to open on-campus. The college is going to supply students with masks and faceshields! Yay! Faculty will get masks and faceshields, too.
On the other hand, we've got a strange plan for getting students to campus. Returning students (upperclassmen) can move in August 10-13. First-years move in August 14-15.

Classes start August 19.

What will the students be doing all that time between move-in and classes starting? The returning students might be on campus for 10 days before classes start.

I'm planning the Writing Center New Consultant Orientation (which will probably take place mostly online this year, right before classes start), so I asked the Residence Life staff what they had planned for students. Is there programming happening during that time? Res Life says nope. Students will be expected to "keep to themselves" in their dorms while awaiting Covid testing, which Coe is arranging for everyone. First-years will have some "static programming" for orientation, but nothing in large groups, of course.
So 1400 students on a campus with little to do other than wait. What could possibly go wrong?

Here's a hint: two Iowa counties experiencing huge surges in Covid--among the 18-34 year old crowd--are Johnson County and Story County, the homes of University of Iowa and Iowa State, and where athletes have just returned to campus for practices.

********

In fun news, we had a little weekend getaway with Robbie and Aubrey, up in Decorah, Iowa (which has reported only 32 cases of Covid). We planned this trip a few weeks ago when we found out that Aubrey's employer prohibited out-of-state travel, which mean she would be unable to join her family at their Wisconsin cabin. A trip to Decorah in "lower Minnesota" would be a nice way to get away for a bit, but stay in-state.

We had a great time, staying in an Airbnb, visiting Robbie's alma mater--Luther College--and visiting lots of beautiful outdoor spots. We self-catered some meals and also supported local restaurants that had carry-out.

Seed Savers Exchange is a great place to see heirloom vegetables and flowers growing in demonstration gardens.

I took this photo of Aubrey taking a photo of Robbie taking a photo of Dunning's Springs waterfall. Very "meta."

Art and word play for spiritual creativity

Over the next five weeks, our church is doing a worship series called "Drawn In," which encourages everyone to tap into their God-given creativity. Seems like a welcome and appropriate theme for this summer when we all need creative outlets.

Here's what the SPUMC website says about the series:

God created the heavens and the earth…and called it all good! During this series, we will connect with our inherent creativity and nurture this foundational aspect of being human, giving us renewed energy for passionate work, delightful play, and creative problem solving to make this world a better place for all.

I've found myself part of a worship brainstorming team, and for this series, I'm working with my friend Stephanie, a visual artist, to create some invitations to "spiritual creativity" that we are sending out to the congregation.

There are five weeks, so five invitations. Each week also has a word associated with it, so we're trying to keep that word/concept in mind as we come up with activities.

This is what we say about our invitations:

This summer, we invite you to be “drawn in” to the practice of exercising your creativity through some art and word play activities.  

These activities are designed for anyone to do--you don’t have to think of yourself as particularly gifted with words or with art. In fact, instead of thinking of art and writing as something that only a few people can do, we consider them as meditative activities for seeing our world and reflecting on our place in it. And you might even come up with some beautiful works of art!

Here is this week's invitation: blind contour drawing. Give it a try: it's fun and relaxing; very meditative in an ecumenical way!

Week 1: Dream

Because the title of this sermon series is “Drawn In,” this week, we’d like to invite you to do some actual drawing: blind contour drawing. Here’s an example:

Blind contour drawing is a simple exercise that involves carefully observing the outline and shapes of a subject while slowly drawing its contours in a continuous line--without looking at the paper. It is a great way to practice slowing down and looking very carefully at something.

To get started, you will need:

• Paper
• Pencil or pen
• A timer

Once you have your supplies:

1. Choose a subject to draw — still-life objects or the figure work well for this exercise
2. Set the timer for 20 minutes (shorter for children).
3. Tape the paper to your drawing surface so it doesn’t shift as you draw.
4. Arrange yourself so you can see the object you will be drawing without seeing the paper.
5. Focus your eyes on some part of the object and begin moving your pencil to record what your eyes observe.
6. Do not look down at the paper as your draw. Rather, force yourself to concentrate on how the shapes, lines, and contours of the object relate to one another.
7. Continue observing and recording until the timer rings

Here’s a short video that shows what blind contour drawing looks like.

After 20 minutes, you know you’ve spent serious time contemplating your subject. You’ve really looked at it closely, and you’ve slowed yourself down. The experience of drawing has become a meditation for you.

Blind contour drawings themselves often look nothing like the object you were observing, but you can see some of the important contours in them--and they often make lovely abstract images!

Pandemic Father's Day

This morning, in honor of Father's Day, I went looking for a photo of just my father and me from when I was a child. I thought I'd remembered a photo of him holding me, or maybe one of me sitting on his lap. Those photos might be out there, but this is the one I found.

It's funny because you can't even really see my dad in this photo. Instead, on one side of the photo, there's me as a baby, mouth open, arms outstretched, stepping toward the other side of the photo, and aiming for the outstretched hands of my father.

There's an easy chair in the background, and Venetian blinds let in a peek of light; this was most likely taken in my parents' Army-base apartment in Alabama, at Redstone Arsenal, where my Dad was stationed during the early 1960s.

Maybe my dad had just gotten back from his work with Sergeant missiles on the base and was sitting in the late-afternoon winter sunlight with me. Maybe my mom took a break from cooking dinner and got the camera as she saw me start to take some wobbly steps. I can imagine my dad encouraging baby me: come on Jane! You can do it! 

In a way, this photo is emblematic of my relationship with my dad. He was always out there, encouraging me, believing in me, sure that I could make it to wherever I needed to go: up the last hill of a day-long hike in the mountains, through seemingly unending years of graduate school, and past the milestones of my own children as they grew.

Thanks, Dad, for your belief in me, for your encouragement, and for your strong arms that wrapped me in loving hugs that I miss to this day.

*****

In pandemic news: things seem to be about the same. Nationwide, the number of cases has plateaued out, but at a pretty high level. And maybe there's even a bit of an uptick recently.

News stories about "hot spots" (Oregon, Texas, Florida, North Carolina) where cases are going up dramatically. And other news stories point out that more younger people are being diagnosed with Covid. I wonder how--if at all--those statistics will affect college openings.

At a faculty meeting last week, the administration told the faculty that they are planning to open up the college and begin face-to-face classes on August 19 as planned. In my department, 1/3 of the faculty have requested to teach online only, and we've been asked to hire an adjunct to teach a few classes on campus. Coe really is wedded to the "residential" part of residential liberal-arts college.

As for me, I'm OK with teaching f2f. It's the running of the Writing Center that I'm really going to have to think about and plan for over the next couple of months. And it's not the work part of the Writing Center that's most difficult: it's building that the close-knit community of consultants that is going to be challenging. I have some ideas. One involves dividing my enormous staff (60 consultants, "six-zero," as I often have to explain to astounded writing center director colleagues from other schools) into "houses," a la Hogwarts!

Stay tuned for more on that adventure!

Protests and swimming

On Monday, May 25, a man named Christian Cooper was looking at birds in Central Park in New York City . When he asked another park visitor to put her dog on a leash, she refused. When he started making a video of her, she threatened to call the police and tell them "an African-American man is threatening my life."

Christian Cooper in Central Park with his birding gear. Photo from the NYTimes.

On the same day, a man named George Floyd was killed by a Minneapolis police officer who had accused Floyd of using a counterfeit $20 bill at a store. I was unable to watch the video of Mr. Floyd that circulated on social media. The still photo from the video was appalling enough (I'm not even going to put it here), and the descriptions of the event were horrifying.

Though it was less dramatic, the first story touched me closely. Like me, Mr. Cooper loves to look at birds, but it turns out he might not be safe doing what he loves--"because racism"--as my students and I say.

And what's more, I feel strongly convicted by his story: a white middle-class, middle-aged woman and her arrogant and racist threats could have put him in fatal danger from police officers who . . . well, look at the George Floyd story.

So we white middle-class, middle-aged women need to show that we stand against racism.

That article you might have seen, called "75 things white people can do for racial justice" had plenty of good recommendations for what I might do. #2 on the list was this:

Google whether your city or town currently employs evidence-based police de-escalation trainings. The racial make-up of your town doesn’t matter — This needs to be standard everywhere. Write to your city or town government representative and police chief and advocate for it. Multiply your voice by soliciting others to advocate as well, writing on social media about it, writing op-eds, etc.

Well, I didn't need to Google: I have a friend on the CRPD! Actually, Brian is retired now, but still, he knows what goes on there. I texted him:

Anti-racist training and de-escalation training: effective ways to head off rioting, and mandatory here in Cedar Rapids.

When I read about a gathering here in Cedar Rapids to protest Mr. Floyd's death (and the ongoing systemic and violent racism in our country), I decided I'd go. My baptismal vows, printed on this t-shirt, were egging me on.

Wearing my baptismal vows t-shirt, I rode my bike to the gathering, just a few blocks from my house. A large group of people held signs and listened to people talking from the bed of a pickup truck. My friend Alicia came by and we hung out, wearing our Covid masks, at the very edge of the crowd, which wasn't really using social distancing measures.

Several people asked what the protest was like. Protests across the country have been followed by rioting and looting (often instigated by outsiders), so I think they wanted to know if the Cedar Rapids protest was peaceful. I told them it was peaceful but forceful. People in cars driving by waved and honked their horns.

I don't know what it's going to take for this country to get out from under the shadow of our "original sin," slavery. The online Pentecost sermon by the pastor at my DC home church gave me courage and inspiration. Pastor Alisa's sermon reminded me that I am not "just one person" who might feel weak and worry I can't do enough. I am one part of a larger, stronger body and we are animated and suffused with a spirit stronger than all of us.

On a completely different topic, this week, the YMCA began letting members back in for lap swimming! We had to call in and reserve a time, sign a waiver, and stay only in our lane. I may have let out a "yippee" as they signed me in.  I had to stop a couple times to catch my breath (I guess fast-walking isn't quite enough of a cardio workout for me!), and my arms got pretty tired, but overall, it felt great to get back in.

In full dork swim mode.

I guess all of me is being strengthened: from my stick arms to my faith to my resolve to fight racism!

Joys, small and large, during this pandemic

I wrote a post yesterday, but haven't shared it out much because it seemed somewhat grouchy, which is a bit misleading.

Although I've been having grouchy moments during this pandemic, mostly I've been surprisingly  fine. Happy, even!

Not me in this photo, but this is how I feel, mostly!

Much of my feeling of general well-being is buoyed by an underlying pulse of gratefulness: I'm grateful that I have a job that can be done online/from home. Grateful that I haven't gotten sick. Grateful that it's now spring/summer in Iowa so we can be outside. Grateful that our sons are healthy and employed and staying in touch with us.

Because of the pandemic, though, things are different. I've missed out on experiences, and I've missed seeing people in person. There have been canceled trips, canceled plans, and not knowing exactly what the future will bring. Working from Home is interesting, but it also brings challenges. So it's been surprising and uplifting that I've had so many new and pleasing experiences this spring, too.

Here are some of the unexpected joys--small and large--that I've experienced during this pandemic. These are experiences I would not have had if we weren't in the midst of a global pandemic! And they've brought joy to my life.

Online Church: Who knew it could be so satisfying?!

The puss and I attending church before we figured out how to show Facebook Live on our TV.

It lifts the spirits to see the inside of my church, to hear a message, and--of course!--to sing some hymns. I usually attend St. Paul's United Methodist Church Facebook Live service, but sometimes I also check out Capitol Hill United Methodist's Facebook Live service. I wonder whether my childhood church, Middleburg Heights United Church of Christ, has one.

Online exercise and dance: So much variety for moving and exercising! Robbie, Aubrey, and I used to attend BodyFlow classes together at the Y--they combine Tai Chi, Yoga, and Pilates, so a good stretchy workout. Once the Y closed, we started doing BodyFlow video classes, which are pretty cool and effective. (Here's a BodyFlow video if you want to try.) For a different workout, I even dug up my old TurboJam DVD for some fun kickboxing.

It's hard to find in-person dance classes for adults, but there turns out to be a treasure trove of them online.  I've been doing Kathryn Morgan's Classical Barre videos, reviewing my Tap class videos (I took tap at Coe during spring term!), and have really enjoyed Alvin Ailey's Revelations Workshop.  Here, try it! You don't need any dance background.

Here's a benefit of online workouts and dance classes: I've been squeezing them into bits of time (no commuting time necessary) and doing different workouts depending on my mood. I probably do more than I would have if I were just doing classes in person!

NYCBallet: The Digital Spring Season has been a delight to watch! Without the pandemic, I would have seen zero NYCBallet performances this spring, but with these releases, I've seen quite a bit! I did donate, and I hope other people who've watched will, too.

Online concerts: The first one I attended was a Red Cedar Chamber Music Facebook Live Concert. The music was beautiful, and it was so fun to see the usual performers, a husband and wife, joined by their high school and college-aged sons. Like many of you, I listened to Yo Yo Ma's lovely Memorial Day concert--those beautiful Bach cello suites. I also heard about another online Memorial Day concert, which turned out to by my favorite kind of chamber music: a voice recital--featuring baritone John Brancy and pianist Peter Dugan! It was a moving and beautiful recital that featured songs written during or about WWI.

Hmm. They're kind of hunky, too.

(In case you think I'm all classical music all the time, Bruce and I watched John Prine (RIP) on Austin City Limits one night, and we might check out some of the other Austin City Limits shows on PBS streaming, too. I didn't even realize they were available!)

Looking at Birds: Would I have done this much birding if there wasn't a pandemic? There would have been other things I needed to do, other places to be, but with indoor entertainment pretty much nixed, we've been outside a lot and have seen some great birds, including a rainbow🌈of birds on one particular walk at Squaw Creek Park: Cardinal /American Redstart. Oriole. Yellow Warbler /Goldfinch. Blue Jay. Indigo Bunting.

Oriole

Yellow Warbler

Indigo bunting. Bird photos by Robbie Nesmith.

Crafting: OK, this is not new to the pandemic. I always have some kind of crafting project going on: knitting, crocheting, or sewing, usually. But during this pandemic, I also tried hand-building with clay (thanks to the Cedar Rapids Ceramic and Glass Center's project kits), and book-making (following along with the Minnesota Center For the Book's videos). 

Fun with clay.

Would I have tried those crafts without being prompted by the pandemic? Probably not.

So those are a few of my unexpected Joys of this pandemic. I'm looking forward to getting back to in-person gatherings, concerts, classes, etc. but I'll always be grateful for these new experiences that the pandemic provoked me to try.