Hunkering Down, but Lucky
By Pat Ragains
When I began writing this piece in April 2020, most Americans and much of the rest of the developed world were homebound due to the coronavirus pandemic. I finished it in March 2021, by which time over 114,000,000 cases of the virus have been reported worldwide and over 50,000 new cases are being reported daily in the United States. I’ve tried to make sense of this experience in terms of its immediate impact and its place in my historical perspective. Much of my sense-making about the pandemic is tentative, since I’m unsure what this crisis may mean for our future.
First, I’ll reflect on earlier memories of disease and isolation. Two years ago when I was going through my grandmother Ardelia’s papers, I found two letters, written in 1902 and 1904 by her mother, Eula Lee Sloneker. The letters are to members of her husband Sam’s family. Eula Lee and Sam lived on their ranch near Plainview, Texas and, by 1904, had three children. Her 1904 letter interests me, since she wrote about Sam being away on business, during which time two of the children were ill. A bovine disease that had progressed to the Texas panhandle had killed some of their cattle. Eula Lee mentions no other adults being nearby, and I imagine she was acutely lonely at times like this. I wish I knew more about this little family. She died four years later of rubella. An unborn child died with her.
As a young girl in the early 1930s, my mother Leta contracted the streptococcus infection commonly called scarlet fever and was bedridden for a time. She remembered a doctor came to their home and examined her. My mom heard the doctor tell Ardelia that Leta would die from the illness. Mom told me she thought “Oh no, I won’t.” That sort of self-determination was characteristic of Mom over the course of her 81 years.
I was 11 during the peak of an influenza pandemic in 1968 and 1969. I didn’t catch the flu, but Mom, her father Delmar, and my brother Mike had it. Nearly half of my class at school was out sick at one point. Ardelia had to care for Delmar, but made a Christmas dinner, which she gave Dad to take home to us. Mike, Dad, and I ate the food right away, but Mom waited until she felt better before eating any of what her mother had sent. On Christmas Eve, the Apollo 8 spacecraft entered the moon’s orbit and the astronauts onboard transmitted video and photos of Earth rising above the lunar horizon and read from the Book of Genesis for a worldwide television and radio audience. A few days earlier, the North Korean government had released the naval ship the U.S.S. Pueblo after obtaining an apology from the U.S. government for invading its waters. I was fascinated by images of the space mission and voices of the astronauts, but also thought that the Pueblo incident might spiral into war. I know that Mom and Dad’s main concern was the vulnerability of their parents, Ardelia, Delmar, and my paternal grandfather, Rees, since influenza is much more deadly among the elderly than younger population groups. An estimated million people worldwide died from this outbreak, and 100,000 in the United States.
At the beginning of the coronavirus pandemic in March 2020, Nevada’s governor Steve Sisolak issued an order closing schools and nonessential businesses and urging Nevadans to stay at home apart from necessary travel and to avoid gatherings of more than 10 people, using the newly popularized term, social distancing. In November, Governor Sisolak announced that he had been diagnosed with the coronavirus, but his case was mild. During his illness he continued to work and make public appearances online, and he appeared to recover quickly.
After Governor Sisolak’s first social distancing order, I met with a couple of friends to play music, each of us wearing a mask and minimizing contact in order to protect ourselves. Cases surged in the fall, and I stopped holding or attending these sessions. I’ve developed a small network of professional and amateur musicians with whom I meet online to stay in touch and share ideas, which I expect to continue after the pandemic subsides. My local gym closed due to the governor’s order, and I spent more time walking my dog, Dooley. Each week I send messages to relatives and friends to ask how they’re doing, or talk with them on the phone.
I read online news sources throughout the day with an eye out for statements from public health professionals and for business and finance news, mainly because the stock market has been more volatile. I’m concerned about the money we’ve saved for retirement, which led me to make some changes that my financial advisor had recommended earlier. When our planned June 2020 trip to Scotland was cancelled, we were fortunate to receive full refunds from the tour operator, airlines, and travel insurance provider. In the fall I received a debit card for an unemployment claim and learned that it was made fraudulently in my name, making me a statistic in the widespread fraud that followed the extension of unemployment benefits in Congress’s first coronavirus relief package. I reported the fraud to my bank as well as to local, state, and federal agencies. Fortunately, none of my financial accounts were compromised, although it made for a tense couple of days.
Ragains with a gourd banjo, custom made in 2020 by Bob Thornburg of Bishop, California.. Photo/Pat Ragains.
Some, but not all, of my other activities were related to social distancing. My memoir writing group reconvened online in June, although several members didn’t participate. At my cousin Harry’s suggestion, he and I started reading books on the theme of ethnic studies, beginning with one by DeRay McKesson, a founder of the Black Lives Matter movement. Harry and his wife Val live in Tucson, Arizona, and we’ve been discussing the books over the phone. I shot videos of my solo guitar playing for Note-Ables Music Therapy, for whom I volunteer. Note-Ables used the videos in online classes for their clients, soon launched live classes online, and held a handful of in-person classes in their building, which the City of Reno owns. They observed Nevada’s social distancing protocols in these meetings, but stopped holding in-person classes during the fall surge. I posted videos of several more solo guitar pieces to my online YouTube channel and linked them to classical cellist Yo-Yo Ma’s Twitter hashtag, #songsofcomfort, which he created to share music videos posted during the pandemic. I bought a new instrument in March, a gourd banjo that was custom-made to my specifications. It’s the first instrument I’ve had made for myself.
My wife Bonnie does most of our shopping and adopted a number of safeguards while in stores, at first wearing disposable latex gloves on her hands and a dust mask inside a scarf, tied over her face. Now she wears a cloth mask when shopping and sanitizes the kitchen countertops after she’s put away the groceries. She planted an early spring garden, with over 50 onion bulbs and seeds for greens, carrots, and radishes. Bonnie’s been exercising with online Jazzercize classes and, until the surge, attended a few in-person sessions after these resumed in Reno.
Finding toilet paper, paper towels, and tissues was one of our early concerns, since all of these were in short supply. Bonnie and I also discovered that there were shortages of household cleaning products, especially any containing bleach. We found sources online for all of these. We’re still buying them this way, due to the convenience of getting deliveries at home, rather than searching for them in retail stores. Also, we’re keeping more on hand than we did before, which protects us a bit from short-term spikes in prices. Many other people started purchasing their groceries online in order to avoid close contact with others, as well as for convenience.
Our household routines haven’t changed much over the last few months. We’ve had medical appointments and didn’t have any problems scheduling them, although we know medical providers and hospitals have been severely stressed by increased demand, the lack of sufficient protective gear, and medical equipment like ventilators. We also know people who have had their surgeries delayed, and we recognize our good fortune.
I returned to my gym after it reopened in the late spring, but the management misunderstood the governor’s orders on social distancing and did not implement them. After reporting the gym to city and state officials, I ended my membership and joined another gym that is cleaner, strictly observant of social distancing, and cheaper.
As for social activities, Bonnie and I have had several gatherings with single friends or other couples, including Ben and Carli, but less frequently than before. We’ve eaten at a few restaurants, the first of which did not use any social distancing measures. We haven’t traveled beyond Carson City. We cut back on all of these activities during the fall surge of infections. Our dog has been out in the world and graduated from a local training program that implemented social distancing measures that are more stringent than those required by the state. The two monthly song circles we attended regularly went on hiatus until I hosted a successful online gathering. Bonnie and I kept on playing music and I took several group and individual lessons online, which worked very well. I taught a library science class online for the University of Nevada, Reno, which will likely be my last. I’ve taught online before, so this one was little different, although, with involvement from two local library directors, I incorporated crisis planning and response in the course. Students in the course evaluated reopening plans of two county-wide public library systems in Nevada and performed admirably. They avoided responding to library closures and planning from any partisan perspective, something of a rare occurrence in our polarized national political climate. I’m hopeful that they will exercise this sort of objectivity in their professional lives and civic involvement.
It’s impossible to know all the ways that this pandemic will affect society, but I believe it should prompt governments to prepare to deliver more effective, coordinated responses to public health emergencies. I compare the federal government’s stalled, hesitant, and disorganized response to the coronavirus with events following Hurricanes Katrina and Rita in 2005, likewise to the inadequate relief efforts after the recent earthquake in Puerto Rico. The response to each of these disasters was a failure that cost too many lives and triggered long lasting adverse outcomes. In terms of preparedness and response, we must do better as a society in addressing catastrophes like these – lives and well-being are at stake for many, as is a well-functioning national economy. We are able to do these things within our federal system of government – there will be conflicts, but our democracy has the means to acknowledge and resolve disagreements about the role of government. Gridlock is not inevitable when we face urgent societal needs. I hope anyone who reads this in the future can say that America has learned lessons from the coronavirus pandemic and has worked with state and local governments, as well as other national governments, to lessen the impact of public health emergencies and natural disasters.
A friend recently asked me as we talked on the phone if I was feeling emotional stress due to the pandemic and our prolonged separation from others. I told him, “Oh, just more boredom and anxiety.” We had a good laugh over my response, but it reflected the more serious distress felt by people who provide health care and other services requiring close contact and those who are more isolated, in financial difficulty, or more dependent on others for their daily needs. I sense more keenly the sort of unease my great-grandmother Eula Lee must have felt, isolated on the Texas plains with sick toddlers and dying cattle, just as my grandmother must have over my mother’s scarlet fever and, in turn, Mom’s concern for herself and her family during the flu pandemic of late 1968 and early 1969. Going forward, I hope we will rely on scientific processes, knowledge, and well-reasoned decision-making instead of political loyalty and ideology to manage this health crisis and that those who come after us will avoid repeating our deadly mistakes.
Pat Ragains was born and grew up in Phoenix, Arizona, and lives in Sparks with his wife, Bonnie. Pat is retired from the University of Nevada, Reno, where he worked as a librarian. He has written and edited library science articles and books and reviews music for Minor 7th (http://www.minor7th.com/).
Thank you for visiting Humanities Heart to Heart, a program of Nevada Humanities. Any views or opinions represented in posts or content on the Humanities Heart to Heart webpage are personal and belong solely to the author or contributor and do not represent those of Nevada Humanities, its staff, or any donor, partner, or affiliated organization, unless explicitly stated. At no time are these posts understood to promote particular political, religious, or ideological points of view; advocate for a particular program or social or political action; or support specific public policies or legislation on behalf of Nevada Humanities, its staff, any donor, partner, or affiliated organization. Omissions, errors, or mistakes are entirely unintentional. Nevada Humanities makes no representations as to the accuracy or completeness of any information on these posts or found by following any link embedded in these posts. Nevada Humanities reserves the right to alter, update, or remove content on the Humanities Heart to Heart webpage at any time.