First Pan-niversary

I went to use a backpack I haven't used in a while and found this attached. It's the strip that Fenway Park Security puts on your bag once they've searched it for contraband. Apparently, the last time I used that backpack was September 29, 2019 - which was the last time I saw a Red Sox game in person. 

I also know the date of the last public event I attended. A year ago today, there was a big splash sendoff for my brother who was retiring after a long (and locally storied) career in the labor movement. It was a wonderful tribute to Rick, and it was touching to hear all the speakers - from the old Irish union guys he'd worked with for years to the young women of color he has mentored. (One has taken over his job.)

I don't remember if there was any talk about COVID that night. It was around, but... Did we even know then that a Biogen conference held the week before at the Marriott Long Wharf in Downtown Boston had been a super-spreader event? Were we already panic-buying every little bottle of Purell we came across? Every pint of isopropyl alcohol?

I don't remember the last time I ate in a restaurant. Probably somewhere around that time in early March. I probably went to lunch with my friend Kyung after we'd worked a volunteer shift at St. Francis House, the Boston day shelter that's so close to my heart.

But I do remember the last time I was supposed to eat in a restaurant. 

On March 14, 2020, I had dinner plans with my sister Trish and my niece Molly. But we looked at each other, shook our heads, and decided to stay in.

On March 17, 2020, I worked my last volunteer shift at St. Francis House. After that we were furloughed. Happy St. Patrick's Day. I baked soda bread; I baked barmbrack; I made colcannon.

When did I stop going to the gym? About that time.

The non-essential lockdown in Massachusetts began on March 23rd.

But when did the toilet paper shortage kick in? I was reasonably set for supply, but my sister Trish was running short and couldn't find any. I went to seven stores before scoring an eight-pack of some no-name brand at Walgreen's for her. After that, the TP shortage became a thing. And paper towels. So every time I passed a store, I ducked in to buy some. If they had any. I probably still have about 50 rolls of toilet paper, and a couple dozen rolls of paper towels, squirreled away in a closet. 

Mandatory mask wearing in Massachusetts wasn't put in place until early May, but I began ordering cloth masks on Etsy in early April. 

And I began wearing home made masks a bit earlier. On April 6th, I texted a selfie to a couple of friend, showing off my homemade mask: linen table napkin + rubber bands. (Instructions via YouTube.)

While we frantically waited for the Etsy orders to come in  - and there was a considerable backlog for the small sew-at-home vendors I was ordering from - my sister Trish stitched up some masks and dropped off a couple for me.

Even before the Etsy masks arrived, I had gone to full-time mask wearing when I was out. And other than to take a walk - of dart quickly in and out of the grocery store or pharmacy (strictly on an as-needed basis) - I wasn't out very much. 

The walks were eerie, post official state lockdown. No one on the Esplanade, which made walking there creepy, other than on weekends when a few hardy families would be out and about. Walking downtown could be scary. No on walking around, just guys aggressively approaching the few pedestrians around, looking for a handout. Usually, I'd suggest that they go get breakfast or lunch at St. Francis House. But who wanted to take a chance on grabbing something to eat in a COVID hotbed? I began carrying around and dispensing five-dollar bills. Enough to get a coffee and bagel. Something.

When I went grocery shopping, I bought whatever was available. Shortage of frozen veggies? I never buy frozen veggies, but what if we got to the point where there were no fresh veggies? I threw the last bag of frozen cauliflower, the last bag of frozen peas into my cart. Alongside a couple of ham steaks, another item I never buy. Because there were no chicken breasts, but there were ham steaks. So I bought them.

The pasta shelves were stripped bare. Thankfully, I always have plenty of pasta on hand.

A few people I knew got COVID. Some were pretty sick, but the only hospitalized case was the daughter of a friend. (She recovered just fine. Odd how it works. My friend was sick, her husband and son were fine, her teenaged daughter spent a week in Children's Hospital.)

I heard from friends that they'd lost friends. Or friends of friends. Not exactly close to home, but not as far out as six degrees of Kevin Bacon, either. 

Everyone was isolating, everyone sticking to their own bubble. Mine was small. For starters, just my brother. He came over for dinner once a week. Then his daughter started joining us, off and on. I saw one sister in her backyard. I saw the other for a curbside, masked visit when she and her daughter drove into Boston. 

I scrubbed my hands raw - two choruses of Happy Birthday. The first 20 seconds of Thunder Road. 

If I went out, when I came back I soaked my keys in a little bowl of alcohol. I wiped down my phone, my glasses, the doorknobs, with alcohol swipes. I kept spray bottles of a mix of bleach and water around to clean my counters. My own home brew because "real" cleaning products were no longer available. 

I spent some time at my sister's at the Cape, a week here, a week there, with some combinations of other sibs and nieces. We kept our distance, ate on the screened porch, ordered takeout from the restaurants we usually go to.

Cautiously, over the summer, I started taking masked walks with friends. There were lots more people on the streets, in the park across from my house, along the Esplanade. 

Seeing anyone not wearing a mask was rare. I assumed they were tourists. From Red States. 

I ate outside for a restaurant meal a couple of times with friends. I saw a bit more of my sisters.

I'd rather dine in, but takeout food became a thing.

I took the bus to the Cape to have lunch with my cousins. We ate out on my cousin Barbara's screen porch, dining on lobster rolls my cousin Mary Beth had brought in. I brought dessert.

My cousin Bob's daughter died of cancer. I watched her funeral Mass on TV. 

My friend Jake died. Nothing to do with COVID. ALS. A few weeks before Jake died, I ventured out to the finish line of relay marathon fundraiser we'd held for him. Missing Jake, knowing that he'd soon be dead, we stood around in our blue and yellow - Boston Marathon colors - tee-shirts that honored him Jake had run Boston 38 times, our hearts all breaking in sorrow for the loss of this good and great man, missing him already. A marathoner. Which somehow made ALS all the worse.

Barbara's granddaughter had a mild case of COVID, her parents and sibs were oddly spared.

By then we were well into fall. 

I went to a virtual fundraiser. I attended a virtual lecture. I zoomed with clients, I zoomed with friends.

I bought a bag of Halloween Oreos and ate them all by myself.

I spent Election Night at my sister Trish's. Did we know by end of evening that Joe Biden had won? Unofficially, I think we did. I wept at the news.

On Thanksgiving, I made myself a sausage and peppers sandwich, which was exactly what I'd been craving. In a nod to Thanksgivings past, I followed it up with a not-great grocery store pecan pie, washed down with a glass of milk. Nothing at all like Aunt Margaret's, but she did set the standard.

A week before Christmas, I dropped off a bag of gifts and an orange- chocolate pound cake at my cousin's in Worcester. I went in her house just to pee.

I put up my tree and got some (most?) of my decorations out.

I hosted a smaller than usual Christmas Eve, but did have my sister Trish, my brother Rick, my nieces Molly and Caroline. We zoomed in the others who wanted to zoom. It was odd, but we had fun - even without the traditional Yankee Swap. 

Christmas Day I took a walk. I ate leftovers. I zoomed with some friends, a young couple solo for the day. 

New Year's Eve I spent at Trish's. Happy New Year! (As if.)

A few days later, I watched in horror the assault on the Capitol Building. 

A few weeks later, I watched the inauguration. I opened a split of prosecco and toasted the new administration. I wept when Lady Gaga so brilliantly sang the national anthem, when Amanda Gordon recited her brilliant poem. I wept when Joe Biden was sworn in.

I laughed at the Bernie in Mittens memes.

My friend Peter got very sick with COVID. Sick for weeks - just not hospital sick. 

I began working through all the items in the freezer I panic-purchased early on: ham steak, frozen cauliflower.

I got my first jab.

And now we're observing the first pan-niversary. 

I hope that by next year, it's all in the rearview mirror. 

I'm a lucky one. I didn't get COVID. No one near and dear to me was hospitalized, let alone died from it. I didn't lose my work. I haven't suffered financially. For so many others, the horror has been profound. 

But like all the other lucky ones, I've lost a year. A year with very little hanging out with family and friends. Of no in person volunteering. No trips to visit friends who live away. No fun travel. No baseball games. No plays. No concerts. 

At my age, I won't make up that year. But in truth, whatever your age, you won't either.

We're still in the tunnel, but there is a light. And it's starting to look like more than a glimmer...