Tag Archives: masks

Social distance sign in the Hellgate High School Library

Library Musings 2021

I shelved cartloads of books in the Hellgate High School library this week. An assortment of fiction, nonfiction and graphic novels, the books were a confirmation that reading was alive and well and that we were moving toward pre-pandemic days.

Book checkouts had increased in February when we reinstated independent browsing. Lingering reminders of the COVID-19 pandemic remain though: disinfectant, hand sanitizer and alcohol wipes scattered throughout the library; masked students and staff; plexiglass barriers framing the circulation desk; social-distancing signs and one-chair-per-table workstations.

Hellgate High School Library

Two weeks ago, a senior greeted me with smiling eyes when I entered a bathroom near the neighboring Commons. ”I want to thank you librarians,” Kara said. “People talk about essential workers—like firemen and grocery store clerks and frontline workers—but I want to say, ‘what about librarians?’” She waved a hand. “You guys do so much and are essential…for knowledge. So, thank you!”

Her words upheld an article I had read days earlier, School Libraries Are the Bedrock of Freedom. As the authors state, “[Benjamin] Franklin’s belief—that libraries and education are crucial to democracy—has never been more true than in our current age of disinformation, with the threat it poses to the republic.”

Kara’s words reminded me, too, of a post I had written in 2015. My words, “She, and others, continue to affirm my conviction that libraries and books are two of our most precious resources,” ring truer now than ever before.

HHS library circulation desk

Protocols for the 2021-2022 school year are yet to unfold. I am hopeful that by August the plexiglass barriers and social-distancing signs will come down. Chairs will again bookend our tables. Our circulation desks will be busier than even before. And masks will be distant memories. I miss seeing faces and sharing smiles.

Dan & Kay Antonietti 1965

1968 Words Ring True

I rediscovered two messages from my parents in my Log -o-Life. My “baby book,” its four-page index implies a long and productive life. Numerous pages are incomplete. Some are not applicable, like “Doctor of Philosophy Diploma” and “Military Record.” Others reference experiences that slipped by, unrecorded: High School Activities, Transcript of College Credits, Publications, and more. The Middle Age Photo page is blank. And though there are seven pages for autographs, there is a single entry. Laurie Antonietti – 11/10/69.

Karen & Laurie Antonietti 1964
Karen & Laurie Antonietti 1965
Dan & Kay Antonietti 1965
Dan & Kay Antonietti 1965

My parents penned their notes on my dad’s forty-first birthday—November 25, 1968. My mom was thirty-seven. Written to a preadolescent baby boomer, their words are precious. Many are timeless.

Father's Message To His Child 1968

“The game of life is a challenge. Especially for your generation. Play it fair and always play it to the best of your ability. Retain your faith, be charitable to all and refuse to do wrong.”

Mother's Message To Her Child 1968

“Stand by your convictions and what you have been taught and know what is right – always be charitable to all – and honest with yourself and others, and just always do your best.”

Dan, Karen, & Kay Antonietti 1970
Dan, Karen, & Kay Antonietti 1970

My dad has been gone three and a half years.

My mom, on the cusp of her eighty-ninth birthday, lives at Touchmark, a senior living community. COVID-19 restrictions have limited her interactions with family and non-Touchmark friends. Aside from a pair of respites piggybacked onto medical appointments, she has had one outing since March. Following a doctor visit three weeks ago, she waited in the car while I ran into Target. She needed laundry detergent, but I had to remind her she could not go into the store.

When I returned to the car, she said, “A lot of people aren’t wearing those things…I can’t believe it.” She pointed to her mask. “We might have this for the rest of our lives.” She sighed. “Do you think they’ll be able to have the wedding?”

“I don’t know,” I replied.

Mom’s memory waxes and wanes, and sometimes she struggles with words. But she remembered something about the pandemic. And her thoughts swung to the granddaughter who had already rescheduled her wedding once.

When I reread these words from long ago, I was reminded of our conversation in the Target parking lot. If my dad had been in the car with us, he would have echoed what my mom tried to say.

Be charitable to all. And wear a mask.

Helena Women's March January 2020
Helena Women’s March January 2020

Wildflowers, Birdsong, and Missing My Mom

Montana is three weeks into Phase One reopening amidst COVID-19. During our previous shelter-in-place order, outdoor exercise was acceptable while we adhered to social distancing guidelines and limited groups to ten or less.  In our state dubbed “Big Sky Country,” access to public lands abounds.

Yesterday, inspired by a friend’s Facebook photo posted days earlier, I drove ten miles from home to Mount Jumbo. A plethora of vehicles filled the small parking area and lined both sides of Lincoln Hills Drive. I eased into an empty spot, then crossed to the trailhead. Arrowleaf balsamroot blanketed the hillside, and birdsong filled the air.

The North Loop Trail, new to me, extended right and left. I turned right. Then, at a T-intersection, I left the wide, logging-road grade for a narrower, steeper path—the Woods Gulch – Sheep Mountain Trail. Considering the number of cars and trucks parked below, I encountered far fewer people during my eighty-minute meandering than I expected.

A lone hiker and dog bypassed me as I stopped to take photos. Along the way, I met two more solitary hikers, three groups of mountain bikers, three parties of hikers, and three more dogs. An abundance of wildflowers and spring growth peppered the mountain. I’m grateful for the family of four and later, a group of friends, that schooled me on arnica, shooting stars, larkspur, a ballhead waterleaf, and prairie stars.

Shooting stars wildflowers on Mount Jumbo.
Shooting stars
Arnica
Arnica
Ballhead waterleaf on Mount Jumbo
Ballhead waterleaf

I stood more than six feet away and secured my mask while we chatted. A blue surgical mask, it was one I’d worn to a cesarean birth years ago. Occasionally, I’d bring my used masks and disposable, bouffant caps home and add them to the dress-up clothes. I had no idea those old masks would be reused as personal protective equipment—PPE—years later.

On the fortieth anniversary of Mount St. Helens eruption, I’m reminded of quarantine and masks.  As a practicing RN, I was deemed an essential worker, though I don’t recall if that was the term used to give me permission to leave my home and traverse our ash-covered city. The restrictions were short-lived in 1980, unlike the path we’re navigating today.

Our trajectory through the COVID-19 pandemic is fluid as new data unfolds. My mom, a resident of a senior living community one hundred twenty miles away, has been quarantined since March 14th. I applaud the care to keep her and her cohorts safe, but I miss her. Until our state reaches Phase Three of the reopening plan though, quarantine for such communities will continue. So I savor daily phone calls with Mom and look forward to the day we can be together again.

Karen Buley and her mom, Kay Antonietti, at 2020 Montana Women's March.
Mom and I at 2020 Montana Women’s March

In the meantime, I’ll practice social distancing, wear a mask in public, and relish the beauty and birdsong around me.