Christmas 2020

 

November 27, 2020

 It's November 27, eight months and a couple of weeks since the lockdown in March.  Thirteen million people have had COVID-19.  Over 268,000 people have died from it.  We are in our second or third, depending on who you ask, spike.  There are nearly 100,000 new cases and between 1,000-1,500 deaths each day.  

Masks are mandated in Kentucky and most states, but many people disregard this or wear them as chin straps with their noses hanging out.

Schools shut down a second time in November if they reopened at all in August.  Some, like JCPS, never went back to in-person instruction.  I have no idea how kids are learning anything.  

Restaurants and bars are also closed again to in-person dining.  We didn't eat out a lot before, but I miss being able to go sit in a restaurant with Kirk or my friends and have a meal and talk.  We ate out some in the summer, when we could sit outside, socially distanced from other diners, but it's too cold now.  Some restaurants put up heaters or these little igloo-like pods, but I don't see how it's going to work in December and January.

Congress has failed to pass another stimulus bill, and the protections from things like evictions and student loan payments ends on December 26.  I think that the elected representatives in Washington are pathetic.  People are going to lose their homes and businesses if Congress doesn't act.  It's all partisan and they need to get their heads out of their asses and work together to find some way to keep people out of the chaos that is going to come if they don't do something.  It's pathetic really.

Supplies are hit and miss depending on the day.  Kroger and Costco were totally out of toilet paper again last week.  Nine days out of 10, you can't find Clorox wipes if your life depended on it.  Pasta is thin some days as is any other odd item on the shelves in the grocery.  I have stash of things in the basement and in the freezer...canned goods, pasta, cereal, cooking oil, salt, chicken breasts, frozen fruit and vegetables, toilet paper, paper towels, and napkins, cleaning supplies...I had been keeping milk and bread frozen too, but I've gotten away from that.  I pick up stuff we might need every time I go to the store, and it's in stock.  I think I have enough toilet paper to last awhile.

Knock on wood, none of us have gotten sick.  I told Anne the other day that I feel like I'm in a game of dodge ball, and so far, the ball has missed me, but the longer the game goes on, the more anxiety I feel about being hit.  There is a vaccine on the way, and I tell myself that we just have to keep holding on for a few months longer.  I still feel like I'm playing Russian roulette, and one day, it will be my turn.

I'll be driving down the road or peeling potatoes, and all of a sudden, I'll think, "I'm living through a pandemic.  A pandemic.  I'm living through a pandemic."  It's crazy to think about.  Like this is a major world event.  It's historical.  It will be a seminal event in history, and I'm living through it.  It's so weird when I contemplate that.  I can't get my head around it. 

We just celebrated Thanksgiving.  We probably had too many people at our house.  We had Kyle, Macey, Claire, Michael, Emily, and Brendan and Kirk and me.  I had to trust that everyone was careful and COVID-free, but I'm anxious now and am waiting on pins and needles to see if anyone gets sick.  I don't think they will, but that's what everybody says.

I miss normal so much.

The Beach

The first time my soles of my feet hit the soft, white sand at the beach, I think, "I'm home!"  I love the feel of it underfoot, how it caresses my toes and warms my skin.  I love how it gives way as I walk across it, making me slow down a little and breathe in the salt air.  I love digging my feet down in it when I'm sitting under my umbrella watching the waves.  I even like how it finds its way into everything from my shoes to my beach bag to the book that I'm reading.  It's so comforting, and I always bring some home with me.

On my last trip to the beach, I spent many hours walking along the shore.  I always look for shells when I walk, hoping to find the perfect specimens.  I rarely do. How often have I rejected a shell that has a hole or a chip in it?  I love the tiny versions of olives and cat's eyes and whelks.  I love ones that are colorful and those without a nick or a scratch, that still shine even when they're not wet.  Sometimes I'm lucky; usually I'm not.

Mostly I find common, ordinary shells, with broken pieces, worn from years of being tumbled by the waves, crashing on other shells, getting stepped on by beach walkers like me, dropped from the sky by the gulls looking for food.  There are whole sections of these kinds of shells on the beach.  They are hard to walk on.  They poke and offend tender feet with their sharp points and breaks.  Kirk tries to avoid them, but I like to stop and look down and see the beauty in the brokenness.  

There is another level of shells that are simply tiny pieces on their way to becoming sand.  They are mostly just a layer of colors.  They don't hurt to walk on, and you can tell that they've been through the ocean mill for a long time.  

As I walked this last trip, I got to know the rhythm of the tides and paid attention to the different layers of the beach.  All these layers make up the beach.  The cycle is never-ending, and those shells that are perfect now, will be sand one day.  We always look for the perfect, the beautiful, the rare find that has no flaws.  They are hard to come by. More often than not, we are, and are surrounded by, those that are broken, that hurt, that are tumbled by life's waves over and over.  The ones we wish were whole, but who are beautiful in their own way.  We encounter those who have been worn by life, tiny pieces of the original, but going with the flow, becoming that soft, warm sand that we all love to feel, finding their way into unexpected places of our lives, reminding us to slow down, relax, and breathe.

                                          

Coronavirus: Day 4,297

Okay, maybe the title is being a little hyperbolic, but, damn!  I am sick. of. this.  I am sick of wearing masks. I am sick of MAKING masks.  I am sick of my dining room being a sewing room.  I am sick of feeling anxious if I cough or sneeze in public.  I am sick of worrying when someone around me coughs or sneezes.  I am sick of having to wipe down carts at Kroger and Target before I use them.  I am sick of having to wait in my car until it's time to go in for an appointment.  I'm sick of having my temperature taken.  I'm sick of not seeing people's smiles.  I'm sick of having to raise my voice to be heard while wearing a mask.  I am sick of not being able to go out to eat and sit inside.  I'm sick of squirting hand sanitizer on my hands every time I leave a store.  I am sick of not seeing Claire.  I am sick of not being able to go into my sisters' houses without a mask on.  I am sick of worrying if school will be moved to virtual.  I am sick of not going to the movies and the theatre. I am sick of seeing empty store shelves.  I am sick of missing everything that I'm missing.

That sounds so pathetic, really.  I'm not being asked to do much at all.  I think back to times in history when people were made to ration food and gas and shoes.  I think about letters my grandmother wrote about being able to get some good cuts of meat or soap (toilet paper, anyone?).  I think that sacrificing what little we are being asked to sacrifice is really no big deal.  My kids are safe.  They haven't been drafted to fight a war.  We still have our house and a nice life.  I can still buy pretty much anything I want/need.  But, god, this sucks.  And no end in sight.  Regular flu season on the horizon.  Cold weather coming.  At least now, we can enjoy being outside.  What happens when it's 28*?

Added to this stress is all of the racial unrest in the country and especially Louisville right now.  I am sick of that too, if I'm being honest.  In May, protesters, rioters, destroyed downtown.  Windows were smashed, buildings were tagged, benches and urns and signs were overturned.  People tried to set the Hall of Justice on fire.  Since then, stores have been looted.  Streets have been blocked.  People from out of town have come here with guns and threatened to burn our city down.  This week, we've seen on social media that we should expect massive protests, especially on Tuesday, with cars blocking the interstate, and demonstrations at the mayor's house, the state attorney general's house, and a developer's house (why the developer, I have no idea.)  

The state attorney general lives the next neighborhood over from me, maybe 1/4 mile as the crow flies.  When they protested there a few weeks ago, we could see the news helicopters circling around filming everything.  Our main thoroughfare was blocked by traffic going the wrong way.  I was afraid it would turn into a riot and people would come into our neighborhood and start tearing things up.

I am afraid in my city now.  I am so tired of being afraid.

I see the need for police reform.  I see the issues with social justice and racial bias.  I have been volunteering at the Kroger on 26th and Broadway every Saturday since the first week of June helping to pass out food and then organizing a free children's book give-away.  I started voter registration last week.  I am trying to make a positive difference in people's lives.

But I can't protest.  I can't support the chanting, "Fuck the police" and throwing bottles of urine at them.  I think some of the demands of some of the protesters are ridiculous.  I have family members who are police, and seeing people acting so ugly to them really upsets me.  

Again, I'm tired of living in fear.

Then there's the upcoming presidential election. I just can't even consider the idea of another four years of donald trump.  It makes my anxiety ratchet through the roof.

I don't sleep well.  I have crazy dreams.  I am grumpy and short with people.  My attention span is shot to hell.  I feel like I have PTSD.  I probably do in some respect.  I get nothing done.  I sit outside and try to enjoy my garden.  It is one of the few things that gives me pleasure.  I dread when everything dies and it's bleak all winter.  Ugh.  What a horrible decade 2020 has been!

My backyard garden, the one thing that gives me joy right now

July 28, 2020

So I got dressed today.  It's 3:30, and I put my shorts and top on about 30 minutes ago.  Granted, I was making masks all day, but it has still been that kind of day.  Hell, it's been that kind of week, of month, of summer.

It's July 28.  In my original COVID-19 plan, we were supposed to be in Florida with the kids and their significant others this week.  Then Claire flipped out about getting sick and quarantining and said she wouldn't go and got really upset at the thought of us going without her, so we didn't go.  I haven't gone anywhere.  No shows.  No concerts. No parks.  No restaurants. No cookouts.  Nothing.

I feel like I'm stuck.  The summer has been wasted.  I've wasted the summer.  I've made so many masks.  I'm sick of making masks.  Sick. Of. It.  I hate masks.  They bring in some nice pocket change.  Hell, I've made about $5,000 on masks since March.  $5,000.  On masks.  Who would have ever conceived this?

What have I done with this beautiful time?  Nothing!  I've done nothing.  And now, there are 2 weeks until Emily leaves for college and it's too late to do anything.  I am wrecked.

I hate this time of year anyway.

I want to go into my sister's house.  I want to hug Claire and Mitchyl.  I want to have Michael over for dinner.  I want to go to a restaurant.  I want to go to the movies or to a concert or to see Shakespeare in the Park.


July 29

I got sick of typing yesterday.  I'm just so fucking tired of everything.  I want life back to normal, but it's not going back to normal anytime soon.  There's no way we're getting a vaccine anytime soon, and until we have a vaccine, we have this shit.  I know it could be SO MUCH WORSE, but this is just so messed up.  There we were in January and February just going along with life and then mid-March...BOOM!  Life as we knew it just ended.  Everything is changed.  I hate it.  And yet, compared to the Great Depression or wars, this is such a small sacrifice to make.  I think what makes it so hard is that the sacrifice is doing nothing, and we are a restless people.  We don't know how to do nothing, how not to socialize, how not to be with the people we love.

Colleen and I were talking yesterday about what we're going to do for the holidays if things haven't died down.  We can't get together for Thanksgiving or Christmas in somebody's house.  What will we do when it gets too cold to hang out outside?

Every day is the same.  It's like Groundhog Day for real.  I don't know how to get out of the rut I'm in.  I need to go somewhere or do SOMETHING but I don't know where and I don't know what.  I feel like I'm swimming in syrup.

Coronavirus May 25, 2020

SO I had planned to keep a journal to document all that I anticipated happening during these unprecedented times.  Like all good intentions, it fell by the wayside, and here it is 2 months later and I'm just writing my next update.

Kyle got home fine.  He flew for two or three days, I can't remember now, landing in the Middle East, then Chicago, then home.  He was on one of the last flights on Emirates out of Malaysia.  He and Macey both landed in Chicago at pretty much the same time, and they were able to fly back to Louisville on the same flight.  Her mom and sister met them at the airport with her car, and she drove the two of them to Andy Rawl's house, where they quarantined for two weeks.  Thankfully, they never got sick.  They did feel icky and had runny noses and a little cough, but we attributed that to being jet lagged and living in Andy's house, which was dusty and had been empty for weeks and weeks.

Kentucky did shut down not too long after my post on March 20.  I can't remember the exact date now.  The last two months have been a BLUR.

I snagged some fabric and the remaining elastic from Joann's before retail was closed and began making masks.  I initially made about 200 that I gave away to medical people and first responders.  I ran out of elastic.  I begged on Nextdoor.com for more elastic and drove around nearby neighborhoods picking up a yard here and there out of people's mailboxes.  I kept making more and more masks.  I sent them to firefighters in New Hampshire, our pediatrician's office, police officers in St. Matthews, the pediatric oncology ward in a local hospital.  I gave them to old people and immuno-compromised people.  I made them for kids and adults.  I ran out of elastic again.

My neighbor, Irene, found a huge roll online and ordered it for me.  I started getting orders from regular people asking if I'd make them masks.  I decided to charge $5 a mask to help cover the cost of my supplies.  I got a Venmo account.  I got an order for 300 masks from a local business.  I got another order for 113 masks from my high school for their baccalaureate mass.  In between, I got orders for a dozen or 4 or 2 from various people.  I made them at night, all day, on the weekends.  I finished the order for 300 on Easter Sunday.  I went through all of my cotton fabric and pulled what I could use.  I got donations of fabric from my next door neighbor.  I bought cotton bed sheets and cut them up.  I think in all, I have made nearly 1000 masks.  I lost track around 600, and that was a few weeks ago.  When people order them for themselves or their family, I put them in a ziploc bag with their name on it and leave it in my paper box.  They drive up and grab them and either leave money in return or Venmo me.  I have wondered if my neighbors think I'm doing something illicit!

My living room work space.

Some of the masks for the pediatric oncology ward

300 masks

In the middle of all this, as retail shut down, Kirk's clients stopped needing him.  He took a pay cut.  It was scary, and reminded me of when he got laid off two years ago.  I didn't want to go through that anxiety again.  I got the chance to work for the Kentucky Unemployment Cabinet answering phones from my house.  It paid $15/hour for 40 hours/week.  I couldn't pass it up.  So I moved my sewing to one end of the table, got a second laptop and a headset, and started answering the phone.

Putting on a good face before work

How I really felt most days

It was brutal.

People hadn't been paid since the beginning of March.  They hadn't been able to talk to anyone but the automated message from the state.  I got to hear all of their anger and fear.  They yelled.  They cried.  The swore at me.  I listened and tried not to take it personally.  I sometimes cried with them.  I asked if I could pray for them.  I gave out the number to food banks and churches and charities where they could get help.  I hung up on someone once after warning her several times that she'd have to quit dropping the F-bomb at me.  I worked from 7:30-3:30 Monday through Friday.  It was exhausting.  I hated it.  I dreaded answering the phone.  The state changed our protocol on a weekly basis and didn't give us any warning.  I couldn't really help anybody.  All I could do was listen and transfer them for a callback.  After work, I sewed masks.

Last week, I got the request from Holy Cross for the 113 masks.  I accepted even though I knew it would mean me working 12-15 hour days.  I couldn't pass up the money.  On Monday, I snipped elastic while I answered the phone.  That night, I went to Walmart and got maroon and gray sheets for the masks and cut out the pattern. On Tuesday, we didn't have many calls, so I set up my machine between my laptops and began to sew.  I got all of them put together.  Kirk and Emily turned them right-side out.  On Wednesday, still no calls.  I ironed all of them and began putting in the pleats.  Same for Thursday.  On Friday, I pressed them all again to make them crisp and boxed them up.  Friday afternoon, the state laid us all off.  I filed for unemployment on Saturday.  The irony is not lost on me!

113 masks for Holy Cross High School

In the middle of all of this, Kirk began working with a group trying to sell personal protective equipment.  PPE.  He's got some good leads and I hope it will pan out.  He worked out of the basement office for the second half of March, all of April, and the first few weeks of May.  He went back to the office this past Monday.  It was really good for him to get back to a routine.

After a few weeks at our house taking classes while living in Kyle's room, Claire decided to go back to her house in Lexington.  She and her roommates have been social distancing to the point that they even order their food from Click-List and pick it up.  She's very serious about staying away from anybody who might potentially get her sick, so she hardly comes home.  When she does, she stays on the patio.

Claire in class

Social distancing

Emily had hoped to return to Sacred Heart for one more day to walk through the halls and say goodbye to all of her teachers, but that wasn't in the cards.  Schools remained closed, and she finished out her senior year in Claire's bedroom, where we had set up her workspace.  There were a lot of tears on both of our parts.  Everything was cancelled.  The Pink and White game.  The spring soiree.  The Mother-Daughter Mass and Brunch.  Senior Breakfast and walk-through.  Baccalaureate Mass.  Graduation.  Some of the things went virtual, which sucked.  I HATE zoom.  Some of the things were drive-through, like the senior walk-through.  Some didn't happen at all like the baccalaureate mass and graduation.  It was all really disappointing.

First day of on-line school

Last day of senior year

Sacred Heart tried hard to make things memorable.  One day, teachers delivered senior graduate yard signs to every senior.  She got letters in the mail from a few of her teachers.  The drive through was emotional, with our decorated van and teachers clapping for students along the way.  She picked up her cap and gown at the end of the route.  The Madrigal "dinner" was touching with its video of the girls over the years.  We went to campus one day and took pictures in her cap and gown.  I'm really glad we did that. On what would have been her graduation day, we drove through the parking lot and she got out and got her dozen roses and a snapshot photo in front of the sports fields.  Parents couldn't get out of the cars to even take our own photos.  We went to take pictures with her best friends and then to Brendan's house after for a socially distant cookout.  That was nice, but Claire decided not to join us, so there was that.

Teachers delivering yard signs

Making a girl feel special

Senior drive through

Teachers showing support

Almost at the finish line

Cap and gown pick up

Mrs. Nall delivering the cap and gown

Photo shoot

Photo shoot

Look out, NKU, here she comes! 

Picking up her roses

Picture with her roses

Emily, Lucie, Bree, and Hannah

Tossing the rose petals

Socially distant family

Emily and Brendan after their graduations

Today, I'm sitting on the patio wondering what the rest of the summer will hold for us.  I hope and pray that Emily will get to start at NKU in the fall.  If nothing else, the loss of the end of her senior year will make it easier for me to let her go off to college.  I want something good for her.  She's been a trooper through all this and has taken it in stride.  She got upset a few times, but for the most part has been pretty stoic about the whole thing.  I did give her a little present each day the week before her graduation to try and make things more special.

People in general are also taking things in stride.  We wear masks out in public to go to the grocery or Target.  Churches opened up this weekend, but we chose not to attend.  I don't know how long it will be before I feel safe in a crowd.  It may be awhile.  I went to a home goods store yesterday to get cushions for my swing, and almost had a panic attack with the amount of people in the store and many of them not wearing masks.  Some people are freaking out, demanding the governor open up the state 100%.  They hung an effigy of him on the state house lawn yesterday.  This virus has brought out the best and worst in people.

In the Kroger parking lot

We have started some new things.  Kyle has begun carving.  He's really good.  I started a garden.  It's small, but we've already had enough greens for two nice salads.  Claire began working for the Urban Forest Initiative in Lexington.

Kyle's carving

My garden 

Claire at work

So, I hope we can get away for a few days somewhere soon.  I'd love to go to the beach for a week.  I keep reminding myself that if having to stay home is the worst thing that can happen to me, then it's a pretty great thing.

Coronavirus---March 20, 2020 Kyle's coming home

Kyle is on his way home.

It wasn't easy to persuade him to leave Macey, but once Malaysia went into virtual shutdown, he decided it might be a good idea to get a plane ticket out.  He was originally supposed to leave on March 24.  Most of the Fulbright ETAs had taken the opportunity to evacuate voluntarily.  Macey had decided to stay, hoping that things would blow over in the 2 weeks of lockdown imposed by the Malaysian government.

I kept texting Kyle how bad things are here and encouraging him to leave, but he said he wasn't going to leave her behind.  I reminded him that the Fulbright program would take care of her, but he would be on his own.

Yesterday, there was a leak out of the State Department that they were going to issue a level 4 travel advisory for all international travel and say that all Americans abroad should either get home now or prepare for an indefinite stay where they were.  I called him at midnight his time and gave him the news.  He wanted to wait until the morning to change his ticket, but I told him that the morning may be too late.  Things are changing by the hour.  So he moved his flight to 7 a.m. our time/p.m. his time today.

Macey got the order to evacuate soon after, and she is coming home in the morning.

Our neighbor across the street, who lives in Florida most of the year, has agreed to let them quarantine there for the next two weeks.  I went and got food for them today.

Emily had a breakdown last night, crying her heart out over the loss of her senior year.  I had no words to comfort her.  There's nothing I can offer her to make it better.  I feel so helpless.

Claire's trip to Cumberland Island is over, and she's on her way back to Louisville for awhile.  Not sure how long she will stay.  She will either be in Emily's room or Kyle's room because we have her room set up as a classroom for Emily.  Flexibility is the key word these days.

Then I saw a post on Facebook, and verified it with the hospital, that a hospital in Indiana is asking people who can sew to make face masks to supplement their supply because they are going to run out.  I went to Joann's and got a bunch of elastic and am going to start making some.  One of my friends wants to take them to the pediatric oncology ward here in Louisville where she works to distribute to patients and staff.  I feel like a woman in World War 1who rolled bandages for the war effort.  I can't believe that this is America.

New York state is shut down now.  So is California.  I don't think Kentucky will be far behind.

Coronavirus, the Beginning

They laughed at me two weeks ago when I came home with staples from Costco.  I had gone to order contacts for Kyle, and while I was there, I decided to refill my basement stash.  I usually keep several cans of black beans, garbanzo beans, green beans, diced tomatoes, tomato sauce, and pasta on the shelves.  I go through this stuff fairly quickly, and I was halfway empty with the rumor of a pandemic on the horizon.

I chided myself for being alarmist.  I didn't want people to think I was panicking, but I've seen too many disaster movies.  I don't want to be the person who blows off warnings only to get eaten by the zombies in the end.  So, I restocked.  I got a a case of all of the above-mentioned canned goods.  A case of pasta.  Pasta sauce. Coffee. Frozen vegetables.  Frozen meals. Cereal.  A case of vegetarian soup in case we got sick.  I thought about buying toilet paper, but I've started getting it from Grove, and I had just ordered this month's supply, so I passed.

When I brought it home, Kyle laughed at me, teasing me about being paranoid.  "Freaking out a little bit, Mom?"

"No," I responded.  "I'll use all this stuff eventually. Help me take it downstairs."

I watched the news.  I saw what happened in China.  I paid attention to what was going on in Italy.  Lots of people were getting sick, dying.  People in Washington State tested positive.  Italy went on lockdown.  Italy. went. on. lockdown.  The country. On lockdown.  The president suspended all travel from Europe.

I went to Target and got more supplies.  More pasta.  More beans.  More cereal.  Toothpaste. Deodorant. Shampoo.  Laundry soap. Two cartons of Clorox Wipes.  Cough medicine. Cough drops.  Tylenol. Advil. There were about a dozen packages of toilet paper.  I put one in my cart.

I went to Kroger.  I couldn't help it.  I knew I was panic shopping, but when you walk into a store and the shelves are literally bare, it freaks you out.  The potatoes were gone.  The onions were gone.  There was no broccoli.  Hardly any lettuce or spinach or kale.  The bread was wiped out.  Canned goods were almost gone as was pasta, macaroni and cheese, rice...There was no toilet paper at all.  There were hardly any raisins.  Raisins, for god's sake.  Who the hell buys raisins in a pandemic?  The eggs were empty.  No butter.  Hardly any cheese or milk.  Frozen pizzas?  Empty.  TV dinners?  Almost gone.  It was scary as hell.  I bought what I could.  More beans.  More frozen vegetables and fruit.  Peanut butter.  Root vegetables that will keep a couple of weeks in the fridge.

I went to Paul's and found potatoes and onions and put them in my cart.  Vegetable bullion cubes in case we get sick.

I brought it all home and took it to the basement.  It sat in bags on the floor, waiting.

Last Tuesday, Kyle left for Malaysia.  In the middle of a pandemic.  He flew into Abu Dhabi in the UAE, which was stressful enough.  Then he landed in Asia, where this pandemic started, with plans to tour Vietnam with Macey.  Thankfully, they decided to stay in Malaysia in case something happened and they couldn't get back into the country.  I felt so helpless watching him walk away.  I cried all the way home and off and on the rest of the day.  Claire had come to Louisville to go with us to the airport, and she left for Lexington once we got home from the airport.

Universities around the country began to go to online classes.  Berea in Kentucky ended their semester early and sent everyone home.  On Wednesday, we got an email from UK that they were going to online classes after spring break until April 3.  On Thursday, we got an email that all schools in the state of Kentucky would go to online learning beginning Monday, March 16. 

Brendan's prom, set for Friday, March 13, got cancelled.  "Newsies" went on as scheduled Thursday night, and the kids were told that they would be able to do their last shows on Friday and Saturday.  I got a text from Jill Schurman during the performance that she had talked to Ms. Reisert, the St. X director, and that this was the last show.  I kept holding out hope that she was wrong, but I knew in my heart she wasn't.  I had to play it off like I didn't know, and everyone was saying how happy they were that they would get to finish the run, and my heart was breaking inside knowing that that was the last time I would see Emily and her friends at St. X perform together on stage.

Some parents from Trinity decided that the kids should get dressed up in their formals and go out to eat anyway. One parent offered to host the "after party" at their house.  I scrambled to order a boutonniere for Brendan while Emily was at school learning the ins and outs of distance learning.

Claire left for Cumberland Island, Georgia on Saturday morning.  She was an assistant leader on a backpacking-camping trip around the island.  Even though UK had cancelled pretty much everything else, they let this university-sponsored trip continue because the kids would be removed from everyone.  She was planning to turn her cell phone off and enjoy unplugging from the world.  Plus, they would have only intermittent service, so it wouldn't do any good to have it on anyway.  They arrived Saturday night and stayed in a hotel before taking the ferry over to the island the next morning.

The St. X parents wanted the kids to be able to have their Senior Circle and to come down the stairs to "Fill Me Up, Buttercup," so we got a party together at another parent's house.  We justified it by saying they were all together the day before.  I rode around town looking for plastic wrap for flowers, baby's breath, etc.  We all met at the Kramer's at 6;30, and a houseful of kids not appropriately socially distanced gathered one more time.  They went up to the second floor and came down singing "Buttercup," and we all sang back.  I cried.

Kyle texted me on Sunday that all was fine in Malaysia.  Nobody was panicking or stocking up on food.  He sent me pictures of him and Macey in Kuala Lumpur, taking in the sights.  No worries.

On Monday, the governor shut down all restaurants, bars, churches, and any gathering of more than 50 people.  On Monday night, the president and the CDC said no gatherings of more than 10 people.

Claire was still on Cumberland Island with no cell service.  I had no way to know if she had any idea what was going on.

I began to question the intelligence of my spring break plans.  Emily, Bree, Hannah, and Lucie and two of their moms, Heidi and Karen, and I were all headed to Indian Rocks, Florida next week.  The other people were planning to fly there, but we had always going to drive down.  I kept telling myself that we could social distance ourselves in a house on the beach in Florida as easily as we could in Kentucky.  We had been planning this trip since June.  Moms and daughters.  We'll be fine, I said to myself.  We're going.  In the back of my mind, though, I had began to have my doubts.

As of today, San Francisco is on lockdown.  Spain has closed its borders.  So did France and Germany and Russia.  Malaysia went into lockdown.  It is not fine there.  All schools, non-essential government offices, restaurants, stores, and bars are closed.  No Malaysian can leave the country.  No foreigners can come in.  Good thing they didn't go to Vietnam.  Macey may be sent home. Kyle will have to find his way back too.  They don't know what will happen.

Today, UK sent another email saying all the dorms are being closed and all students have to be out of the dorms by March 27. Claire is heading home from Georgia tomorrow, but she is a 12 mile hike away from the ferry that will bring her to the mainland where they will then have a 10 hour drive to Lexington.

The beaches in Miami, Ft. Lauderdale, and Seaside, Florida all closed.  Everyone then flocked to Clearwater, where we were headed.  The moms and I felt like that will be next.  We also felt like it just wouldn't be smart to take off for Florida for a week during a pandemic.  We cancelled our spring break plans.

Looking ahead, we have been told that this could last 8 weeks, 3 months, until the end of the calendar year.  Who knows?  Emily was supposed to start rehearsal for Mama Mia at Center Stage, the place where she's been trying to get a role for years.  Rehearsal has been postponed.  We were supposed to go to NKU and ASPU one more time each and see a show and talk to professors and sit in on classes so she could make her final decision.  That's off the table.  The Pink and White Game in April will most probably be cancelled.  Brendan was going to dance.  Emily was going to sing the National Anthem.  We will miss the senior breakfast, the Mother-Daughter Mass and Brunch, Awards Day, Baccalaureate Mass, Graduation.

It was going to be hard enough to let her go, and I was going to savor every single last.  This was not how senior year was supposed to end.

I know it could be worse.  I know.  But this is my worse.  I am trying hard to maintain normalcy, to act like I'm not freaking out inside, to prepare for the worst while the whole time pretending like it's not that bad.  Kirk said I'm his rock.  I told him it's paper mache. 

I'm so sad about Emily.  I'm worried about Kyle.  I am anxious about Claire.  We may yet end up with a curfew, confined to our small square of the world for weeks or months.  The stock market is crashing. This is just getting started.

Who's making fun of me now?