Boccaccio wrote Decameron, with its ten-days-worth of tales told by seven young ladies and three young men who had isolated themselves in a villa outside Florence in order to escape the ravages of the Black Death of 1348. That epidemic of the 14th century has been replaced, in the 21st century, by one brought about by a novel coronavirus, designed COVID-19, since it was first encountered in China in the last months of 2019. So far, it has infected some half-million people worldwide.
The US has about one hundred thousand known cases of COVID-19, with some two thousand in Texas. As of March 28, 2020, there have been only twenty-six reported deaths in the state due to a virus pictured as a pink pincushion.
While many have endured hardships, sufferings and deaths, Karen and I, as well as the other nine hundred residents of Eagle’s Trace, have had mere inconveniences. We elders may not have a self-induced quarantine like those Florentine youths, but our “shelter-in-place” has helped to keep us safe and well. Although our tales are not as risqué as those of Boccaccio’s time, they might be jotted down for those who read these notes in a future year, assuming this nation and its citizens will have a future year. Some see the beginning of the apocalypse or at least a huge dystopia ahead of us.
Daily accounts in social media and television newscasts have documented, ad nauseam, the political and economic results of this epidemic. For some strange coincidence, governmental announcements seem to be made at 11:30 a.m., CDT, when Karen would prefer to watch Jeopardy, the gameshow, not the reality-show. Many people are undergoing their own personal jeopardy, with their rapidly falling (crashing) markets. Fortunately, for me, personally, my portfolio has dropped a mere 18%, since the beginning of the month.
About three weeks ago, when all of this began with earnest here in Houston, I might have been more concerned and anxious than I am today. It was on a Tuesday. I had gone to the dentist to have a small cavity filled. With a numbed mouth, I somehow had bitten my lip very badly during the following hours and so, on Wednesday, March 11, I called my dentist to learn if there was anything I could do to help the healing process. There wasn’t, but his office did say they had been intending to call all their patients seen the previous day. Evidently, one of them had notified my dentist that he, the patient, might have the coronavirus and was awaiting a final, determining test. The dental office would be closing that day for an indefinite period and would send me an email if a follow-up were needed! (They never did.)
Yes, I was “concerned” by the information given to me, but I was in the usual state of denial. I reasoned that my dentist, like other professionals, had adequate sterilization procedures in place for his instruments and, moreover, it was not probable that I had been exposed to any aerosol viruses left by a presumed, but unconfirmed, victim. Nevertheless, I’ve been taking my temperature three-times-a-day. It has remained below 98.5o every day for three weeks! I have passed any isolation period usually associated with exposure to this new coronavirus.
I, like all of our friends, have been complying with the recently established ground rules for “social distancing.” Eagle’s Trace has made this easy to practice. All clubs and gatherings have been eliminated for the known future. I cancelled my own Catholic Project classes scheduled to begin at the end of the month. Karen and I no longer attend our group for Legacy in Words. Her choir does not meet, much to the extreme regret of its director. We are not confined to our apartments, but when we pass others in the halls, living room, or lobby, no one touches. Hugs, of course, are taboo. If two people stand less than four or five feet apart, others wonder about their positions.
Meals are no longer available in the dining rooms or café. Food for three-meals-a-day is delivered to our door every third day. Actually, the limited menu from which we choose our entrees has been rather good in quality and outstanding in quantity. (The only exception has been for lima beans. Neither of us like them; our sink disposal also did not like them. The maintenance man with his plunger worked wonders.) With the abundance of included deserts and snacks, my intentions for Lent have vanished along with the munchables.
Actually, Lent has been a very strange season this year. Archbishop DiNardo has cancelled all masses during the week and on Sundays, until further notice, in accord with suggestions made by federal health agencies. Friday fish-fries, along with all other gatherings relating to any religious organization, have been suspended. While a virtual mass streamed from a local parish may be spiritually uplifting, the sacramental presence is not available. It’s probably true that some folks might miss the real presence of the fried fish more than they do the real presence of Christ in the Eucharist. On the other hand, I did find the unique “urbi et orbi” blessing of Pope Francis, being streamed live from the Vatican (noon, local time!), to be a comforting spiritual experience. It was also very moving to see him standing alone, under a large canopy, facing a completely empty St Peter’s Square. The rains were not what kept the people away; the immediate cause was the fact that Italy has a higher death rate from COVID-19 (more than 10%) than any other nation.
Fortunately, the weather in Houston has made our isolation more bearable. Although it is still March, the daily temperatures have been in the 80’s! With brisk breezes and low humidity, I have enjoyed the hours I’ve sat outside in a comfortable chair and been able to view the ripples on the lake in the center of our campus. This is the only time I have taken to be outdoors. I’m pleased there has been this opportunity.
Normally, Karen and I ventured out at least once a week for a meal in a nearby restaurant. By local order, they have all been closed for meals consumed on site. However, some have stayed open for carry-out or delivery service. Fortunately, Babbins, where grandson Dillon works, remains open; on the other hand, his brother, Thomas, no longer has employment as a bartender. With our at-door food delivery, and lack of alcohol consumption, we’ve had no need for any external service, although I do miss pizza, hot-and-sour soup and gumbo.
During the last two weeks I have made only one excursion to Kroger’s to purchase eggs, cheese, milk and margarine. During this shopping event, I also marveled at the shelves bare of any paper products: napkins, towels, tissues and toilet paper. For some strange and unknowable reason, people have been hoarding toilet paper. I can understand why canned tuna fish and other non-perishables may be unavailable, but why do people need toilet paper for their apocalypse?! Should I end these jotted notes merely by writing, “No shit!?”