Cloister Commentary, Day 365: A Year in the COVID Life

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A few days over a year ago, my friend Ken Shimamoto messaged me, suggesting that I document here my days under the unfolding pandemic. Eight years ago, I’d done the same during my last year as a full-time public school teacher. That had worked out pretty well, but I wasn’t so sure about this undertaking: it was instantly clear to me that, while I never found teaching English repetitive, the limitations of a cloistered life might not make interesting reading. Nevertheless, on this day in 2020, I sallied forth with this commentary, hoping for the best.

I didn’t feel the need or ability to be a reporter on the world’s struggles. I was happy to comment when our life within these walls intersected with the endless turbulence outside of them, but mostly I just wanted to capture (for Nicole’s and my reflection later on, to possibly encourage others who might be frustrated, for your entertainment) how we got through days where we couldn’t go anywhere or see anyone safely. Because I’m a helpless music nut, I tried to offer the adventurous an interesting and inspiring full album stream on YouTube; likely, more than a few have been pulled for copyright reasons by now. I hope along the way readers found it wasn’t a warrantless pursuit.

Looking back, I’d not have dreamed I’d arrive on this day minus a father, a best friend, a canine companion, a brief feline addition to our entourage, and a little faith in my fellow citizens. None of those losses but the last was due to COVID-19; they just made keeping one foot in front of the other that much more difficult. Perhaps the urgency of staying disciplined helped us deal, I don’t really know. I just know LOSS was the defining word of the experience.

I was worried about contracting the virus. Instead, in 12 months, I enjoyed three electrocardiograms, two echocardiograms, two sleep studies, a colonoscopy, and a prostate biopsy. I gave blood twice until those processes resulted in medication that pretty much forbids that–I’ll never catch up to George Frissell’s 270+ pints.

Life certainly wasn’t all horrible. If I had to be trapped, it might as well be with my soul mate and ace companion. We live in a library, so feeding our heads and hearts would have been easy even without the Internet. We are both educators, and, though that task has been a major struggle, even that provided us some fuel–the summer school class I taught was essential to my recovery from a lightning-strike death. I talked to my mom almost every day, and saw her and my brother far more often than any year since I left home. And even if it was from a distance, I was buoyed up by citizens under attack refusing to lie down and fighting back. Their fights were seldom futile, either. We’ve got a long, long way to go, but the pandemic hasn’t broken us all the way down.

I read at least a hundred books and listened to hundreds of records, and hyped them in these commentaries. That was not to boast: they’ve always been integral to my intellectual and spiritual survival, plus? Once a teacher, always a teacher: modeling good reading habits is essential, especially now (the habit seems endangered). We also likely ate 100 curbside meals. I know, the discreet charm of the bourgeoisie and all, but local restaurants desperately needed the support, and the money pandemic life saved us demanded helpful reinvestment. Somehow, I avoided those extra COVID pounds.

Zoom? Thumbs up. I had a head start with it prior to the pandemic with guest speakers at Stephens, but I’m thankful it let me hear and see my family, friends, and flying saucer support team on a regular basis, and it’s a great birthday idea! I’m still mastering it as an educator, but the student teachers I’m supervising teach me a new trick every observation.

I wrote these from a position of privilege that kept me safer than most, gave me bubbles of serenity within which to write, and provided me the sustenance that insured me time. I wrote most of these with my right thumb, on my phone, in bed, under early morning lamps, during half-hours in my office before work, on the back porch, riding in cars (I regretfully edited one while driving), while eating, waiting in doctors’ offices–well, you get it. I transferred them all to a blog that maybe the local historical society can use (and that you can access–see below–to catch up, if you’re interested). Ultimately, I feel like the result was worth the effort. I know the pandemic is not over, but with our second vaccination scheduled Tuesday and today being not only our anniversary but a nice round annum, giving my thumb a rest is a decent idea.

Ken, thanks for the push (you push a lot, the right way). Nicole, thanks for the love and support and the hosting of this commentary via daily tags. And my little passel of readers, thanks for sampling this–I hope you were seldom bored. As I often told my students when we talked about adult life, it’s wrestling with routine and mastering monotony that are the secrets of endurance, and I sincerely hope we passed that test.

Streaming for Strivers:

Cloister Commentary, Day 362: When the Rain Comes

We awakened to pouring rain, flashing lightning, booming thunder–and some dude screaming epithets into the pre-dawn dark from the driveway next door. Nicole thought it was happening in her waking dream, but alas it was not.

We celebrated St. Pat’s with soda bread and a pint of music from that talented nutcase Van Morrison and The Chieftains (their team-up is passionate and evocative), with a Pogues chaser. Somehow it was fitting that I ran out to the truck through a thick downpour and drove to work accompanied by more sudden flickers of electricity. It may have been St. Pat’s (and Biden Bucks Day for some), but the main news was horrifying and unfortunately nothing surprising.

My recurring tutoring appointment did not materialize inside the Zoom Chamber, so applied myself to two alternate tasks (damn, I have the to-do bug!): attending to more fine details regarding a scholarship George Frissell’s family is giving to an outstanding David H. Hickman High School senior in May (thanks to many donors via GoFundMe), sprucing up my office further (updating my monthly Top 10, dusting books–first time I’ve done that, rearranging furniture for imaginary visitors), checking in with my teacher interns’ host teachers about their stellar mid-term progress.

When I got home, I had to mop some water out of the basement “Kitten Room”–we need a sump pump. More rain’s on the way. We squeezed a long walk in between downpours, discussed a home improvement future, ate more corned beef and cabbage, read and scrolled, and faded into Hypnos’ land with a couple of episodes of Kim’s Convenience. You may have noticed I use the simple teacher-trick of repetition quite frequently in these commentaries–on purpose. This show is consistently entertaining.

Streaming for Strivers:

Spoon ‘n’ The Brute. Their chemistry made my day and night yesterday, and is gonna make it this morning. Jimmy was Arkansan; Webster was KC-born.

Cloister Commentary, Day 359: An Imaginary Limerick

The cloudy, rainy gloom continued but it did not affect our positive momentum. Nicole whipped up a great batch of corned beef and cabbage, and as usual plated it superbly (it’s always photo-worthy, but I dropped the ball and it’s too late now). We could pretend we were in Limerick, though without the drams and the Shannon rolling by. I helped a student edit an upcoming piece (we hope) for Stephens Life and had a wide-ranging conversation with my former student from the wild and woolly early ’90s of David H. Hickman High School, Joseph Kenney. Joe was a student like I wish all of mine had been: passionate, outspoken, fearless, hungry to learn, accepting of others’ differences, and hilarious. We talked about Columbia’s Antioch Church; the continuing influence of Mr. Frissell on both of us; Geto Boys, Paris, and DJ Magic Mike; students who dress like icons (Prince, Michael Jackson, Eazy E, Cube); dealing with religious folks who won’t reciprocate a refusal to judge; friends of his I didn’t teach but wish I could have; and sustaining resistance. He’s a great dude who I wish still lived here, but I understand why he doesn’t.

March Madness–why should I care? Anyway, I want to put my chips on Illinois, but I still haven’t seen the bracket. I watched ’em win a squeaker against Ohio State and that mad man Duane Washington Jr. in the Big 12 championship game; I like their depth, camaraderie, coolness, and especially the one-two punch of Ayo Dosunmo and Kofi Cockburn.

Streaming for Strivers:

I may have shared this album already, but so what? It’s Grammy #2 for the youngest “old man” in American music!

Cloister Commentary, Day 202: Comrades, Cousins, and Comedians

I had mentioned a few commentaries back that the inspirational Stephens prof Ann Breidenbach and I had teamed up for a fun educational project, but I withheld the details. Yesterday, the project went to ground: after we educated her women’s studies students about absentee voting, we created an opportunity whereby I was able to notarize her students’ ballots that required it. Few actually did need that service, but two of them just happened to be the top students from my virtual summer freshman comp class, whom I’d never met in person. Even though we were all masked, we recognized each other from about 30 feet away! As my friend George Frissell would have said (quoting Chief Dan George in Little Big Man, as was frequently his wont), it made my heart soar like a hawk.

I also had the pleasure of talking with my cousin Gregory on the phone for over an hour. I frankly do not enjoy blabbin’ into the blower for even five minutes, but Greg is one of those few exceptions. His insights, good cheer, sense of humor, and wise perspectives were quite welcome (roiling, rotten stuff happened to have been weighing on my mind at the time), and he’s really an inspirational human being. We traded stories, and I honestly had trouble hanging up the phone. May you have a rewarding weekend, cuz.

Nicole and I both had educational crises dumped in our laps after 5 p.m (it’s an occupational hazard of great regularity for all us edumacators), but we calmed our nerves with an old remedy we had not tried in over a decade: Southpark. “The Pandemic Special” proved Matt and Trey are still great at that thing they do. They have Tegrity.

Streaming for Strivers:

They say it’s his birthday!

Cloister Commentary, Day 186: Nothing Black Can Stay

We started the day with a looooong neighborhood walk. Our departed companion was represented by his leash, which I put around my neck, his harness, which Nicole carried, and my trusty pocketed doggie doo-doo bag, because…well…at my age you never know. It just so happened that along the way we saw some folks walking a reddish dog with a flag-like tail and some seriously billowing bloomers. This brought back memories of a retirement idea one of our colleagues long ago proposed for us to bring to fruition collectively: we’d each employ our special talents in a one-stop wedding service called Groom ‘n’ Lube. My friends Karen Downey and Becky Sarrazin (the braintrust) would organize and decorate, I’d perform the service, Nicole would style the wedding party’s coifs, and our buddy John Steitz would take care of all the mechanical and security chores (“Call Guido: 443-KILL”). Anyway, watching this dog and remembering Louis, Nicole proposed a similar venture for us, Plume and Pantz: a grooming service just for border collies and their Aussie likes.

We hate this pandemic, but it enabled us to work together from home, and we really needed to do that yesterday. Fortunately, we each had our ugly cries at different times so we were able to calm each other rather than stoke the fire of our grieving with more coals of sadness. But just as nothing gold can stay, neither can anything black.

A story about Louie, which I’ve told before but I’ll try to spin a little differently: one summer day when Louis was a puppy, our friend George Frissell swung by to brainstorm with me about what would be the 1st and only Rock and Roll Quiz Bowl fundraiser. We were sitting at the kitchen table, I made a suggestion, and a look blossomed on George’s face akin to religious (or perhaps another kind of) ecstasy. I furrowed my brow as if you say, “The idea wasn’t THAT good”–then I peeked under the table to see Louis tongue-bathing George’s be-sandaled toes. I ’bout lost it. The dog could be a menace to visitors, but his true soul manifested itself in this case.

Streaming for Strivers:

Why not? We need it and it’s the anniversary of his birth.

Cloister Commentary, Day 136: Paid Off

Thanks to Nicole’s grandfather’s generosity upon his passing, we were able to make a humble down payment on this, our first and only house in 1996. It’s served us well, and, despite the numerous upgrades it needs, we are still fond of it. Yesterday, we were able to pay it off. We probably should have kicked out the jams to celebrate, but this IS a pandemic.

We failed to get Scrappers, the latest stray to wander up to our deck, into the clinic for a feline leukemia shot and an exam (our local spay and neuter project neutered him and gave him a rabies shot a few weeks back). A very runty Yoda-like tabby who has been through the mill–he’s missing half an ear, sports numerous battle scars, and has a hitch in his get-a-long–Scrappers has been a regular visitor for breakfast and, of course, The Beebs and Goldie have peacefully accepted him as a guest. He must have seen a crate in his future–but just before I started to tap this out, he yearningly reappeared at the back door. No, we’re not keeping him….

I eavesdropped as Nicole mirrored our school district superintendent’s Zoom with teachers to our TV. The questions from educators were very apt, challenging, and engaging (too many, perhaps, produced no answer), and I had to keep reminding myself I was retired. This is not going to be an easy, or safe, semester, and I hope the leadership consistently makes the best hard decisions as the school year begins.

Ever noticed Monday isn’t the best night to dine out? We had little in the cupboard since we’d been out of town for a few days, so we just struck out to “find something,” and struck out is what we did on our first five (?) swings, until after what seemed an hour we happened upon Chim’s Thai Kitchen On Broadway. We ordered curbside and brought home some masaman curry, pad bok choy, and crab rangoon–we shall return!

Our good friend and fellow educator Greg Soden, host of the always-edifying Classical Ideas Podcast, presented his audience with a new episode celebrating the late great sage George Frissell. It includes an interview with George and reminiscences from those who were lucky to know him.

Streaming for Strivers:

Today ought to be a national holiday so we can all celebrate the life and work of this birthday kid.

Cloister Commentary, Day 119.5: Splash, So Long

I have had a decent portion on my plate lately, so I was happy to hand a very healthy certified check over to good ol’ Sharon Dothage at Hickman for deposit into our account for remembering our departed friend George Frissell. My first experience managing a GoFundMe campaign was pretty positive, but also nerve-wracking. Would I do it again? Depends.

Thanks be to McKnight Tire for bringing my ’93 Ford Ranger (formerly known as a Splash until I had the evidence removed–didn’t quite go with my image) up to long-distance travel-speed. They have treated that vehicle lovingly for almost 30 years, and after the new owner has them put a set of tires on it, they shall see it no more, and will eventually meet my Chevy. I hope they get along.

How many hours in a day can you read? Providing my damn phone is buried somewhere, I can get seriously lost in a book, but I happened to have my nose in an in-demand book I’d checked out from the DBRL that was, um, five days overdue, so I had additional motivation. Finished it with time to spare, which I used to…read another book.

The dark side of the day was learning that 30 fellow Stephens employees lost their jobs. I’m pretty convinced the leadership did everything they could to prevent taking that measure, but COVID-19 gives no quarter. Had we done a much better job refusing any ourselves–say, starting in January–we’d be in a better place now. But more and more it is appearing we are in a hell we had a hand in making.

Random shout-out: I was delighted to see one of my favorite administrators and edumacational wizards, Dr. Andrew McCarthy, yesterday. Andy’s smart, dedicated, hard-working, funny, positive, patient, and nice. What else could one require in an educator?

Streaming for Strivers:

How ’bout some snap, crackle, and pop?

Cloister Commentary, Day 109: Strode Rode

Dropping off some checks for our fundraiser for the late George Frissell at Hickman High School, I had a delightful conversation with the school’s long-time administrative assistant Sharon Dothage–actually, she runs the school. We got caught up on gossip, the future, Hickman history–and I found out she was once a Stephens Star! I also chatted with financial secretary Heather Croy, who put my mind at ease about several nerve-wracking fundraising concerns. AND I logged a Dr. Andrew McCarthy sighting. AND I was excited to learn my good friend and former colleague Leia Brooks is moving into a) the ol’ Frissellian lair on the second floor, and b) a new home on the north side, with her boyfriend. AND I previewed for all the new city mask ordinance (better late than never).

I came home from that jaunt to discover that our long-time pal and stalwart Seattleian Beth Hartman had sent us a care package that included pickled Brussels sprouts (once branded by John Waters “those little balls of hell”). She wisely intuited that I would enjoy such an oddity, and I did, though I did not make a dirty martini with them as threatened. My brother Brian sent me a Bluetooth mic that I can’t wait to use but need to figure out how.

Accomplished: the Chevy Silverado Dad left behind and Mom and Brian gifted me is now officially mine. Next up: accidental death insurance labyrinth, and getting my old Ford into the Wright hands.

I am sick to death of gun violence.

Speaking of Fords, Nicole and I chillaxed and watched the first half of John Ford’s The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance.

A truly great film with serious star power but also entertaining support from crafty veterans like Woody Strode, Andy Devine, and Edmond O’Brien (all of whom made me think of my friend Rex Harris, who appreciates such memorable characters). Our fatigued bodies and minds forced us to our pillows at 9 pm.

Streaming for Shut-Ins:

Testifying tunes from a West Coast pianistic prince.

Cloister Commentary, Day 89: A Sand Grain

I’ll admit, I ran myself through a ringer yesterday.

Before I took a sip of coffee at 4:55 a.m., I found myself in a quagmire we all know too well: an irresolvable on-line tangle with someone. Why did I insist on engaging? That drained me of almost all the energy that sleep had restored to me–and more significantly, it left me distressed. Finally disengaged and recovered just in time to teach, my students graced me with the most enjoyable class I’ve overseen in over a year. Did I mention I’ve often been called “Mr. Overseen”? That’s the power of my gaze! They made me laugh with pleasure with their insights. After class, I couldn’t just be grateful for the nice session and bask in it; I had to revisit the previous briar of a conversation, fret about a technical GoFundMe issue, revisit the previous briar of a conversation, and perseverate over a lost package until my surging stress level merged with a very strong cup of tea and brought me to the edge of explosion. Nicole, as she does reliably, talked me back about 10 feet from the ledge and onto the couch, where, despite my heart pounding, I eventually lapsed into a 15-minute five-fathoms-deep nap. I awakened not very Van Winkle-like to resume worrying and wishing my old friend was on this plane to talk to–until I checked the GoFundMe to see an anonymous $1000 donation in his memory, the sheer generosity of which (quite seriously) brought me to tears. And joy. Then my high school chum Marcy plunged me into the abyss of depression by reminding me that we graduated from high school two score and about a month ago (does that sound longer ago or nearer to now than 40 YEARS?). Then my good friend Henry called and restored my emotional equilibrium and acceptance of mortality with compassion and humor. Finally, enchiladas, two cold Budweisers, and a dive into the work of Jeff City’s Chester Himes brought me back to myself.

Anyway–it was a day. I am now thankful I was alive for it, and today I am going to try act like I just read a book by Thich Nhat Hanh, which I just did, and also act like I understand that my troubles are like a sand grain in my shoe compared to so many others I know and don’t know–as I should. I hope you all have a better day than yesterday, too.

Streaming for Strivers:

How I’m starting the morning THIS morning. This is for the Carthage High School Class of 1980.

Cloister Commentary, Day 85: There Is No Sweeter Sound

Nicole and I opened the day with our 68th slice of pandemic peanut butter and jelly toast since March 17th, and hiked from Cosmo Park to the start of the Bear Creek Trail. We met Bess Frissell, in her role with Columbia Parks and Recreation, tending to the health of the trail behind the wheel of a monster tractor. We’ve either seen or talked to her at length four times in the last week, and it’s always a joy.

I have written in the recent past about our work trying to establish a proper memorial for a great friend and teacher, Bess’ father George Frissell, who passed unexpectedly on May 14. Yesterday, through a fantastic group effort, we were able to finalize the project and launch a GoFundMe to make it a reality. It’s my first to help organize, and I’m filled with hope, excitement, but also tinges of fear, as our goal is ambitious, the times do not lend themselves to free funds, and momentum has grown very quickly in the first hours of the launch. The generosity shown by contributors so far has been overwhelming.

The mailbox issued forth an amazing but apparently out of print post-World War II gospel collection entitled There Will Be No Sweeter Sound, compiled by the near-infallible expert Opal Louis Nations. I immediately loaded up the CD player, and we were lifted and gifted as we read on the couch.

The evening: burritos, quesadillas, chile rellenos, sorbet, margaritas, Netflix’s Michelle Obama documentary (a companion to her excellent memoir), and a word or two of wisdom from Dave Chappelle. If you missed that, it’s less than half an hour, and it’s right here:

Streaming for Strivers:

I can find no full album link for Kahil El’Zabar and David Murray’s new album Kahil El’Zabar’s Spirit Groove, but it is absolutely hypnotic. This sample is 15 minutes–it might just center you if you need that.