A lot of the things I’ve noticed looking out my window for 12 hours a day for the past two months
- A lot of people got dogs and are training and walking them.
- A lot of people keep routines going on walks the same time every day.
- A lot of cars drive the wrong way down the one way.
- A lot of cute birds are actually mean and fight with each other.
- A lot of squirrels do the same.
- A lot of people stared running and have noticeably gotten better.
- A lot of people are looking out the window like me because when the mail comes there’s a rush to the mailbox.
A walk on Easter
Not much to say today: so much continues to change, but so much continues to stay the same. Focusing on the earthly signs of rebirth that are all around us… They come each year at this season and are a reminder that growth and beauty continues, unconcerned with our current troubles.
Like Easter, my favorite and most important holiday for Christians. Today is the day where, very broadly, we recognize Christ’s triumph over death and how we all can be reunited with the infinite.
Yesterday, I noticed a flower near my door that was close to blossom. Today, it was in full bloom. Although I had anticipated this happening, it filled me with more delight than I could imagine.
I went for a walk enjoying the sprouting beauty all around and our Easter celebration. But when I returned, the flower was gone, torn from its stem and laying at the trunk of a different tree. Maybe it was a cruel passerby, one of the squirrels that frolic around the yard or a bunny that often appears out of nowhere.
The flower is gone, so quickly after it appeared, and the others will follow, but its memory and what it represents continues. I know this is incredibly small in comparison to everything that is happening in the world, for sure, but sometimes these tiny things can be the most easy to grapple with, especially during such difficult times.
Taking things slow during COVID with Joe Pera
Entering the third week of sheltering from the world, I’ve fallen into a new rhythm of day to day life, one that is much more slow.
While things in our world are moving very fast, they are also very slow at the same time. Work is face paced, keeping up with new information is a new area of study, and buying goods is a micro odyssey. A lot of energy is required. But at home, the pace of life has slowed. As most of society has shut down, small things have become a refuge, like meals, a cup of tea, talking to a friend and, yes, even cleaning.
There’s a TV show I watched this week that speaks to this time: Joe Pera Talks with You. It’s the quirky comedy that chronicles about a middle school choral teacher in Michigan’s Upper Penisula. At first watch, it appears to be the soul of a 70-year-old man inside the body of a 30-year-old going through the mundaneness of daily life, but it really is a celebration of those simple things that are now taken away from us. Oh, and it’s hilarious.
As my habits in quarantine have become those of an old man, this show has become much more relevant and relatable.
A Saturday morning breakfast, a relaxing trip to the grocery store visiting friends and family for a cook out — all things that became routine and then for granted but we so desire now. The way Joe talks to you about them are soothing. As we’re looking at the world through a different lens, his perspective is, frankly, inspiring. While each episode is only about 12 minutes, they feel like a full half an hour, a statement of the peace we can find in these things. Time has a different meaning now.
Much of Joe Pera Talks with You celebrates what we can’t do right now, it also highlights things we can do: staying up all night watching internet videos, going for a hike, reading what peaks our interest, lots of reading.
The things he gets excited about are things I am excited to experience again. A story of a simple man with simple pleasures all of the sudden becomes something like an aspiration.
Closed Kalamazoo: Week 2.5
A wonderful, sunny day. Took two long walks through downtown. In the morning saw some daffodils that had bloomed in Bronson Park — in the evening the sun was full on them. Some things aren’t on hold.
Lots of people were out enjoying the weather — smiling, something recently as rare as the sun.
In fact, there was almost too many people out to be comfortable in our new world of social distancing. A dozen people at East Campus suddenly felt like being stuck in the middle of a Tokyo crowd.
But overall, all the problems felt like they disappeared temporally, nothing like those recent cold nights on the same streets by myself. But in fact things have actually gotten worse. But for an hour, the world felt alive again, vibrant and good. There were several reminders of the virus, but the sun overpowered them, temporarily.
Later tonight, I had a 25 minute conversation with my friend Sarah as she was walking by. At the end, we both realized this was the longest time either of us had talked to another person face to face (6 feet apart) in weeks.
Overall, today felt like a cease fire during a war. Things will only get worse, but April 2 was a great reminder of what we hope to see on the other side.
Closed Kalamazoo: Week 2
Closed Kalamazoo Week 2: Looking at everything differently
Another week of Kalamazoo being closed. It doesn’t feel as strange as last week, but there are still daily moments that are dissettling.
Like today. I just came back from a walk downtown and it was eerie to see all the churches empty on a Sunday morning. It was very windy, closed signs were flapping on doors. It felt like a storm is coming. Coming home and briefly turning on the news, it appears one certainly is intensifying.
I’ve increased the number of walks I take to two or three a day, mostly in the same area downtown, trying to come to terms with everything that is happening. I’ve walked these streets daily for years, so the changes are stark. As the initial shock of everything being empty has become the new normal, I’m beginning to notice new things in the silence.
The world feels tangibly different in a lot of ways. The birds and other animals seem to roam more freely — maybe they always have, but it’s noticeable with less noise and people. I saw some friends on the Kalamazoo Mall and, as we talked across the street, our voices echoed.
Stores that were open just weeks ago are blending in with those that have been vacant previously. Walking past them, they are like distant landscapes that can only been seen but not interacted with.
Crosswalk signs are really just recommendations now. Social norms and small rules seem to have been put on hold. This week as I was walking around 5:30 p.m., a group was skateboarding on the steps of City Hall. On the Kalamazoo Mall, a woman was walking her dog off leash. A man riding his skateboard, on the sidewalk, whole being pulled by his dog. I don’t know if anyone would have said anything during normal circumstances, but no one is even thinking it now.
It is quite a strange, but freeing feeling to walk and not see anyone, especially at night — similar to walking in the woods. And when there are other people, I try to avoid them by crossing the street. It’s hard to maintain the six-foot distance when passing someone on the sidewalk. But more times than not, they will move over too.
The warm weather is making everything feel more open — the spaces felt larger and the emptiness felt deeper. But there’s also signs of good things to come — Oberon is released, flowers are starting to sprout, the sun is making an appearance. Illuminated windows are welcome signs as people are connecting digitally.
While’s so calm and quiet, seeing ambulances drive by and walking past Bronson are both reminders of why this all is happening. It’s impossible to imagine what is going on for those people and for the folks affected by the virus.
What’s going to come in the few weeks? More of the same, I assume. But how we react will change.
Here are some photos from the past week.
Closed Kalamazoo: The First Saturday
I just came back from a walk downtown Kalamazoo, on the first Saturday since the state closed bars and restaurants to help limit the exposure of COVID-19.
It was one of the most surreal experiences I’ve had. Between roughly 10 to 11 p.m., I only saw one other person, who I assume was a downtown resident walking his dog.
This is not an exaggeration: nothing was open. Greentop, Bell’s, Shakespeare’s, Food Dance, Harveys, Old Dog, all laid closed.
The impact of this whole thing really hits when you feel like the only person where there would normally be a thousand or so others. Then you think about all of the people who would be working at these establishments. Heartbreaking on so many levels.
It all eerie and honestly a little frightening: I felt like anything could happen and no one would be around.
Here are some photos from my hometown, which is now a ghost town.
If these photos show you anything: don’t forget to support these local businesses by ordering delivery or pick up. As you can tell, they need it more than ever.
