Pandemic Diaries

Reflections on Art, Denial, Global Pandemics, and a Cross-Country Move

May 2, 2021 By Julia DePinto Filed Under: Feature, Pandemic Diaries Tagged With: julia depinto, pandemic diary

Author Julia DePinto in Southern Califorrnia

Editor’s Note:

When my editor asked me to write about my experiences living in Brooklyn, when the novel coronavirus first hit the city— and then my subsequent move to Southern California, just as the virus and the wildfires were beginning their assaults here— I obliged, without hesitation. I had moved to the Los Angeles area over the summer, right as NYC’s economy was reopening and mass protests against police violence were sweeping the country. California was great at first; the mountains and ocean provided a likely source of comfort, and COVID-19 cases were on the decline. But then the fires happened, and then the infection rate skyrocketed, and suddenly we were back to a partial shutdown with more forced isolation. It felt all too familiar to life in NYC last spring.

Writing about the events of the past year has been a catharsis for me. I look back at the photos of empty park benches and deserted streets with a deep appreciation for the beauty of the city and the resilience of New Yorkers. Those were difficult months and some facets, like the makeshift trailer cemetery in Sunset Park, will haunt me for a long time. But like my friend Jen said, after the wildfires finally quelled, “Nature has an incredible way of healing and rebounding.” I think the same is true of people.

It was Monday, March 9, 2020, and I was sitting in the basement of the printshop scrolling through emails and news updates on my iPhone. Ink covered my fingertips and stained my skin. I didn’t care. I was still reveling in nostalgia from the weekend. It was one of the best weekends of my life. It sounds cliché, but it’s the truth. I lived for the New York art fairs! The Armory Show, SPRING/BREAK, VOLTA, Moving Image— I looked forward to the spring shows every year. The day before, I toured Art on Paper at Pier 36 in the LES. A friend had given me VIP tickets.

I met up with friends later in the afternoon. We drank coffee and walked along the Brooklyn Heights Promenade. We discussed the art world, our pets, our families, and our careers. We joked about our exes and thought about the nuances of life. It was sunny and warm for a New York day in early March. I held their baby close to my chest as we walked. I was entirely ignorant of her world and to how soon the scope of her world— and our world— would change.

“Fuck,” I mouthed to myself. BREAKING NEWS: Several East Coast Universities Cancel Classes in Coronavirus Response. I put my phone down on my lap and buried my face in my ink-stained hands.

The printshop smelled of paint thinners and chemicals. The air was dank. I was starting to feel nauseated from the fumes. What did it mean that colleges all around the city were canceling classes? Was this the beginning of a lockdown? No, they’re just following protocol, I thought. This is temporary.

I stood up to stretch, and to get back to work. I put my phone in my back pocket and headed up the stairs. At that moment, my phone vibrated with a text message from my husband, Matthew:

“Our lab is closing, indefinitely. I have an hour to pack up my office and leave the building.”

Indefinitely sounded exaggerated. I was sure he meant a week or two—at least I had hoped it wouldn’t be longer than that. Our apartment was already crowded enough.

I looked around the printshop, suddenly aware of how quiet it was. Everyone had gone home for the day. It occurred to me that maybe the printshop would also close. In which case, I would have to call my students to postpone our sessions for a few weeks. Maybe I should head home, I thought. My throat was itchy and I had developed a mild cough, on top of chemically-provoked nausea. Allergies. Yes, that is it—allergies. I always get a bit of a cough when the seasons change.

Later that night, I texted my cousins to ask if anyone had heard from our extended family in Bari, Italy.

Two days later, I noticed my cough was getting worse. It was allergies— and maybe stress. I had convinced myself of that.

“Julia, you should really call your doctor,” said my friend with the baby.

My dog and I were walking around Prospect Park when she called. I was happy to hear her voice, despite her concerns about my health. Should I call my doctor? No, I’m fine, I thought. I’ll pick up cough syrup in the morning. Maybe if I tell her I’m drinking cough syrup then she’ll stop worrying about me.

The next day I walked to the bodega on 8th Avenue and asked the owner if she had any cough syrup. I was too focused on her breath to hear her words. I could feel it circle in the air. I pictured infected and microscopic droplets touching my face. My heart began to race as the panic set in. I stepped back, thanked her anyway, and wished her a good day. I’ve always liked her.

I called my doctor from the corner of 7th Ave., outside of the fourth bodega of the day. I assured him I didn’t have COVID but I really needed cough syrup. I couldn’t find it anywhere. The hoarders of Park Slope had planned for this. He addressed me gently as if I were about to receive life-altering news. He ignored my self-diagnosis of allergies and recommended that I pick up the prescriptions immediately and take them as directed until the bottles ran out. He also suggested that I self-quarantine and use an inhaler—“just in case.” We both knew that getting a COVID test was a nearly impossible feat.

The next day, word got around that some of my colleagues were sick with COVID-like symptoms. It’s a good thing I was laid off, I thought. Matthew and I were going over our finances. I could tell he was stressed. He assured me his job was secure but I was skeptical. We both knew that my loss of income would drain our savings. In times of skepticism and uncertainty, I’ve found that it’s helpful to make lists of gratitudes and to recite them as mantras.

We are safe. We are healthy. We are blessed.

New worries involving probable state mandates and rumors of forced isolation began to culminate in the media. Fears of de Blasio shuttering the bridges and quarantining the city were circulating and had reached the ears of most New Yorkers. Upon learning this news, Matthew decided we should shelter in place with his family, in a small suburb north of Boston. We would share his mother’s one-bedroom apartment. He decided that we would sleep on the floor, and I would work on my art in her living room.

I refused. Brooklyn was my home. If the virus was going to ravage and decimate the city for a few weeks, or maybe a month, I would be there to see it through. This couldn’t last forever, could it?

The disagreement continued for hours.

Cigarette butts began to collect in a defaced olive jar on our back porch. Throughout the week, I reminded Matthew that the CDC recognized smokers as “high-risk” and vulnerable to respiratory illnesses. “You really need to take Chantix,” I said.

My friend with the baby told me to go easy on him. “This is a stressful time for everyone,” she said.

I had convinced myself that this was all temporary. I would take this time to work in my studio and continue developing my visual arts practice. If I am forced to stay in Brooklyn, I should at least be productive, I thought. This can’t last forever. I will be back at work soon enough.

That day I sat in my studio, surrounded by my work, and cried. My art, which is largely autobiographical, was not important. People were dying.

The laundromat that I had used regularly for two years was closed. I worried about the owners, two brothers. I hoped they had closed for personal reasons unrelated to the pandemic. Our Federal Government has failed to protect essential workers, I thought.

. . .

It was April 12, Easter Sunday. This day means everything to my family but nothing to me. I walked home from my art studio, up to 18th street to 7th Ave. A cop rode past on a motorcycle, slowing down at the four-way stop. He flashed his lights to stop the cars approaching him. Behind him was a black Cadillac hearse with a purple flag that read funeral. There was no congregation of mourning family; no church bells; no priest. The body would likely be buried alone. I wondered if the unlucky person passed away in isolation. I imagined that the body inside of the hearse belonged to an older man— a man with a bald head and a full beard. I prayed for his soul to reach others, somewhere in another realm, far away from Brooklyn.

I called my Dad to wish him a Happy Easter and to tell him that I missed him. Physically, I was healthy, somehow, but mentally, I was slowly falling apart. The isolation, the economic fallout, the burials on Hart Island, the nonstop news updates— COVID was consuming all of my time. It was the first thing I read about in the mornings and the last thing I would consider at night. I was hardly sleeping in those days. Small moments of solitude were infamously interrupted by the sounds of ambulance sirens.

“Dad, can you hear that?” I asked. The NYPD was looping around the park with a megaphone, blasting prerecorded messages at park-goers to “wear a mask” and “stay at a six-foot distance.”

“This feels like… Communism,” I said. As soon as the word Communism rolled off my tongue, I regretted it.

“This is not what Communism is like,” said my Dad, apathetic to my misery and inherent privilege. He reminded me that his parents and siblings lived through the Mussolini regime in Bari. My dad was born a year after the war ended. “You kids have it so much better than we did.”

A month later, police officers arrested a young Black mother at the Atlantic Avenue-Barclays Center Station for not wearing her mask properly. The encounter ended in a violent assault.

We gave our landlord a 30-day notice on May 1st. Our lease was up and he refused to let us continue renting month-to-month, despite the city’s high-infection rate and the eviction moratorium. Maybe this will be good for us, I thought. Matthew had accepted a job offer in Southern California.

. . .

The 7:00 pm cheers for medical frontlines and essential workers kept me going. I looked forward to them every night and made an effort not to miss them. But tonight I was cheering quietly. I was carrying home groceries and didn’t want the bags to touch the ground. I listened to the sounds of applause, and the car horns, and the homemade instruments, while consequently walking past the trailer morgues on 7th Ave. Holding my breath, I peered through the gate. The morgue workers were outside. This can only mean one thing, I thought.

I don’t think I will ever be able to expunge the horror that the images of those trucks brought to the city or me personally. Coming back from that hellscape seemed [and sometimes, still seems] unimaginable.

It was the end of May and the moving truck had come and gone. We cuddled up in blankets and sleeping bags on the hardwood floor of our apartment. The sounds of police sirens were aggressive, and we heard helicopters circling overhead. We knew they were headed towards Barclays. We laid awake in silence for most of the night. I prayed for the safety of the protestors.

The next morning we packed up our Jeep and left the city. The dogs were in the back, wedged between suitcases and sleeping bags. We drove over the Verrazano Bridge to Staten Island and through Jersey. I thought about the past few months and all of the loss the city endured. It would take time, maybe years, but the city would heal. Nature has a way of rebounding after wildfires devastate the land; and so would NYC. I would miss Brooklyn and the life I had created, but I was eager to get to California. The state’s economy was in the early stages of reopening and the infection rate in Los Angeles was on the decline.

Los Angeles has a great art scene, I thought. How delightful it was to be so naïve.

Dara Kass On the Pandemic Frontline

April 16, 2021 By Sally Kohn Filed Under: Pandemic Diaries Tagged With: dara kass, pandemic diaries, sally kohn

Dr. Dara Kass gets at least a half-dozen calls every single day from friends and neighbors in Brooklyn and across the country. She is, for the people who have her phone number, like a “Covid concierge” — there to allay fears with facts and guide tough decision-making with science. And if you’ve seen her on MSNBC or follow her on Twitter, you may have also been soothed by the balm of her steady voice and sage advice.

An emergency room physician, a mom with young kids, and someone infected early on during the Covid pandemic — who has had to navigate the same challenges and questions and doubts as the rest of us, but armed with the medical and scientific insights most of the rest of us lack? Who the heck wouldn’t want her on speed dial?

Kass is a doctor in the Columbia University Medical Center E.R., and also an associate professor of emergency medicine. She’s been politically active for some time, as an advocate for increasing gender representation and equity in emergency medicine, and as an early and vocal supporter of Pete Buttigieg’s presidential campaign and now Andrew Yang’s campaign for New York City mayor. But it was Covid that made her phone, literally and metaphorically, start ringing off the hook.

“In the beginning of this pandemic, we all thought we’d watch it from far away,” Kass told me over the phone in late February 2021. But then it started getting closer… from China, to Italy, and then Seattle. She’s in all these online groups and email chains with emergency medicine doctors and by late February 2020, “all the channels were on fire.” People were getting infected, hospitals were filling up. “I was realizing this would hit us like a tidal wave.”

The next part of the story feels very Park Slope. Kass was walking back with her husband from their ritual Saturday morning Soul Cycle class on March 7, 2020. She was processing all of the information she was hearing about the disease and what they would do if she got infected. Suddenly, Kass stopped in her tracks and made a decision. They would move their kids to live with Kass’ parents in New Jersey on March 13, the day before Kass had her next shift at the E.R. A few days after that, Kass started experiencing Covid symptoms.

“I started making all these decisions for my family probably a hot minute before everyone else had to do it for theirs,” Kass says. “And being very public about the decisions I was making.” It was early, not much was known about Covid, how it was contracted and spread and the risk to various age groups. She did what was most prudent at the time — in a way setting up a clear contrast with her foil throughout this pandemic, the Trump Administration. While Kass and — thanks to her leadership and the leadership of others — many of the rest of us were taking the virus seriously and being as cautious as possible, Trump and his Administration were dismissing the threat and being reckless. Kass was making the smart decisions for herself and her family, and using her platform to share information about those decisions. Trump’s decisions was making dumb decisions — that ultimately destroyed us.

“Once we knew more and had an idea of how it was spreading,” says Kass, the Trump Administration could have put out “very specific, consistent guidelines of what people had to do.” But they didn’t. That was just one of many failures that compounded the crisis. “By the time New York was in the thick of it in April, we had an idea of how to stop it… but Trump was saying we’d be back by Easter, that the economy needs to open.” That’s when it became clear to Kass that the federal government was being what she calls “criminally negligent” in the face of this pandemic.

But did liberal states and cities, like New York, over-correct with extreme lockdowns? No, insists Kass. “What appeared to be an overreaction was supposed to be the only reaction. The goal was to have this be the time to react strongly and shut it down.” Yet because the national response was so spotty and inconsistent, the shut downs didn’t shut down the virus — ”and we didn’t have a lot of tools left in the toolbox.”

New York, fortunately, turned around. “We had a horrific March and April,” says Kass. But by the end of May, E.R. departments were mostly empty, she says. “We got a reprieve over the summer. And in the fall, patients didn’t come in as sick as before.” That’s not because the virus was better but because our preparedness was. There was better testing, people were coming into the E.R. earlier, there was more information on how to treat them, better medication options. And doctors and nurses felt more confident, too. “There’s a trauma about taking care of patients where you don’t understand what’s coming next.” Living through the first wave, including many health care workers surviving infections themselves, removed a lot of the sense of uncertainty.

That’s not to say it was easy. Kass recounts friends who spent weeks in the ICU, another who died by suicide. Her own symptoms were relatively mild. She feels fortunate. Though of course the lasting effects of working frontline during the pandemic may leave scars for generations.

At least, Kass says with a relieved sigh, things are getting better. For one, we have a competent president who believes in science and is mobilizing the full weight of the federal government to address this crisis. And second, we have vaccines.

“The process of vaccinating people is healing,” says Kass, who has spent time working at vaccination sites. “Getting vaccinated is great, you feel protected… less nervous,” she says. But also, “Working at the sites, it’s life affirming… really rewarding.”

Kass thinks that soon New York will have enough supply to have walk-in vaccination spots all over the city. And she echoes President Biden, who recently predicted that every American who wants a vaccine will be able to get one by the end of May. What does that mean? The vaccine was tested to keep people from getting sick from the coronavirus and dying, and it does just that — very effectively. Beyond that, Kass uses the metaphor of a forest fire. We don’t yet know how well the vaccine prevents vaccinated people from spreading the virus to others; that wasn’t what it was tested to do. It likely does that well, says Kass — we’ll know more as more data become available. But in her forest fire metaphor, “If a tree can’t catch fire, it doesn’t matter as much if other trees are burning all around it.” And the more trees are fire proof, the more the blaze will be under control.

Beyond that, I used the opportunity with Kass to try to ask as many of the “Covid concierge” questions I thought might be on the minds of my fellow Park Slopers. So here, edited for length, is a rapid-fire Q&A with Dara Kass:

If I qualify to be vaccinated, should I nonetheless wait until higher risk people get their turns?

No. Everyone who is qualified to get vaccinated should get vaccinated as soon as it’s available. And that helps protect other people.

If my parents are vaccinated, can my kids hug them?

Yes. Your parents are protected from getting sick and dying. Which is remarkable.

If I’m vaccinated, can I go on vacation?

Yes. In fact, if you can find three other vaccinated people, you can all go on vacation together. You can start to incorporate reasonable risk back into your life.

If I’m vaccinated, do I have to quarantine after a possible exposure?

If it’s two weeks after your second vaccine shot, then no.

Can I get whatever vaccine is offered to me now and then another one later?

Maybe. This is an issue for people living in other countries where an inferior vaccine is available now, but they might want to get another when they’re back in the States. My advice is for now, take whatever vaccine is offered. It’s likely that, eventually, we’ll have enough supply or booster shots if there’s reason to believe you need or want it.

Can I send my kids to summer camp?

It’s very possible and likely — but will take parents engaging in reasonable quarantining, testing protocols and good strategies for well-controlled environments. It’s good for kids to run around outside and be healthy.

Should I feel okay sending my kids to in-person school?

Of course. In-person school is governed by things that have nothing to do with teacher vaccinations — but spacing requirements, quarantines, etc. But teachers should be a high priority for eligibility. I actually think we should have pop-up vaccination sites in schools, meet people where they are. We’d have everyone done in a month.

Once I’m vaccinated, do I still need to wear a mask?

Yes. Until we get it under control better, that’s the smarter, no-risk thing to do. And people are unevenly vaccinated right now. It’s important we all model mask wearing.

What kind of mask do you recommend most?

The most important thing is that it fits tightly. An unmasked gap undoes all the protections of whatever fancy mask you use. If you have a cloth mask, then you should have a disposable surgical mask under it — so the cloth mask generally helps create a tighter fitting seal.

What would you say to people who are worried the vaccines are too new and untested?

So is the virus. Let’s be honest, we’re in a pandemic. Every vaccine is new at some point. But it’s not untested; it’s been tested thoroughly. I do understand the anxiety about the speed, but I feel more anxiety about the speed of the pandemic.

Do you think fall will be normal?

Redefine normal. I think movie theaters will be open but a third of people will be wearing masks, even if they’re vaccinated. We have to figure out how schools will stay open, etc. But by Spring 2022, this won’t be the thing we’re talking about.

Park Slope Puppy Boom: How Our Pets are Helping Us Cope

January 29, 2021 By Sofia Pipolo Filed Under: Bark Slope, Feature, Pandemic Diaries Tagged With: pandemic, pets, sofia pipolo

The overall mental health and wellbeing of our neighborhood (and entire planet) has shifted due to the Covid-19 Pandemic. With new stresses, a global financial crisis, and loved ones lost, there is much that can’t be replaced. Through it all, many of us have found solace in our new and old pets. Because individuals and families are spending more time at home than ever before, Park Slope has seen a “Puppy Boom.”

The Kingham family (Stuart, Roz, and 10-year-old Isla) rescued German-Shepard mix Macy to help uplift their spirits. While reluctant before Covid, Roz knew that getting a dog would give them something positive to focus on after Isla kept mentioning her experience with remote learning as “lonely.” Stuart reflected on his increased stress from all-day screen time, working from home, and worrying about the health and safety of his family, as a kind of low-grade PTSD. He reflects, “Everything was a worry, even going to stores.”

Though housetraining Macy was a challenge, they agree it has far outweighed the stresses of the outside world as the Kingham family saw their commitment to the new canine family member pay off. Over 2 months later, Macy is already growing up alongside Isla. Taking the time to step away from their screens and heavy workload, the endless news cycle, and the grief of pandemic losses to take care of puppy Macy has made Staut, Roz, and Isla feel a bit safer and happier.

***Isla Kingham with her rescue puppy “Macy”***

They train her together and connect with other dog-owners in the neighborhood. Roz says, “There’s definitely a dog community in Park Slope so just making that human connection on walks with other dog owners has been nice; everyone stops to talk when you have a puppy!” Their new routine includes early morning off-leash play in the park, after-school walks, and evenings spent on the front stoop where they sit to watch the world go by.

You’ll find many families enjoying similar daily pet pleasures. Park Slope has 10 dog parks, including the Prospect Park Dog Beach, making it an amazing community for pet owners. Pets, especially dogs and cats, are known to reduce stress, anxiety, and depression, to ease loneliness and encourage exercise and playfulness. They also help children to grow up more secure and active, and provide valuable companionship for older adults.

These days everyone needs some extra stability, joy, and positive coping methods, one reason why pet adoption and sales have been through the roof this past year. Even veteran pet owners have become more appreciative and formed closer bonds with their furry friends.

For example, the pandemic has heightened Park Slope resident, Ingrid’s anxiety; making her less motivated to deal with tasks beyond short term consideration. Ingrid said, “ Much of the structure I’ve built into my life over the years vanished overnight, along with any sense of what the future could or should look like.” Her two cats, Cabiria aka Cabbie and Jean Harlow whom she’s had for over 3-years, have brought extra companionship and cuddles during these uncertain months of quarantining at home. “Taking care of the cats provide some structure to the days, and requires me to think about something other than myself… So I actually have something to discuss with friends or co-workers that isn’t horrible pandemic news or politics.” She’s found exchanging silly cat photos and having Cabbie and Jean meow over speakerphone a sure-fire way to bring a smile to anyone’s face.

***Giselle with her partner and their rescue puppy “Pico”***

Similarly, the unforeseeable future had spiked Diana Kane’s anxiety, so after some discussion adopting a dog felt like the right decision. And it was! Her family’s new 4-month-old rescue from Puerto Rico, Appa (named after the flying-bison from Avatar: The Last Airbender), has been a blessing for their mental and physical health. Diana and her family has been able to find peace and joy. She said, “I think Disney has it wrong: the Happiest Place on Earth is actually off-leash in Prospect Park.”

Giselle Navarro and her partner adopted a Jindo mix named Pico just before the city shut down. While worrying about their health and safety and only communicating with others through screens, they felt lucky to have Pico by their side. By structuring their quarantine days around the new puppy, their new routine for the new normal provides time to safely leave the apartment, stay motivated to train together, and actually get a steadier sleep schedule.

Pico’s need for cuddles and play was also a welcome distraction for Giselle. “She’s always so happy, I frequently tell others that I’m not sure how I would be getting through the pandemic if we didn’t have Pico. Living through this has been tough, but having her has made it a little bit easier. Even if I’m not feeling great, her good mood rubs off on me.”

A True & Genuine Companionship: Thanks to Isolated New Yorkers, Dog Adoptions Surge

January 19, 2021 By Kara Goldfarb Filed Under: Bark Slope, Feature, Pandemic Diaries Tagged With: kara goldfarb

The very real Coronavirus Pandemic has led to a very real Loneliness Epidemic. In a survey by the AARP, two-thirds of adults said they’re experiencing social isolation and 66 percent said their anxiety has increased during the pandemic. Essentially, one public health crisis gave rise to another.

There has been, however, one positive outcome in response to the isolation fatigue in Brooklyn and on a national scale. With flexible work schedules, more time at home, and a universal desire for companionship, one notable response has been a startling increase in dog adoptions. The double win of providing homes to a multitude of shelter animals and comfort to lonely residents may be one of the only good things to come out of the pandemic.

The ASPCA reported over 600 online foster applications in New York City and Los Angeles during the second half of March, compared to the average 200 applications. Reported by the AP, New York based nonprofit Foster Dogs Inc. saw the number of applications in the month of August increase from 140 the previous year, to 3,000. Muddy Paws Rescue, an NYC foster-based nonprofit, reported that, after receiving ten times the number of applications in a two week period, the shelters they partnered with were essentially empty.

For Toni Bodon, the increased interest in adopting a dog is palpable as well. Bodon is the cofounder of Stray from the Heart, a New York-based nonprofit dog rescue organization aimed at rescuing and rehabilitating neglected dogs. “If I had to guess, I’d say 25 percent more this time than last year,” Bodon said in regards to the number of applications the organization received. Stray from the Heart has partners in Puerto Rico and Ecuador who care for the dogs until they are matched with the perfect owner and well enough to travel. Bodon is thrilled with the uptick. However, with an emphasis on making sure a candidate is the right fit for a particular dog, the organization’s thorough vetting process makes it a time-consuming mission as well. “We are entirely volunteer-based,” Bodon notes, adding, “it really is a labor of love.”

***Max and Kate with their rescue puppy “Appa” from Puerto Rico (Stray from the Heart).***

In going through the multitude of applications, the team looks for stability within potential owners. For instance, they may receive an application from someone who is currently working from home due to the pandemic. But if the person doesn’t know whether they’ll have to return to the office in five months, their application likely won’t be approved. “If they live alone, who is going to take care of the dog then?” Bodon asked. Her core responsibility is in ensuring each dog they rescue finds a solid home.

Because Stray from the Heart doesn’t have a foster center and the rescues are abroad, they’ve also had to work with the COVID travel restrictions when it comes to uniting an adopted dog with an owner. The normal adoption process takes 4-8 weeks, with the added process of flying the dogs over. A rescue in severe conditions will take longer as the dog undergoes necessary rehabilitation procedures, which the organization relies primarily on donations to cover the cost of. Bruno and Gracie are two recent examples of rescues found in critical condition. Bruno needed chemotherapy as well as treatment for skin lacerations. Gracie, an abandoned poodle found on the roof of an empty house in Ecuador, needed emergency care after spending an unknown amount of time unsheltered from the heat and rain without food or water. They named her Gracie “because by the grace of God she was rescued.”

Though the volunteers work tirelessly, it pays off, as evident by the universally satisfied owners upon receiving their new family members. “We have settled in well with our little love bug Hachi,” the parents of a recent rescue wrote via Facebook. “So far his favorite activities are curling up on the couch, sleeping on our laps, and eating cheese treats. He enjoys our walks as well, but not quite as much when it is raining hard — we think he’s still got memories of the hurricanes in Puerto Rico,” they also wrote; a reminder of the hard times these animals have been through.

***A happy and healthy Bruno (Stray from the Heart).***

There are also stories of people who were simply able to slow down enough during the pandemic to complete the adoption process. Joni Wildman, a local Brooklyn resident, adopted a dog earlier this year from Muddy Paws. “I had been looking to adopt before the pandemic hit, but I struggled with elaborate adoption applications,” Wildman said. She was able to find more time for herself during the pandemic, which included more time to work on her paintings. A friend who was fostering for Muddy Paws had one pup in particular named Catch who stood out to Wildman. “Catch looked like the dog in the painting I was making, so I applied. Had to be fate, right?” she said. “He’s been my hiking, beach, running, going everywhere buddy ever since.” Wildman says the added time in her day has given her the opportunity to train catch and help him really adjust to her home.

There’s an underlying beauty in these kinds of matches. The rise in stray dogs who have found warm, loving homes over these past eight months is undoubtedly a wonderful thing. But beyond that, the notion of an owner who has had a difficult time during COVID finding solace with an animal who has likewise had a tough row to hope, makes the relationship between the two a true and genuine companionship.

Yoga in the Park: Balancing Shared Spaces during a Pandemic

October 23, 2020 By Susannah Clark Filed Under: Pandemic Diaries Tagged With: susannah clark

Savasana had begun: I was lying in a field of clovers, trying to sync my breath with the wind rustling the trees above me. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Inha-whack! A rogue soccer ball fell from the heavens and clocked me in the face.

I can’t say I didn’t see it coming. Along with the soccer game, my yoga class was sharing a patch of green in Prospect Park with a group of kids playing tag, picnicking yuppies, and a silent meditation/dance party. But the soccer was by far the most distracting; I winced at the snap of every goal kick, tightening my muscles instead of relaxing them as instructed. The onlookers blasting techno music didn’t help either.

Throughout the class, our teacher had gently reminded us to treat the sounds of the park as an added challenge to deepen our focus. This was familiar advice from before quarantine, when the bustling sounds of Franklin Ave would seep into our Crown Heights studio space. But there was no ignoring the ringing in my ear after that blow to the head. My face grew hot with anger.

Amid the first hints of autumn chill, it seems that Brooklynites are trying to soak up as much outdoor activity as possible, and Prospect Park is their arena of choice. At 526 acres, Prospect Park is actually the second largest park in the borough, but its central location and variety of terrain attracts 8-10 million visitors a year even without a pandemic. Along with the expected runners and cyclists, this summer I’ve also seen Zumba classes, every kind of martial arts, Little League, volleyball, hacky sack, ultimate frisbee, Quidditch, and more. And that’s just the exercisers; I’ve also come across LARPers, an all-female brass band practice, paint classes, portable karaoke, engagement parties, weddings, baby showers, and a stand with free spider plants. The park has become Brooklyn’s hottest night club, gym, and open-air market all at once.

So how do we negotiate all of this public space? The NYC Parks Department has capped the number of attendees allowed for outdoor fitness classes and other special events, but the crowds of individuals and small groups on evenings and weekends amount to such that even 6 feet apart seems pointless. We down-dog at our own risk.

I could, of course, just do yoga at home, as I have for the past six months. There is a glut of live-streamed and prerecorded virtual flows, from lauded teachers all over the world. Unlike soccer, yoga is a non-competitive, deeply internal activity. I’m after that elusive mind-body connection, not the rush of surpassing someone else. Why not make more room for the activities that are impossible to do indoors right now?

In her gorgeous meditation on Turkish baths, Leslie Jamison writes, “When we lose the ability to live among the bodies of strangers, we don’t just lose the tribal solace of company, but the relief from solipsism.” I can only connect my mind and body if I understand the context in which that body moves; a messy and unjust world where certain other bodies are too often ignored. For many, 2020 has felt like a constant stream of soccer balls to the head (though given that many of the disasters we’re facing could have been prevented, a stream of Zidane head butts might be the more appropriate sports analogy). The kicker responsible for my injury apologized sincerely (though I ended up shooing him away as he approached me while not wearing a mask.) His teammates moved their goalposts a few feet and the game continued, every one slightly more in tune with their surroundings.

Back on the mat, after I shook off the cartoon birds circling my head, I melted back into savasana, keeping my eyes half open. In the dusky sky above me I saw a stray kite, aimlessly floating higher and higher. As I watched it disappear into the ether, I felt tethered, not only to the yogis around me but the soccer players too. We must be braced for impact, but we must keep gathering.

Nana Rose: Learning About My Grandmother by Living through a Pandemic

October 7, 2020 By Kathryn Krase Filed Under: Pandemic Diaries Tagged With: kathryn krase, nana rose

Nana Rose (far left in her black ribbon) stands with Josie and Sal (front middle) and step-sisters Rose and Connie, while Papa holds Baby Ann

If you met my grandmother, “Nana Rose”, chances are you can share a story about the experience. Chances are, she talked about you, too. My Nana had a “personality”, for sure. She appreciated personality in those she interacted with and was dismayed by the lack thereof. Of utmost importance to her was whether her partner in a moment could hold a conversation, keep her entertained, or make her laugh. That one was important. A laugh changed her life; I’ll save that story for another time.

Rose “Cinny” Jordan was born in Crown Heights, Brooklyn, on September 24, 1913, to Filomena Migliore and Anthony Jordan. Filomena was born in Chicago. Anthony (“Papa”) was born in Brooklyn. Papa was a plumber, who would develop into a political figure with significant influence in the Brooklyn democratic party, largely controlled by Italian-American men, like himself.

Rose was the eldest born child to her parents. She would soon have a brother, Sal, born in 1915, and a sister, Josie, born in 1917. Her mother died pregnant with Rose’s 3rd sibling that never was. Filomena didn’t perish during childbirth, like so many women of her time (700 women out of every 100,000 who gave birth in 1910 died in childbirth). Filomena succumbed to the Spanish flu in 1919, while pregnant.

Filomena was a young mother of 3 small children, when her unmarried uncle took ill with the flu and needed someone to tend to his symptoms and keep him comfortable. The responsibility fell on Filomena. She got sick, lost her pregnancy, and she died. She wasn’t alone. Research suggests that nearly ¼ of pregnant women died during the Spanish Flue Pandemic. The uncle lived, as did all three of Filomena’s children.

Filomena Migliore Jordan holds baby Josie, next to Anthony “Papa” Jordan, and his pals, outside his Brooklyn plumbing business, circa 1918

The loss of her mother was a defining moment in my grandmother’s early life. Papa would quickly remarry a woman, Frances, widowed by the pandemic herself, and with two daughters of her own. Anthony and Frances would have 3 children together; two more girls, and a son, Anthony.

Echoing Victorian mourning practice, Nana Rose was required to mark the sorrow of losing her mother by wearing a black ribbon in her hair for a prescribed period of time. (PHOTO) Recalling how this tradition made her feel sad, she would ask: “who would do such a thing to a child?”

If you had the pleasure of talking to Nana Rose on a handful of occasions, you would likely learn about her love of New York sports teams. She was both a Yankees AND a Mets fan, though you could say she “leaned” towards the Bronx. But in reality, she was an abandoned Dodger’s fan, just trying to fill a void in her heart by their move to L.A. The Dodgers retreat to the west coast was experienced as a personal affront to Nana Rose. The loss of her home-team was just one of many “tragedies” Nana Rose experienced, starting with the death of her mother. Things seemed to happen to her, specifically, or at least that’s how she experienced it.

The Great Depression happened to Nana Rose. She lived the rest of her almost 95 years, all in Brooklyn, clinging to depression-era practices aimed at saving and reusing everything she could. Rubber bands. Tin foil. Parchment paper. Our favorite: the cardboard insert that gave structure to the three-pack of Hostess’s Yankee Doodles. This simple piece of cardboard brought three young girls a lot of joy. It was often populated with a handwritten dinner order, for special nights when our grandparents would take me and my two sisters to the McDonald’s on Fort Hamilton Parkway, across the street from Greenwood Cemetery.

Other events happened to Nana Rose, too. Like Pearl Harbor and World War II, which saw her baby brother, Anthony, and two of her brother-in-laws sent overseas. All returned safely, though it was a scary few years.

JFK’s assassination happened to Nana Rose. She could tell you all about the day he was shot. The desperate minutes between hearing of the shooting and learning of JFK’s death. Keeping her radio on, and at the ready, even as she went food shopping in the neighborhood, Nana Rose didn’t want to miss anything. If you didn’t know, Nana Rose would tell you: JFK was killed in Dallas, Texas. As a result, Nana Rose always rooted against professional sports teams from Texas. When I dated a Cowboys fan, football season was not particularly comfortable.

My mother, sisters, and I would laugh off Nana Rose’s insistence that these world changing events happened TO HER. She was unable to conceptualize that these events happened, and she was simply in existence when they happened. We could argue that it wasn’t personal, or purposeful, but we found her insistence sort of comical, if not endearing. Until September 11, 2001.

Nana Rose and my grandfather were in their early 90’s and living in the top-floor apartment in my parent’s house Park Slope brownstone on 9/11. That morning, instead of going to work in lower Manhattan, I watched my newborn nephew, so that my sister, Kristin, could bring her 3 year-old to his first day of preschool. By the time I got to Kristin’s house, regular tv programming was interrupted with scenes of fire in the high floors of the North Tower at the World Trade Center. We watched together live on NY1 as Flight 175 hit the South Tower. We, along with the rest of the world, were terrified into silence as the South Tower, and then the North Tower, fell.

My mother, then an administrator at The Brooklyn Hospital Center in Downtown Brooklyn, would spend that long Tuesday, mobilized and at the ready to receive the overflow of patients from Manhattan that would never come. My father would come join us at Kristin’s, so we could be together for whatever happened next. Before he left his house, my father ascended the stairs to my grandparents’ apartment to close the windows, so that the debris that we so desperately wanted to think of as pieces of paper that were slowly blowing across the East River wouldn’t make it into their space. We asked our father about his decision to leave my grandparents alone. His response was something like: “would you want to spend your last minutes on earth with those two?” We knew what he meant. In her opinion, 9/11 happened to Nana Rose, not to the nearly 3000 people lost that day in New York, Pennsylvania and Virginia, and their surviving families.

I felt very close to my grandmother throughout our overlapping 35 years. Not just because we ate dinner with her every Wednesday and Sunday for the first 18 years of my life, and hundreds of other times. Not just because we would call each other after each Mets or Yankees playoff or World Series game, no matter what time it ended. Not just because she sent me three single dollar bills in a greeting card with a note that read “snack time” at least once a semester while I was in college.

Married women between 15-24 years of age had the highest mortality rate during the second wave of the Spanish Flu in NYC, 1918

I felt very close to my grandmother because I heard all of her stories, more than a few times. I felt close to my grandmother because I lived the most important days of my life with her, and I was there to comfort her after some of the toughest in hers, as she survived the loss of each of her six siblings, and then the loss of my grandfather.

I felt close to my grandmother. But until the COVID19 pandemic, I didn’t truly understand her. It didn’t take more than pop psychology to connect my grandmother’s unique “personality” to the loss of her mother at a young age. I listened to her stories about losing her mother and the sadness that echoed through black hair ribbons, over and over and over again. I knew that her nickname, “Cinny” came from a shortened version of “Rosanella”, but could just as easily come from the applicability of “Cinderella” to her life story. But, I never, for a moment, considered that the loss of her mother was so much more than that. She didn’t just lose her mother at a young age. She lost her mother during a pandemic.

Nana Rose’s loss was much larger than her mother’s death. She was a young child, who just lost her mother, as dead bodies lined the streets of NYC. Nana Rose was a young child, who just lost her mother, surrounded by a City full of sadness and uncertainty, beyond her personal loss.

While I appreciated how my grandmother’s life was impacted by her loss, I focused on that which I could empathize: her mother’s death and her father’s remarriage, specifically. I never considered how her life was impacted by loss, more generally, from living through a pandemic. Now, as I’m living in that same city during this pandemic, I have never felt more close to Nana Rose.

Pandemic Diary VIII – Tanabel: Delivering Food, Jobs, and Community, Amid the Pandemic

May 27, 2020 By Julia DePinto Filed Under: Pandemic Diaries Tagged With: julia depinto, pandemic diary

As New York’s (confirmed) death toll nears 24, 000, nine out of ten regions across the state have steadily begun reopening non-essential sectors and easing stay-at-home restrictions. In the five boroughs, where “PAUSE” mandates could last through June 13, small, socially distant gatherings of up to ten people are once again allowed. While some New Yorkers are beginning to ease back into the “hustle” and vigor of the past, others are confronted with new challenges. Job loss, income instability, and food insecurity are only a few of countless issues, trailing the economic fallout of the novel coronavirus pandemic. Recently, city officials announced that roughly one in four New Yorkers, living in the metropolitan epicenter of COVID-19 infections, lacks adequate food.

Brooklyn-based Mutual Aid groups, small businesses, and local activists have long been organizing food pantries and providing emergency groceries to New Yorkers in need of assistance. Tanabel, a food and events company in Park Slope, opened a food drive for refugee and asylum-seeking families in late- March, soon after the announcement of “NY State on Pause.”

“We have a built a brand around the experience of communal dinners,” said Tanabel owner, Hannah Goldberg. “Because of the pandemic, our company has adopted a ‘dinner in a bag’ model. We’ve been cooking takeout feasts for Muslim communities and Brooklyn clients during the Ramadan season, and making weekly deliveries of culturally-sensitive groceries and essential items to refugee families all over the city.”

Goldberg, a writer, world-traveler, and experienced Brooklyn chef, founded Tanabel after learning about President Trump’s directive, Protecting the Nation from Foreign Terrorist Entry into the United States. The widely criticized Executive Order was created to temporally ban noncitizens from seven majority- Muslim countries, and to indefinitely suspend the resettlement of Syrian refugees in the United States. Goldberg, who had previously worked with refugee resettlement organizations, saw food as a way to bridge cultural gaps and provide job opportunities for refugee and asylum-seeking women. She invited women from Syria, Iraq, and other countries in conflict, to host dinner parties, teach cooking classes, and prepare gourmet meals that celebrate and reflect Middle Eastern culture and cuisine. Utilizing her culinary expertise and home kitchen as a source for outreach, Goldberg was able to effectively counter the Trump Administration’s anti-immigration policy, and provide community, equality, and independence for her chefs.

“There are gaps in integrating refugee women into NYC,” said Goldberg. “Tanabel was created to empower and highlight the talents of immigrant women, but it also serves as a place for them to find community and meaningful, empowering employment.”

Tanabel, a derivative of Souk el Tanabel, or the Arabic word for “lazy-person,” describes a utilitarian concept of meal preparation. In Syria, bushels of fresh produce are delivered to the home kitchens of women, who then prepare rich and complex, labor-intensive meals for merchants at the “lazy person’s” market.

“There are a lot of really earnest women in New York City, making incredibly sophisticated food,” said Goldberg. “The women I employ bring a true home-cooked angle to the meals they prepare. I’ve worked with food all of my life, but I’ve learned the most from my chefs. Their talents are extraordinary, and the ingredients they use are esoteric to American cuisine and culture.”

An unprecedented influx of unemployment claims and food insecurity, following the novel coronavirus pandemic, have affected many refugee and asylum-seeking communities. For Tanabel’s chefs, some living in the hardest-hit regions of New York City, the economic shutdown and strict state mandates meant relinquishing employment and camaraderie.

“Tanabel is still open for carry-out, although many of our chefs are not able to leave their apartments,” said Goldberg. “They are the matriarchs of their families, and now they are needed in their homes. For some of the women, it is simply not safe to take public transit to our kitchen.”

In March, Goldberg organized an emergency food drive, providing culturally-sensitive grocery aid to hundreds of refugee and asylum-seeking families throughout New York City. Neighbors for Refugees and Mask for NY have donated masks to include in the grocery deliveries. The handmade cloth-masks are sewn by refugees living in West Chester.

Goldberg hopes to open a brick-and-mortar store in the future, but says that for now, she is stepping back to let Tanabel evolve. Large, family-style feasts and a la carte items are available for take-out, cooked with fresh and locally-sourced ingredients. Goldberg has continued working privately with different chefs each week to prepare the meals.

“This experience has deepened my relationship with my chefs and has brought me closer to my neighbors and community,” said Goldberg. “The emergency food drive has been incredibly rewarding. Through donations, we have helped hundreds of people put food on their tables.”

Since 2017, Tanabel has brought refugee cuisine of the highest quality to the tables of New Yorkers through cooking classes, pop-dinners, and catering. Now they are providing ample and culturally sensitive deliveries of fresh produce and shelf-stable products to hundreds of refugee families living in New York City. To support Tanabel’s food drive, please donate here.

For more information on take-out catering, please visit Tanabel.com.

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During this time of uncertainty, we at the Park Slope Reader are committed to continuing to serve our community. Please follow us each week as we catalog changes in our neighborhoods, while providing the latest medical developments and valuable resources. Park Slope and adjoining areas are unique to the New York City landscape, and we will continue highlighting our neighbors through weekly editorials. This is a challenging and historic time; please know we are committed to getting through this together.

We want to know how the coronavirus pandemic is affecting you. If you have a story to share please contact us at office@psreader.com.

Pandemic Diary VII –  Dave the Spazz: COVID Felt Like Blowtorches Behind Each One of My Eyeballs

May 19, 2020 By Julia DePinto Filed Under: Pandemic Diaries Tagged With: julia depinto, pandemic diary

In the past few weeks, many states, including Georgia, Texas, and Ohio have lifted stay-at-home restrictions and steadily begun to reopen non-essential industries. In upstate New York, rural, less-affected areas have slowly reopened select retailers, and construction and manufacturing sectors. Governor Cuomo’s blueprint for reopening New York State divides the state into regions, each with specified timetables and guidelines. The detailed plans announced that restrictions will not be eased until the region meets specific criteria, including available hospital beds and programs for COVID-testing and contact-tracing. New Yorkers, living in the metropolitan area, can expect the economic shutdown and stay-at-home mandates to extend through June 13.

Native New Yorker and host at WFMU, Dave the Spazz, is one of many recovering COVID-19 patients, living in the epicenter of novel coronavirus cases. Dave launched his radio career in 1982 at WPKN in Bridgeport, Connecticut, and now hosts the popular radio show, Music to Spazz By. The weekly show consists of music from an eclectic mix of genres, ranging from R&B and soul sounds to garage punk and live R&R bands.

We spoke to Dave the Spazz about music, politics, antibody testing, and adjusting to the at-home DJ-life, following a long bout with COVID-19. Our conversation has been edited for brevity and clarity.

Park Slope Reader: Can you tell us about your radio show, Music to Spazz By?

Dave the Spazz: I’ve been hosting a weekly show at WFMU in Jersey City (91.1 FM) for the past 33 years. WFMU is a listener-supported, non-commercial, freeform radio station that encourages DJs to push the boundaries of entertainment, creativity, and sometimes, taste. Music To Spazz By is a fast-paced party that features rock & roll from the past 100 years. Bingo the Chimp produces the show, or at least he thinks he produces the show, but he’s frequently more trouble than he’s worth. And he files my records away upside down and out of order.

PSR: In a social media post, you explained that both you and your wife, Nancy, were infected with COVID-19 in late March. There were statewide shortages of test kits and PPE at that time. Were you and Nancy tested?

Dave: In the second half of March it was nearly impossible to get tested. I’m an “essential worker” at my day job, Broadcast Engineer at WNYC/WQXR, and I still didn’t qualify for testing. One of the few ways to get tested was to check into an ER but only if you were at death’s door.

PSR: Do you know how you contracted the virus?

Dave: I probably contracted COVID-19 from my morning C-train commute. It’s always packed at 6 am.

PSR: How has the pandemic disrupted your radio show?

Dave: With the exception of a tiny, brave skeleton crew, WFMU has cautiously put our Jersey City location on lockdown for the next 12 months. In an unheard rally of competence, most of the DJs are broadcasting from their ratty apartments/sprawling mansions either live-to-tape or live-to-air. It’s a real achievement for a legendary gang of underachievers to quickly embrace this technology. WFMU is more of a community than just a music station. The listeners are happy that we’re still on the air, mostly in real-time, cranking out their favorite noise.

PSR: You have described the symptoms of COVID-19 as, “unrelenting misery” and wrote in a social media post, “Neither of us could have been prepared for symptoms that were this insane.” Can you further explain the intensity of COVID-related symptoms?

Dave: We would get winded just walking across the room. Nancy had respiratory issues, exhaustion, and dry coughs. We both had fevers, chills, body aches, no appetite, and the lack of smell and taste. Lack of taste was a truly odd sensation. It turns out that eating is a disgusting act that many of us do several times a day. Even drinking water was difficult. Five days in, one of my lymph nodes swelled up to the size of a ping-pong ball. One night, Nancy woke up in agony as her inflamed lungs pressed down into her stomach. That was almost an emergency room night.

We lived with COVID-19 in its full glory for about 10 days or so. During that period I got slammed with four days in a row of the worst bout of blinding headaches I’d ever experienced in my life. Each session was six hours long with two in particular that were especially brutal. The COVID-headache was an odd, ruthless sort of duck. It laughed at the Tylenol I was throwing at it; chewed it up like Pez and spat it back at me. It felt like there were blowtorches behind each one of my eyeballs, with an elephant firmly seated on my forehead. I’ve had broken bones, concussions, been doored by cars, and tossed out into traffic, yet I have never experienced pain as excruciating as those headaches.

Six weeks after recovering, we still can’t shake off some lingering symptoms. Nancy’s congestion issues and my headaches. I still have daily headaches although they are not nearly at the “blowtorch” and the “elephant” intensity. I’ve been diagnosed with the post-coronavirus complication, Sinusitis. Fluid was detected behind my right ear. It’s usually a dull pain that migrates to different parts of my skull, bouncing around like a barely working string of Christmas lights.

PSR: While NYC remains the epicenter of COVID-19 cases, testing-sites are becoming increasingly available, with more than 1.4 million already tested in the state. You were not tested for COVID-19 infection; have you been tested for antibodies?

Dave: Yes, I eventually got an antibody test and the results, if their accuracy is to be believed, are perplexing. The antibody test looks for the presence of short term (IGM) and long-term (IGG) antibodies. Short-term antibodies detect that COVID-19 was in the body within the past 14 days. Long-term antibodies confirm that one had COVID-19 at some point.

I tested positive on both short and long term antibodies. Long term wasn’t a surprise but the short-term positive reading didn’t make sense. I haven’t had COVID within the past 14 days–it has been more than six weeks. Based on those odd findings, my doctor administered the classic footlong swabs up the nose, COVID-19-style. I’m currently waiting for the results.

PSR: In a social media post you wrote, “This pandemic was tragically avoidable. COVID-19 is like 9/11 in slow motion.” Many New Yorkers who experienced 9/11 have compared the two events. Can you further explain this analogy?

Dave: Both tragedies were brought upon by a deadly combination of incompetence and evil. Warning signs for each tragic event were dismissed for lazy and/or nefarious reasons by our elected officials. I was in NYC around 9/11 and worked at two jobs, both near West Canal Street. The initial impact of the airplanes hitting the World Trade Center was over in minutes but the health consequences that followed will continue to last for decades. On a more simplistic level, COVID-19 is a slow-moving beast. Its devastation crawls along like two airplanes stuck in aspic.

PSR: What are your thoughts on the federal government’s response to the pandemic?

Dave: Our president and his toadies dropped the ball on this one through ignorance and shortsighted greed. They have a lot to answer for, and in a just world, they would be held accountable for their actions, or inactions. Trump’s a madman but I blame his yes-men, cretins, even more for having his back and legitimizing all of this.

PSR: What about New York State’s response?

Dave: Andrew “I’ll change my name to ‘Amazon’” Cuomo certainly appears rational and oddly comforting these days, especially in comparison to Trump’s insanity. However, the NYC and NY State response was slipshod and late to the pandemic. For the most part, I blame New York’s dysfunctional and bickering parents, de Blasio and Cuomo. Schools and playgrounds should be open or closed, subways cleaned or not cleaned, St Patrick’s Day parade or not– these were only a few issues that were botched by their mismanagement.

More importantly, I think that along with other politicians and corporation owners, Governor Cuomo is underreporting the numbers of confirmed and probable COVID-19 associated deaths. Deaths at home or outside of the health care system, false negatives on tests, and infections after testing are all variables that may not be accurately figured into the total count. For any plan to reopen schools and businesses, and not have it be an even worse catastrophe, we need accurate information. Cooking the books won’t save our asses this time.

PSR: The pandemic, and first-hand experience with the COVID-19 infection, have disrupted your life in ways that many people cannot imagine. What has been the greatest challenge for you and Nancy during this time of unfortunate adversity?

Dave: In April, Nancy’s eldest sister contracted COVID-19 and died a week later. She was living in a step-down care facility after a brief hospitalization in Cherry Hill, New Jersey. The nurses said that no one at the facility had COVID-19, although no tests were performed.

It was heartbreaking for Nancy’s family to not have a funeral, and not be able to console each other in person. There was no opportunity to look a loved one in the eye and ask, “What the hell just happened?” To hear that someone you know is sick is an almost daily event. It’s worse than catching it yourself.

PSR: In a recent post, you wrote, “The mystery of what each day brings can be confounding and agonizing.” I am assuming you still feel this way. Is there anything keeping you hopeful?

Dave: What we don’t know about this virus outweighs what we do. This is a mysterious and serpentine virus that continues to outwit us at every turn. Ignoring its global impact is a fool’s errand and currently, fools are at the wheel.

I’m hopeful that a vaccine at some point will rein in COVID’s obliterating destruction, or at least slow it down. If we’re ever going to beat this, it means being patient and settling down for the long haul. This will be a protracted process and the sooner that we acknowledge that the rest of 2020 is a bust, the better we’ll be able to cope with uncharted days ahead.

PSR: Which musicians are you listening to off-the-air? Has the pandemic changed your musical selection?

Dave: Aside from WFMU, New Orleans music really pulled us through the worst of this. Josh Paxton is an amazing piano player in the James Booker, Allen Toussaint, and Fats Waller style. His Saturday night streamed solo shows direct from NOLA were a party and a tonic. Also, in place of this year’s Jazz Fest, WWOZ aired rare Jazz Fest broadcasts with Irma Thomas, Dr. John, Fess, and Ella Fitzgerald.

Music to Spazz By is a listener-supported, non-commercial, freeform radio show, hosted by Dave the Spazz and produced by Bingo the Chimp. Tune in to WFMU (91.1 FM) on Thursdays from 9 pm- Midnight for the best tracks in late-night R&R.

Contribute to Park Slope Reader’s Covid-19 Relief Fund to support our staff, writers, artists, and advertisers during this time.

We want to know how the coronavirus pandemic is affecting you. If you have a story to share please contact us at office@psreader.com.

Pandemic Diary VI- I Will Keep Sewing Masks As Long As People Need Them: An Interview with Carla Bellisio

May 12, 2020 By Julia DePinto Filed Under: Pandemic Diaries Tagged With: julia depinto, pandemic diary

Since the early days of the novel coronavirus outbreak, confusion and controversy surrounding self-protective measures and Personal Protective Equipment (PPE) have continued to circulate in the United States. The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) recommend wearing non-surgical grade masks and cloth face coverings in public and reserving high-grade N95 respirator masks for healthcare workers and medical first responders. A review of federal purchasing contracts confirmed that the Trump Administration failed to stockpile life-saving medical equipment, vital to protecting medical frontline workers and treating patients infected with COVID-19. The fractured federal response to the pandemic has caused mass shortages in PPE and ventilator machines, draining resources from the Strategic National Stockpile.

The shortages of medical equipment and PPE have led many skilled artisans and emergency response collectives to organize, producing thousands of units of protective wear each week. Professional Fashion Designer and Co-Founder of Fermata Designs, Carla Bellisio, has sewn hundreds of cloth facemasks and reusable surgical gowns for essential workers, first responders, and frontline health personnel.

We spoke to Bellisio to get a rare glimpse into the life of a professional artist, amid the pandemic. Our conversation has been edited for brevity and clarity.

PSR: Where are you from, and how long have you worked in the fashion industry?

Carla Bellisio: I was born and raised in central New Jersey, along the coast, and moved to New York City in 2005. I have worked in costume design for numerous theatre companies in the city, and I am currently studying Sustainable Fashion at the London College of Fashion.

I started making doll clothes at a very early age. I was unhappy with the manufactured clothing that the dolls were dressed in. I began sewing my own. Earlier generations of my family lived in New York. My grandmother worked as a milliner in the garment district, and my dad was born and raised in Flatbush. When he was a boy, he worked for a manufacturer in the garment district as an errand boy. A generation before that, my great grandfather worked as a glover in Italy.

PSR: NYC’s first confirmed case of the novel coronavirus was reported on March 1. When did you first begin sewing masks?

Carla Bellisio: I was still in Europe when the virus was first reported in NYC. I came home for Easter break during the second week of March. At first, I wasn’t thinking too much about the possibility of not being able to return to school after the break. The plane ride to New York was daunting. I realized that I might not be able to return to London after the break and that I would need to quarantine myself for a few weeks. I did not start making masks right away; I did a lot of research first. I knew I had the resources and capability to make large quantities of masks. I wanted the specifications to be correct so that I could utilize my resources and time in the most effective way possible.

The first set of 150 masks was made with supplies from my own stock. I sent the masks to friends, family, neighbors, and local workers. I also sent boxes of masks to physicians and nurse practitioners at the Thomas Jefferson University teaching hospital in Philadelphia, and Columbia Presbyterian hospital here in New York. It wasn’t until later that I began making surgical gowns for medical workers.

PSR: To clarify, you are supplying the materials to sew masks. How are you able to sustain this model, and have you considered asking for donations?

Carla Bellisio: When my supplies began to narrow, my friends and family sent me fabric. I have not asked for cash donations or charged for the masks. I don’t feel that it is right for me to profit off of them. Once you start selling masks, it becomes a business and you have to give customer service.

I recently partnered with two artists coalitions to make PPE. The fabric is provided by the organizations.

PSR: You are working with emergency response organizations, The Skilled Laborers Brigade, and Broadway Relief Project. You have sewn hundreds of reusable masks for public service workers and surgical gowns for the medical community. Can you tell us more about your involvement with these organizations?

Carla Bellisio: The Broadway Relief Project was contracted by the NYC EDC (Economic Development Corporation) to build 39,000 emergency gowns for NYC hospitals. So that’s what I am working on now. The previous gowns I made also went to NYC hospitals.

I received an update email from The Skilled Laborers Brigade. The box of 50 masks I stitched for them contributed to a set of 5,000, which went to:

1,500 masks into the hands of Firefighters in Freemont, CA
600 masks into the hands of ER Nurses at Mt. Sinai West
1,500 masks into the hands of doctors across NYC
300 masks to nurses at Burke Rehabilitation
300 masks to doctors Montefiore Medical Center
800 masks to doctors in NY/NJ

PSR: That’s incredible. Has this experience been personally rewarding for you?

Carla Bellisio: Yes, it really has. I’m still taking classes remotely and working towards my Master’s degree, but sewing PPE for frontline workers has given me a lot of purpose during this time. The physical act of sewing is meditative and has kept me focused.

PSR: You are studying Sustainable Fashion at the London College of Art. How has the pandemic changed the trajectory of your studies?

Carla Bellisio: The pandemic is affecting all of my assignments. This has truly changed the future of the fashion industry. If we ignore the effects of this then we ignore the pandemic. PPE has traditionally been disposable. The gowns are made of paper with a plastic backing. Now we are sewing reusable cloth gowns, made of cotton. If there is any silver lining, it’s that we needed to slow down and create clothing that is ethically sourced and consciously produced. The fashion industry can aggressively take steps to improve fashion sustainability.

PSR: The PPE you are sewing is made of reusable cotton fabrics, none of which are medical grade. Multiple reports suggest that the Trump administration not only failed to prepare hospitals and essential frontline workers with life-saving equipment, including N95 respirator masks and ventilator machines, but they also rejected offers from medical supply manufacturers. What is your response to this?

Carla Bellisio: I’m reluctant about it. The masks and gowns I have sewn are not surgical, medical-grade. These are not N95 masks; they are cloth. I was happy to make cloth facemasks for my friends and neighbors. I wanted them to feel protected going to the grocery store. It’s unnerving that artists and designers are making PPE for medical workers. We are making these items in our apartments, not sterile spaces. If hospitals had steady supplies of the proper medical equipment, many lives could have been saved.

PSR: Both President Trump and Vice President Pence have faced criticism for rejecting the recommendations of the CDC and their own administration’s counsel to wear face masks in public spaces. In New York, all residents over the age of two are mandated to wear a mask or cloth face-covering in public. Last week, Mayor De Blasio announced that the city will distribute 7.5 million face coverings to New Yorkers in select locations. What is your response?

Carla Bellisio: I think the mandate is a good idea, but only paired with the free mask initiative. When I began making masks there was a lot of conflicting information about the efficacy of wearing them, but overall they do provide protection. By mandating their use, I think it emphasizes the need to be smart about wearing PPE, but providing free masks is crucial. One of the reasons I don’t charge for masks is because I know how important it is for everyone to have a base level of protection. I try to make it easy for my community to access them. I will keep sewing masks as long as people need them.

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Pandemic Diary V- Love Letter from Florence, Italy

May 5, 2020 By Alessandra Bogner Filed Under: Pandemic Diaries Tagged With: julia depinto, pandemic diary

I miss Brooklyn.

I admit that since I left nearly 7 years ago, I’ve had moments of missing things about Brooklyn, but I was very present in my new life in Florence, Italy and loved living here…until now. Today we are on day 48 of our lockdown in Italy. My people back in NYC think they’re on lockdown, but trust me, they’re not.

The Coronavirus made it to Italy in early February and by March 9^th, the entire country was shut down. It happened so fast. I mean Italy is not exactly a place that you would ever call “efficient” so the way it went down was shocking. Since the lockdown, Italy has become what I call a “police state” and that means I can’t do shit without risking a serious fine. I can’t go by myself for a walk or a drive – unless I am going to the pharmacy, the supermarket or a doctor. Before leaving the house, you need to prepare yourself to be stopped by any of the 3 police forces and have your signed documents declaring you’re not sick, where you live and where you’re going. And if not on “an essential mission” your ass is getting a fine anywhere between 400 and 4000 euros. God forbid you’re 2 people together, you’re totally screwed. If 2 people are in the car, one has to be in the back seat (one of the many rules that make absolutely no sense to me). Basically, I have to stay the fuck home or stay within 200 meters of my house or risk a fine. This is lockdown. Actually, this is a war of sorts and this Brooklyn girl is pissed that I didn’t have the foresight to choose my comrades correctly.

Before the lockdown was official and we really had no idea what we were in for, we talked about going back to NY, but decided we would stay put. Our son Dean was supposed to graduate from high school and we couldn’t risk missing that. Hindsight can be a very cruel thing.

I mean the first couple of weeks were fine. At first, I felt as if I’d almost manifested time slowing down and getting to spend quality time with my son who’s supposed to go to college in the fall. We are lucky enough to live in a roomy house with lots of property to move around with our 2 poochies. We were cooking, eating, laughing, playing cards. Sure, we could do this for a couple of weeks…ahhh, the innocence. We were happy and grateful fools. I was even impressed with how swiftly the Italian government went into action…and I still am. Very fucking impressed. But, again, that hindsight is a bitch. The Brooklyn girl in me doesn’t feel comfortable being locked down and afraid to go anywhere. I understand the gravity of the situation, and I would have locked myself down regardless of the police presence, but they made this shit feel like a war and I have no idea who to call the enemy.

While I am sure the sentiments might be the same everywhere during this global pandemic, I long for my people of Brooklyn.

My parents immigrated to the US from Italy in the 60s, settled in Brooklyn and I was born and raised in Sheepshead Bay during the 70s and 80s. This means that I am a tough chick, with lots of heart and humor and I am guided by this inner force of community and connection. As dangerous as NYC was during that time, for some reason we felt safe, because we were in Brooklyn. Everyone watched out for each other, and when we had beef with someone, we dealt with it face on. No whining and complaining (perhaps a lot of screaming), but Brooklynites are no one’s victim. Did we lose our shit from time to time? Of course we did. Brooklynites are passionate about their shit. But you came together and handled your problems. No one ever snitched, because that was the lowest thing you could do (got that, Mr. de Blasio?). We grew up in a time before people got offended at everything and lost their sense of humor. In fact, the Brooklyn I grew up in was quite fond of offending each other just to get a laugh. We should all be watching out and taking care of each other, especially right now. I wish that the US was taking better care of us and that we didn’t have to worry about basic needs like healthcare and toilet paper. But they’re not. It’s up to us to make each other feel safe.

When the terrorists attacked NYC on that morning of September 11, 2001, despite the fear and uncertainty, our other superpowers -connection and resilience – kicked into gear. I have never felt a connection to every single person like I did during that time. The city survived on that feeling of oneness and connection and we rose above the fear and uncertainty together. No one had to tell us what to do; we were guided by that inner force with our feet planted firmly on top of our New York roots. I go into town here in Florence and if God forbid I catch someone’s eyes to make a connection, they turn their head. As we say in Brooklyn, get the fuck outta here. I mean, do you really think you’re going to catch the virus through eye contact? But I don’t get offended, because their actions speak of who they are; not who I am. Fear is what this virus feeds on; it makes us feel separate and vulnerable. Just like we did during the terrorism scare, we will heal in community.

I don’t really listen to the news, but I see videos of my NYC brothers and sisters clapping out their windows for essential workers. I even watched a video of a friend who placed his speakers outside his window and blasted Brooklyn-boy-Jay Z’s “Empire State of Mind” for the whole block to hear. And what about the other night when the fire trucks lined up in front of Columbia-Presbyterian Hospital and one of NYs bravest belted out the Jimi Hendrix version of the National Anthem on his guitar? I cried like a baby from my expat home. I wanna go back to Brooklyn and be in the bosom of my people. It’s not that I don’t like the Florentines – that’s not it at all, because they too are a resilient people and I am incredibly grateful to the Italians and my life here. The supermarkets are still filled with food and all the essentials and I have my bidet, but they don’t have that Brooklyn blood that bonds us.

For 48 days the only stores that have been open are pharmacies, fresh food markets and tobacco stores (the Italian “essential services”). That means that every other business has been shut down, leaving many many people facing financial ruin in one fell swoop. The other day I got the most amazing news – a friend was opening his restaurant and they were going to deliver pizza! I felt as if I’d won the lottery! My son is lactose intolerant, but fuck it, he’ll have the leftovers in the fridge. I immediately contacted the people on our property with the good news.

See, I live in a 15^th century villa that sits on a hill right outside the city center and this villa was cut up into apartments about 20 years ago, so there are about 8 of us that live on this property. I was so incredibly disappointed to get their responses that they will make their own pizzas. Now, of course I was excited at the prospect of not cooking for the first time in 6 weeks, but I was even more excited about the sense of rebuilding community and being able to help these small businesses. The opportunity of helping a family and a business get back on their feet gives me an incredible amount of joy and hope. Call it the New York in me.

This is the second time I’ve left Brooklyn. The first time was in 1992 when I crossed the bridge into Manhattan, because I needed to do the whole sex, city and career thing of the 90s and noughties. In 2007, I crossed the bridge back into Brooklyn, but chose Park Slope for its community feel, good schools and bagels. Park Slope was a very different place than the Brooklyn where I grew up. My son attended PS 39 and sometimes I felt like I was the only native Brooklynite amongst a field of transplants. But Mother Earth Brooklyn is a powerful bitch where transplants thrive. A few years later, we bought our house in Fiske Terrace, which I thought would be my final resting place. I guess we’ve all figured out by now that man makes plans and God laughs. In 2013, my family moved to Florence, where I became the transplant, except here, we call ourselves the expats. Life seemed a little easier here, as the Italians really do understand la dolce vita. So, within this new environment, my Brooklyn superpowers helped me thrive and I created an incredible community here. But then the lockdown happened and suddenly I found myself crying for Mother Brooklyn. It’s been the hardest part of this lockdown – missing New York.

Well, maybe the hardest part of the lockdown was yesterday when I lost my internet (and lost my shit). They can get a whole country sitting home in a matter of days, but these fuckers still cannot understand how to improve their internet.

I don’t know when I will be able to get back to NY, as I don’t think easy air travel will be possible for a while in and out of Europe. But I just want to scream across the ocean to my people, “You got this!” NYC is an army of power prepared for any war and capable of rebuilding a better, more evolved community. It’s time to be old school and to not let the assholes get you down. That which offends you, weakens you.

Every day when you wake up, put on your cape and decide what type of person you’re going to be and how you’d like to be remembered during this time. Will you have brought people up or will you have bitched and complained? You can choose to sit in the kryptonite of fear and offense, or look within and find your superpower.

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