Memoirous

In my last post I wrote about visiting the Art Institute of Chicago and the Museum of Contemporary Art. At both I took in NEW exhibits. Of course, we ask ourselves: What is new? I’d venture to say it is art that speaks to us today and hopefully to those in the future. There’s nothing like a plague to drive people into the hands of God and into outpouring of their soul. I mean if you thought the end was near wouldn’t you want to express your innermost longings, desires—or to leave a message for the survivors? Kilroy was here . Medieval art is full of representations of the Black Death: corpses and skeletons. Along with interpretations of the Devil and demons. The macabre was a big draw. Like today: shock jocks pull in an audience and ratings. The church used such depictions to warn congregants against rough living and the vices. The seven deadly sins. Indeed, much of religion was a warning against instead of for living/life. Not a lot has changed. Fast forward to the worldwide p...

It has occurred to me that many writers cannot help but point out either in the text of their book or in the acknowledgements how the pandemic impacted their work. I hold this thought with also something else I heard/read on a forum: Publishers are not looking for books on the pandemic. Uh, okay. But it was global, everyone on the planet was affected by it in one way or another. How can one not mention it, at least in passing? I’m struck by how people can recall exactly where they were when the lockdowns came. At dinner the other night a couple mentioned their favorite breakfast spot in Traverse City—and how since the lockdown they haven’t been back. They had the date memorized: March 20. I can remember what I was doing when the program I was listening to on the radio was interrupted by a special announcement from the Illinois Governor that all schools, restaurants, etc would shut down. I was in the middle of waxing my floor. A bit of spring house cleaning. Good thing—I wouldn’t be lea...

 Sooooo what’s it like having Covid? If this were 2019 I’d say it was an inconvenient head cold and be back to work in 3 or 4 days, but because it is Covid I’ve had to be off work and isolated for 10 days. The Great Interrupter: I had to cancel plans for a bike trip. At the front end of my quarantine was a 3-day trip I’d planned and negotiated a day off from work. I had train tickets and a hotel booked, all for naught. Then at the end of quarantine I cancelled friends coming from Chicago to visit. I just didn’t want to have to deal with the possibility that they could get sick. All of this has been stressful—more impacting my psyche than physical. More than ever it has again reminded me of the Lockdown, when in spring 2020 we were told to shelter in place. Where I felt I was living a parallel existence. As I’ve been in isolation is seems as if spring has finally arrived. The weather got hot, then cooled off. There was a storm. The trees flowered and ripened and have begun to ...

 I contributed to an article written by  Alisha Haridasani Gupta  of the NY Times. She is a gender writer and has tackled some big topics in Women's news lately--notably the restriction of abortion rights in many states.  The genesis of my contribution was a call for submissions from the National Women's History Museum looking for "journals" or writing from women during the pandemic. They saw these years/this event as a point in time and history where women's stories might be overlooked. As caregivers as well as ESSENTIAL workers most of us during lockdown have not been inactive. We've had to take on more responsibilities than ever. In this piece are perspectives from an oncologist (just imagine dying during a plague--pretty much batting zero out of zero), a first-time mother--who had to enter a hospital for pre-clampsia  and hold out until the birth of her child in total isolation. The portions of the collection, as well as my full contribution, are online at...

Remember. Squint your eyes and think back, back to that feeling of having stepped off a cliff. It was right around St. Patrick’s Day 2020. When the world shut down. Of course we’d been hearing about the virus and seen pictures of exhausted doctors and nurses and the staggering death toll in Italy. But here in the US, with our walls and borders and nationalistic superiority, we were immune. Then the first case, second, third. A death. Then it was everywhere. No one knew how to stop it. I remember sitting and thinking in a detached sort of way that people I knew were probably going to get it. People I knew might die. I might die. So I had to let go. Still the next day, waking up after the shut down, I had nowhere to go and no to-do list. It had all been obliterated. I get my energy from doing and I knew I wouldn’t last long anyway at my age, so I volunteered to go over to the shelter to cook lunch. I decided I wanted to die with my boots on. So many people who worked at...

I was confused about where to start. November 5 th was my birthday and as we all know it has been chaotic. It is hard to think back over the year. I mean sooooo much has happened. Friendships have unraveled; there have been breaks and new alliances formed. With the advent of the pandemic there have been life-altering decisions. This much I know: it is impossible to know. I’ve stopped saying anything is for sure.  So after working as an election judge on Nov. 3 rd and making it through a long day of possible Covid exposure and in general a long day of work, I decided to reward myself by signing up for a writing craft class through OCWW. It was a breath of fresh air, reminding me of my “old” life—BUT, chaos broke through. I got a text that someone I knew had tested positive for Covid. I immediately was thrown in quarantine.  Even the person dropping off a present at my door had to hurry away as she was also exposed to this same person. We were caught up in a Covid dragne...

In my reading of Sister Corita and her techniques I came across the ultra-simple finder. The finder is a square or rectangle—THINK: a projection slide with the film part removed—used to focus or narrow down onto a detail. It allows us to visually exclude in order to see more clearly a smaller part of a whole. When is a bottle more than just a shape made of glass—when we can re-frame it as a blue sky or luminescent lake surface. So many things become Other. Tatsuya Tanaka is a Japanese artist who has been using masks and other household items to create pocket-sized scenes. He is an example of someone using Covid to make something new. The ordinary suddenly takes on new meaning—and for a moment we can chuckle, our minds wandering elsewhere.  https://www.designboom.com/art/tatsuya-tanaka-escapist-miniature-scenes-face-masks-household-items-08-03-2020/ You can find Tanaka on    Instagram  . do you see? staples!

Since March I’ve been thrown into all kinds of Covid havoc. All the things we used to say such as you are not the product of your productivity or your identity is not your job might have worked at one time—like when I had a job, before the pandemic lay waste to my routine. People who still have a routine or are kept busy with Zoom meetings seem to have no idea of how it feels to flounder, to be unmoored without time structure. It was a big reason by I simply took off at the end of May when things opened up to do my cross-country bike trip to Seaside, OR. On my bike ride I experienced structure—albeit one I had no control over. I never knew what the day’s weather or roads might bring. You can have a map, but that only goes so far in telling us how the journey will transpire. I’d awake everyday before dawn and as a sliver of yolk was breaking on the horizon was ready to set out. I’d eat and rest as needed (or not, again as the road allowed). By evening I was READY to stop. I’d shower...

I’ve always hated Halloween in Chicago—you would too unless you like getting hit with eggs or out-of-control-teens running wild on the streets. I know . . . I sound like an old lady fussing. For the past few years I’ve just avoided being out at night on Halloween. Kids will be kids. Except this year. I’m not sure what to expect. We’ll have fewer trick or treaters. Everyone will be masked. Candy will be delivered through a PVC pipe chute. Sort of a hands-off approach, yet still fun. But I also suspect it will be quieter, a bit lonelier on the street. Chicago under Covid lockdown felt like a ghost town, so on Halloween it will be especially creepier. Empty sidewalks under street lights. trick or treat candy chute for hands-free safe delivery

When my daughter was in college and would call home with a crisis—and believe me they were, not to belittle them—I’d say this isn’t the end of the world. That is going to look a lot different. It was my attempt to interject some perspective. Now that I’m in a crisis of, well, too much to list at the moment, I feel I need some perspective. Except it is the end of the world. Who could have imagined a worldwide pandemic and the United States falling behind, losing status? Its people tearing each other apart. I mean I did imagine it. Ages ago, in 2011, I wrote a flash called “Before the World Changed” that has been reprinted and anthologized since then. In this piece I lyrically laid out the incremental steps that take over a middleclass couple. How they shifted and adjusted their lifestyle either because of environmental pressures or even an ecological outlook and events rapidly took over and directly began to impact their life and economy. See story here: But, now that the wo...

People keep saying I’m brave. I’m not tracking—I mean just because I rode my bike across the United States by myself at age 61? During a pandemic? Riding a bike felt natural and it helped me forget about Covid. If anything I was safer, out in the countryside, away from crowds. Nothing beats social distancing like riding solo. I could go all day without talking to a soul. How is this different from quarantine? At least while on my bike I felt alive, strong, capable—if even at the time I doubted my ability. Sitting in my tent at night, watching the sun lower and dusty dusk filter around me, the quiet all around, I knew I’d done this, my body had gotten me to this place. I loved that feeling of self-satisfaction. It’s what’s missing in my life now.

Recently I learned a new word: derecho. Noun a line of intense, widespread, and fast-moving windstorms and sometimes thunderstorms that moves across a great distance and is characterized by damaging winds. On a Monday, August 10, I was outside helping a young neighbor ride her bike. At one point we sat on the curb in the eerie stillness before a storm and looked up at the clouds. Something was coming. Later in my studio apartment I had to turn on the lights. Outside, late afternoon, the sky had turned the color of nightfall. I went to the other side of the building onto the fire escape on the west side. A slab of grey-green clouds were building up, streaked like marble. I expected staggers of lightning, the rumble of thunder, but they were mysteriously silent. It seemed to take a long time for something storm-like to happen. Then. Came. The wind. I rushed inside and watched as if a paper shredder had been turned on, churning up tree tops and roofing. As someone who has camped for...