Corona Diaries, Part III: Realizations

By Em Gibson

When Covid made its way to Europe, the gravity of the situation set in fast. Living in London but working for a global company, we heard from friends and colleagues in Italy just how serious this virus was, and how fast it spreads. We are such a densely populated country, that since arriving in the UK, it has infected over 84,000 people and killed over 10,000. A sobering thought considering we are a country of 66 million people in the space half the size of the state of California. It's a very confusing and humbling time, but the weeks go on, I feel more and more proud to call myself a Brit.

 I don’t think I realized just how British I am until this pandemic began. The whole country seems to have come together in a Keep Calm and Carry On mentality not seen since WW2. It’s heartwarming to see, considering the division of recent politics and the palava (or what you Americans would call a "shitshow") of brexit. Day after day, in a 500sqft flat in London, there is a feeling of doing your bit for Queen and country by simply staying at home. I’ve been working from home for over two months already, and up until the end of March,  I was at least still getting out on weekends, walking the dog to the local beer gardens. But, the lockdown hit hard when they closed the pubs. You don’t take a Brit away from their pub. It’s just not natural. It’s where we go to celebrate, to mourn, to gather as friends or gather solo thoughts. They are an integral part of British society and culture, a place most of us have grown up going to and remember having our first pints. I am longing to be back in the office and to hear those sweet 5pm words… “anyone for a pint?” When the Prime Minister announced the closure of the pubs, and all other non-essential businesses, I think the only phrase people said to each other for 24 hours was ‘hey did you hear the pubs have closed…they haven’t done that since WW2”. Between the pubs closing, curfews, food shortages, and the fight against a common enemy, it has become a recurring theme here: "Not since WW2"

A couple of weeks ago the Queen addressed the nation highlighting the need to <insert highly posh British accent> “come together as a nation” and “stay home and protect our NHS” (NHS is our publicly funded healthcare system in the UK.) During her 68 year reign, her Majesty has only addressed the nation 6 times, a couple of notable deaths and a couple of Jubilees. However, it seemed the whole nation watched on telly as she spoke of the Virus and how it is affecting our country. I’m not 100% certain why she moved me so much. I’m not embarrassed to say I shed a tear during her address. Perhaps when she thanked the key workers risking their lives for others, perhaps when she spoke of the nation coming together and all working for a greater cause, perhaps I’d had a couple of beers and the effect of her words can be simply attributed to the level of alcohol that I have been consuming in recent weeks. It’s hard to say. Either way I seem to be feeling like much more of a royalist than I used to.

 All in all, I’ve realized that, actually, we are much more united as a country than I once thought.  I have a sense of belonging that I haven’t had for a long time. Brexit was hard, it divided the nation, friends and family, including my own. I desperately wanted to remain in the EU, and I felt like I lost a sense of who I am. Coming through something as horrendous as this virus, my silver lining is that as a country, when It’s so easy to divide and hate, we are supporting others, celebrating our NHS and all working together for a brighter future.

Em is a 27 year old Program Manager currently living in London with her Minnesoten Girlfriend and their dog Riley. Originally, she is from Rugby, Warwickshire (where the sport was invented) but has lived in the East End of London for the past 6 years. She enjoys exploring London, and there is still so much to see and do after six years, though usually you’ll find her and the dog in the local, listening to indistinct chatter and sampling the ale on rotation.

This blog is edited and run by Alexandra Lenihan. @len.10.10

Corona Diaries Part II: What's Important

By Kate F.

“First glove, gown, second glove, wash hands, helmet, goggles, mask, wash,” Judith explained. She has a soft Jamaican accent and braids that peek out the sides of her hair cover. “Any questions at all dears, I am here,” she explained to us new nurses to the COVID unit. “I can’t believe I was fucking floated here,” a pair of angry brown eyes quipped. “I love you baby, stay safe. Goodnight!” my phone pinged from my mom. Over the last weeks I’ve made friends of pupils, of crow’s feet, of baritones and sopranos. I can recognize a friend by the length of their stride and by the 2-inch space between a blue hair cover and a respirator. Despite COVID overtaking all of our lives, my life has remained unchanged in many ways—I still drive to work at 6PM most evenings, I still stand close to my coworkers in huddle and touch the hands of the people I’m caring for,  I’m fortunate enough to still receive a paycheck—I, along with all of us, hang onto the familiar inflections of our best friends voices in the Zoom meeting, the longing tone of texts, the written word of our favorite authors. 

When language is what we have left, do words carry more significance than they ever have before, or is the weight they’ve always had emphasized? (Sorry that was the Carrie Bradshaw question I have been waiting to write my whole ass life). Our current situation renders language as our closest form of intimacy. The pandemic makes me hold onto language tighter than before, when physical touch, gift giving, or even doing a favor for someone is out of the question. I’ve been calling people on the phone who I would normally meet at a bar. Now that conversation is all we have to do, I’ve been using it to draw people in closer than I ever would have B.P. (Before Pandemic). We have mental lists of “zoom friends” and “text friends”, moderating the digital peephole into our daily lives. The words and the digital platform we choose to share them on create new closeness and distances. 

In truly ironic timing, I recently got into an argument with someone in my life about how I’m having a hard time letting go of hurtful things she’s said to me. “They’re only words,” she quipped back, “when can you move on from just words?” However, I’ve always been one to hang onto sweet notes, write down things I heard that piqued my interests, and save voicemails. I cannot forget words. I cannot forget the last voicemail my dad sent me before he left this world, just like I cannot forget the distinct tones of my friends loving encouragement as I head into work. I cannot forget the strained voices of my patients that struggle to breathe. I cannot forget the words that are directly threatening my life and my fellow nurses lives asking us to conserve a single-use mask to care for known COVID positive patients for upwards of 12 hours, the words our president has used to flippantly disregard the lives of thousands of people dying, and unfortunately I cannot forget the words from a loved one during a pandemic, when words, language, and talking are all we have. 

While the pandemic and the events of my own personal life have stretched my capacity for forgiveness, it has reinforced my belief that words do, and always have mattered. Perhaps we should take this time to reflect on the way we use our language, as many of us (including myself) can tend to speak first and think after. Perhaps this time could be used to consider our normal group texts with friends as spaces of connection and healing. Perhaps we could derive a different meaning from a familiar poem or a new book. Using our words for growth, empathetic expression, and kindness are the greatest currency we have. 

Kate F. is a registered nurse in California.

Corona Diaries Part I: Surivor: Corona Island

By Brian Ashburn

With each passing day in quarantine, I’m slowly becoming my mother.

Okay let me back up: My favorite show is Survivor. 

If you haven’t watched it and are only aware of it culturally, I implore you to put your phone down, do ten sit-ups, then binge the entire series. It is the most incredible study in human behavior, how we react to challenges and interact with one another when given limited food, nowhere to sleep, and only the clothes on our backs. They are trapped together, on an island, for up to 39 days, and must work together to survive, but also slowly vote each other off one by one. Then at the end, everyone who has been backstabbed CHOOSES THE WINNER. It’s genius.

The real beauty of Survivor, however, is watching the evolution of these characters (who range from rural, Republican, chicken farmers to pampered, high-class former child stars) as they go into the game with noble intentions then morph into their primal selves, subconsciously becoming who they have to be to win the game. People promise things to one another then slit each other’s throats, people lie through their teeth then laugh about their sociopathy, people poop in the ocean (irrelevant yet, entirely relevant). You don’t know how you’re going to react to rain-drenched, sleepless nights in a jungle with nothing to eat but a scoop of rice and nothing to live on but the dream of one million dollars. All you have to do is outwit, outplay, and outlast your island-mates for 39 days.

(Doesn’t 39 days sound so quaint right about now?)

I’ve applied several times, which involves making a very self-indulgent, highly produced yet completely natural audition tape where I find the skinniest lighting and talk about how I’d win the game. So, I’ve spent countless hours reflecting on who I am as a person, what makes me CrazySexyCool, and how I’d truly react to the conditions of the game. All these years, I believed I’d be the goofball, tension-breaking comedy writer who’d find a way to connect with both the Buddhist, stay-at-home cat-moms and the neonazi lumberjacks alike, forming bonds that would only be broken by my own hand as I slowly slayed my enemies and quietly betrayed my allies with cunning, bold moves. America would fall in love with me, I’d be invited on Kelly Clarkson’s talk show where she’d surprise me with Taylor Swift, and I’d use the million dollars to pay off the student loans of everyone I loved. (Okay, it’s only a million dollars, so I guess three lucky people in my life?)

And yet, here we are in IRL Survivor, trapped in a confined space with few people, limited resources, and no ocean to poop in, and I’ve reached that moment in the game where everything has shifted, and the veneer I’ve carefully crafted for myself has fallen away, exposing my innate instincts. It’s at this crossroads when I realized: I am my mother.

Not physically, you pervs -- although my body now craves vegetables (?) and could absolutely pull off the ‘80s perm she rocked in her twenties with grace and ease.

In a time of crisis, I become a mother of four, a nurturer concerned with others’ well-beings over my own. I heat a blanket in the dryer before snuggling in my boyfriend for movie night (a movie I let him pick). I hear people’s worries and coo them with words of comfort. I cook meals, then get mad when my roommates don’t immediately come sit down when I announce it’s ready. I hold a fundraiser for the local food bank and rally my friends to donate. I do all the grocery shopping, and buy little treats I know they’ll love as a thoughtful surprise waiting in the cabinets. I remember people’s birthdays (lol jk thanks for being good at one thing, Facebook). I do laundry without announcing that I’m doing it in order to elicit praise. 

I. Scrub. The. Kitchen. Sink. While. Listening. To. Fleetwood. Mac. 

As I organized our junk drawer (because I had time and couldn’t stand not finding AAA batteries when I needed them), I had a true moment of gratitude toward my mother for keeping a household running and four kids alive. She wasn’t going to Osteria La Buca on Friday nights, or asking Noah Baumbach pretentious questions at a screening, or writing screenplays that nobody will make. She made sure we had a healthy, happy childhood, so we could grow up to be healthy, happy adults who got to go to Osteria La Buca on Friday nights, and ask Noah Baumbach pretentious questions at a screening, and write screenplays that nobody will make. 

I might be on my own island, and my parents may be 2,000 miles away, but they spent my whole life training me to be good when a terrible, sad, debilitating event came, and to do what they do: pass that love on to the people around me. I’ve been surprised at how calm I’ve been throughout this pandemic, but of course I am; we are all the products of our upbringings, and when challenges are put in front of us, we must rise to the occasion and meet them with the grace and dignity of our parents, grandparents, teachers, doctors, loved ones, waitresses in order to honor them and make the situation a little less shitty for everyone else. 

If Barb were ever on Survivor, I think she would form alliances and blindly trust her people, only to be voted out third. And you know what? She would leave wishing them all good luck and leave behind her sweatshirt for the tiny ad exec who only packed a bikini.

So maybe that’s my destiny. When we get out of this quarantine, and I spend the next two years shedding the 30 pounds I’ve put on by eating bread and chocolate every day, and I finally get the call from Jeff Probst to get on that island and survive, I will make sure others have the comfiest dirt in the shelter, and tell people they matter, and I will be voted off with my head held high and my heart on my sleeve, and hopefully, my perm blowing in the wind.

Brian is a TV writer in LA whose biggest TV success to date is winning a car on Let’s Make a Deal. He loves true crime, playing soccer, Taylor Swift, and s’mores. He’s from Brainerd, Minnesota, where he was voted Best Personality of his senior class, an honor that his father said is only given to ugly people to make them feel better about themselves.

Picture Perfect

By Erin Stritmatter

I am getting married this year.  Of course I’m thrilled about it. If I believed in soul-mates, and maybe I do, I would say that I have found mine and consider myself extremely lucky. We couldn’t imagine going through life without each other, so yes, we’re very excited to move onto this next phase of our lives. We also can’t stand saying “fiancée,” so we’ll be glad when that’s over.

The actual wedding part of getting married, though, has proven to be a lot harder than I ever imagined. There is so much pressure coming from places you didn’t even know existed. There is pressure from our families, even though I know they mean the very best. There is pressure from our religion (see also: families). There is pressure from our bank accounts. NEW: There is pressure from COVID-19!  (keep up your social distancing, people!) And there is pressure from society. For me, this last one has been the hardest to wriggle free from.

People tell us, “make your day exactly how you want it and don’t worry about what people think!” That’s all well and good, and I think we all strive to live by that in our daily lives. But, there is a lot of expectation surrounding a wedding that, turns out, is pretty hard to escape. We’ve had so many friends get married in the past several years, and we’re grateful to be in their lives and a part of their big day (hint: that’s what you can write in your next wedding card). On the plus side, it is helpful for us to be able to look back on those weddings and get some ideas of do’s and don’ts. On the minus side, you get this nagging idea of everything yours has to be or … what it could never be.

Some real examples (no real names were used):

Adam and Carrie got their engagement photos taken in Georgetown (high-end, but very quaint shopping neighborhood in DC) on what seems like the most perfect spring day, but there were no people in the background? Did they shut down the streets for this? Now they are getting featured in every top magazine in the area.

Allie got a personal trainer, lost 20 pounds, and had perfectly toned arms that looked amazing from every angle in every picture. You could hear the whispers when she walked down the aisle at how gorg she looked. She did look gorg. And, as petty as it may sound, I want my arms to look this good. Might not get there at the rate I’m going during this quarantine…

Jim and Sarah invited all of their wedding guests to a four-course, sit down, open bar REHEARSAL dinner, complete with photographer, videographer and after party. Um, isn’t that what the next day is supposed to be?! How rich are these people? The next day (actual wedding) was even more impressive and everyone is still talking about it five years later.

Kate and James had custom designs made for all of their wedding stationery, including embroidered napkins, and had personal notes and actual useful favors waiting for everyone at the end of the night.

Monica and Will went on a one-month honeymoon gallivanting around southern Europe, stayed in the most luxurious places and seemed to have outfits that were perfectly paired for each destination. There was an update every day (maybe hour?) on Instagram, you can probably still catch it on their highlights. How could they take this much time off of work? When did they have time to plan all of these outfits, let alone the trip?

You get the idea. I’m sure you’ve witnessed it yourself or at least seen the posts, each with ten swipe-able pictures embedded in it.

We know we don’t have to have all those things, we can’t have all those things. We don’t have that kind of money, or time, or flawless arms. But, it sure is a lot to amount to.  It’s hard not to compare. Shouldn’t we have some kind of “wow factor” because why are we even spending so much money and time and effort on one day with so many people if it isn’t at least memorable?

If you feel the urge to slap me in the face, talk some sense into me and tell me that it’ll be a great day no matter what, don’t worry, I know this. I know that it’ll be a great day because I get to marry the love of my life while surrounded and supported by our family and closest friends. I know that we’ll have great pictures to help us remember and show our kids someday. I know that my new husband (avoiding using fiancée) will think I’m the most beautiful bride, even if I do still have some armpit fat sticking out. He doesn’t notice those things. I know that having the biggest, grandest wedding isn’t our style. I know that having fun is much more important than having special napkins. And I know we’ll have the rest of our lives to travel the country and world and only hope that when we do, we remember to actually take it in rather than just taking pictures. 

P.S. We will have a fully-stocked open bar, won’t settle on that one. 

Erin is a structural engineer currently living the social distancing life in Washington, DC with her fiancee, cat, and neighbor/best friend/sister (all the same person). When she’s not planning her wedding, she’s staying up to date on the latest Netflix series, shopping to make a healthy dinner then ordering uber eats anyways, avoiding facetime calls, and searching for a new career because, it turns out, engineers don’t make enough money to afford rent. Who knew?