Items

• 
  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.
• 
  2020-07-21

  I think I want to start a garden with you

  I decided to start a garden during the pandemic with my girlfriend at the time (now wife). It was my senior year of college and life changed drastically in the spring when the pandemic hit. My wife and I had somewhat recently started dating at this point and suddenly we had to go on lockdown together to avoid any potential spread to her family since we both were required to go in person for our jobs. We went from dating to living together in an instant and it made us grow even closer. Together we tried to find quarantine hobbies to bide our time originally thinking that quarantine would only last a few months. I remember one day suggesting we start a garden in the backyard. My yard in Lubbock got so much sun it was just perfect for a garden. We slowly built a garden adding various plants from cactus and aloe vera to hot peppers, bean sprouts, and sunflowers. I loved going out there and caring for all the plants with my wife it was a real bonding experience. It was beautiful watching the whole process of our plants transform from little seeds to baby sprouts. I remember the way the new sprouts smelled crisp as they became verdant green and leafy. When we would water them on a particularly hot day it had a scent that reminded me of rainy summer days in Dallas when it got humid. I enjoyed getting to start this hobby that I most likely wouldn't have picked up at the time if I kept to my usual college routine. It was also a good distraction for both of us from the worries and anxieties of the pandemic.
• 
  2020-05-01

  The Hustle and Bustle That Went Naught

  This story is nothing that many of you may not be familiar with, notably of those in metropolitan-like areas. Plus, I can not say that this story is anything deeply descriptive and the likes thereof, but it certainly had an impact on someone like me (along with others) that live in a city, notably if you are especially in or around New York City, the city that never sleeps. What brings me back to this? Well, not exactly the link that I provided that actually shows (at the time of course) a live-time recording of midtown Manhattan and its eerie sound, which is paradoxically a "sound" of a hovering-like quiescent stillness of keen silence (but a silent ambiance that was somewhat peculiarly enchanting) . Or rather, as the title alludes to, a sound that was "naught". At the time, it became so normal if you will (especially around 40 days since the lockdown went into effect), that it became a coincidentia oppositorum of sorts. One might ask, where is such a "unity of opposites" in effect whereby this was simply a "change" in the dynamics of your "said" environment? To start, the Newark (NJ) area is nothing BUT a concoction of familiar and somewhat pleasing noise as I sit in my half-airconditioned room, from the constant sound of public transportation busses passing by and their intrinsic slight familiar screeching stop, the talk of those a few floors down walking the streets, the constant sound(s) of cars flowing by, the sound of the famous pathway train into NYC in the faint distance (though it stops at Jersey City first), those at the corners (as inappropriate as it may sound) calling out that they got "x, y, and z" near Broad and Market Street, so forth and so on, to "almost" nothing! It was like something straight out of the novel Brave New World and other such pally stories of the sort. To me and many others around our surrounding areas, this was a moment in history that stood out, one that I can not recall in similarity since Tuesday, September 11th. 2001. Because the unity of these non-coherent opposites is in the simple fact that the innate aspect of a pandemic lockdown of a such magnitude as we had is quite obviously "silence" if you will, which is the opposite of what is immersed in a city of almost 300,000 (and that is of course not including the amount of citizens in neighboring metro-areas both east, north, and south of my location), nevertheless, they formed one coherent form of a dialectical force. Because it soon became a "norm" and it happened at quite an expedient rate in the larger scheme of things. Nothing was more "quiet" and "surreal" then the tragic events of 9/11, as it did not take some time for a similar situation to occur, as the event was so dynamic that everything I am speaking of happened at once, but and more importantly, day by day the city quickly gained back its ingrained normative environment. But the reason I arbitrarily picked the date of 5/1/2020, rather then use the date of the article, is because it was in early May where this began to slowly engulf me and took me back to one quite sunny day around noon (maybe a tad later), where all of this, "all of this" being that of what I speak of, struck me finally as something transformative (but far less than cathartic to say the least). I hope you enjoyed my little tidbit of what kind of impact COVID had on me (be it a self-like precept, photograph, video, etc...), particular using my experience in a sensory course of description. Sure, there was obviously other aspects that came into play with COVID-19 that eventually impacted us, but most of them were later on as the days moved by, while rather this experience was the first and the one that will stick with me anytime I think back to the pandemic. And the beauty of it, or rather lack thereof, all happened while simply sitting near my bed (hence against the window) while putting on my prosthetic legs. Cheers to you all!
• 2020-03-20

  A Theme Park on Day 1 of the Pandemic

  Disneyland popcorn comes in a variety of colors and flavors- and with the opening of Galaxy’s Edge in 2019, my new favorite popcorn stand was ushered into being. This stand carried popcorn that had fruity pebble flavoring on its salty kernels, a little sticky, but delicious nonetheless. It was spring break at ASU, and currently, I was enjoying this sweet-salty concoction with not a care in the world, in Disneyland with my family. I was standing under the sad shade of a newly planted tree when my father turned to me, mouth agape, and proceeded to hand me his phone despite the sticky residue I was attempting to warn him about. His cell phone screen, with its glaring blue light and notifications rapidly appearing across the top, shouted a message at me I would much rather ignore: “The CDC has declared COVID-19 a worldwide pandemic.” Given that my father works in medical software, he quickly snatched the vibrating, ringing phone back and began an onslaught of calls that sounded identical, almost always culminating in “I don’t know what this means.” All around us, the previously carefree park patrons were beginning to reach into their pockets to investigate the commotion, and finding the same or similar results. Gasps and shouts were heard all around us, and the sound of feet moving quickly increased. Coughs were now akin to fire alarms and sent crowds scattering on the wind. Large throngs of people began to move towards the park exit, but I was keen on finishing my treat. After all, why rush out with hundreds of people when you can stroll out with dozens? We only remained in the park for about an hour after that, my parents endlessly debating the pros and cons of driving to Arizona right that minute. Would they close the borders between states? Would they get a refund for the cost of the hotel? What would we do with my little sisters’ birthday cake, sitting in a mini fridge and awaiting a dull butter knife later that evening? Families all around us were having the same sorts of conversations, a concert of panic arising in the Happiest Place on Earth. As my parents squabbled and people scattered, I was struck by the monumental meaning of this moment. Disneyland was going to close- and it previously closed for events like 9/11 and the assassination of President Kennedy. Something was very, very wrong...and I figured I should stop eating my popcorn that had seen unknown hands and unknown places.
• 2020-03-14

  A Theme Park on Day 1 of the Pandemic

  Disneyland popcorn comes in a variety of colors and flavors- and with the opening of Galaxy’s Edge in 2019, my new favorite popcorn stand was ushered into being. This stand carried popcorn that had fruity pebble flavoring on its salty kernels, a little sticky, but delicious nonetheless. It was spring break at ASU, and currently, I was enjoying this sweet-salty concoction with not a care in the world, in Disneyland with my family. I was standing under the sad shade of a newly planted tree when my father turned to me, mouth agape, and proceeded to hand me his phone despite the sticky residue I was attempting to warn him about. His cell phone screen, with its glaring blue light and notifications rapidly appearing across the top, shouted a message at me I would much rather ignore: “The CDC has declared COVID-19 a worldwide pandemic.” Given that my father works in medical software, he quickly snatched the vibrating, ringing phone back and began an onslaught of calls that sounded identical, almost always culminating in “I don’t know what this means.” All around us, the previously carefree park patrons were beginning to reach into their pockets to investigate the commotion, and finding the same or similar results. Gasps and shouts were heard all around us, and the sound of feet moving quickly increased. Coughs were now akin to fire alarms and sent crowds scattering on the wind. Large throngs of people began to move towards the park exit, but I was keen on finishing my treat. After all, why rush out with hundreds of people when you can stroll out with dozens? We only remained in the park for about an hour after that, my parents endlessly debating the pros and cons of driving to Arizona right that minute. Would they close the borders between states? Would they get a refund for the cost of the hotel? What would we do with my little sisters’ birthday cake, sitting in a mini fridge and awaiting a dull butter knife later that evening? Families all around us were having the same sorts of conversations, a concert of panic arising in the Happiest Place on Earth. As my parents squabbled and people scattered, I was struck by the monumental meaning of this moment. Disneyland was going to close- and it previously closed for events like 9/11 and the assassination of President Kennedy. Something was very, very wrong...and I figured I should stop eating my popcorn that had seen unknown hands and unknown places.
• 2021-06-12

  Graduation: A celebration or just another day?

  A long and hot three hour and forty five minute drive to San Luis Obispo was halted short of the two hour mark for a very important celebration. Was it really a time of celebration though? Some could argue that the mood and the hot weather of a summer June 12 afternoon in 2021 was just another day. After the strike of the pandemic, online instruction skyrocketed around the state of California. Other California State schools, resorted to their spring commencement to be online, our school was no different. We stopped our car at a local 76 gas station just off the side of the freeway to celebrate my virtual graduation from Cal Poly San Luis Obispo. My mom pulled up in the parking lot where next to the 76 gas station was a McDonald's with free Wifi which allowed for us to connect to the Zoom meeting. We waited as name after name from the History Department was called, in which you could hear the only the applause and cheers of close family for fellow graduates called before me. The quiet tension in the car while waiting for my name to be called was very obvious in the car. There was no excitement at all. Just another normal day in the hot June sun. Finally, my name was called upon. A description of my goals and my final senior project were mentioned in the ceremony in my honor. All while the bustling of cars, the smell of fast food and the barking and crying of young kids and dogs lingered in the background of the car. My family applauded clapping and crying out my name. Seconds later, the next name was read and I logged off zoom, placed my cap to the side and we continued our drive to San Luis Obispo. Apart of me wondered that day we drove away from the gas station what a true graduation may have felt like, may have sounded like without these troubling times.
• 
  2020-03-21

  Education changed

  It was my first year teaching middle school history. I was bright-eyed, excited, and felt like I had finally found my calling in life. I went into spring break with such an excited feeling about my new career path. Coming from retail, I could finally have time to spend with my family and not have to worry about making a quota. Then the email came. We would be moving to distance learning and I would not get the chance to finish my first year as an educator with my first group of kids. The sound I most remember was the Google Meets login when someone joined. That sound will forever be associated with the pandemic. The sound I had never heard before became the sound that brought me joy as I was finally able to make sure my students were okay. I remember that sound and immediately checking to see who was logging in. It brought mixed feelings of compassion, empathy, and sadness. Even as we started to get back into the classroom, nothing would ever be the same as it once was. But that sound, that one quick sound, brought on the emotions of this educator. And I hope I will never have to hear that sound again.
• 2020-08-01

  No Smell, No Taste

  In August of 2020 while attending a course in Virginia I lost both my sense of smell and sense of taste. For 6 months I tasted nothing, and smelled nothing in the food I ate, or the candles, soaps, drinks, I bought. I did not smell trees, or grass, or flowers. Only habitual hygiene assured me that I myself did not give off an odor that I could not even detect if it was there. I slowly "relearned" smell and taste (that is my theory anyway). Much like it is difficult later in life to learn a language or change your perceptions, now many things are lumped together for me in terms of distinction. All citrus smells the same to me. Onions, garlic, and often other people smell exactly the same. I can no longer stand the taste of anything peach or mango flavored, though I still enjoy the fruits themselves. Having gone so long without smell or taste, it negatively affected every day life. Relationships, conversations, memory, awareness, and even my ability to focus deteriorated and made me realize how integral our senses are socially and physically. Some smells that I distinctly remember initiating a sense of nostalgia no longer elicit the same reaction in me. This is deeply saddening, as I suspect a significant portion of my memories are inaccessible or at least markedly more difficult to recall without a fragrance to tease it out.
• 
  2020-08-08

  Relearning to Cook

  I have loved to cook for as long as I can remember, but I had a few rough years and stopped cooking. With the onset of stay-at-home orders for the COVID-19 Pandemic, I went from 60-hour work weeks between my two jobs to nothing. My mind and hands were itching to do something, anything. As many of the grocery stores started to have supply shortages and I now had a much more limited budget; I had to get creative. So, I began to cook. I started slowly with fancy coffee drinks and eggs and moved to bread and pasta. Nationally people were baking bread so I thought well I’ve got the time I might as well try. What started as something I had learned to dread suddenly became my day’s highlight. I was cooking again! The dance of moving through my small kitchen. The clank of pots and pans and knives and wooden spoons in metal bowls playing in time to Otis Redding. The joy of tasting a recipe and nailing both the flavors and the serving size (many recipes serve 4-6, I live alone). It was truly a full-body experience. I soon realized that I hadn’t repeated any meals in about two weeks and decided to challenge myself to go as long as possible without repeating a recipe, if a meal required a repeat that portion simply didn’t count in my tally. I ended up making over 225 different recipes.
• 2020-03-05

  The Sounds of a Casino

  Living in Las Vegas and working in a hotel and casino, I got used to a few things; the sounds of the slot machines and the (albeit unpleasant) aroma of cigarettes and cigars. After being brought back to work after the shutdown, what I immediately noticed was how much quieter the casino floor was with all of the restrictions in place. There was a limit to how many guests we could have in, and social distancing meant only every other machine could be used. While wearing a mask and having plexiglass in front of my station, I had to get used to projecting my voice so that guests could hear me while I was trying to help them. Even now, I still wear a mask and have to actively make an effort to be heard.
• 
  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.
• 
  2021-02

  Hoping for Good Days

  It was several months since my last day in a classroom. March 13, 2020 to be exact. Friday the 13th. The previous school year we were told it was to be a possible 2 week break that ended up going until the end of the year. What was to become of the next school year of 2020-21? I tried to stay optimistic over the summer and enjoy the time spent with family. We were lucky to have each other and have a yard and house where we felt safe to be quarantined. I knew a lot of my students were not so lucky in that they lived in apartments with several family members. Still I wanted to be optimistic about the upcoming year. As the start of school year date got closer, it was apparent we were to continue online teaching via zoom. I felt I was pretty tech savvy and could integrate technology enough to keep my students engaged, but it was still challenging. I taught incoming freshman 9th grade students. They did not get the “new students” experience of coming to my school and meeting and greeting all the faculty and each other. Initially the expectation was to have all students have cameras on, and for the most part in that Fall semester, my students did. But then towards the break students started getting sick, parents were losing their jobs, some even lost family members. People were sad. We barely made it into the winter break with students attending “online”. I was fortunate to have most of my students log in but in other classes students stopped showing up. And if they did log in, cameras were off and it felt like talking to a void. Were they still paying attention? Were some of them just logging in and doing other things like playing video games or sleeping? I was frustrated, but also empathetic knowing for a lot of these students survival, not academics, was their priority during the time. After the winter break and a return to zoom teaching, it was a palpable sadness. There were people who had lost loved ones, and my students were depressed. I could feel the grief and sorrow through the screen and sometimes I would weep after my classes ended for the day. I had to maintain a persona of optimism for my students online and also keep encouraging their academic pursuits. I have never had such a challenging teaching year like the 2020-21 year. The sensory experience I am recalling is sometime in February of 2021. It was the second semester of school, back from the break and many people had a rough time of the holiday season with loneliness, fear, and loss. I don't know how I came up with the idea but I thought about students sharing playlists with the class. I would review them, and if we had a test together on zoom I would play songs on the background. One particular song I found was “Good Days” by SZA. It was not my style of music, but I knew it was what my students listened to. The day I played that song I started to get a lot of feedback from the zoom chat from all my classes about that song. By this time a majority of students had stopped showing themselves on camera and/or stopped talking, however Good Days sparked something in my students. The intro of the song is very melodic and serene. It is one of those songs that sounds very sweet, but is very sad at the same time. I could tell by the response of my students that it hit a nerve. A few of them began to speak up again in class, a few would turn their camera on again. And of course, I had several sending messages after class thanking me for the song. This happy/sad song connected me again to my students that I thought I had lost over winter break. It gave me a little hope again, and I think it gave some of them hope too. Now, whenever I hear Good Days by Sza it reminds me of those lonely online zoom classes in February and how we were all feeling a bit sad, but a simple song gave us all a bit of hope that the future was to have some Good Days ahead. Lyrics to Good Days All the while, I'll await my armored fate with a smile Still wanna try, still believe in (good days) Good days, always (good days) Always inside (always in my mind, always in my mind, mind) Good day living in my mind
• 
  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.
• 2021-01-15

  The Smell of Venetian Canals

  In January of 2021 my husband and I traveled to Venice Italy for a quick weekend getaway to meet up with my brother & his family. My husband and I had visited Venice before, but not since COVID, let alone during a time when regulations in Italy were quite strict; vaccine documentation had to be shown everywhere we went, masks needed to be worn at all times, etc. Upon arrival to the city, there were several things that instantly struck both my husband and I in regard to the changes we were now witnessing. A far different Venice than the one we experienced a few years before. Not only FAR less crowds, all the masked faces, empty plazas once the sun set, the clear waters of the canals, but the SMELL of Venice was different. Even though I love Venice as a city, I vividly remember the unpleasant smell of the canals when we visited a few years prior, in the height of the summer. Remebering that as we took a gondola ride through the canals, I couldn't help but notice the unpleasant aroma coming from the canal waters. But now that we have found ourselves in a COVID world Venice, the smell was noticably gone, and you could actually see the bottom of the shallow canals as you walked over the bridges throughout the city. I was previously unable to notice how truly shallow the canals were until this COVID world allowed for less polluted waters of Venice, and therefore a better smelling Venice as well.
• 
  2020-04-07

  Adventures in Baking during the COVID pandemic

  I was a line cook and baker for many years professionally, but ended up with severe carpal tunnel syndrome and had to find a new profession. For a while I just stopped cooking all together because it was hard for me to give up something I loved so much. But during the COVID-19 pandemic I had a lot of time on my hands, so I started baking and cooking again. I was determined to find the best sugar cookie recipe I could find. This was one of the recipes I tried out during the long lockdowns. They ended up turning out really well.
• 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?”
• 2020-06-06

  The Town Without a Sound.

  It had been a few months after that start of the pandemic. I left my home early in the morning and noticed something odd when I got outside there was no sound. At this time of the year, I would expect to hear kids outside playing in the Cul-de-sac. It was the weekend and early in the morning I expected to hear someone working on their yard, yet no one was around I heard nothing. I also lived close to the highway and if it was any other day I would hear a cars and trucks going by but, today there was nothing. It gave me an eerie feeling like time had stood still or that I was the last person on earth. Lucky a few seconds later I herd a car that pulled me out of this moment of dread. My wife had just returned from working the night shift as a nurse at the hospital. I will never forget the day it was so quiet that I felt the earth stand still.
• 
  2020-03-21

  A Sudden Flight

  It emphasizes the suddenness of the pandemic through sensory history.
• 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.
• 
  2020-03-15

  "Handwash Everyone"

  I worked at a McDonald’s in March when the United States went into lockdown. Before the lockdown, the drive-thru line was long, the lobby was full of customers, and employee’s rushed around everywhere. The restaurant was always loud with fryers beeping, headsets beeping, customers ordering and complaining, and employee’s trying to have conversations with each other while taking orders all at the same time. People were constantly sneezing, coughing, or sounding like their voices were hoarse, and no one thought anything of it. Everyone went on about their business. After the pandemic, the restaurant was quieter. No more customers were in the lobby, fewer people came through the drive-thru, and fewer employees were at work, less food was being made, so the fryers beeped less often, as did the headsets that warned us when customers wanted to order. One new sound we could all rely on was the alarm that went off every hour, followed by a manager yelling out that everyone needed to wash their hands. The sound of a raspy voice from a customer, a sneeze, or a cough echoed from the speaker above side one in the kitchen, though the entire restaurant and employees would all look at each other in disgust, sure that this customer must have the Corona Virus. The employee in the first booth taking the payment would instantly remove their gloves and rush to scrub their hands before retrieving a new pair of gloves. The person in the second booth who handed the food out the window would be stretching their arm out the window as far as they could in an effort to stay as far away from the person as possible before repeating the same ritual as the last employee in disinfecting themselves. Sounds that usually just fell into the background noise and people assumed were allergies or just a simple cold suddenly elicited a significant amount of fear in my friends and co-workers. While things have mostly gone back to normal, the handwash alarm and manager yelling for a handwash is an hourly reminder that Covid-19 is still around.
• 
  2020-03-19

  Silent Hospital – Giving Birth in Quarantine

  The Covid-19 quarantine started on March 16th, 2020. I gave birth to my daughter four days later. Thankfully my labor was very quick and there were no complications. By 8:44 a.m. on the 19th, my daughter was in my arms. After the commotion of the nurses and doctors coming to check on my daughter and myself, there was just silence. Newborns, as a quickly discovered, slept a lot. There were long stretches of silence for the two days we were in the hospital. I would look at my husband and say, “It is eerily quiet in here.” I was only one of three mothers giving birth in my area of the hospital, there were no visitors, and we were told to stay in our rooms unless we absolutely needed to walk around. My husband would order food and have to wait at the front of the hospital for them to drop it off. Every time he left and came back, he talked about how he had barely seen anyone, and that it was completely silent in the hospital. When it was time for us to finally leave, walking out of the hospital was also silent. There were no phones ringing, no nurse pagers, no talking between nurses, nothing. The only sounds were my flip flops squeaking off of the floors. When we finally made it outside, the birds were chirping and I remembering thinking, ‘thank goodness for some background noise!’
• 
  0022-08-18

  Hearing Aids

  In the audio-file I tried to manipulate the sounds to reflect some of the ways I interpret the world as a Hard of Hearing woman during the Covid-19 pandemic. I want the listener to be able to feel the frustration as they listen and try to understand the story. The pandemic has forced many of us to adapt. This is my story.
• 
  2020-03-11

  The Smell of "Clean"

  How I personally remember the pandemic is mainly through the olfactory sense. The smell of bleach and Lysol filled just about every public area during the time of the pandemic, and many things spent more time than needed being disinfected with bleach water. The smell of Lysol makes me feel a bit in despair since it is so heavily linked to a very lonely and sad time in the world. The smell of bleach makes me feel a bit ill now, even three years later. I had only ever used bleach for cleaning while at work, disinfecting changing tables and toys, but now I remember it as a time of sadness and sickness. The idea of "clean" will likely never be what it was years ago, and the population will probably never be able to live well knowing the existence of germs.
• 
  2020-03-29

  Homemade Food Tasted Different During the Breakout of COVID-19.

  I have a love for baking and cooking which takes up lots of my time when I'm not doing schoolwork. I love trying new and exciting recipes because food from different parts of the world is like a new historical experience. I was a sophomore in college when the pandemic caused us to go into lockdown. We had just come back from spring break, and I remember getting an email saying that we would be moved to online instruction for the remainder of the semester. I was scared because it really hit me that school would not be the same ever again. Luckily, I did not get COVID, but my dad almost died from it. Everyone in my house was separated which meant I had no social life due to not being able to talk to anyone. I turned to baking as a way for me to not think about my sick dad. I basically lived upstairs from my parents. Whatever I made, I would leave for them on the steps to take. Even though my food was delicious, I lost a sense of taste because I wasn't enjoying it with anyone. Food is about culture and people; they go hand in hand. When you don't have that sense it changes how you feel on a social level. When you cook, you want people to enjoy what you're making.
• 
  2020-08-06

  Knock Knock

  During the summer of 2020 I was taken from my current unit (where I work as a nurse) back to the ICU to care for the overflowing patients. The ICU is a very noisy place, but one noise that was new was the knocking. To go into a COVID patient's room you have to put on booties, a full length gown, two pairs of gloves, an N95 mask and a surgical mask along with eye protection. It is a lengthy process so once you are in the room you don't leave until all tasks are complete. So if you need something when you’re in there you would knock on the glass doors of the patient's room and one of the helper nurses would come and read what you had written on the door in a marker and get the items for you. It was so quite in the rooms, no families were allowed so it was you, the machines and the patient. It was so hot you could feel the sweat dripping down your back and pooling in the arms of your gown. It was a very isolating feeling, usually there are lots of hands and people in your rooms with you to help or just to chat but not during COVID. The knock-knock could be heard all down the hall. It reminds me of the isolation we all experienced during this time and also how resilient we are and how helpful nurses are to each other. Nursing is a team sport. It is a sound and an experience I will never forget.
• 
  2020-07

  Apparently I Have Opinions About Hand Sanitizer Now?

  I graduated with my bachelor's degree in April 2020, shortly after my state began heavy COVID-19 shut downs. The plans I had for my career took an unexpected pause. After several months, I finally found work at a local convenience store as a cashier. To accommodate heightened concerns about hygiene and sanitation, we had several bottles of hand sanitizer set up around the checkout areas for both customers and employees. I didn't know how different hand sanitizer brands could be. I suspect that the sudden demand for it during the pandemic must have led to cheaper, lower quality versions being distributed more widely, but our hand sanitizer was the worst. If you pressed the lid of the bottle, you would suddenly find your hands full of a large, unwieldy blob of what felt like elmer's glue and smelled somewhere between a rotten banana and a doctor's office. Try as you might to rub it away, you would inevitable be left with sticky residue all over your hands until you washed them. I guess in that sense it was an effective sanitizer in that it probably made a lot of people actually wash their hands. I no longer work at the gas station, but every time I think of that first COVID summer and that job that I was both so thankful and a little disappointed to have, I think of the feeling of that hand sanitizer.
• 
  2022-05-27

  A Quiet Workplace

  This is to describe the sensory changes I experienced when I visited my employer's main office during the lockdown.
• 2020-05-17

  Bells, Breezes, and Sirens

  The warmest April on record, yet we were all stuck inside. The streets usually congested with the honks of angry black cabbies, the loud hum of overused mufflers on double decker buses and the low rumble of the tube running underfoot were silent. The metropolis of over nine million people had come to a standstill. Windows usually closed to protect against the sleet or smog, were opened to quiet clean breezes. London felt serene, almost idyllic, until the piercing siren of an ambulance run would cut through that fairytale. Before COVID I never paid attention to the St. John’s Ambulance First Aid Training facility on my street, only occasionally seeing the paramedics pop in the Arabic supermarket next door during lunch. As the news was counting the number of days we were in lockdown, I started counting the number of ambulances lining my street; popping my head out the open windows, looking up and down the road. However, sitting in my favorite chair in my flat, back to the window, I could avoid the grim sight, a constant reminder of the reality of the pandemic. I would take my tea in that purple chair, alternating between endless Netflix shows and books, the church bells across the street the only thing to remind me of time. The warm sun and smog less breeze would join the bells drifting through the open windows. Through the books and shows, I not only escaped COVID but my small London flat. The silence of the city amplifying my imagination, only to be shattered by that first initial scream of the sirens, jolting me back to reality. Willing to sacrifice the warm breeze at my back, I closed my windows to protect my ears and the fantasies I had created. However, the double paned windows, sturdy enough to block out the honks of angry black cabbies, were no match for the sirens. Unable to even slightly defend against the shock of the sirens when surrounded by the new silence of the city, I learned to live with it. I reopened my windows to let in bells, breezes, and sirens, instead tuning my ear to notice the ambulance’s first turn of the engine to brace for the piercing scream that would soon follow. As the days continued, my ears started to acclimate to this new normal, with each ambulance run making me jump a little less off my chair. Though my body and mind would never accept the sound enough to not to jolt me even from the deepest sleep, as if to remind me that this was anything but normal.
• 2020-09-01

  Incense, Prayer, and Wool

  One of the most profound sensory experiences I had over the course of the COVID-19 pandemic was the new yet comforting experiences that engaged all the senses of visiting St. Anthony the Great Monestary in Florence, Arizona. My first visit, I stayed for a long weekend. Visitors remaining at the monestary for more than a day are put to work on the grounds, aiding the monks in their daily work. I was put in the kitchen due to my previous experience in a commercial kitchen setting. The diet at the monastery is remarkably simple; a bean and rice soup, bread, and tangerines grown at the monastery. None of the smells of these foods were new or remarkable to me, but instead this provided an interesting aural experience. The monks pray constantly in everything they do, and kitchen work was no different. Low, repetitive Greek prayers were the only auditory input in the kitchen, aside from the hum of the dishwasher and the clinking of utensils against pots. Services were held in the early morning, around 3:00am. While making my way from the guests' lodging to the church, I heard a rhythmic wood-on-wood striking, reverberating across the monastery. I saw the source. A monk was striking a wooden board, suspended in the air by two chains, with two wooden mallets. This was essentially the call for the service to start. I later learned from another pilgrim that this practice was adopted by Greeks living in Ottoman-controlled Greece when restrictions on church bells were implemented. The service itself, too, was a sensory experience unlike any other. Sonorous Byzantine chants, clouds of aromatic incense, all lit by candlelight and a handful of small oil lamps. The sense of touch was also engaged; I felt the wool prayer rope in my hand, each knot a tactile counter for the number of prayers completed. Nearly every sense was full engaged in this temporary and much needed respite from the chaos of the outside world during uncertain times.
• 2020-05-01

  Background Noise

  From 2005 to 2020, I was a police officer. My life was hectic and noisy. I carried two mandatory work cell phones everywhere I went, 24 hours a day, which rang, beeped, and chirped continuously. A police radio was on in my house, in my car, or in my ear, every hour of the day. In my world, people were always talking, at work and at home. I resigned from my position in April of 2020, just as the COVID lockdowns were coming into effect. I suddenly found myself with nowhere to be due to no longer having a job and having minimal to no contact with others due to the lockdown. Being an avid flyfisher, my days became about spending most of my time on the river alone. This was also not normal, as I am also a flyfishing guide, and am used to fishing with other people, who are usually talking to me, but due to COVID, I no longer had clients. The constant of my life went from hearing people talking (and yelling) and devises making noise, to the sound of the rushing water of the river. I soon found improvements appearing in my life. I began feeling better, sleeping better, eating better, was able to focus more, and had a much more positive attitude. All of which were side effects of being on the river everyday by myself. The COVID pandemic was an opportunity for people to re-connect with nature unknowingly, as outdoor activities were their only choice of recreation outside of their homes. Due to outdoor activity being the only option for recreation, people learned, or remembered in some cases, the value which nature can add to life, as well as how simple it is to take nature for granted. The pandemic forced people back into nature, which re-awakened (or maybe awakened for the first time) the special relationship between the human senses and nature.
• 
  2020-04-10

  Warmth of the sun and the feel of the grass beneath my feet.

  The memories that stick in my head the most durning the pandemic are of the time I spent in my backyard with my partner and our dogs. I couldn't go to work and there was not much to do with my job virtually. I spent my days outside playing with my dogs; and sitting or laying on the grass next to my partner. I would sit in the backyard and feel the warmth of the sun cascading over my body; as I inhaled deeply the warm rush of the marijuana smoke into my lungs. I would walk on the ground barefoot feeling the earth beneath my feet and the grass between my toes. Listening to the birds chirp and the bees buzz by on their way to pollinate the many wild flowers and vegetables we have in our back garden. It was such a peaceful time for my partner and I. We had only bought our house a year or so earlier, and during this time we really started to feel like we settled into this space. Our backyard was our shelter from the world. To juxtapose that with what was happening outside of our sun drenched backyard is the most striking thing about these memory for me. Here we were enjoying a freedom that is seldom experienced in this hyper-capitalist world we live in (the freedom of not working). We were fortunate enough that we could spend our days in the sun with our dogs while the world passed us by. There was a brief moment during this pandemic where we hoped that others would see how capitalism ruins our lives and how much better things could be. It seemed in many ways the earth was healing, we had a brief glimpse into what a ecologically sustainable future could look like, but not only that, we had an opening to see what a life that emphasizes people over profit and leisure over work could be. Unfortunately, that was not going to last and was never meant to. The powers that be needed their profits, and their workers to exploit; and slowly but surely they demanded we risk our lives for their economy. The warmth of the sun and the feel of grass beneath my feet was lost to the grinding gears of the capitalist machine and I'm not sure I'll ever get it back.
• 
  2022-05-27

  The scent of Clorox wipes

  Sensory Memory for Pandemic Archive Smell of Clorox wipes One of the strongest sensory memories I have of the early pandemic months in spring and summer 2020 is the scent of Clorox wipes. During the pandemic, my father, in his 90’s, lived with my children and me in Albuquerque, NM. My dad had numerous health problems I was extremely concerned with his health and well-being. Early on, when wipes were in short supply, I hoarded the bright yellow canisters, some from the store and some from my son’s dorm room which he had to vacate. I used them daily to wipe the surfaces that we touched the most, such as door handles, the microwave, and refrigerator door and at first, even to wipe down the groceries that I had delivered to avoid going to the store. The scent of bleach with a layer of lemon that the wipes left behind became a satisfying sign—an illusion that I had some control over my family’s safety. Over time, when evidence of how COVID transmitted became clearer, I used the wipes for my father’s care—his inability to make it to the bathroom sometimes and wiping down the ever-growing stable of equipment Dad needed for daily life: an oxygen machine, lung drain kit, walker, portable commode. My dad passed away of in 2022, and while miraculously none of us ever did contract COVID, the smell of the wipes will always bring me back to that time of fear and uncertainty.
• 
  2020-03

  Good With My Hands

  I've always used my hands to shape the world around me. Working with my hands both soothes and stimulates, and it feels good to be productive. I've long been known at work for crocheting or cross stitching (my hands can work at those with little help from my eyes) during boring meetings, as a way to keep myself awake and render fruitful an otherwise pointless meeting. I have some very talented hands, if I do say so myself. I make jewelry, I quilt, I cosplay (itself honestly probably 10 or so different skillsets), I etch glass, embroider, play deftly with resin, string art, and perler beads. You name it, these very talented hands of mine can probably do it. If they can't, someone on Youtube will show me and I will figure it out. My hands are always busy. At least they used to be. COVID took that from me. When quarantine hit, that is what was left to me. So that is what I did. Fortunately, crafters are notorious hoarders, so that was one thing I struggled little to find when the shelves at all the stores were bare. Whatever it was, it was already in my craft room. When you couldn't find masks anywhere, me and my loved ones never had to worry. I sewed probably 100 from the leftovers I had from a few of my quilts, fun masks with swirling DNA strands, dinosaurs, and Bat-signals. When we couldn't get toilet paper and mom my had to mail me some from out of state, I sent her a giant cross-stitch of her favorite character (Snoopy) as a thank you for being my toilet paper hero. I didn't stop there though. I had to make videos daily for the kids in my (now) virtual classes. So I went from being the women who crocheted in meetings, to the one who painted herself to look like different characters during meetings. (The first student to comment with who I was dresses as that day only had to do half the day's assignment.) The other meeting participants would periodically make me turn my camera on to check on the progress of my transformation. Crafting was really the only thing left to me, what with lockdowns, my school going virtual, the inability to access basic necessities, and the persistent taboo on leaving the house. Crafting got me through it. I made so many things, simply because I needed to be doing something. I sewed, mod podged, and wire wrapped, papier mached, and glass painted, until every wall and surface in my home (and some in my classroom) were covered. Often I'd have the TV on in the background so I'd have noise for company. I'd craft into the wee hours, because it's not like I could go anywhere in the morning. It got so bad that my housemate (a dear friend and fellow transplant with no family in Arizona, we moved in together a week before COVID struck because neither of us wanted to live alone) Kristen had to stage a crafting intervention of the "No really, we are out of space. For the love of God, knock it off or get an Etsy store" variety. (I then switched to baking because I don't know how to be if my hands are still. I was accused instead of trying to make her fat.) I crafted until I ran out of things to craft. Thanks to COVID, I squished a lifetimes worth of crafting into a year. Now I'm out of projects. If I wanted it, I made it already. If anyone compliments something I made it is given immediately as a gift to them, so I can then go make myself a new one and my talented hands can be busy again for a minute. I've taken to cross-stitching random things my friends say, just to have something tactile to do. My hands remain as sharp as ever, poised for the next project, but the brain that fired them has run out of steam. And I still don't know how to be if my hands are still.
• 
  2020-05-12

  Rediscovering Nature

  When I graduated high school, I moved to a different side of Houston, TX. I was quite reserved in my new environment. This was in part because the environment was a bit rough in some parts. However, once the pandemic took place, I decided to explore my surroundings a bit more. I discovered overall, the area was quite nice. In the process of exploring my environment; I decided to check out a park that was five minutes from my house. I had been to this park as a child because of it's proximity to the city's zoo. But, I never went as an adult. The park I discovered, which is known locally as Hermann Park was one of the best discoveries I ever made in my life. This park became my escape. My place of peace. A safe space away from the hustle and bustle of everyday city life. The sensecape was pleasant. The sounds of the birds chirping blissfully while watching a squirrel crawl up a tree brought me to a place of internal calmness I had never experienced before. I enjoyed lying between the trees either in my hammock or laying out on my blanket gazing at the sunset and enjoying the peace and tranquility of the inconspicuous indistinguishable sound of people talking who were coming and going.
• 
  2020-04-25

  Cannot Hear You Anymore

  The ability to hear, the ability to speak, the ability to process what has been said and respond. All of these changed for me in my classroom because of COVID. First the students went totally away, silence, and not the comforting restorative kind, but the absence of those that have become part of me. Suddenly gone silent. After some time they return but not near enough. Talking and hearing through masks obscures and diffuses the words. Can you please repeat that, repeated over and over again. Words cannot get through the first time. Or the second. Frustration sets in and lingers even now. Lack of hearing becomes a lack of understanding and lack of empathy. Habits of caring and concern atrophy. I have endless patience with my students, less so for the rest of my fellow man. The man that refuses to wear a mask across the aisle on a flight home, telling me to shut up when I request that he cover his face. Maybe he can hear, but just refuses to. The relative that isn't vaccinated but still wants to come to the funeral and risk others. They cannot hear my wisdom, though they might tell you that I cannot hear theirs. The masks come off but still the hearing does not return. The classroom starts to normalize, but the rest of the world does not.
• 
  2022-05-26

  Relocation in Isolation, Reconnection in Solitude

  When Covid first kicked off, I was in the final months of my undergraduate degree, weeks away from obtaining my B.A. in history from CSU Stanislaus in December 2020. I had made plans to travel and work in Japan, teaching English, doing cultural work, and generally immersing myself into the culture I found so fascinating in my studies. However, the world's shutdown would put an end (or a pause) to this plan. Now working remotely from home, I stayed in my room working on my senior thesis, looking out the window to the often empty street. My family had decided to move, as we had decided years before but loose ends such as my degree were the final threads to be cut. Remote work had given us an unexpected leap in our time-frame, and so in the midst of the Paradise fires, to which I vividly remember the dark orange skies blotting out the sun and the ever present ashy, smoky stench on the air, carried by the warm breeze from the north, we began the process of transitioning our lives to be on the road, and to be resettled in northern Idaho. For the next year and a half or so we settled in to our new home, however the world was still largely in lock-down, and so I spent most of my time inside or in the basement where I had set up a study space to finish my senior thesis and to earn my degree through my last online semester. It was a self reflective and solitary time, in which I would often take many breaks to venture out my backdoor, which quite literally lead into the forest. Not fifty feet from my home, we have a circle of trees where we would eventually put a fire pit and often sit around together around the warmth on cold nights, talking and sharing fun with one another. When alone however, it serves as an incredible spot to simply sit back and become immersed into our natural world, an amenity I often take advantage of to this day while working on my M.A. through ASU's online program. This audio recording is a sample of that, and in it, you can hear the spring time birds chirping away, the low rumble of the highway just over the mountain, feel the breeze through the trees and the valleys from the lake, and imagine the smell of pine and flowers on the forest floor.
• 2022-05

  Isolated and Out of Touch

  As someone who is very affectionate, the loss of touch throughout this pandemic has been devastating. While hugs, handshakes, fist bumps, and all kinds of other casual touches were second nature before March of 2020, six feet apart became the standard overnight. Greet your friends with an elbow bump, not a hug, and don't get too close because you might get sick. In May 2020, my first nephew was born, and I didn't get to snuggle him for months. It felt like I was missing out on vital connections with him, because I interacted from afar with a mask on. I live alone, and this loss of touch felt so isolating. You don't realize how important hugs are until you are quarantined alone for weeks and weeks without the touch of another human being. Now in 2022 as the fear has lessened a considerable amount, the lack of touch still seems to be prevalent in my life. After two years of adjusting to the loss of that particular sense, it feels awkward and forced to show the same affection that used to come easily. It seems like such a silly thing to mourn, the fact that I'm hugging people less. But it's one of those senses that you don't realize the importance of until it's gone. The loss of touch didn't affect everyone, but this completely altered the way I show the people in my life that I care about them.
• 
  2022-05-25

  My Hands Are Raw and I Can't Think

  Listening to Marketplace on the radio each morning as I arrived at work in mid-January of 2020, I never suspected that what was forcing cancelations of Lunar New Year celebrations in China would leave me with raw hands and ringing ears. At that time, I was working at the Census Bureau for the lead person responsible for on-the-ground execution of the 2020 census in Idaho. The work involved data analysis and strategic planning, as we created and staffed a field operation to complement the Census Bureau’s attempt to transition from the traditional door-to-door canvassing to online self-reporting. In the early days of the pandemic, we tried to maintain business as usual as we, and most of the country, watched cases rise. When things got bad enough, a mandate from Washington shut down our office for nearly six weeks. When our team was called back, we entered a totally new world. The Census Bureau leadership had mandated a hyper safe work environment and work rules. The office furniture was completely rearranged to create social distance. A six-foot perimeter around every desk was marked on the floor to ensure work interactions took place at a distance. Similarly, walking paths were marked on the floor and one-way traffic was encouraged. Everyone was issued a box of masks and hand sanitizers and soap dispensers were everywhere. The visual was pretty laughable but it is my hands and ears that carry the strongest memories of attempting to work in this environment. Trying to comply with the guidelines meant more hand washing and sanitizing than one would likely see around an operating room. The government, while trying to be a really good parent, however, had failed to supply hand lotion. Shame on me! I didn’t bring my own and raw, chapped hands became my red badge of courage, and compliance. Additionally, I will never forget the volume in that concrete block room. A room full of people on the phone can be noisy; but social distanced work conversations meant masked people shouting to co-workers as they stood six feet from their desk. It was the definition of cacophony. The work I was doing required a lot of attention to detail and I remember it being so loud at times I could not think clearly. There were time I would go outside to listen to quiet of the traffic on the busy street in front of the office.
• 
  2020-12-08

  Teaching Middle and High School Virtually in the Pandemic

  I taught both middle and high school during the pandemic, which required virtual learning. I lived with a roommate and both of us couldn’t teach at the same time in the same room, so I taught exclusively from the floor of my walk-in closet. I sat on the floor of that 5’x3’ closet every work day for 9 months. The carpet was scratchy and my legs would often fall asleep from sitting in one place too long. I often woke up just before class started at 7:30AM and was groggy. Many of us ate breakfast during first period. The thing that bothered me most however was the silence. The only sound of class was me, talking. My lecture, my out loud readings for accommodated students, and my replies to students typing in the chat were the only things I heard for 5-6 hours of the day. There were none of the usually noises I associate with my job: idle chatter from every corner of the room, tapping of pencils, the pencil sharpener, a student blowing their nose, clicking of pens, hoody zippers, crinkling paper, students moving around in their chairs, chip bags opening, metal water bottles falling on the floor and a student yelling “foul” afterwards, occasional shouting, crying, and groaning. Students very rarely, if ever, turned on their cameras or mics to talk to me. I surely was isolated more than the average remote worker; yes, I talked all day, but it felt like it was talking to no one. I don’t have much tangible evidence to show from the pandemic. Frankly, I didn’t do anything noteworthy of documenting. The three pictures attached are from the beginning of the pandemic, around December 2020. Google Meets hadn’t quite caught up to some of their pitfalls technologically and teachers had to “kick out” each student manually, and when 7-10 of your students are AWOL, it can get tedious. I started to make up dumb games and sing songs to entertain myself, please enjoy my new line to the Oompa Loompa song. You can see that all the students are just icons—no faces, no voices. For reference, I have attached two videos of the end of the school year from before the pandemic. You can hear how loud the classroom is with all the students talking to each other, or playing games and dancing to music. After seeing these small clips, you can understand just how soul-destroying it was to teach to a bunch of digital circles who made no noise.
• 
  2022-05-25

  Iko the Smooth Coated Collie

  When the pandemic hit, there wasn't a lot going on in my house. I was living at home, working where I could/when I could (nannying, dog walking) and my parents had recently retired. My parents quickly turned into stereotypical teenagers, spending all day on their phones and iPad, scrolling through Facebook and playing card games electronically. My mom got sucked into a few dog groups on Facebook as she had always wanted a dog in retirement and to train this dog to be a therapy animal. It was her dream to take this dog to schools, hospitals, and nursing homes and provide much needed stress relief and other benefits that therapy animals provided. When I was a kid, we had a smooth collie name Stormy and he was a great family pet. When he passed away when I was in high school, my parents agreed to not get another dog until retirement (mostly my dad's request, my mom could have dogs all her life if it were up to her). Then COVID and there was nothing for my mom to do besides look at dogs on Facebook, specifically smooth collies. After much discussion and pleading by my mom and probably sheer boredom by my dad, my parents decided to get a puppy from Kentucky in July. We named this little one Iko and he came home rambunctious as ever. This brought a host of new senses into the house. First was the sound. Iko was never a big barker, but he did bark as most dogs do. I never saw this as a bad thing. Prior to Iko, there was no lively activity or accompanying noise. Also came the smells of a new dog. Miraculously, Iko came potty trained at 8 weeks (over achieving puppy from the start) but Iko had lots of hair and stirred up a lot of dust, thus making the house smell more like a dog kennel than our house before that was pretty clean (because there wasn't anything else to do during COVID besides clean). The final, and my favorite, sense that Iko brought into the house was the unconditional affection. With a new dog in the house, there were constant pets and puppy kisses which added a huge sensory stress relief to what was going on outside in the world around us. Iko Brough so many senses and such life into our home. He brought the youth out in my retired parents who go on long hikes with him out in the mountains of Utah now. Iko, the smooth coated collie, saved our COVID.
• 
  2020-08-16

  Mask Breath and Swamp Mouth

  In 2020 it was over 100 degrees Fahrenheit (38 + Celsius) in August in the eastern area of San Diego, California. I was working as a delivery driver for Amazon delivering packages around greater San Diego County. Having been about six months into the pandemic, masks were required pretty much everywhere. For health and safety, we were required to wear those masks while delivering. The picture above shows me wearing one of the masks which is made of cotton and double layered. These masks have a sleeve inside to insert a filter. Elastic strips with a stopper on the end goes around the ears to hold the mask over the nose and mouth. Because this mask irritated my ears, I took a bread wrapper twist and hooked it to the back and tied it so it wouldn't sit on my ears and was instead tied around the back of my head. This jerry rigged mask led to a tighter fit on my face. This in turn led to sweat and moisture collecting in the fabric of the mask throughout the day which led to an extremely pungent stench because of the sweat, mucus from a runny nose, and stinky breath. The other issue that caused more distress was the soaked mask. Especially on this particularly hot day, I was essentially breathing through a wet rag. Breathing through my mouth was the only option because my nose wasn't strong enough to draw in enough air. Climbing up stairs and up and down drive ways made it more difficult to breath. I had to take intermittent breaks to pull down the mask to get air and breath fresh air. Needless to say, mints, gum, and breath freshener was regularly on hand after this day. Along with lots and lots of water.
• 
  2020-06-01

  Tastes like Home

  The pandemic changed so many things about everyday life, and even our food wasn't spared. Not only did the effects of COVID-19 attack our sense of taste, but it even affected those who hadn't contracted it. Going out to restaurants was completely out of the question, and to avoid spending too much money on take-out, my family continued to brave the grocery stores. There was a silver lining, though, because it started to change the way we felt about meals. I spent more time cooking with them back home in Vienna, VA, and now that I live here in Tempe I find a lot of those habits have stuck with me. I'm especially glad that I started baking more before I left home. Baking was a way to get the whole family together and give each of us something to look forward to that day, in a time when days kind of blended together and none of us knew what to expect. What's more, we'd all heard stories about how early COVID symptoms included loss of smell and taste, so I think there was a small part of me that was reassured by actually being able to taste what we'd all worked on together. I included a brownie recipe that I use a lot with this post, so you can try it if you like and get a taste for how it still offers me some comfort.
• 2022-05-24

  New Hobbies and a New Normal

  Like many other people who suddenly found themselves at home for an extended period due to the COVID-19 quarantines I picked up many new hobbies which have now become a part of my normal life. In March of 2020 I suddenly found myself unable to go into nail salons that had been closed as nonessential businesses. I found online advertisements for at-home dip powder nail kits and ordered to materials to turn my living room into a makeshift nail salon to do my own nails. The smell of a nail salon is distinctive, and I found that smell filling my living room every time I did my nails. Also in March 2020, my office shut down and the entire staff was sent to work from home. At the same time my kids’ school was also closed and they were sent home for virtual classes. My quiet private office at work was traded for my noisy house with dogs barking, teachers teaching over Zoom, and kids in group videos talking with their friends. With all our usual reasons to leave the house gone I found little escape from the chaos that was now a typical day at work in my house. Looking for a reason to get out of the house I took up running. A few days a week I would head outside for a quiet neighborhood run trading in the sounds of Zoom calls with teachers and kids for the occasional neighborhood bird. Over two years later and life has returned to a version of what we used to call normal. Nail salons are open, I am back to working in my office, and my kids are back to learning in their classrooms. However, some of these hobbies I picked up out of necessity have found their way into my life permanently. I still do my own nails at the house, turning my living room into a nail salon every other weekend. I still go for neighborhood runs a few times a week either before or after a day at the office. While these have become fixtures in my life now, the smell of a nail salon in my living room still reminds me of the earliest quarantine days and when I head out for a quiet neighborhood run, I still recall the peaceful feeling that brought me when life at home was becoming too stressful in 2020.
• 
  2020-05-05

  A lack of touch in a tactile world

  When the COVID-19 virus struck in the spring of 2020, I was still completing my undergraduate degree in history at a small university near the border of North and South Carolina. My university transitioned to online learning around the second week of March. One of my classes that semester was an upper level special topics course on Public History. Seizing the opportunity to document the COVID-19 pandemic for future generations, my course instructor had students to document and journal about our everyday lives in quarantine during the second half of the course as we transitioned online. The above is a video I took for that course of some my friends from back home, where I had returned to live in isolation with my mother, father, brothers, and grandfather; while at home, I would drive about once a week to an empty target parking lot to socialize with some of my friends from the community. We would sit in our cars, spaced at least fifteen feet apart, in order to avoid spreading the virus. Though I was thankful for the opportunity to still see my friends, and to have at least one social outing each week, the sense, or rather lack of sense, that was most prevalent in my mind, and still is when recalling the COVID-19 pandemic lockdowns in the spring of 2020, is not being able to touch my friends. I am a very tactile person, and giving a hug or a handshake to my friends is an important part of expressing my love and feelings for others. Though during the COVID-19 pandemic we were able to communicate by means of modern day technology, such as zoom, and even in cases such as mine due to the state where I lived, still being able to socialize in outdoor areas, the fear of the virus prevented me from being able to express friendship in one of the most natural ways. Though only ten to fifteen feet apart, it was if we had all created an invisible bubble that could not penetrated. Though this was all for good reason, it did not make the psychological implications any less real. The ten feet that separated me from my friends for over two months felt like ten million miles, and my thoughts constantly played tricks on me. I grew accustomed to not touching or being near others. It was in early May, almost two months after returning home from college, that I touched someone outside of my family unit for the first time. A friend of mine who I went to high school with, who also worked on a farm that borders my family's farm, wanted to ride ATV's together. I agreed, and we remained at least six feet distant from one another. We it came time for him to return home, however, he extended his hand to give me a "fist bump." Normally, he probably would have tried to hug me, but even the notion of touching our fists together made me hesitant, though I did return the friendly gesture. The virus had me, and most of society, programmed to remain enclosed to ourselves, and in doing so, though necessary for a time, unable to engage in the most basic of human interactions. Prior to the pandemic, I never had give thought to the importance of touching in my relationships, however, in a post-pandemic world, I will never take for granted the most basic of human interactions, such as touch, because in a moment it could be gone.
• 2020-03-23

  Solid Wall of (No) Sound

  I was a college student during the initial phases of the pandemic. Classes were moved to all online, and I moved out of the dorm back home, since most of the campus was closed. My most distinct memory of the time is of walking my dog on the first Monday morning of the lockdown. The world was so still. The only soft noises that could be heard were birds chirping and squirrels chittering to each other as they ran around. I lived right next to a major road, so the sudden silence was almost oppressive. That vacuum of sound was the loudest thing I heard on the walk, and it came with the sudden awareness that the area I was walking in was completely alien to the one I had grown up in. I have visited home again since then, but have been completely unable to ever capture that eerie feeling again. It felt special, like a completely ethereal place in time that would never be recreated again.
• 
  2020-04

  Sudden Change to the Nature of Library Work

  This story shows how pandemic radically changed workplace experience, including sensory memories, for my occupation as a library worker in Washington County Utah in April 2020.
• 
  2020-05-23T09

  Sampling a dystopian world

  We lived in a very town in western Illinois as the pandemic arrived in America. Covid-19 seemed abstract until circumstances caused us to travel to a major international airport. The eerie quiet, in place of what should have been a noisy, madcap atmosphere, elevated sounds I normally would not have heard. It was as if a scene from a science fiction film had jumped off the screen and into my life. The experience had a nightmarish quality that has stayed with me two years later.