Love in the Time of Corona: Update Six

A Word from the Elders

Our dog is getting more walks during this outbreak than she's ever had in any comparable span of time.  In the course of one of these outings, I stopped by our mailbox to see what bills, statements, and/or junk mail had come this time.  The box contained the usual dreck, but also an envelope with my name and address handprinted across its face.  The return address was a sticker like the ones Easter Seals sends you when they want a donation.  My aunt Gabby's name was the one printed, with "& Gerda" handwritten next to it.  These are my twin aunties, Gabrielle Fuchs and Gerda Rypins.  At nearly 89 years old, they are the lone survivors of their siblings, eldest brother Jeff having passed just over a month ago, and middle brother, my father Hanno, twenty years ago next month.

The letter is in cursive, a sheet of 8.5 x 11 printer paper folded in the middle like stationery, with Gabby taking up two and a half pages and Gerda the remaining side and a half.  Both were sweet, newsy, and funny, Gabby opening with "Hi dearest nephew Dan!"  She complained about the president's lazy vocabulary ("such as 'incredible' and 'unbelievable.'")  "He's so destructive," she went on.  "I wish they'd tape his ugly mouth forever!"

She went on to discuss their lives living together in the midst of the pandemic, how their local Safeway grocery store is reserving the hours from 7-9 a.m. for "senior shopping."  (Her emphasis.)

Her twin sister Gerda was characteristically more economical in her words; the aptly named Gabby has always been the more gregarious of the two in my experience.  Gerda's sense of humor is dryer than her sister's.  For instance, in her portion of the letter she quips, "By the way, I washed my hands thoroughly before writing to you!"

(Note:  I was going to call this the "Fuchs Sense of Humor," but it actually reminds me more of my mom, the late, great Carol R. Fuchs, a woman both sisters adored.)

It was wonderful to hear from these two, with whom I've reconnected, having spent time with them during our family reunion in Berkeley in the summer of 2018, and exchanging the occasional letter like this one.  It pains me that they're so far away, but I'm grateful they have each other, just as they have for the past 89 years.  They've seen each other through escaping the Nazis in Germany, and the deaths of many more loved ones that the two I've mentioned here, so I have no doubt they'll see each other through this unprecedented moment in our planet's modern history.

Gabby and Gerda Fuchs with my father Hanno, left, father, Bill, and brother Geoffrey, circa 1934 (?)

Love in the Time of Corona: Update Five

An Anonymous Message

My lovely bride of nearly 18 years and I took a walk this late morning with our sweet and aging dog, Ally, a friendly Shepherd mix.  Apart from a trio of 10 year old boys on bicycles and a lone jogger, we saw no one in our quiet, suburban neighborhood.

I pictured my neighbors, knowing most of them were home, peering at us through the slats of their Venetian blinds and plantation shutters, just as I've become accustomed to doing from inside my modest ranch house a few blocks away.

It was unusually hot -- reaching nearly 90 degrees by noon.  It was around that time that we started to make our way back home, having worked up a sweat, which felt good after so many days of being sequestered.  Ally, poor thing, was panting, trying her best to find the scant shade offered under the midday sun.

Jeanette was on her phone with our New York family, about whom we're especially concerned, as that city where both of us were born, and where so many of our loved ones still live, is now the "epicenter" of this virus's path.

It was during our home stretch that we came upon some "street art" that a neighbor's child (I assumed) had taken the time to create.  On the driveway was a rendering in colored chalk, of a pink and red heart, next to the planet Earth, its oceans bright blue, interrupted by green continents.  Encircling the globe, hands entwined, were multicolored human figures, and the world was crowned with one word, in large block letters:  "UNITY."  The artist had written another chalk message, this one on the sidewalk in front of the house.  It read, "SMILE.  YOU ARE IMPORTANT & LOVED!"

I'd like to take this opportunity to thank the person who stopped to send this message out to the world.  We need these brightly colored messages of love.

Now more than ever.

Street Art by Anonymous, Manor, Texas

"SMILE.  YOU ARE IMPORTANT & LOVED!"

Love in the Time of Corona: Update Four

Back to School....Sort Of  

"Distance" Learning? Hmmm....

Today (Monday, 3/23/20) feels different, because it's the day we were supposed to go back to school, after a week off for Spring Break.  Something about this outbreak, and all the restrictions that come with it, seemed less real, maybe because it was all happening during a time my family and I were "off."

As far as my district is concerned, I am officially "on-call"; as such, I'm taking a wait-and-see attitude.  Like other parents, I will position my children, kicking and screaming, I'm sure, in front of some of the non-required enrichment assignments they've put together on their website, in an effort to prevent student brains from turning to complete mush from lack of use.

Parenting in the Pandemic

Let me start out by saying, I believe myself to be relatively fortunate, as the father of two young men of 14 and 16 respectively who are, by and large, fairly "together" people.  I can only imagine what it must be like for the parents of younger children, or kids with cognitive disabilities and delays.  I wonder about my students and their families, some of whom were already dealing with numerous stressors before the pandemic even happened.

In my role as Father to these two boys -- and I know I put this on myself -- I must keep up a strong front.  My kids will receive no benefit from my fear of the unknown.  So, in the face of the latest developments -- a "Stay-home, stay-safe" (aka shelter-in-place) order for the residents of our county -- I can only stay positive and present for my family, because it's what I know they need.

Inside, however, it's another story altogether....

My model for post-apocalyptic parenting, Rick Grimes of The Walking Dead

Love in the Time of Corona: Update Three

The author, getting dressed for the quarantine

Starting to lose track of the days now, as this "vacation" goes on and on....

Today I woke up with the desire to look "cute" in the face of this scary, oppressive presence called Covid 19.  (Author's Note:  At age 56.3, I'm not naive:  My notion of the word "cute" is super-specific at this point in my life.)  I'm tired of lazing around in pajamas or sweats -- my sons are unabashedly running around in just their underwear all day, like some high-tech, indoor version of "Lord of the Flies."

I had that Johnny Deppian urge to accessorize -- to break out the Rasta pooka shell necklace and multi-colored rubber bracelets, and to actually wear pants that require a BELT.  (Gasp!)  I'm tempted to re-perforate my earlobe and put in an earring, even though I know my lovely bride will object as she does every time I get this impulse.

Is this what Cabin Fever looks like?  A game of dress-up?  How many more days till I'm trying to jam my feet into my wife's size-7 pumps?

God help us all if this gets to that point.

God help us all....

Love in the Time of Corona: Update Two

Our government is currently arguing over three proposals that will put checks in the mail to help Americans through this health crisis, which has quickly become a major economic crisis, as well.  While every little bit will be appreciated, I can't help but picture Mitch McConnell or Chuck Schumer or whoever, trying to decide between a thimble or a shot glass full of water to throw at this raging house fire called Covid 19.  (If I were a political cartoonist, this is what I'd draw.)

Probably the most shocking new "development" I learned about yesterday (and I'm hesitant to use that word, because things are changing so quickly) came when I learned of thousands of Spring Breakers who are crowding some of the beaches in Florida.

There are a variety of ways to feel about this.  My initial, gut-level reaction was something along the lines of "What the fuck is wrong with you people?"  (A reaction I'm sure is NOT in short supply.)  Later, a friend on Facebook railed at the parents for allowing their children to go, despite the warnings we're hearing all day, every day, from world health officials.  I have yet to hear an interview with one of these parents, defending that decision, though I'm certain these are the same "very stable geniuses" decrying the call for social distancing as an attack on their civil liberties, using in the "disguise of caring about our safety."  (I read those words on Facebook.)  I was never a Spring Breaker myself, so I'm not quite sure how it works.  I'd assume that in most cases the weeklong debauchery is at least partially bankrolled by Mommy and Daddy.  And when it's not -- when Junior has saved enough for the most elfin' awesome of awesomest weeks ever -- isn't it the parents' job to help that young person to understand their duty during this, the strangest of times?

(I certainly would...)

If anyone reading this made the decision to allow your offspring to partake this year, I'd be interested to hear your thinking.

A Load of Hooey by Bob Odenkirk
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

In choosing this (audio)book, I purposely looked for something light, as my last two books were "The Underground Railroad" by Colson Whitehead and "Night" by Elie Wiesel, a novel about American Slavery and a memoir about the Holocaust, respectively.

So I needed something light and airy, and this was perfect. Makes a really good audiobook, too, with the voices of Odenkirk, David Cross, Paul F. Tompkins, and others. It reminded me of an early book by Woody Allen that was on my parents' shelves in my childhood home, "Without Feathers." Lots of funny ideas, played out to absurdist dimensions. My favorite was one called "Obit for the Creator of Mad Libs."

Enjoy!

“OBIT FOR THE CREATOR OF MAD LIBS On Tuesday, in Canton, Connecticut, a town famous for the stickiness of its boogers, a stinky old man died of a good disease at his home at 345 Rotten Lane. Mr. Preston Wirtz, whose parents, Ida and Goober, ran a small jelly farm, died in his yellowish toilet. Mr. Wirtz was hated in Uzbekistan for the series of wordplay books he created for slippery children, books known far and wide as “Mad Libs,” beloved by hairy grumps and farty grampas alike. These books were never appreciated by tall elves, selling over two per year for one decade. When asked to describe Mr. Wirtz, his jealous wife, wearing nothing but an egg carton and flip-flops, called him “in a nutshell, the most sour-smelling, bacon-licking, pimple-footed crab-apple I have ever known. I will never always miss him and his broken underwear.” Then she cried herself to sleep in her fart-house.”


― Bob Odenkirk, A Load of Hooey


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Love in the Time of Corona: Update 1

Dear Friends and Family:

An update on the Reyes-Fuchs household.  Dateline:  Austin, Texas...

We're currently on Day Four of what we once referred to as our Spring Break, a week-long, much-needed respite from school and work, that has now been extended through the end of the month of March.  I'm skeptical as to whether or not we'll return at all, as the governor has waived state requirements for standardized testing for the remainder of the school year.  As administrators, we'll need to decide how school will happen in the absence of the actual "schoolhouse."

(This will illuminate the haves and have-nots of our population, as there are, believe it or not, still those among us who do not, or cannot, access the internet.)

On a more personal note, our family is in good spirits, as we feel the "social distance" growing between ourselves and the rest of the world.  My 14 year old, Jackson, maintains his social connections through his Playstation 4, where friends and cousins chatter into his gaming headphones deep into our Central Texas nights.  They create basketball-star avatar versions of themselves on NBA 2K, talking trash, and, I imagine, spreading misinformation on the coronavirus, faster than the virus itself.

The reality of our situation hit our older son, Diego, 16, yesterday when he and I pulled up in front of the Jungle Movement Academy, where he's been doing an internship to eventually become a fitness coach, and saw the handprinted sign on the door:  "CLOSED due to Coronavirus."  (They later called  to reassure him the closure was mandatory, and not due to any cases directly connected to the gym.)  So now Diego, who has become quite dependent on physical movement (which I love, by the way) is watching a lot of anime, drawing in his sketchbook, and stopping from time to time to do some stretching or push-ups.

Jeanette monitors the news on her phone, sharing reports with me as they come in.  Her yoga studio in Austin closed its doors days ago, and I know this affects her, as she has confided in me how much her yoga practice has come to mean to her.  I can feel her doing her best to put on a happy face -- she jokes with the boys, making them smile and laugh with her silly persona.  She also keeps us happy by cooking amazing food, like the chili con carne she prepared last night, along with some home-baked cupcakes.

As for me, I'm doing my best to be strong and to stay positive, amidst my fears, which I keep to myself, regarding the potential collapse of the grid.  I wonder about what would happen if this crisis resulted in the lights going out.  I wonder, too, if maybe I shouldn't have watched so much "Walking Dead"...

Last night I convened an online meeting of the writing group I've been a part of for the past five years, thanks to Google Hangouts.  Our usual meeting space, the Brentwood Social House on William Koenig and Arroyo Seco, notified us via email that they were shutting their doors a few days ago.  Being able to meet with my writer buddies felt important in the face of this.

And of course I check my Facebook account almost obsessively, in order to see how the rest of the world is faring.

The one thing I notice the four of us here in Casa Reyes-Fuchs all share is an obvious dependence on technology.  As long as we've got that, we'll maintain our sanity.

As long as the grid holds up....

Night by Elie Wiesel
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

I'm not sure how one "critiques" or even "reviews" this work. Words I normally try to avoid as a writer come screaming to the fore: "devastating," "heart-wrenching," and the like. I think it defies being written about because, in its brevity, it says all that needs to be said. The only "review" I can give is to read it yourself. Read the truth, and know that it can happen again, because it HAS happened again -- in Cambodia, in Rwanda, and elsewhere.

My personal connection to Wiesel is obvious. My father was born the same year, in 1928. Had his life been only slightly different, he could have been there at Auschwitz and Buchenwald, alongside Wiesel. I can't read this without picturing that.

I thank Wiesel for telling the story that needs to continue to be told, and I'll try to heed his words: "There may be times when we are powerless to prevent injustice, but there must never be a time when we fail to protest."


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Leaving the Atocha Station by Ben Lerner

Leaving the Atocha Station by Ben Lerner
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

Mine was a very personal reaction to Lerner's book, as one of the "white Americans" he references who could easily work illegally in Madrid teaching English. I had my time there long before he did (I'm assuming this is an autobiographical novel); like Adam, Lerner's protagonist, I was an aspiring young writer who, deep down, doubted himself and had a good deal of difficulty living in the moment.

I applaud Lerner for how much he captures in Leaving the Atocha Station -- the particular sights, smells, and sounds that make up the capital. Although I lived there in the late 1980's, not too far removed from the days of Franco, I returned with my wife and two young sons for a brief visit in 2010, six years after the story of the novel takes place, and I can't say that the city has changed all that much in the ensuing years.

Learner's Adam is not the most likable hero. He's self-absorbed and just plain selfish through much of the book. In the end, however, I understood him. Probably because I saw so much of myself as a young man in him.


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