covid-19 diaries, 3

It’s been enough weeks now that I’m starting to build some real routines again.

Monday is go out and get sushi day. Tuesday is virtual game night. Thursday is my hiking day. Friday is takeout brunch from my favorite local diner. The weekends are for passive-watching of live esports leagues (benefit of computer games in the internet era, the only things you share are bits, bytes, and memes).

I’ve found it useful to attach specific activities to various days, to help me differentiate one from the other. This was true even when I was taking care of my parents.

Back then, Monday was also my writing group day, and it’s still true now. We’ve just taken the group online and the transition is surprisingly effective. We jump on a Zoom call, say hi, disappear into the aether, and then jump back on ninety minutes later.

I can’t help but wonder if in the future, we might all be wearing virtual reality headsets, sitting in a pretend Panera Bread, as if we are all sitting right next to each other.

Speaking of Zoom, how did everyone suddenly start using this?

My tech background means I’m no stranger to online meeting and screen-sharing tools, but it’s suddenly strange to see everyone else around me using it on a regular, non-business basis.

Surely Zoom’s stock must be going up. I check. It is.

This is not actual financial advice.

Other things that are on Zoom these days: my mom’s bible study classes. One of her friends lets me know this, and that the church is actually livestreaming services on YouTube.

I tune in one Sunday out of curiosity. My good friend is playing the guitar and singing songs.

I can’t help but wonder what it would have been like, if my mom were still around. Would I have to set up Zoom meetings for her every time? Would I have to help her navigate YouTube so she could watch the church service? Would she have me stream it to the TV so my dad could watch?

I don’t watch the livestream for too long, but simply having chosen to watch it is enough; the almighty YouTube algorithm now knows to recommend it to me, every Sunday, and I am too lazy to tell the gods otherwise.

So, it is now my new Sunday routine, every Sunday morning, to check in on my mom’s old church. Of course a pandemic would bring me back to church, so to speak. God, sense of humor, etc.

I still miss my mom.

I miss my dad, too.

His memory care center has also jumped on the Zoom bandwagon.

My brother sets up a time for us to Zoom call with him, and it goes about as poorly as I expect it to.

Whenever I would video call my dad from New York, he would only ever be interested in waving his hand, nodding, smiling, and saying a word or two. I don’t know if this is because he can’t differentiate between a live video or a pre-recorded one, or if he even knows what’s happening the same way a baby probably just sees a moving face. A few minutes later, my dad would give up and look to do something else.

This is exactly what happens on the call.

“Hi, Dad!” me and my brother take turns practically yelling into our devices.

No response.

We wave.

He waves back.

My brother gets his kids into the picture.

“Hi ye ye!” they say to him.

Still no response.

He looks good though, much better than the last time I saw him. His skin looks alright, he doesn’t seem tired; he just seems, confused.

It’s probably for the best he has no idea what’s going on in the outside world. My guess is it’d leave him even more bewildered.

I take a walk at night. There’s practically no one outside. I can literally walk in the middle of the street and it doesn’t matter. I make a game out of stepping on those yellow dome things that delineate lanes.

I peek into people’s houses to see what they’re watching on TV. Some are watching the news. Some are watching cooking shows.

Some people have put Christmas lights back up.

I stare at the stars, and I wonder how many people forget to look up and realize that there’s an entire universe right above us.

I take a walk in the morning, and it’s an entirely different world. There are people all over the sidewalks and streets. I’m guessing they’re trying to get out of the house whenever they can.

Most people try to stay six feet away from me, and I do the same.

I wave to a few folks. Some wave back. Some wave to me out of the corner of my eye and I have to check to make sure they didn’t intend to hail somebody else.

We all are truly desperate for connection.

I’m finally starting to make progress on the yard. I don’t think I’ll ever get it to the point where it looks ‘done,’ but at least it looks less messy.

Apparently yard work is also decent exercise. My watch says I’ve burned three hundred-fifty calories. I’ll take it.

And then I immediately waste all that hard work and decide to treat myself to takeout brunch from my favorite local diner even though it’s not a Friday.

“Thank you, Dan! :-)” is scribbled in lovely handwriting on the bag.

“I’m a sucker for simulated hospitality.”

-Alex Goran, Up in the Air

I suddenly realize that there are a limited number of times I will do this—order takeout from this diner. I never did it before, and once our shelter-in-place order is lifted, I probably won’t again. There’s no reason to.

One of these days, the pandemic will end, and my routines will shift once again.

I won’t be free to waltz in the middle of the street at night.

People will probably stop waving to me randomly.

I’ll probably stop having to use Zoom all the time.

And once again, I’ll have to wonder what habits and lessons to carry with me from this time, into whatever comes next. A sort of, reverse “what do you miss” kind of mentality.

This post is supported by Zoom. Just kidding. But given some of their security lapses, maybe I’ve been hacked and it actually is.