As the Coronavirus swept the globe, I chatted briefly with our school district's communication director, with whom I happen to share an office. I inquired about whether or not our small district had a closure contingency plan in case the situation in the U.S. began to reflect what was happening internationally. As a former journalist, she said she would take time to dialogue with new Superintendent about what was unfolding, and as I went about the rest of my day anxiety began to rise. By the time 3:30 p.m. rolled around, the state of Ohio announced they would be closing schools for at least three weeks and the phrase "flatten the curve" took me down a rabbit hole I've been living in ever since.
It's now Thursday, Mar. 19, 2020 and I just finished listening to Governor Greg Abbott address all Texas citizens from the state capitol because the number of Covid-19 cases in the LoneStar state has risen by 300% in less than 48 hours. In a statewide declaration—exactly a week after Ohio—he officially closed all schools until Apr. 3. Many local districts had already made the decision to move to online learning for a minimum of two weeks, yet small communities like my hometown of Lefors, couldn't quite grasp the magnitude of this pandemic.
Throughout the week I couldn't help but compare my own response to the reactions of my siblings who all live in different areas of the state. I have a brother in Amarillo, a sister in Corpus Christi, and another brother who has never left my hometown of less than 500 people. Perhaps because I live in a densely populated part of Texas, and because I kept obsessively refreshing https://ncov2019.live/, I never once questioned whether the public was overreacting. Whenever I called home to check on my elderly grandparents who raised me, Nora would say things like, "This is just ridiculous. The media is blowing it all of of proportion" and "Do you even think it's real Tenille? I don't trust what we're being told by newsreporters." Generational and geographic differences cease to amaze me.
In addition to listening to our local officials, I've been tuning in almost daily for the last week to hear our nation's President, Donald J. Trump, and his pandemic emergency response team tell the country to begin practicing social distancing. On Tuesday, he presented Americans with his 15 Days to Slow the Spread Memo, and when reporters pelted him with questions about a crashing economy he swatted them away like a fly, making it abundantly clear that containing the virus was his number one priority. To be honest, this shocked the hell out of me and in some ways it reinforced the intensity of the situation. Dr. Fauci and Dr. Birx brought a sense of calm and professionalism we'd rarely seen from the White House during this administration.
A lot can happen in a week. The past seven days has our nation reeling. For a couple of days I felt depressed and listless because we had to cancel our Spring Break travel plans, but I bounced back quickly after purchasing a couple of puzzles and some yarn from Hobby Lobby. Additionally, I visited with friends at Gratitude Ranch, which always buoys my spirit.
In my friend group, I am often referred to as the historian. I like to document life as it unfolds, and today after a week of intense instability, I decided it was time to write some of this crazy down. The title of this blog is Writing Momentum, which is something I've never quite achieved. However, I'm glad this space exists in moments like these when the need to put words on paper (or screens 🤗) compels me. I'll be back next Thursday for an update.
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