Tag Archives: pandemic

During the Pandemic

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From time to time I catch myself saying during the pandemic while talking about some event in the past two years. But during the pandemic is, in fact, now. Covid is still with us, despite the fact that many people, myself included, really want this disease to go far, far away and stay there.

I favor precision in language, so once I noticed the problem with during the pandemic, I cast about for better wording. I tried during lockdown. But that phrase is awfully vague, as restrictions have come and gone and sometimes come again in various parts of the United States and around the world.

I had a brief fling with when Broadway closed down, but people who don’t follow theater were mystified. I considered when there were refrigerated morgue trucks parked in my neighborhood. That’s an accurate description of the spring of 2020 in New York City, but it’s kind of a conversation killer. No pun intended.

For a while I marked pandemic time by referring to waves, as in “During the first wave I played way too much sudoku.” But New York’s first wave — tsunami, really — isn’t aligned with the first wave elsewhere. Plus, by now I can’t remember which wave we’re in. Third? Fourth? Lately I’ve relied on references to variants and shots, as in “right before Omicron” and “between my first two vaccinations and Delta.” Those expressions are imprecise, to be sure, but for the moment they’re the best I’ve got.

What to do? This sign sums up the situation:

Practicing has several meanings, one of which implies a work in progress. When it comes to Covid and our response to it, that’s where — actually, when — we are.

Dictionary, 2020-2021 Edition

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Last year yielded a number of words I wish I hadn’t had to learn and fervently hope not to need much longer. To wit:

pod Formerly: a container, like the inedible green things that peas grow in or, in trendy offices and schools, a partly-enclosed seating area for work or study. Currently: the group you can hang out with indoors and maskless, knowing that everyone’s germs have already mingled. Also a verb, as in “I podded up with my son and his family after I passed quarantine.”

doomscroll An unfortunately apt verb, arising from the fact that nearly everything on our screens these days foretells impending doom in one form or another. An inadvisable practice because if the sky is falling (pretty much the only disaster we haven’t had to worry about in the last 12 months), it will fall whether we obsess about it or not.

Blursday Vague but useful time marker for when you never see anyone or anything new (see pod, doomscroll above).

Murder Hornet As if 2020 weren’t bad enough. And yes, they’re real.

Also real is this sign from the window of a dentist’s office:

Presumably the first option makes you not care that your teeth really need the second.

I could go on (and on and on, see Blursday) but instead I’ll end this post with two words I do NOT understand, as in why anyone would ever select them: X Æ A-12 and !!!!!. The first is the name of Elon Musk and Grimes’s son, the second this deli:

X Æ A-12 is still with us, but !!!!! went out of business long before the pandemic, perhaps because employees couldn’t figure out how to answer the phone. “Hello, you’ve reached !!!!!, may I take your order?” is a little hard to imagine.

Feel free to send me your own candidates for words you wish you didn’t know. Happy Blursday to you, and happy new year, too.

The Pandemic in Signs

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Most of the signs I glimpse in NYC these days are too sad to post. The hopeful “reopening March 20th” placards depress me now, in mid-May, because the shops they’re tacked on remain closed, some perhaps permanently. Nor do I like reading “closed until further notice” notices. I know that already. I just don’t know much further the “further” will be.

So I’m relying on my archives to map my pandemic experience. First, what I began to hear (but not really absorb) in late January:

Diagnosing the path ahead.

Soon I realized the trajectory life was taking:

Lots of do-It-yourself and a fair amount of storage (including toilet paper). Much moving away from the city, but not — and never — for me.

Instructions and predictions from authorities resembled, and continue to resemble, this:

and this:

There is no silver lining to this pandemic, but it has made me understand how, in these tough times, and also in good times,

What’s inside? If you’re fortunate, love and resilience.

Take care of yourself, take care of others, and stay safe.

Gratitude, Of Course

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I usually write about silly or pretentious language, but not today. Instead I want to talk about some very brave people and, because this is a language blog, about the language those people use. Almost three years ago, for a period of about six months, I spent a lot of time in a hospital where someone I loved was losing the fight for his life. In addition to keeping track of his medicines and treatments, I listened to the language around me. That’s what I do.

It struck me that every time I thanked someone — and there were many, many occasions to do so — the response was the same: “of course.” It was odd at first. The traditional response is “you’re welcome,” but it was a cancer hospital, so “welcome” wasn’t really appropriate. No one wanted to be there as a patient, and the caregivers would have preferred not to “welcome” anyone to the world of cancer. Newer responses — “no problem” and its close cousin, “no worries” — were horribly inaccurate. Because language arises from necessity and creativity, “of course” stepped into the breach.

As I watched hospital personnel reattach IV bags and adjust beds, medications, tubing, and all the other accoutrements of illness, I knew they did so because of course they didn’t want anyone to suffer. Of course they wanted sick people to receive the best care. Of course they’d take time to explain, to reassure, to comfort, and to tend in every way to the needs of patients and their families. It is, I believe, a kind of love. The very best kind.

So now, of course they’re working to save us from the virus. Of course they’re putting their own lives at risk. And of course we should thank them whenever we can. But not just with words: every precaution we take to safeguard our own health is a precaution we take to safeguard theirs. Is it difficult to give up the routines of daily life? Of course. Is it necessary? Of course. Should those in charge do everything — everything! — to give them the supplies they need? Of course.

And because I’m a creature of words, I add these: Thank you, doctors, nurses, EMTs, aides, clerks, and everyone else taking care of us.