Items

• 2020-06-18

  Florida to California

  In June 2020, I had to drive from Florida to Northern California for a new job. I didn't fly for fear of Covid and I had a car to move. The journey took me 5 days. The first day was from Tampa Florida to Mobile Alabama, the second day was from Mobile Alabama to Dallas Texas. The third day was from Dallas Texas to Albuquerque New Mexico. The forth day from Albuquerque to Cedar City Utah where my sister lives. Finally from Cedar City Utah to Truckee California. Before the trip I had isolated myself for fear of getting sick while travelling which I feared greatly. My general approach was to eat breakfast at the hotel, get lunch in a drive through, and have uber eats deliver food to my hotel for dinner. Along the journey it was interesting to see how strict the rules were depended greatly on where you were. In Texas I stopped at a donut shop for coffee and found a large group of elderly men sitting around drinking coffee and eating donuts without a single mask to be found. This group was clearly not concerned about Covid. However, when i drove through Navajo country in Arizona, the rules were very strict and only drive through food options was available and I had difficulty finding an open bathroom in the entire area as no gas station or restaurant was allowing people inside. I also remember listening to E Street Radio on satellite radio and Bruce Springsteen was reading the obituaries of people who had died. I remember that being a striking moment throughout all of this.
• 
  2021-09-16

  Hotel California & Casa Bonita

  My spouse and I love road trips and concerts. Covid definitely slowed us down! In the summer of 2021, we decided to take a road trip culminating in a concert in Denver, Colorado. Which concert? The Eagles - Hotel California! We drove and camped through Idaho, Wyoming, Utah, and Colorado. In Denver, we toured the famous restaurant Casa Bonita and went to the concert. For the concert, everyone needed a vaccination card and masks were required (although not widely worn). It was fun and felt a little like back-to-normal. We had a great time!
• 2023-10-11

  2023: Reflections on travel post-Covid19

  We could not travel during the pandemic, but even going to see family near us was a challenge. For the length of the pandemic, I didn't visit my grandparents who lived only an hour away. Being from the family I am, travel is not something we do often due to the expense. If I could travel anywhere in the world, I would pick Australia so I could go to its infamous coastlines. I would like to see the Great Barrier Reef and maybe go on tours about the conservation of our oceans. I would like to take a surfing class and look like a complete tourist as I do so. I'd go to Australia for the water. I used to be someone who needed to take many pictures to "remember" my exploits. However, I learned I spent more time on my phone than in the place I visited. I don't take pictures on vacation anymore; I leave that to my sister and mother. Instead, I try to remember the five senses as I experience the world around me. I have nothing against documenting your trips, but aside from keeping ticket stubs and sunburns, I don't make lasting documentation except in my memory.
• 
  2021-03-12

  Philadelphia Trip Covid Combat Corner

  The pandemic was a very depressing time of limited activity that divided many by political responses. March 2020 is when the U.S. responded with stay at home responses followed by social distancing and testing. A year later in that same month of March, I was cornering my teammate for his fight for Cage Fury Fighting Championship in Philadelphia where some COVID measures still existed such as masks that we utilized on the plane and even during the warm up of the fight. Tests were required that had a swab impaled up our noses, but in hindsight it was a great experience especially as a historian where I toured many historical sites such as Benjamin Franklin's grave.
• 2021-12-22

  Charleston, South Carolina 2021 Christmas Trip

  After COVID travel restrictions were lifted, my family and I seized the opportunity to visit Charleston, South Carolina to spend Christmas with my cousins. Despite the chill of December, we were able to explore the historic town at our leisure. While some shops remained open, their hours were adjusted due to the holiday season and COVID precautions. Similarly, many restaurants offered a limited menu, which disappointed my sister and me as we are both picky eaters. During our visit, we made sure to visit Magnolia Plantation and Gardens, a renowned historic house with beautiful gardens and one of the oldest plantations in the South. However, due to COVID, several attractions within the plantation were closed. It was also mandatory that we follow the necessary safety measures by wearing masks around other groups of people and inside the gift shop. Despite the limitations imposed by COVID, my time in Charleston was truly wonderful. I had the opportunity to immerse myself in the city's rich history, even if I couldn't fully explore all the places and shops as I had hoped. But most importantly, I cherished the moments spent with my family during this special holiday trip.
• 
  2022-05-14

  Dealing with COVID in Israel two weeks after the lifting of the travel ban

  This story relates the issues my wife and I had in dealing with Covid restrictions on a trip to Israel, just two weeks after the travel ban had been lifted. The story has no great significance except, perhaps as an example of "life is irony." While the story itself is trivial and meant to be amusing, I do share it here with a profound sense of sadness over the recent Hamas attacks and their consequences.
• 2020-04-20

  Trapped in paradise

  I was stationed in Oahu when Covid restrictions went into place. The entire island shut down and, at first, it was fantastic not having to go to work and just hanging out on a tropical island. As time went on, people started to go stir crazy, when the local government closed the beaches and other activities that made island life bearable. When Covid reached its worst point, the Army stopped allowing people to move, so even plans that were months out were canceled. Having joined those who went stir crazy, the prospect of being stuck in Hawaii any longer than necessary held little appeal to my family and I. When restrictions eased a little, military moves were only possible if the place you were coming from and going to were having drops in cases. We didn’t know for sure that we could move until a few days before it happened. We were so excited to be getting out of Hawaii, we forgot about how disappointed we were that my next duty assignment would be taking us to Denver. I’ve been to Denver before and didn’t like it, but when we got off that plane, after being trapped on an island for the last year, it was exciting. Most of my children weren’t old enough to remember snow, so they were immediately excited about the change. I was happy to see real mountains again, but forgot about changing seasons. It took me a while to realize that I can’t wear shorts in December any more. Colorado, for being so liberal didn’t have much in the way of covid restrictions. It was refreshing, considering that in Hawaii everyone was still wearing masks for everything.
• 
  2021-04-18

  Edinburgh and Northumberland, "Post Pandemic" Historical Tourism

  I had been dreaming of this trip since 1996 when I went to England on a high school theatre and literature trip and fell in love with the UK. Specifically, I fell in love with Scotland and its history, becoming a British History enthusiast. In August, 2021, I completed my BA in History at ASU, then changed careers from Film/tv costuming to a special education teaching position. During the peak age of Covid-19, I worked full time, completed full time undergraduate studies, interned in politics and not-for-profit law, and started over in a new career and life in a new state. All of 2020-2021 was a non-stop adrenaline rush of constantly moving, getting Covid, and burning out mentally along the way. In 2021, I was halfway through a teaching contract and gravely unhappy, longing to just... escape. I kept dreaming of one photo of Edinburgh that was on my vision board. The picture, from Pinterest, was of a narrow Close in Old Town, Edinburgh, the historic "original" city that squeezed so much history and magic in about a mile. Old Edinburgh held tens of thousands of people in one square mile with their Closes serving as narrow alleyways between buildings of both stone and wood, both affluent and poor societal classes. After creating this vision board, I started working a ridiculous amount of overtime in the school's residences for special needs students and saving money. I was used to already working over 60 hours a week, so I didn't see the problem yet. The short staffing crisis of special education staff provided the opportunity to earn $40/ hour plus $1000 monthly bonus for anyone willing to work and be okay with less support for challenging behavior or emergency resources. I was willing to work hard to be free for just a short time over the Easter/Passover School break. Flight and accommodation prices were incredibly low at the start of 2021, encouraging tourists to travel. British Airways and other airlines offered incredible fares! These discounts still enabled me to book more affordable fare into 2023. My flight from Boston to Edinburgh was just over $400, with 7 nights stay in two 4 and 5 star hotels plus one castle for a total of less than $1000. My dream trip was planned to every detail and paid in advance or booked for free with historical memberships. The pandemic and rising popularity of Airbnb and Verbo created the perfect discounts for hotels and upgrades to better suites. Pre-pandemic, I got bed bugs from an Airbnb and had a nightmare of an experience, so it was out of the question for accomodation moving forward. While in planning stages, I booked historical tours and entry into sites like Edinburgh Castle, Mary Kings Close, Ghost Tours of the Vaults, Sterling Castle, then in England, Alnwick Castle and Chillingham Castle's paranormal investigation. I already had memberships to multiple British historical and public sites like the Alnwick Gardens (site of the famous Poison Garden) and Historical Scotland. From Edinburgh Castle to Chillingham Castle, I finally got to see the gallows, dungeons, and artifacts that were in my undergraduate classes. Finances and waiting for a travel companion to finally find "the time" to go held me back from going previously, but I was there, alone, at this particular time for a reason. I got to hold Witches Collars and touch an Iron Maiden that tortured so many innocent "witches". I sat in castle common areas alone with a glass of Whisky and venison sausage while hunting ghosts. Museum staff showed me witches charms and introduced me to folklore that secretly told tales of history in starkly lit archival research rooms. It was this trip that solidified by decision to continue onto graduate studies in history at ASU. It was this trip that made me question, "Why are we so fascinated by death and folklore?" It would be remiss to mention that during my historical tourism of Edinburgh and the Scottish-English Borderlands, the stories of historically significant pandemics and major moments of medical and scientific struggle or discovery were always present- It was..."everything, everywhere, all at once", if you will. The comparisons between Black Death to Cholera to Spanish Flu were ever-present while exploring Mary Kings Close, places of Surgical and Medical History interest, The Vaults, the Grass Market Gallows. I stepped into a cramped spaces that were once the homes of a families who all died of The Plague. White rags hung out the windows of these tourist destinations to remind visitors that it was the way leather beak masked Plague Doctors identified the infected and quarantined. "Haunted" Vaults served as reminders to modern tourists that the poor and disenfranchised once stayed here. If you want to go anywhere in the world to see a pandemic being held with an engrained fear and solemn respect for medical research, it's Scotland. In England, Chillingham Castle and Alnwick Castle allow visitors close proximity to places where prisoners carved each imprisoned day before their deaths into the walls. In Edinbugh, if it isn't a Harry Potter tour, it is a ghost tour. These ghosts are explored with light-hearted entertainment or found during paranormal investigations with high-tech gizmos and Ouiji Boards in this new age when we don't want to talk about how many people died of Covid-19 or a lack of health resources, but pre-modern history when people don't currently hold memory of the dead... One late morning, I went to a pub on the Royal Mile for a proper Scottish breakfast of sausages, haggis, bacon, eggs, tomato, and toast... and a pint. Bagpipes echoed in the air, passers-by spoke different languages and carried their cameras and I (Heart) Scotland t shirts and Whisky. As I sat outside, just taking everything in, a group of domestic tourists sat at my table. We laughed because we were all uncertain of "Mask? no Mask? What does 'optional Mask mean?' Were we bad people for NOT wearing a mask inside the pub to get another beer?" "Is it appropriate to sit so 'close'?" That particular day was the lifting of the Scottish masks in public places mandate. My mates-for-the-day spoke of their quarantines and experiences with Covid-19 and quarantine with both humor and sombre memories. The photo attached to this story was from this day where masks were no longer a must. It is also the same scene from my vision board. On my camera and iPhone camera reels, before this moment and after are dozens of photos of castle chambers, countryside fog, tourist photo ops of High Tea or plain ol Costa Coffee at [Insert Tourist Destination]. My photos are visited with gratitude and inspiration. Not only do I have a renewed desire to travel, but I have a spark of motivation to keep learning. I would never have been able to afford this trip at the level of luxury and privilege I experienced it without the Covid-19 pandemic's aftermath of needed promotional discounts. Misery was everywhere, yes, but joy and purpose were found for me. I hope there were others that experienced incredible change and revelation during this time.
• 2020-04-08

  A Celebratory Trip Canceled by the COVID-19 Pandemic

  I graduated from college in April 2020, one of my sisters also graduated from college that same semester, and my other sister graduated the year before. As a family we had planned a big trip to Florida and a cruise to the Bahamas as a celebration of our graduations. Unfortunately, because of locks downs and restrictions to mitigate the spread of COVID-19 that trip was canceled. We weren’t able to reschedule that trip and I haven’t been on any trips since but if I could travel anywhere it would be on that trip with my family. I missed out on a fun travel experience to celebrate our graduations as a family because of the pandemic so being able to actually experience that trip now that restrictions are lifted would be a full circle experience. There are a few sites on Nassau that I would like to see like For Charlotte as well as the Pirate Museum. I would document my trip mostly through photography, especially since I would have limited access to the internet while on the cruise ship. This trip would mostly be about spending time with my family as we haven’t all been in the same place at once since Christmas of 2019. Traveling to me is mostly about creating memories with loved ones. The location and things we do are less important than the memories we create together.
• 2022-06-15

  Preventing the Inevitable

  When travel restrictions were lifted, my family and I did not travel right away. We waited about a year until we felt it was safer to travel. When that year arrived, we decided to take a pre-pandemic planned trip that was canceled due to Covid. We traveled to Cancun, Playa del Carmen, Chi Chen Itza, and Xcaret in Mexico. As you can see, we were anxious to travel the world. The main reason we decided to go to Mexico as our first trip during Covid was that it was economical for a family of ten. Additionally, Mexico was very lenient with Covid restrictions which made it easier for us to travel One of the most memorable memories was to have watched my kids have so much fun while learning and visiting a country they had never been. As for myself as a History teacher, one of the experiences I will never forget was visiting Chi Chen Itza as I was able to see History with my own eyes and learn more about the locals, community, and culture. With all these great memories that I had as much as we protected ourselves by wearing masks, maintaining social distancing, using hand sanitizer at all times, and all of us fully vaccinated. Half of the family ended up testing positive for Covid while in Mexico. The one thing we were avoiding the most ended up happening during our first trip since Covid began. While Mexico did not have restrictions to enter their country for tourism, the United States at that moment had a policy that all returning travelers must have a negative Covid test prior to boarding the plane. two days prior to our departure the restriction was lifted, and my family was able to return back to the US without having to wait out in Mexico and extend the trip. Since the family was so conscious of Covid we made sure we had KN95 masks at all times, did not share items, and reduced the amount of contact in order to not spread the virus which is what helped half of the family not get it. Overall, this was a trip that we will never forget. We had a blast and would love to visit the country another time. We would continue to be safe while traveling even if there are no restrictions. Covid has really changed how I live my life, especially during travel. What I have submitted is important to me because it will become a record in history in sharing my personal experience during the pandemic. It is also important to me to demonstrate that this area in Mexico is heavily dependent on tourism. While I was there, I met people from countries that had a lot of travel restrictions, and due to Mexico having almost none, it was a very popular traveling destination.
• 
  2020-02-18

  Patients and Patience

  I spent the majority of 2019 in Afghanistan. As far as deployments go, it was as busy as it was rewarding. I spent my days providing medical care to the local Afghans which included the handling of war wounds, managing chronic diseases, or treating any number of the infectious diseases that are endemic to the Middle East. My day-to-day activities had me in regular contact with sick people, and it was my responsibility to help them. Later in the year, a sickness began to go around. Across the country service members and civilians alike were coming down with what was presumed to be the flu. With consistently negative tests, however, medical professionals began looking to other causes for the wide range of symptoms people were suffering from. When I got sick, I lost my voice for a month and could barely walk out of my room without losing my breath and so I resolved to spending my time lying in bed and watching movies. When I returned home from Afghanistan in early 2020, I still wasn’t quite recovered. Unfortunately, my homecoming was not an elaborate affair as my wife and children were waiting for me in Texas where they had spent my deployment near family. The plan was for me to visit until it was time for me to move down there as well. I still suffered from shortness of breath and one day, shortly after returning, I nearly passed out on a light jog, and I knew something was wrong. I was scheduled to visit my wife and kids in the coming weeks, excited to see them after my deployment, but my unknown sickness had other plans in mind. At this point in the year, COVID was in its infancy, there hadn’t been any lockdowns or travel restrictions, only the lingering concern that this new disease could become a problem. So, naturally, when I went in to see the doctors for my persistent symptoms, it was an easy assumption that I had caught COVID early while in Afghanistan in the months prior. While investigating the cause of my ongoing issues, they found a nodule in my lungs. Apparently, my weakened immune system and constant contact with severely sick patients had resulted in me contracting tuberculosis. I was now a high-risk patient. The ironic thing is that my newly diagnosed condition was contagious, and not being near my family prevented me from spreading it to my wife or kids. So much for visiting family after my deployment. Over the next few months, I was treated with heavy duty antibiotics that left me puking in the mornings and unable to leave my house, which became easier and easier as COVID gripped the world. Flights were canceled and lockdowns were enforced while I facetimed my family 1,500 miles away. After my treatment was complete, I eagerly drove home on empty roads to see my family for the first time since I had left the year prior. I would intermittently make the drive a few more times before I made the official move down later that year. Three years later, I still remember, as I’m sure we all do, the frustrations that were ever-present at the height of the pandemic. I remember my own frustrations at the difficulty of traveling down to see my kids, something that hadn’t been part of our well laid plans before my deployment. I remember having to explain to three young children why I couldn’t come home and helping my wife explain why they could no longer go to the park, to school, or hang out with their friends. In the end, however, I am grateful. I am grateful because I am able to teach them, through their own personal experiences, that we are all in this together. When they express annoyance at ongoing COVID policies, which cost them personal convenience, I can recount to them the sacrifices they made in order to keep us all safe from my sickness as well as COVID. They have learned that being patient and considerate is as much for everyone’s else’s sake as much as their own and it’s a lesson that has translated across their lives today.
• 
  2021-06-18

  Tourism Story: Florida After Travel Restrictions

  I graduated from my Bachelor's program in May 2021, after vaccine rollout and as travel restrictions were being lifted. To celebrate, my family organized a short trip to Florida in June, where we would visit the Universal Studios theme park for a couple days, which had always been a dream destination for my parents. This was a huge deal for us, because my family has never been able to afford a vacation like that, and we saved during the pandemic to be able to afford it once travel restrictions were lifted and we were all vaccinated. By the time we went, almost all travel restrictions had been lifted, and I remember the strange mix of relief and uneasiness I got from how "normal" everything seemed in Florida. I hardly saw anyone even wearing masks, and I was honestly glad for that not being a requirement in the theme park - I'm from Kentucky, and I hadn't been prepared for the intense Florida heat and humidity! I'll always treasure the memory of seeing the ocean for the first time and getting to spend time with my family, and even though I was still worried about the pandemic, it felt like such a relief to have a normal vacation after such a stressful and scary year.
• 
  2021-07

  My Grandpa and I’s Camping COVID Trip

  After 2020, I was looking to travel and try to get back to normal. However, in 2021 I was supposed to go to Europe to see my sister but COVID canceled that trip so I was perplexed at what I could do for travel. Then it came to me, my grandpa is someone who has traveled almost everywhere in the US. With that, he loves to camp and one of his favorite spots that he always mentions is Mackinac Island. I thought this would be a great bonding trip. So for Christmas I told my grandpa that I would love to go on a camping trip with him up to Mackinac Island in Michigan. This would be the first time me and my grandpa would be going on a week-long vacation with just ourselves. What was funny is that everyone in the family warned me because my grandpa never stops talking and the music would be in his hands. The good thing about that is that I had lived with my grandparents the summer after I finished college so I was used to being around the constant conversations. Secondly, I am an old soul so I love 50s and 60s music. Therefore, I knew that this could be one of the best trips I might ever get to take with my grandfather. The trip began in July of 2021 as we left my hometown of Manteno, IL and traveled up to Michigan. We had a small popup camper that we were going to be sleeping in for this week's trip. There were so many favorite memories it is kind of hard to trim down. First off, traveling was so much fun, having deep conversations about my grandpa’s life and the different times that he had gone to Mackinac were so fascinating. My grandpa can talk to anyone so he is a very good storyteller. Another memory was setting up the camper because the second time we did set it up we forgot to stabilize the back so when I went to lay in bed the whole thing tipped over. The good part is that no one got hurt. On the second day when we arrived in Mackinac it was down pouring on us, thankfully my grandpa had ponchos ready to go. That night we started the tradition that would carry on for the night which was our card games. Every night we played either crazy eights or dirty spades. Those were some of the best times when we were just hanging out together. I cannot tell you how amazing those memories still are today. When we traveled to Mackinac Island on the third day it was amazing. Me and my grandpa walked all around the island taking in the nature, the history, and the culture on this small island. It lived up to the hype my grandpa had told me. After that day we traveled up to the Upper Peninsula with the UP-ers which was cool to see. That night we slept on the border of Canada, which we could see across the river in Sault Ste. Marie. We went on a couple water boat tours in the Great Lakes which were amazing. One of the last funny memories we had was that my grandpa finally let me drive on the second to last day. I am not kidding you when I say thirty minutes into driving one of the camper’s tires was gone. The best part was that neither of us noticed until a car passed us and pointed it out. This was such a funny memory because then we had to replace the tire and that is a story that me and my grandpa still joke about. Maybe my driving is bad but I don’t know, it could just be bad luck. The good thing about this entire trip was that the COVID restrictions were minimal. Since we were outside for the most part that was almost never an issue. A couple times when we went into restaurants we had to put our masks on, but it was nice because we were getting fresh air. Overall, the trip was a resounding success and one that I know holds a special place in my heart and my grandpa’s. I feel so fortunate to have had this experience with my grandpa and cannot wait for the next roadtrip we have together.
• 
  2021-03-06

  Aruba 2021

  This is a story that reflects positively on the implications of covid and how it effected the tourist experience. It is an honest, first hand account of travel to the island of Aruba without the mass tourism they have become so familiar with. It speaks to the erosion of personal nature and connection that coexists so easily with the superficiality of mass tourism.
• 
  2021-04-12

  21st Birthday Trip, Post-Pandemic

  My twin sister and I turned 20 right after the beginning of the pandemic in April 2020. That birthday was a gigantic bummer, because all my friends had left my college campus and I was still there but couldn't visit home either due to Covid concerns (my parents are in their 60's and my sister has asthma). So, after a year of not traveling or doing very much else, my first post-covid trip was for my 21st birthday. Not yet ready to get back on airplanes but wanting to do something exciting, my mom, dad, sister, and I packed into the van for an 8-hour drive across Colorado to an Airbnb in Durango, near the southwest corner of the state. Durango is a cute little tourist town that's still sleepy from winter in April, and definitely non-traditional for a 21st birthday bash. We had two objectives for the trip: Mom and Dad were going to buy us our first (legal) alcoholic beverages, and we were going to take a ride on the narrow-gauge railroad that ran from Durango to the nearby tourist/old mining town of Silverton. The first goal was accomplished quickly upon our arrival; we located the old Strater hotel, built in 1887, complete with a bar where we immediately situated ourselves. The servers were dressed like flappers, all wearing masks, many matching the colorful fringes of their dresses. I ordered an old fashioned, was tipsy after half, and handed it off to my mom to finish. My dad had a great time shepherding us back to the van. The train ride the next day was the highlight of the trip. We bought tickets in advance, since only a limited number of seats could be filled in each car due to lingering covid precautions. Masks were also still required, except when eating and drinking (a full bar was available, as well as coffee and pastries). The train crept up into the mountains alongside a river, sometimes crossing over very tall trestle bridges, prompting my mom, who's afraid of heights, to pull her mask up over her eyes. Lunch, which was previously served on the train, was instead provided to us in pre-packaged boxes, to be eaten outside at picnic tables along the river where we were free to spread out and remove our masks. On the ride back to Durango, the full bar on the train was open, and most masks came off. My parents bought my sister and I our second drinks of being 21 (mimosas at 3:30pm, woo!) and we headed back to the Airbnb, stopping to pick up some Serious Texas Barbecue. While Covid ruined my plans for the 21st birthday party I thought I would have, it gave me a few years to slow down and to appreciate my family and small, meaningful, gatherings together, which I wouldn't trade for the wildest party in the world.
• 
  2020-03-26

  The Sound of Sewing

  I moved back in with my parents right before lockdown during the Covid-19 pandemic never imagining how long it would go on for. Since my mother is a teacher she was at home with my younger sister and me during the entire lockdown. My father still went to work because he works for a city and was part of the emergency response to the pandemic. I remember going to the grocery store with my sister and seeing the empty shelves unsure of when they would be restocked. I remember the panic of needing face masks and not being able to find any. That is when my mother decided she would make face masks for us, our extended family and to donate. She pulled out the sewing machine, which originally was for when my grandmother would come visit, and set it on the dining table. My grandmother used to sew all the time when she would visit us and make my sister and I dresses and even matching dresses for our dolls. It was always a sound I had associated with her. I helped my mother in ordering and looking up information on which materials were recommended by health officials, then she set to work, making hundreds of face masks. Every morning I would wake up to the sound of the sewing machine and my first thought would be of my grandmother. As time went on I associated the sound with the pandemic, more specifically lockdown. My mother enjoys doing different craft projects and she really enjoyed making the face masks. It was a fun activity that I also enjoyed helping her with. She made face masks for my dad’s work which were donated to the fire and police departments. We also mailed masks to our extended family in New Mexico, California, and Mexico. We wore the masks ourselves if we had to go anywhere during lockdown. The sound of the sewing machine became a regular occurrence during those early weeks of quarantine. The sewing machine, especially the sound, used to only represent my grandmother making gifts for us. In Mexico, where my grandmother still lives, she used to have a small business making and selling clothing as a way to earn extra much needed money. It wasn’t just a hobby at that time, but a necessity for her and her family. The sound of the sewing machine, became something I not only associated of my grandmother but of the beginning of quarantine and the importance of knowing certain basic skills. Knowing how to sew, and even being able to use a sewing machine, may seem like an unimportant skill nowadays, which was something I used to think. However, that skill helped my grandmother and decades later is still helping the rest of our family.
• 
  2022-08-22

  Sensory Roadblock: Unexpected Detriments and Benefits of Mask-wearing in Gathering Food and Information

  During the pandemic, I opted to order all of my groceries online to be delivered. I have never been much of a take-out person and mostly cook at home, so I really love to pick my ingredients when grocery shopping. Missing the in-store grocery shopping experience over the past few years, I sometimes go out to gather my fresh foods, especially after the normalizing of social distancing and mask regulations. Though I still prefer to wear a mask, even when regulations are occasionally loosened, a sensory occurrence that I did not expect to miss or lack as a consequence of mask-wearing is the importance of smell in my food-gathering habits. Being able to check the ingredients for both flavor and freshness qualities by smelling them is such a natural instinct that most lifeforms use to find their food. I never considered myself someone who actively smells things very often, so this sensory roadblock surprised me, as I initially chose to go to the store to get better foods than those that had been delivered to me. I have often come home and found that the asparagus or meat that I had just bought had that unpleasant odor of food past its prime, even though its appearance and texture seemed just perfect. I also miss being able to smell the full intensity of the fresh-cut flower bouquets that proclaim the seasons when going out grocery shopping. This temporary lessening of sense-of-smell from wearing a mask has been a bit of a hinderance in such ways, but it has been beneficial in many others. For example, I have dust allergies and used to become very stuffy after visiting my library due to the book dust—especially since, as a history and art history graduate student, all the books that I want or need to check out are usually the oldest or dustiest ones! Not being able to smell or breathe-in these things has helped me dramatically in my experience of information gathering. I can now spend hours looking over books that I wouldn’t have thought of opening before and have found some wonderful sources for my research. Though of course many historical texts are fully available in online formats and an invaluable resource, I often feel the same way about visiting my library as I do visiting my grocery store—I hope to find something myself that might work even better for my own project, either culinarily or academically.
• 
  2020-03

  Bells Continued to Ring

  When the pandemic began, I was finishing up my last few months of student teaching. My mornings included talking to students about their day and weekend plans they had; however, once the pandemic started that changed drastically. The students were gone and the silence began. Highschools are customarily, a loud and busy environment; yet, overnight the students were gone and there was nothing at school but silence. The halls were empty, my classroom was empty, the whole school was empty apart from a small group of staff. For the rest of the year, I would go to school and sit in my classroom alone in almost complete silence. No face to face interaction with students or even other staff. As a teacher, this was taxing on my mental health. From one day to the next my entire occupation had been flipped upside down. I never saw my students again. I still wonder what became of them. The one thing that sticks in my mind from that period is the sound of dismissal bells at school. For some reason the bells continued to ring even though there were no students. Everyday when that first hour bell would ring I would remember that no students were coming. This was a reminder everyday that the world had changed. I recorded the sound of dismissal bells at my highschool. Two years after the pandemic started, this sound still reminds me of teaching during the pandemic.
• 2021-06-15

  COVID-19, Masks, and Bleach at a Preschool

  During the COVID-19 pandemic I worked at a preschool where I taught primarily 12-to-18-month-old children until they were ready to move onto the next class. The use of a face mask and rigorous cleaning methods were a constant part of my day for the entire time I worked there. Now, the memory of that time stands out to me the most through the feel of the mask on my face and the smell of the bleach that seemed to stay with me for days. The kids I taught were too young to wear masks (that was reserved for the two-year-old and up classes), but they did not seem bothered that the adults surrounding them wore pieces of fabric over their mouths and noses. For eight hours a day I felt the pull on my ears, the scratchy material against my nose, and the frustration of the mask muffling my voice when trying to get the attention of ten children in the classroom. Pointing out facial features like a nose or certain facial expressions like being happy or sad with a mask on became normal. More often than not, I would feel a small hand reach up and attempt (or succeed) at pulling my mask down which I proceeded to pull back on as quickly as possible while ignoring how good the fresh air on my face felt. Aside from the masks, the administration required routinely cleaning all toys used everyday with a high concentration of bleach. During nap time, the smell of the bleach filled the room as we cleaned all toys used that day, regardless of the duration of the activity. Even with a mask on, the smell lingered in my nose, on my clothes, and in the classroom to the point that I always felt that I smelled of bleach. When COVID-19 infection numbers were up in the local area or we had case in our school, the bleach concentration, as expected, went up and so did the smell. While I supported all efforts made at the preschool to reduce possible COVID-19 infections, these sensory descriptions illustrate the mental and emotional draining portion of the pandemic history.
• 2020-08-11

  Long-Distance Learning

  The American response to the global COVID-19 Pandemic was multi-faceted. However, of specific importance to the nation were the changes made to public education. As the Pandemic resulted in the closure of businesses, teachers and students were required to continue their educational programs online from the privacy of their homes. Although the effects of distance learning will continue to be seen, virtual learning severely limited the ability of students and teachers to use sensory perception as a tool for learning and instruction. First, distance learning no longer enabled American teachers to utilize the sensory perception of “proximity.” Throughout public education “proximity” is used to encourage student engagement with both instruction and content. Many teachers will walk their classrooms during student activities and use sensory perception to sensorially inform students that they are near to them and are assessing their engagement. Teachers use this strategy as a reinforcement tool to develop students’ ability to stay on task. Yet, during the COVID-19 Pandemic, social distancing policies made “proximity” not only impossible, but also illegal, limiting to what extent teachers could use sensory perception to foster engagement and learning. Second, not only were educators no longer allowed to use the sensory perception tool of physical proximity, but also many educators were forced to rely solely on the sensory perception of sound. School districts throughout the state of California, for example, did not permit educators to require their students to verify their attendance in live video format. The result was educators and students were engaging predominantly through speaking and listening. Furthermore, being denied the sensory perception of sight, educators could not assess to what extent students were engaging with instruction and activities. In conclusion, the COVID-19 Pandemic enacted emergency response strategies which directly affected the education of Generation Z. For both students and educators, sensory perception became more limited for every student. Yet, the sciences, including social science, are built upon the empirical information a human being receives through them. Perhaps this video will serve as evidence to answer the question, “Is the right to sensory perception and scientific information included within the natural rights of life, liberty, and property?”
• 2020-03-16

  Rubber Gloves, Isopropyl Alcohol and the Arizona Heat

  Arizona State University employees, myself included, were sent home mid-March of 2020 due to the rising concerns of Covid-19. I recall driving home that initial day thinking that a sea change was upon us and that uncertainty lay ahead. How would I balance my concerns about this unknown virus yet help keep the peace in my house with my wife and our young boys as the country learned how to live with our new, unwelcome guest? Little did I know the biggest changes in our lives would be the small changes in our daily routines. In looking back at those first days, one scene that was routinely repeated in particular plays out in my memory. We quickly shifted our grocery shopping from in-person purchases to ordering on-line and picking up food curbside outside of the store. Before bringing the food inside our house, my wife and I had agreed that we would wipe down our new food packages with paper towels soaked in isopropyl alcohol. At the time it was unclear if the virus survived on packaging for long periods so we thought it best to disinfect the food. Looking back on it now, it seems silly but the scene still plays out in my memory: I can still smell the latex of the rubber gloves I would put on so as not to completely dry out or burn my hands. When pouring the alcohol onto the paper towels, the smell would sting my nose and a tingling sensation would pervade my nasal passages. When wiping the plastic packaging of say, frozen vegetables, I would hear the crinkling sound of the bag and it would resonate through my ears. To compound the smells and sounds of this process, I would be remiss to not include the fact that this was all taking place in our garage during one of the hottest Arizona springs and summers on record. The heat was oppressive that season, enough to identify with that 'oven blast' description we use in this region and I would be dripping with sweat by the time the task was complete. To say the least, it was a surreal experience; one where if you had told me two weeks earlier, I would be wiping down groceries in a stifling garage to prevent a possible infection of an unknown virus, I would have laughed at you but, alas, I was there and the senses surrounding the scenario were real.
• 2022-06-26

  Flying with Disease

  Flying home from a tournament, where my team suffered defeat after defeat, I was not aware of much outside of my muscle aches, my mental and emotional exhaustion, and the bitter taste of failure in my mouth. The first twenty minutes of the flight was uneventful, just the occasional cry of a child, the subtle rock of the plane in turbulence, the dim light by which I read my book. Soon, as the turbulence died down, and the child fell asleep in the arms of its mother, every single person on the plane became distinctly aware of the continuous coughing of a lady wearing her mask. I had forgotten to grab one for the flight home, despite every intention of wearing one, and nobody else on the flight had one. Conversations noticeably died down as the coughing continued, and even seemed to get more frequent and intense. I put down my book, donned my headphones, and tried to watch a movie to drown out the noise. People shot furtive glances at the lady in question, all of us wondering from the sound of her cough, if she had Covid. The more I heard it, the angrier I felt, and the more afraid I got. I am an athlete and young, so would likely be fine if I caught Covid. However, my girlfriend and little sister are both high risk, and I did not want to risk exposing them. I managed to calm myself as to not make a scene, worthless at this point tens of thousands of feet in the air. I could not know the situation of the lady, whether she had a choice to be on this flight, or had to return home, attend a funeral, or whatever other reasons she may have had to go on a flight, sick, while there was a global pandemic. All I can tell you is that from the sounds of uncomfortable shifting in seats, the murmurs pointed at the lady, and the otherwise silence of the formerly talkative plane, nobody felt entirely safe or comfortable. I ended up catching Covid-19, and unknowingly giving it to my girlfriend who I live with. Despite having to take her to the hospital briefly, we both ended up fine. Whether our cases of Covid were from the lady on the plane or somebody else, I will never know. But the sound of incessant coughing during this pandemic still has the same effect wherever I go, creating a perceptible unease.
• 
  2020-03-21

  The Day the Call to Prayer Changed in Cairo

  If there's one thing you can count on in the Muslim world, it's the call to prayer (adhan) audibly marking the sun's path through the sky, and everyone's route to a mosque, five times a day. It might sound a little different in various regions, a little more musical in Egypt, a little less practiced sometimes in Kyrgyzstan, but it's always the call to prayer, and has been for over 1000 years. But across the Muslim world in March 2020, as mosques closed because of the coronavirus pandemic, the call to prayer was adapted. Instead of saying, "Come to prayer, come to salvation" it said in Egypt, "Pray in your homes, pray on your travels." The wording had been changed like this a few times in the past when mosques were closed because of war or plague or weather, but I honestly never thought I'd hear it myself. The call to prayer seems constant and unchanging, part of the highly sensory experience of Muslim prayer, so this adaptation made the pandemic more present for everyone in Egypt. I'm not Muslim myself, but I talked with Muslim friends all over the world about the change in the adhan. One woman in Kuwait said, "It just sounds so... ominous.. especially at maghrib prayer, it's sunset and getting dark, and the voice over the loudspeakers is saying to stay home... also because I have never, ever heard them change it like this before. Ever. It's like I'm waiting for an eclipse, and the flocks of birds flying away, animals fleeing, etc." I took this video during the last prayer of the day on 21 March 2020 at a mosque near our apartment in Cairo, Egypt. If you're not familiar with the adhan, you obviously won't notice anything different, but this rendition is beautiful even if you don't understand it. If you do, the new wording begins at 1:13. The beginning of the video is a little bumpy while we were getting to the right spot, but then it settles down a bit.
• 2022-02-02

  Warmth

  As we spend more time at home we need to find happiness in the little things. One of those little things for me has been sunbathing with my dog. We hang out on the balcony or go on a picnic and just enjoy each other's company. We feel the sun warm us, we lay in the grass and enjoy a snack. This has been my stress relief during this hectic time.
• 
  2020-09-27

  My First Pie and Other Sensory Snapshots

  I gave birth to my first child two months into the COVID-19 pandemic, and so to me, memories of this time are centered around life as a new parent. Because we live in a different state than most of our family, and because we had a newborn (whose immune systems are not well-developed the first several weeks of life) in a global pandemic, we did not go anywhere. I had a few months off of work and school to care for my son, so my experience of COVID-19 to that point was time spent just with my son. As any parent knows, those first few weeks are an exhausting blur consisting of the never-ending cycle of feeding your baby, changing them, and helping them sleep. But the sensory memories from this time of my life that have stuck with me the most involve the feeling of holding my baby; feeling his head on my shoulder, hearing his tiny little breaths and occasional squeaky coos in my ear, noticing the sweet smell of his baby shampoo on his head, feeling him stretch and reposition from time to time. Though it seemed like the days when he would sleep independently would never come, little did I know how quickly they would, and how much I would miss these quiet moments. When he started getting the hang of napping, I suddenly had these open stretches of time in my day, which I was not used to. What to do to fill this time, especially in the midst of a pandemic and with a baby to boot? Like many people, I developed a baking hobby while my little one napped. Now I associated his nap time with the sticky feel of flour and butter on my hands as I kneaded dough for soda bread, the smell of buttery, sugary deliciousness coming from the oven as scones were baking. On my husband’s birthday, I produced my most time-consuming bake so far: a strawberry rhubarb pie. This one required some cooperation on the part of my little guy, whose giggles I heard as he batted at toys in his baby swing while I chopped and prepped the filling and made the pie crust. The finished product wasn’t necessarily perfect, but I was proud of it, and the memory of making it will always stick with me since it is a representative snapshot of that moment in time, a few months into a global pandemic with my young son.
• 
  2022-02-01

  Bagged Snack

  This helps understand the history of the pandemic and the situation within elementary schools and that uneasy feeling is one that everyone throughout the school feels. As covid coutines to hit elementary schools hard. Teachers and staff are doing all they can to keep students safe as well as teach and help them learn. While at snacktime, we are reminded of our current times with our students pulling masks down just so that they could enjoy snacktime. We have to be aware that this pandemic is and will effect the younger generations in ways we can't understand right now.
• 2020-04-01

  Pumpkin Spice Candles

  One thing that captures a sensory memory that relates to the COVID-19 pandemic for me is candles, specifically pumpkin spice candles. My wife and myself, like many other people, spent the majority of 2020 shut inside our home. Prior to this pandemic, we would often go out 3-4 nights a week. Nothing crazy, of course. Dinner, bowling, movie, etc. Typical married couple dates. However, once we were shut inside our house, we had to find other little things to occupy our time so we wouldn’t go stir crazy. My wife started buying a lot of scented candles from Amazon, and her favorite was pumpkin spice. I swear, my apartment smelled like pumpkin spice from about April of 2020 to January of 2021. The scent helped her relax, and it made me happy to know that she was finding ways to keep herself settled and centered. Now, whenever I’m out somewhere and catch a scent of pumpkin, I think of the two of us trapped in the apartment but working together to make the whole experience into a positive. I know that this is probably more of a sentimental story than what we were supposed to write, but this is what first came to my mind when I saw this assignment.
• 2021-10-17

  The Covid Disconnect

  The story and my experience are an example of the many ways in which the pandemic affected individuals in different ways. It goes without saying that each person was impacted in varied ways due to Covid-19, however, not all of them were either explicitly negative or an outcome that is easily defined as being either beneficial or harmful. During the height of the pandemic in the United States, I was employed as an Assistant Warehouse Manager in Green Bay, WI. My workload and responsibilities were already a little taxing, but once things got in full swing with Covid they became even more so. I went from working an average of 60 hours a week to over 75. This was mainly due to about a third (or more) of our employees being out of work due to quarantine-type measures or actual illness. This went on for months at the beginning. Many weeks out of that time period there were as few as about a dozen of us running three shifts in a warehouse that normally employed roughly 40 workers. Also at this time, my wife became unemployed because her place of employment shut down. Others around me were losing their jobs in droves and facing financial hardship. But due to my position and the nature of the job, I had never had more job security and we never faced any kind of financial difficulties. On the contrary, during the entire pandemic, my wife and I never went without or struggled. This gave me a surreal feeling and one that I almost felt guilty for living through. Aside from some minor changes in my daily life, I barely noticed any personal changes due to Covid. All in all, it was an extremely odd time to live through; the pandemic wasn't necessarily bad for my wife and me, but I know it was for countless others. And that made it all the more strange.
• 
  2021-10-17

  A taste of my motherland with a new twist - Rose Tteokbokki

  Amid the COVID-19 pandemic, my favorite pastime was watching various cooking and food story-time videos on YouTube. Yet, there was one video in particular that caught my full wide attention. I remember on May 6th, 2021, at around 10:45 pm PST, this video appeared on my YouTube recommendations. The video thumbnail showed one of my favorite Korean street foods, Tteokbokki (Korean spicy stir-fried rice cakes), but with a new twist! Growing up, I associated Tteokbokki with flavor notes such as the spiciness of the Gochujang and Gochugaru (Korean chili paste and chili powder), the sweetness of the Mulyeot (Korean corn syrup) in which also helps give the rice cakes its glossy shine, as well as using Sogogi dashida (Korean beef stock powder) to further enhance the umami tangy flavor. Of course, there are other variations of Tteokbokki such as Jjajang Tteokbokki (made with Black bean paste) and Gungjung Tteokbokki (made with both Soy sauce and beef) but the modern recipe with the Gochujang never failed to hit all my tastebuds. Well, that was until I discovered the video. The video used the modern Tteokbokki recipe, but also adding in a new twist with ingredients such as heavy cream and milk to give the Tteokbokki a pink color. Because the Tteokbokki resembled the pink colors of a Rose pasta sauce, it became “Rose Tteokbokki.” After watching the video and doing some research on Rose Tteokbokki (I ended up staying up till 3 am) I became convinced and made some for brunch. Making Rose Tteokbokki for brunch was the best decision I ever made because it still kept the delicious flavor notes of the modern recipe but with the extra creaminess and cheesiness thanks to the heavy cream and milk. Also, adding in meats such as sausages and bacon along with Korean wide glass noodles gave the Rose Tteokbokki a unique chewy texture combo. Once I finished up the Rose Tteokbokki, I posted a picture of the Rose Tteokbokki on my social media accounts, and one of my friends who live in Seoul replied with, “Jungeun! You’re also joining the Rose Tteokbokki bandwagon?! Everyone in Korea is rushing to make their own and/or ordering from the delivery apps because of Covid! Once Covid ends, come visit me and let’s eat Rose Tteokbokki together!” Reading my friend’s response left me with a big smile on my face, and it felt great to connect with the motherland even without physically being there through Rose Tteokbokki.
• 
  2021-09

  The comforting smell of cardamom and cinnamon on a Sunday morning

  One of the most defining characteristics of my quarantine has been learning how to bake. After a year and a half, I am finally comfortable kneading, proofing, and baking. I have learned the tell-tale signs of under-proofed and over-proofed bread by touch (slightly indent the bread with the end of your finger and how the dough springs-back will tell you all you need). I have learned to listen for the hollow sound of fully cooked bread. However, one of the greatest joys I have found with baking is filling the house with the smell of cinnamon, sugar, and cardamom on a Sunday morning with my slightly adjusted cinnamon roll recipe from our well-used Betty Crocker’s 1961 New Picture Cookbook (it was my mum’s before me). My family is Scandinavian, and the smell and taste of cardamom is ever-present in Scandinavian baking. Kanalsnegl, klejner, and fødselsdagboller are all delicious Danish and Norwegian cardamom classics. But Betty Crocker’s cinnamon rolls are also highly popular in my house. From this, a fusion roll was born. On Sunday mornings, the house is filled with cinnamon and cardamon of these classic buns. The Betty Crocker recipe calls for two teaspoons of cinnamon filling, but I sub one teaspoon with cardamom. I also add a pinch of cardamom to the butterscotch topping. In a time of stressful uncertainty, the smell of freshly baked rolls with cinnamon and cardamom is like wrapping up in a comfortable blanket. I have attached the recipe if you want to try this sensory smell experience, too.
• 2020-05-03

  Quiet Lockdown

  In the part of Maryland I live in, there is a lot of noise pollution caused by cars and planes. On one side there is a large international airport, a busy road on the other and a large highway on the third side. Almost every day, the sound of cars, planes and the occasional helicopter can be heard. However when the COVID19 pandemic began to pick up pace, lockdowns were set up in an attempt to slow its advance. While the affect of this was seen in large empty parking lots at the airport, it could also be heard. The roads were quiet, as less people went out to shop, see family or go out to eat. In addition with very few people traveling, the daily noise of airplanes declined significantly. Everything became far quieter and a reminder of the lockdown, a constant reminder that we were going through a major event in world history. However while the quiet brought about by the lockdowns was a reminder of the pandemic, the return of noise was just as much a reminder. When planes and particularly cars started to create more noise pollution, it showed that even with a global pandemic and lockdowns, it wasn't going to stop people from going out.
• 
  2020-08-15

  I Missed Normal Hand Sanitizer

  I am a high school teacher, so I used a lot of hand sanitizer long before COVID-19. One of the things that I will never forget from the pandemic was the smell of the hand sanitizer. There were shortages on all disinfectants for months, and the hand sanitizers I could find were brands I had never seen before. The worst part about this new hand sanitizers was the smell. They all had a sharp smell, much worse than the normal alcohol smell. Some smelled truly terrible, almost rotten. I put lemon essential oil in one to try to change the smell, but it made no difference. It just smelled like rotten citrus. When my school went back in person in the fall of 2020, the worst part was having to sanitize all the time with the stinky hand sanitizer. I gained a whole new appreciation for Germ-X. It was almost sad how happy I was when I found a bottle of Germ-X stashed in my cupboard (because teachers were hoarding cleaning supplies before it was cool). I put it on my teacher desk behind my computer and hoarded it from the kids!
• 
  2020-03-15

  Sounds of Silience

  My story is about the absence of sound during the pandemic.
• 2020-04-02

  The Silence of Nature

  I live in a rural area of southeastern Louisiana. When I first moved here the only thing that you could hear at night was the natural sounds that one would think of when being in the country, but as developments started to move into my area the air was polluted with the sound of cars on the distant interstate. The nights become a harmony of grasshoppers and traffic all mixed into a melody that formed a hybrid of urban and rural life. On the night of April 2nd, 2020 I was enjoying a night of looking at the stars through my telescope. It was a mainly clear night when I closed my eyes and began listening realized that I could no longer hear the cars on the interstate. Louisiana was in the mist of the a very high spike in COVID and lockdowns were in effect meaning there were fewer cars on the roads especially at night. I sat and listened for hours as I was able to hear all the sounds that were once masked by the intrusion of development on my rural area. From about April 2nd until early July this quite remanded at night. It was not until Louisiana started to open up more that the sound of the cars returned to my nighttime symphony. When I look back on the early days of the pandemic this is the memory that stands out and how it will be remembered by me. Though a harsh time in the world and for humanity, the sounds of technology and modernization were drowned out by nature for a time and it made the nights a little more peaceful and less stressful with all that was going on in the world.
• 2021-10-15

  The Love of Candles

  Before 2020, I hardly ever burned a candle. My parents had forbid it, convinced me or my siblings were going to forget about it and burn the house down. My dorm room had extremely strict (and understandable) rules about open flames and heat sources. It wasn’t until I had graduated college and moved back into and then out of my parents’ house that I was free of these regulations. Even then, though, it never occurred to me to buy candles. My favorite scents were often nature-based and could easily be experienced by visiting the ocean, or the forest, or the occasional bakery. It wasn’t until the pandemic, when I was living in Ohio without being comfortable traveling to the ocean, or to the forest, or in public at all, that I turned to candles. Soon one impulse purchase of a sea salt and balsam scented candle turned into a constant hunt for all of my favorite scents, to bring me to places I didn’t feel safe or responsible traveling to. My collection grew rapidly, and for the past year or so I’ve had a candle lit in my home almost every day. I never thought something a simple as a $7 candle I found at TJ Maxx or Bath & Body Works could bring me so much peace, calming my need to return to my favorite far-off places until it is once again safe to do so. Don’t get me wrong, candles still can’t compare to the real smells I adore, but even a weak imitation is better than a scent-less longing. Even though I’m currently residing in Ohio, I can use candles to feel connected to my home state of California, or my favorite places to visit, bringing comfort and familiarity in a time that is anything but comfort and familiar. My bank account may not be happy with me given this new habit, but it’s a price I am willing to pay.
• 
  2020-11-26

  A New Sense of Taste

  The memory I related is about the difference in taste and smell before I had covid versus after. It is still altered in some ways and did not return as it was before. I still find it jarring eat something that I used to love only to find that it tastes different and I no longer like it.
• 2020-03-21

  Gardening During the Apocalypse

  I can't think of the beginning of the COVID-19 pandemic, the shut downs and lock-ins, the stay-at-home orders without thinking of my brief foray into gardening. My husband and I bought our house in northwest Baltimore in April 2019. Our little duplex sits near the end of an unbelievably picturesque street in a fairly affluent neighborhood known for its garden communities and HOA-hosted wine and cheese parties you have to pay to attend. The neighborhood is surrounded by much poorer neighborhoods and heavily-trafficked streets, the direct product of red-lining in Old Baltimore. While the Original Northwood neighborhood is much more diverse - demographically and economically - than it was when it was first established in the 1930s and 1940s, my husband and I, as some of the only residents under 40, still felt like we didn't necessarily fit in with our older, more well-to-do neighbors, despite absolutely adoring our little home, which had been lovingly renovated and reimagined by its previous tenants. Come March 2020, however, the noise from the crowded streets, the surrounding neighborhoods, and from our own neighborhood, died down substantially. Our streets and its surrounds have always been a great place to go for a walk, but now every day people were strolling by in ones and twos, sometimes in small family units. Everyone needed to get out of the houses they were now cooped up in, and I was no exception. Much to my mother's chagrin - and likely to my neighbors' embarrassment - I did not inherent my mother's green thumb. Because I am a millennial I found an app that identifies plants and set about rooting out weeds, pruning the flowers the previous tenants had not intended for me to neglect, picking up the endless stream of leaves from our several 100+ year old trees, digging up more weeds and debating with my husband about whether we should start an herb and vegetable garden or put in a patio in the little garden area that connects our front and back yards. I did not become proficient at gardening. I am much better than I was, however, at identifying the truly astonishing diversity of plants in my own garden and in my neighborhood by scent and even touch. I learned that the dried and withered allium stalks pull effortlessly out of the ground after they die, that African violets also give way to a gentle scooping from the earth, and that thistle, of course, will still try to prick you as it attempts to cling to the soil. I learned that those thin but tough shoots of elm and oak born from the seeds and acorns the squirrels missed not only grow rapidly, but are extraordinarily difficult to rip from the earth. And no matter how much seemingly-delicate clover one claws at, its roots will always remain beneath the surface, as virulent in a day or two as when one earlier tore at it in complete dismay of its sheer stubbornness. I did not become proficient at gardening. But I did relish the feeling of cool, damp earth underneath my hands, even in my fingernails, the crunch of dry leaves, the slick sliding of wet leaves, the red, angry weals left on my hands from those stubborn oaks. I felt accomplished as I pulled lovely, but ultimately threatening African violets and wild raspberry from underneath the spreading cover of the hostas, and as I pulled wild mint, lemon, and rosemary for tea and cooking. I told myself I'd use the ramps (a species of wild onion that smells and tastes sort of of like a combination between garlic and scallions) in a soup, as a college roommate of mine had done, but I forgot to harvest them in time. From what I recall, summertime is best, particularly late summertime. The other thing I remember about this time spent in my garden, hands in the dirt, sweat on my brow, bug bites inflaming every available inch of skin, is the new sense of connection I felt with my neighbors who stopped to wave hello, nod and smile at my gardening efforts. Neighbors who I hadn't gotten to know before the pandemic which now prevented us, due to fear of contamination from contact with other people, from truly getting to know each other still. But somehow, the simple act of being out in my garden, doing this simple, repetitive toil, made me feel like I was participating in a ritual, an activity that linked me to the less unsavory past of the community, and to neighbors who otherwise might have remained alien in a plague environment that seemed to bring a new apocalypse with every week.
• 2021-10-15

  Tense and Tempestuous Tones

  In the year 2020, I was a medical assistant working for a cancer surgery clinic. The pandemic posed huge challenges for people working in healthcare and created new staggering standards for cleanliness and infection control. With limited personal protective equipment and cleaning supplies, it made everyday clinic operations very challenging. With cancer patients, most of whom were undergoing treatments that lowered their immune system, and many of whom had just had surgery which can increase risk of infection, medical staff took COVID safety precautions very seriously. Dealing with people battling illness can be challenging under normal circumstances because they are often feeling emotional and scared, but during COVID, tensions were running even higher. I will never forget patients using condescending, edgy, and outright angry tones with me when I would call for a COVID symptom screening prior to their appointment, inform them that they had to wear a mask at all times while in the clinic, or that they were unable to bring a family member to the exam room during a follow-up appointment with a doctor. Over the phone and in person, many patients used tense and tempestuous tones to take out their anger over a situation none of us had any control over. Often, there were political connotations to any discussion of clinic COVID policy, which was unusual in a conversation about infection control. Many patients would protest getting their temperature taken or question the accuracy of their oximetry reading (a started part of vitals even before the pandemic). It was always a relief to have a patient who took a dignified breath and calmly understood that the rules were in place for everyone's safety and were an inconvenience to all involved. There were several days where I would go off to an empty exam room during my lunch break and cry. Tension during the first year of the COVID pandemic was audible.
• 2021-10-03

  The Scents of a Homecoming

  My maternal grandfather passed away late last year amidst a relatively heavy pandemic lockdown, and our family has since tried to fill in for him in caretaking for my grandmother. If he could have asked something of us, I know it would have only been to look after her. He was that kind of man. He didn’t need for anything for time with his family and friends, and his utmost concern was her welfare, even when she angered him. Recurring and cyclic apprehension and uncertainty over transmission rates, long-term vaccine efficacy and inoculated antibody generation have forestalled several attempted return trips to my hometown. Data-driven doubts have eroded my wife’s confidence that our collective vaccinations will protect her aging parents from life-altering illness and death have prevented her from traveling with me, even though she wont readily admit that outside our home. In addition to everything else the pandemic has altered or taken from us, it’s also complicated my family’s efforts to care for each other. My grandmother turned 86 recently, and her birthday was also their anniversary. They would have been married 63 years this month, and we wanted to make sure the day didn’t pass like any other lonely Tuesday since his death. My cousins and I put together a birthday dinner at the best restaurant in town, and I traveled back to New Mexico for a week to visit and help where I could. The trip turned out to inspire a self-reflection on the power of scent in my life, emotions, and memory. *** I drove straight to my grandmother’s home on Blodgett Street. I pushed the front door open, and an unpleasant stink hit my nostrils. Throughout my life, that home had particular smells that transitioned over time. Everyone in my family but the children smoked cigarettes while I was growing up, and it wasn’t unusual for a blue-gray haze to hang in my grandparents’ home during family holidays. It wasn’t uncommon for their 1000 sq. ft. home to sleep ten or fifteen people when we had something to celebrate or grieve. Ashtrays often overflowed if late night poker games grew too intense to step away from the dining table. I recall one Thanksgiving from my early childhood in which heavy cigarette smoke obscured my view of the backdoor while I stood near the front door. Even through those early years, I associated their home with the smell of sweets. Baked goods, chocolate cakes, snickerdoodles, and sugar cereals, although I’m now surprised any of us could smell anything. I never ate Fruity Pebbles anywhere but their house. Word reached my family in the mid 80s that hotboxing the house was bad for everyone’s health, and they began smoking outside. Grandad hated that; he’s the one who paid off the mortgage, so he oughta be able to smoke wherever he damned well pleased. Still, he took it outside for the grandkids. Since they stopped smoking in the house, and especially since they quit smoking fifteen years ago, I associated their home with a particular and pleasant fragrance. I never placed it, and I’ve never smelled it anywhere else. It wasn’t solely the scented wax my grandmother leaves on warming plates for too long, which are almost always homey food scents, like apple pie. The scent of their home welcomed me back to a place I am unconditionally loved, missed, and wanted. My jokes always hit, my cooking never failed, and everyone was always glad to see me. They were also glad to take my lunch money at the poker table, which I imagine might have contributed to my perpetual welcome. As of this trip, that unique aroma is gone, replaced by a light odor of stale animal waste. My grandmother took in a low functioning chihuahua about three years ago, and the dog is slowly and thoroughly ruining all the flooring surfaces in her home. It won’t housebreak, and it’s incapable of turning right. Seriously. The dog might be a reincarnated Nascar driver. It only turns left. When it’s excited, anxious, fearful, doesn’t matter. The only emotional arrow in its quiver is a left turn, and the only dichotomy is the circumference. The dog can run around the whole room or spin in place, but only and always left. Lefty shit on one of my most important and reassuring emotional stimulants. ** I also stayed with my parents, who live across town, and we share a love of food, especially comfort food best consumed with big spoons or served in casserole dishes. Because we’re New Mexicans, that means a heavy dose of Hatch green chili goes in everything produced in our kitchens. Throughout the week, my folks made all the staples for fall: red beef enchiladas, fire roasted salsa, smoked burgers, and green chili chicken stew. While I associated backed goods and sweets with my grandparents’ home, I’ve always associated the aroma of meals with my parents, and especially the foods that take a day or two to get just right in a crock or stockpot. Bubbling green chili anything reminds me of the best parts of my childhood, and I have no unfond memories or emotions associated with it. I never caught a beating over the dinner table, never fought over a kettle of green chili. Comfort foods have historically made all the hurt and misery of the outside world go away. That’s their magic, isn’t it? No matter what the day and the world brought to your doorstep, the right foods and aromas improved everything they touched. ** As such, the consistent and predictable wonderfulness of my parents’ home helped buttress my emotions and the loss of the Blodgett Street Scent. The disappearance of that emotional, olfactory experience altered my perception of the trip. I regarded its replacement as a bellwether of things to come, a foreshadowing of my grandmother’s seemingly imminent decline into managed in-home care. My concerns over what the light stink meant conspired with her increased hearing loss, the occasional repeated story, and the often-repeated questions to erode my confidence in her long-term stability. Although she’s now 86, she remains independent and self-sufficient. There’s nothing she can’t accomplish on her own with enough time and naps between exertion. I think I’ve taken that for granted, though, and I should begin managing my expectations. Thanks to a left-leaning chihuahua, I have to confront my grandmother’s increasing fragility and forthcoming dependence. I regret having never attempted to define its source ingredients, although I doubt I could recreate it at any other time or place. In the meantime, I need to get her out of the house long enough to have the flooring scrubbed and sanitized. If you’re in the market for a left-loving fecal factory, please inquire within.
• 
  2020-09-09

  The smells of the campus silenced

  The vibrant community around San Francisco State was the main factor why I decided to move into Park Merced. The ability to walk to campus each day or ride my bike with other students was exciting to see riding skateboards or bikes while smelling coffee or energy drinks was common. The smell on campus with the wide variety of food and snacks was common to every part of the campus early or late. However, this all changed once Covid was originally announced and students and staff started leaving the campus and area and the sights and sounds of people and food on the campus were silent. The campus now remained silent and the smells of burritos and coffee were gone along with students walking to campus. The residents who used to sit outside and occasionally sat outside reading papers disappeared. The air while cleaner breathing because of the lack of air was soon polluted by the fires in California leaving a red mist that made the air smell like burnt wood. The pandemic changed so many people's lives and it is important to recognize the impact mentally and physically people have suffered. The pandemic silenced the campus and the community silencing the site and sounds while removing the smells that the campus was known for.
• 2020-03-12

  The Disinfectant Spray

  As a high school history educator, Thursday, March 12, 2020, stands out in my mind as a significant date as it was the final day of in-person instruction before our district decided to close the school until Spring Break as a result of the spread of COVID-19. There was nervous energy radiating from my students and colleagues. The fear of the unknown was palpable. I remember changing my current events lesson mid-day as the activity I had planned, monopolized by the growing health crisis, brought me too much anxiety. By that point in March, there were portable hand washing stations located at various points on campus, students more readily pumped the wall-mounted Purell hand sanitizer container on their way into my classroom, and the school sites passed out a collection of cleaning supplies to the teachers. I used the school-provided disinfectant spray to help keep the classroom clean. The smell still serves as a visceral call back to that March day. Between each class, I dutifully sprayed the disinfectant on each desk, wiping it clean for the next student. The nose-scrunching sting of the alcohol-based cleaner filled my room rather than the calming vanilla room spray, amplifying the seriousness of the situation unfolding beyond my classroom walls. The smell lingered in my nostrils as I told my students that I would see them the following Tuesday, not knowing that those sophomores would not step foot in my classroom again before they were seniors in high school. The scent swirled around me as I packed up my belongings at the end of the day and debated how much I should bring home with me. The smell still enveloped the classroom as I unknowingly shut my door for the rest of the 2019-2020 school year and left campus. There have been many iterations of the smell of alcohol-based cleaning wipes and hand sanitizers throughout the pandemic as we anxiously try to keep ourselves healthy. The obsessive use of disinfectants reveals the desperation we feel to combat an invisible foe. However, the school-provided disinfectant still has the distinct ability to conjure memories of that emotional day in March when we were on the precipice of change.
• 2020-02-02

  Sounds and Scents of a Maine Island

  In February 2020, I moved to Vinalhaven, an island off the coast of Maine, for a job that promised to advance my career and provide time for personal introspection and growth. The island community was vibrant, and as a newcomer, I was invited to dinner parties, game nights, and book club meetings – I hardly had time to miss the family and friends I left behind in Colorado. Three weeks later, the COVID-19 pandemic required me to exchange my introduction to the community for long solitary hours. Handshakes and warm hugs from new acquaintances were replaced by cold winter days and a lack of human contact. The seclusion drove me to explore the island’s shoreline and conservation trails and intermingle with nature that was unimpeded by humans who had retreated behind the walls of their homes. Without the distraction of a companion, I noticed the wind rushing through trees, saltwater crashing against the rocks at the ocean’s edge, bald eagles screeching, chickadees singing, and small animals scurrying through tall natural grasses near the basin. I sat so still one morning that a curious, gray mink approached me and stared for a few seconds. One November evening, while I walked along the rocky shoreline at State Beach, an estrous scent from a whitetail doe in heat wafted from the nearby woods. While the pungent odor attracted bucks, the smell assaulted my nose and distracted me from the fresh scents of saltwater, pine, and balsam. The overpowering smell suggested that the doe was close; her presence comforted me in my isolation. I expected to integrate into my new island home through people. Instead, I became grounded in the environment, surrounded by the sounds and scents that I may have otherwise missed.
• 
  2020-08-03

  U.S. History Classroom 2020

  When I came home from my last deployment in December 2019, I began to look for teaching jobs- I was for the first time preparing for the teaching job market. Suddenly, when Covid-19 hit the streets, most business and shops closed their doors and were only open for carry-out. In May 2020, I was worried because most school corporations announced that they would presume classes virtually or through a mix of hybrid days that would consists of both synchronous and asynchronous learning for the first portion of the school year. I thought that this would be a learning curve for me if I ended up getting a position. By August 2020, I got a position as an 11th-grade high school teacher in my hometown. Before the bell rang on 03 August 2020, I put the rubber gloves on that the school’s office gave me and sprayed each desk down with bleach. The tight latex gloves did not fit my hand properly but worked for its purpose. The disinfectant left an aroma in the air, similar to a hospital. Brinnnnng, the bell sounded, and the students began marching into the building as I watched them from my window. My forehead began to bead up with sweet (I was nervous for my first day). Then, I put on my mask and stood outside my door. As I waited at the door, I remembered the old days when I was a student at that same school, I was now a teacher. Back then, the hallways were filled with my peers, there were lots of hugging and other high schoolers interaction going on. Everywhere I turned, my peers were smiling and excited to share summer stories. In a blink of eyes, when I looked at the hallways, my peers were no longer there. Neither was the high schooler me. Now, I look through the hallways and it is filled with faceless students. The unnatural phenomena brought forth by Covid-19. The wearing of a mask in the U.S. society is unnatural. The students tried to stay six feet away and tried not make physical contact with anyone. The masks covered their faces, and many wore gloves to open their lockers. As I greeted my students entering my class first period, they seemed happy to be in school in-person since all surrounding corporations had announced they would have online instruction. As they seated, they soon realized that each desk was coated in residues from the cleaning products. I then went to the front of my class and tried to write my name on the board. The marker streaked the board. The cleaning products from wiping each room down from the cleaning staff had left a clear coating that made it impossible to write on. This was a common theme for each class that entered my room. By the end of the day, the room was filled with body and cleaning supplies odors. The coating on the board ruined my marker. My hands shriveled from the gloves, and my ears were red and irritated from the mask. I thought to myself, “this is the new norm now. I must get used to it, so students do not feel overwhelmed.” I chose this story because I felt that this was a challenging year for all first-year teachers. I wanted to bring insight on how difficult it was to try and keep calm and push students to strive to their potential without making students have the extra worry of Covid. This story shows how Covid affected not only adults but everyone in our society.
• 
  -0021-06-29

  Deli Smells and Sounds

  This story tells of the dramatic shift in "normalcy" that the pandemic interrupted.
• 
  2021-01-06

  When lungs fail

  I wish I had a sound of the oxygen concentrator my mom was on for a full month, but at the same time I'm glad that I don't. After spending 8 days in the ICU due to COVID, my mom was finally sent home only because the hospitals were full in the Fort Worth area, and there were other people much more sick than her. In a normal year, she would have been in there at least another week or two, but they got her a concentrator and sent her home to be taken care of by my Dad, sister, and me. The sound the small motor made, producing the oxygen my mom's lungs weren't capable of getting. The high-pitched beeps that sounded when the battery was low, or if the cannula in her nose wasn't properly placed on her face--all of it is probably permanently etched in my memory. The sound that I've submitted here is an excerpt of what a nebulizer sounds like when it's turned on. In addition to the sound of the oxygen concentrator, we'd hear this sound at least twice daily as my mom inhaled her lung medications with the nebulizer, accompanied by a lot of coughing as she recovered fully. I'm grateful that she recovered and is still doing well, but I don't think I'll ever be able to hear a sound like this without remembering what the month of January was like this year for our family.
• 
  2020-06-14

  Solace in the Smell

  This is a story about how hand sanitizer kept one woman hopeful during the pandemic. "Sanitation theater" was a coping mechanism used by individuals, businesses, and organizations used to convince ourselves that we were safe. So much of what we needed during the pandemic, was respite from the dread and insecurity. So much was unknown and so much felt out of control. The smell of the hand sanitizer produced by my local distillery instantly evokes the emotions I felt at the height of the pandemic
• 
  2020-12-04

  Henshin! The nostalgia wanes and reality sets in.

  Overcrowded movie theaters, expensive popcorn, and escapism entertainment made for the best days as a child of the 20th century. Surrounded by an ever growing crisis of climate change, the rising political tensions domestic and foreign; nearly every issue fades away as the lights dim in a theater, directing all attention to the action set pieces of the latest blockbuster hit. Unfortunately now, there are no lights to dim, no popcorn to smell, the once intense reverberating sound and art of audio mixing, is now forced to protrude from broken TV sound bars. The magnificent subtle nuances of orchestral scores, become muffled by the yelling of neighbors. As basic and selfish as it may seem, Covid-19 served as a reminder of the unobtainable nostalgia and senses that surround my past, the art of escapism through film. In 2020 I witnessed the passing of loved ones, relationships dwindle, and ironically the comfort of escapism...has now escaped me. Movie theaters were closed, the discomfort of the slightly course and rough woven stitched seats, became a desperate dream, a return to normalcy. The artificial smell of buttered popcorn, along with the overpriced snacks, became memories of an easier past. I wrote Henshin, as a manifestation of the changes of Covid-19. It isn't necessarily that films can never be enjoyed again, but the ability to truly escape, is gone. We view, smell, feel and see things differently now. The bombastic sensation within a theater, sharing the laughs, cries and emotions with other children, is now replaced with a constant checking of watches to return again to the world. The smell of artificial flavoring may be gone forever. Loved ones will never carry us out of a theater again. The inconvenient sounds of crowds, machines, and other viewers, are now replaced with conventional house noises. Undoubtedly film will return, theaters will open up again, but the once wholesome experience from the past has changed. The families laughs have now turned to cries, quoting movies with one another has turned to editing eulogies, smells are now memories instead of new experiences.
• 2021-01-15

  The old gray mask

  I would like to submit my gray, cotton face mask to the COVID-19 Archive. It is perhaps not as the most important item, but certainly it is the most present item for me throughout this pandemic. At almost a full year into this adventure, everyone has a keen familiarity with and opinion of face masks. I got this one as a gift. It feels about the same as getting socks on Christmas, except more useful. I have used this thing every single day unless I forget it—which sends me into a chaotic panic. I am a teacher in a suburb of Nashville, TN. Our school district insists on teaching in person, despite having alarmingly high infection rates in our community. This mask is now part of my daily uniform, a non-negotiable. It serves as a role model for students. A sign that their health is of paramount concern to us. It is part of everything I do. I have dozens of paper replacements in my desk. Those aren’t as good. They straps hurt your ears. The cloth ones are better, more comfortable. I thought about getting one with my favorite band’s logo, but I am going to stick with this old reliable gray, cotton mask. The smell of this mask will haunt me the rest of my life. I wash it multiple times per week. It often smells like laundry detergent. That is a good thing. However, by the end of the day it often smells like whatever I had for lunch. The masks gets hot. It is blasted with my carbon dioxide for eight hours straight. It gets really bad when I have to lecture during the day. When you inhale sharply to talk, it sucks in the material. I’ve learned how to breathe differently when I have the mask on. Sometimes I just pinch the end and hold it with my fingers while I talk. I can rarely take it off. I panic if I forget to put it on when I leave my classroom to go anywhere. Who would have ever thought this little cloth mask would be so important? I often doubt that it is effective at preventing the spread or contraction of infection. I am certainly NOT an anti-masker. But it’s a piece of cloth. I guess that it’s better than nothing. This gray cotton face mask, sometimes imbued with the glorious smell of fresh linen in the breeze or Last night’s roast and mashed potatoes has become a source of loathing and resentment, but simultaneously an anti-viral security blanket (if only in my imagination). Yet, I can’t wait to get rid of this vile thing.
• 
  2020-03-20

  Fresh Air, But For Only So Long

  During the pandemic, specifically between March and June, there wasn't much for me to do with work. I would help my Dad with his now unfamiliar school work. I did play games and watched the entirety of Parks and Recreation, but couldn't stave off the boredom. I needed to do something. So, I would go on walks. Sometimes I would go by myself and sometimes I would take my dog Carolina. She loves taking walks and it was something new for her with every walk. I lived in a rural part of town and the air was fresh. The smell of flowers drifting in the air, while also smelling cow manure as well. All I could hear was the sound of the birds, neighbor dogs and the farm animals. Carolina would stare at those dogs or animals, but never approach them. It was wonderful to breathe in the warm air. Cars were a rare sight and sound when I would walk along the asphalt with no issues. It was so quiet. It was nice to have the road to ourselves. Prior to COVID, people would be driving along our road frequently and we could hear them even from the end of our driveway. There seemed to be less garbage in the ditches too. Sometimes, I would see whole families walking along the road, probably wanting to inhale that fresh air that I was enjoying. Mid to late summer though, the air became thick with smoke. The fires around Washington, especially from nearby Selah, were suffocating and my walks stopped. There was even a fire on the ridge behind our house and I was worried that we would have to evacuate. The sky was muggy and the area was too warm, thankfully, since we all started wearing masks, we could cope with the fires. Mostly, I was disappointed that the fresh air I breathed towards the beginning of summer was gone. The picture I chose to share was a picture I took of the fire that started on the ridge behind our house. It's not the best quality, but that smoke was what closed out the summer. There was a lot to deal with this summer; COVID and fires mostly, but somehow, we made it. *Photograph, this is something that I took myself.
• 2020-04-10

  Grateful For An Injury

  In early April of this year, I had driven to the oceanfront for a few hours of morning surfing. The weather the previous day created ideal swells. Growing up in and around the ocean, surfing has always been a way of life for me. After several sets and a few hours, I proceeded in to the beach and stepped on an embedded oyster shell. At first, it felt like a bad bruise, but it was a horrible gash on the bottom of my right foot. I knew after looking that I needed stitches. I wrapped my foot in a towel, limped off with my board, secured things as best I could, and drove myself to the nearest ER. I was checked in, placed in a room, etc. Since the wound was not bleeding profusely, my foot was placed in a basin of antibacterial solution. After the preliminaries of great care, I waited for the doctor. The door to my room was slightly cracked open, at least enough to hear much activity in the main ER area. And I waited. Over the next several hours, the ER became a flurry of chaos. But it was not what what I could see, but could hear with the door nearly closed. Multiple patients were brought in by ambulances with breathing difficulty. The rooms filled up and some stretchers started lining the halls. A nurse poked her masked face in every so often to ask how I was doing. As i waited, i learned that I was a low priority, and rightfully so. I was not dying, nor gasping for breath. I kept hearing "God! I can't breathe!" These were the sounds of the early pandemic in April. Male and female voices, struggling through broken sentences, vitally needing air under the acute distress of COVID infection. With nothing to read, and no phone (my beach excursions do not entail smartphones because of sand), I became increasingly aware of audible sensations and the suffering of others trying to breathe. Over the next few hours, I was overwhelmed with a sense of gratitude; not because of my injury, but because I could breathe. I knew my foot would be fine with some stitches and maybe a tetanus shot, and I was, wth some crutches later upon discharge. Yes, incomplete sentences imply breathing problems, but gasping and cursing, just the struggle to live for oxygen, is what the early pandemic taught me in the ER—to be grateful for just a foot injury and excellent medical care. I was not dying, but other patients were fighting acute lung infections. The news, especially during the early pandemic, gave us video of hospitals overwhelmed with critical patients and ventilators. But for me, it was the audible sensations from the door slightly open that conveyed a profound sense of the quiet insidiousness of COVID. Some infections only bring a fever. Some folks are infected and never know it due to lack of symptoms. Yet, it is the critical ones, those that cannot breathe, that can impart a perspective of gratitude to someone like me with a routine foot laceration. Retrospectively, I look back on this experience, my ER day, and recall those voices. I never saw those people struggling, but I did not have to see them to come away with gratitude for a simple surfing accident. Some of those patients were undoubtedly placed on a ventilator in the ICU, and perhaps their outcome was even worse. I ended up discharged to home.