One of the strangest aspects of the shelter-in-place lifestyle, at least for me, is the persistent feeling of un-reality. It just doesn't feel quite right to have the boys home all the time, even though I know why they are; it feels strange and concerning to see the boarded up businesses, and people wearing masks and surgical gloves everywhere, and markers for six foot spacing in every store; but despite all the strangeness, we seem to be adapting to it. But just when things are starting to feel a little closer to comfortable, there will be a reminder from the outside world that real consequences follow the spread of this disease.
The worst of these was learning that the husband of the lead Medical Assistant at Amy's clinic passed away last week due to complications from COVID-19. He was a bus driver, so had contact with many people every day. They have three young children. I think about this family whenever the news reports the latest death toll, because every single one of those people is leaving behind loved ones--partners, children, siblings, parents, friends.
A couple of days later we learned that the mother of Amy's Medical Assistant tested positive for COVID-19. She is doing fine, but this virus is really starting to hit close to home.
Other reminders that have arrived over the past two days:
The co-working space in Pioneer Square where I've spent about a day a week for the past five years will close permanently at the end of April. They were on shaky ground financially at the beginning of the year, and the pandemic pushed them completely out of business.
The biggest metal festival of the year, Terror Fest, has been postponed until next year. My friend Ed and I were really looking forward to attending those three nights of music! Obviously the decision was inevitable, and it makes sense, but it is still disappointing.
The annual regional GIS conference, WAURISA, is considering holding a 'virtual' conference, or postponing, or just canceling entirely this year (it was originally scheduled for late May). For the past couple months I've been working with five of my GIS colleagues to prepare a full-day workshop on using open source geospatial tools, but it looks like we probably will not be doing it this year.
So as the numbers of infections and fatalities continues to skyrocket across the US, our family and friends are increasingly affected by the cancellations, closures, and sweeping changes, and the Federal government seems incapable of overcoming their incompetence to marshal a coherent and coordinated response...it's hard not to feel a sense of impending doom.
But then, in the midst of all this, I saw a clip on MSNBC, which featured a most remarkable graph:
The story was headlined ‘We Acted Quickly And We Acted Together:’ How Seattle Slowed Coronavirus Curve. The graph is showing that Seattle and Washington State are really flattening the curve. In fact our curve is closer to Daegu, South Korea then New York, or the Lombardy region in Italy. This means all of the social distancing and shelter-in-place measures are really working. We are definitely not out of the woods yet, probably not even halfway through this yet (a point made emphatically by Seattle Mayor Jenny Durkan), but I am beginning to feel the first glimmers of hope that our individual actions really are making a difference and that we can and will get through this.
The worst of these was learning that the husband of the lead Medical Assistant at Amy's clinic passed away last week due to complications from COVID-19. He was a bus driver, so had contact with many people every day. They have three young children. I think about this family whenever the news reports the latest death toll, because every single one of those people is leaving behind loved ones--partners, children, siblings, parents, friends.
A couple of days later we learned that the mother of Amy's Medical Assistant tested positive for COVID-19. She is doing fine, but this virus is really starting to hit close to home.
Other reminders that have arrived over the past two days:
The co-working space in Pioneer Square where I've spent about a day a week for the past five years will close permanently at the end of April. They were on shaky ground financially at the beginning of the year, and the pandemic pushed them completely out of business.
The biggest metal festival of the year, Terror Fest, has been postponed until next year. My friend Ed and I were really looking forward to attending those three nights of music! Obviously the decision was inevitable, and it makes sense, but it is still disappointing.
The annual regional GIS conference, WAURISA, is considering holding a 'virtual' conference, or postponing, or just canceling entirely this year (it was originally scheduled for late May). For the past couple months I've been working with five of my GIS colleagues to prepare a full-day workshop on using open source geospatial tools, but it looks like we probably will not be doing it this year.
So as the numbers of infections and fatalities continues to skyrocket across the US, our family and friends are increasingly affected by the cancellations, closures, and sweeping changes, and the Federal government seems incapable of overcoming their incompetence to marshal a coherent and coordinated response...it's hard not to feel a sense of impending doom.
But then, in the midst of all this, I saw a clip on MSNBC, which featured a most remarkable graph:
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| Based on stats that were current as of 3/31/2020 |
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