March 26, 2020

Well, Well, Well… would you just look at that? This whole thing fell down faster than an unzipped prom dress! Over the course of a few short weeks, a muffled cough was heard somewhere in China and now we have been sent home with simple instructions not do anything with anyone or go anywhere for anything. Okay, got it! No problem.

The first few days were absolute bliss. Pajamas and snacks with only an occasional glance at obligations or job requirements. Then, at some point, there was this numbing sensation that started to amplify. For me, the trigger was on the morning of March 9, just three weeks ago. The S&P 500 powered off for 15 minutes because the 7.79% nose dive at the opening bell triggered a halt in trading. I learned a lot about US markets that day. These “circuit breakers,” as they have been called, are staggered in three tiers at 7%, 13%, and 20%. The first two halt trading for 15 minutes, and the third suspends the market for the rest of the day. These trading curbs were put in place after the crash in October of 1987, and have been activated five times since. Four of these occurred in the last two weeks.

They called off school, shut down bars and restaurants. My internship sent everyone home to work remotely, but that just means I take a hike. I still have hours at Italia Gardens, where I am a cook and proud of it. So…so what, I just stay home. I’ll cook and I’ll bake. Maybe I’ll decorate! Definitely watching Mad Men again.

Well, I did. I made a pie, apple. Two batches of cookies. I did chicken, Marsala and Kabobs. There was a long hot bath and a nice glass of wine. I’ve enjoyed the occasional… well, no. Not the occasional, the usual glass of whiskey on ice followed by some cigarettes, Marlboro Reds. There’s a new photo above the sofa and I finally found that tie I was looking for. I cleaned out my wallet, I have done five crosswords. I’ve taken a lot of walks. A few bike rides, too. Did I mention I drank some whiskey?

March 30, 2020

For some reason, hope is a tough thing to grasp today. It seems bleak, it’s cataclysmic and disturbing. What we are set to deal with now, the threat of an invisible contagion, seems at times to be all we will ever know. I struggle to figure out how to see past it. I keep washing my hands and try to keep myself occupied with work, but where will we be after Covid is done with us?

I’m hopeful because we are a strong people. We are larger than any one crisis, and we have met many foes with courage and humility. This virus isn’t about right and wrong, though. It’s not who lied and who cheated, or who won and who lost. These metrics aren’t like sports and the circumstances have caught everyone off guard. We have been given an opportunity to move away from what’s small and instead see what is significant. These times will change everything, and this virus will kill a lot people. But, a brighter day lies ahead. That day is called tomorrow. I haven’t been there yet but it is on my list.

So to sum up, keep yourself busy and safe. Play your part and slow your roll. Do what you can from your end. We need to flatten the curve, and slow the spread. I don’t have all the answers I just know that smart people said that stuff. Listen to the doctors and go read a book.

Warmly,

Daniel J. Neebes

P.S. – Tiger King: All I can say is “Wow”

Why do I write like I’ve got so much time? Why do I believe there will be a tomorrow to read that book, write that story or joke, a tomorrow to tell that person I love them?

At the time of my original writing of this piece, on March 26^th, 2020, there were 2,856 cases of the novel coronavirus and 62 deaths from that virus in Michigan. As I typed these words on April 3rd into a Word document, the total number of cases had risen to 12,744 and the death toll was 479 people. Now, as of the third edition on April 6th, there are 17,221 total cases and a total of 727 people have died. I’ve highlighted the word people because it is too often that we hear these numbers and brush them off our shoulder. Each passing was a person that had a family, that loved, that laughed, that believed the sun would rise and tomorrow would come.

I am able to spend my days during this crisis working my 9-5 job from home, thankfully. I realize that so many people are not as fortunate or do not have the luxury of being able to stay in-doors, as we’ve been directed to do by our Governor, Gretchen Whitmer. Every day I do my best to distract myself from the global pandemic that is ravaging my country and the world at large. I try my hardest to fend off fear and dread by keeping my hands furiously typing across a keyboard.

But due to the nature of my job, one after another after another, small businesses owners tell me about the hardship that they are dealing with. It is both explicit and implicit. It is as blunt as them telling me they can’t talk because their business has been forced to close and they have to decide who to keep on and who to lay off. It’s as explicit as one man telling me that he doesn’t know if he’ll be in business next week, so of course he cannot talk to me. Or, it is as subtle as a stern voice and an unwillingness to bring forth information about their business.

All in all, the American people are hurting, frightened, and don’t know who to look to or where to turn. There is no one with a plan or a timetable, all estimates are model based and there is no certainty about when this foe will let up. There is no rallying cry that is bringing us together as Americans-only divisiveness that divides us: Democrat and Republican. We are a fractured nation with 50 separate and competing democracies pitted against each other for supplies and equipment.

The only hope that we have to defeat this invisible scourge is each other; which is paradoxical because to defeat our enemy we must be separate. Each of us is on an island looking to the next one longingly; wishing for the companionship that we all took for granted. That is what makes this so terrifying: in order for us all to triumph we must all face it alone.

Yes, we are as connected as we’ve ever been. Yes, we have the world at our fingertips via our smartphones, game consoles, desktops, laptops, and streaming services. But these are all things, inanimate objects that don’t hear us speak. If a joke is told and no one is around to hear it, is it funny?

This is a moment for self-reflection. A season for inspection and repentance. In order to go through this storm, we’re going to need faith and an unwavering will. Faith to know that we’ll make it to the other side and a will to do everything necessary to make it there. I hope to see you all on the other side, but on the off chance that we don’t meet again: it has been a hell of a time.

Signed,

Publius

Note: Coronavirus data and number are exclusive to the State of Michigan only.

Source for the Coronavirus data used in this piece: https://www.michigan.gov/coronavirus