Originally posted 4/6/20
I feel as if I'm running on empty, and believe me, I'm not. I'll admit, at the beginning of this quarantine for Corona Virus I didn't take it seriously, wandering around the Tampa Bay area with my visiting mom and daughter as if we were tourists. We weren't in the picture of Clearwater Beach that was broadcast in shame that day; we were a few miles south at Anna Maria Island, soaking in the sun, six feet from our nearest cluster of neighbors. My spiritual sister Kelsey sent me a slight reproach after scrolling through my Instagram posts, asking me, when are you going to start social distancing, Erika? Kelsey is smart, and vigilant, and spiritually grounded, and much younger than me. It was a question that poked me, because it should have. I was ignoring the media hysteria and the government blustering that was emanating from all pores of technology. I squeezed the tomatoes before selecting mine at the vegetable stand. I tried on cute t-shirts at the neighborhood boutique. I sat in the steam room at the health club. The day after health officials announced that people over age 60 were most vulnerable, we put my 79-year-old mother on a plane back to South Carolina. "Wash your hands when you get home," I advised her. For the record, I did ask her if she wanted to stay put in sunny Tampa. She had golf games to get back to, and a deck to get painted. She's fine. A few days later, the University of the South, where Isabel is a sophomore, cancelled the rest of the school year, Again, I did invite her to stay put in sunny Tampa to do her online school work. Based on her genetic coding, though, you can guess that we also put Isabel on a plane with very few other people, back to a remnant that is enough to sustain her now small social life in a foggy, rainy place that she loves. She too is fine. And then the government restricted gatherings, which shut down any kind of church meeting, restaurant dining, concert, or ball game. Our lives immediately shrunk to, literally, Publix, which had, by then, run out of toilet paper, spaghetti sauce, bread, rice, meat and bleach. It's interesting what our country turns to when faced with a crisis. St. John's is conducting church with 10 people, which I watch from home on Facebook. Michael spends some of his days at church with one other employee one floor away, and some at home, mostly on Zoom meetings and calling parishioners to see if they're okay. I, finally taking Kelsey's advice, have sequestered at home, reading feminist literature while swinging in the front yard tree swing, ridiculously exercising to an internet instructor in New Zealand, and taking long walks with Michael on Bayshore Boulevard, on the shady side, allowing for a six-foot berth when passing another stir crazy Tampanian family of four out on their bikes. Admittedly, my life hasn't changed that much. I'm even making fewer trips to the grocery store to allow others to hoard food they'll probably never cook, which means I'm wringing the most out of my pantry that is regularly well stocked. Having released my business last summer means no fiduciary responsibility for six employees and their families during this crisis, giving me the time to swing and read feminist literature. Because I don't have to go to church on Sunday, I haven't brushed my hair in weeks, nor have I bothered putting on makeup or jewelry. (I do need to assure Rachel, my Mary Kay lady, though, that I am keeping a semi-regular skin care routine. In my fifth decade, that's one thing I can't let slide.) The only thing in the laundry is jog bras, white athletic socks and exercise shorts. Still I feel this heavy, yet empty ennui that is exhausting me and depleting my spirit of anything good I could do or feel. I feel the despair of the unemployed, most of whom depend on those hourly jobs to pay exorbitant rent and buy their own groceries. I feel the exhaustion of doctors and nurses who are facing the deadly unknown every day. I feel the fear of elderly parishioners who have shut themselves inside so they don't risk contracting this virus. I feel the sadness of high school and college seniors who are missing out on what is supposed to be the most memorable time of their lives. This time is memorable alright. I am sleeping all night, maybe more than I should. I am eating well, maybe more than I should. I am exercising, maybe more than I should. I am watching CNN, certainly more than I should. I lay prostrate on the couch, watching our president conduct 90-minute news conferences where he bullies reporters and talks for five minutes about how good his news conference TV ratings are during this time. I listen to medical professionals predict 2 million deaths, while governors plead for medical help. "I'm going to check the death-ometer," Michael said after dinner last night, as he turned CNN back on. I have banned it from dinner time, relegating us back to the dinner table for civilized dining, even though it's just the two of us. From the dining table, we can see dog walkers, lone runners, stroller pushing dads and cycling families passing by our corner house in droves, many more than we've ever seen before, sometimes in the middle of the street because there is no more 5 o'clock traffic rush that we used to hear, coming off Bayshore Boulevard into our neighborhood. We cancelled a Friday dinner with our new neighbors, planned a month ago. They have a five-year-old and aging parents, and they can't risk contact with the unknown, us. It's safe. I get it. It's the right thing to do. So I friended her on Facebook, and she keeps an eye on my swing time from her front porch. I watched on Facebook as my friend organized a honking drive-by at her stepdaughter's house to wish her a happy birthday. Honking has become the new "Hey!" hug that we used to deliver in the South, an embrace for family and old friends now relegated to the length and security of a car. As my onion supply dwindles and my fresh fruit bin empties, I am beginning to dread a trip to the grocery store. Having not been in 10 days, I'm not so worried about what's not on the shelves still, but what my chances are of contracting this virus that is unseeable and unknowable, and that, by most reports, is growing by leaps and bounds every day. We can wipe as many surfaces as we can with Clorox wipes, but everyone has to go to the grocery store. And it's not only them, but it could be me. Could I have it, somehow, and give it, unknowingly, to someone whose immune system is compromised and who needs groceries worse than I do? A trip to the grocery store has never, ever scared me. And I begin to have toilet paper insecurity. Because I was distracted by strawberry season, canning as many jars of strawberry jam as I could before Parkesdale closed, I didn't hoard toilet paper. We're not perilously close, but I begin to panic, and offered to trade jam for TP on FB a couple days ago.
My friend Melinda and I met up on Bayshore, right, for a jam and TP swap. It was kind of surreal. What is everyone afraid of? And why isn't there enough toilet paper?
There are hundreds of mentions of fear in the Bible. Throughout both the Old and New Testaments leaders, servants, disciples and followers admit fear. Sometimes, it's a fear of God. "I heard you in the garden, and I was afraid because I was naked, so I hid," Adam admits to God. (Gen. 3:10) Sarah was afraid, so she lied...to God. (Gen. 15:1) Lot was afraid to stay in Zoar, because he thought God was going to destroy it, too. (Gen. 19:30) Sometimes, trust in God protects them from fear. The Lord is the stronghold of my life, of whom shall I be afraid?, David asked in Psalm 27, and in Psalm 56, in God I trust and am not afraid; what can mere mortals do to me? Then, an angel of the Lord commands Joseph, do not be afraid to take Mary as your wife. (Matt. 1:20) And Jesus questions fear: "You of little faith, why are you so so afraid?" (Matt. 8:26) Fear is healthy. A little fear, anyway. A fear of consequences might keep us from making bad decisions, or disobeying our mom. Sometimes it spared me as a kid, because I knew when I didn't, I'd get a spanking, which parents still did in the 1970s. Obviously I got spankings, so fear of consequence didn't always pull a lot of weight with me. Fear also keeps us vigilant, walking home alone at night, or as a reminder to lock the door on the way out. But most of us don't live in fear of losing our lives, or contracting a potentially life-threatening disease everyday. Maybe in other countries, where war is a constant presence, or infrastructure is poor. But not here in AMERICA. In the preponderance of time I'm now spending on social media, I'm witnessing discussions of validity about the speculations and predictions of the COVID 19 death rate. A church called The River here in Tampa held large church services Sunday, while popular media physician Dr. Sanjay Gupta is now calling a death toll of 200,000 optimistic. One Instagram follower argued that Christians weren't going to contract the virus, while other Christians encouraged her to listen to public health experts. The church pastor was arrested, but my money is on open church doors for his congregation Sunday morning. As Michael would say, "We're all going to die." That's his final answer for conversations about the anxiety of death and dying. He doesn't mean that we should all run out and sneeze on each other, but acknowledging that we are going to die is important, especially in this contemporary age that promotes youth and beauty and long lives (re: my above note about skin care, keeping those wrinkles at bay!). There have been reports about bodies in New York being stored in refrigerated trucks, and we now know by second-degree a few who have contracted and/or died as a result of the virus. I also read that the hospital system in Greenville, SC, is laying off healthcare workers because they don't have enough patients. While the number of deaths is increasing, it's not doubling everyday as was predicted five days ago. And, only 17% of those tested test positive for the virus. Meanwhile, the CDC also estimates that the flu will cause between 24,000-62,000 deaths during its eight-month season this year; about half of adults get the flu vaccine. Don't get me wrong, I'm erring on the side of healthy fear here, staying at home, swinging in my front yard and exercising with the internet. We will take a walk, and get take-out once a week, as we usually do, tipping as much as we can to support those working. I am growing a little afraid of going to the grocery store and am weighing my options. Michael eats a lot, if you didn't know, and demands to be fed three times a day, if not more. Silver linings have been reported, though, which gives me hope. A friend reunited with her sister, churches are carrying the Gospel to their friends and communities in new ways, there is talk of temporary forgiveness of student loans and rent payments, and we're expecting a nice government hand-out (from the Republicans, which makes me giggle). Men (my husband being one) are finding that there is more to life that sports with balls, and a lot of authors are being read. As usual, I want to push through, impatiently, to the other side of this to see what the moral of the story is. I want employees to get back to work, stores to reopen and graduations to be staged. I want there to be joy and relief, which are, I know a result of sorrow and pain. So we must experience those first, for some time, I guess. I do know they're coming, though, because the Bible tells me so.
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