From my walk along the lakefront on Sunday; a sculpture by Weibel named “Le Cri du Poete.” March 22, 2020. St. Sulpice, Switzerland.

I started this diary last week to document happenings, thoughts, and impressions of the coronavirus, or COVID-19 crisis, in real time—everything has happened so fast.

To begin from the beginning, click here. (To review all entries in the coronavirus diaries, you can do so via this link.)

Monday, March 16, 2020

When we wake up, we see that the United States has slashed interest rates again overnight, this time nearly to zero, and announced plans to buy government and mortgage-backed debt to bolster the economy. It seems that the goal is to try to prevent a stock-market crash when the markets open on Monday morning. I don’t know enough about markets to say, but these measures seem misguided, given the situation. A recession feels inevitable.

Also, the U.S. Centers of Disease Control have issued a recommendation to cancel all gatherings of more than fifty people.

Arnaud and I make our planned grocery run over the lunch break. We get everything we need. Grocery stores have mostly restocked, though they have slightly leaner supply levels than normal.

After the markets dropped in Europe and Asia earlier in the day, the U.S. markets open and plunge, triggering a trading halt for the third time in a week.

The weekend lull in market drama helped moderate stress levels. Overarching feeling: Here we go again.

In the midafternoon, the state of Vaud in Switzerland, in which Lausanne rests, announces the following measures in effect from tomorrow at 6 a.m. through midnight on April 30:

All public meetings and gatherings cancelled.
Private gatherings must limit attendees to no more than ten people, and these gatherings must respect public health and safety measures and directives.
All stores, restaurants, and bars will close. Businesses essential to the population (i.e., pharmacies, food stores, gas stations, and the postal services) will stay open.

Arnaud decides to go to the cobbler in the neighborhood to pick up the shoes he’d had repaired, as he realizes he doesn’t know when the store will open again after the end of business today. While there, the cobbler said he hopes his business can survive the six-week closure.

I call my father for his 75th birthday. I reach him running errands to stock up on supplies. He then plans to practice social distancing for the foreseeable future.

The United States announces guidelines around limited travel and interaction and schools for the next fifteen days. However, it denies any plan to quarantine the country.

This crisis feels like watching an excruciatingly devastating train wreck happening in slow-motion and fast-motion at the same time, while having no ability to do anything to prevent it or reduce the damage.

The stress from the crisis has worn everyone to a frazzle. Everyone with whom I’ve spoken seems on edge.

Arnaud went to bed before 9:30 p.m.; he’d felt exhausted all day. I didn’t sleep well last night, but I feel wired and strung out and can’t imagine getting into bed.

Tuesday, March 17, 2020

No major new news when we woke up this morning, though that’s likely because I stayed up too late checking the news and saw it all.

Today marked the first day of official local restrictions on behavior for us here in Lausanne. However, the road noise in the morning from people driving to and from wherever did not seem much reduced from the normal.

I had a haircut scheduled for the morning, but it cancelled—the salons have all shuttered in response to the ban on commercial activity.

Arnaud had his second work-from-home day. Unlike many couples who suddenly need to work in the same space, we’ve had no conflicts. (Thankfully.)

The FrogDog team developed a strong go-forward plan for the next two weeks for company and client marketing activity, which reenergized us to common goals—a helpful feeling with so much of everything else discombobulated.

The European Union puts in place overarching travel restrictions for visitors from outside the Union.

The U.S. presidential administration announced that it would seek $850 billion in funds from Congress to stimulate the U.S. economy.

Internationally, countries, regions, and cities continue to institute ever stricter measures to try to contain human interaction—and, thereby, the spread of the virus.

Arnaud calls his mother to wish her a happy 80th birthday. She’s spent the day inside, as directed by the government. She reports that she’s received numerous calls from family.

I teach my mom Skype in the evening; we connect in my cousin for part of the conversation. It feels good to see everyone and chat in real time. I want to find more friends to chat with on Skype.

After several days of lighter French study, I have two on-line French classes. People in the classes—teachers and students—seem frazzled and a little distracted, and a bit of each class discusses the crisis in the different countries of everyone’s residence. The teachers said that they’d had many students not show for classes over the past few days.

Across all the people with whom I’ve interacted today, the mood seems a little less panicked. Stressed, yes. Tired, yes. Yet I sense a new fortitude that we’ll get through this. The world has not yet come to a near end.

Like with the hammock, we had purchased a new Crock Pot several weeks ago that we hadn’t yet used. (In our defense, it took forever to arrive and then we had a series of weekends out of town.) We decide to try it out to overnight-cook soup for the week ahead.

Wednesday, March 18, 2020

Today, we noticed that the morning traffic didn’t sound as loud as normal.

On my morning walk, everyone kept a reasonably wide berth. About half the people I saw wore masks. I hadn’t seen many masks in Switzerland before today.

Trees in full spring bloom along Lake Geneva. This woman, enjoying her paper in the sun, is wearing a mask. March 19, 2020. Lausanne, Switzerland.

My French teacher said her classes had filled completely—and that students showed up. Conversations during the workday with colleagues and contacts seemed less stressed. Slowly, perhaps, we’ve begun to acclimate to a new normal. A temporary new normal, we hope.

I have eaten far too many cookies.

This is my problem with cookies.

The Crock Pot soup tastes delicious, though.

The financial markets in the United States nudged upward after the announcement of the planned stimulus funds yesterday, but international markets were down this morning. When the U.S. markets opened later in the day, they headed back downwards as well.

Clients have started to get nervous, and in roller-coaster fashion. People who seemed generally calm on Monday have shifted in less than forty-eight hours; we’ve received early notice that timelines, budgets, and plans may change more than expected based on how financial situations shake out. This causes the entire FrogDog team anxiety for the future.

I Skype with my mom again in the evening; we get in a good laugh at the ambient noise connected to construction in the apartment above her. It’s nice to see her, thanks to the video call. We connect in Arnaud’s mother for a brief hello as well.

Thursday, March 19, 2020

I wonder what sort of emotional cycle this crisis will take us through as it unfolds. Panic will transition to… what? Resignation? Solidarity? Aggression? (Egad, I hope not aggression.) And then back to panic again?

What will the new “normal” look like on the other side of this? Arnaud and I touched on the topic at lunch with no firm conclusions; later, I saw others having the same conversation on social media. Some of the suggestions seem absurd to me—like the ones saying that handshakes will fall out of fashion permanently.

The markets don’t tank further and they don’t increase much, either. The financial-markets-line holds for the day.

The FrogDog team continues to work frantically to address client needs and our own needs as we all adjust everything in reaction to the crisis. We feel like we await axes to fall. I think everyone feels this way, everywhere.

The media shows the first graphs and charts with a rise in jobless claims.

I get a call at the very end of the day (truly: right before my bedtime) from a company we’ve talked with for a while but with which we haven’t yet worked; they’re thinking about how they can use this time to strengthen their market positioning. Smart: Companies that think this way come out golden in the long run, history has shown.

We make a second dish to cook overnight in our new Crock Pot. Something with chicken parts and quinoa. We might turn into Crock Pot wizards during this crisis period.

Friday, March 20, 2020

Traffic noise sounds quieter this morning, but it’s a Friday. Hard to say whether it’s crisis-related or just a day when many people don’t go into their offices to work.

After days of creation in addition to all the other work we had on our plates, FrogDog launches its crisis-resource center and announces its first free seminar for next Wednesday to help companies navigate the COVID-19 crisis’s marketing and sales effects on their businesses. It’s a small gesture of help in these times, but we hope it counts for something.

Arnaud goes into campus in the morning for a few appointments, one of which is a faculty meeting. The university announces that it will move all faculty to half-salary starting immediately. The Swiss government will kick in unemployment benefits to make up most of the other half of their salaries. The university does not provide a timeframe for a return to normal salary levels.

When it comes to accommodating requests for changes to marketing campaigns given the crisis, most venders and publications have truly paid it forward through accommodating and understanding. I’d worried that making the changes we needed to make would prove a battle, so I find it heartening that we’ve found people willing to help and wise about playing the long game. Building goodwill can only pay us all dividends on the other side of this crisis period.

I manage to get in my daily walk quite late in the day, shortly before the sun sets. But I get it done.

On the walk, I call my dad. His law firm has decided to move to working from home for the foreseeable future, even though the Texas government hasn’t mandated it. He works from home regularly, so this doesn’t faze him. He seems in good spirits.

People practicing social distancing while getting some sun and fresh air along the Lake Geneva lakefront. March 21, 2020. Lausanne, Switzerland.

At 9 p.m., for no reasonable reason other than perhaps it makes people feel they can do something, people in Lausanne decide to clap for medical personnel from their balconies. Medical personnel, as far as I can tell, don’t hang out in the streets at 9 p.m. However, we go out and clap. In the dark, we can’t see many other people on their balconies, but we can hear them.

I get a chance for a check-in call with my brother. Anyone in a leadership role in business has received a deluge of stress these past two weeks, so I wasn’t sure when we’d get to connect by anything other than text. A nice surprise that makes me feel better.

Stocks have gone down again—though not dramatically—at the end of the trading day.

Saturday, March 21, 2020

In the morning, I work on outstanding materials related to the crisis-resource center and other FrogDog needs. My brother is up in the middle of the night, U.S. time, so we exchange a few humorous texts.

I take a long walk. I’ve taken at least a short walk each day, other than Tuesday. I’ve noticed the difference in my attitudes and stress levels.

While out for a long bike ride in the morning, Arnaud has an inspiration to develop a problem-solving map for COVID-19. He comes back from his ride and works on the project for most of the rest of the day, launching it in the evening. Part of the project involves crowdsourcing ideas. All input welcomed.

We talked briefly about last week’s predictions for a return to normalcy from this crisis. I’d said mid-April. After this week, I think I’d had an overly optimistic view. I don’t think we’ll stay in near-lockdown and panic-mode forever, but I don’t think the world will return to a new normal in a month, either.

Lausanne clapped for clinicians again in the evening. I still don’t get it. I clapped anyway.

Arnaud said the clapping provided at least a modicum of catharsis.

Sunday, March 22, 2020

I didn’t see any ferries on Lake Geneva this morning. I’ve seen fewer in general this week, and Sundays always mean fewer ferries, but today I see zero.

When I take my walk in the late morning, I see a much lower number of people getting fresh air along the lakefront. Given how many people I saw yesterday, I’ll blame the colder and cloudier weather more than the COVID-19 crisis. I didn’t catch any news prior to my walk that would make me think everyone would have entirely moved inside over the last twenty-four hours.

A garden in full spring bloom on a cloudy, blustery midday walk. St. Sulpice, Switzerland. March 22, 2020.

Cases keep rising exponentially each day in Switzerland, especially in the state of Vaud, where Lausanne sits.

We are a household of stress. I felt better yesterday and somewhat today, yet Arnaud seems to feel even worse this weekend than he did during the week. We decide to do our own thing today, to give each other space to decompress. I could have used a little fun, though, even if just in sharing a movie or a board game. The stress and the anxiety and the loneliness have grown a bit depressing. And the week ahead will only accumulate more of each.

At 9 p.m., again we went onto the balcony and clapped.

Diary Week Two Complete

Part of me can’t imagine that we’ll have much by way of new news for a third week of the coronavirus diary—yet part of me thought this week would serve up less stress than the week before. (It didn’t.)

I’ll continue to document next week starting tomorrow morning, when we wake up and face the day. I’ll post the third week next Sunday, at bedtime. (Update: I posted part three of this diary on schedule.)

Let’s see what this week holds. Do I jinx us if I hope it has a lot less drama?

P.S.—For the other entries in the coronavirus diary and other insights and experiences through COVID-19, you can read through my diaries and essays about the coronavirus crisis here.

The Coronavirus Diaries: Battening Down the Hatches