July 20th, 2020

Pandemic Diary June 13 to June 22

Hmm, seem to have fallen somewhat behind here…

Day 94: This was the best weekend of the pandemic because we had a physically distant visit with Kurt and Gaelan and kids in their yard and other than the slight awkwardness of trying to step away when a kid came hurtling near me and remember to only eat out of my own snack receptacle, it was exactly like our previous visits, which honestly I always knew were pretty lovely but still I did not appreciate enough. It was so so so very nice. And then this morning me and Carolyn Black hung out in the park and talked, and if you discounted the six feet between us and the masks, it was also something we might have done any time–the greatest. And then I saw my mom walking by on the path, and went pelting down the hill yelling, “Mom! Mom!” but she didn’t stop, because I suppose anyone could be mom, but then I yelled “Mominator!” and she turned and we talked for a minute too. It was SO many people for one weekend.

I feel really stocked up on in-person interaction and positive energy and hope I can keep this vibe going as the week begins. I am also going to try downloading all my files and working from the park when the jackhammering gets too much and taking Lindsey Patten‘s advice to order some soundproof earmuffs–proactive at last! We shall see….

(2)

One of the things I see going wrong for very beginning writers is lack of trust that a reader will infer anything that isn’t directly stated on the page. Back in the dark ages when I was doing manuscript assessments, many for writers who may never have shown their work to anyone before, I would often seen good, clear prose describing in minute detail everything a character wore, ate, thought, and saw in a morning, a day, all because it happened, the day passed in that way and the writer hadn’t yet learned how to summarize through to the important details and pick those out in scene. It serves no purpose to plot, character development, even scene setting–it’s just clunky mechanics of getting set up to do those other things that actually serve the story.

I say “beginning writers” but I ALWAYS find this stuff when I revise a draft of my own. It’s so disheartening that even the lessons I’ve already learned I don’t follow. Characters walking towards things, getting dressed, thinking about what to do next. Descriptions of, ugh, I don’t know, rooms and stuff. Trees. Cut cut cut. And of course, it all has to go into a special cut file in case I was right the first time and it all actually IS somehow important. But it isn’t.

Day 95: I am trying Jennifer Paul‘s advice to listen to white noise on Spotify, which I thought would entail getting a Spotify account, but it seems I already have one. It took a while to get back into it, since I didn’t recall my password, username, or the fake date of birth I set up the account with (this must be from around the time someone told me data breach identity theft is most dangerous if they get your real date of birth so you shouldn’t use it for trivial accounts, but the one time i actually remembered not to). ANYWAY, I finally logged in and found I had a library of two songs, both by Imagine Dragons for some reason. The whole thing is puzzling and I don’t remember any of it.

I’ve been surfing around in the white noise section but haven’t really made a dent–there’s so much! There’s such a thing as pink noise, which is terrifying to listen to, and brown noise, which sounds like the inside of an airplane at cruising altitude–pleasant enough, but doesn’t actually drown anything out. I’m in the baby sleep sounds section now, which doesn’t bode well for getting work done, so I may just switch to music. More on this as I research it.

(2)

I was feeling irritated because people are doing that thing in my building where they stand beside a door looking as if they are just basking in the beauty of our weird foyer and then if someone goes to open it, they suddenly remember they actually wanted to go out and rush forward and get in your way. This is of course because the door is too gross for them to touch, but not too gross for others to touch. It’s a pet peeve of mine but in these thin-skinned days, I resent it deeply.

However.

Then I logged into Twitter. And there are MUCH more unsettling things afoot. So I remain distressed, but at least it’s over something important now.

Day 96: Yesterday was pretty pleasant because there was no jackhammering at all in the morning. The construction crew was doing other noisy things, but all at least somewhat less noisy than jackhammers. I’m not sure why, possibly to give the people who actually live in the building being jackhammered a break (Yes, they are still there, I can see their lights go on in the evening–I feel for them a lot!) And then in the afternoon they started up again but I had my white-noise track research and then only a couple hours in, the building caught fire, and they had to stop. Obviously, this wasn’t a good outcome, and there must have been real concern because there were half a dozen fire trucks and the street blocked off (also many sirens, which weren’t exactly quiet) but the building wasn’t evacuated so it couldn’t have been that dire, and it did end construction for the afternoon. Unfortunately, this seems to have put things behind schedule, as the hammers were back right first thing this morning.

Forgive me for talking so much about the construction–it is so loud I think about it constantly. Also there is little else going on. I’m on day 21 of the yoga challenge, it’s going well, and day 6 of the meditation, which is a slower start but seems to help a bit. I took the winter blankets to the dry cleaner, so that’s progress and also a new place to go. Ummm…that may be all. Anyone else go anything exciting going on?

(2)

I’ve been thinking about the first ever out of town literary event I did, mainly because I’m spending all my time in my office and I have a poster up for it in here. Want to hear the story?

It was a bit before my first book came out and I’d only published a couple stories–it was perhaps only my 3rd or 4th public appearance at all. A librarian invited me to appear and said I could take a bus and they’d pay for it, but the bus would leave at dawn and get me there at the start of the business day. She promised that would be fine, which turned out to mean I could sit in the library and read. I was supposed to take a cab from the bus station by myself, which is one of my phobias–I can’t remember whether I ended up walking or just really really wanted to. I stayed in the library for about 4 hours, bought a sandwich and snuck it back in to eat because I couldn’t think where else to go. Keep in mind that I was nearly 30 at this point, and had taken an unpaid day off work to do this.

When the other panelists arrived, they were a bit surprised to find me in a tiny rabbit warren of my own making in the library with my half-eaten sandwich, but everyone greeted me cordially–some I knew already and all would continue to be friendly to me for years after, whenever we met. They were all men, and older than me. The panel seemed like the most important thing that had ever happened–the discussion so fast and ardent, the men so impassioned. I didn’t say much, but I tried to speak up when they criticized things I like, and I recall pursuing someone out into the hall after to make a point I hadn’t quite made in front of the audience. He was startled, but respectful. I don’t remember anything about the audience, but since I don’t recall anyone being sad about there not being one, I assume people showed up and watched the panel.

As everyone put on their coats and chatted, the friendly librarian said goodbye and I stood quavering, hoping that someone would offer me a ride to the bus station so I wouldn’t have to brave a cab or figure out how to walk it. My bus was in something like three hours–I was looking forward to building another burrow, buying another sandwich. Instead it was announced that we were all going to yet another writer’s home; he hadn’t made it to the panel but surely would want to see us. Us, me too? I mentioned the bus in three hours and was met with bafflement but yes, yes, of course, someone would drive me then.

The new writer had a very nice house and was very suave. Everyone was referring to him by a diminutive and I didn’t work out who it actually was until much later. I was handed a glass of wine without being asked–I don’t drink, but since I was thirsty I licked at it a bit and eventually put some tapwater in to make it potable to me. The host actually caught me at that and found some Perrier. I don’t think I said much during the conversation but I remember kneeling awkwardly in my pretty panel clothes at the coffee table to take some crackers and cheese–no one else was eating. I was so worried they would forget about my bus but very kindly someone got up in lots of time and drove me and I got to go home. I can’t remember if I got any dinner other than that cheese, but other than that, it was all fine. I think I was paid a little something for this event but I can’t swear it, and even if I was, it wouldn’t have been equal to the day’s wages I lost in being there. I think I got home just in time to go to bed.

I don’t know if I’m conveying it properly but that was just a really great, important day for me. Meeting people as a writer, people I would never have spoken to otherwise, and have them include me in the conversation and take me seriously, was huge for me, and even though the day was bizarre and exhausting and 14 hours long, it seemed like this miraculous coup. It’s a nice memory and I feel lucky thinking of it.

Day 97: So Saturday will be 100 days of lockdown. A few things have loosened slightly for me–the occasional park or yard visit, a few more stores–but by and large I am still doing this and will be for the foreseeable future. So, since I know a lot of you started just before or just after me, any suggestions for a 100 days celebration? Anything to boost morale, really. With all our noise problems, the 7:30 cheer, which I love in theory, is starting to make me want to cry and shut the window in practice. I’m looking for a quiet celebration, ideally.

In good news, the jackhammerers seem to have gotten quite a bit done while i was in the shower this morning–I think they are starting to cut some corners but I’ll take it. They are nearly done the balcony-edge smashing they have been working on since last week, and I don’t know if that could be the end of the loud part of the project or if that’s too much to hope for–it would be crushing if the next phase were sandblasting or yodelling or something. My building also tested the fire alarm this morning because of course. Mark Sampson is at work today; cats seem morose.

(2)

One of the relatively minor casualties of the pandemic for me is eavesdropping–I love to hear other voices, random snippets of conversation, other lives. I popped into the corner store for a drink and a snack, something I haven’t done in months but was feeling sorry for myself, and was rewarded with this gem:

Cashier (middle-aged woman with thick accent): Hello, hello, it’s good to see you. It’s been a long time!
Patron (middle-aged woman with thick, very different accent): Yes, yes, it is good to see you too.
C: Soon your husband is coming, yes? Then you will be so happy!
P: Oh, no, no, he is here now! He came already!
C: Oh really? Already?
P: Yes, yes. He works with me in the hospital.
C: Wow, you must be so happy!
P: Yes, I am very happy! You never meet him yet?
C: No, I don’t think so.
P: You will sometime. I bring him.
C: Maybe he come alone and I didn’t know it was your husband.
P: No, not alone.
C: No?
P: No, he can’t go alone. He new.

(3)

I was thinking about last night’s post, the one about the literary event, which is such a good memory for me, and I have lots of others like it. What’s weird and sad about it is that, knowing what I know now, 12 years later, if a young woman told me she was invited to a writing event and then after a group of male writers who were older than her and more powerful, offered to take her to a stranger’s house for wine and conversation, and she wouldn’t have her own transportation or any real sense of the city, I might say, “Oh, hey, maybe just go to the bus station and eat a stale sandwich.” Everyone I met that evening was really genuinely sweet to me, but there’s plenty of stories that start exactly like that but don’t end that way.

One thing predatory men have done is ruin, or at least seriously impinge upon, women’s ability to just do whatever they feel like, or at least, whatever seems like a good idea in the moment. And it’s not like nothing bad ever happened to me from just going along with things, but nothing THAT bad ever did–because I’m lucky, is why. I have lots of weird experiences–I could rattle off a list of abusers who, in the dark past, were nice in a limited circumstance to me (does that sound like a brag?? it isn’t) I hope I never steered anyone wrong, and I’ve always tried to listen and learn, but there’s always so much more I don’t know.

Anyway, if that story last night was the source of more suspense than I meant it to be for anyone, I’m sorry, and I also want to say that I am aware of stories different than my own. I never want to be one of those jerks who say, “Well, it worked out great for me, so what are you so nervous about?” because that’s not how life is, I do realize.

Day 98: I think I have perfected my morning routine. The rest of the day is less ideal, and also boring (just working, preparing and eating food, occasionally going for walks and harassing the cats) but this is good. I’m not sure it rates sharing with FB feed, but honestly, I don’t have a lot that does these days, so here you go:

Wake up, do waking up meditation with app, take myriad supplements and pills, put on gym clothes, go out on the balcony to water plants/make sure squirrels haven’t eaten them, feed cats, get cottage cheese, eat cottage cheese in Mark’s office while interrupting his work, do yoga, do some other exercise, shower, get dressed, get coffee (or have Mark bring me coffee), eat some other breakfast to supplement the cottage cheese, start working…less interesting from there.

Have these little set-day challenges for the meditation and yoga is really helpful–I love a structure. The meditation app emailed me this morning to let me know I’d done 10 days in a row (I certainly knew that) and to say that if I did 15 days in a row, I would get a prize, which is basically catnip to me. I feel fairly certain that the prize is some other kind of meditation or possibly just an email from the app saying congratulations, but I don’t care–I want it. We all need something to strive for.

(2) Now in noise news: the jackhammering on this side of the building across the street did not take place today. I don’t want to speculate on whether it’s over, because the disappointment would be too great if it isn’t, but it weren’t, but we got a day off anyway. There was jackhammering somewhere nearby, possibly the far side of the building, but it was much more tolerable from that distance. There was also:
–actual hammering
–a truck backing up on and off for close to an hour
–several sirens, including one at 3am
–a melodramatic but brief argument in the park
–an unhappy dog
So, a relatively quiet day for this area. I want it noted for the record that, pre-pandemic, I had a relatively high noise tolerance and used to live in front of the spot on Spadina where the streetcar went into the tunnel and never cared. Lockdown in Saint James Town is a whole new level!

Day 99: So it turns out tomorrow is, in addition to day 100 of lockdown, summer solstice. It’s at 5:43pm, if you are into that. So two friends and I have decided to go to a park in our masks and form an equilateral triangle with 6-foot sides and enjoy the moment together. Then I will go home and Mark has promised to make me a fancy milkshake drink that involves crumbling a cooking inside the drink. I made the cookies yesterday, so as long as it doesn’t rain, everything is coming together. I think it will be a good 100 days/solstice celebration. If you celebrate too, I love to hear about it, and happy approach of the sun to you!

Happy 100 days and happy solstice! It’s lovely although hot here in Saint James Town, and noisy but not too noisy. I was sidelined with a migraine yesterday, the worst I’ve had in my pandemic period, which is interesting since I actually haven’t had many/severe migraines at all in this period. Probably somewhat random and somewhat because whenever I’ve felt a little ill, I’ve just been able to rest instead pushing through and letting it get worse. Which just goes to show how different everyone’s experience of this period has been, because my statement that I’ve had extra time to rest is probably making all the frontline workers and parents of young kids laugh sadly right now.

More on personal relativism and migraines: When you have a chronic pain condition, doctors are always trying to get you to rate the pain on a scale of 0-10, with 0 of course being no pain and 10 being “the worst pain I’ve ever felt.” When I first saw this, I kept reserving the higher numbers for things I hadn’t experienced, like labour and heart attacks. It took me a long time, and a lot of inaccurate pain scales, to be convinced that my personal 10 was just the worst *for me* and even if I someday encounter a worse pain, I can just move the 10 and recalibrate the other numbers. I have NO IDEA what such a scale informs doctors of, but several have insisted that’s the most informative way to explain a migraine to them.

This makes the number scale fairly useless in talking to anyone other than my medical team though–even other migraine sufferers mean something entirely different by their scales. Yesterday was maybe a 5-6, which to me means I could just about function to do basic tasks but given the option (I had the afternoon off) I dozed for several hours and didn’t even really want to read or have a longer conversation until early evening.

I feel strongly that there’s a metaphor here somewhere but I can’t quite nail it–anyone? Anyway, I’m feeling fine today–time for some restorative yoga!

(2) Evan both loves the #catio because he knows it’s cooler outside and he wants it I be near us and hates it because he has noticed he is in a cage. The plants have to be arranged like that because if they are closer he will spend all his time trying to reach through the bars and destroy them out of sheer spite. #catsofinstagram

Day 102: Weekend was ok, though hot. Had a nice picnic, noticed Mark Sampson had brought all our cheese knives except the lost one, restarted argument about Mark losing the knife. Another (distanced) picnic participant pointed out that it could have been me that lost the knife, which caused me to begin listing other things Mark has lost or destroyed, as precedent for the knife was probably also his fault. Conversation was able to proceed to a better note, others eventually left, I felt guilty for constantly harping on this issue.

RR: It doesn’t even matter–people don’t need cheese knives.
MS: I like cheese knives.
RR: We could cut and spread cheese with butter knives, our lives would be the same.
MS: I like the cheese knives! I didn’t mean to lose it…if in fact I lost it! And we still have three…
RR: Yes. I should dwell on the three cheese knives we do have.
MS: Come on, fold up the blanket, it’s time to go.
RR: And yet the three cheese knives aren’t making me happy. It’s still a pandemic. I’m still a sad woman on a blanket.
MS: …
RR: This blanket is 23 years old.
MS: It is?
RR: Yes. It was my bedspread in first-year university. I never lose anything.
MS: Well…
RR: Pretty much. But having a 23-year-old picnic blanket is not making me happy.

(2) note: This quiz is one of my most responded-to FB posts ever–so many replies, each and every one of which delighted me. If you have read this far in this very long post on the blog, please consider cut-and-pasting the quiz somewhere (like the comments) and answering it so that I can be delighted once again!

Regionalisms quiz: I’ve asked some of these before but here they are all together, 2020 edition. Please join me in this time-killing activity if your brain also works this way. Feel free to share–I’ve made it public just in case this can be the one thing I do that ever goes viral.

1) Where did you learn to speak English?
2) (optional, of course) how old are you?
3) What do you call the following things?
a) knives/forks/spoons/things you use to eat food
b) the square of terrycloth you clean yourself with
c) furniture with drawers you store clothes in
d) when you push someone on a swing by running underneath them
e) plastic thing babies suck on when they are fussy
f) lawn-mower you can sit on
g) garment you wrap yourself in after a shower or immediately after getting up in the morning
h) kind of dark grey/black paving that most city roads are made of
i) the strip of grass or other plants between the sidewalk and the street (I realize a lot of people don’t call this anything; only answer if you grew up believing there’s a word for this)
j) a room between outside and the main room
k) carbonated beverage
l) long piece of furniture in your living room that you sit on
m) small store that is open long hours and sells limited food, drinks, newspapers and lottery tickets
4) Bonus question #1: If you know a word with a fun regional variation that I haven’t put here, please add it!
5) Bonus question #2: What condiment goes on macaroni and cheese?