Global Pandemic, the Fall-Winter 2020 version

Taking on the world, one pandemic at a time.

We left Texas a little over two months ago and moved aboard abroad. (Say that 3 times fast.) The past two months have been quite a whirlwind. Fun, but also exhausting. We really needed to stop sailing, stop adventuring, stop socializing, and start living on the boat like it's our home, not just the vessel to travel the world. The past couple weeks have given us the time to do just that, albeit without Hans. He's been in Wisconsin for two weeks, working his monthly shifts to fill our cruising kitty. We parked the boat in Mariestad, Sweden, waved goodbye to Hans, and started creating some daily routines.

The cathedral in Mariestad.

The kids really needed some time to figure out what their new daily life was going to look like. We started homeschool in earnest, organized and reorganized the boat, created some daily and weekly schedules, started chores and allowances again, I've started running again (but sadly my runs keep logging in as my 28th or 31st "fastest." Need to keep at it!), and generally have created busy time and down time. Our kids thrive with a set schedule and the past few weeks have really provided the stability and certainty that they need.

Swedes are crazy about candy. The kids have been using their allowance to get a little bag of candy every Saturday morning. 

Walking back to the boat.

The hollow tree at the nature preserve.

And now that I've had time to stop moving and stop planning for the next sail, I've had the time and brain space to stretch out my thoughts beyond the daily to-do list. Unfortunately, those thoughts are completely subsumed by US politics, coronavirus, and the death spiral of US democracy. I can't help but read the news throughout the day, read opinion pieces, read my friends' opinions on Facebook, and watch recaps of the late shows on YouTube. At the same time that I'm grieving over the loss of Ruth Bader Ginsburg and the implications for the Supreme Court and basic protections for women, healthcare, and LBTQ people, I'm also hearing reports that women have dropped out of the workforce in numbers highly disproportionate to men, setting back women's gains in the workforce by over ten years. Just last night, Trump returned to the White House form Walter Reed, currently infected and contagious with Covid-19, and he took off his mask and proclaimed that Covid isn't that big of a deal. Tell that to the families of over 210,000 Americans that have died from Covid-19 and the hundreds of thousands more in danger from the virus because of their lack of healthcare.

It's hard to even know what to process because there is so much to process. Where do you even start?

I start from where I am: completely privileged, safe, secure, and at ease. From afar, I can donate money to political candidates who promise change, I vote, I support my friends and family members who are working for change, I keep myself educated, I share what I learn, and I obsess over the news.

In the past few days, however, I've also been thinking about where I am geographically and our family's risk factors for contracting Covid. We left Texas in the midst of a crazy peak of Covid cases. It felt so good to go somewhere with lower rates, where I didn't feel like there was a green fog of coronavirus in the very air we breathed. The transition to France also slotted in smoothly with how we had been dealing with the coronavirus in Texas. Mask wearing was mandatory in France and we were used to wearing our masks. We didn't like it, but it was standard protocol for leaving home. Keys, wallet, phone, water bottle, hand sanitizer, masks. Check. 

Then we sailed onward to Sweden, where Covid rates are very low and mask wearing is not common. Kids are in school, restaurants are open, in-store shopping without masks is standard. It felt very, very strange. Were the Swedes unaware of the global pandemic that was wrecking havoc on every other country in the world? Was there some kind of protective bubble over the country? Did everyone inject bleach? It took me weeks to get used to the laissez-faire attitude of Swedes and I felt rather uncomfortable knowing that we were in the midst of a pandemic but no one seemed to be taking it seriously. As I watched the rates climb in every other country in Europe except for Sweden, however (including France where people were fastidious about mask-wearing), I started to feel more at ease with the Swedes' attitude toward coronavirus. Public health experts and pundits are fascinated at how Sweden has kept the Covid rates low, but I think it's pretty simple: there's not a lot of people here! It's easy to social distance but still be out and about. 

But now the temperature is dropping and more and more activities are moving indoors; it feels like only a matter of time that Covid rates will start to increase. We went out for sushi for dinner on Saturday night, and ate in the restaurant. There were about seven other diners in the restaurant and three employees. The meal was delicious and the atmosphere was cozy and enjoyable. Until a few hours later and I was struck with panic. What did I just do? We just ate IN a restaurant. I have never, ever been cavalier with coronavirus precautions; quite the opposite, I generally err far on the side of hyper-cautious. (It's hard not to, when Hans worked in the ER during the peak of Covid infections in Texas and saw people of all ages fighting the virus, many not successfully.)  What is my new risk analysis for myself and the kids as we enter the fall and winter months?

The most beautiful sushi plate I've ever had.

At least we had plenty of practice staying at home and being anti-social in the spring. We know how to entertain ourselves and have fun, socially distanced from other people. And the big differences now are that 1) Hans will be with us for the vast majority of the time, and 2) we're on our sailboat and can go sailing to new destinations whenever we want. So we're much better off than when we were stuck in our house in the spring. 

A girls night when Hans was gone: facemasks (the good for the skin kind, not the protect you from a deadly virus kind) and a movie in the vee-berth.

A moment in time. 
When Matilda was the exact height as the distance between the bench and the ceiling.

But what about those other risk-benefit analyses? Do we eat IN restaurants? Do we invite people over to the boat for coffee or happy hour? Do we hang out in the library? What will our daily life look like as we enter "Global Pandemic, the fall-winter 2020 version?" And then for two weeks every other month, we'll be at high risk because Hans will return to the boat from working an emergency room in the US. So at that point, all precautions basically go out the window.

It's a rainy Tuesday and the kids and I have had a fine morning on the boat. Breakfast, homeschooling, a walk in the rain, learning how to play cat's cradle. We'll carry on with our new socially distanced lifestyle; trying to engage in community life but also being aware of the new risks. Basically like everyone else these days.

The main city park in Mariestad.