Column: Vaccines are on the way, but when will we get them?

I may be waiting until 616,700 Mainers have been vaccinated against Covid-19 before I am.

This, according to a handy online tool provided by The New York Times. I submitted my age and county of residence; noted whether I am a health care worker, essential worker, first responder or teacher; and indicated whether I had Covid-related health risks.

As an over-60 teacher, I thought I might be a little higher in the lineup. Not that I mind. I wear my mask, keep  my distance and wash my hands. I have seen that these measures work when they are consistently implemented, as they are in my school.

I’m thrilled the vaccines are coming, but I’m also anxious about getting one. I’m perfectly fine in the middle of the pack. That said, I will take the vaccine when my turn comes because I believe it’s my civic duty. Also, I don’t want to get sick.

The New York Times tool displays a virtual line of 100 people to demonstrate where I am standing right now. Ahead of me in this order are health care workers, nursing home residents, first responders, people with health risks, other elderly people, and essential workers.

It’s a nifty graphic, with health care providers in their scrubs and young adults with their backpacks and hoodies. Everyone is wearing a mask.

I wondered what exactly an essential worker is. There are 41,000 of them in Maine. According to the Economic Policy Institute, the term covers employees in 12 different fields, including food and agriculture, IT and water and wastewater management.

If I’m sounding like a Covid geek right about now, it’s because I am. I’m a school librarian with a background in journalism, so I firmly believe knowledge is power. I haven’t missed one of Maine CDC Director Nirav D. Shah’s press briefings since he began doing them in March. If I’m working or otherwise busy at 2 p.m., I watch it online later.

I want to know how many new cases there are and where the outbreaks are happening. A grim narrative has unfolded over the past nine months. In the beginning, uncertainty and fear. Then, hopefulness with so few cases in the summer. Now, a surge, with higher and higher numbers and many more outbreaks.

I’ve been fascinated—and impressed—with the rapid growth of our knowledge about this virus. Our last day of school before the shutdown was March 13. The first case in Maine had been announced the previous day, and for the first time, students were concerned, asking questions. At that point, the only advice we were getting was don’t hug or shake hands.

Then the discussion about mask wearing began. I remember the first time I went to the supermarket and saw many people wearing masks. Mask wearing hadn’t been mandated yet. There was still uncertainty over whether they protected wearers from droplets emitted by others. No matter. The next time I shopped, I wore a mask. Better safe than sorry, I figured. Plus, I have that civic duty thing going on.

Now we know that masks prevent our germs from going out, as well as others’ from coming in. Trucks are rolling out of Michigan with the first doses of vaccine as I write this. Schools were able to reopen and stay in session much longer than I and my colleagues predicted. It’s amazing. I feel like I’m watching history happen.

My husband and I recently rewatched the HBO miniseries “John Adams,” based on the David McCullough biography. In a powerful scene, a doctor inoculates Abigail Adams and her four children against smallpox. It’s a horrifying procedure. He uses a lancet to cut their skin and then injects pus from a smallpox victim.

Next, viewers see the victim, covered with sores, lying in the back of a cart, clutching a cross. The doctor scrapes his skin for the next inoculation.

The Adams's survived, although young Nabby developed a bad case and was scarred for the rest of her life. Luckily, though some of us may have fears and concerns about taking a brand new vaccine, we do not have to take the risk Abigail Adams took, or endure such a gruesome procedure.

Reflecting on the bravery of people who endured difficult times helps me find the courage I need just to go about my daily life these days. But I am also reassured by the thought that even without a firm grasp of science, doctors were able to slow the spread of smallpox in the 18th century. Now, not only do we have the wherewithal to produce a vaccine in nine months, we can predict when a 60-plus teacher in Kennebec County, Maine, might get it.

As Winston Churchill said after the British defeated German forces at El Alamein: “This is not the end. It is not even the beginning of the end. But it is, perhaps, the end of the beginning.” 

Column: This December, we're walking in a Covid wonderland

The safe thing to do this holiday season is to stay at home and celebrate with your immediate family.

I know many people are chafing at this message. They did not want to stay home at Thanksgiving. They had parties with friends and extended families.

We are all tired of this pandemic. Many of us are suffering from anxiety and depression, due to the constant worry and social isolation.

I noticed people were putting up Christmas decorations in their homes very early this year. One of my friends really loves the holiday and always starts early, but this year she was talking about it around Halloween. Why? The lights and decorations make her happy. Usually she’s in the minority with her eagerness, but now more people are looking for sparks of joy.

I don’t get super excited about the holidays. I think I got burned out years ago, by more than 20 years of Christmas travel. We would wrap all the presents here in Maine, load them in the car, then drive to my mother’s house in southeastern Massachusetts for Christmas Eve. Then the next day we would head up to Paul’s parents’ house near Worcester. We would usually meet with Massachusetts friends the day after Christmas. Then we’d finally head home, often taking my mother with us.

It was exhausting. Of course it was wonderful to get together with friends and family and enjoy good food. But it was stressful and draining, too.

Eventually, my mother moved in with my sister and brother-in-law in Rhode Island, which was a little closer to Paul’s family. But then Paul’s father died, and a few years later, his mother went into extended care. My mother was in an assisted living facility for five months before she passed away in 2009. My mother-in-law, Rita, died in the following year.

Christmas lost its festiveness as our parents aged. Paul’s father was in a nursing home for a few months before he passed. We visited him while he ate Christmas lunch before returning to the family home.

One year we spent the holiday in a hotel after visiting Rita in her nursing home. I had made sandwiches for our dinner, but decided that was too depressing. So we went to a Chinese restaurant, the only one open in town. I felt like the family in the movie “A Christmas Story.”

For the last holiday spent with my mother, I made a chicken pot pie (her favorite) and mashed potatoes and we brought them and the rest of the fixings to her tiny apartment in Rhode Island. Though I am glad we were able to spend that time with her, at the time it felt very sad.

Christmas has never been either traditional or picture-perfect for us. I tell these stories because I firmly believe every single person can survive having a simple, stay-at-home holiday with immediate family. Because we have. Not only did we make it through the pain of seeing our parents ill and unhappy in institutional settings, we have spent the last decade celebrating Christmas at home, just the two of us.

Occasionally, a friend would spend part of the day with us, but now she too has passed.

So it’s just me and Paul. We open our presents in the morning, have a nice lunch, and then watch a movie—often, “A Christmas Story.” I make a tourtière, a French-Canadian meat pie, for Paul on Christmas Eve, so we have leftovers for supper on the day itself. I appreciate the quiet and peace, and always recognize the many things that can go wrong to prevent that from happening.

One year, for example, there was a storm on Christmas Eve and the power went out, so I was unable to make tourtière. Instead, we heated a can of soup on the woodstove. I made the pie for New Year’s Eve instead.

You have to go with the flow.

Of course I miss seeing people. In November of 2019, our friends Al and Judy came up from West Springfield, Mass., and we met them for lunch in Freeport. My sister, Maggie, and her husband, Gary, came from Rhode Island and we went with them to pick up their new basset hound puppy, Atticus. I went to Boston in December on the Downeaster to spend the day with my friend Carol.

I am sad that these visits can’t happen this year. But I will survive.

This year, I’m looking for sparks of joy too. Paul and I always decorate the large fig tree in our living room—it’s so big there’s no room for an evergreen. We did this on Dec. 5, which may be a record for promptness. I like to leave the ornaments up until Epiphany, Jan. 6. Last year, though, we left the white fairy lights on until the spring solstice.

We’re already planning to do the same this year

I think it helps to focus on what we have instead of what we don’t. Has being healthy ever been more important? I think I will have my best Christmas ever if we aren’t sick or quarantining. Surely, at this point, that is the greatest blessing I could ask for.

Just make it through the holidays safely. And then look forward to next year.

Column: Looking to the past to help us cope with the present

Early this year, I wrote a column about a list of prayer intentions written by my late mother. She left the list in a book, where my sister found it.

One of the intentions was that her friend’s health issues “would vanish.” Mom had moved to Rhode Island from Massachusetts in 2000, and I thought that she was referring to a friend she’d met in her new town.

But then I heard from one of my friends—from elementary school. She’d read the column online and wrote to tell me how much she appreciated our mothers’ friendship, especially when her mother began struggling with memory issues.

Ah. My mother, Georgy, must have been referring to Eileen, Kerry’s mom. (I’m changing their names for privacy purposes.) I wrote back to Kerry to tell her this, but, of course, she had already reached that conclusion.

We agreed to meet in Boston during the summer, but that never happened because of the pandemic.

I was touched that Kerry had reached out to me. Her email brought back so many memories. We’d been big fans of the TV show “The Man From U.N.C.L.E.” and would reenact scenes (and create original ones of our own) during recess. Her brothers, on the other hand, were “Star Trek” devotees, and that’s how I was introduced to that iconic program. In those days, the whole family would gather around the television to catch the latest episode of their favorite series.

The internet has made it possible for us to find and connect with people from our past. The pandemic, I think, has increased our need to do that.

My husband, Paul, recently heard from his college roommate. They were students in the early 1970s, Paul at Suffolk University and Ian at MIT. Tourtière, French-Canadian meat pie, was a Christmas tradition in Paul’s family. After tasting my future mother-in-law’s dish, Ian asked her for the recipe.

Rita did not have it written down, but she dictated it to him. Perhaps because of Thanksgiving, or maybe because he’s doing pandemic cooking, Ian dug out the recipe and made a tourtière. Then he located Paul’s email address, told him the story and attached his original copy of the recipe.

Twenty-something Ian had written the recipe like an engineer would. In fact, he called it a sketch. It is delightful. He headlined it Tourtiere (A la Mme Carrier 1/23/72).

The ingredients to be mixed together are bracketed, and then lines radiate out to create a flow chart of sorts. So the onion, garlic and butter are combined, then mixed with the ground pork, and then added to the combined spices…this can be refrigerated overnight to “degrease.”

Written in blue ink, in neat all caps, it is a work of art.

And now I too have my mother-in-law’s recipe. She made a wonderful tourtière. I don’t eat pork, so she would make one with ground turkey for me. I make one for Paul every Christmas Eve.

I’ve adapted recipes found on the internet to make my own version, but it’s turned out to be similar to Rita’s. Tourtière is ground meat mixed with spices and mashed potato and baked in a two-layer crust. I don’t usually include garlic, but I will now.

Ian recalled that Rita would bring the two young men tourtières from her home near Worcester every so often, to make sure they were “happy and well-fed” in Boston.

That line prompted me to remind Paul of family dinners we had when we’d visit his parents in Massachusetts. “Have some more, Paul. You can’t be full yet,” Rita would say. No wonder everyone fell asleep in front of the television later.

Rita’s crust’s were perfection, which I can’t say for mine. How she managed to turn out smooth discs of dough without patching is a mystery to me. I’m pretty sure she used Crisco, which may have been her secret. I can’t bring myself to use vegetable shortening, so I may be doomed to seamed-together crusts. At least they taste good.

I do have Rita’s recipe file, a bright yellow plastic box straight out of 1965, jam-packed with recipes both handwritten and torn from magazines. After she passed, I came into a trove of vintage household items, like pastel plates and coffee cups, sewing patterns, books of Green Stamps and flowered aprons. i treasure my collection.

As I do the emails from Kerry and Ian. I think of Georgy and Eileen, one the daughter of Portuguese immigrants, the other born and raised in Ireland, friends for more than 30 years. Of Paul and Ian, students in tumultuous times, in a country undergoing chaotic change. And of Rita, bringing them an age-old Québécois tradition passed on to her by her parents.

The past is brought into the present by social media, the way we live now. I think I’ll go check that recipe box to see if Rita left any piecrust instructions behind. Christmas is coming.

Column: Holidays and other pandemic delights

For a long time, I had someone in my life who was born in each decade from 1920 to 1960.

They were my mother, 1920; a colleague, 1930; a friend, 1940; my husband, Paul, 1950; and my sister, 1960.

The oldest three have passed away, but I have added a colleague born in 1980. I would be happy if I discovered I had a connection to someone born in 1970, but so far, no luck.

As my friends and family members marked their milestone birthdays this year, as I remembered my mother on her 100th anniversary, I felt sad. Milestone birthdays are a time for celebration, and that’s hard to do in the middle of a pandemic. We can make the best of it, but it’s just not the same.

I don’t have any doubts that safety comes first. Paul and I usually go to a local restaurant for Thanksgiving. Its sumptuous holiday buffet is one of the highlights of our year. But, of course, this year we planned a quiet dinner at  home. Just the two of us.

My own birthday is on the first day of summer, and usually (but not always), my celebration involves being outdoors. This year, that was a necessity. We kept it simple. I really wanted a bagel and coffee. At that point, I’d only had coffee from a restaurant once since March. It was quite a production to fulfill this wish, due to what I think of as pandemic logistics. I mean, the primary reason I’ve been making my own coffee for months is that every time I go by a Dunkin’s, the line stretches around the building.

But Paul and I finally got our bagels and enjoyed them in a riverside park. Later we watched what I think of as my birthday movie, “Sideways.”

Our options for Paul’s November birthday are always limited, but in the past they have included a theatrical movie, a museum visit and/or eating out. This year we went for a cold walk, then I gave him his cards and presents and made a special meal for supper.

Paul was excited that one of his gifts was a Chunky bar for dessert at lunch.

I am grateful for all that I have, and have tried for many years to live a simple life. It doesn’t get more simple than this. At the same time, I would really like to go to a restaurant and have a nice meal.

Now the holiday season is upon us. I look at the bright side. Since we’re home more, I should have the time to get more decorations up and cards out in a timely manner. Paul and I have had quiet Christmases since our parents passed away, so that is nothing new for us. I primarily shop online for presents already.

But I am dreading any shopping I have to do in person, because I sense that even with a pandemic, people are going to be shopping more in December.

Grocery shopping is still difficult for me. There are two Hannafords in my town. One is on the small side, but it is convenient to my house. The other is quite large, with wide aisles, but it’s on the other side of town. Before March, I usually shopped at my neighborhood store. But I have been freaked out there on occasion, because the aisles are narrow.

The other day I was trying to get down the condiments aisle of the nearby Hannaford. There were at least five carts, and a couple of the carriages were accompanied by two people. There was also an associate with a carriage, stocking. So, eight people. Four too many.

I carefully maneuvered my way through and then—somebody coughed. Not a single ahem, but a deep, phlegmy rattle.

I literally ran past this person. I could feel my heart pounding. Later, Paul asked me if the cougher was masked. I said, “I was moving too fast to look!”

The person was, I believe, facing away from me. That was some consolation. I was also relieved that the other aisles were not congested at all.

The market is my primary shopping venue, and at my two locales, the great majority of people are wearing masks. I know from what friends tell me that’s not the case in all communities. And that’s scary.

I had to plan my Thanksgiving shopping strategically because I didn’t want to be in the store on Wednesday afternoon. I will do the same for Christmas.

I even started buying the ingredients for Thanksgiving dinner at the beginning of the month, one item at a time. I was afraid there might be shortages of certain items.

Paul had suggested that we stock up on paper goods, also one item at a time, when the virus case numbers began climbing. He thought he’d help out when he went to the market to buy the Sunday newspapers recently.

But he returned home aghast. “There was no tp,” he said. “Only paper towels.”

I was surprised. I was even able to find my favorite brand, Cottonelle, this month. For weeks after the pandemic first struck, we had to suffer through no-name, one-ply brands that I’d bought when there was nothing else to be had.

I had to stop in at CVS after Paul’s supermarket visit, so I checked there. They had plenty, including Cottonelle. I bought the biggest package they had.

The next day, at the market, I realized that in the small Hannaford, the tp and paper towels are in different aisles. There was plenty of tp—Paul just didn’t see it.

Well, if there’s one thing I’ve learned in this pandemic, it’s be prepared. We may not be able to spend birthdays and holidays the way we want, but we celebrate the little things—like a well-stocked bathroom.

Column: Even in these dark times, an occasional silver lining

A recent segment on NPR's "Weekend Edition Sunday" featured the concept of"cooking fatigue." Not surprisingly, the wave of intense cooking and baking that was seen at the beginning of the pandemic -- leading to shortages of such items as flour, beans and rice -- is beginning to wane.

As the sole cook in my house, I tired of constantly preparing meals by June. I didn’t fling myself into bread baking or pie making. Instead, I have found solace in preparing the same things on the same days of the week. This also helps me spend less time in the supermarket.

Still, even though I am heartily sick of cooking and eating at home, I would not say that everything that’s happened in this pandemic is negative. I do see some bright spots.

The crazy anti-maskers notwithstanding, most of us have risen to the task of doing what needs to be done. I sometimes have a moment in the supermarket when I suddenly remember I am wearing a mask. I’m waiting on a red line for a staffer to tell me to proceed to a checkout aisle, where I will wait on another red line.

If you had told me a year ago that this is the way we would be living now, I would not have believed it. But we just put one foot in front of the other and adapted. Honestly, I didn’t think that was possible in a country that had elected Donald Trump.

Of course, we would be doing a lot better at this point if the president had actually led the country through this thing. I am angry, too, at the people who insist on having unsafe gatherings that have led to widespread community transmission in Maine.

And yet, at the same time, I see a positive shift in our culture that I think will last. People are spending more time at home, with their families. Apparently, according to our arborist, they look outside more now, and realize a tree should be cut down or pruned. My husband, Paul, and I are having a hard time getting our handyman over to fix a dryer vent because he’s so busy. We had to wait a month for electricians to come in the summer.

Not only is this good news for tradespeople, it shows a return to healthy values. We may be streaming Netflix and Prime Video more, but we’re also doing jigsaw puzzles, knitting and gardening. Last year, families sat in restaurants and stared at their phones. Now they’re playing Monopoly on their own dining room table.

As a school librarian, I’ve worked with middle school students for 30 years. I did not think school could work in a pandemic. But school is safe. The masks stay on. Students are reminded constantly to sanitize their hands. They eat lunch at individual tables three feet apart.

The school experience demonstrates that the virus can be contained if people follow the rules. Certainly there are students who have to be reminded to pull their masks back up over their noses. Yes, we have virus cases in my district. We will be remote the week after Thanksgiving, in hopes of stemming post-holiday spread. But at the outset of the current school year, many of us thought we’d have to go remote much sooner.

Social distancing, alas, comes at a price. It is uncomfortable to wear a mask for hours. Adults in particular are socially isolated. School is so quiet that we can keep the library doors open—and we are off the food court. In the past, we could hear the lunchtime roar through the glass.

Those were the days.

One of my friends, who is also a teacher, said to me, “I miss everyone and everything.”

Yes.

And yet…while I miss going out to eat and to the movies, Paul and I have discovered new places to hike and have picnic lunches. I thought I knew all about the beauty of Maine, then we’d find yet another exquisite spot. A couple of weekends ago, we found ourselves on an isolated gravel beach. A dog ran towards us; its owner was a speck in the distance. Then they were gone. We had the beach to ourselves on a perfect Indian summer day. Then another couple showed up and sat quietly on a bench. It felt too good to be true.

It is possible to forget there’s a pandemic going on, in moments like that. I am grateful for every one of them.

Yes, I am sad and scared about the way things are going in Maine. Winter will be hard enough to endure with short, cold days and limited indoor activities. If we have shutdowns and restrictions again, it will be twice as hard. Add to that the increased fear of catching the virus and the next few months look nothing but bleak.

And yet, I have a long list of books to read and woodstove fires to look forward to. I bought new snowshoes.

I still expect the worst, but I’m hoping for okay. And, every day, striving to see the silver linings.

Column: Dealing with anxiety during a pandemic

At my annual physical, I told the nurse practitioner who is my primary care provider that I was doing surprisingly well dealing with my anxiety during the pandemic.

She didn’t bat an eye. She’d heard it from other patients, and theorized that people like me are more used to dealing with fear and uncertainty that others.

Or as a man interviewed on National Public Radio on this very topic said, “I feel like I’ve been preparing for this my whole life.”

Well, I’ve been an anxious person my whole life. I think it’s a learned behavior; my mother was also anxious. For this reason, I have always believed it can be unlearned. To a certain extent.

So I have practiced meditation, yoga and mindfulness. I spent quite a few years reading about Eastern religions and philosophies like Zen Buddhism and the Tao. I’ve undergone therapy. At times, I’ve taken medication. I walk every day.

One thing I’ve known for a long time is that anxious people are good in a crisis. We are anxious about the future. We worry about things that may never happen. But when a loved one falls ill we are able to think clearly. We’ve gone over various horrible scenarios in our heads a million times.

I can wake up at 3 a.m. thinking of a situation I have to deal with at work and come up with 15 worst-case scenarios.

However, when my dog, Martha, threw up the other night and then pitched herself into a panic attack, I remained calm. When soothing music and the Thunder Shirt didn’t work, I said to my husband, Paul, “Let’s put her in the car and drive.” This had worked in the past and it did this time too.

At the outset of the pandemic, I had some very dark thoughts. It was mega-worst-case scenario time. Paul and I were going to get sick. We’d have to quarantine. How would we take care of Martha and the cats? Suppose this pandemic never ended? What if it led to civil unrest?

But I know how to take care of this particular demon. A worst-case scenario is just that. So stop your racing mind and think, what is the best-case scenario? And how about the likely scenario? Hopefully, we will get through this without getting sick. That also happens to be the likely scenario, since Paul and I wear masks in public, maintain a safe distance from others and keep our hands clean.

I remind myself of an old saying that I encountered in my spiritual readings, “If you hear hoofbeats, think horses, not zebras.” I know I’m not the only one who sneezes and thinks, “Oh, no, it’s the Covid!” But it’s much more likely I sneeze because I’m allergic to grass and dust (horses) than because of the coronavirus, which despite widespread community transmission in Maine is still a zebra if you are following the CDC protocols.

Living in such a stressful period involving a pandemic, a tumultuous presidential election, racial unrest and economic distress is definitely anxiety producing for all of us. When “life happens” at the same time, it can feel overwhelming. We had to let our ailing, 14-year-old chocolate lab, Aquinnah, go just before the pandemic broke loose in Maine. A loved one was diagnosed with cancer in the summer. I’m an essential worker—a school librarian. School is safe because everyone is following the rules. But following the rules comes at the price of social isolation, even if there are some 300 people in my building at any one time.

I have found that I have little energy to worry in my usual way—about what might happen. I am too busy dealing with the everyday realities. My mind is so overwhelmed with the way we live now that it sometimes refuses to speculate on the future.

Some anxious people might be doing better than expected in the pandemic because of what a recent article in The Guardian called “lockdown relief.” During the shutdown, I did feel life had slowed down considerably, and that was a good thing. Even now that I am back at work, the feeling persists. I go to work, shop for groceries and go home. On the weekends I try to do a day trip with Paul on one day and grocery shop and take a walk on the other. There is plenty of down time. It helps.

As the article says, “More time with pets and loved ones, home cooking, and not having to deal with the overstimulation of life in the outside world have led to a greater sense of general well-being.”

Recently I was talking to a colleague who’d had a rough day of it with technology glitches. “Luckily, the kids are so good,” she said. Then she added, “I wonder if this will continue when things are back to normal?”

Let’s hope that whatever lessons we have learned about dealing with uncertainty, facing life’s challenges gracefully and keeping calm in the middle of a crisis stay with us. If they can see us through this, they can see us through anything.