The Coronacation Diaries, Episode 79

The Privilege of Not Having to Listen

On Dad's floor at the hospital, there is a guy who sings. Often. Randomly, all day long, singing guy starts humming loudly, wordless and out of tune. The lady next door chimes in. "Help me!" she wails. "Help! Help!" Every 3 minutes, for hours on end. "Help!" She sound pitiful, terrified. But she's fine. She just doesn't like the wall she is facing. She wants to look the other way. She doesn't like the view. Her cup of water is warm. She wants to go home. "Help me! Now!" she calls. "N. O. W. Now! Get me out of here now!"

It's hard to not feel uncomfortable at her insistence. She seems miserable. She seems so sad, so pitiful. But the nurses are there for her, constantly. They can only do so much. They can't change the color of her walls. They can't release her to go home. All they can do is ignore her. And in the end, we helplessly giggle at her insistence. At her spelling. At her senseless, relentless demands.

Finally, we shut Dad's door. Singing guy and wailing lady are muffled, calling out in the distance. Inside his room, we have some reprieve. We don't have to listen to their demands any longer.

Photo by Megan Markham on Unsplash

I haven't checked CNN or Fox News since we've been down here. My news is being filtered by Facebook, a steady stream of riots and unrest and police violence and asshole moves by our poser president. At any time, I can close that tab and turn it all off. I can shut the door and get some reprieve.

I asked my Dad if he knew what was going on in our country. He didn't. We talked about it for a bit. He wasn't surprised. He has no love for Trump, for the hatred he spews and the harm that he causes. He has no love for a militarized police force. But he's been in the hospital for a week now, away from social media, away from the news. Inadvertently, he shut the door. He got some reprieve.

It's amazing how easy it is for us to block it all out. We can turn off the violence against people of color as easily as we can muffle the sounds of the lady in the next room. We don't have to live in it, day after day. We can take a break whenever we want. All we have to do is close the tab. Shut the door.

We are not in the communities that cannot escape it. We are not fearing for our lives because of the color of our skin. We are not afraid to be pulled over; we're just annoyed because we don't want those points on our license. But we are never in danger. We can probably talk our way out of it.

It's so easy to forget how privileged we are. We can just turn it all off whenever we want to. We are sheltered from the senseless violence. We can choose to go out in it. We can choose to protest. Or we can choose to change the channel. We can just "like' that social media post and then feel good about ourselves. We can share a particularly well-written post, a clever meme, and then believe we have somehow made a difference. We can even write "THIS!" in all caps as we share a post. That's taking a stand. We can turn our profile picture to black.

And then we can get some reprieve. Close the tab. Shut the door.

Because we don't have to live in it, day after day after day. We don't have to fear for our lives.

We don't even have to listen.

The Coronacation Diaries, Episode 78

We Must Briefly Suspend the Travelogue for this Public Service Announcement:

But--

Oh, Karen. No.

If you are still insisting that "all lives matter," PLEASE stop talking for just a moment and listen. REALLY LISTEN. Don't cry. Just listen.

When Black and Brown people and their allies and accomplices pronounce that Black Lives Matter, they are pointing out that Black lives SHOULD matter; that Black lives matter TOO. The foundation of our country is built on the backs of Black lives. We enslaved them. We lynched them. We redlined their neighborhoods. We put our freeways right down the centers of their communities. We segregated them from our schools, from our drinking fountains, from our grocery stores. And, in 2020, our police murder them simply for sitting in a car, for sitting on a swingset, for selling a cigarette, for buying cigarettes with a fake $20. Black lives SHOULD matter, but they clearly still don't. And that is why we have to insist that Black Lives Matter.

When you "All Lives Matter" at them, you are purposefully, ignorantly missing the point. No one has EVER told you that white lives don't matter, not in their words and not in their actions. No one has murdered you for driving while white; no one has murdered you for jogging while white, buying a gun while white, or walking in the road while white. BLACK LIVES MATTER IS NOT ABOUT YOU, KAREN. It is, in fact, BECAUSE of you, because of your institutional racism, because of your implicit bias, because of your need to center every damn conversation around yourself.

Your insistence that you are just being nice and you are being attacked for being nice is precisely what is wrong with your argument. You aren't being nice when you are trying to overwrite the message that people of color are desperately trying to get you to hear. You are, instead, ignoring what they are saying. You are telling them they are wrong, selfish even, to want to be able to live in this country without being murdered by the police, because they aren't including you in their "lives matter" message. By attempting to usurp their message and center yourself in it, you are just continuing the long --mind-numbingly long-- history in our country of making everything all about the white people. Your self-righteous indignation that you "can't even post something nice!" is textbook white fragility, the inability to actually confront our own implicit biases and the benefits we receive because of racist infrastructure without crying big white women tears.

No one ever said that white lives didn't matter. But our country has proved time and time again that we don't value Black lives. And until we are willing to shut up and listen, and then act swiftly and forcefully to ensure that Black lives actually do matter, we can never --ever-- truly claim that all lives matter. 

#SAYTHEIRNAME

Image from npr.org.
https://www.npr.org/2020/05/29/865261916/a-decade-of-watching-black-people-die

The Coronacation Diaries, Episode 77

Road Trip Edition #3: The Reason We're Here

I know a lot of you have been thinking of me and my family as we traveled, and sending good vibes and prayers our way. I know you've also been wondering about my dad --about what's going on, and how he is doing.

So, here is the whole story, posted with permission from my Dad. Almost two months ago, Dad got out of bed in the middle of the night to check on his terror cat (that I talked him into getting...I'm always going to feel a little bit guilty about all of this), and promptly passed out. He hit his head HARD on the door frame when he fell.

He went to the doctor in the morning, and was diagnosed with orthostatic hypotension, a condition that causes a drop in blood pressure when you stand up, resulting in dizziness or even fainting. The doctor checked him and cleared him for a concussion, reduced his blood pressure medication dosage, and sent him home. Dad learned to get up more slowly to allow the dizziness to pass, and although he still felt kind of off, he went on with his life, as much as he could under the Florida lock-down conditions.

But he was really struggling, more and more, with depression and anxiety, both from all of the losses and adjustments he's had to make in the last 10 years, and also from the incredible loneliness and stress of dealing with lock-down and shelter-in-place orders. He just couldn't emotionally feel okay, and he finally went to the doctor to start on some meds to help. But instead of feeling better, he was just feeling worse and worse. He was jittery, shaky, clumsy, and exhausted. He sounded horrible, like he was so tired he could barely speak. He decided to stop taking the meds and go in for an evaluation the day after Memorial Day because he just felt awful.

As soon as he walked into the doctor's office and explained his symptoms, they admitted him with suspicion of a stroke. He was transported to Advent Health in Tampa for testing and surgery. He had a fist-sized subdural hematoma (between the membrane and the brain), caused by the impact of hitting his head back in early April. The impact of the fall had caused a bleed that initially clotted, but then continued to bleed, putting pressure on his brain and causing a shift, which was causing the confusion, clumsiness, a lot of emotional distress, and extreme shakiness. The surgery was successful and a drain continued to drain the buildup of blood.

Unfortunately, because of the vacuum that was caused by the surgery and removal of the initial clot, a secondary bleed started and he had to go in for a second surgery two days later. That surgery found that the second bleed was an extradural hematoma, a bleed above the membrane. His surgeon cleaned out the second clot and said it looked great and there was no need for an additional drain.

Throughout it all, the nursing staff here at Advent Health has been amazing, fielding phone calls from all of us kids, as we checked in on Dad and demanded updates since we couldn't be here in person. My brother Justin drove over from Orlando for the first few horrible days to sit with Dad. My sister-in-law Kayla, a neuro nurse in Oklahoma, kept asking questions so that we could get answers and know what was going on. My sister Stephanie offered to drive down immediately. The nurses and the surgeon were incredibly patient with me as I called every morning and every night, asking for answers and updates and for them to hold the phone so that I could talk to Dad.


Today, I'm sitting here in ICU with my Dad, waiting for his transfer to a regular room to be complete. The surgeon came in and told him that his slight left-side weakness will go away with time and possibly some physical therapy, and that he is going to be back to normal very soon. His sense of humor is back; he insists they had to drill three holes in his skull because they couldn't find his brain the first time. He insists that scotch would be a much better beverage than Ensure, and that if they really want him to pee, they're going to have to bring him a pitcher of Bud Light. All of his lady friends have been texting him like crazy, and he can finally answer back. He kind of looks like Gerald McRaney with his head shaved, all dapper and grinning impishly.

Gerald McRaney

He will be here at the hospital in Tampa for a few more days, as they continue to monitor his progress. But we are going to get him back home very soon, and lecture him about trying to tough it out instead of getting medical help when he feels like crap. And after my brother and Michael and I get Dad settled back in his house, my carload will head back up North. The other siblings will come in from Oklahoma and Kentucky in shifts, to lecture Dad some more, and surround him with all of the love in the world. He is going to be so sick of family, he'll be begging for some alone time when we're all done with him. 
And to all of you who have held us and him in your thoughts, thank you so much for going on this journey with us and keeping us safe. You are loved.

TL;DR: Dad is transferring out of ICU and demanding some scotch. He's gonna be just fine.

The Coronacation Diaries, Episode 76

The Road Trip Edition #2: There Are Some Crazy-Ass Billboards Down Here, Y'all

As we drove through Georgia and into Florida, we couldn't help but notice that the billboard business is alive and well. It definitely kept our spirits up and the conversations going.

First, this doozy in Georgia reared its ugly head. Clearly, this billboard sponsor missed the parts of the Bible that explain that Jesus was so progressive that he would have been too radical for even the Democrats. And I'm not sure why the Democrats get a pitchfork (thought their symbol was a donkey?) but, based on that iconography...are democrats actually the devil? Or just hangin' with him? I have so many questions.

We definitely appreciated all of the billboards about a fetus' developmental stages, which only proves why education, birth control, and medication abortion are critical and necessary components of health care. We also appreciated this public service announcement in Northern Florida, as it gave us a chance to talk with the kids (homeschool goes on the road!) about the actual science of fertilization, implantation, and medication abortion and how it all works. And no, kids. You can't shove that period back up in there, no matter what a billboard tells you. 

You can, however, go shoot some very big machine guns in very little short shorts for a very reasonable price. I mean, in her defense, it IS hot down here.

But the billboards that got us so good that I almost had to pull over so as not to crash the car in hysterical laughter were the series from www.i-will-be-back.org, a group that is very...graphically talented. When I saw the first in the series, I yelled out, "Hey, look! Jesus bought a billboard!"

But Jesus didn't just buy a billboard. He also did some...war stuff? 

And then, you guys, Jesus got weird. Because these are definitely zombies. And although we joke about "Zombie Jesus" on Easter ('cause he rose from the dead), we had not ever envisioned that Jesus was converting the zombies, and making the undead...more undead.

Jesus not only bought himself a whole bunch of billboards, but he also promised to make the undead very clean, and very happy, and very white, with very shiny teeth.

And so, in summary: Jesus, abortion, guns, Jesus. Also, peaches, pecans, and plantations. Kinda makes pasties and mystery spots and seashell city (nowhere near a sea) feel like they're a million miles away.

The Coronacation Diaries, Episode 75

The Road Trip Edition #1: Observations from the First Four States...

Michigan roads are still the worst. If 23 by Ann Arbor got any narrower, it would just be a bike lane with a really shitty shoulder and too much traffic. It's such a relief to make it to Ohio, until you realize that you are in...Ohio. Not only does Ohio last forever, but Big Butter Jesus is just a disappointment now, ever since the epic meltdown of 2010. And I have realized that no matter the season or time of day, it is ALWAYS driving rain and a full stop traffic jam on 75 in Cincinnati. Every single time I have driven to Florida in my life, Cincinnati has been a shit-show of traffic, construction, and torrential rains. Are 4 lanes going down to 3? Or maybe just 2? Why does that police car have its lights on, when no one is pulled over? Also, Ohio speed limits are the epitome of random. Is it 55? 65? 70? There's no way of knowing. It's just part of the fun of Ohio.

Kentucky was better. Better weather, better traffic, better roads, better scenery. The beauty of the rolling green hills almost made me forget the constant bickering of the kids in the back seat.

The south-er we drove, the fewer masks we saw. The guy at the drive through window at McDonald's was wearing a mask...under his chin. We were definitely in the minority, as mask-wearers, and the kids were embarrassed to use the rest-rooms at a truck stop because they didn't want to look stupid. I felt it, too. Even after wearing a mask in public for several weeks now (and caving on one occasion because I felt so awkward), I still feel conspicuous. It's even harder when you're the only one in the room and you are 13. (Of course, everything is harder then.)

Once we crossed into Tennessee, we realized that the rules of the road as we knew them no longer applied. I am a "10 over the speed limit IS the speed limit" girl, but cars were flying by me. Turn signals mean nothing, and people are not afraid to change lanes randomly in front of you and cut you off on a whim. Now, if you accidentally cut someone off, they will lay on the horn, and then race up next to you and make all sorts of gestures...and the cars after them will join in, like a shame parade. Apparently everyone in Tennessee has an opinion and no one can stay in a lane.

We're now at a hotel in Chattanooga for the night. The indoor fitness center and the outdoor chlorinated pool are closed for safety precautions during this pandemic, but the restaurants are open. It all makes perfect sense to someone, somewhere.

Tomorrow we head through all of Georgia and half of Florida. Stay safe out there friends. Wear your masks and wash your hands, and remember that turn signals are an amazing invention, the benefits of which should never be squandered in haste.

The Coronacation Diaries, Episode 74

To Go or Not to Go...That is the Question

After 74 days of blogging about the this pandemic, about how my family and I have been dealing with it all, and throwing shade on protesters and party-goers and hair-cutters and vacationers, my family and I have suddenly been faced with a tough decision to make: do we drive to Florida to help my dad?

It hasn't been an easy decision. We've debated the safety of the trip, the necessity of the trip, and even the legality of the trip. But here is what we know: taking care of a family member trumps the inherent dangers of the trip. We are healthy, we have been following quarantine instructions fairly closely, and we know what precautions to take, to protect ourselves and others. We have masks, we have hand sanitizer, we have Lysol and Clorox wipes (for wiping down surfaces, not for injections), we have a bag of food and water in the car, and travel bans have been lifted. And we need to go down and take care of a man we love deeply; we need to be there for him and for us; we need to do this.

We won't be visiting Disney, or Dollywood, or a beach. We won't be eating in restaurants along the way. We won't stop at a Hard Rock Cafe; we won't check out the state parks. We will do our very best to keep ourselves safe, and to protect those we come in contact with.

https://unsplash.com/@_blahblake

I don't know if this makes me a hypocrite or not, after I've spend a decent portion of the last 74 days mocking the protesters who can't handle it when a woman says no. But I do know the difference between a pleasure trip and a necessary trip, and I firmly believe this falls into the latter category. At the same time, I also have to admit that getting the hell out of dodge, even if it means we've just transferred that claustrophobic hell to the 4 walls of my Jeep for a 40-hour drive, is kind of enticing. Seeing something --anything-- other than the tree in my front yard sounds amazing right about now.

So, tomorrow, it's road trip time. I'll keep writing over the next few days, as we drive through several states, and I will continue to think about and process what we are doing, what other states are doing, and what it means to take care of ourselves, our communities, complete strangers, and the people we love the most.

To go or not to go? In my mind, there is no question.

The Coronacation Diaries, Episode 73

A Waiting Game

Today was pick-up day at school. No, not the big trucks with the flags in the back (thankfully), but rather the day that the high school kids came and picked up all of the stuff they had left behind. (There was so much stuff, all of it in clear trash bags, labeled in Sharpie. One student had three --three- winter coats in her locker. I saw more pairs of underwear in those bags than I really ever wanted or needed to see. I have so many questions.) Although I wasn't assigned a duty, I showed up anyway, and I'm glad I did: not only because I got to see so many students, but because I ran my butt off and was clearly needed. I was a sweaty mess by the end, and my mask was grossly moist from my open-mouth panting into it for two hot hours, but it was a good day. I got to see some of my students, talk to several of them, connect with two I have been really worried about, and make dorky heart hands to as many as possible. And, based on the piles of books I saw in the hallway, at least 50 of my 150 missing books were returned.

The seniors also picked up the caps and gowns and diplomas, and oddly, a cookie.  They'll have to wait for Pomp and Circumstance until August, when we plan to hold an in-person graduation for them. But they were smiling. And surprisingly tan. They waved and settled for dorky hand hearts and cookies today.

Late last night I recorded and posted the assignment for the last two weeks of English for my juniors. Tonight, after I finish this blog post, I will post the last assignment for public speaking. And then all that's left is grading and giving feedback and checking survey responses. That's it. The school year is done. It ended with a sigh. There isn't even a summer reading project for my next group of AP Lit kids, because I don't have a solid way to ensure that I could include them all and get resources to all of them, or even know exactly who will be taking the class for sure in the fall. Everything feels so unfinished --so in limbo-- even though the school year is, in essence, done.

Photo by Dan Magatti on Unsplash

Looking forward, it's a wide-open summer, with no summer camps or travel plans. Just one family camping week that I am desperately hoping will still occur.  I've never looked into a summer with so much unknown, not for years...probably not for decades. I applied to be an AP Lit reader (waiting to hear back); I applied to be an MEA canvasser (waiting to hear back); I'm on the planning team for the CRWP summer institute; I applied to be on the Governor's Return to Learning Advisory Council (waiting to hear back); I will be participating in the New York Times Teaching Project; and I applied to be a lighthouse keeper (sadly, not selected). There are a lot of possibilities ahead of me, but also a lot of questions. What will my routine look like, once school is done? What will my kids be like as human beings, when this routine fades and the next one begins? How long will we be living in this weird, disconnected limbo, sitting behind screens and keyboards, substituting real experiences with virtual ones?

For now, it's a waiting game, a game of probabilities, possibilities, and unknowns. For a planner and a doer like me, it's a strange space to sit in, this lack of solid ground. But with so much unknown, so much wide-open space, it's also a huge opportunity --a chance to tackle something on the list. A chance to try something new. A chance to regain some of what I've lost in the last decade, as I pushed through a divorce, and a doctorate, and a remodel, and a broken ankle, and 1,000 other things. A chance to get back in touch with some of the rest of my life, some of the things I've been letting slide. A chance to try to (re)connect with my kids and my partner.

Maybe, even, a chance to clean my desk.

The Coronacation Diaries, Episode 72

No Visitors Allowed

Since this pandemic hit, I've watched, through the protective distance of social media, as a friend dealt with the loss of her father. No visits with family, no funeral, no chance to celebrate a life. I've watched another family that I've taught for decades reel from the loss of both a patriarch and a matriarch. No visits with family, no funeral, no chance to celebrate those lives well lived.

I've also watched the birth announcements hit, as women I know gave birth alone, surrounded by medical staff but no loved ones. A laptop with a live feed is no replacement for sitting with the woman you love, as she brings a life into this world. From the safety behind my own computer screen, I have wondered what it must feel like, to bring a helpless and vulnerable child into this world right now, when we all feel a little bit helpless and vulnerable ourselves.

Photo credit: ABC13 WLOS staff

Today, someone I hold very dear is suddenly hospitalized, states away. Do I hop on a flight and take my chances? And if so, to do what, exactly? To sit in a hotel room in the same city as the hospital? There are no visitors allowed.

In times like these, we should be together, not miles and miles apart. This keyboard and this computer screen are no replacement for human contact. We knew this. We've always known this. We've just pretended to ourselves that, somehow, virtual was just as good as actual. 

But it's not, and we can't pretend that it is. I can't hold a hand through this screen. I can't sit with someone in their physical or emotional pain when I can't be near them. This no contact, virtual world is a lousy substitution for sitting with the people we love when they feel a little bit helpless and vulnerable.

The Coronacation Diaries, Episode 71

Closing the Doors on the School Year

I finally checked out of my classroom today. The deadline was last Friday, but since it was a holiday weekend, I knew that no one would be in until tomorrow and I could put it off, this thing I was dreading, until today.

It is sad, to check out of my classroom. After the godawful situation of teaching our of the hell-hole LGI a year ago, this year was amazing, to have an actual classroom, one that I designed and decorated with multi-level tables and fairy lights and lamps. Students loved the room, even though it is the smallest room in the high school. They said it was calming and cozy, and they actually looked forward to coming to class, at least for the ambiance. Students were often in my room during their independent study classes and online classes, preferring the "coffee shop" atmosphere to the florescent lights of the library. A lunch crew adopted my room as their own, and an eclectic group of acquaintances became a tight group of friends by the end of the year.

And then, suddenly and with very little warning, it was over.

I miss my students. About a third of them are still participating in school work, and I get to see their faces in Flipgrid assignments and interact via Remind, Google Forms, and email. But two thirds of them have disappeared, taking about 150 of my textbooks with them.

The student pick-up for their belongings is this Wednesday. Although I eagerly volunteered to be a part of that day, once again I was not invited. I'll still be there, though, at the end of the driveway, awkwardly waving to students as they come and get their things, and hoping desperately that they will return some of my textbooks.

This was not how I wanted the school year to end. This was the year that I planned to rebuild my room, rebuild my curriculum, rebuild my mental health, and rebuild my relationships with students. Instead, it became the year where I broke my ankle, was publicly embarrassed by some well-meaning but misinformed individuals, was ghosted by people I cared about, and then dealt with the whiplash of a sudden closure of schools.

But it was also the year that I rebuilt my room, and my curriculum, and my mental health, and my relationship with students. And that last part --that relationship with students-- can't be diminished by the rest of the things completely out of my control. Although half of my eclectic lunch crew has graduated, the other half will be back in the fall. And those relationships with students --that's the part that I need to remember and need to focus on, as I wave to students at the end of the driveway on Wednesday. It's because of them that I remember why I became a teacher in the first place and why I will continue to teach, long after this pandemic is over.

The Coronacation Diaries, Episode 70

It's a Holiday Weekend! Let's Party!

It's Memorial Day weekend, y'all! A weekend to celebrate going up North and to commemorate all of the sacrifices our boats have made for us. A weekend where we remember what's really important in our great nation: hot dogs and beer and our cottages in tiny towns in Northern Michigan without hospitals.

No one's really at risk up there, because the virus isn't really up there very much. So we will definitely be safe to go to the gas station and the boat launch and the local dive bar and the party store. We won't be exposed at all. In fact, it's safer up there than it is down here.

We have been cooped up for so long without access to massive garden centers and aisles of paint that we have earned a ride on our Sea-Doo. It's the only way to save our mental health. And it is unhealthy --dangerous even-- to go for too long without draft beer. Just in the last 70 days, we have sacrificed so much --our very way of life-- that we absolutely must gather with large crowds in public spaces before we go insane. And the beaches are open!

Just don't head to Midland or Sanford. I've heard it's pretty messy around there. I mean, there isn't even a lake anymore. What fun is that? That beach sucks.

Thankfully, even though the death toll from Coronavirus is rising nationwide, Northern Michigan is doing just fine. There are a few counties in the UP that don't have any cases at all! But that's way too far to drive. We'll stay under the bridge. There are several counties where no one has died yet. Thank goodness our cottage is in one of those counties. Nothing to worry about! We'll be perfectly safe!

Happy Memorial Day weekend, y'all. Drive safe, and don't forget the sunscreen. Also, don't forget to take your mask off. Those masks leave some ugly tan lines.