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.
• 
  2020-05-01

  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!
• 2020-09-01

  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.
• 
  2020-04-15

  An Unacceptable Wall of Sound

  I live in Austin, Texas, in a neighborhood that is both in the approach flight pattern for Austin-Bergstrom International Airport and contains a hospital with a Level 1 Trauma Center and a helipad. During the first wave of the COVID-19 pandemic, the soundscape of neighborhood abruptly changed. The first thing I noticed, in the early days of a city-wide “stay-at-home” order was that I could hear more birds in the trees outside my second story apartment. It took a few days for me to realize that it was because the birdsong was not being drowned out by the sound of airplanes landing at the nearby runway. At the time I remember thinking that, perhaps, the sound of the birds was something I could look forward to every morning as I navigated suddenly having to find a new job due to the pandemic. Soon, the sound of landing airplanes was replaced with a sound that much harder to ignore. Ambulance sirens. It became noticeable after the first week, with ambulances arriving at the hospital several times an hour. By week three, it was a near constant drone broken up only by helicopters bringing even more critical patients into the city for care. By week eight, I stopped even noticing the sound of ambulances at all. The sound of the pandemic became so commonplace that my brain learned to filter out the wall of sirens as background noise. I often wonder how many ambulances carried patients who never left the hospital and how much suffering, fear, and sadness became “background noise” for us all. Given that we are entering into year three of the pandemic, and the United States has registered nearly one million COVID-19 deaths, it pains me to realize to know that number is far higher than any of us should have accepted.
• 
  2021-04-08

  Cocomelon or Blippi

  In the early stages of COVID, I was in Utah finishing up my Bachelor’s. Finally, after reuniting with my sister’s family in Washington, not only did I have a hard time adjusting to the noise, I had to deal with the 24/7 nonstop routine of my nieces and nephews watching either Cocomelon or Blippi. We can’t even have a movie night because the kids will end up crying to change the movie to Cocomelon or Blippi. Night and Day, my nieces and nephews would be singing to the nursery rhymes on Cocomelon or the opening song of Blippi. Although there were times when I would get annoyed or frustrated watching the same thing on the television, I am grateful for these moments. After spending many years on my own, I am thankful and blessed to be with my family during these times. In the end, it became a routine for me and my nieces and nephews to watch Cocomelon or Blippi in the evening. Not only do I get to see their sweet smiles, but I also get to hear their cute little chuckles and laughter while singing “The Wheels On The Bus” or spelling Blippi’s name. The noise that I once had a hard time adjusting to and the overbearing sound of the nursery rhymes from cocomelon or blippi's name did not matter as their sweet laughs and chuckles filled the house every evening making COVID quarantine bearable.
• 
  2022-01-28

  Unpleasant Sounds

  Before the pandemic the sound of a harmless cough or sneeze did not bother me. After two years into the pandemic those same sounds make me cringe. For me, the sound of a stranger’s cough or sneeze triggers the feeling of disgust. I am repulsed and immediately want to leave the environment I am in. When at work and I hear a cough or sneeze I stop, and wonder is it the cold dry New Mexico air that caused it or is it the virus? I try not to get worked up about it and carry on. The pandemic has changed a lot of once “normal” things for me, and has made me hyper aware of things I might not have noticed before.
• 
  2020-10-28

  Pierogis and Kielbasa: Sound and Smell During COVID-19

  Before the pandemic and the subsequent lockdowns began, hearing or seeing a loved one seemed almost a certainty. Although I worried for the safety of all my friends and family, I was most concerned with the well-being of my aging, immunocompromised grandmother. As a daughter of Eastern European immigrants, she was accustomed to eating ethnic Polish food. Throughout my childhood, she would kindly make pierogis and kielbasa sausage for me and my sister. The savory aroma of pierogis and kielbasa sausage cooking in sauerkraut inundated the senses. With the onset of the pandemic, however, my life, as with so many others, changed. Unfortunately, my grandmother is not accustomed to using video-chat services; however, hearing her voice over the phone or social-distancing on her porch allowed me to maintain contact, hear her voice, and smell the wonderful aroma of the food she always made for me as a child. Although momentary, the loss of hearing my grandmother’s voice as well as her delicious food made me realize how important it is to cherish the connections you have with your loved ones. During a time of uncertainty, tragedy, and disconnection, a loved one’s voice (as well as the food they make) can provide an emotional uplift.
• 
  2021-01-14T18:43:30

  The Sounds, Smells, and Experiences of a COVID Graduation

  As the year 2020 ushered in my family and I had many events we were looking forward to, one event was my son’s high-school graduation. Once COVID hit his ceremony got postponed, and then it was turned into a drive-thru graduation ceremony. I felt happy my son’s graduation ceremony was still happening, but sad for both my son and me too. Since, my son would miss out on the traditional aspects of a high-school graduation ceremony, and I felt sad for myself because I did not get to attend my own high-school graduation; so it had meant a lot to me to see him experience what I did not get to at a traditional high-school graduation ceremony. On the day of my son’s drive-thru graduation ceremony, I was driving and my hands were dry and slippery from the hand sanitizer, I constantly put on for protection from COVID, both factors therefore made it hard to focus totally on the visuals of the event; and also impacted my ability to get a lot of video and pictures at the event. These circumstances I feel made me fixate on all the sounds and smells just as much as the visuals in front of me while experiencing the graduation. While waiting in the car line to get to the graduation stage the graduation speeches were streamed from a local radio station. The speeches I heard given by chosen student speakers referenced at times the sadness they felt due to the senior events cancelled due to COVID. When usually speakers at graduations express sadness, but the class of 2020 had a unique sadness and that is the effects COVID had on their senior year. As my son and I approached the commencement stage we both put our masks on, the smells of my car were replaced by the stale air I breathed within my mask that I had become all too familiar with since the start of COVID. My son got out of the car to walk across the commencement stage. The sounds I heard from the car were kind of distant, and made me feel like I was watching the ceremony from a different location. At the end of the day, while watching my son walk across the graduation stage, all my feelings and different observations before the event subsided and I felt nothing but proud of my son. Along with I felt grateful for the people who put together the graduation, for some of the unique sensory experiences I may not have focused on as much in pre-COVID times, and for the event since it could have been canceled because of COVID. If anything COVID implications provided many unique aspects to my son’s graduation ceremony that may come to give more meaning to it in the long run then a traditional graduation ceremony. The video clip I submitted is one of a few captured memories I have of the graduation; and it’s an example of the distant sounds of the graduation I heard while viewing it from my car.
• 2020-10-14

  An Empty Theater

  Every year for the last 20 years, our community has planned, practiced, and performed a tribute to Broadway in a production called "Best of Broadway". We have a cast of over 100 local community members that sing and dance to 20 or so different Broadway songs. Our rehearsals are in an old Veterans Memorial building that comes to life during January to March with our songs, lights, and energy. The chants in the hall echos against the old walls, the stomping of feet on the stage threatens those downstairs, and the beat of the music pumps your heart. When one is in the hall, they are guaranteed to hear laughter in the back corner, a director shouting at the sound guy, and a piercing squeal in the speakers. The sounds in the hall define the busy enthusiasm of the cast and crew. However, this year, our production was shut down the day before our opening night due to Covid-19. The heartbreak of working for months on a show that was cancelled was devastating. After our annual production, we always have a day to clean and put our props and costumes away and clean the hall. But, this year, we just...left. The hall remains filled with our Broadway stuff. And when someone walks into the building, the silence of a show that was never performed is deafening.
• 
  2020-07-08

  Sound and Street Art in San Francisco

  A regional street art movement is bringing life and culture to San Francisco's empty streets during the COVID-19 pandemic. SF Symphony Associate Principal Bass, Dan Smith, is contributing to the movement by adding sound. In this video, Smith plays Adam Ben Ezra's "Can't Stop Running" in front of a variety of street art installments in San Francisco's Hayes Valley. As a former San Francisco resident, the sound produced by Smith, coupled with the art, feels exactly like the "City by the Bay." Art and culture are the heartbeat of San Francisco. And they remain alive and well during the COVID-19 pandemic.
• 
  2020-08-20

  Sensory history and the pandemic

  I've been thinking about sensory history and how often it's left out of historical records. We often don't stop to comment on observations we make every day like noise of a busy street corner or the smell of muffins baking in the kitchen. I'm teaching HST643 Global history during Fall B with a module on sensory history. I'd like to ask students to add a perspective on the sensory history of the pandemic. I posted this thought in the JOTPY Slack workspace and Shanna replied with a really interesting observation about sound: “…there is an odd tension of noise inside my home and silence the second I step outside. I find myself needing a quiet space when I’m in my house. Yet the second I walk outside, it’s way too quiet that I start to feel uncomfortably lonely and in need of human connection.”