Deep Thoughts #9 – The Upside Down

Had to throw one of the old man in there.  Every day is opening day since April 7th.

I began to notice, to feel in myself, the change weeks ago.  The world has turned upside down in obvious ways, but my small world has also turned upside down. Most of us, in theory, are stuck at home, in theory.  In eastern Montgomery County, we are not in shelter in place mode, but we are supposed to stay at home.  I am still amazed at what counts as essential work, what companies are still operating.  There is a graphics/screen printing place in town with a lot full of employee’s cars, for example.  I hope they are printing for the CDC or something, perhaps labels for much-needed electronic instruments, federal contracts?  The state parks are closed, which really just means playgrounds and bathrooms are cordoned off. Even the National Park at Valley Forge is closed, but plenty of fishing, jogging, biking is happening.  The good things I saw in March, college age kids out walking with a parent at midday, extended families on bicycles, things that at first seemed like the silver lining of this pandemic, they are now starting to impress me less.   Perhaps it is because social distancing works by all accounts, but just under half the country likely thinks it’s hogwash.  I enjoyed fishing on Opening Day Tuesday with the boy, but I also saw a dozen high schoolers high-fiving and bro-hugging.  Trips to the grocery store are a gut punch, as older folks avoid you like dinner after 4 PM.  I am not too hype to experience either again anytime soon.  My brother, once an OR nurse now conscripted as an ER nurse in harder hit New Jersey, might have to avoid his wife, daughter, and mother in law as the spike in cases makes its way through southern New Jersey.  Another sister in law, a tech at a local hospital must change out of her scrubs in the shed and shower before hugging her daughter, my 4-year-old niece.  I sat outside my mom’s house a couple Sundays ago and had a visit from six feet apart, ate her zucchini bread and drank her tea, living on the edge, but I could not hug her goodbye.  Family Zoom for 40 minutes on Easter instead of ham.

Been replaced with social distancing signs.

I thought it would be Lukas and Tami bothering me in my home office, but home is just fine.  We still like each other.  Thank goodness, because the boy’s district, following the governor’s recent presser, has closed the physical schools for the rest to the academic year.  Tami and I already knew that we weren’t going back in person anytime soon.  We kind of have a schedule, a system, now.  The cat is happy to have the company, and I like being able to get up from grading a paper and hug my wife at 11 AM.  The boy—who does not mind the virtual learning one iota—and I have done a lot of bike riding and borderline age-appropriate binge watching together after he’s completed his daily work.  My teaching load takes longer online, as I have mentioned, and I must hold more online conferences and attend more online meetings, which are not as satisfying as in-person meetings, but work has become somewhat normal too.  I will get to experience my first virtual graduation ceremony for the College this year.  I wonder if pants are optional?  What is not normal are all these people in my home away from home office, these uninvited guests at my Wednesday therapy sessions on the water.  I fish socially a lot more than I used to ten years ago.  I enjoy fishing with friends and even new friends.  I enjoy paying forward the lessons I have learned from others while on the water.  But I also fish for the solitude, the quiet.  Everyone has cabin fever now, and I don’t blame them, but every day is a weekend now for many.  I don’t often fish on weekends for the very reasons that fishing midweek during a pandemic is starting to get on my nerves now.  In the beginning, perhaps hypocritically, I knew I could fish responsibly, find spots where I would maybe see one other fisherman, avoid places like Valley—which I avoid anyway once the olives draw the spring’s first crowds—but now I am always second-guessing.  What if I drive an hour to find three other fishermen’s vehicles in the same siding?  No problem.  I drive to the next spot.  But what if the next spot is full of dogs and bicycles?  And so, and so on it goes.  I know this reveals a little neurosis, and I have been honest about my “fishing agoraphobia” before, but I am also not naïve.  

Not to get too political, but many fishermen and their politics fall on the side of social distancing as bullshit, science as subjective, science promoted by government especially suspect.  The boy and I wore our homemade masks (just doubled buffs, really) up over our faces as we squeezed behind a family to find some fishing real estate at the local pond, but I saw no other masks at the pond, not even on old folks or very young kids.  Tami watched three Philadelphia police cruisers roll up on a church in Chestnut Hill that decided to have Palm Sunday services—so it’s not just Georgia or an Oklahoma State press conference or some other faraway place where truth and science are subjective.  I am not claiming to save lives by staying home, but I don’t wish unnecessary hardship for anyone, nor do I wish to be responsible for prolonging or further tightening restrictions, prolonging the time my brother might have to separate from his family.  I need to fish for my sanity, but I also want this shit to end sooner not later, or at least I want there to be a respirator and enough supplies waiting for my mom, my friends with preexisting conditions, myself if things get even more real, and so I am loath to go stand around the Wissahickon in the two holes that were stocked.  When I go out now, the plan is to target places where I may not see another soul, pack my food and water to avoid Wawas, even those clean Sheetz bathrooms, bring a mask and hand sanitizer.  As it warms, I may have to refresh the batteries in my headlamp, hone my night game, but 50-year-old eyes in the dark these days, well.  My legs and lungs are better, so I may see more of the Class A trickles of my younger days.  Honestly, I may write fewer posts this spring, and I will still fish, dammit, but I will try to keep making wise decisions and respecting people’s fears and concerns, and I hope they do the same.  Stay safe out there, mitches.