Category: pandemic

Behind My Mask

Anne Moul1 Comment

Last Sunday, I spent three hours singing in a mask—one for a morning church service and two for an evening concert. The mask makes my glasses steam up and the tropical humidity during the concert meant I had a choice between seeing the conductor or wearing the mask. The mask won. Being surrounded by my fellow choir members all wearing a piece of black cloth over their mouths felt like a weird, dystopian dream.  At the church service, a woman said to my husband and me, “I hope you’re not going to sing in those,” and we replied, “We are, and it will be fine.” She just gave us a look.

Before Covid and outside of an operating room, masks symbolized celebration. Whether worn by children trick-or-treating or adults for a Mardi-gras party, mask-wearing occurred in festive settings. Our masks let us pretend we were someone else, and we could whip them off whenever we wanted. The Lone Ranger and Zorro (I’m dating myself) wore eye masks in all of their mysterious, swash-buckling glory.

Now, behind my mask, I harbor a swirling and often, toxic, soup of emotions. I’m grateful for these miserable masks that rub my ears and steam my glasses because they help me to safely sing with others. But I’m also angry and frustrated that I’m back into my Covid shopping  routine—pull into parking lot, mask up, go into store, come out of store, mask off, sanitize hands and repeat. The box of 50 masks I bought last spring that I joked about not using are now half gone.

As I write this, the musical organizations my husband and I are involved with wrestle with decisions about how to safely rehearse and perform concerts. There are more questions than answers, and I know those frustrations don’t begin to compare with what schools and businesses are facing. My friend who is a nurse in a local hospital told me that what’s she’s seeing is the same as last winter, if not worse, because patients are younger. A theater in our community posted that vaccinations would be required for admission to all performances. Some online comments were supportive, but most were rants about invasion of privacy and government “control,” and, as with any kind of Covid posting, accompanied by the ubiquitous laughing emoji.

Behind my mask, I am exhausted from pretending to be gracious and understanding of those who choose to ignore the seriousness of this virus, especially for our youngsters who cannot yet be vaccinated. Behind my mask, I’m saying don’t dare send me any more links and emails defending your right to make others sick, especially when those links manipulate scripture to support a political agenda.

Behind my mask, I seethe, because just when we were slowly climbing out of the pit of this pandemic, too many refused to reach for the helping hands offered to them, forcing us back into the muck. I ache for the medical professionals and the teachers and the store-keepers and the restaurant owners who must constantly deal with abusive anger fueled by politics, disinformation, and plain old selfishness. I grieve for those who have lost family members to the disease or lost relationships due to the bitterness of extremism.

My masks are back in my purse and my car and my choir folders. I will soon need to buy another box.

The Hope Squad

Anne Moul1 Comment

I recently spent a day volunteering at the vaccination center that has opened near my home.  I was assigned to the front door in a sort of Wal-Mart greeter position. I would call out the appointment times in five-minute increments, ask everyone who entered, “Do you have a fever, cough, or shortness of breath?” and distribute information about what to expect after receiving a vaccine. I answered questions as best I could and tried to keep the lines moving.

I was utterly blown away by how quickly a former craft store was transformed into a pop-up medical facility, structured down to the last detail to ensure patient safety and comfort. Volunteers took temperatures, registered patients, and provided assistance wherever needed. Clinical volunteers, many doing this in addition to their paid jobs, vaccinated patients and oversaw the post-vaccination waiting area. A young woman interpreter accompanied Spanish-speaking patients throughout the entire process, offering explanations and reassurance.

During this past year, I have been holed up in my house, watching the pandemic unfold on a screen. But getting just a tiny glimpse of how we have come together to fix this nightmare was a revelation. I mean, who figured all this out in such a short time? Transforming empty stores, installing wi-fi networks and computers, providing security for vaccine transport, creating appointment websites, organizing hundreds of volunteers, making sure all of the paperwork is correct– the list is endless. And this is happening in communities all across the country.  A year ago, even six months ago, we had no idea that we’d be vaccinating the entire population, let alone developing a plan about how to do it.

What I saw on my first day as a Hope Squad volunteer was nothing short of a miracle, and I will admit, I struggle with those who whine and criticize the efforts being made by our government, flawed as it may be. There are hundreds of thousands of dedicated people–from the brilliant researchers who developed the vaccines to the lovely gentleman providing wheelchair assistance at the local center who are helping to save lives every single day. I think in this world of “if-it’s-not-my-political-party-it-has-to-be-wrong” attitude, it’s easy to lose sight of what we’re actually accomplishing together as a country.

The Hope Squad is great branding and a catchy name to encourage volunteerism. But it also describes what I saw taking place in a former AC Moore store a few miles from where I live. It didn’t matter who you were or what the hat you were wearing said—if you had an appointment, you were warmly welcomed and received a life-saving vaccination. If you didn’t have an appointment, information was provided to help you get one. Everyone who entered was treated with kindness, respect, and understanding. The faces I saw coming through those doors reflected anxiety and apprehension but also relief and gratitude. Having the opportunity to experience this first-hand gave me hope in a year that’s felt bleak and depressing in so many ways.    

The Gift of the Ordinary

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I recently received an invitation to a bridal shower for my best friend’s future daughter-in-law, and it dawned on me that for the first time in a year, I could say yes to a social event. That there was even a social event occurring was cause for celebration. I was excited to write something on my calendar that was not a zoom meeting or vet appointment, and I immediately ran out to Target to buy a gift from the bride’s registry. I now have a reason to wear clothing other than jeans and go somewhere. The fact that, thanks to the timing of my vaccinations, I can safely be in a room with other people, albeit still masked and socially-distanced, leaves me humbled and grateful beyond words.

It’s been a long year of no’s. No family gatherings, no churches, no singing, no movies, no restaurants, no concerts, no travel, no sports. And when we do venture outside our homes, it’s with fear and trepidation. Do we have our masks and sanitizers? How close is that person I hear coughing in the grocery store? Is that a fever or am I just too warm? The high-tension wire of anxiety pulses through every interaction.

We have become acclimated to hiding. As much as we anticipate getting back to the things we love, I sometimes wonder if we’ll return to all those pre-pandemic in-person meetings and events. Has being plopped in front of the TV or computer screen each evening become just a little too comfortable and when those activities resume, will we say, “Nah, I’m not sure I need to do that anymore.”? This year has been an eternal snow day, which I used to revel in, but now I’ve had enough of the hermit life.

The weddings and graduations and packed stadiums and theaters will come back. But it’s the mundane stuff of our daily lives that shapes us and provides a structure so subtle we’re unaware of it until it’s suddenly taken away. Two months back into normalcy I’ll probably be whining about long choir rehearsals or some pointless meeting. But I’ll never again take those things for granted.

This weekend, for the first time in months, my husband and I ate inside a restaurant. Nothing fancy—just comfort food in a hometown place with plastic menus and cozy booths, now separated by plexiglass dividers. But the food was hot and fresh from the kitchen instead of lukewarm from a Styrofoam go-box. We’ve been living lukewarm from a plastic box for way longer than any of us expected. These tiny sparks of normal life—a simple restaurant meal served by another human being, a chance to celebrate a young bride in the company of others—are precious gifts of the ordinary, meant to be savored and appreciated as never before.

Dispatch from Ft. Quarantine

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As I write this, someone is doing my grocery shopping for me. I am reminded how incredibly privileged I am to be able to choose whatever I want to eat for the next week from an app on my phone and have it promptly delivered to my home. Thank you to everyone, especially the hourly workers, for making this possible.

It has been a week of sharp contrasts. A week filled with the joy of puppy-hood, of being around a creature for whom the simplest things—a romp in the grass, chewing on socks, eating supper—are causes for celebration. We could all take a lesson except for the chewing on socks part.

It’s also been a week for sober reflection. I feel like I’m still recovering from watching my fellow citizens wreak havoc and violence on the building that represents democracy, not only to our country, but to the world. Frankly, I’m terrified for what may happen at the Inauguration. As has been made all too clear, nothing is beyond the reach of the evil political forces raging war on this country right now.

And then as we were getting ready for bed one night, one of us got an email that we had tested positive for Covid. Huh? No, wait, that can’t be right, especially since the other of us had gotten a negative result earlier in the day. We’re fine, we feel great. We only got tested as a precaution because someone who had been working in our home called to tell us they were experiencing symptoms.

Lysol-ing bathrooms at midnight. Texting the few people with whom we had had contact in recent days. Getting conflicting messages—is it ten days or fourteen days? Is it from time of exposure or time of testing? Panic and fear and frustration that after doing everything right, the virus still found us, just like it did the millions of others who were playing by the rules. I remember seeing a friend’s post from early in the pandemic that said sooner or later, we’re probably all going to get it. True words.

So far, we remain symptom-free, thanks be to God. We separate ourselves with a guest room and second bathroom and use different tables for meals. We scrubbed every surface in the house, wear masks when we’re in the same room and are hoping for the best, knowing that so many around us don’t have the same opportunity to comfortably quarantine in their homes. Was the testing accurate? Who knows? We can only make decisions based on the knowledge that we’re given. Assuming the exposure date is correct, we should be on the home stretch.

If you would have told me a year ago that we’d be living like this, I wouldn’t have believed you. Or that going to church, singing in a choir, or enjoying a restaurant meal would be forbidden. That games would be played in empty arenas accompanied by the eerie computer-generated sounds of crowds. That national guard soldiers would be sleeping in the halls of the Capitol to protect the lives of legislators, and the celebration of a new President taking office would be fraught with danger. That 400,000 lives would be lost to a disease terrible beyond anything imaginable.

Huh? No, wait, that can’t be right. Bad dream, dystopian movie, could never happen here. But it has, and right now, our country does not feel fine, nor does it feel great. I just hope we’re on the home stretch with this, too.