Coronavirus, staying home and all we take for granted

Like most Americans, there are quite a few things I’ve been guilty of taking for granted. The coronavirus is teaching me that. Things I didn’t appreciate enough or went through the motions on. Along with it, and as I find myself finishing up my third week of working from home (and what has already been a lifetime of social distancing,) I’ve also begun to realize how many things I miss. Things I can’t wait to do again once this whole coronavirus pandemic is over and a distant memory.

Usually, it’s the little things. Never the big ones. The small, seemingly-inconsequential stuff that I never used to give much thought to. Like getting my hair cut. My wife has banned me from that one (sorry Price’s Barber Shop!) My hair now looks like a cross between modern art and what happens to a marshmallow when you toss it in a fire. I think my follicles are actually some kind of imprisoned demon yearning to be free, and it takes all of my strength to contain it.

I try to slick it down, pressing and tucking and unspooling, but just when I think I have things under control and go about my business, I hear a loud snap like a pine tree cracking in half and elaborate curls spring out, making my head look like a K-9 agility course full of rings.

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The brave new world of … teleconferencing (Thanks, coronavirus)

So, I’m a teleconferencer now. That’s a thing. A thing I do. How I work. I don’t go in to work anymore, thanks to the coronavirus. Now that Flagler College, where I work, has gone to online classes, staff like me are “commuting” to our home offices where we’ve setup lots of screens, consume tremendous amounts of bandwidth and sit in front of video cameras in our pajamas where we say to other co-workers in pajamas, “So, when was the last time you saw an actual, in-the-flesh human?” or “Do you know how we could make money playing online poker?”

It’s kind of cool and kind of spooky. Kind of high-tech and kind of disorienting. Millions of Americans just like me are now commuting to work on Zoom, Skype, Teams or, for some of the less-technologically-advanced, telegram by Western Union stagecoach.

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Worried eyes and healing eyes as we all come to terms with coronavirus

The two women in the grocery store checkout line were buying pudding packs. Lots of them.

“We’ll eat these first,” said the younger of the two women reassuringly. The older woman seemed frail. From a pocket, she pulled a tissue and dabbed her nose. The other woman took out a bottle of hand sanitizer and squeezed it into her hands. She rubbed them together.

The woman slowly turned her head and looked up at me. The older woman.

I was standing there with a cart full of groceries. This was the weekend before things got really “interesting.” Before you couldn’t find chicken or toilet paper or stuff you never thought stores would run out of. Or at least, not when there wasn’t a tropical cyclone spinning off the Florida coast.

That weekend, things were only slightly off-kilter. Slightly hushed. Slightly concerned. The reality wasn’t setting in yet. People who went to the grocery store that early in the morning looked at each other in ways I haven’t fully come to terms with. They jumped when they heard someone cough. They walked the aisles solemnly. They paused near the cleaning supplies or the respiratory relief pills and stared. Did they need them? Were they overreacting?

Sometimes they just looked at each other, like they didn’t know what to say.

Like the older woman dabbing her nose.

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How will the face-touchers go on?

This just in from The New York Times: Want to stay healthy? Stop touching your face! Your FACE! Don’t touch it. That’s where problems start.

I’m not being cynical or sarcastic. I’m not poking fun. I’m not mocking health officials. It’s true. The article was a wake-up call and has me freaked out … because I’m not sure I can do it.

The headline read: “A hands-off approach to your face is prudent.” It was about the coronavirus and how experts recommend that one of the best ways to stave off infection and keep the virus from spreading is to do one simple thing: stop putting your fingers near the open parts of that orb on your neck.

Like your eyes. And your mouth. And your nose.

It actually makes total sense.

Our hands are constantly touching things, and picking up all manner of foreign particles and germs as we go. To make matters worse, we chronic face-touchers then give these germs easy access when we rub an eye or touch a lip. Seems so innocent and harmless, but it’s like an interstate on-ramp for a virus.

And I’m one of the worst.

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