Documenting the Quarantine ed. 3: My students are in prison, no for real prison

I have struggled to write at all at this two weeks-in-quarantine mark. It’s as if the creativity has drained out as I wade through so much content! Digital resources! Zoom chats! There is no lack of input. The output, however, is harder to synthesize.

The liminal space we are occupying is difficult to describe. I know that I cannot have this Introvert Nirvana without our doctors and nurses and mail carriers and pizza deliverers out there risking their lives, placing themselves in the direct path of the virus. I live between coziness and the dread that continues to knock on my door. I live in the security of being able to continue to receive a paycheck while others, including my stepmom who works in event planning, have filed for unemployment. I am occupying two zip codes at once, the one of safety and the other of anxiety. I don’t think any of us can have one without the other. Because if stress is not our present reality, we know our peace is preserved by someone else’s stressful present reality. And that’s so damn unfair, as is all of this. The racism and xenophobia and lack of PPEs and the kids in New York who are living in shelters without wifi and therefore access to their education. The great underbelly of injustice in our country is being readily exposed by this virus, and it’s not all bad to call the ugly into the light. But it’s still heartbreaking.

In my own online classroom, I also am dealing with the very real ramifications having students who are in prison. Not the symbolic prison that is quarantining and social distancing. I have some students who are in pre-release programs who have limited access to video, etc. All the online learning tutorials in the world have not prepared me for reaching students who are surrounded by literal bars and the figurative bars of lacking steady wifi connection or even quiet places to read and research. These are luxuries that should not be luxuries. They have helped me to be successful in my life. I’ve spent the majority of the week sighing because I cannot be sure my students are getting anything they need. Even though good people are trying to support them. Sometimes it’s not enough. My heart beats loud for my students, now more than ever.

When I’m not walking around wringing my hands and sighing the sigh of futility, we’ve been having a pretty good time with the kids. Each day, we go somewhere to breathe the fresh air and let the spazz dog sniff the scent of God knows what. Rock quarries, beaches, cemeteries—wherever it’s not too crowded. I’ve played one mean game of Monopoly, I dominated Scrabble, and have watched the entirety of “High Fidelity” and “Atlanta” so far. And I have finished one book.

I think the best thing that merits documentation this week are these masks that my MIL sent. Pantyliners, our first defense against viral infection.

Documenting the Quarantine ed. 1

I have nothing patently interesting to say about life and love in the time of #coronavirus, but I am nothing if not a journalist so I am going to scribble some bloggy thoughts here and again.

We are all four plus the dog on quarantine in Massachusetts. I have glimpsed line graphs and spiked plottings and the confirmed cases and odds do not look favorable, even though numbers are colors to me. Generally whenever asked for statistical analyses or precision of any kind, my answers are usually a resistant lot of, “I mean, probably like so many or whatever” or “A baker’s dozen” or “A butt-ton.” I question most modes and customs, resisting them because I am a pain in the astronaut, but eventually I listen to the authorities who Know Things and I simmer down. Right now I am simmering down and it looks like this:

My e-mail inbox has been chock full o’ corporate branded messages that use phrases such as “We have been monitoring the situation closely” and “taking every precaution” but I did see Chipotle began offering free delivery and this was big news. I mean, what’s next, no charge for extra guacamole?! Let’s not get covidcraycray….

I have spoken to various friends and family on the phone lately and mostly I am in a state of irritation when they lament their cruise cancellations and the hassles of their work going online. So basically my disposition is the same. I have no capacity as usual for complainsgivings. I have tolerance only for great feats of human courage and radical acts that amuse me. I’m the same taciturn gal, just wearing yoga pants with more frequency.

Yesterday we took the offspring and dog to the DeCordova Sculpture Garden. Our dog freaked out at all of the sculptures and regarded them all with great suspicion, because you know what’s scarier than a whole case of resin sculptures that look exactly like multiple tiers of Jell-O molds? I know! The horror. HOLLLLD MEEEEE.

It was a lovely day in the sun, though, breathing the air that was free for breathing, before we made our way home to entertain ideas of doing Little House on the Prairie-type things. Wouldn’t that be charming and quaint? Playing board games and calling each other Maw and Paw and hustling up some supper? We fancied that for a moment and then I promptly took a QuarantiNap and Lovey Loverpants and I watched “Atlanta” on Hulu and ate whatever tortilla chips were lying around.

I think this is the chief difference between being a family with older kids and wee babes: there’s a lovely laissez fair spirit now, but I also miss the times of order and routines from the days when they—ahem, mostly I—needed structure and command. I long for days outlined by stickered calendars and behavior charts, snack packs and felt loveys all in a row. Now that we are a family with tweens, a.k.a. kids who can be interrupted from FaceTiming 18 hours a day to walk the dog, the quarantine presents a weird limbo. We’re all drumming up our little projects and social channels but it’s difficult to lasso us all into one solid collective of human life. We normally do this by leaving our home, but now that the quarantine is in full effect, we will have to find ways to come together without developing homicidal tendencies.

I am working to bring all of my classes online, and by working I mean that I have contemplated two minute dance parties for all of my courses and have not explored any other modalities that will empower my students to be good and competent citizens. I have one more week to figure this all out. Today I have a glistening stovetop to show for my efforts. Because you know what they say about teaching English composition. You can’t do it with a clear head if your stovetop is in disarray.