The Coronavirus Diaries: Far from Finished

The Saint-Sulpice pier. Switzerland. April 4, 2020.

And we mark one month: This is the fourth entry in a diary I’ve posted weekly to document the happenings, thoughts, and impressions I’ve had during the coronavirus crisis.

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

Monday, March 30, 2020

I wake up from a series of vivid dreams about people from my past. Ghosts.

After musing through the oddities of the dream, I make tea, get dressed, and get to work. I don’t look at the news. I don’t look at social media. I need productivity.

I attend a “virtual breakfast” with the French networking group I joined last Friday. I give myself a pep talk ahead of the introductions segment of the call, where I’ll have to use my broken French on a bunch of strangers that I’d like to get to know. The Zoom meeting they’ve set up disconnects and cancels before my introduction. As it never restarts, I assume technical difficulties. Everyone’s on a learning curve of one kind or another.

At lunchtime, I go on a long walk. The day is blustery cold and gray.

Fascinated by this windblown arrangement of pinecone-y things around a drain along the Ouchy lakefront sidewalk. They are not social distancing, note. March 30, 2020. Switzerland.

When I return, Arnaud is on a call in the office; my computer is thereby sequestered. (I forgot to move it to the living room before I took my walk.) I read the news on my phone. It looks like the U.S. presidential administration has agreed that the COVID-19 pandemic should get a more serious treatment and has called for a national quarantine until April 30. This represents quite a turnabout in attitude, potentially provoked by the not-so-new-but-newly-heeded hypothesis that 200,000 people could die from the virus in the United States.

Work calls in the U.S. morning have everyone in decent moods, putting on brave faces, more aligned with the long-haul aspect of this situation.

A colleague of Arnaud asks a small group of faculty and staff to create a group video (each segment filmed remotely) singing Queen’s “We are the Champions.” We play around with ideas for Arnaud’s costume and filming setup.

Arnaud receives an e-mail from the cruise company for his mother’s eightieth birthday trip—she’d wanted to go on a riverboat cruise of the Danube—saying that it has cancelled the trip in late May and will give a voucher for 125 percent of the funds paid toward future travel with the company. (No mention of refunds.) This annuls the second part of her planned birthday celebration.

In a press conference, Swiss officials hint at possibly extending the restrictions on movement and business until early summer.

Tuesday, March 31, 2020

I get up, read and drink my morning tea, and then go for a walk while listening to my French-language podcasts. This part of the day feels normal.

Swans along the Ouchy lakefront. I’ve seen plentiful activity among all the birds along the lakefront these past few weeks. Switzerland. March 30, 2020.

I have back-to-back phone calls. People try to keep everything moving as best they can, given the crisis. Some people even sound more productive; they took two weeks of panic-induced distraction and now aim to get things done.

The FrogDog team finishes preparing for tomorrow’s crisis-response seminar, the second in our four-part series. We’ve decided not to promote it via e-mail, as the world has become inundated with crisis-related e-mail marketing. We have a solid number of people registered, even still. We’ll see how many people show.

Arnaud films his segment of “We are the Champions” and sends it to his colleague. We don’t know when the video will release or what to expect for a final format.

I attend an on-line workshop put on by the French networking group. Given the size of the workshop, no one needs to self-introduce. I think I follow the presentation.

We talk to our U.S. financial advisor in the evening. None of the news comes as a surprise. Our portfolios have fallen in value. They hope the economic recovery will look like a V rather than a U, though they have no clear timeline for either scenario.

Wednesday, April 1, 2020

I dream of taking the SAT test in a child-sized seat at a small table supporting the exam room’s overhead projector.

In nonplague periods, I rarely remember my dreams.

The Swiss news headlines this morning have the journalist and her interviewees recording in their homes. Arnaud’s colleague has filmed a video in his living room to promote an upcoming on-line economics course. I love the authenticity of both videos. As I poke around on LinkedIn, I notice a lot more video—most of it homemade. Will this crisis spur a revolution in authenticity? I hope so.

I work through some of the accounting and bookkeeping to-dos I have on my task list for my companies and for myself personally. What a weird month, March. So many different charges than normal, and so many refunds (especially for some of the items surrounding the cancelled FrogDog employee retreat in early April). Also, I sold my house in Houston in late February, so March gives me a feel for my reduced expenses. How fortunate to sell the house right before the energy industry fell apart and the COVID-19 crisis hit in a one-two punch.

Swans busily building a nest near the Saint Sulpice pier. Switzerland. April 4, 2020.

Before dinner, I go for a short walk in the sun. We changed to summer time on Sunday, so the evening lasts longer. I prefer summer time.

Many people have had the sun-walk idea. So much for social distancing on the lakefront this evening. Given the per-capita rates of COVID-19 in Switzerland, I find this relaxed attitude concerning.

I attend another workshop with the French networking group during dinner. I understand very little of the conversation this time. I do understand that the French and Swiss business owners on the call want clarity for a pathway forward during this crisis, as do all business owners everywhere in the world today.

Arnaud and I try a new Crock Pot recipe for overnight cooking. Some sort of pork and lentil and tomato concoction.

Thursday, April 2, 2020

In the morning, I make my first foray into sending out e-mails to sales prospects for FrogDog. I’d held back until now on any outreach beyond prospects already in conversation about a specific project.

The airlines we had used to book travel for the FrogDog team for the April retreat in Washington, D.C., have refused to give refunds—this despite changes to flights, flight cancellations, and even government regulations making it impossible to travel. I feel livid that these huge companies can just trample all over small companies struggling to survive while they get massive tax cuts and government bailouts.

While I eat lunch, I attend another on-line workshop with the French networking group. This time, I feel like I follow the conversation. It helps that she’s discussing something marketing related.

I receive a letter from my health insurance company with phone numbers to call for COVID-19 related questions and concerns.

The United States announces another set of dismal employment numbers that again break records.

I take a moment in the evening to fill out a questionnaire about travel that another blogger sent me. Answering her questions feels deliciously divorced from the reality of the world today.

Arnaud’s youngest sister, a professional tour guide in Paris, sends an e-mail announcing virtual tours of the Paris catacombs—her particular expertise. I plan to share this with friends and family. I may take the tour as well; I’ve always wanted to have her show me the catacombs.

Friday, April 3, 2020

A colleague notices that web traffic for different sites we monitor and manage has started to climb again; traffic to all sites not directly addressing the crisis and crisis-related products, services, and matters plummeted an average of 40 to 60 percent in the initial few weeks of the heightened drama. Does this modest uptick in site traffic mean a shift to a slightly more balanced mindset? (None of us can live in panic mode forever; eventually, we broaden our views a few zones to think bigger picture.) Does it signify a hunger for topics unrelated to the crisis?

I attend my book club via Zoom; the group has transitioned to virtual meetings for April and May. One of the fanciest among us shows up in her pajamas. Victory again for authenticity.

Victory as well for virtual events. I’ve attended more personal and professional activities than I might ever have attended before in my life, given zero commute times and—especially with the language barrier—less annoying small-talk interstices.

Arnaud’s colleague shares the “We are the Champions” video he created to boost morale among the MBA students.

I call my dad in the early evening. He sounds grumpy. His wife has decided to get her hair done at a salon with a proprietor who has decided to flout the official stay-at-home rules.

Governments outside of Asia start to recommend that everyone wear masks when in public.

Arnaud and I play a new board game in the evening. It has complicated rules that take a bit of determination to understand. I find it immersive and fun. (I don’t think Arnaud feels quite the same way.)

Saturday, April 4, 2020

I take a nice, long, relaxed walk along the lakefront in the sun. I don’t need a jacket.

The view back to Saint Sulpice from the Saint Sulpice pier. Switzerland. April 4, 2020.

I’ve now had several calls with U.S. business owners who plan to take the government loans for two months of payroll-expense reimbursement, even if they don’t need the money. The rationale: They don’t want other businesses to get “free money” that they don’t get. I understand the thinking, yet I know the government meant to help businesses in distress—not just give out free loans to everyone. I’d rather give first place in line to people in immediate need and reserve the option to take the loan if (when?) the need arises in my shop. However, everyone advises me otherwise so that I don’t “miss out.” The selfishness and greed depresses me.

I have a call with two friends to catch up. One reluctantly tried Skype, yet I think she liked it. We talk about doing a group gathering over brunch (U.S. time) one Sunday soon.

Throughout the past few weeks, I’ve noticed that people in Houston seem inordinately concerned about the effect of this crisis on restaurants—and this over all other possible local, regional, national, and international economic and business effects. The concern for restaurants comes up in almost every conversation with people in Houston.

Sunday, April 5, 2020

Over lunch, Arnaud and I speculate about the length of this crisis and its after-effects. I don’t feel like people will want to get back on planes or do much long-haul or vacation travel for the rest of the year, even though I believe the stay-at-home orders will lift before then.

Arnaud talks to family in France. They say that the government will now require people to wear masks in public. Arnaud says he doesn’t know where we would go to buy a mask.

We connect with my brother and sister-in-law as they drive with their kids to a drive-through safari park in College Station, Texas. My sister-in-law, who works as a dietician in the medical center in Houston, said that the hospitals have prepared for an influx of patients. My brother, who works on the business side of health care (rather than the clinical side), talked about moving certain functions to telemedicine, video consults, and video training. We speculate on which of these changes will last beyond the crisis.

The United States tells people to brace themselves ahead of two weeks of high case rates and deaths from COVID-19.

Month Two Begins

As with the last three weeks, I post this just before bedtime in Lausanne, Switzerland, on Sunday night, April 5, 2020. We are far from finished on this coronavirus adventure, so I’ll start a new diary tomorrow morning to post next Sunday at bedtime.

Each time I wrap up the entries for the week, I try to conjure predictions for the week ahead. I swing between feeling like all of us will settle into a very temporary, gritted-teeth routine without major upheaval—in other words, stressful but even-keel—and expecting axes of all kinds to fall at any moment—in other words, myriad forms of disaster from all sides.

What do you predict?

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.