I seem to be wired like my guard dog, Zarya. With nothing to worry about, Z can get edgy, even hysterical for no reason. But give her something to worry about, and she is all business, focused like a laser. I am similarly like a frayed electric wire on an ordinary day. But, in the shadow of the Coronavirus, I become appropriately alert, vigilant, and focused on confronting whatever form danger takes.
Last Thursday, book club gathered at Anita's house. I explained in an email to our group that I thought it was not a good idea for all of us to gather and break bread in someone's home, under the circumstances. But that was six days ago, when the situation was still subject to interpretation, and a scant handful of confirmed cases had turned up in Wisconsin.
I understood that my book club friends would think I was hysterical.
Last Monday, I sent my 16-yr old to school. A couple hours later, the nurse called. Josh had come to her complaining of stomach pains. I was relieved to bring him home. I called the high school the next morning and for the rest of the week to make his excuses.
But every morning I wondered, was I being hysterical? Was keeping my son out of school the wrong choice? Could I keep him out of school for the entire two weeks before spring break? What about after spring break?
What if I continued to be in the minority of parents who were appropriately worked up about the Coronavirus?
Meanwhile, earl last week, the high school was still making plans to call off school Friday for the purpose of bussing all interested high school students to the girls' state basketball championships.
I couldn't believe this was happening.
I felt I had to do something, and quick. So, I threw a meme up on FB, an ostrich in defiance, with a caption that mocked the school district for its Coronavirus Response Plan: to transport the entire student body by bus, packed like sardines, to another school where they would sit side-by-side, stacked like fire wood on bleachers, and shout at the tops of their lungs, spraying germs all around like confetti.
A more mature person might suggest I ought to have written a respectful email to the superintendent, or made an appointment to have a word with him. But if my book club friends who know how occasionally insightful I could be about a novel that I managed to read had dismissed my concerns, why would the school superintendent change his mind?
No, it had to be the social media equivalent of a cocktail Molotov, which protest surely had no real bearing on the superintendent's decision last Wednesday or Thursday to cancel Friday's event. But cancel it he did, to my immense relief.
By Thursday, the governor of Wisconsin determined to close all public schools, starting on Wednesday. Would I send Josh to school on Monday or Tuesday? No, I would not.
By Saturday, the governor decided not to wait so long. All public schools would be closed immediately.
Our new luggage arrived yesterday. Three hard-shell suitcases in distinctive eggplant--small, medium, and large. I knew when I ordered them that we most likely would not be going to Iceland for spring break 2020. But, on the slim chance that we could, we would need suitcases. And, I figured, we could get a nice deal on luggage about now.
A big box of luggage rests a few feet from the door. None of us has the heart to unpack it.
No comments:
Post a Comment