#ParkTV As I See Things (Seven) A Pandemic and a Pause Button

The world we knew just a few weeks ago, a week ago, a few days ago, even last night, will never be the same. None of us will ever be the same after Covid19.

The last full week in February, I went on a writing retreat at Wellspring House in Ashfield, MA. While there I took walks, napped, meditated, read, and FINALLY finished writing my novel. I have been working on the damn thing in one form or another for twenty-five years, so needless to say, that felt quite good. I spent a ton of time alone during that week and missed my family quite a bit. 

My alone time at Wellspring House was like a dress rehearsal for this, the world during a pandemic, our new normal. 

My sister texted me while I was still in MA: “Virus has escalated. Buy food as soon as you can. At some point everybody will. Best to be ahead of the game.”

I texted back, “Thank you.”

She texted, “Also any medications. Over the counter or prescription.”

“K.”

I pushed back from my writing desk. I had seen the crisis coming, but wanted to pretend it wasn’t true. 

So, here we are. At long last. We’re here.

This is “The Zombie Apocalypse” I have been warning my children about. It’s finally arrived. And maybe, just maybe, that’s not such a bad thing. 

I’m not saying it is good that people are suffering or dying or that it’s good that the economy has tanked. Stress is at an all-time high for so many and that isn’t great, but it’s like the world has paused. That’s the good part. We’ve hit the pause button.

After I processed what my sister had communicated, I had to clear my head. I went downstairs for a cup of tea. She’s smart. Very bright. Knows way more than I do about most things. I tried to forget what she said for the time being. I was on a writing retreat. I wanted to feel peace. 

John, the Wellspring House writer-in-residence, stood near the stove. “Have you been keeping up with the news while you’ve been here?”

“Sort of.”

“By news I don’t mean politics. I mean the Coronavirus.”

“Oh,” I waved my right hand through the air as I poured water into my cup with my left. “I don’t usually pay attention to hysteria surrounding this sort of thing.”

“Oh, that’s where you’re wrong. I trust my resources. This is the real deal.”

So… I couldn’t ignore it. I had to allow it in. Had to give it more thought. 

I took my tea back to my room and settled into the chair at the desk. The woodsy view from the window had become familiar during my time there. There was still a dusting of snow. A squirrel climbed out onto a nearby branch; it skittered along and stopped close to me. Our eyes met through the glass.

Squirrels are always in fight or flight mode. They always look scared. They’re surviving. Little did I know then, in the coming weeks I would become more like that squirrel than I ever thought possible.

I didn’t store up massive amounts of food or toilet paper, but I picked up extra canned food here and there during the following week. When my husband stopped at the grocery store on his way home, I asked him to grab whatever he thought might be good to have on hand. He came home with tissues, paper towels, Chef Boyardee (yuck.) 

I’m not a foodie, but I cook every meal from scratch. Canned food is not my typical go to, but it doesn’t go bad and can be stored for a long time. 

I worked that whole week with the threat of the Coronavirus on my mind and with my sister texting me articles and my boss establishing new protocols which included social distancing and extra hand washing. I called my doctor to get backup prescriptions for my two asthmatic children. I made larger amounts of food every night and stored more than the usual amount of leftovers in the freezer.

The next two weeks were a blur in my classroom. A blur at home. My family thought I had gone crazy when I would try to talk about Covid-19. I had a wild look in my eyes as I described the pandemic which was inevitable.

I lost patience with my teenagers once during the weeks leading up to the schools closing and the local businesses adjusting to the Governor’s mandates. I had asked my kids to move our recycling bins from the side of the driveway into the garage while my husband and I went vegetable shopping. Five hours had passed while we were gone and when we returned with the groceries, the bins were still in the exact same spot. 

Filled with rage, I entered the house to find my teens. I needed to make them understand how lazy they had been. How inconsiderate. I didn’t take a deep breath to remain calm. I didn’t become Zen before I spoke with them. Each teenager, glued to a different screen, sat in a different room and hardly noticed I had returned. 

“I thought I asked to have those bins moved!” I shouted as I went from room to room disturbing their peace. Each teen looked up, bleary-eyed and confused about why I would rant and rave like a lunatic. Who is this woman and what is she saying?

I called them to the table for “Family Meeting,” a concept we’ve used for years to remind ourselves of rules and expectations. 

I am not proud of how the meeting went or the things I said. 

I told them I had failed them as a parent. I had raised such lazy children. Selfish children. Technology had stolen them from me. They ALWAYS stared at screens when they should be living in the real world. They feared actual telephone calls with actual humans and they avoided talking to one another all the time! How would they ever get the needed skills to function in the real world if they couldn't do a simple thing like move the bins I had asked them to move? I even said that my life would be easier if I didn’t have to do EVERYTHING around the house!

I don’t do everything… But I had lost my mind. Not my finest parenting moment. 

With the stress of this virus and feeling as if we were all at risk every time we left our home to go out into the world, the bins not being moved was my breaking point. Hey, I’m human. 

They said they were sorry. They would try harder to help out. They didn’t mean to be so selfish. I apologized for flipping my lid.

And I felt guilty. So functional, right? Our dysfunction is out. 

We’re being asked by this virus to stop living the way we have lived for so long. Almost the entire world has hit the pause button. And it is okay. It’s more than okay. It’s what my family needed. A pause. A much needed one.

Here it is. This is where we are. We have all stopped and taken an emotional inventory. We are following a schedule so we can all share the space without wanting to kill each other and we’re holding daily family meetings, we’re working together to cook meals, we’ve taken many walks together. We do our chores. All of us... 

They’ve stopped sneaking peeks at screens and are homeschooling fairly well as far as I can tell. 

A microscopic life formcame to our rescue and I am getting “quality time” with my family. It’s like a bonus: extra time with my teenagers before they move away. And they are paying attention to the world now because it has become real. My resentment has melted away as well.

We just took a walk with our neighbor and as we said goodbye to him, the five o’clock church bell rang out. We didn’t hug him like we normally would. 

Vermont is officially on “lockdown.” And so it begins...

#ParkTV As I See Things (Six) Snow Makes Me Like I have Synesthesia

From November 2018:
Based on the smell in the air last night, I knew snow would sneak in while I slept.
An incoming storm smells damp and cold and shiny and assertive. Like silver.

But on a day like this, when it arrives and piles upon itself and becomes more than just a few flakes, it isn’t silver after all. It is an entity soon to become a memory, and will blend with all others to become a “Snow Day” already over before it has truly begun.

I hear the silence of it before I open my eyes. I hear no leaves dancing, I hear no dogs barking, I hear no cars commuting up the mountain road. I hear none of my neighbors stirring.

Then, out of the darkness of my head, the plow scrapes by. I taste the coffee still on the breath of the man pushing powder and ice out of the road. This wakes me. I open my eyes and push the blind aside to see that everything on the park seems dusted with pale blue. A watered down periwinkle. 

The phone rings and I feel it in my chest as a robot-like voice says something about “inclement weather” and “school is closed.” A gratitude for extra time in my home makes my toes wiggle.

Fresh sun shares its light only with early risers and the slightness of it is surprising and joyful. Outside another window my daughter pauses while shoveling to scoop snow into her mouth. She wants to shovel and I don’t argue. I am hungry and guilty watching her work. How can I embody both at once?

Breakfast. Tea.

I feel a chill as my teeth hurt. I process thoughts about how millions of frigid water droplets have formed to make a day for us to escape the real world. Snow tastes like all demands are cancelled. A pause button on the day.

But there will be a make-up day for this “Snow Day.” And it will be added on at the end of the school year after dandelions have pushed through green grass and gone to seed.

Sweat forms beneath a scarf I’m not wearing. It’s what I will feel in June long after the
scarf has been packed away in the attic.

Snow days sound like comfort: A tea kettle whistling, furnace kicking on, plow trucks
scraping by every hour on the hour. I swallow a pleasant gratitude for their efforts.

Between these I am wrapped in silence as deep as this storm itself.

It could be months before it melts. I scrape up every aspect and slip it into my soul’s pocket.

My toes love how a warm blanket tastes when it rests on my feet and my feet rest on the chair. I hear complete gratitude (it is the silence of snowflakes) and I crawl inside my writing.

#ParkTV As I See Things (Three)

“May you live all the days of your life.”

Jonathan Swift

Living life is the only way to live life, right? For if you’re not alive you’re obviously not living. I wonder if Swift meant “live it up” or maybe he meant to be aware of every moment. Perhaps his words slipped out or someone misquoted him.

Anything’s possible. We obviously can’t ask him what he meant since he died hundreds of years ago. We can’t question the dead. Finality is the hard part about death.

My late father John Braun (his obituary) was terrible at small talk. Once he asked someone, “When you walk to work, do you walk to work?” It was one of his most quoted quotes. He had a few good ones.

After he died, memories of him tended to wash over me almost constantly. I thought of his many funny stories and his advice a lot and now that he’s gone, I have to figure things out without him, rely upon myself and find my true voice.

My courage to stand up against the establishment came from my father. He often said, “Remember, you’re Amy Goddamn Braun. Never let them tell you otherwise.” In other words… be yourself and follow only what you know to be true.

Even though I have little control over the outcome, it’s been important to express my feelings about local politics. As verbal and unfiltered as I can be at times —like my father— no one doubts where I stand. He would be proud.

Although the town of Rochester voted “NO” to the Model One Merger in late June (read here for more information), the Study Committee (706 B) for the Supervisory Union still had to free us.

We have been under 706 B’s control (forced to be a reality because of Act 46) from the beginning and they had to VOTE to relinquish this control! If you’re not confused, that’s because you haven’t attend enough meetings.

There have been SO MANY meetings and either my husband or I have attended as many as possible to stay ahead of the curve. 706 B was formed to make decisions for the children of our town, the majority of these meetings were not held in our town and public comments were taken at the END of every meeting. 706 B members from other towns said things like: “I know this is bad for Rochester but…” or “I’m aware the travel for Rochester will be more and the hours longer for the kids but…” And then 706 B voted to make Model One our only choice.

Okay… okay… that’s in the past and I should let it go, but we still had another hurdle: Article 13 (which was later added to this document ). If you are from Rochester, please read the chart entitled Attachment C on page 31 and notice that the Bingo Property (DEEDED TO THE CHILDREN OF ROCHESTER) was to be transferred at no cost. Hmmm. Also note this language on page 18: “Note: This table is for illustration purposes only. These models are estimates and projections. Actual tax rates will vary depending on state policy decisions, actual changes in equalized pupils, and spending decisions of boards. Note also that these tax estimates do not include possible excess penalties, particularly for Rochester in the "No Mergers" scenario.”

In other words: “Resistance is futile.” We are the BORG!" Give up. We know what you need. Infuriating.

Okay. I’ll stop. It’s in the past. Or is it? Why was fear used? I am still bitter about this and at times I wonder what’s next. Seems like it is best that we maintain local control, no? Or at least make sure that the entity in control is not on the other side of a mountain.

At length on July 6th, 706 B and the public discussed what to do next. At one point a person from Bethel sitting next to me whispered, “I don’t understand what’s going on. I thought Rochester voted no. Doesn’t that mean you’re done with the merger? What is this meeting about anyway?”

I said, “They have to vote to release us and they have to vote to reject Plan B.”

She asked, “Do you know what Plan B is in the medical world?” She’s a nurse.

After I shook my head no, she told me Plan B is a code name for the abortion pill. Then she said, “Abort. Abort. Abort the mission.”

I laughed. What else was there to do but laugh? This whole thing has been exhausting and confusing. It was designed that way. Here’s another good quote I’ve been thinking about lately: “If you are not confused, you don’t know what’s going on.” Jack Welch.

Uh-huh. That about sums things up.

Before voting, 706 B summarized:

1. An affirmative vote is negative to Article 13 so that means we are not moving forward with the plan if we affirm it.
2. Dissolving Plan B dissolves the plan to merge with Bethel which would have been temporary anyway and is not the best solution.
3. We will all have to go back to the drawing board.
4. We are running out of time.

Of course there was a lot of discussion. The woman next to me raised her hand and declared, “I’m sorry, but I don’t understand what’s happening. What’s next?”

The head of 706 B patiently explained the situation in different terms, after which I felt even more confused. Affirmative is negative. Not moving. Voting. Dissolving. Affirmative. Ok. Resistance is futile. You will be assimilated.

And alas, one of the members of 706 B from Bethel said, “I came here tonight with a different opinion but now I changed my mind. I don’t want Rochester to have to be attached to us anymore. I don’t want to hold anyone hostage. Rochester should be free to go off and do whatever it is that they want to do next.”

Yes! I was so relieved that she was willing to let Rochester go. But now 706 B has more work to do as they have to find another solution for Bethel and South Royalton. I am sorry 706 B members. It is not your fault. It was created this way. Designed to enmesh us. To scare us.

But letting Rochester go was the right thing to do. We have been released. I fought tears of relief. Tears of gratitude.

Lately my tears are so close to the surface because I’m also grieving the loss of my father. Time will help. Rituals help too. Help me to let go. To release him.

Just a few weeks ago, when my cousin held a memorial for my father in Georgia we had several rituals: two Marine’s folded a flag in his honor and presented it to my oldest brother, Chris. They also gave a small flag to my father’s widow. We told stories and watched a slideshow of his life. Then by the pond we set off fireworks and lit five Japanese lanterns and released them. As the glowing orbs drifted up, I thought: Bye dad. I’ll miss you. I’ll miss hearing your laugh.

But I won’t forget the things you taught me:

You taught me to question things.

You taught me to stand up for myself and others.

You taught me the value of working hard.

After the orbs disappeared from sight I noticed that a swarm of red ants had crawled from the warm Georgia soil and onto my feet. I swiped at them as they nibbled.

Yes. I’m still here. Living. Feeling pain at his loss.

Time to let go. To move on.

And yes dad, when I walk to work, I’ll walk to work. I’ll think of you sometimes and I’ll smile.

#ParkTV As I See Things (One)

Living the way I do —as if I am in a Currier and Ives Christmas card— has been a wonderful experience for fourteen years. 

It has also been challenging. More so now than ever before.

My house overlooks the park in the center of a small town in Vermont along Route 100, not anywhere near a city, a strip mall, or even a suburb for that matter. And I don’t mind. In point of fact, I quite like it.

Here’s why I chose this life:

The town is in the “Heart of the Green Mountains”

Everywhere I look there’s natural beauty

My kids walk to school safely and they know the crossing guard by name (she’s also the Town Clerk)

It’s quiet

Supporting local small businesses is a way of life

Our Website

"Rochester From the Air"

I heard a local man say once and I quote, “If you can’t get it here, well then you probably don’t need it.” He’s right. We have everything we need right here (well, except underwear, but that’s another blog for another time.)

This place is my world. Besides living here with my family, I am emotionally invested. I teach here, shop here, play here, read here, write here, volunteer my time here, etc. and this place has been worth my energy. Rochester, VT functions as it has since 1781 without anyone from the outside telling us what to do or utilizing punitive governance against our own best interests, deciding for us.

UNTIL NOW.

The way I see it, the state is punishing all rural towns who do not comply with legislation created to protect us from ourselves. Wait. What? Seriously. AND they are masking it to look like they are supporting our rural way of life.

We may be a bit of a distance from the “rest of the world” but we have each other to cling to. It keeps us warm. Plowed. Mowed. Fed. Educated. And most of all, above everything else, we have local control.  

Not anymore.

I’ll come right out and say it: the lifestyle I have chosen in rural Vermont is on life support and I am powerless to save it.

I am powerless to stop what Act 46 has set into motion. I won’t go into what Act 46 is, but feel free to click the link to educate yourself.

Here is a part of the law I can get behind:

“Vermont recognizes the important role that a small school plays in the social and educational fabrics of its community.” Act 46

However, the next sentence continues and I respectfully DISAGREE: “It is not the State’s intent to close its small schools, but rather to ensure that those school have the opportunity to enjoy the expanded educational opportunities and economies of scale that are available to schools within larger, more flexible governance models.” Act 46

Here is my translation:

“We at the state level see how CHARMING it is that you shop at your local hardware store and buy Vermont coffee at your local cafe owned by your neighbors.”

However it goes on to say:

“We do not intend to destroy your small towns, but rather we want you to be able to buy nails and screws at Home Depot or coffee at Starbucks because of the economy of scale that exists when giant box stores can buy things in bulk.”

I’ve been through this before and I have seen how the other side lives. I have taught large groups of children. When I moved to VT from AZ, I went from teaching (rather air-traffic controlling) 30-35 kids to TEACHING 12 kids.

I was the final teacher to teach in a 209 year old two-room schoolhouse In Hancock: (The Story NPR ) when Act 68 forced that closure. And before that, Act 60 was the state’s attempt to solve everyone’s problems for them.

Frankly, our legislature has forced our beautiful state into hospice care. The “Study Committee” that was formed by our school district under the state’s direction and guidance is acting as palliative care for the townspeople.

My town that has managed to maintain its quintessential, pastoral and independent way of life is now being coerced and punished for being quintessential, pastoral and independent. I predict that in time we will be like every other city, suburb, strip mall and so forth because it is cheaper.  

I am voting NO on Tuesday for the School Merger and I stand on my platform of knowledge and experience and openly share with you. Is our way of life worth it? We need other options besides Model One but most importantly, WE need to decide. Not the WRVSU (Supervisory Union) or the legislature.

US. The people of Rochester