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  2022-01-31

  THE WISDOM OF TWO-YEAR-OLDS

  As I got out of my car last Sunday morning in pursuit of caffeine, I took one last deep breath of the freshly-brewed coffee emanating from my local barista's shop before pulling on my N-95 mask and entering the cafe. I live in California and masks are required in all shops in my part of the state. So snug was my mask’s fit, that the aroma instantly vanished. Masks and odor are tightly related, not in just snuffing out outside scents. For anyone who has ever pulled on a previously worn mask, you will have noticed an opportunity to smell used YOU, up close and nasally. Walking in to get my brew, I passed a family with two-year-old twins, bedecked in pink glittery princess gowns complete with wands, tiaras, and the newest in royal attire—tiny COVID masks. One skipped and the other twirled, both seemingly unbothered by their face coverings. And they are not alone. I am still stunned by the casual aplomb of the very young when it comes to mask-wearing. I first noticed this phenomenon several months ago at LAX. It was late in the evening—peak red-eye time. Preschoolers, some overtired and wired, others sleepily dozing in their parents’ arms, passed by. All wore COVID masks; Spiderman; Elmo; mini soccer balls, dinosaurs. None complained. Perhaps they welcomed the slight dulling of their sense of smell since young noses are far more sensitive to odors than mature ones. This makes me wonder why small children do not feel the need to evoke the Gestapo or Hermann Goebbels when it comes to a small piece of fabric that has saved millions of lives. Apart from a diminished sense of smell when wearing N-95s, will we miss mask-wearing when it is no longer a matter of life or death? I for one am not sure. I like the fact that there is no need to wear lipstick. I can skip makeup from the brow down and stop obsessing about new wrinkles. I welcome the feel of an extra layer of warmth on chilly mornings. But perhaps we should look to the two-year-olds who have accepted this bit of sartorial attire as a fun accessory—a tiara for your nasal passages.
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  2021-02-09

  INTO THE UNKNOWN

  My oldest friend—let's call her Dr. Z— is an infectious disease specialist. She has been working on an AIDS vaccine for decades now, so when COVID came along, it was traumatic for her in a different way. COVID has commonalities with AIDS and she was grim about vaccine prospects. Thankfully, a year later we are all getting vaccinated as a Herculean national effort unfolds. A few days ago New York State announced that pregnant women could now join the ranks of the vaccine-worthy, so my pregnant cousin asked me if I would ask my friend if it was safe. Dr. Z has two daughters, also both doctors in busy New York City hospitals. This was the exchange we had. And now, I ask you...what would you do?
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  2021-01-14

  THE SAGA OF THE CORONIALS

  Corornials. Pandemikids. Just a few hours old and they already bear a generational hashtag. Having a baby is stressful, but having a baby during a pandemic and delivering that child in a COVID-infested hospital when your state is at critical ICU levels does nothing to ease new parents' stress levels. My tiny grandperson was born under these circumstances and my daughter spent almost the entirety of her pregnancy in a pandemically-constricted world. She went to all her OB appointments alone (no husbands allowed), could never socialize with her friends unless they were outside and 8 feet apart, and, of course, a virtual baby shower. A week before her baby was due she was told she could not have her doula with her at the hospital. This was the person she trusted the most and had worked with for months, so a decision was made to deliver at home with a midwife. That seemed slightly safer than a COVID-filled hospital anyway. But after 30 hours of labor, that plan was abandoned. A 25-minute drive to a hospital that would allow her doula to stay with her ended with a C-section several hours later, followed by a too- early discharge 2 days later. These new mothers (and fathers) have had an experience that deserves memorializing. And city dwellers bear an ever greater burden. Is it safe to push the stroller in downtown LA or New York? There can be no childcare until vaccines have been distributed. The cohort of heroic coronial parents are going to have unbelievable tales to bore THEIR children with—the Herculean hoops they jumped through—when the miasma of the virus finally goes poof. And what of the pandemikids? Will this unite them as are millennials and baby boomers? It will be an interesting project for a sociologist in a few decades. But right now, ignorance is bliss and most adults would be happy to have the memory of this year erased forever. Too bad I am not a coronial.