Items

• 
  2020-03-29

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

  I have a love for baking and cooking which takes up lots of my time when I'm not doing schoolwork. I love trying new and exciting recipes because food from different parts of the world is like a new historical experience. I was a sophomore in college when the pandemic caused us to go into lockdown. We had just come back from spring break, and I remember getting an email saying that we would be moved to online instruction for the remainder of the semester. I was scared because it really hit me that school would not be the same ever again. Luckily, I did not get COVID, but my dad almost died from it. Everyone in my house was separated which meant I had no social life due to not being able to talk to anyone. I turned to baking as a way for me to not think about my sick dad. I basically lived upstairs from my parents. Whatever I made, I would leave for them on the steps to take. Even though my food was delicious, I lost a sense of taste because I wasn't enjoying it with anyone. Food is about culture and people; they go hand in hand. When you don't have that sense it changes how you feel on a social level. When you cook, you want people to enjoy what you're making.
• 
  2020-04-10

  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.
• 
  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.
• 
  2020-05

  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.
• 
  2020-04

  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.
• 
  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.
• 
  2020-06

  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.
• 
  2021-10-14

  Smell of Covid in South Carolina

  Until recently I worked for Campus Security at a small college in the upstate of South Carolina. Before Covid, my job mainly consisted of patrolling the campus on foot and by vehicle. I would let students into their dorm rooms when they were locked out, perform traffic duty, write parking tickets, and occasionally perform searches if we thought a student had a weapon or some other kind of contraband. When the virus began to make itself known on campus, our job descriptions changed. Oddly enough, we were expected to deliver meals, three times a day to students who either had the virus or were in quarantine due to exposure. At first, we only had a small handful of students to feed but by the Fall of 2020, we were delivering meals to nearly one hundred students. Keep in mind, there were at the most, only four officers delivering these meals at any given time and the student to be fed were spread all over campus. The one thing that really stands out in my mind during this time is the smell. I have never been a huge fan of breakfast but the smell of scrambled eggs that never seemed to go away, almost ruined the first meal of the day for me. No matter how quickly you delivered the meals, by the time you finished, the patrol vehicle smelled like scrambled eggs. If it was a warm day, which it usually was in South Carolina, the smell was particularly heavy. House Keeping had to sanitize the dorms daily. One particular dorm building had a smell of its own due to the fact that a large trash bag burst in the elevator and spilled its contents all over the ground floor lobby. Many of the quarantined students lived in this dorm and I can still remember the rancid smell when walking through the front door. No matter how much they cleaned, house keeping never could quite get the smell out. While working at the college, I was like most, worried that I would contract the virus. To help prevent this, I sanitized my hands on a regular basis. The smell of alcohol wipes and Lysol will always remind me of this time. I also wore a mask wherever I went and would sometimes spray different scents on the mask to make it smell nice. Smell, above all other senses, will remind me of Covid and my time as a Campus Safety Officer.
• 
  2020-02

  Sights and Sounds of a Maine Island

  In February 2020, I moved to Vinalhaven, an island off the coast of Maine, for a job that promised to advance my career and provide time for personal introspection and growth. The island community was vibrant, and as a newcomer, I was invited to dinner parties, game nights, and book club meetings – I hardly had time to miss the family and friends I left behind in Colorado. Three weeks later, the COVID-19 pandemic required me to exchange my introduction to the community for long solitary hours. Handshakes and warm hugs from new acquaintances were replaced by cold winter days and a lack of human contact. The seclusion drove me to explore the island’s shoreline and conservation trails and intermingle with nature that was unimpeded by humans who had retreated behind the walls of their homes. Without the distraction of a companion, I noticed the wind rushing through trees, saltwater crashing against the rocks at the ocean’s edge, bald eagles screeching, chickadees singing, and small animals scurrying through tall natural grasses near the basin. I sat so still one morning that a curious, gray mink approached me and stared for a few seconds. One November evening, while I walked along the rocky shoreline at State Beach, an estrous scent from a whitetail doe in heat wafted from the nearby woods. While the pungent odor attracted bucks, the smell assaulted my nose and distracted me from the fresh scents of saltwater, pine, and balsam. The overpowering smell suggested that the doe was close; her presence comforted me in my isolation. I expected to integrate into my new island home through people. Instead, I became grounded in the environment, surrounded by the sounds and scents that I may have otherwise missed.
• 
  2020-06-26

  From Noise to Silence

  The Pandemic impacted everyone in different ways. Everyone's life changed in one way or another. For me, my life went from hustling and bustling to peace, silence, and alone time. Before the Pandemic, my daily routine was driving 45 minutes to work daily, frequent trips to Mexico, and I was constantly on the move. A full-time student, and part-time tutor, I was continually helping students and finding study time at my local Community College. Also, I would frequent local Starbucks often to work on my reading and writing assignments. However, when the Pandemic hit, everything changed for me. Now, instead of driving to work daily and visiting Mexico, I found myself working online, studying in my room, and not seeing anyone face to face except for immediate relatives. For the majority of the Pandemic, I did not go anywhere as I previously did. In other words, the hustling and bustling of the highway now turned into silence, the continued camaraderie between students and cow-workers now turned into silence, and just like that, my life altered to a new dimension of silence like have never experienced.
• 
  2021-01-24

  Coffee Shops and a Sense of Normalcy During COVID-19

  When COVID-19 started affecting Kansas City, little changed at first. We wore masks, used hand sanitizer, etc., but life went on as normal otherwise. As the virus progressed, we closed our offices and I started working from home. One of my pre-COVID rituals was a trip to Broadway Cafe close to my house for a great latte or macchiato. At least this ritual was still intact. Then, the coffee shops all closed. It sounds silly to say this affected me even more than going into the office. It was my normal routine for so many years though...that a trip to the coffee shop served as an anchor for feeling life would go on, regardless of how far the virus progressed. The audio file attached is my espresso machine at home. I now buy coffee beans for the house, grind them, and pour shots of espresso to drink straight or craft into a macchiato or latte. The sound of my machine grinding beans, pressing the grounds into a puck, and then pouring into shot glasses still did not replace the coffee shop, but it did become an anchor to help me adjust when I needed it most. Today, our coffee shops are open for pickup service. Between that and still pouring my own at home, using their beans, life is good. I look forward to a post-COVID world where the local roasters and coffee shops continue to play an important role in my personal sense of normalcy and the social health of our collective neighborhoods.
• 
  2020-05-20

  Gia's Soft Fur

  I will always remember the feeling of my dog Gia's soft fur and the tickle and wetness of her silky tongue licking my hand during this pandemic. These sensory experiences soothed me during a stressful and anxiety-ridden time during the COVID pandemic. When the pandemic worsened in March 2020 and the state of Utah went into a full lockdown, my family's life changed suddenly. My son's birthday party was canceled. My children began school online. My husband no longer found himself flying to New York or Los Angeles, and I found myself filled with worry and anxiety. How will my elderly parents weather this pandemic? Will I get them sick? Will I be responsible for their deaths? Will my 9-year-old son become depressed because he can no longer play hockey or football? How will my 13-year-old handle feeling emotionally isolated because she can no longer hang out with her friends? All of these worries plagued my mind and made my body stiff, my neck sore, my mood heavy with stress. My family soon found ourselves in a new routine. We spent more quality time together since we were no longer rushing to get to activities. There was more time for dinner and meaningful conversation. However, there was still a heaviness, and everything seemed to be wrapped in a layer of anxiety. An unexpected text from my sister-in-law (who is an animal control officer) changed our lives. A darling 3-year-old black and white miniature poodle had just been dropped off at the shelter. Her elderly owner had died of COVID-19, and this sweet dog needed a home. After a quick family meeting, it was unanimous; we wanted the dog! Gia immediately became more than a pet; she became a source of comfort and calm to me. With a sweet temperament, she always seemed to know when I was full of anxiety. Each night I would sit on the couch watching the nightly news, my body tight and sore, the rigidness seeping into my muscles that comes with prolonged stress. Unaware at first that I was even doing it, I would reach for Gia, who would lay close to me, and begin stroking her fur. Often, her silky pink tongue would lick my hand, and the combination soothed and relaxed my body. Even as worry began to swirl in my mind, the questions continuing: when will it be our turn to catch this virus? Will I have lasting effects from it? Gia was there, her warm body lying beside mine, her soft fur between my fingers relaxing my body and easing my mind. During this COVID-19 pandemic, I had read that almost all the rescue dogs had been adopted across the nation. I guess I was not the only person in need of emotional comfort during this isolating time. This pandemic has taken an emotional toll on everyone I know. I feel so grateful that Gia came into our lives during this pandemic. This sweet dog has become more than a pet. She has become an emotional support dog for my daughter when she is lonely and a physical companion for my son when he needs to run crazy through the house. Gia is there when my nerves are frazzled from worry about the pandemic. She gently lays her warm body next to mine, as if knowing I need her near me to ease my anxiety. I stroke her soft fur, close my eyes, and remind myself to BREATHE.
• 
  2020-03-01

  Daily life at an Air Force Major Command

  Daily life at Head Quarters (HQ) Air Force Global Strike Command (AFGSC) before COVID-19 and its restrictions was full of sounds and constant movement. It was customary to walk the halls and hear keypads beeping, and door locks clicking or overhear conversations as you pass people in the halls. Meetings were full of people, and the subtle roar of conversation was only stopped by the entrance of a General officer or other meeting chairpeople. As the restrictions for COVID-19 began to roll across the country, AFGSC was quick to implement them. First came a stop movement for personnel and a restriction of movements. There would be no or severely limited Permeant Change of Stations, and all temporary duty (TDY) was canceled for the foreseeable future. All personnel was to limit their office spaces to allow for six feet of distances and, if not capable of initiating telework procedures (which was an accomplishment in itself). This was the moment that life changed at HQ AFGSC. There would be fewer beeps and clicks. There would be no hallway conversations overheard because the hallways were nearly empty on a day-to-day basis. There were no more in-person meetings resulting in the muting of the subtle roars of conversations and the sudden silences created as meetings started. However, there was a new element created from COVID-19, a smell everywhere you went. Cleaning and self-sanitization ramped up at AFGSC. Every office you entered now had a hand sanitization station on a post or a wall. The restrooms and common areas cleaning increased, resulting in a lasting scent of bleach and other strong cleaners. But still, the most surprising thing was the silence that COVID-19 created in an ordinarily bustling Command.
• 2021-01

  An Old Gray Piece of Cloth

  Gabriel Rheaume’s Sensory history contribution to COVID-19 Archive I would like to submit my gray, cotton face mask to the COVID-19 Archive. It is perhaps not as the most important item, but certainly it is the most present item for me throughout this pandemic. At almost a full year into this adventure, everyone has a keen familiarity with and opinion of face masks. I got this one as a gift. It feels about the same as getting socks on Christmas, except more useful. I have used this thing every single day unless I forget it—which sends me into a chaotic panic. I am a teacher in a suburb of Nashville, TN. Our school district insists on teaching in person, despite having alarmingly high infection rates in our community. This mask is now part of my daily uniform, a non-negotiable. It serves as a role model for students. A sign that their health is of paramount concern to us. It is part of everything I do. I have dozens of paper replacements in my desk. Those aren’t as good. They straps hurt your ears. The cloth ones are better, more comfortable. I thought about getting one with my favorite band’s logo, but I am going to stick with this old reliable gray, cotton mask. The smell of this mask will haunt me the rest of my life. I wash it multiple times per week. It often smells like laundry detergent. That is a good thing. However, by the end of the day it often smells like whatever I had for lunch. The masks gets hot. It is blasted with my carbon dioxide for eight hours straight. It gets really bad when I have to lecture during the day. When you inhale sharply to talk, it sucks in the material. I’ve learned how to breathe differently when I have the mask on. Sometimes I just pinch the end and hold it with my fingers while I talk. I can rarely take it off. I panic if I forget to put it on when I leave my classroom to go anywhere. Who would have ever thought this little cloth mask would be so important? I often doubt that it is effective at preventing the spread or contraction of infection. I am certainly NOT an anti-masker. But it’s a piece of cloth. I guess that it’s better than nothing. This gray cotton face mask, sometimes imbued with the glorious smell of fresh linen in the breeze or Last night’s roast and mashed potatoes has become a source of loathing and resentment, but simultaneously an anti-viral security blanket (if only in my imagination). Yet, I can’t wait to get rid of this vile thing.
• 
  2021-01-14

  The Silencing of Industry

  The sensory experience that overwhelmed me the most as the United States, and the world, came to an abrupt halt when it was realized that we were in a pandemic virus outbreak was an aural experience—it was the overwhelming silence that came with the world stopping. I live in a heavy industrial town on the Pacific coast Of Washington. While I live about fifty miles from the cities and one hundred miles from Seattle the economy of this area is based around heavy industry and there is constant noise that comes with this. There is a port a mile from my house that is said to be the busiest deep-water port on the northwest coast. At this port soybeans, wheat, oil and lumber are shipped out and German cars built in Mexico are brought in, among other commodities. In my neighborhood there are four train tracks. The closest one is about five hundred feet from my house, the next three are another three hundred feet further. Those train tracks bring goods into the port like soybeans and wheat from the farm fields west of the Cascade mountains and fuel and oil for the ships and for the operations at the port. The train tracks also ship out the cars that come in from Mexico to car dealerships throughout the Northwest. Across from the four train tracks there are lumber mills. The lumber mills load up chip trucks (trucks that carry sawdust from the sawmills to paper mills) and the chip trucks roll in and out of town on a constant basis. The log trucks also roll through town on a constant basis and the log truck drivers as well as chip truck drivers live in the area and park their trucks at their houses. All of this leads to a very noisy area for such a small population. This has never bothered me as the only thing that I really miss about living in cities is the noise. This is the reason why the first thing I noticed as the Covid-19 shut down occurred was how much silence there was. No longer were there log trucks and chip trucks rolling through town. No longer was the rumbling and squelch of the train heard in the early morning and the late afternoon throughout the town. No longer were the airhorns and warning sirens heard from the port. It was just pure silence.
• 
  2021-01-16

  Fewer people are crossing back to the United States, and less noise.

  The story I uploaded is about people crossing the United States Calexico CA port of entry before and after the pandemic.
• 
  2020-01-14

  A Peppermint December

  December was the most stressful month of the year. My entire family got Covid-19 right before Christmas and I was struggling with anxiety for most of the month, which has been compounded by the pandemic. One of the ways I've sought to alleviate stress when going to bed at night is by putting peppermint essential oil in an oil diffuser as I fall asleep. Peppermint smells and feels naturally calming to me. The strong and comforting scent has at times made me feel that I can breathe better and easier. A small and perhaps cliché remedy has at times made a world of difference.
• 
  2021-06-14

  Embracing the Plants

  Once the pandemic was in full swing, food became rather scarce out in the county where I live. Frozen meals? Gone. Frozen vegetables? Gone. Meat? Gone. Dairy products? Sparse. What I could find in abundance were fresh fruit and vegetables. Largely because these do not store long term and people were stocking up on everything that they could hoard for the long haul. Could I really sustain my meat-loving family of 4 on fresh fruits and vegetables to help stretch our very thin stock of meats and dairy products? I have included some basic recipes that I used to help get through the pandemic. This massive change in diet left a lasting impact on my experience of the pandemic through my sense of smell, taste, and hearing. Meals no longer smelled like warm cooked meat with roasting potatoes. Meals became light and fresh. My house began smelling more like a garden every time I prepared a meal. I also no longer smelled the warmth of the stove or the smell of a pan heating up, since we chose to eat a lot of the plants and fruits in a more raw style to get the maximum nutritional value. The taste of meals and snacks changed from processed foods to natural snacks like nuts, dates, and dried fruit. I could taste the change from the pandemic. Everyday noises that would occur in my pre-pandemic household were no longer present in my pandemic household. No longer was there the sound of the oven turning on, the microwave running, or oil popping in the pan on the stove top. Instead, the new normal sounds were that of the food processor to make hummus, the sound of the blender making smoothies, and the sharp tap of the knife colliding with the cutting board. The recipes I chose to include are ones that we started with that have changed the way we eat. These were the easiest to sustain with readily available produce in my rural area.
• 
  2020-11-02

  Cold in the Classroom

  If you have ever been in a middle school classroom, feeling cold is probably not the first thing that you think of. One might think of rowdy kids, perhaps non-inviting smells, stuffy air, but not necessarily the feeling of cold. After going home on March 13, 2020, I was forced to work remotely for the remainder of the 2019-20 school year due to the COVID-19 pandemic. It is still crazy to think how quickly everything changed from normal life to the furthest thing from it—just two days before the end of in-person schooling, I was still planning on going on the eighth grade Washington, DC trip! Anyway, going into the 2020-21 school year, because teachers were allowed to return to their classrooms (even though school would remain in distance for the foreseeable future), I decided that I would go into my classroom and work from there. I figured that it would help create a sense of normalcy in my own life while offering a familiar background to my students. After a few d ays of w orking from school without any students, I noticed how cold it was in my classroom. On a normal school day, I would turn on the air conditioning fairly early in the morning, being that the room would become warm and stuffy shortly after the students arrived. Even with it warm outside, I was noticing myself running the heater well into the afternoon. Without the heater, my classroom would quickly become unbearably cold! With brick walls and only a thin layer of carpet over a concrete floor, it is clear why it was so cold. I was just one person in a room that would normally have around 30—my body heat alone wasn't going to heat up the room! It is amazing to think that a silly little thing like the temperature of my classroom kind of got me down. No matter what I did to try and simulate normal life, it was just impossible for life to be normal, and that nagging cold was there to remind me of that fact. Just writing this down, I can feel the cold on my arms and legs, and I have a n urge to go and get a blanket, put on a sweatshirt, or turn on the heater. Come to think about it, I can also feel the pain in my lower back from sitting in front of a computer all day! In addition to the sense of touch/feeling being noticeably different, I have to say, the absence of, shall we say, interesting smells has also been out of the ordinary for my middle school classroom. I really cannot complain all too much when it comes to my experiences during the COVID-19 pandemic; I am lucky enough to still be employed, I can work at home if I wanted to, and no one all too close to me has had the disease. A great many people around the globe have had their lives shattered in the past year, so I really should be counting my blessings. With that said, I feel as if the coldness of my classroom somewhat symbolizes the isolation that I (and many others) are feeling during this trying time. The simple fact that there are not 30+ individuals in the room is causing the cold and, again, it is a nagging reminder that the world is simply not the same as it was a year ago, no matter how much we wish it were.
• 
  2020-11-02

  Cold in the Classroom

  If you have ever been in a middle school classroom, feeling cold is probably not the first thing that you think of. One might think of rowdy kids, perhaps non-inviting smells, stuffy air, but not necessarily the feeling of cold. After going home on March 13, 2020, I was forced to work remotely for the remainder of the 2019-20 school year due to the COVID-19 pandemic. It is still crazy to think how quickly everything changed from normal life to the furthest thing from it—just two days before the end of in-person schooling, I was still planning on going on the eighth grade Washington, DC trip! Anyway, going into the 2020-21 school year, because teachers were allowed to return to their classrooms (even though school would remain in distance for the foreseeable future), I decided that I would go into my classroom and work from there. I figured that it would help create a sense of normalcy in my own life while offering a familiar background to my students. After a few days of working from school without any students, I noticed how cold it was in my classroom. On a normal school day, I would turn on the air conditioning fairly early in the morning, being that the room would become warm and stuffy shortly after the students arrived. Even with it warm outside, I was noticing myself running the heater well into the afternoon. Without the heater, my classroom would quickly become unbearably cold! With brick walls and only a thin layer of carpet over a concrete floor, it is clear why it was so cold. I was just one person in a room that would normally have around 30—my body heat alone wasn't going to heat up the room! It is amazing to think that a silly little thing like the temperature of my classroom kind of got me down. No matter what I did to try and simulate normal life, it was just impossible for life to be normal, and that nagging cold was there to remind me of that fact. Just writing this down, I can feel the cold on my arms and legs, and I have an urge to go and get a blanket, put on a sweatshirt, or turn on the heater. Come to think about it, I can also feel the pain in my lower back from sitting in front of a computer all day! In addition to the sense of touch/feeling being noticeably different, I have to say, the absence of, shall we say, interesting smells has also been out of the ordinary for my middle school classroom. I really cannot complain all too much when it comes to my experiences during the COVID-19 pandemic; I am lucky enough to still be employed, I can work at home if I wanted to, and no one all too close to me has had the disease. A great many people around the globe have had their lives shattered in the past year, so I really should be counting my blessings. With that said, I feel as if the coldness of my classroom somewhat symbolizes the isolation that I (and many others) are feeling during this trying time. The simple fact that there are not 30+ individuals in the room is causing the cold and, again, it is a nagging reminder that the world is simply not the same as it was a year ago, no matter how much we wish it were.
• 2020-04-13

  School Bells and Silence

  In late March, families in Portland, OR were told to prepare themselves for children to finish their school year from home. While my husband and I don’t have kids, we live across the street from an elementary school and enjoy hearing the children play as we go about our life at home. I loved hearing their laughter and giggles as they lined up outside of their classroom doors or the screeches that filled the air as they tore out of the doors for some much needed recess time on the playground. Then, on April 13, 2020, the laughter, the hollering, the clangs of playground equipment stopped. Up until that point, I could set my personal schedule by the sounds of that playground and now those sounds were gone. The quietness that remained behind was made even more eerie by the daily bells that rang from the school’s outdoor intercom system to signify the start of the day, end of recess, etc.. The tones that were barely audible on a normal day due to all of the commotion on the playground were suddenly a very loud, and real reminder that the world was different. It took the school nearly two months to turn off those alarms and every single day for those two months, at 8:25, 11:45, 12:15, and 2:25, those bells echoed throughout the neighborhood reminding everyone how much our world had truly changed. The alarm bells are now off and have been for nearly 6 months. It’s very quiet at the school. While we’ve all gotten used to the silence, every so often a family will head to the playground and, for a minute as the sounds of a child’s laughter drifts through the windows of my house, I remember what it was like before COVID and am suddenly slammed back into the reality of what our day to day lives have become. I can’t wait to hear those happy voices again - it will mean our lives are back to whatever new normal is on the other side of this pandemic.
• 2021-01-15

  The old gray mask

  I would like to submit my gray, cotton face mask to the COVID-19 Archive. It is perhaps not as the most important item, but certainly it is the most present item for me throughout this pandemic. At almost a full year into this adventure, everyone has a keen familiarity with and opinion of face masks. I got this one as a gift. It feels about the same as getting socks on Christmas, except more useful. I have used this thing every single day unless I forget it—which sends me into a chaotic panic. I am a teacher in a suburb of Nashville, TN. Our school district insists on teaching in person, despite having alarmingly high infection rates in our community. This mask is now part of my daily uniform, a non-negotiable. It serves as a role model for students. A sign that their health is of paramount concern to us. It is part of everything I do. I have dozens of paper replacements in my desk. Those aren’t as good. They straps hurt your ears. The cloth ones are better, more comfortable. I thought about getting one with my favorite band’s logo, but I am going to stick with this old reliable gray, cotton mask. The smell of this mask will haunt me the rest of my life. I wash it multiple times per week. It often smells like laundry detergent. That is a good thing. However, by the end of the day it often smells like whatever I had for lunch. The masks gets hot. It is blasted with my carbon dioxide for eight hours straight. It gets really bad when I have to lecture during the day. When you inhale sharply to talk, it sucks in the material. I’ve learned how to breathe differently when I have the mask on. Sometimes I just pinch the end and hold it with my fingers while I talk. I can rarely take it off. I panic if I forget to put it on when I leave my classroom to go anywhere. Who would have ever thought this little cloth mask would be so important? I often doubt that it is effective at preventing the spread or contraction of infection. I am certainly NOT an anti-masker. But it’s a piece of cloth. I guess that it’s better than nothing. This gray cotton face mask, sometimes imbued with the glorious smell of fresh linen in the breeze or Last night’s roast and mashed potatoes has become a source of loathing and resentment, but simultaneously an anti-viral security blanket (if only in my imagination). Yet, I can’t wait to get rid of this vile thing.
• 
  2020-05

  The Sound of Silence

  The experience I am sharing focuses on my sense of hearing. Work has shifted away from office buildings and into our homes and, as a result, downtown urban areas emptied. This was especially true in mid-May of 2020. The one time I was in my city's downtown, it was uncomfortably quiet, and the negative reaction I had in the moment caught me off guard. Covid19 put me in a constant state of anxiety, and this is one more example of how seemingly small differences in a familiar environment can turn us upside down.
• 2021-01-14

  Sensory History: What Does The Plague Year Smell Like?

  If someone asked me ten years from now the defining smell that I remember from the plague year, I would quickly respond with hand-sanitizer. Before the start of the pandemic, it was the smell of bleach and Pine-sol that reminded me of those bygone days when my mom would wake up early on a Saturday to open all the windows and scrub the house from top to bottom because “cleanliness was next to godliness” as she would say. In the past, the smell of bleach and Pine-sol had come to mean a sense of cleanliness and the simpler days of childhood, where my biggest fear was missing the latest Power Rangers episode. However, hand-sanitizer mixed with its scent of alcohol and strong perfume has now become the smell that I relate to cleanliness. Hand-sanitizer has become that essential item in my purse that I cannot leave the house without first checking to see if I have more than one bottle. When I leave a public space, the first thing I reach for is not my car keys or my cellphone; instead, it is my Bath & Body Works Pocketbac Sanitizer. It has become an accessory that matches my outfits, masks, and even daily perfume choices. This past fall, when I celebrated my birthday, one of my most exciting gifts was not my seasonal favorite body spray, Sweet Cinnamon Pumpkin, but the hand-sanitizer that shared its name. Hand sanitizer has become a safety net and tool to make venturing in public spaces with high touch areas a bit easier. While handwashing, social-distancing, and proper face coverings are the most effective way to prevent the spread of Covid-19, hand sanitizers can hold one over until they can wash their hands properly. Anyone with children can agree that hand-sanitizer is a necessary tool because kids touch everything.
• 
  01/15/2021

  Parker Talbot Oral History, 2021/01/15

  A self-account of the exploding market of hand sanitizer and the smell thereof
• 
  2020-04

  Banana Muffins

  When the pandemic began, the company I work for sent us all to work from home. While I did some baking and cooking before, I took it upon myself to grow and learn more. Plus, in the office we usually had some sort of food available, and now I had to provide that for myself. I began looking up recipes to make at home that were fast and easy, yet really good. I stumbled on this recipe and now it is my go to recipe. The smell from them baking and after they come out of the oven is great, and they don't take too much time. The smell lingers in the house the rest of the day as well, and the I love the flavor of these muffins.
• 
  2020-10-11

  Limited capacity

  I want to a Dallas Cowboys in October at AT&T Stadium were they were allowing in-person audiences with “limited capacity” and with masks. When I want to the stadium that has a capacity of over hundred thousand only twenty percent was allowed. As I sat in the stadium to watch the game, a roaring crowd took on a different meaning to audible sensory experiences. That is to say, because of the lack of fans crowd noises were piped in to emulate a hundred thousand people cheering. This was done to give fans a game feeling although we knew this noise was manufactured. Although this noise was piped in, yet it never felt like a real game. The COVID-19 pandemic and my trip to the Dallas game had many effects on my senses as it relates to “limited capacity.” One, it caused my audible senses to now have to distinguish real from manufactured. Second, it made me further appreciate sounds of cheering and the silence of disappointment. Lastly, it made me realize that although visual sensory and memory plays a major part in our life experiences, audible sensory is just as important to us especially because the pandemic circumstance causes disruption in our lives.
• 
  2021-01-14T18:43:30

  The Sounds, Smells, and Experiences of a COVID Graduation

  As the year 2020 ushered in my family and I had many events we were looking forward to, one event was my son’s high-school graduation. Once COVID hit his ceremony got postponed, and then it was turned into a drive-thru graduation ceremony. I felt happy my son’s graduation ceremony was still happening, but sad for both my son and me too. Since, my son would miss out on the traditional aspects of a high-school graduation ceremony, and I felt sad for myself because I did not get to attend my own high-school graduation; so it had meant a lot to me to see him experience what I did not get to at a traditional high-school graduation ceremony. On the day of my son’s drive-thru graduation ceremony, I was driving and my hands were dry and slippery from the hand sanitizer, I constantly put on for protection from COVID, both factors therefore made it hard to focus totally on the visuals of the event; and also impacted my ability to get a lot of video and pictures at the event. These circumstances I feel made me fixate on all the sounds and smells just as much as the visuals in front of me while experiencing the graduation. While waiting in the car line to get to the graduation stage the graduation speeches were streamed from a local radio station. The speeches I heard given by chosen student speakers referenced at times the sadness they felt due to the senior events cancelled due to COVID. When usually speakers at graduations express sadness, but the class of 2020 had a unique sadness and that is the effects COVID had on their senior year. As my son and I approached the commencement stage we both put our masks on, the smells of my car were replaced by the stale air I breathed within my mask that I had become all too familiar with since the start of COVID. My son got out of the car to walk across the commencement stage. The sounds I heard from the car were kind of distant, and made me feel like I was watching the ceremony from a different location. At the end of the day, while watching my son walk across the graduation stage, all my feelings and different observations before the event subsided and I felt nothing but proud of my son. Along with I felt grateful for the people who put together the graduation, for some of the unique sensory experiences I may not have focused on as much in pre-COVID times, and for the event since it could have been canceled because of COVID. If anything COVID implications provided many unique aspects to my son’s graduation ceremony that may come to give more meaning to it in the long run then a traditional graduation ceremony. The video clip I submitted is one of a few captured memories I have of the graduation; and it’s an example of the distant sounds of the graduation I heard while viewing it from my car.
• 2020-11-26

  Thanksgiving Dressing Connection

  My family Thanksgiving's have featured a wide variety of fare throughout the years. The one constant, the one dish that has always made an appearance is dressing. The recipe is a family one that originated with my great-grandmother, a wonderful woman who lived to the ripe old age of 102. Known across the extended family as the Queen of the Kitchen, her legacy lives on through the recipes she left behind. This Thanksgiving was more difficult than any I can remember. Out of the twenty-four Thanksgiving's I have been alive to see, I have never spent one without my sister. Now, she lives a state away and health concerns surrounding my 93-year old grandmother kept my sister away. COVID-19 drastically changed the mood of the holiday, but one dish still had to be cooked. You guessed it, dressing. Ingredients: 10 baked biscuits 2-3 cups of baked yellow cornbread 1 loaf of toasted bread 1 1/2 cup chopped onion 2 cup chopped celery 1 cup celery tops 1 tablespoon sage 1 tablespoon poultry seasoning 2 cups water 1 cup chicken boullion 2 eggs Salt and pepper to taste Original Directions: Break bread into small pieces. Set aside. Put all remaining ingredients except eggs in a saucepan. Boil till celery and onions are tender. Pour over bread mixture and toss. (Add more liquid if it needs to have more water. Cool. Add eggs. Mix lightly. Put in greased pan - Bake 300 degrees for 30 minutes.
• 2020-04-27

  COVID-19 and Daycare

  I worked at a daycare in Hoover, Alabama for 5 years that provided care to over 200 children. When the state went on lockdown, our numbers dwindled down to 60 as we were only allowing children of first responders to stay. All other children were either left to their parents, babysitters, family, friends, etc. I was a lead infant teacher for babies 6-12 months. I normally have about 10 but on my first day of work after lockdown was initiated, I only had 2 and that instantly meant less noise. I have a schedule I keep but each activity lasted half the time it normally does. It gave the babies more time to play and explore but for me, I had to begin the process of deep cleaning. We were issued new cleaning products and if there was a time when you weren't busy with children, you had to clean. We kept our masks on all day for the children's sake but it limited my breathing since I wasn't used to wearing one. Add that to new, stronger cleaning products and it makes for a difficult day. I experienced the normal smells of infant care that I have for the last 5 years but the new, stronger cleaning smells altered my olfactory system. I was worried how the babies and I would react to it after we've been exposed to the chemicals for a long period of time. We weren't allowed to open our doors or windows so the smell stayed with us all day. It gave me headaches and made my babies cranky. It was a learning process with the new sanitizing methods and we all finally got a rhythm down and requested that we be allowed to open our windows and doors while cleaning. It helped us keep our kids and ourselves healthier and more conscientious about our cleaning habits. With less children around, we were able to clean thoroughly and get everything in order but it felt less like a daycare without all the noise. We worked diligently so that when lockdown was over, we could welcome back our loud and crazy kids to a new, sanitized environment.
• 2020-12-24

  COVID Smells

  My family had been fortunate to avoid COVID 19 for ten months. However, in December 2020, that changed. My symptoms began with a minor headache which, on day two, morphed into a minor cough. I was fortunate to never be hospitalized, but on day three, my experience underwent a strange and unexpected change. I began to smell the strong smell, of what could only be described as ammonia. I was once a cat person, and remember the smell of cat urine on a carpet or furniture if left untreated. This smelled exactly like that. My first reaction was to inquire of my family, and no one could smell it but I, which only served to make the experience all the more strange. When everyone can smell the same smell, it’s one thing but when only you can smell it you begin to questions your sanity. The smell of ammonia was strongest outside and somewhat subdued when indoors. It lasted for one day and was gone the next but it was strong to the point of discomfort.
• 
  2021-01-13

  The Scent of a Deli

  If you've ever set foot in a deli - a real life, New York style deli or in my case a real life Texas deli, then you know about the powerful and delightful smells that can attack your senses upon entry. In my restaurant, the traditional odors of hot corned beef and pastrami mixed with sauerkraut, bacon and horseradish combine with the popular fragrance of Texas brisket layered in a spicy bar-b-que sauce and the undeniable fragrance of apple and pecan pie. Homemade beef stew, French Onion soup and Texas chili are reducing in the kitchen while the entire restaurant fills with the aroma of good food. There is nothing quite like a deli kitchen prepping, baking, grilling and cooking in the morning. These are the distinctive smells of my life before COVID-19. Shortly after March of last year, the city of San Antonio shut down all dine-in operations throughout the city and instantly took away our morning routines and systems, forcing our restaurant to evolve just to survive. Overnight, we became a grocery store with a curbside service selling raw products like eggs, tomatoes, cold cuts and sliced cheeses. The great morning aromas of the deli were replaced with the stale, cold odors of bleach and sanitizer. Sales dipped by seventy percent and even when dine-in was reopened to fifty percent capacity, we were forced to cut our menu by half. Now, as we keep paying for our holiday gatherings, the business has come back by half but it just doesn't seem the same or at least the smells do not. We are more of a to-go business now with items packaged and tagged in sugar cane boxes and biodegradable containers. The sweet mixture of multiple savory recipes and meats cooking side by side has been replaced by vacuum sealed soups and cold cuts prepared in a sanitized and disinfected central kitchen.
• 
  2020-01-13

  Sensory history submissions and the COVID-19 Pandemic

  I am teaching HST 643 Global History at Arizona State University during the Spring A semester of 2021. For the second time, I am asking enrolled students to submit a sensory history story related to the pandemic. The students were instructed to read at least the introduction of Melanie Kiechle's Smell Detectives before posting their story. This way, they would have a better understanding of what sensory history is and why it matters. I revised the instructions this time to push students toward non-visual stories.
• 
  2020-09-08

  Clinton Kelly's 3H Lemon Sauce

  Upon news of COVID-19 spreading in the United States, my parents and I made the decision that we were going shelter in place at home. While a lot of things remained the same, my parents began watching Clinton Kelly's 3H show that he did over his Instagram story. During one of Kelly's 3H shows my mom watched him make a lemon sauce. Since I am a huge fan of anything lemon, my mom decided to make it for my family one day and I fell in love with it. The sauce can be described as creamy, lemony, and cheese-y with a lemony smell. Since making the recipe for the first time, it has become my new favorite sauce. This story is specific to the pandemic since my mom would not have watched Clinton Kelly's 3H show otherwise.
• 
  2021-01-12

  Sounds of nature over while civilization takes a break

  In Hawaii, especially on the island of Kauai there were so many tourist that near the roads and tourist shops and restaurants you most heard traffic or people, and in the evenings live entertainment for tourists. Now, in the mornings you can hear birds and at night the crickets.
• 
  2021-01-11

  Pizza and The Old Stone Church

  Lockdown restrictions to indoor dining at restaurants, which prevents friends from gathering and socializing in familiar locations.
• 2021-01-12

  Voices No Longer Heard

  In my line of work, which is construction management and execution, communication is key. Often, this begins and ends with emails, phone calls, and the occasional zoom chat to set a project up. However, once work commences, field superintendents meet daily with clients to discuss progress, delays, opportunities for improvement, and at times, complaining. Morning meetings are at the heart of the daily communications, and have always taken place at 7:30 am, with fifteen to twenty people present. From January 2020 thru the middle of March 2020, morning meeting went as they had in the past. At times, with so many in the room, expressing their ideas, it can be difficult to keep track of what is being talked about. In my role, I attend one or more of these meetings, at different jobsites, throughout the week. As Covid safety precautions took hold towards the end of March, I noticed that the meetings I attended were quieter. This was partially due to masks being worn. Whenever someone chose to speak, their voice, which had been loud a week or so prior, was now muffled and subdued. Additionally, people spoke no more than was necessary, the meetings were shorter than they had been. Gradually, power points were introduced on a screen each day so that talking was not necessary. Instead, the bosses laid out the schedule, expectations, and those in the room simply took notes. By the end of April, the morning meeting changed over to Zoom Chat, with everyone in their office, staring at a screen which displayed those same power points, saying very little or nothing at all. By this point, with social distancing in full-force, there was no need to speak. Notes were made by a Project Engineer containing key points and emailed to attendees after the conclusion of the daily Zoom. Suddenly, there was no face to face conversation, fewer phone calls, and increased emails. With masks across our faces, everyone continued their work in an eerie silence. The robust workplace, full of ideas and plans which must be heard, faded into blank stares saying nothing. With the New Year, I did not expect any change. It would be difficult to say when practices that existed only a year ago might return. This morning, I logged into Zoom for a pre-construction meeting, I was met with the same silence I heard just before the Thanksgiving holiday.
• 
  2019-03-17

  The Smell of Bread

  I have uploaded a story of scent. During the first part of the stay-at-home order in Washington state, March 2019, I baked fresh bread daily to help my family during the food shortages. The amazing aroma of bread filled my home and brought hope to my family that everything would be well.
• 
  2021-01-11

  The Changing Sounds of Public Education During the Covid-19 Pandemic

  My wife and I are both public educators at Hamburg Area High School, a rural school district in Berks County, Pennsylvania. The Covid-19 pandemic has caused our district to fluctuate between in-person and virtual instruction. During virtual days teachers have been encouraged to teach from home to mitigate the risk of exposure to the virus. I conduct my American History classes from the office in our home, while my wife, a music teacher, performs virtual music lessons with her students in our dining room. This shift to virtual teaching from home has caused my classroom, which is usually quite traditional, to sound much different. While I attempt to educate my students on the finer points of American History, the sounds of young (and often struggling) musicians fill the air. Meanwhile, my two dogs also interject into class as they battle over toys and pillows. The Covid-19 pandemic has not only moved the location of public education, but also changed the way that education sounds. I recorded the following audio clip while my 3rd period AP US History class was studying primary source documents on the post-Civil War Reconstruction time-period (1865-1876) on Monday, January 11th.
• 
  2020-12-29

  Happy Birthday to Me

  For my 25th birthday I found myself sitting in the passenger seat of my girlfriend's car. As we entered hour two of waiting in line at the Orlando Convention Center for free COVID-19 testing, I kept myself busy playing Animal Crossing on my Nintendo Switch. A week earlier I had thought I was getting a cold. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary since coronavirus had already passed through my house and I made it out safe. Then, on Christmas day, I took a bit of pizza and realized there was just nothingness. I could feel the sensation of what I knew the taste was supposed to be, but there was only texture. I didn’t immediately panic, thinking it was probably due to the congestion of my cold. It wasn’t until my girlfriend mentioned that loss of taste is definitely a COVID-19 symptom that the realization dawned on me. The soonest I could get tested was on my birthday, which also happened to be the day I noticed my sense of smell had completely disappeared. Even though I still had two fully functioning eyes, I felt like I was operating completely blind. It never occurred to me how much the taste and the smell of food was so essential to my enjoyment of eating. It was a humbling experience, and I’m incredibly grateful that the loss of senses was my only real symptom. I tried to use my tasteless time wisely and eat all the undesirable food that has long since been shoved to the back of the pantry. Though, I would be lying if I didn’t say the day I got my tasting back, I ordered all my favorite foods for contactless delivery. It was my little 2021 belated new years celebration.
• 
  2020-12-05

  Helon's Hungarian Goulash

  Over the pandemic, I was with my family at our ranch in Alabama. As it started to get cold, I decided to make the only dish I really love to cook, a Hungarian goulash. It's a stew with meat, noodles, and sauce. It's very hearty and filling on cold days especially sitting by a fire in the middle of nowhere. Taste comparisons I can think of are like a beef stroganoff but with more spice since paprika features so heavily in the dish. It's easy, and the majority of the time involved is hands-off as it cooks so plenty of time to hang out with family or do whatever without having to worry. I think that cooking was a great comfort to many as we were stuck inside with the constant news of the pandemic's effect on us and low morale as the months wore on. For me, making goulash always makes a bad day better since it's a dish I love and there's just something really calming about the smell of cooking food and a warm kitchen. I know there were lots of recipes people shared online as a way to cope with being away from family and friends. Here's the recipe I use: ⅓ cup vegetable oil 3 onions, sliced 2 tablespoons Hungarian sweet paprika 2 teaspoons salt ½ teaspoon ground black pepper 3 pounds beef stew meat, cut into 1 1/2 inch cubes 1 (6 ounce) can tomato paste 1 ½ cups water 1 clove garlic, minced 1 teaspoon salt Step 1 Heat oil in a large pot or Dutch oven over medium heat. Cook onions in oil until soft, stirring frequently. Remove onions and set aside. Step 2 In a medium bowl, combine paprika, 2 teaspoons salt and pepper. Coat beef cubes in spice mixture, and cook in onion pot until brown on all sides. Return the onions to the pot, and pour in tomato paste, water, garlic, and the remaining 1 teaspoon salt. Reduce heat to low, cover and simmer, stirring occasionally, 1 1/2 to 2 hours, or until meat is tender. Enjoy!
• 
  2021-05

  Smelly Hands Are Clean Hands

  I welcomed my first child into the world at the very beginning of the COVID-19 crisis in the United States, leaving my fiancé and me isolated at home with a newborn. After three months, we desperately needed a night away from our precious bundle of joy. The only restaurant open was a sketchy looking German beer garden blasting accordion music, but we were just thrilled to be spending some adult time together while our son was with my mother for the evening. Upon walking into the restaurant, I readily pumped some off-brand hand sanitizer into my hand, and nudged my fiancé to do the same. I rubbed my hands together as we were seated, and breathed a sigh of relief that we were free from the colicky cries of our beloved child for the night. Suddenly my nostrils filled with the stench of bottom shelf tequila. The hand sanitizer wasn’t simply off-brand, it had been homemade by the restaurant. It was as if whomever had concocted the sanitizer was convinced that the best way to ward off the COVID-19 virus (and the fear attributed to it), was to completely bombard the olfactory system with the smell of alcohol. My fiancé remarked that because the sanitizer smelled so horribly, it must be killing all of the germs; unknowingly, he became a perfect example of how individuals have come to associate certain scents, like alcohol, with the illusion of cleanliness. Thinking back on that experience, I find myself pondering just how effective their homemade hand sanitizer really was. Or, more than likely, was it a last ditch effort (forced into action by society’s panic buying of cleansers), to provide their customers a sense of security through unconscious sensory associations.
• 
  2021-01-11

  The Smell of the Pandemic, Face Coverings in 2020

  One of the longest lasting memories for me of the Pandemic will be the olfactory association I will forever have between the smell of musty, soiled fabric and this period of time. The combination of coffee, toothpaste, sweat and laundry detergent was a defining one for me this year. As a high school teacher and coach, my days were long and required extensive periods of lecture based discussion and non negotiable face coverings. While the requirement was understandable from a safety perspective, the result was a facemask that always either smelled like it needed washing or had just been washed. For that reason, these scents will always remind me of this period