September 12, 2020: Yellow Skies at Morning -

When big, sad, scary things happen – when violent federal troops come to town for days, or somebody gets killed by the police, or when fires make 100,000 people leave their homes*, and the air quality index soars into the hazardous range –  it’s hard to focus on anything else, hard to decide what to post (stick to the virus, or give that a rest?), hard to find the right tone. (Do we all need a laugh? A cry? A reminder that humans are good?)

I spent a few days worrying about the wildfires and my friends in their path, offering the guest room (no takers yet), checking the fire maps and the air quality maps, reading Facebook posts from folks who were packed, packing, already evacuated. I was trying not to complain too much, since I was in no danger, so my complaints seemed like whining.

Still, the constant smell of smoke, the absence of birds, and the yellow-to-tea-colored skies were alarming in a primal way, my lizard brain constantly shouting GET OUT OF HERE. I was coughing and sneezing and I had a headache, my sinuses inflamed by all the particulates, and I used my inhaler and just felt crummy. A local authority posted the admonition that if you have COVID and are quarantined AND are told to evacuate, you should evacuate. It made me want to cry, thinking about that.

Then I remembered a classic anxiety-attack tip, the one that says “Ground yourself in something sensory – focus on things around you, touch something, smell something, listen to something,” and I thought Ah! Here’s the nub: everything sensory is wrong, which is why my internal alarm won’t shut off. I lit a scented candle, one that is a little too scented in normal times, and at last I was smelling something other than smoke. I carried it with me from room to room. That helped. The answer to seeing those thick yellow skies was Don’t Look at Them:  pull all the shades, turn on all the lights, and voila – cozy winter evening! That helped too.

Then yesterday I had a burst of energy, and made a DIY air filter. This involved plastic wrap and duct tape, and it looks silly, and for the first time in a few days, I found myself laughing as I lay under it, fighting with the plastic wrap and tape. Laughing was good.

Better yet, it turns out the darn thing works, so the bedroom is now our designated “clean room,” and I’ve retreated in there. I get a nosebleed and start sneezing and honking like a Canada goose whenever I leave, but in the bedroom, I feel pretty good.

Many thanks to all the people who posted pictures and videos of their DIY filters (especially the one that involved a hiking boot) and their “clean room” suggestions. I was skeptical. I’m a convert. Also, thanks to everyone who has been checking in on us. It’s very sweet, and much appreciated.

And now, as a celebration, I want to let you know about an article in Science magazine with the intriguing title, Can You Catch COVID-19 from Your Neighbor’s Toilet?

You may want to read the whole thing, but if not, the answer is: probably not, and by “neighbor” they mean “somebody in your giant high-rise apartment building who had bad COVID diarrhea and whose toilet is in the same stack as yours, as evidenced by one building in Guangzhou, where possibly the toilet U-traps were not filled with water but instead might have dried out, also, possibly, but not proven, two cases in New York high rises, again stack toilet pipes, all of this back in March.”  They do not mean Laura and Scott next door. So take heart.