Ponder: How Contagion Works

How Contagion Works ©2020 is short book  – more precisely, a long essay – about social aspects of Covid-19. I read the Bloomsbury Publishing, Kindle Edition but Amazon estimates a physical book length would be approximately 48 pages. The author is Paolo Giordano, an Italian scientist who holds a master’s degree and a PhD in theoretical physics and lives in Rome, Italy, a hot spot of the current 2019/2020 pandemic.

In his very first chapter titled Grounded the author paints a vivid picture to enable the reader to grasp the reality of the extent of the pandemic. I chose a Google image of the mid-March snapshot of the John Hopkins Map to correlate to his description. 

Even now, the Johns Hopkins University interactive map is open in front of me. The areas of infection are identified by red circles in stark contrast against the gray background. Perhaps another choice of colors might have been better, less alarming, but we all know how this works: viruses are red, emergencies are red. China and Southeast Asia have disappeared beneath a giant red stain, but the entire world is pockmarked, and the rash is bound to get worse.

Although this essay is written by a scientist with strong credentials, the text does not get hung up on specific numbers – wisely so, since these tallies are in constant flux and are subject to a great amount of uncertainty do to vagueness in counting and reporting practices. Yes, there is discussion about exponential versus linear rise and flattening the curve but in generic terms. Rather, the writing focuses on social isolation and its impact on the human population as thinking, feeling individuals. In a chapter titled Contagion by numbers the author segregates the human population into three groups and intimates how each view the social distancing practice.

The entire human species, in the eyes of the virus, falls into one of three categories: the Susceptible, those it can still infect; the Infected, those it already has; the Recovered, those it can no longer infect.

I found this book very thought provoking from an ethics and practical standpoint. The chapter Against fatalism is strong hitting, stating that "the epidemic encourages us to think of ourselves as belonging to a collective". That phrase made me think of Seven of Nine from Star Trek lore.

In times of contagion, therefore, what we do or don’t do is no longer just about us. This is the one thing I wish for us never to forget, even after this is over. 

Giordano addresses the topic of sharing technical information with the public in times of panic. From his chapter the god Pan

In times of contagion, transparent information isn’t a right: it’s a crucial preventative measure. The more a Susceptible individual is informed – about numbers, places, patient concentrations in hospitals – the more their behavior will adjust to the context. ... if the truth is being hidden from us, then everything must be way more serious than what they want us to believe.

This book is short and pithy. Lest I reveal too much in my own wording, which is less eloquent than that of the author, I reverted to a limit number of quotes. I also present the Table of Contents to whet your appetite for the topics.

 

Initially overwhelmed – and frankly disgusted – with the political manipulations of this topic, I thought I would turn to reading as a diversion from the bombardment on the media, intending to pick some engaging work of fiction. Instead, a New York Times article about this book intrigued me enough that I chose to download and read How Contagion Works. I will admit its short length and inexpensive price were also deciding factors. I rated this book 4 stars which translates in my system to "Really good; maybe only one weak aspect or limited audience". I zipped through it in one sitting but actually think I will read it again.

Ponder: How to Manage Your Home...

It feels like a long time since I have read a book. My most recent Wander or Ponder post that was a book review was dated over a month ago, on March 17, 2020.

The previous day – Monday, March 16, 2020 – our county of Alameda was one of five counties in California mandated to shelter in place to avoid spread of the coronavirus COVID-19. This was the same Monday Frank and I were supposed to travel to Oklahoma but had canceled our plans a few days before as a health precaution. So we were sheltering at home. This was a perfect opportunity to curl up safe with a book while the world around succumbs to an unprecedented madness. I was reading – but reading all the notices and cautions on the internet, reading the news and science articles about the economic and health impact of the pandemic raging around us. I was watching TV. Somehow my interest was not held in reading any books for pleasure.

So when, a few days ago, I did venture forth toward my towering pile of library books I've been unable to return because the library is closed, I picked a book that had no plot, no characters, and a setting that was quite a messy one. The title was How to Manage Your Home Without Losing Your Mind; Dealing with Your House's Dirty Little Secrets by Dana K. White, creator of a blog titled A Slob Comes Clean.

Initially a Pinterest note with its polka dot image and paradoxical lure of decluttering advice from a slob had attracted me to this reference. I had requested the book from my local library via interlibrary loan and checked it out on March 3. It had lain untouched on my pile for over two weeks. I thought since I was stuck home and wanted to use the time judiciously to declutter, it might be a mindless read, giving advice and perspective on placing order within my inner, now pretty confining, world. The author had a humorous and self-deprecating tone that made the book a fun read. Dana K. White reminded me a bit of Erma Bombeck. Each chapter began by comparing fantasy with reality.

I read, but then ignored her chapters on laundry, but her chapters on container and shelf limits were valuable to keep in mind. I read this book quickly but gleaned many useful ideas from it. I did more than skim, but neither did I digest each and every word. It was worth the modicum of time I invested. I rate it three stars, which equates to Better than average; not a waste of time.

Ponder: Breyer Bygone Era

My daughter Robin, who was an avid horse fan throughout her adolescent and teen years, collected scale model Breyer horses, an upscale toy and collector's item for horse lovers for 60 years. Per the Breyer Horse website

Breyer Animal Creations® began as the Breyer Molding Company, a Chicago-based plastics manufacturer. Its first model horse, the # 57 Western Horse, made its appearance in 1950. It was a special order for the F.W. Woolworth Company, made to adorn a mantelpiece clock. Breyer was flooded with requests from people who wanted to know if they could purchase just the horse! With that first horse, the Breyer Molding Company had changed the focus of its business forever!

After college graduation in 2002 Robin moved to Oklahoma in 2003 for an engineering job. A huge moving truck transported the contents of her bedroom out to her apartment. Maybe because she suspected a lack of space, or maybe because her Breyer horse collection was too precious to her to risk sending out, but the horses did not make the trip from California to Oklahoma in the moving van.

After Robin bought her own first house in 2005, I mailed the horses to her in 2006. On this shelf are twenty-two horses but I believe I had already packed some. I wrapped each one individually in bubble wrap and interwove them in a large box. To conserve volume, I did not pack each in its original box. I did keep the boxes though just in case they were important to the collection. The funny story about that package was that I heard something rattling in it before mailing but was not about to unseal it to find out what it was. If I had broken something, we would find out soon enough at the other end. It turns out the mother's ring, which she had gotten me years earlier as a present, had slid off my finger and into the box while I was packing. I was happy I had not lost it as I first suspected. We both had a laugh and uttered a sigh of relief and she mailed the ring back to me.

So here I am in 2020, fourteen years later, and those original classic yellow, blue and red Breyer boxes still filled the top shelf of the closet in my sewing room. They were nested two and three deep to save space but still they took up about 85% of the shelf. Her brother's architectural model from his college days took up the other 15% since his 2006 graduation –  but that is a different story. I am in closet cleaning mode and my daughter and I both agreed it was time to let the boxes go.

I emptied all the boxes out onto the cabinets in the upstairs hallway next to my sewing room. There the thirty five boxes sat for a couple days until I built up the physical and emotional energy to collapse them. I FaceTimed my daughter and we walked down the memory lane of her teen years, reminiscing where and when each horse was purchased, which were her favorites, and which models per Robin had a "new beautiful mold". She even recalled the name of the artists who sculpted a few of the molds. I also found two horses, still yet untouched and in the original packaging. They added another two boxes.

I enjoyed the FaceTime call so much I still wanted to keep a some type of record of what the horses were. I kept the front face of each box with the imprinted identification of the horse number and name. Some had gold seals and other special markings.

I stacked the front acetates, overlapping to show the names, and combined them in columns. I took photos but also typed the names into a list, lest a few be illegible. Some of Robin's horses date back to the early 1990's.

I pulled out the certificates of authenticity and smiled as I saw the green index cards of my daughter's notes, dreaming which horse she was going to add next to her collection. For two horses with special packaging for marketing purposes, I preserved the fancy decorative box background.

Here are the remnants of the boxes, their innards having been dutifully separated from the acetate of the box fronts. My husband carted the components of the collapsed boxes to the recycling bin.

I will mail the box fronts, certificates, and two backdrop scenes to Robin. If I become nostalgic I will reread this post. Otherwise I will enjoy having a entire additional shelf to store my quilting paraphernalia. A roll of batting that I buy in bulk will tuck in quite nicely up there.

Three Musketeers & Hello Dolly & Black Comedy

Douglas Morrisson Theatre
This fall and winter 2019/2020 we discovered a new local theatre with our friends Renée and Larry who invited us to get season tickets with them to the Douglas Morrisson Theatre in Hayward. Renee and her mom had a long history of enjoying season tickets to this theatre and we are continuing the tradition, actually occupying the very same seats Renee and her mom did. A season involves three plays and two choral performances. I had started this blog post back in September when Frank and I attended our first show there but decided to hold back and consolidate all the performances into one post. Our final choral event was to be held Saturday March 28th but was cancelled due to the social distancing mandated to hinder the spread of  COVID-19. Its cancellation, plus my extra time due to sheltering at home from the coronavirus, prompted me to resurrect and finish the post. The season was still great with three shows and one concert. Per the DMT website

The mission of the Douglas Morrisson Theatre is to involve and enlighten the community through the experience of live theater.

Housed in a charming, small building nestled in a Hayward neighborhood adjacent to the Hayward Japanese Tea Gardens, the theatre presented its first public performance in January 1979, with a production of the Rodgers and Hammerstein classic, The King and I. This intimate 217-seat theatre was a revelation to Frank and me, a quaint and secluded venue. The three shows we attended – The Three Musketeers, Hello Dolly, and Black Comedy – represented a variety of entertainment. The choral performance in December had a holiday theme.

The Three Musketeers

I had never seen a performance of The Three Musketeers before. Frank and I do frequent the theatre fairly often, but it is usually the local theatre type show, rarely the very pricey shows in San Francisco and San Jose. I do recall seeing Hamilton in San Francisco in 2019 (post for 3/10/19), Book of Mormon in San Jose 2015 (post for 7/6/2015), and Mary Poppins in San Jose in 2012. Yes, the staging is more impressive and the sound generally better at these big city "professional" shows; but when you leave your home early enough to drive into the city, find a parking space, and hoof it to the theatre you have tired yourself out enough that you really do need any semblance of relaxation the high-priced show may offer. Then you have the long trek home. Occasionally, for special shows, splurging is good and worth it; but for the more often outing, I like local theatre. Locally, it is not unusual to see a musical or play I have already seen, but that is okay. I like the familiar and enjoy singing along in my head. So The Three Musketeers was a treat in that it was novel to both Frank and me when we viewed it on September 21st.

On the drive to the show with Renée and Larry we tried to recall the names of the three musketeers. Can you name them? They were Athos, Aramis, and Porthos with young D'Artagnan striving to become a fourth in the group of those in service to the king. Here we all are in our seats trying to combine our memories of what we know about the novel by Alexandre Dumas.

With the inability to bear the cost of elaborate staging, one of the perks of local theatre is that the sets rely on creativity and ingenuity. There was one set for the multiple acts of The Three Musketeers and one modest sound board and monitor that controlled it all. The table in the foreground of the set almost became a running gag as it was scooted from one side of the stage to and repeatedly  repurposed in many roles: table, altar, shield, stage, bed, room divider, and many, many more that I cannot recall.

The show was a fun romp, not truly a comedy but rather a drama that did not take itself too seriously. There were many wry interpretations, snarky comments, and athletic slap stick actions sneakily sandwiched in between swashbuckling scenes, romantic interludes, and villainous plotting. Renée laughed after the show saying she never expected it to be so campy? Campy? I had to look that up. It was the perfect work to sum up the show. Campy and fun.

Hello, Dolly

Two months later on Saturday November 16th we attended our second show of the season, the musical Hello Dolly. I had a vague recollection that I had seen it before but in reality I had it completely muddled with The Unsinkable Molly Brown. I was still perplexed midway into the show as to why there was no ship. Dolly Gallagher Levi and Molly Brown were strong female characters of the roughly the same era (early 1900's) so I am not totally crazy. Costuming would have been similar between the two which led to my continued befuddlement.

We perched in our same seats and perused our programs. Once I saw some of the song numbers, the ones that were familiar to me jogged my memory:  Hello, Dolly, It Only Takes a Moment, Put On Your Sunday Clothes, Before the Parade Passes By. Memory of the songs was sparked, mind you, but not memory of the plot. I got to enjoy the show from a whole new perspective since I remembered not lick of the storyline.

The curtains were closed until the show began and so I have no photos of the set. I did take the pre-show time to admire the curlicue hearts on the curtains. The set was equally creative with street fronts and shops and a set of stairs with a trap door for surprise appearances. Dolly was quite the romantic, mischievous, conniver so I enjoyed the playful deception. I was never quite sure how she convinced the guy who fell in love with her in the end to fall for her, but she did. And he did. 

Holiday Concert

This choral entertainment occurred on Saturday evening December 7th. I had been Oklahoma visiting my daughter the previous week and my return flight was scheduled to land at Oakland airport at 6:15pm less than two hours before the concert, which was to begin at 8:00 pm. The airport was not very far from the theatre so if I got picked up and went directly to the theatre, if my flight was not delayed, and if my bags came reasonably soon, I would make it to the concert on time. Larry and Renée dropped Frank off at the terminal to greet me and chivalrously help with my luggage. Instead of waiting in the cell phone lot for my call, I think Larry circled the airport, over and over and over again. Renée good-naturedly grumbled that she got dizzy. 

But we did get to the concert with plenty of time to spare. About half of the songs on the program were familiar holiday carols and the audience was encouraged to sing along on a few. I enjoyed those and participated. The ones that were not familiar – maybe intended to expand our cultural horizons – were not so captivating. I blame a day of traveling and some jet lag due adjustment due to a two-time-zone difference between my Oklahoma internal clock and my California internal clock for my behavior. I might have dozed off for couple of minutes during a few of the numbers. Certainly it was not the caliber of the singing. Frank adhered to my request to nudge and wake me only if I snored. I did not snore and I roused myself intermittently. I did not miss much. We took some festive pictures in the lobby afterward. See? I do not look the slightest bit sleepy. I was refreshed during the show.

Black Comedy
Our third and final show of the season on Saturday February 29 was a unique comedic play titled Black Comedy. I was expecting Eddie Murphy type humor. I can still hear in my head his voicing the Donkey in Shrek.

The play was not that; it was totally unexpected and weird. The overview in the Baystages program explains the premise and invites the audience to "an evening of some very silly fun".

Black Comedy is a traditional "farce" presented in a very non-traditional way. A farce uses elements like physical humor, deliberate absurdity. drunkenness, bawdy jokes, and mistaken identity for one purpose only; to make people laugh The standard methods used to "keep people in the dark" is the characters entering a series of doors, opening and closing at the exact moment the characters are most likely to be seen. The play you are about to see certainly has all of this. Where it differs is the standard use of opening and closing of doors is substituted with the availability or non-availability of light! The characters are forced to interact almost entirely in the dark! Hence the title of the play Black Comedy.

Of course in order for the audience to see the characters acting in the play, the stage cannot be in black out mode. The scenes would go in and out of blackness, in reverse of what the audience was to assume the actors were seeing. When a match was blown out, the players could see each; when there was the sound of a match being struck and lit, the players were plunged into blackness so the audience was clued that the actors could not see and therefore stumbled into each other and over objects in their way. Initially it was difficult to adjust to the reverse clues. Thankfully Frank had read a Wikipedia article on the play and illuminated us on the ride there as to what to expect. Since we were attending on Leap Day, it was reasonable to expect the play would take a leap of faith. Even the set was eclectic. There was a plethora of props to trip over, knock over, run into, fall on, and mistake for other objects. It was kind of wild.

The comedy was very slapstick and silly. Mistaken identity reigned. The actors were very athletic to do all the physical comedy and stunts. At one point the lead actor fell/rolled down the full flight of stairs. All this required an exerted effort and must have consumed a lot of calories. Watching made us all hungry so we stopped at Knudsen's Ice Creamery for an after-the-show snack. The creamery was a show in itself. Be sure to check out the YouTube video embedded in their website. 

When we were there a group of about fifty Asian-American soccer players showed up perhaps from some special league; they'd given the store about fifteen minutes notice. The rowdy but polite, happy bunch was fun to observe. They were served swiftly and efficiently and did not impact the speed or quality of our service. It was an experience and a great place to return to. Just look at the size of these sundaes!  As we were rising to leave Renée, who was seated opposite Frank,  knocked over a full glass of ice water, straight on target to baptize his lap. I had never seen him leap to his feet so quickly and avoid the deluge. Great reflexes! This memory was another great laugh to add to our evening of fun and finish out the season.

Ponder: Pumpkin Pie, Anyone?

Last night I decided to make pumpkins pies. I make two at a time using Libby's pumpkin pie and Pillsbury pre-made pie crusts in a roll from the refrigerator section. The pie crusts were creeping up on their expiration date. I use the recipe on the can, tripling the cinnamon, doubling the ginger, and substituting 2 tsp nutmeg for ½ tsp cloves

Alright I admit it; the two pie crusts were just past their best buy date, but that was not my main problem. The recipe called for 1½  cups sugar. I measured out the dregs of my Tupperware sugar canister and found I had only 1 cup. I searched back into far reaches of my pantry and found I did not have a reserve bag in waiting. Drats! What should I do?

I did not want to go to my neighbor and violate that social distance of 6 ft to borrow ½ cup of sugar. I rejected using powdered sugar guessing that the consistency would make mush when added to the pumpkin/egg mixture. Maybe brown sugar? I was not sure what the conversion amount would be and it was probably just in one hard lumpy block anyway. Speaking of lumps I then spied my containers of sugar cubes. More popular for tea during our camping days, I still add them to my spaghetti sauce and other similar sauces. Hmmm. Could I uncompress these back to their granulated sugar form? It was worth a try so I got out my small food-processor/nut-chopper and gave it a whirl. Initially I tried counting how many cubes I would need. Each cube is 1 tsp, 3 tsps  = 1 Tbsp, 8 Tbsp = ½ cup; therefore I would need 24 cubes. The ground quantity fell short of ½ cup, so I eventually just dumped in one container's worth and repeated press pulse on the chopper. I now had enough granulated sugar and it worked out fine. Well maybe not literally fine but granulated enough to work for the pies batter.

This is the mini-processor I used that had not been out of the cupboard for years.

I mixed up the pumpkin pie batter and poured it into the two shells I had rolled out and prepared. The bump in the pie-baking road arising from the lack of sugar had been navigated successfully, but that was not my only problem. I preheated the oven to 425° and put in the two pies, staggered and on separate racks as I normally do, and set the timer for 15 minutes. My norm is that after 15 minutes, I lower the temperature to 350° and let the pies bake for an additional 45 minutes. Then I shut off the oven, crack the door open 3"- 4" and let the pies come to room temperature slowly as the oven cools itself down. Last night when my timer went off I shut it off and reset it for the additional 45 minutes. Then I never lowered the oven temperature! I was clueless that I had omitted this critical step due to distraction or senility or an subconscious internal urge to sabotage my own culinary efforts. My first realization of my gaff was when I opened the oven door and glimpsed the black charred crust and scattered dime-size charcoal dots on the upper pie, and the chocolate-colored crust on the lower pie. The central filling sections were not quite as golden in color more of a burnt orange but they looked edible.

I whisked the pies out of the oven, emptied two shelves in the freezer, and plunked the pies in there for 10 minutes or so to hopefully stop the cooking process. I was lucky that I have gradually been using up the frozen food while sheltering in place, and so there was room for the pie rescue operation. Note that part of one pie has been eaten – yes, eaten and not thrown away – it was quite edible and even tasty once drenched with whipped cream. We had eaten the charcoal spotted portions of darker pie as a taste test of the worst case scenario. The photos for this blog have been re-staged since at the time of the fiasco I was otherwise occupied. 

After cool enough to handle I took each pie to the kitchen sink. I broke off the fluted part of the crust, with fork, with knife, and with bare hands, sometimes by long arcs or otherwise by black, flaked chips. Of course, my hands had been washed beforehand with soap and water for 20 seconds to the tune of Happy Birthday sung twice. I had plenty of time to do this while the pies were chilling in the freezer. My kitchen sink looked like the aftermath of trying to scrape off an over-toasted slice of bread with a kitchen knife. Plus I had to wash the food processor. Use your imagination for those photos.

Now I noticed I have bananas on my counter more ripe than I prefer to eat them. I know! I will make banana bread! But not until I get more sugar. Until then, I have plenty of room in the freezer to store them if they get too, too brown.