Items

• 
  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.
• 2020-05-01

  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.
• 
  2020-04-25

  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.
• 
  2020-05

  A Touch of Retirement: Dice, Clubs, and Power Tools

  Covid-19 had more of a positive effect than negative on my life in the spring/summer of 2020. I am a teacher in the small community of Anson, Texas, population 1,884; we are social distanced by default. Following the spring break of that school year, Anson ISD shut down and went wholly online. It was already a time of great transition for me, I was leaving the world of coaching in favor of becoming a regular classroom teacher and I had just been given five months to reflect on my new role. That time was spent with family and friends in an almost semi-retirement doing the things I never had time for because of my demanding schedule. As a teacher and coach, 60-hour work weeks were a norm, and during football seasons you could expect those hours to creep to the upper 90’s. There were also no “real” summers like other teachers. A coach’s summer is spent in morning workouts and summer camps with the occasional week off to visit family and decompress. That is why the “covid summer,” as I remember it, had such a profound impact on my life. Those five months were spent with family and friends playing dungeons and dragons, golfing, and remodeling a good friend’s house. My younger brother is an avid dungeons and dragons player, a hobby that I never found myself with enough time to delve into. The collaborative story-based tabletop role playing game known as dnd requires several people, a few hours, and a lot of reading to play. My covid summer left me with ample free time to do just that. The sound of dice on hard tabletops rang throughout our houses as we held a regular weekly gaming session for five months. One unique thing about dungeons and dragons is the diversity of dice required to play the game, from four sided up to twenty sided and almost every even number in between, were required to effectively play the game. Most sets came with every dice, but the variety of color, size, and material quickly made collection a side hobby. Before long, I had a large bag full of dice and special black and gold metal set saved for only the most special of encounters. That is what I remember most, the cool touch of those dice as I contemplated the best course of action for my character to take against the hordes of enemies by brother could conjure up. While the hottest days were spent in the air conditioning playing games, the pleasant ones were spent golfing. At the time, state health officials had mentioned golf as an almost perfect sport to play during covid because it was easy to social distance and the vitamin D from the sun helped to boost the immune system. I played a lot of golf with much of the same friends I played dnd with. Many of the golf courses we played at threw their doors open and welcomed golfers with open arms to try and keep the business afloat through the troubling times; we never once were denied a t-time. We played golf at least twice a week for five months and I don’t think my hands have recovered yet. The feel of those club handles wore out two gloves and countless blisters across both hand and I wouldn’t change it for the world. While my other two hobbies offered little in the form of vocational skills, my third allowed me to learn the most. My good friend purchased his first home in May of 2020. A quaint 3 bed 2 bath home on a third of an acre just outside of Abilene, a larger town about 20 minutes south of Anson. The home was a product of the 60’s and while it had been well maintained by its previous owners, it needed quite a bit of updating. My friend had some experience in construction from a previous job, but we were all learning on the fly as we decided to remodel his home. Roughly a dozen power tools across four friends, we tore out walls, updated electrical, redid flooring, framed, drywalled, painted, and wired his 1500 square foot house for the better part of three months. There were a lot of late nights, beverages had, and good laughs shared. We all had some know how, but YouTube and google became our best friends. I had always heard the saying that rough hands meant hard work, but the feeling of my hands covered in drywall dust gave a much more visceral connection to it. I think all these feelings for me were so profound during this time because the pandemic had placed a warning label on touch. My mom is a thirty-year veteran nurse, directed an ER during swine flu and bird flu, and still received Christmas cards from high-ranking officials of the CDC; I was well informed on the virus. In the early days, we didn’t know how long it lasted on surfaces, the severity of the virus, or its communicability. Touch was one thing that had to be eliminated. A six-foot bubble was placed on the world and people feared handshakes, hugs, and human embraces foundational to the species. One knows the dangers of the everyday world, but rarely to we expect a loving hug to potentially carry death to a dear loved one. This notion changed how we, as a species, saw each other. Some embraced the struggle to soldier on with courage and others gave into fear as new information came out hourly. Two years later, after mask mandates have been lifted across most of the country, people are still trying to heal. Fist bumps taken over handshakes, hands free pay at most supermarkets, automatic doors becoming a priority are all examples of how Covid-19 changed our perception of touch as a human race. With all the activity I had during my covid summer, I did eventually contract the novel virus on my birthday in June. My only symptom was a loss of smell, one of the weirdest sensations I’ve ever had. I count myself extremely lucky that that was the only symptom I had. Aside from my ten days of self-quarantine, my life was affected in very much a positive way. I cherish the memories of my covid summer and count myself incredibly lucky to have experienced the pandemic the way I did.
• 
  2020-05-29

  Water, Water, Everywhere

  Looking back at 2020, and thinking about what event(s) really tapped into my senses, I needed to look back at all the pictures and videos I took throughout that year. After doing so, I noticed a common theme: water. Seeing, hearing, and touching water was a common theme for my whole family. My little ones learned that year, that it's fun to splash in puddles after a big rain storm. They learned that our wonderful state (Michigan) has some pretty awesome beaches. We also started making a point to visit local nature preserves. One we found had a giant river running through it. We found a spot to safely dip our toes and let the water wash over them, while sitting quietly and listening to the calming sounds of the river flow. The video I've attached to this is of the rain chain that runs down the side of my house. I love sitting outside when it's warm and just listening to the water trickle down. I will sit quietly, with my eyes closed, and just enjoy the calming sounds of the rain flowing down the chain. I couldn't immediately remember when I started sitting on my porch and doing this, and then it dawned on me that it started the spring of 2020 (first spring of the pandemic). When life was forcibly slowed down on us, I found myself really enjoying the sounds that nature provides, specifically, water. In a time of such stress and uncertainty, the sounds of flowing water were (and still are) so therapeutic.
• 
  2020-04-12

  TexMex Easter

  Easter 2020 was very different, but as it turned it out different in a good way
• 
  2020-08-10

  Smelling the labor shortage

  Trash stinks. This fact is universally recognized, except, maybe, by raccoons and the like. Nobody likes to have trash around, let alone piled up and overflowing. And that's not something that most people have to really worry about. The – at least relative – cleanliness of the streets is taken for granted by the vast majority of people who are privileged enough to enjoy regular cleanup services. For most of my life, I placed my trash in a bag in a bin in my kitchen until it was full, or, if I made chicken for dinner, until I was done cooking. Then I took the bag out of the bin and out to the larger bin outside – out of sight, out of mind. When Sunday night rolled around, I emptied the kitchen bin one final time, took it out, and wheeled the larger bin to the sidewalk. It was empty when I woke up on Monday and thus began the cycle again. The city's sanitation workers faithfully took care of mine and everyone else's trash before the crack of dawn. But something changed one Monday morning in August 2020. I pulled in the driveway at 3:30pm after having just finished an exhausting shift at a coffee shop, where a third of my coworkers had called out sick over the course of that week. As I always do, I walked over to the bin, grabbed the handle, and started wheeling it back to its usual place by the back yard gate. It felt heavy. It wasn't full; I usually don't produce enough trash to fill it up every week. "Was today a holiday?", I thought to myself. No, it was just a regular Monday – as regular as any day could be post-March 2020. Maybe they were just behind schedule. I kept walking back to the back yard gate and. as usual, I spun the bin around intending to just walk away. Being clumsy, I managed to set it off its balance and knocked it over. Trash spilled onto the ground and one of the bags broke open. The smell of rotting eggshells, an old hunk of cheese I found while cleaning out my refrigerator three days prior, and the, er, soiled, cat litter wafted upwards creating a smoldering cocktail of aromas that left me coughing. I got gloves and a mask (something I never would have owned six months back) and cleaned it up – no big deal. Tuesday came and still there was no sign of the sanitation workers. Sunday arrived and again I wheeled the bin to the road; this time it was so full that the lid would not fully close. I assumed that last week's interruption of service was a one-off. As I got home from work Monday and saw the bin still full, I realized the degree to which I had been taking the trash service for granted. I wheeled it back to the gate, went inside, and opened up the news app on my computer. I stumbled across an article about the disproportionate affects of COVID-19 on essential workers. The lack of service was not a one-off, it was a problem. Recent photos of streets littered with trash and overflowing bins abounded when I did a Google search for them. I went outside to go for a walk. That smell – the cocktail of cheese, eggs, and cat litter – was now at my front door. Similar cocktails emanated from each house I walked past, each with their own garnish, so to speak. It was overpowering. It was the first time I had experienced the result of our modality of living in such a visceral, sensory way. But beyond my own discomfort and beyond the discomfort of my neighbors' similar experiences, that overpowering stench that saturated the air made me conscious of the people who clean it up for me every week. It made me conscious of the degree to which we as a society depend of them and people who perform other services we take for granted. It highlighted, in a very stark way, what our society prioritizes above the health of its people. The sanitation workers don't make very much money. They have to go to work, even if they are sick, because lack of guaranteed sick time even in the midst of a raging pandemic puts their lives at risk. Either way, their lives are at risk.
• 
  2020-06-25

  In-Processing Day for the Class of 2024 at the United States Air Force Academy

  Imagine yourself going into your senior year of college... but at a service academy while COVID-19 has sunken its teeth into every aspect of our lives. While most colleges and universities around the globe pushed back the start dates of their fall semesters in 2020 or moved entirely online, Service academies in the U.S. needed to meet congress' demand of supplying a steady stream of future commissioned lieutenants to the military. As a result, I found myself at 23 years old as a flight commander of 30 young, recent high school graduates who needed the same level of indoctrination I received into the Air Force four years prior. Rather than videos of years past with cadet cadre in the faces of soon-to-be freshmen screaming at the top of their lungs, this video provides the innocuous version of in-processing with unedited or dubbed audio. You might even see a few of my basics who didn't know what to expect of basic training during the pandemic. While the cadre in the film stand professionally and talk with a sense of authority towards the basics, I can tell you behind the scenes we were re-writing COVID-19 protocol and adjusting their syllabi as each day passed. Your authority as a military instructor weakens as its filtered through a wet, uncomfortable cloth mask (I strongly encourage you to look up "I-Day" videos of USAFA prior to the pandemic to compare). Can you imagine how much you have to yell through one of those masks to get 30 individuals to hear you over the other 39 flights sprinkled across the campus drill pads? My 6 weeks as a flight commander were filled with frustration, sympathy, reward, and most of all focus. First, focusing visually, I had to maintain social distancing anywhere from when basics were wrapped around the hallways to wait to shower all the way to when they practiced marching non-military standard "double-arm interval" for their basic training graduation day. Also, focusing through sound, I had to understand my basics through sweat or dirt covered masks as they recited knowledge, asked questions during academic blocks, or were struggling and needed follow-up mentoring. The measurable distance between trainers and trainees as well as the pauses of silence, normally filled with a constant cacophony of yelling, are what many graduates of my alma mater would call weak. Despite a lack of intensity, masks added a layer of confusion and frustration during a period that is already filled with fear, stress, and exhaustion for basics. For that reason, I want to ask those who weren't there to understand sensually why the class of 2024 still went through the same basic training experience as years past. Maybe a second listen to the audio can even reveal those same frustrations and fears from the basics reflected in the tone of their cadre.
• 
  2021-02-16

  A Journey for the Jab

  With the start of 2021, I was excited for the prospect of the vaccines that were starting to get rolled out. I knew at the beginning that I would be one of the firsts to get it because I was a teacher in Texas, where we had only had 3 weeks of online school, and the rest of the year had been in person. That high risk meant that by the end of January, the first week teachers were allowed to get the first shot, I signed up at the nearest hospital who had the Pfizer vaccine. The first one went without a hitch, with barely some soreness in my arm in the week following. It is the second shot that was a bit derailed. The week I was supposed to get my second shot, Texas was hit by one of the worst snow storms we have ever faced, and millions lost power. My apartment had rolling black outs the first day, and my apartment became colder and colder. My partner and I initially thought to stick it out, piling cover after cover of blankets and huddling close for warmth. Then, at 6PM that night, the power went out and never came back and we were driven into darkness and the cold seeped into our bones. We made the decision to suffer the cold, icy roads, and the long journey to my partner’s parents’ house, which had not lost power. We packed up the food in coolers, feeling for what may have spoiled during the blackouts, and feeling for what remained cold and frozen. We shoved as much as would fit and headed out. The drive is normally only 35 minutes, but with no snow tires and ice everywhere, we could not travel more than 30 miles an hour. As we reversed out of our spot, you could immediately feel the tires lose their traction and hear them spin loosely over the ice that had gathered under the truck. As we began our journey, the heater finally began blasting our faces with air that slowly began to warm up, and started the long process of thawing our frozen limbs. Two hours on this slow trek, constantly worried about sections of black ice, and losing control of tires, both ours and others, but we finally made it to their home. The first thing we noticed when we entered through their door was the strong smells of hot chocolate being prepared on the stove. The next day, when my appointment was set for the second dose of the vaccine, I called and asked if they were still giving the vaccine or if I should reschedule, and was told that I would lose my spot if I rescheduled because they only had so many doses at this time and did not want to have any go to waste. My partner’s parents decided to drive all of us to the hospital. Several times on this trip, we heard the squeal and slam of cars losing control of their cars and careening into one another. We all held our breaths at each close encounter, and did not realize until we reached the hospital how we had all clenched our bodies in tension. It was not until we pulled into the parking garage that I heard all of us let out a collective sigh of relief. I went in for my second shot as the family stayed on the first floor, waiting out of the cold but away from the mass of bodies huddling to be let into the hospital. Inside, I quickly walked down the hall, not wanting to make my partner and his family have to wait too long for me, and I was gently guided through the path by the volunteer staff. Because of the cold, I had worn three long sleeve layers, and found after much stretching that it was not possible for the nurse to get at my arm to receive the shot. Feeling the burn on my cheeks in embarrassment, as I had to publicly remove the top to layers, and pull my bottom shirt over my head. The cold of the room chilled my body, and I had to stop myself from shivering. With the second shot complete, and as I headed to the room to wait the required 20 minutes to make sure I did not have any immediate reaction to the shot, I was stopped dead in my tracks when I saw my partner and his family being ushered into the room. My partner was not yet eligible for the shot, and we both had had arguments with his parents about the shots, since they didn’t believe in needing them. I later found out that a nurse had been looking in the hospital lobby for anyone who hadn’t had their shots to come up because they had 5 extra shots that would be expiring if no one received them soon. Somehow, my partner in that split moment where they were being given this golden opportunity, shouted yes for all of them, and began shoving his parents down to the room before they could protest. Once we had all piled back into the truck after all four of us received our shots, we went home as quickly as we safely could. Though I had had no reaction to the first shot, this second dose threw me for a loop. That night, the chills began. Even as the house had its heat blasting on full, and I was sitting as close to the fireplace as I could safely sit, my teeth could be heard chattering across the living room. My head began pounding, and I fell into a deep sleep an hour later. Thankfully, the cold was gone from my body when I awoke the next morning, and two days later, the snow had melted enough, and our power was restored to return home. The pandemic has induced so much fear and anxiety in all of us over these last two years, have really made me so much more aware of those around me, but for me, when I think about the vaccines, and the reluctance of those who can receive them but don’t, I think about the treacherous journey I was forced to make to get mine. I think about the cold. I think about the squealing tires. I think about how terrible I felt after my second dose. And I also think about the relief at knowing that all of this awfulness led to my partner’s parents suddenly getting vaccinated. For that alone, I would experience the fear of the snowstorm once again.
• 
  2020

  Scents of Indoor-Focused Life

  When the pandemic began in earnest in March 2020, I was, like so many others, caught pretty unawares. I had heard in passing of the existence of the covid virus, but was pretty ignorant overall of the rapid spread and severity of it. I worked in a customer service job at the time, and as it happened, continued to do so through the rest of 2020, 2021, and now the beginning of 2022. While some businesses closed down in spring 2020, my workplace was considered to be essential, and so I continued to go to work everyday as if nothing had happened. Except it had, and would continue to do so, growing worse as time went on. I, always having been a bit of a homebody, immediately searched for ways to find regularity and comfort at home, where I spent all of my time that wasn't at work. I've always found the sense of smell to be very compelling, if only because so many memories can be associated with them. Getting that one whiff of a fried pastry in your own house, for example, might bring to mind that funnel cake you had at the amusement park as a kid. In spring 2020, I bought a selection of scented candles in a saga of online shopping, all of them based off some book or character from such. I've always taken comfort in my favorite books, movies, television shows, etc., and thought that extending that escapism in one more way might help me out as work became ever more stressful. I quickly discovered that this was very true, and started looking for and purchasing many more candles, a hobby that has continued to this day. I'm sure my bank account does not appreciate it, but my mental health does. I can still connect certain candle scents to days I felt particularly at peace at certain points throughout the last few years; a whiff of vanilla musk and rose wafting through the house, for example, reminds me of that day I had off in summer 2021 where I had new records to play, read a new book by my favorite author, and just enjoyed the day with my dog. It's hard for a lot of people, including myself, to find moments like that through the pandemic. My candles, and the ongoing memories and peace they bring to mind, have helped me find some semblance of happiness through the covid experience.
• 
  2020-09

  Feeling Exhausted from COVID

  When COVID-19 first came to America I was employed as an assistant manager at a warehouse in northeast Wisconsin. Generally speaking, the city I live in is somewhat conservative and reserved. On a day-to-day basis, it is typically tolerable (despite my liberal and progressive philosophies) and the people are, on average, kind and helpful. However, as COVID infections increased and much of the proposed solutions to help curtail the spread were politicized, it became increasingly exhausting to exist around others with less-than-helpful and uncooperative attitudes. This was mentally draining, to say the least. On top of that, I was starting to work more and more as members of the staff were on a quarantine carousel. In a short amount of time, I began to routinely work 16 hours (or more) a day. Not only was I spent on an emotional and mental level, the nature of the work I was expected to do was leaving me physically beaten. As hard as I tried not to be too upset with those that had to stay home, I couldn't help but feel anger at those that weren't taking the pandemic seriously. I felt I was doing double-duty: I was not only working in place of multiple employees but I was doing my part to help stop the spread of a virus that was causing serious harm. To top it all off, I was feeling guilty for having those feelings while still being employed, having a healthy family (and not suffering any losses), and being able to continue my way of life pretty much unaffected in a major way. This was certainly a time of mixed feelings and emotions. Although this may not be exactly what is meant by 'sensory history', it is hard to pick other sensations of a greater degree I had felt.
• 
  2020-05

  Silence in the Morning

  At the beginning of the pandemic, I was working at a hotel on a US Military base in Stuttgart Germany where I typically worked the overnight shift. As such, my commute home in the mornings was usually the noisiest part of my day. I would often pass by the local bakery on my way home, one of the busiest places in town in the morning. I would hear the sounds of the shuffling of feet of the people in line, the clink of coins on the counter, the crinkle of paper bags filled with the daily bread the Germans would buy or the pastries they would eat for lunch, and the whine of the coffee machine for their morning coffee. In the background was the constant droning of the morning rush hour traffic. After the lockdown, when the German government shut down businesses, I had to continue working as the military converted the hotel I worked at into a quarantine facility. I continued with my overnight shifts and my commute home in the mornings while everyone else stayed home. What struck me the most about my new commute home was the silence. The utter lack of noise was practically oppressive. I could close my eyes and the only difference with the dead of night was the warmth of the sun beating on my skin. What was once the noisiest part of my day was now the quietest.
• 
  2020-04

  How Stuffed Peppers Kept Me From Killing My Roommates

  In March of 2020, I had just turned 22. I was prepping to graduate from Loyola University Chicago and searching for a job in journalism — a notoriously tough field to start out in, pandemic or not. The virus started spreading, and the jobs started disappearing. Chicago, my once-vibrant home where people scattered like ants as the CTA trains screeched into the station, was deserted. It was eerie. The internet was swarming with newly viral recipes: banana bread, sourdough starters, homemade pizzas. I wasn't interested in those, they didn't strike my fancy. In a time of severe isolation for most, I was stuck with roommates. Don't get me wrong, we had our issues. The dishes were almost never done, and we disagreed on whose responsibility they were. But in my boredom, I took up cooking, and for once I didn't mind cooking for them as well. I was one of many COVID-induced chefs who began as amateurs and blossomed into connoisseurs that rivaled the best of takeout menus. The only problem was, I'm a vegetarian, and my roommates are born-and-bred Midwesterners, set in their ways of eating and enjoying meat at nearly every meal. But by April, I had sprung head-first into a phase of cooking stuffed peppers several times a week, and they had followed me down the rabbit hole. There were no disagreements about whether to put meat in the filling or not — we didn't need it, there was enough flavor and protein regardless. And the dishes were always done, somehow without a single argument or passive-aggressive slam of a door. The peppers were fun and colorful, Instagram-worthy in a time that lacked almost anything visually intriguing. They became a source of collaboration instead of the division that had seeped in through our 100-year-old Chicago apartment's walls, a result of being trapped with no one but each other for weeks on end. It's superstitious, maybe, but I think these peppers may have saved us from severing our relationship forever. We mended our fracturing friendships and became a family once again, eating dinner together and making sure the kitchen was clean.
• 
  2020-02-01

  Essential Business

  During my undergraduate studies at the University of Oregon, I lived in an apartment in Eugene, Oregon.  The apartment complex had a mixture of college students and non-college students, in other words, it was not specifically for college students as many in the area were.  Being that Eugene is a college town and the legalization of marijuana, the scent of marijuana was common. Walking my dog in the evenings without smelling or seeing people smoke would have been odd. The COVID-19 breakout and subsequent lockdown would alter my apartment complex's scent. As mentioned before, the smell of marijuana was extremely common. However, the intensity and frequency were increased. The scent of weed became almost as common as the smell of rain or grass in the morning. People began to smoke much earlier in the mornings, whereas before it was usually reserved for the afternoon or evening times. COVID-19 forced people to stay home, which altered their work and college schedules which resulted in more leisure time. Interestingly, or perhaps rather expected, the State of Oregon deemed marijuana dispensaries an "Essential Business".  The State would curtail one's ability to go to campus and the library, places of study, and personal development were shut down for health and safety purposes. But people were still allowed to go to a dispensary spend their money on a recreational drug. So I decided to go one, for investigational purposes of course, and after having a conversation with the local budtender, she informed me that people were being much higher qualities than before. She speculated it was either out of fear of the pandemic or the fear of the dispensaries being shut down in the near future. Thus it brought me to wonder, was marijuana deemed "Essential" for economic or psychological purposes?
• 
  2020-03

  When the Outdoors Became Quiet and the Indoors Became Loud

  My aural experience changed greatly when Nevada all but shut down for the COVID-19 pandemic, mid-March 2020. For me, the indoors then became louder, and the outdoors became much quieter. School was canceled for my four children, so naturally my home had far fewer quiet moments than it had prior—a challenge since my son and I were taking college courses. A Just Dance song called “Diggy,” instantly reminds me of the COVID shutdown whenever I hear it, because my kids frequently danced to it (amongst others) in the first few weeks. Because my husband’s hearing aids amplify indoor sounds to the point of discomfort at times, there were also a lot of spoken (and yes, even yelled) reminders in our home for the kids to bring down their voices—another auditory memory. The outdoors were a particularly quiet place at that time, which was unusual since Las Vegas is quite lovely in the Spring. Birds and silence and the occasional barking dog, replaced the sounds of planes and traffic that normally accompany nature’s noises in my area. On still days, I could hear the school-bells chime at one of the three nearby schools, reminding me of what we were collectively experiencing. Additionally, when my kids went to distance-education several months later (August 2020), versions of the refrain “Quiet! I’m un-muting!” were daily—often multiple times a day—auditory experiences in our home.
• 
  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.
• 
  2020-03-31

  Banana Bread Madness

  Like a lot of people when the pandemic hit, there was a great deal of uncertainty. I didn't know how to function really, not teaching school, so like a lot of people, while thinking about my kids shortened year, I turned to baking. I tried Banoffee Pie and that was a huge faliure, but then , I stumbled on this Banana Bread recipe. I made upwards of 25 loafs in the months that follow. Every time I taste that sweet banana goodness, I think of how much I both enjoyed having that time (I mean, daily naps, what is there not to love) and how much uncertainty there was.
• 
  2020-01-04

  A pot, some water, eucalyptus oil, and a towel....breathe

  My brother and I went to visit our parents in Florida for Christmas in 2019. We flew out of Clarksburg, WV on December 23rd and arrived in Florida a few hours later. Christmas in Florida with our parents was great, but eventually we learned it came at a cost. We returned to the Orlando airport to leave December 30th and our flight was delayed for three hours with no real explanation as to why. We roamed the Airport and kept ourselves occupied before we were finally able to board the plane. We landed safely back in WV a few hours later. However, a day or two after returning I started to feel sick which got progressively worse. I had trouble breathing and my body ached so much that I could barely sleep. I didn’t have the strength to really do anything, and I hardly ate because I couldn’t taste or smell. I called my mom at some point and told her how sick I was, and she told me that my brother was extremely sick too. She pleaded with me to go to the doctor, but I told her it was probably just the flu and I’d be ok. My mother knew I wasn’t going to go to the doctor any time soon, so she told me to use some Eucalyptus oil to help with my congestion and respiratory issues. I grabbed a large pot and boiled some water. After the water had boiled, I added drops of eucalyptus essential oil. With a towel over my head, I began to take in the vapors, and slowly I started to feel like I could breathe once again. This became my ritual for the next week or so. I was probably doing this 3-4 times a day when I had the strength to leave my bed. I believe I was sick for nearly two weeks. The day before I finally started to feel better, I almost went to the hospital because I legitimately thought I was dying. Anyways, after news of the pandemic started ramping up, I later found out that Florida had their first Covid-19 cases in December 2019. I’m guessing that airport delay ultimately sealed our fates and that’s where my brother and I ended up getting Covid (our parents didn’t get sick). For my post I’ve included an audio file recreating my Covid ritual of boiling water and breathing in eucalyptus vapors. You can hear the water boiling, the glass bottle of eucalyptus oil being opened and then placed on the counter. You can hear a slight rustling from the towel and me taking in the vapors.
• 
  2020-04-02

  Pensacola Beach Quarantined

  I live in Pensacola, about 10 mins from the beach. I have spent many a day at the beach with my family. The sounds and smells of the beach that are familiar to me are children playing, seagulls flying above, someone playing the radio, waves crashing, people talking and laughing, and the smell of nearby restaurants and suntan oil. It was the first week of April 2020, and I had terrible cabin fever from being quarantined, so I decided to take a drive up the coast. After about an hour of driving, I turned around to head home. That is when I really looked at the beach; I had never seen it so empty, void of all humans. I pulled over and got out, and the sounds were different. There were no laughing children, no songs on the radio, just the thunderous crashing of the waves. There was no suntan oil smell in the air, just the smell and taste of saltwater. It was surreal to experience the beach so barren but more serene than it had ever felt.
• 
  2020-04

  Sounds of a Spring Lockdown

  On March 25, 2020 Governor Polis ordered a state-wide stay at home order for Colorado. By this time, my family was already limiting our time outside the house to work or errands. My daughter, Kat, has severe asthma, so we knew we had to limit our exposure as much as possible. Previous midnight trips to the emergency room were full of her wheezing out tiny gulps of air, the beeps and blips of the machine keeping track of her heart rate, and the guttural growl of the blood pressure cuff as it tightened around her arm. These were the sounds I first heard when the stories of a new, novel virus came out, the sounds that stayed most in my mind the more I heard about rising cases. The first week in April the movie theater where Kat worked closed down. My son, Gabe, left his job a few days later. I cried that day, not from sadness but relief. And not a quick cry, but the loud sobs that make your shoulders shake. The next day was a major shift for us. Instead of leaving the house to work, they came to work for me instead. My cross stitch shop was already a full-time business. Now that many people were staying home, the US saw a return to basics (baking and crafting), and my shop exploded with more orders than I could fathom. There is something that satisfies most of us in having that tactile experience, whether it be the feel of flour (soft and powdery) as you knead your bread or the stabstab of your needle piercing your fabric. Though there was the stress of craft stores closing and supply chain delays, long work hours, and boxes of hoops stacked in the living room, there was mostly the sound of the Beatles and loads of laughter. Kat has a high-pitched giggle (she snorts when she really gets going), Gabe a deep laugh rich in tone. Someone came up with the adage that laughter is the best medicine. I couldn’t say who created the saying, but the sound of laughter in my house during the April 2020 lockdown in Colorado kept myself and my children in positive spirits. In fact, our lives have been forever changed by that April. They are back to their old jobs, but we still keep mostly at home and with each other. We have family game nights and cook together and keep the laughter going strong.
• 
  2022-02-02

  The Luxury of Eating at Restaurants

  My wife and I really like going out to eat at the local restaurants. Of course, when the pandemic first hit the Los Angeles area everything closed due to the stay at home order that was issued in Los Angeles county. Naturally we believed that this would just be a temporary situation and looked forward to the day that the order would be lifted, and we could go back to our regular way of life. I decided to use the time sequestered at home productively and to resume my education and I enrolled in Arizona State University to finish my degree while my wife was able to continue working remotely. Ten months later we were able to begin the long journey that was the return to “normal” as the stay at home order was lifted. Much to our surprise, many of the small restaurants that we like to frequent were now closed, out of business due to their loss of clientele and the fact that many were only staying open on a month to month basis when operating regularly. It is a sad thing that the collateral damage from this Covid virus impacted small businesses all over the world in a manner that would not allow them to continue to stay open. Even now, a year after the end of the stay at home order, mandates and medical rules are still limiting the amount of people that are able to enjoy eating good food at their local eateries and it is affecting those businesses that are struggling to continue to provide services. I recorded the interior of one of our favorite restaurants one morning as my wife and I went out to breakfast, but there were still plenty of empty tables.
• 
  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.
• 
  2022-02-03

  A Return to Noisy Normalcy

  Due to the rising number of Covid cases in Baltimore County Maryland, many schools had to teach students virtually for a two week period. Teachers, such as myself, gave lessons from the quiet abodes of our homes or empty classrooms. After two weeks of little sound besides the occasional 'ping' of a new email, we were allowed to return. The recording provided is the sound of hallway traffic and chatter from right outside my classroom. The peace and quite of virtual learning directly contrasts the sensory experience from stepping outside my classroom to greet students. As normal in-person teaching duties have returned, the sound of slamming lockers, excited chatter, frantic test talks, footsteps, and warm greetings have returned with it. While reopening schools brings with it new challenges and concerns, for now teachers and students alike can appreciate some noise and normalcy.
• 
  2020-03-15

  The Quiet of a Pandemic

  At the beginning of the COVID-19 quarantine, I was recently married (about two days) and had to immediately shift to online teaching. My school believed this was only going to last two weeks. We hadn't shifted to a live online class and were still teaching asynchronously with online meetings once a week for anyone who needed help. Since I taught U.S. History rarely did my students feel they needed help (even if they really did). My husband was still working, since his oil job was considered essential, so I found myself with hours of empty quiet time. Of course, I found myself originally spending hours watching tv and streaming countless tv shows. After a couple of days of this, I decided it was time to step outside. I'm from southern Louisiana so every good house has a porch you can sit on, and mine was perfect. My neighborhood was never incredibly loud, but I live only a few blocks from I-10 (the busiest interstate in the U.S.) and there were always traffic noises. For the first couple weeks or so of quarantine, you could hear a pin drop. It was an eerie quiet, and it took some getting used to; however, I would learn to love that quiet. I would spend my days on my porch (thanks to some unseasonably "cooler" days) reading, watching Netflix, and watching my neighborhood. Birds I had never seen or heard before were in my oak trees. I also learned that Robins are very territorial and would watch my cats like a hawk during nesting season. Blue Jays didn’t wait to see what my cats would do if they got too close to a nest the birds were swooping down on them. I learned that my oak trees have a fungus that grows on the branches and can help me learn about the health of my tree. People I had never seen before were walking with a quick hi as they walked by me. I had never heard my neighborhood so quiet before or since. While I dealt with anxiety that my husband would get sick at work, or I would somehow transmit the disease to someone who couldn't fight it I also learned to relax and enjoy the moment. I had very limited responsibilities, my students only had about 3-4 assignments a week and they were assigned on Sundays. I would certainly never wish to return to that time; I would however wish that everyone could learn to relax and enjoy the quiet even if it is from your front porch
• 2022-02-02

  Warmth

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

  My First Pie and Other Sensory Snapshots

  I gave birth to my first child two months into the COVID-19 pandemic, and so to me, memories of this time are centered around life as a new parent. Because we live in a different state than most of our family, and because we had a newborn (whose immune systems are not well-developed the first several weeks of life) in a global pandemic, we did not go anywhere. I had a few months off of work and school to care for my son, so my experience of COVID-19 to that point was time spent just with my son. As any parent knows, those first few weeks are an exhausting blur consisting of the never-ending cycle of feeding your baby, changing them, and helping them sleep. But the sensory memories from this time of my life that have stuck with me the most involve the feeling of holding my baby; feeling his head on my shoulder, hearing his tiny little breaths and occasional squeaky coos in my ear, noticing the sweet smell of his baby shampoo on his head, feeling him stretch and reposition from time to time. Though it seemed like the days when he would sleep independently would never come, little did I know how quickly they would, and how much I would miss these quiet moments. When he started getting the hang of napping, I suddenly had these open stretches of time in my day, which I was not used to. What to do to fill this time, especially in the midst of a pandemic and with a baby to boot? Like many people, I developed a baking hobby while my little one napped. Now I associated his nap time with the sticky feel of flour and butter on my hands as I kneaded dough for soda bread, the smell of buttery, sugary deliciousness coming from the oven as scones were baking. On my husband’s birthday, I produced my most time-consuming bake so far: a strawberry rhubarb pie. This one required some cooperation on the part of my little guy, whose giggles I heard as he batted at toys in his baby swing while I chopped and prepped the filling and made the pie crust. The finished product wasn’t necessarily perfect, but I was proud of it, and the memory of making it will always stick with me since it is a representative snapshot of that moment in time, a few months into a global pandemic with my young son.
• 
  2020-04-01

  Worst April Fool’s Day

  My employer ended every person's contract in a zoom call, somewhere around 100 of us. We were all students. The ending of our contracts meant we all lost our housing since we worked for a university (this was before I was attending ASU). We were given until Sunday to have all of our belongings moved out and our keys returned, or we could pay the multiple thousands of dollars that on-campus housing would cost. Hardly any of us could afford that, some of my friends suddenly had to grapple with the idea that they would be in debt, broke, or homeless in a matter of four days. I was one of the lucky ones as I had a place to go. 1 sleepless night. 4 days. 4 trips back and forth. 11 ½ hours driving in silence. $20 spent on one final dinner with my friends and coworkers. $25 spent on moving supplies. $52 spent on gas. 506 miles. 11 ½ hours driving in silence. I drove in silence, I couldn’t handle trying to listen to anything. I couldn’t allow myself to hear a sad song and get caught up in it, or worse hear something happy and get upset that I wasn’t feeling that way. The sound of my tires on the poorly maintained interstate for what felt like truly endless hours is something I will never forget and is something that will never leave me. Rattling over pot holes, turn signals, avoiding other drivers, sitting in traffic, the sound of my new tires being worn in very quickly. This story is not unique. Countless people lost their jobs, lost their homes, lost their livelihoods during the initial shutdown. I was simply one of so many, but I was privileged enough to have a place to land. The sound of driving, the action of having to move, and the feeling of sadness, frustration, or loss due to a sudden change in life is something that I think is relatable for a lot of people during the pandemic. Audio description: Recording of the sound of my car taking the last exit off the highway into my town
• 
  2020-07-09

  Back in combat boots

  I retired from the Army in September 2019 after serving for 26 years. My wife and I moved to South Texas to finally settle down, and in January of 2020 we bought our forever home out in the country near Lake Corpus Christi. Clearing the land and unpacking boxes that had been sealed for what seems like an eternity took about three months. Around late March/early April I started applying for jobs at colleges in the area, just as the pandemic was gaining national attention. As a result, no one was conducting interviews or hiring. I did not need to work, I just wanted something to keep me busy. Out of the blue, I was contacted by the U.S. Army Human Resources command to ask if I would volunteer to return to Active Duty for a year to help with the pandemic. After discussing it with my wife, I replied back that I would volunteer and provide whatever assistance I could. In June I received orders to report to Joint Base San Antonio-Fort Sam Houston in early July. The orders also stated that I was to report in my uniform. I had kept my old uniform from when I retired, but it took a bit of digging around to find everything. Putting my uniform and boots on after almost two years of retirement felt strange yet familiar. I had to get to used to the feeling of wearing combat boots again instead of regular shoes. For the next year I was assigned to U.S. Army North at Fort Sam Houston, where we coordinated Department of Defense civil support operations all over America. I also helped with the planning, organization, and execution for a large vaccination site on the installation. I was not the only veteran that returned to active duty. Like me, others volunteered to do what we could to help get through this pandemic. I enjoyed the time I spent back in the Army, and felt like I made a positive contribution to the country. The only thing that took time to get used to was the feeling of combat boots on my feet again.
• 
  2020-06

  Feeling the Burn

  Like many people at the start of the pandemic, I was not able to go to work everyday. At that point in time, I was working in a museum in Holland, Michigan, as their Interpretive Programs Coordinator, planning and running different programs to coincide with whatever exhibit was currently in the museum. My job quickly became obsolete as everywhere essentially shut down for quarantine. After a few weeks of “working from home”, we were eventually allowed to open the museum again, but with a plethora of new rules and protocols for both our staff and visitors. The biggest change was the alcohol. Not for drinking, although I’m sure that past time sky-rocketed during quarantine. I’m talking about hand-sanitizer or whatever alcohol based cleaner the museum could get their hands on in mass quantities during a time where sanitizer was a difficult commodity to come by. Even our local distilleries were producing hand sanitizer to assist with the shortage of this now imperative product. At the beginning of the pandemic, we did not know how the virus spread yet. There was a time where people were wiping off their groceries with disinfectant wipes or leaving their package deliveries on the porch for days to kill germs before bringing packages inside. Part of our new protocol at the museum was the constant use of hand sanitizer as well as having to wipe down every surface we touched with disinfectant wipes after touching it. You opened the door to your office- wipe it down and use hand sanitizer. Walked to the kitchen to use the microwave- wipe it down and use hand sanitizer. Typed your employee code in the key pad- wipe it down and use hand sanitizer. It was everywhere in the museum. Hand sanitizer has many sensory descriptors. I’ll always remember how slimy this brand was, and how it smelled like the chalky Flintstone vitamins I took as a child. But this practice of constant use of hand sanitizer and alcohol based wipes destroyed my hands. They became so dry and red. The alcohol eventually caused them to crack. The more I had to use the sanitizer and touch the disinfectant wipes, the worse my hands became. The alcohol on my open sores burned. For some in the pandemic, mask wearing was the bane of their existence, but I couldn’t stand the constant use of sanitizer. I was using vaseline every night to try to remedy the burning, but it couldn’t keep up with the use that was required to attempt to keep the rest of our staff and visitors safe. Unfortunately, the pandemic was lasting much longer than the world had anticipated and having no work to do due to the limited capacity in the museum was making me restless. I left that job in August of 2020 to work as a legal assistant in Muskegon, MI. Luckily, the further into the pandemic we got, the more we learned about the virus. As more research came out, scientists discovered that Covid-19 is an air-borne disease, and is more likely to pass through the air than by touching surfaces. Therefore, I didn’t have to use hand sanitizer as constantly as I did at the museum. Of course I’m still careful, and I still use hand sanitizer much more than I ever did pre-pandemic, but when a client walks in our office and uses the sanitizer on my desk, it’s like I can still feel that burn.
• 
  2022-02-01

  Bagged Snack

  This helps understand the history of the pandemic and the situation within elementary schools and that uneasy feeling is one that everyone throughout the school feels. As covid coutines to hit elementary schools hard. Teachers and staff are doing all they can to keep students safe as well as teach and help them learn. While at snacktime, we are reminded of our current times with our students pulling masks down just so that they could enjoy snacktime. We have to be aware that this pandemic is and will effect the younger generations in ways we can't understand right now.
• 
  2020-11-21

  Pandemics are the Pits: Olives and Fatherhood in Nov 2020

  This story describes the terrifying lengths a person will go to in order to address pandemic-caused boredom in their child.
• 
  2022-02-01

  Patio Sounds

  I never heard the sounds of my backyard and cared – now, it is my favorite sound, and my patio is my favorite place to work. I work in education, in March of 2020 our campus went virtual, and we began to work from home. My two kids, age 3 and 6 were home with me as well. Fast forward to today February 2022, our campus is still working virtually, however my kids now age 5 and 8 are away at school for 6 hours a day; this is the first time in my work history I have been able to work from home, and the first time I have been able to work kid free in two years. Prior to the pandemic, I was a busy person, work, school, kids, home, husband, dog – I did it all – what I didn’t do, was stop and listen to the peace I literally had in my backyard. Now, I sit on my patio from 9:00am to 3:00pm, rain or shine, and even though I am working, I listen and take it all in, I feel recharged to take on all my daily tasks. The calm and quiet time on the patio is much welcomed in the hustle and bustle life can become. Listening to the bird’s chirp, leaves rustle, dogs bark, sometimes the hum of a hummingbird, or the light drops of rain – it is therapeutic. The pandemic has been many things, but for me it has given me time to discover the peace the sounds around me can bring. This recording was taken on my patio, listening to the sound of my backyard as I wrote this description, appreciating the time I have.
• 
  2022-02-01

  The Toast of Covid

  The COVID-19 pandemic has been quite the sensory overload. Our sight, smell, and sense of sound were heightened as the world slowed down, paralyzed with fear. As I write this, I have just become one of the countless victims of COVID-19, revealed to me by a home test kit just this morning. My body is weak, I cough constantly, I get dizzy if I stand, and I find that my appetite has left me. When talking about the heightened senses of COVID, it would be easy to talk about the sounds of coughing, or the feel of masks pressed up against your face, but in this moment I find my most heightened sense is the smell of toast. Peculiar as it is, it seems to be the only thing I find remotely appetizing at the moment. My mother, who is a registered nurse on the front lines of the fight against COVID has loaded me down with a regimen of vitamins and assorted medicines. She is insistent that I keep something on my stomach to avoid getting more sick. But what to eat? Nothing looks, smells, or sounds satisfying except toast. The smell of heat and bread wafting from the toaster reminds me that it could be far worse. I could have lost my sense of smell completely, as so many have. It further gives me hope that I will move on from my sickness as society will move to manage COVID. What the smells of the pandemic can tell is, is that while it seems a collective struggle of society, it is an even greater individual struggle. How can we cope with sickness when our bodies are paralyzed with the inability to function as we once did? The smell of toast to me that provides hope, could be chicken noodle soup for another, or fresh air for another. These smells are enticing for a number of reasons to improve our health, whether that be toast to hold medicine down, or the smells of outside which bring about a healthy walk. In a world so panicked and overwhelmed, what I think will be ultimately remembered by the pandemic is the appreciation for simple sounds and smells, such as that of toast.