I Dream of Facepalming

--And it's not always a nightmare. Sometimes it's happy. I cringed when I saw Anthony Fauci placing his hand on his forehead in a reserved effort to cope with POTUS. I was yelling at the TV, "Take your hand off your face! We need you! We remember what you did for AIDS research and treatment!" But I dream of the day when I can scratch my nose. When I don't think twice about doing so, or even notice that I've scratched it. I learn new skills--wonder if I can unroll toilet paper with my elbows? How long do I have to stay six feet away from people in the park, and does it count if I hold my breath when I have to pass someone with only two feet between us?
Invisible enemies are the stuff of science fiction, normally. A few weeks ago all our talk was off getting a tree surgeon for the dead pine in the yard, finding a service that did basement mold, but even then our neighbor said, "oh, you could do it yourself if you could get those N95 masks--"
--"what are those?"I asked.
"Oh, but you can't get them now anyway," he said, "there's some new illness." We had all heard something about some new illness and I figured the basement could wait.
The basement is waiting, along with everything else. 
I read aloud to one of my kids today. When you're concentrating on turning pages, you're not touching your face. 
It was a good book, too.

The Lingo of Lockdown

In America,"Lockdown" conjures up rioting prisoners getting shoved back into their cells, usually in solitary. Or  Jody Foster behind that steel door in Panic Room, trying to fend off marauders. "Lockdown" conveys grim, toxic masculinity. But in England--in Europe--the term is neutral, descriptive, even reassuring. For Americans, "Sheltering in Place" sounds more romantic. Kind of like an actual choice instead of an absolute necessity. As if we were dreamily basking in our solitude instead of exulting when Amazon finally has toilet paper again for a somewhat reasonable price. "Sheltering in place" is a mermaid in an underground cave, waiting for her prince to swim in so the two of them can flipper their way through the ocean instead of staying at the back of the cave where they belong.
Meanwhile, I sit home reveling in lockdown, but fashioning a face mask from a piece of vinyl report cover. I'll wear it when I have to go to the doctor's office in a few weeks.
If they still have doctor's offices in a few weeks. Will we have consumed our last can of beans? Will I be planting vegetables in our back yard--and trying to keep the local moles and mice from eating all of them?
Or will those teenagers partying in Florida miraculously avoid infecting everyone and will things go back to some kind of normal? It's been a long time since we had a plague to which everyone can relate. Ronald Reagan pandered to the 25%-and-growing number of Evangelical Americans when he allowed AIDS to be considered God's punishment to sinners. This plague is different--anyone who sneezes can pass it on. You don't have to do anything dirty for which people can blame you to catch it. 
But herding people into their homes is easier to do in rule-abiding societies, like Germany. Or totalitarian ones, like China. I've heard tell of French citizens spitting at policemen who tell them to go home; like the oblivious partying Spring Break crowd in Florida, these Liberté-Egalité-Fraternité types are a thing of the West--the part of the world most prone to mistaking precautionary measures as infringements on personal freedoms. 
These current concerns--personal freedoms and social safety--have their precedent:
I do hope this reminds the party crowd that they are dancing with the devil, aka death. 
Or how about this--

Might as well close with Wikipedia's reminder to stay home, and contemplate the bad old days:
The deathly horrors of the 14th century such as recurring famines, the Hundred Years' War in France, and, most of all, the Black Death, were culturally assimilated throughout Europe. The omnipresent possibility of sudden and painful death increased the religious desire for penance, but it also evoked a hysterical desire for amusement while still possible; a last dance as cold comfort. The danse macabre combines both desires: in many ways similar to the mediaeval mystery plays, the dance-with-death allegory was originally a didactic dialogue poem to remind people of the inevitability of death and to advise them strongly to be prepared at all times for death (see memento mori and Ars moriendi). 

Corona Fashion: Safety, Infection-Style

Back in the day, the Bubonic-plague day, doctors dressed like this:

The gloves, leather because latex hadn't been invented. The beak on the mask to store rosemary, cloves, cinnamon, and other spices thought to dispel infection. You can still buy, today, or make for yourself, "thieves oil," a slightly greasy concoction containing these herbs (often others as well) that was originally used by persons who wished to rob the pockets of the dead. Over the centuries, the notion that this stuff prevents infection has stayed with us. It smells like a Christmas cookie and is better than nothing if you run out of hand sanitizer and soap, and when Amazon still hasn't delivered the final ingredient, hydrogen peroxide, of the hand sanitizer you're planning to make at home.
I go for the Bubonic plague doctor's coverall look. Instead of a long black robe and that wide-brimmed hat, I used my hooded raincoat. Since Amazon also isn't delivering the dental face mask I ordered for another month, I've put together my own, using a vinyl sheet from a folder designed to protect term papers, some bubble wrap, tape, twine, and rubber bands. When I go to Edeka--which I've got to do, since nobody's delivering right now--this will be my fashion statement--and I won't forget my latex gloves:

Okay, not a fashion statement--better than nothing, though.

I pull the hood of the raincoat tight, so the ends of the mask jutting out in this photo round my chin and I look like I'm wearing a tube. Yes, I can breathe, though I've added a homemade face mask--folded up and taped a Siemens vacuum cleaner bag--not pictured here. The Wirecutter says to use only under "desperate" circumstances--I now consider my upcoming trip to the local Edeka and the pharmacy a desperate circumstance. This mask, without my welder-chic thing, above, is only 4% less effective than the real thing, which is on backorder from Amazon. But I'm not photographing myself in my Siemans accessory--definitely doesn't pretty me up.


P.S. For solid medical advice--the salient point being wear a mask to remind you not to touch your face, and washing your hands, see this front-line Cornell-Weill doctor's talk:

Our Social-Distance Meals

The larder, today: bottom to top--that turquoise envelope can be added to two and a fourth cups of rice to make six servings of coconut rice--three of which can be frozen. Next shelf: you can never have too many cans of chick peas. Or chicken broth. Moving up: coconut milk and tomato-sauce collection. Olives. Honey. The rest is mostly beans and sauces--as many as we could think of. Coriander. Various pestos. Mustard. Sunflower seeds. Rice, Soy sauce. Cous-cous, bulgur. Scottish oat cakes. Eggplant, crackers, falafel. Soups. The noodles and the rest of the rice take up another cabinet. Hungry yet? We wish we could ask people over. We froze lentil stew, too.

Enough variety?

No matter how well we eat--at the moment we're eating very well--we all miss dinner parties and impromptu visits. Back on the fifteenth, we held our very last dinner party. A pleasant memory, and as of today, all of us still feel healthy. Instead of company, instead of conversation, we have Grey's Anatomy. Walks, keeping our massive distances. Naps. Books to escape the situation, books to put is in the middle of it. We are all alone together.

In Plague Times

It's a good time to read a fantastic Italian tale--The Decameron--set in fourteenth-century Florence, Italy, during an epidemic of Bubonic plague. Ten young people, so Boccaccio's story begins, decide to self-isolate in an uninhabited villa outside the city in hopes avoiding a death just as awful, and even uglier, than that caused by corona virus. Without social media or any other modern convenience, they keep their spirits up by telling stories, and that's the meaning of the title, drawn from the Greek, which translates as ten stories in ten days. The seven young women and three young men avoid all physical contact, but vent their feelings in a series of ravishingly erotic and funny yarns, with just a few tragic ones thrown in for contrast. The book inspired Chaucer's raciest stories, like the Miller's Tale, involving a gorgeous young woman, her two suitors, and her hapless husband--that's the G-rated version of the tale. 

In my latex hospital-grade gloves--worn partly for protection, partly to remind me not to touch my face--I went to the local DM, where we had to stand outside in a line--we chose to stand about three feet apart from each other--because only three or four customers were allowed in the store at once. I'm glad I ordered toilet paper from Amazon while I still could, along with the ingredients for hand sanitizer. 

When I was out on the street, a man standing a good fifteen or twenty feet away sneezed loudly without covering his nose and then, for good measure, coughed. I edged as far away as possible, darting into Edeka where there's still plenty of produce but no paper products of any kind. Occasionally passing people on the street, I held my breath. 

Germany has 11,973 cases, up 2,606 since yesterday, and the U.S. 7,687, up 1,276. But Germany has lost 28 people to corona virus, and the U.S. 117--already. 

Update, March 21: According to World-0-Meter, the USA now has 19,774 cases, 391 new since yesterday, and 275 deaths. America has almost caught up to Germany, which has 19,848 cases, 68 deaths.
We are all mortal, but Germany excels at planning, managing, organizing, cleaning, and rule-following--traits that, when they emerge in relation to any art form, are profoundly destructive.

But in an epidemic, these annoyances are just the ticket. I can't think of a location I'd rather  contract this illness in, if I were compelled to do so. I hope, of course, that I'm among the lucky, but time will tell.

Courting Coronavirus: Eleven Recently Observed Methods

(1) Use your finger to push the button opening the tram door. With that very same finger, rub your eye or scratch your nose.
(2) Forget that you have a perfectly good elbow for turning on light switches, punching elevator buttons, and even opening tram doors. Take the finger already guilty of touching unsanitized surfaces, the one with which you also rubbed your nose, and boink the elevator button--then, for good measure, use it on the copier everyone else uses.
(3) Don't use gloves or hand sanitizer.
(4) Hear someone sneeze a row ahead of you? Turn your head languidly in their direction; absorb the sneeze as you would spring rain.
(5) Grab the pole in the tram/subway/bus. Then let go and, with the same hand that just grasped that pole, absent-mindedly rub your nose/cheek/mouth/eyes. While you're at it, and in tandem with the cough you've just heard in the next row, yawn. Bask in droplets from that cough.
(6) Don't wash your hands.
(7) When your kid calls to tell his music/sports/ballet/afternoon activity of your choice/teacher to say he's got a bad cold and has to cancel, say: "In case you have Corona virus, please don't list me as one of your contacts, because I want to go on vacation next week."
(8) Shake hands with everybody, as usual. Laugh when they squirt on hand sanitizer. Shrug amiably and rub your chin, right below your lip, with the same hand.
(9) Someone three feet away on the train platform sniffles, sneezes, and wipes his nose with the back of his hand. Fail to notice him because you're texting someone. Walk toward the sound of the sneeze. 
(10) Enthusiastically hug each and every one of your friends.  
(11) If you get the chance, shake hands with POTUS, the way all those Republicans were doing, the ones among the group known to be exposed to someone who was sick. Share the love.

P.S. I can scratch my nose with my shoulder. Yay, me.

Keep Calm and Combat Corona Virus

Today's New York Times reports 307 American cases of corona virus and 17 deaths. My New York friends confess to buying N95 masks online.
Here I sit in North Rhine Westphalia, the smallish (by American standards) German state (teeny bit bigger than Maryland) boasting the same number of cases, and I have yet to see one of those masks on the street. A few wear Grey's-Anatomy-style surgical masks, the ones that won't prevent you from catching anything although they might prevent you from passing on what you've caught. If I hear someone cough two rows ahead in the train, I turn my head the other way and maybe pull my coat up around my nose. Rub on a little hand sanitizer and a little 10% urea hand creme.
Yes, toilet paper has a way of disappearing from grocery and drug store shelves--also pasta, flour, and packaged foods. But Amazon delivers toilet paper for reasonable prices, scalpers prices only for hand sanitizer and those Grey's-Anatomy masks.
Although Germany is around three times bigger than New York state,* the whole country fits into the state of Texas, with room to spare. But the folks in NRW are still riding the trams and the regional railroad, and most of us are still going to work and to school. 
The contrast--307 cases as an American national emergency, as opposed to 300 as a cause for measured concern in the much smaller state of a much smaller country, double that in the whole country--strikes me. Germans are practical. Their tendency to plan, to tabulate, to organize everything into the ground, their lack of spontaneity, can be pretty debilitating when they're trying to write essays. But these national traits are great for combating hysteria. Most Germans don't do hysteria. You only sense they're freaked out because they're planning and organizing even more than usual. They'll load up on nonperishable necessities, but they'll forget they're not supposed to offer a handshake, and laugh when you whip out your hand sanitizer. 
Americans see themselves as special. Exceptions to the rule. People who don't lose wars, succumb to diseases, or elect tyrants. When I think of Afghanistan and Vietnam (for starters), AIDS, especially during Ronald Reagan's blighted years in office, a time when that virus could have been controlled and wasn't, and when I think of the not-my-president who is anything but a teddy bear but who now has a bear marketed in his name--I curse American exceptionalism. It might be okay in a context or two--so great at junk food! So great at making money! So great at inventing things! But not: "How could this happen? And to us?" I blame that sentiment for what seems to me an extraordinary level of fear among Americans.







*Thank you, MyLifeElsewhere, for statistics.