Tag: health

Pandemic postcard #56: Better days

Julie Fanselow

Two years ago feels like forever, doesn’t it? Two years ago tonight, I was a few days into a complicated-but-worth-it two-week travel odyssey that saw me fly to Idaho for an early Christmas with my daughter and jet on to Chicago to spend Christmas Eve with one set of cousins and Christmas Day with the other. It was the first time in decades I’d shared Christmas with my extended family, the folks with whom I celebrated nearly every childhood Christmas. One of my cousins is no longer with us and I’m not sure when I’ll see the others again, so I’m glad I made the trip when I did.

After a perfect, unseasonably warm Boxing Day spent wandering around the Garfield Park Conservatory and the Chicago Loop — and a rare night in a downtown hotel — I met a friend for breakfast then I boarded the California Zephyr on December 27 to travel across the Plains and Rockies and the Sierra Nevada, on to San Francisco, where I spent New Year’s Eve with my brother and his husband. Jeff and I joined many others in a traditional Golden Gate Bridge walk on January 1, then on January 2, I finally flew home to Seattle. I packed a lot into that trip, and I’m glad I did, for the two Christmases since then have been strange.

I don’t have much to report as dusk falls on this fourth-shortest day of the year. For the second Christmas Eve in a row, I am awaiting the results of a COVID-19 test. Last year at this time, I had no symptoms but I had received an exposure notification, so I hunkered down for what I’m pretty sure was my first-ever solo Christmas before the negative test result finally came in late on December 25. This year, I’ve had cold symptoms since Tuesday and I’m pretty sure that’s all they are, but out of an abundance of caution, I got a PCR test the other day. I’m starting to feel better, but I’ve sadly decided to pass on the only in-person plans I had: volunteering as an usher at my church’s Christmas Eve service tonight and sharing brunch with my stepdaughter and her mom and stepdad tomorrow. I’m spending a second straight Christmas alone, but at least I had plans, unlike the person I found curled up in my building’s doorway this morning.

It’s been a hard year for many of us, to varying degrees, but I am grateful for what I have and what may lie ahead. Ten years ago today, I was sleeping on the living room couch of my house in Boise, recovering from back surgery. Over the next six months, I’d say goodbye to my dad after his long journey with memory loss and I’d move to the West Coast to start a new life. I’ve lived at seven different addresses since Christmas 2011 and I’ll likely add yet another early in the new year, but that’s another story — one I’ll share in my annual “word of the year” another post sometime soon. For now, suffice it to say that this restless soul hopes to find more lasting shelter in both the physical and emotional realms in 2022.

Meanwhile, I wish shelter for all who seek it, and I want to send along my good wishes to those of you who are still here with me. Thank you for reading Surely Joy this year, even as my posts have become less frequent and more fraught. Here’s a song about forgiveness and possibility that resonated strongly with me this time last year and that is ringing even more true in this strange, protracted season of uncertainty for our world. Stay well, and know that the light is coming back.

Update: My test result came in just before 5 p.m., and thankfully (and as I expected), it was negative. Another blessing, another sign of better days, when a head cold is all we need worry about this time of year.

Pandemic postcard #54: Postscripts

Julie Fanselow

When I wrapped up my series of 52 weekly posts a month ago, I said I’d write when I had something to say. Sixteen days ago, I wrote that I’d decided to move–which is mostly what I’ve been doing since then, although I’ve also managed to do a few other things. So here’s an update.

My new place is good. I moved two-and-a-half-miles and I am back in the neighborhood where I first landed in Seattle when I arrived here in 2013. At that point, I chose Lake City for its proximity to Tom and his suburban home a short bus ride away, but also for its affordability and diversity. I quickly grew to love Lake City for its human-scale character, and for the way, a couple of blocks off the gritty main drag, the streets feel nearly rural–perfect for the sort of aimless walks I enjoy each morning. I’m having a good time getting reacquainted with my new-old neighborhood, and I’ll write more about that in my next another post.

Here on the courtyard side of my new complex, I’ve mostly found the quiet I seek–though who knew a brand-new refrigerator could run so loudly, that people sometimes fly drones at the exact treetop level of my balcony, and that dogs (who may outnumber people here) like to bark at all hours. I hear one howling now, though that’s actually a much nicer complement to the birds’ dawn chorus than the staccato yips I hear around midnight. I had a few moving-in hiccups, including a minor water leak that the property manager swiftly addressed. She didn’t know about the drones, though. No place is perfect, but this place will do. I have the same sublime morning light I enjoyed at the last place, and a little more room, and a neighborhood I already know and like.

What else is new? I wrote five weeks ago about my then-uncertain prospects of getting vaccinated anytime soon, as a healthy 59-year-old in a state where there was then no timetable for anyone under 65 getting their shots. By early April, Washington state (spurred by leadership in the other Washington) had finally announced that everyone under 60 would be eligible on April 15, so I’d been prepared to wait a looooong time for my first jab–and likely not be fully vaccinated until well into May. But then, on the very day I gave notice that I’d leave my former apartment, I got an email from the property managers there noting that a mobile clinic would be on site to offer the one-and-done Johnson & Johnson vaccines that Friday. Everyone was welcome. So just like that, I got my shot. Of course, a few days later, the J&J “pause” was announced, but as a post-menopausal woman, the news was a mere stress blip on my moving-focused radar. I am grateful to be vaccinated; I tucked my CDC card into my passport, for it represents the same kind of freedom and sense of possibility. It’ll still be a while before I go abroad again, but it won’t be another full year.

Meanwhile, I’ve taken one more step back into life as I knew it pre-pandemic. Last Wednesday, 13 months to the day since I’d last seen a film in the theater, I returned to my favorite movie house and saw Minari. I was the only person there for the late-afternoon matinee, but I left my mask on anyway. That was weird, but it was delightful to see a movie on the big screen. Four days later, I returned to watch Nomadland, this time with a handful of other folks. (Although I’d already seen it twice on Hulu, I couldn’t pass up a chance to see its gorgeous cinematography of the American West in widescreen splendor.)

Yet more signs of spring: I am going to a ballgame today–I have one of about 9,000 tickets to see the Mariners and Dodgers play from socially distanced seating–and I return to my ballpark ushering job next week. A friend has invited me over for a small dinner gathering of five fully vaccinated friends this weekend, and I was delighted to be able to say, yes, I’ll be there.

Best of all, just a few weeks from now, I will be on a road trip to see my daughter for the first time since last July and to hug her for the first time since December 2019.

It won’t get any better than that.

We haven’t left the pandemic behind yet, but with fans in the stands and newly vaccinated folks reuniting every day, it feels like we’re on the way.

Thanks for reading Surely Joy. I write for a living, so if you enjoy my work, feel free to hit the tip jar. If you’d like to get future posts via email, look for the link on the right side of this page (or maybe below this post, if you’re on a mobile device).

Pandemic postcard #53: Moving right ahead

Julie Fanselow

This Easter morning, I’d planned to be packing my suitcase for a journey to the Deep South, to see two of the only four states I haven’t yet seen. I was going to visit my friend Eileen in New Orleans, drive from Selma to Montgomery for a few days of reflection, and wind up on Mississippi’s Gulf Coast. Instead, I am packing boxes to move a week from tomorrow.

It’s been a difficult Lent. Right now, things are blessedly quiet because it is Sunday. But tomorrow morning, the crew on the light rail extension project will fire up a generator that will drone on 24/7 until next Friday evening, sometimes accompanied by beeping and scraping during the night-shift work and always with a low-level vibration that seeps into my home and my bones. This has been going on since January, but it’s only been in the past few weeks that I have realized what a toll it has been taking on me.

Worse, I haven’t been able to get a good answer on how much longer it will continue. Another month, perhaps, or maybe a year. The noise level increased last week, when another construction project started to the north. I’ve found myself unable to sleep well, unable to think straight with the constant clamor. Meanwhile, COVID cases are going in the wrong direction and I’m still weeks away from getting a vaccine. The truth hurts, and the truth is it probably is not a good idea to travel cross-country on a non-essential trip.

So in the last week, I made two decisions: I’d cancel my (fortunately refundable) trip plans and I’d use my vacation time to move. The good news is it’s a renter’s market here in Seattle and I was quickly able to find a new place. I’ll pick up the keys in a few days and I’ll have most of my stuff there a week from tomorrow. I’m reminded anew how it is beautiful to live a simple, streamlined life. (Of course, I talked this over with the property manager at my current place, who gave me her blessing.)

I’m a little sad at having to leave this little apartment I’ve had since February 2019. There was a lot to like about it. I chose this place with a gut feeling it would work well for me, which it did — until it didn’t.

I’ve written before about how it’s good to be able to pivot, and how there is rarely such thing as a final decision. I am heading back to the familiar neighborhood I first called home in Seattle, to another snug studio that would have been out of my price range before the pandemic. I look forward to staying more than two years, if the rent stays reasonable.

Who knows? Maybe this rolling stone will gather some moss. Hope springs eternal, and more will be revealed. Here’s to the spirit of Easter, of renewal, and of rolling away the big rock when it’s time to make a change.

Thanks for reading Surely Joy. I write for a living, so if you like what you see, feel free to hit the tip jar.