A Deadwood State of Mind

 

The world is quickly going to hell in a handbasket. Questionable elections are underway. People are walking around, armed and angry in the streets. And to make matters worse, a highly contagious disease is ravaging the population. Some folks are recovering, though not all to their pre-illness state of health. But many others are not, and often they are buried with little ceremony up on the hill, just out of town. 

And then I wake up.

To escape the anxieties of election night, November 3, 2020, we binge-watched “Deadwood”. Timothy Olyphant’s Seth Bullock’s efforts to do right, at least most of the time, in opposition to Ian McShane’s Al Swearnegen’s greedy, cutthroat grasping is perhaps a morality play for our time. That’s right, I had been dreaming I was trapped in Deadwood in the late 1800’s rather than living in Kentucky in 2020.

In an effort to forget the current traumas of 2020—pandemic, election fears in the times of Trump, and confrontations between armed and angry people in the streets— the mud, blood, and liquor-soaked noir we’ve been streaming is not that much different than the reality we’ve been trying to escape.

The real-life events of the gold rush in the South Dakota Hills make a striking setting for Deadwood’s poetic, profane, and vulgar dialogue. If all four-letter words and derivates were eliminated, the script would be half as long. But that dialogue and setting, together with the portrayal of the human struggle for money and power produced an award-winning western drama that, to date, we had not gotten around to watching.

Despite the undisputed charms of Olyphant’s character and the opportunities to strike it rich in those South Dakota hills the claustrophobic Deadwood-dreams in which I found myself enveloped, are more nightmare than escape.

Later, having analyzed the available gender roles in the “Deadwood” episodes we’ve seen, my conscious mind concludes that limited opportunities for women may be the reason the thought of living in the actual town of Deadwood is so frightening. Per the series, it seems a woman in 1870’s South Dakota had few occupational choices: prostitute, supervisor of prostitutes, broom-pusher if crippled, or fine lady required to sit in her room and wait for a man to help and protect her.

With Calamity Jane as the exception. Of course, as a non-conventional-for-the-times woman, she was mocked and derided for dressing in sensible clothes, carrying a weapon to protect herself, and speaking as ruggedly as the men. An interesting side note, in real life, just as portrayed in the program, Jane was credited with nursing back to health many of those stricken by the plague of the day, smallpox.

Though there was not much room for gender equality some 150 years ago in the wild west, I have to wonder if there couldn’t have been a place for a woman to open a café or eatery that served decent coffee and nourishing meals. At least my dream-mind wondered that.

Despite these thoughts of possible entrepreneurial opportunities in the old west, in the morning I’m relieved to find myself in the year 2020. Who amongst us wakes with that thought these days?

Maybe we need to consider the progress we have made in the last century and a half. We may have a contagious, scary disease, but we also have modern medicine and science to help us limit the spread and the deaths until vaccines are available. Even though we have yet to find a vaccine against the coronavirus, amazing progress with gene-sequencing and trials is being made.

Many Americans and talking heads are arguing about counting all the ballots, or not counting all the ballots, depending on whether their candidate currently is leading, all lawful election ballots are still being counted in swing states. We also have government institutions at the federal, state, and local levels and do not live in a lawless territory where those guns actually would be necessary. And we have institutions and Constitutional norms to determine the election of our legally-chosen representatives.

A lot of healing of the divisions amongst us is still necessary. But we all are Americans, regardless of how we voted and we still have more in common than what divides us. Protecting each other from the virus, reviving our economy, and returning to a time where we can celebrate with our friends and loved ones in person are priorities, we should be able to jointly work for. We can emulate Olyphant’s Seth Bullock and try to do right by those who cross our paths and treat each other with respect. Surely, in 150 years we’ve come a ways from the wild west.

Crazy Times

 

Last week I had an appointment with my oncologist. Not to worry, it was a routine check up after breast cancer last year. The doctor started off the conversation with asking how I was in these “crazy times”. To which I replied, “Fine, since I actually have an excuse to get out of the house.”

 

It is crazy times when a visit to the oncologist counts as cause for celebration. It’s also a bit of crazy times when I count myself lucky to have been diagnosed with breast cancer a year ago rather than now. Back then, all I had to worry about was surgery and radiation.

 

Now, in the midst of a pandemic some people have had to put off treatment; others have delayed medical screenings and may face more advanced diagnoses than they otherwise would have; and some need to worry about their particular vulnerability to a virus, which has claimed more than 215,000 American lives, while undergoing otherwise life-saving treatments.

 

As I told the doctor, I also was happy to discover that I still remembered how to drive—the skill came back, sort of like riding a bicycle. Maybe that will lead to a new saying, “Oh, it will come back—sort of like driving a car.”

 

Contrary to what this may sound like, I am not a recluse or home-bound. We go for a walk in the park every day. Though I found it odd that my husband, who has been out more than I have since he does most of the grocery shopping, said he planned to drive downtown to deliver our ballots, even though there is a drop-off site much closer to our home. He explained, “It will be fun to drive somewhere different.” Who can argue with that?

 

And we have a lot of social contacts, albeit in different formats. We talk with our sons and their families by phone regularly, email with friends, zoom with book club and other groups, and as special treats (for us) FaceTime with grandkids. 

 

I was happy to learn from our 16-year-old granddaughter with her newly-minted driving permit, that she is practicing driving in the car I had used to pick her up at daycare. Many years ago when she was a mere toddler, she told me she liked my car best “because Grandma’s car talked”. (Since I’ve always been “challenged” by directions, I had one of the earliest GPS devices.)

 

Also, since we last saw our teenage grandkids in person BP (during the time Before the Pandemic), we keep track of their heights by asking for comparisons. Not all that surprisingly, our 13-year-old grandson’s height no longer is compared to either his mother or sister but now we ask if he is taller than his father.

 

My oncologist predicted it will be at least a year before life and travel return to something approaching BP. I certainly hope we are able to visit with our grandkids in person before our grandson reaches that milestone and while we can still recognize them. 

 

In the midst of a pandemic there have been other historic disasters. And I’m not even referencing our President. Unprecedented natural disasters are announced on the news every night: fires of over four million acres, hurricanes hitting the same place twice in one year, so many hurricanes meteorologists had to move to the Greek alphabet to name them all.

 

Meanwhile, even as Mother Nature causes destruction in multiple locales, she provides some consolation in others. Despite these crazy times in which we live, autumn in the Ohio River Valley is as gorgeous as ever I recall. The golds, yellows, and reds are particularly vivid. The combination of rain, cool, and decreasing sunlight have worked their magic on the leaves to create a spectacular palate of nature.

 

Last night I chanced to look at the sky just before dark. The sky appeared to be painted with psychedelic bands of reds and purples at sunset. I am trying to sear these images into my visual memory to sustain me until we emerge from crazy times. 

Social Distancing—New Approaches

I know this post is supposed to be about new approaches to social distancing. I promised I will get to that if you bear with me. Plus, bears will come into play,  sort of, before I am done.

Despite the pandemic, those of us with our five senses more or less intact can enjoy nature and our immediate environment.  Hearing beautiful music. Seeing a spectacular sunset or just the smile on a loved one’s face on Zoom. Smelling chocolate-chip cookies baking. Tasting those cookies, sizzling sausages, or sweet chilis. Touching your dog’s soft fur. Each sense in in its own unique way enhancing our experiences of life. Or not.

My spouse claims I have a sense of smell as good as a bear. He heard on one of those National Geographic’s programs that a bear’s sense of smell is ten, or a hundred, or some multiple, times keener than a dog’s. I suppose he means by this exaggeration that I should count myself lucky. My husband needs to set a timer if he’s cooking, and have me sniff the milk to see if it’s gone sour. On the other hand, I can tell by smell alone when those chocolate-chip cookies are ready to come out of the oven. I could have picked our sons from all the other babies at the hospital nursery by smell alone. You get the picture—not exactly bear-like. But I do tend to notice smells.

Today I do not feel at all lucky to have a good sense of smell. Our collie was skunked when I let her out in the yard late last night. The poor dog was dripping skunk juice from her face when she ran back to me. 

She must have seen the skunk from our deck because she flew off of it and chased the critter until crashing into our fence. Sometimes I wish my sight were as keen as my sense of smell. Even with the outside lights on I didn’t see any critter. 

After the too close encounter with the skunk our dog and I took a midnight shower.  Again, despite not feeling all that lucky, we had a bit of good fortune to still have de-skunking shampoo from long-ago skunk encounters by a previous collie. And even more amazingly, my spouse could locate said shampoo on short notice. 

Until the pandemic we had grown accustomed to having our dog bathed and brushed by a groomer. Our technique for showering a large collie dog came back to us. I got in the shower first. My spouse pushed our recalcitrant and extremely smelly, 70-plus-pound dog into the shower with me and closed the door. After I bathed her I let her out to be dealt with further by my spouse while I thoroughly showered and scrubbed myself.  

It was well after midnight by the time we had washed everything our dog or we had come into contact with. Even though our still-skunky smelling dog was relegated to sleeping in sunroom with the windows opened and the door to the rest of the house closed, I had trouble sleeping because of the skunk smell. 

My at-times-saintly spouse got up early and walked skunky dog and then gave her a second bath, utilizing a method very similar to what we had used the night before. When I finally dragged myself out of bed, I drank a cup of coffee, which was ruined by the persistent skunk smell, and went back to bed.

I now have taken a second shower with scented body wash, washed my hair thoroughly, put just about everything into the washer again and have sat down to tell you the best way to social distance. I doubt anyone with a nose will want to get within 20 yards of us. But I empathically do not recommend it as your first choice. 

Happy skunky 4th from us. I’ve had more than enough fireworks. I sure hope yours smells better than ours.

Two Brilliant Ideas for Surviving in the Time of Coronavirus

I have two unrelated, but brilliant ideas. Both are almost too good to be true, but for totally different reasons. 

I am a little reluctant to share these ideas, again, for totally different reasons. Nevertheless, an obnoxious sense of do-goodery compels me to share them here with you, dear readers. Make of them what you will. 

First, and most importantly, is an idea that definitely will slow the spread of coronavirus. Since I don’t tweet or reddit or whatever it is most non-senior citizens do, this idea will require a little help. Perhaps a younger person could make it go viral, or, alternatively, someone who is on Fox TV and is willing to help out for the good of America. Please share this idea. You can even claim it as your own: 

President Trump or his campaign needs to start making and selling “Make America Great Again” masks. 

Dr. Fauci testified today that new coronavirus cases could hit 100,000 a day in this country if we don’t do something. The half of this country where the virus is spreading faster than wildfire also is where many people are unwilling to wear masks. Is it because of whatever political statement a mask may imply? Or because they watch only Fox news and listen only to the President and believe their lies? Or because they just don’t care about their fellow humans. Or some other undecipherable reason?

I don’t know the reasons for their refusal to be guided by scientific facts. But if President Trump were to combine his greed and his campaign slogan with just an ounce of concern for his followers, he would have a recipe for slowing the spread of coronavirus. His followers would buy and wear masks and forget that he ever said masks weren’t needed. The virus would ease its spread in Trump-country and maybe we could all go back to something approaching normalcy a little sooner. 

 My only hesitancy is I will hate to see that sea of red MAGA masks on his followers’ faces. Don’t get me wrong: we do need to make America great again, after the destruction Trump has brought to American lives, our economy, and Constitutional safeguards. But I’m hoping we will get that chance in November. In the meantime, I would like to save MAGA lives. See what I mean about my tendency towards do-gooderism?

I also am reluctant to share my other, totally-unrelated suggestion. For a totally different and much more selfish reason: I do not want to create a toilet-paper-like “run” on a product I have decided is miraculous. Chia Seeds. Please be assured that chia seeds’ potentially new-found popularity and shortages are the only relationship they have to toilet paper.

I discovered that chia seeds are the easiest “cooking” product ever. I’m still not sure how you pronounce the name (much like my problem with quinoa for quite a while). I can’t recall what led me to buy two pounds of organic chia seeds on Amazon during one of my online shopping frenzies at the start of the shutdown. I think perhaps I was envisioning a bunker with our kids and grandkids staying with us and someone knowing what to do with chia seeds. That never happened. 

Our kids and their families stayed safely ensconced in their own homes, many miles from us. We all sort of established our own home bunkers. And I was left to deal with the results of many ill- or well-advised hasty, online purchases. Though I will say I never acquired a humongous stash of toilet paper I now have large quantities of strange items in our pantry and cabinets.

Yesterday, because my spouse was getting tired of moving the two-pound jar of chia seeds around in the pantry, I looked up chia recipes for the first time. The results of my experiments, unlike some of my other baking and home projects, turned out great. I now am keeping the chia seeds in a place of honor and prominence. 

You can mix a few chia seeds with water (Online recipes tell you how much to use.) in substitution of eggs in baking recipes; you can make very easy puddings with them—mix with any kind of “milk” and whatever and let sit in fridge for a couple of hours or overnight. You can add all kinds of things to your chia creations, make smoothies, eat the chia seeds either dissolved or as a crunchy topping. After the seeds sit in liquid for a while and develop into a pudding-like consistency you can blend the pudding if you want it to be smoother. Either with or without add-ins like fruit. According to reputable online info chia seeds also are amazingly nutritious and good for your digestion. 

All of that would be beside the point if they tasted terrible. But they don't. I put just a few in banana bread and they improved the texture and taste. I also made two kinds of chia seed pudding—for both I mixed four tablespoons chia seeds to a cup of milk. You also can use other, milk-like products. I mixed one chia pudding with dark cocoa and maple syrup. The other I mixed with just maple syrup and vanilla. The chocolate pudding was delicious and I had some of the other with fresh fruit this morning. They both tasted great and gave me a feeling of fullness without any stomach issues. And since I have celiac disease and gastritis it’s a big deal for me to not have stomach issues. 

I checked on Amazon and the two-pound jar of organic seeds is less than $7. For now. 

If you know all about chia seeds please disregard all of the above about chia seeds. I know it sounds a bit like it’s written by a new religious convert. If you haven’t tried chia seeds yet, try them. But please do not hoard all of them like you hoarded toilet paper a few months ago. Leave some for me when I’ve used up my two pounds worth.

The Great Baking Disaster, Time of Coronavirus Series

Yesterday my project was baking bread. I have celiac disease so I counted myself lucky to find and order a box of gluten-free bread mix with hard-to-find yeast. I carefully followed the directions, making substitutes only when necessary because of the limitation of ingredients we had on hand.

I set the loaf carefully in the oven to rise, utilizing the “proof” setting on the fanciest oven I’ve ever had. When the dough had nicely risen above the level of the pan, I pulled it out of the oven and set the temperature for baking. In the meantime, I sat and rested as I again checked Amazon to see if they might have one of the items for which I had been searching in vain.

The oven beeped to signal the correct baking temperature had been reached. So, I opened the oven door, picked up the glass pan of bread dough, and, oops, it slipped from my hands, just as I was setting it on the middle rack. The glass pan did a sideways landing. As I tried to right the pan it tipped all the way over (another “oops") and very sticky bread dough dripped from that rack onto the rest of the racks. If this had occurred on I-65, the guy in the traffic copter would have called it a rollover accident with probable fatalities. I must have said something, (probably not “oops”) as my spouse, god love him, came running.

If I’d had my wits about me, I would have taken a photo or just sat down and cried. Instead, using spatulas, knives, pot holders, and our hands, we both tried to scoop the dough back into the pan. In doing so we only made the mess worse. I felt like I was in an old Woody Allen film, back when they were slapstick funny. We had spread the sticky dough everywhere, including on the oven door, between the oven door and the frame, and the floor.

We wiped the mess as best we could and I looked at the dough we had managed to recover and put back in the pan. It was a lot less dough and the top of the dough was covered with little black specks of burnt-on food picked up from its adventure on the oven shelves and door. You clean-food people will be happy to know we tossed the dough that had landed on the floor or outside the oven.

If you truthfully are repelled by a little dirt, do not read the rest of this post--REALLY! STOP READING NOW!--because I scraped some of the black spots out of the dough, smoothed the top, and put it back in the oven.

By dinner time the smell of fresh-baked bread filled our kitchen. I carefully took the bread pan from the oven and, after letting it rest, removed the loaf from the pan.

The great baking disaster ended well. We each enjoyed a slice of the bread with a little butter, proclaiming the taste excellent. No apparent traces of oven debris were found in the loaf—at least so far as we could tell. Maybe it’s helpful our old eyes don’t see as well as they once did. We also concluded, with some scientific-sounding pronouncements, whatever bits of previously burnt food that might remain no doubt were safe to eat after baking.

Belatedly, I realized my error that had caused the calamity. Following the bread-making directions, I had spread butter on the top of the dough as it proofed in the oven. But I had not covered the bread. When the dough rose, the butter had melted and apparently dripped down the outside of the pan making the glass pan slippery.

There were many beneficial outcomes from the great baking disaster. In addition to having fresh bread for dinner, giving the kitchen floor an extra cleaning, needing to wash all the towels, pot-holders and the like that had become bread-dough encrusted, I also learned a lesson of what not to do when baking bread. And perhaps most significant, I don’t have to worry about my next project: reading the manual for cleaning the oven.

Happy fun in the kitchen to all of you.

Staying Busy in the Time of Coronavirus

Heroes live amongst us. At hospitals, emergency services, grocery stores, trucking, meat-packing plants, farms, and the hosts of other occupations that until recently we have failed to recognize, these heroes have been more than busy. The rest of us who are not on the front lines have mostly been stuck at home.

John Milton wrote, “They also serve who only stand and wait.” I doubt he was talking about staying home during coronavirus, but who cares? The quote sounds appropriate to this time. And a lot of us are getting tired of “standing and waiting”, especially with masks on and at least six feet apart.

If we are honest we know that in comparison to the front-line heroes’ sacrifices, our small inconveniences are miniscule and petty. So, I offer some encouragement to those of you itching to get out and about but knowing it’s a bad idea to race to the nearest, newly-opened bar, restaurant, or other non-essential place where you can become part of the second wave of coronavirus.

There have been so many articles and stories written on how to amuse yourself at home, how to fix your own appliances or plumbing, how to cook gourmet dinners, clean your house like a professional, or preserve your home-grown produce I won’t add to them. Personally, I’ve seen so many ideas for these amusements I’ve had to pace myself. After all, I’m a retired senior.

As Al Pacino would, and did, say, In Scent of a Woman, “I’ve been around, you know.” At one time I cleaned my own home, including scrubbing the front steps and my kitchen on my hands and knees, baking bread and making homemade granola, cooking dinners, making jams and juice, as well as working at least 40 hours outside our home. Until we had the financial wherewithal to send shirts to the cleaners, I also ironed my spouse’s and sons’ shirts. Since then, I’ve endured a tiny bit of well-deserved complaint from my daughters-in-law for our sons’ lack of domestic experience. A true Wonder Woman would not try to do most everything herself but teach others how to do for themselves.

Now, my knees, hips, back, and the rest of me aren’t what they use to be. I try to walk a bit in the park every day. The rest of the time I sit and read, interspersing a project or a chore per day. Oh, and I also spend some time nearly every day seeing what necessities I might be able to order online. I found trail mix and cloth face masks online and ordered both. Though not the type of trail-mix my spouse prefers.

We have all gotten used to not just settling but being happy to find anything close to what we want in some categories: different cuts of meat, different types of household cleaners, as well as more expensive prices for ordinary things. I for one, can’t figure why the pandemic has caused toilet paper to be scarce and the price of body wash and contact lens cleaner to both increase by a factor of ten. But we celebrated my husband’s last shopping trip when he scored not just disinfecting wipes but Charmin toilet paper. Woohoo!

I also was successful in ordering gluten free bread mix, complete with yeast. Who knew celiac disease would turn out to be a blessing. Soon I will tell you about my baking project. For now, I hope you stay healthy and can continue to try to keep yourself and others safe by staying home and waiting awhile longer.

Living in the Time of Coronavirus: Will I Have to Learn to Drive Again?

I hope you and your families are well. We watch news reports until we can’t stand it anymore. My spouse and I are staying at home except for walking our dog in the park and necessities. My spouse goes out for groceries, every two weeks unless we run out of something we think we REALLY need. Luckily, he is a good shopper, with a mask and an organized list.  When we can’t stand the monotony of eating our own cooking we order carry out. We count ourselves lucky to be able to afford groceries and occasional carry out.

I may forget how to drive if I stay home much longer. But on the positive side I’m getting better at doing my own nails. I write some but not as much as at first with the stay-at-home. The writing is therapeutic for me even if the reading of it is not for you. I tend to write longish essays that I then need to edit and chop into shorter posts. You, my sweet reader, no doubt wonder—how can she drabble on for any longer than this? Well, there is a lot of free time now for some of us.

I also am baking bread and doing what housecleaning my arthritis allows. Hell to get old. I now read the obits in the daily paper and am startled to see how many of the dearly departed are the age of my husband, myself, or younger. Not sure how many of those listed have died from coronavirus.

Reading the obituaries makes me think perhaps I should write my own obituary now. At least I could make it a bit funny if I do it while I’m still healthy. Shall I mention my awards in college and law school, as I’ve read in other obits? Or the fact that I’ve been preceded in death by many wonderful and loving collies. If they are in heaven I won’t mind passing to that world, assuming I’m amongst the blessed. Or perhaps I can use what Martindale-Hubbell wants to put on a plaque they continuously try to sell me? No, I think I need to give this more thought.

I’m doing lots of reading and some zoom “cocktail parties”, with my book club and another women’s group. Lots has been written about the best way to Zoom.  Zoom can be challenging for largish groups. But recently we Face Timed with our teenage grandkids. That is not at all challenging or overrated.

I never thought I could value the hugs of loved ones more. But now the coronavirus has taught us those hugs truly are to be cherished.

Living in the Land of Uncertainty

We all are living now in the land of uncertainty. People are staying at home as much as possible, and wearing masks when they have to go out. Health care workers, grocery store clerks, truckers, first responders, teachers and many others are being recognized as the heroes they are. Some for the first time.  Non-essential stores and offices are closed. Online ordering of food is difficult if not impossible. Everyday items we had long come to take for granted have disappeared in many places. The underlying fear of catching a deadly and novel virus competes with dire concerns of a great depression.

My uncertainty is a lot less than the uncertainty for many. But it exists. It’s about day six or seven since I started with a little, hacky cough, tightness in my chest and headache. Since I am given to allergies to nearly everything God or man created, but especially the God-creations, such as grass, pollen, sunlight, trees, cats, wool, dust mites (you get the picture), a little cough and tightness in my chest ordinarily are not unusual enough to give me pause.  

In the time of coronavirus, however, every cough, whether at home or in public, is suspect. My spouse immediately started asking how I felt. Did I have a fever? No. Was I feeling sick? Just a little tired. Could I still taste and smell food? I sure could. Did I have an appetite? Yes. Maybe a little less robust than usual, but food tasted fine. Or it did for the most part. Some few things had a strange aftertaste. Like dark chocolate. Oh—talk about God-created miracles. Please don’t let anything ruin the taste of chocolate.

 This state of affairs continued for several days. My coughs during the night occasionally waking my light-sleeping husband. But not me. I’ve been known to sleep through small and large disasters occurring around me. Since I am a senior and have a history of asthma I yielded to my spouse and other family member’s insistence that “I do something”.  I sent an electronic message to my primary care doctor. My symptoms were so minor I apologized for taking her attention away from what I was sure were more pressing patient issues.

My doctor’s office quickly responded and asked me to come to the office the next morning. I did, following their instructions for safe access. My doctor took my vitals and confirmed my temperature, blood pressure, and oxygen levels were all good. She listened to my lungs and asked pertinent questions about my symptoms. She noted I likely had a virus, the treatment for which was rest, fluids and healthful, easily digestible foods. She reiterated hygiene and safety measures to prevent the spread of the virus in case this was the dreaded COVID 19 and sent me home with a prescription for a new inhaler to use if the tightness in my chest caused any breathing difficulties and instructions to call 911 if I felt at any time I had significant trouble breathing.

When I got home and reported in an email the results to family, in what I thought was a very low-key manner, I was met with calls and questions. Some were concerned that I had not been tested for coronavirus. The only thing scarcer than rolls of toilet paper are COVID 19 tests. While it would be useful to know if the virus I am experiencing is part of the pandemic sweeping the globe, for me right now it makes little difference. I am and have been staying at home. I am not deathly ill. The doctor had assured me that whatever virus I had my spouse most likely already had been exposed so no extraordinary measures to keep him from being exposed were likely to make a difference.  

It would be useful to know if this illness is giving me some immunity to COVID 19. By the time I’m fully better I’m hoping tests will be available to determine that. By then, I could more safely go out and about. And also, possibly donate platelets to others who need help in recovering.  

I’m now in week two of the cough that lingers. I’ve not had any of the symptoms commonly associated with allergies, like itching and sneezing, or the ones I associate with flu or other previous viruses like fever or congestion.  I also don’t feel any worse. In fact, I am cautiously optimistic. I have a little more energy and am a little less headachy. I still don’t feel much like doing chores around the house or putting on makeup. But that’s not a whole lot different than usual.

I know that week two of COVID 19 often is a turning point where some people get better and some suddenly take a turn for the worse. So, I’m going to continue to follow my doctor’s advice: rest, fluids and stay at home.

As we all live in the land of uncertainty, I am wondering what I might find on Netflix today—and if Netflix will freeze up like it did last night. Maybe at some point we will all learn who is and who is not immune to coronavirus and have a vaccine for those who are not yet immune. Then we can emerge from the land of uncertainty and rebuild our world, perhaps in a kinder, better, and safer world for all of God’s creations.

Dreams in the Time of the Coronavirus

I have a rather profound question for you, dear readers: If Jimmy Buffet is singing in the background of your dream, no matter how otherwise horrible the dream, can it be a nightmare?

I, like other friends with whom I’ve spoken—by phone I assure you--have had disturbing dreams lately. But so far, I am the only one who’s nightmares have been punctuated by a soundtrack of what ordinarily is happy, beach-going, margaritas-drinking music.

It can be difficult to think and write happy thoughts. We all have family, friends, and ourselves to worry about. I am worried about dear relatives who have come down with this awful virus. I also am worried about our adult children, teenage grandchildren, and flocks of friends and other relatives who so far are remaining healthy, that is, if you don’t count stir-craziness.

Worries invade my thoughts throughout the days and no doubt are reflected in my dreams at night. I don’t generally remember my dreams. But I expect they are somewhere stewing in my psyche and reflect some of what is going on in our increasingly dystopian world.

For two nights in a row I kicked my husband while we were both sound asleep, jolting him awake. What dream demons I was destroying I have no idea.  To his credit my spouse refused my offer that I move to the guest room. Now he wears shin and knee guards to bed. Not really, but we have placed a large pillow near my legs and between us, so he has at least a chance of waking without bruises. And also, of getting a half-way decent night of sleep.

My spouse is not the only one in the family who has been subject to sudden awakenings. This morning, far earlier than I usually get up, our collie urgently paced and cried near my side of the bed. Thinking she needed to go outside urgently, I jumped out of bed. Well, that’s not exactly accurate either. I “jumped” as quickly as a senior who was sound asleep and also taking blood pressure medicine can jump out of bed without falling on her head.  

I tried to lead our collie to the back door so she could go into the yard. She refused to budge. Then I tried to lead her to the front windows in case her disturbance was caused by a three-dog walk by a neighbor that occurs twice a day. She refused to check out the front windows. So, I did the only thing one can do with a collie--I followed her.

She led me to the closed bathroom door. Thinking my husband was in the bathroom and perhaps in distress, I knocked and then opened the door. As he emerged from the shower, I asked him if everything was ok. He said he was fine and had closed the door so that the light wouldn’t wake me. Meanwhile, our dog had laid down and was sleeping, apparently quite happily, on the cold bathroom floor.

Dogs are smarter than we sometimes credit them. One of our sons has a black lab who has learned to open doors, particularly the one to the back yard and all the doors where food is kept. Obviously, our collie is even smarter. She has learned to manipulate her humans to open whatever doors she wants to go through.

After I saw that both my spouse and dog were fine, I went back to bed and fell asleep again. Only to be abruptly awakened sometime later by a phone call. The phone call was of no consequence except it caused me to know what I was dreaming at the time.

And a truly unusual dream it was, complete with a background soundtrack and activities that no doubt someone could interpret as meaning something in the time of coronavirus.  

Jimmy Buffett was singing over and over, “I don’t know where I’m a- gonna go when the volcano blow” as I and a number of other people were trapped in a nearly-ready-to-erupt volcano in North Korea. We were guarded by military officials who didn’t understand we were all in danger. Despite our panic, some of us had hacked into the guards’ phones and other electronic devices and we were starting to play warnings about the volcano when my actual phone rang.

I remain optimistic during this virus outbreak. Just as I feel sure we would have convinced those guards to help us escape, I think we will work together to create and find solutions, vaccines, medicines, supplies, physical distancing and whatever else it takes to defeat this threat.

Our world may well be changed from BC (the Time Before Coronavirus) to AC (after Coronavirus). We are losing and will lose many people to this terrible disease. We will learn how to collectively grieve. We will learn how to accomplish a lot more work as well as socializing, using technology so we can maintain distance. We will learn how to plan ahead for the next big disaster, having supplies and supply chains better organized to respond when disaster strikes.

Another, actually profound question presents itself: will we also recognize the value of diversity for our collective survival? I hope we learn to value the least of us, the elderly, the immigrant, the poor person. They or their child may hold the solution to our next pandemic or disaster.    

Hunting/ Gathering in the Time of Coronavirus

I am now part of the hunter-gatherer society. Don’t worry, I am not roaming around with a weapon in search of a deer to shoot. But two days ago, I did forage for food. Since we are senior citizens in the time of coronavirus that means I ordered groceries from Whole Foods from my iPad.

Finding the items we wanted and clicking on them to put them in my virtual cart took approximately an hour. Some of that had to do with the slowness of my iPad or of our internet. Or both.  I’d rather not admit it, but perhaps some of it also had to do with my clumsy fingers.

An example--it took multiple clicks, at least for me, to get an item in the basket. Then I got to the screen that said which items were not available. And I had to go back and see if I could find something else to substitute. This also took me substantial time but I was proud of myself for being so capable as a coronavirus virtual-shut-in.

The real issue occurred when I went to select a delivery or pick up time. No time slots appeared available for the next several days. And I, the virtual shopper, could not proceed to any later dates. The message appeared, “check back regularly and see if any times or dates open up in the future”. So that is what I did.

In between anything else I was doing that day I checked my Whole Foods order to see if any delivery or pick up slots had opened up. By dinner time I was about to quit checking when suddenly a delivery slot for that night between 9 and 11 PM opened. I immediately scooped up the available slot, added a tip and danced around our kitchen. I was a successful gatherer in these times of coronavirus!

I also accepted Amazon’s suggestion that I sign up for text messages on the status of my order since it included fresh items that needed to be refrigerated immediately upon delivery.

I found my spouse puttering around another room and shared my success story. He did not mimic my happy dance. Instead he responded,

“What were you thinking? Who wants groceries delivered at 11PM at night?”

I refrained from complaining how he had failed to notice I’d spent the whole day trying to get these stupid groceries for pick up or delivery. Instead I said,

“We do. Be happy you are married to a successful

gatherer.”

Luckily, we have those kinds of open, honest, spousal communications.

Later that evening, as we made and ate our dinner from what we already had in store, I received numerous text messages. Some told me about the status of other Amazon packages I had ordered over the last few weeks. Some for other family members or friends, some for us.

Interspersed with the truly boring details of other orders, such as that two bottles of shampoo and contact lens solution were getting ready to be shipped in a few days, I also received real time details on where our fresh food delivery driver was. I was able to follow his or her route around a nearby and then our neighborhood.  Earlier than originally promised and at about the same time our collie’s ears perked up, I received a notice that our groceries had been delivered. Our collie is at least as good, actually better, than the Ring Doorbell in letting us know someone or something is on the porch.

We waited until the driver was no longer on our stoop but safely back in his or her car to open the front door and start carrying the stapled, heavy- duty paper bags into our kitchen.

We emptied everything from the bags, and since we weren’t sure what might be contaminated, washed our hands repeatedly in the process as we unpacked and put groceries away.

As we did so I was a little startled to see what exactly had and had not been delivered. No eggs, even though I had ordered two dozen and had not gotten a notice that they were not available. Or at least I thought I had. Almost four pounds of ground beef were delivered even though I thought I’d ordered one pound. Two GIANT boxes of fresh spinach when I thought I’d ordered one box. But not some of the other vegetables I remembered ordering. Four packages of Italian sausage when I thought I’d ordered one. One can of crushed tomatoes, even though I thought the notice had said they were out of crushed tomatoes. And so on.

As we assessed the situation, we decided it would work out. We froze most of the meat. And looked up recipes for fresh spinach and Italian sausage or ground beef.

As I was wiping down all surfaces with my improvised disinfecting method, a paper towel soaked in rubbing alcohol, a thought occurred to me. Perhaps Whole Foods had not erred at all. Perhaps a more likely a scenario was that my multiple clicks on my iPad had instead resulted in the mass quantities of some items, as well as the absence of other items.

As we eat spinach with every meal during the next few weeks, I’m hoping our teeth don’t turn green. I also suppose I need to reassess my self-rating as a coronavirus-gatherer extraordinaire.

Maybe next I’ll take up hunting.

 

 

Redbuds and Dandelions

As if by secret signal known only to them, the redbuds burst into color one day last week. Appearing in between tall trees, by the wave of springtime's fairy godmother’s wand, the bright purple blooms suddenly are everywhere: in clumps and copses, on manicured lawns, and in the midst of deeply wooded parklands. Some are tall and gangly like teenage boys. Others, pruned and shaped, sit more like well-endowed, plumpish matrons, smartly attired and residing amongst pristine surroundings.

This week pink dogwoods have joined the color parade, along with yellowish-white dogwoods that in time will be more of a true cream. Purple phlox and bright yellow daffodils, along with the host of other early flowers, brave enough to face the occasional evening lows in the ‘30’s, are scattered everywhere. Along with perky dandelions and other wildflowers. Or weeds as some would call them.

Tall trees are covered with yellow-green foliage that looks from a distance like a Monet. Upon closer inspection, the “foliage” is not new leaf growth but little seed pods so delicate they quiver in the slightest breeze, giving a blurry impressionist view of pale chartreuse. From our sunroom windows I daily calculate by the foot the growth of underbrush. A week ago, our neighbors’ houses were fully visible. Now, only the rooftops can be spied. In a month’s time or less I will live in the midst of a forest.

The female cardinal who has tapped on our windows incessantly for the past months finally has quit. The ornamental cherry tree she had inhabited while tapping on our dining room and study windows now looks like a virginal bride, covered in full, fluffy-white blooms. Perhaps the blooms help Ms. Cardinal see that the window is only a reflection and not another female cardinal she needs to furiously run off. Or perhaps there’s a better explanation, she now is busy pursuing more urgent tasks, such as nest-building.

The days are almost summer-like at times. Then other days I pull out my winter coat even for a park walk on a sunny afternoon. A woodpecker on the roof has taken over the tapping for Ms. Cardinal.  Each day we check our collie for ticks. Despite flea and tick preventives, we often pull at least one from her thick fur. “Aa..ah..ah..choo…" Bless all us allergy sufferers. It’s springtime in the Ohio Valley. Wish it would last forever. 

The Redbuds are Back

Yesterday I spotted the first redbud of the season. Today they are everywhere in the park near us. It’s like Momma use to say, “one of you does something you all want to do the same thing.” 

Last year I posted about the first redbuds I saw. This year it’s three weeks earlier for my first redbud sighting. Perhaps the earlier date is the result of climate change. Perhaps it’s a seasonal oddity. Or maybe its nature coming back in full force with springtime when we need it most.  

I’m reposting my redbud essay and photo from last year. Hope you enjoy.

Beauty Tips in Time of Coronavirus

I’ve heard tell our President has grown tired of the coronavirus and may have cabin fever from his “isolation” in the White House. I can relate to having cabin fever—so much so that I’m thinking of trying some new or old beauty methods to keep it interesting, while my spouse and I are stuck at home. These tricks might be useful—or amusing. Just know, I assume no liability if you decide to try any of them at home. 

Decades ago, I used a spoonful of plain or strawberry yogurt for a face mask. It worked so well I even used it for a clear, rosy glow on our wedding day. This was so long ago that brides didn’t generally go for pre-wedding salon appointments. Now that salons are closed in many places these at-home techniques could prove useful or at least diverting again.  

I also recall from my youth using fresh lemon juice as a hair rinse to keep my hair shiny and blond. The lemon rinse made me smell a bit like a fruit drink and attracted flies until I belatedly realized I needed to rinse it out.

Some friends used beer to set their hair and large, empty, orange-juice cans to get smooth, flat hair. The styling technique had the side effect of attracting fraternity boys. You will need to judge for yourself how these methods will be received by your current living companions. 

As far as hair coloring techniques, if you can’t go to the salon and are open to trying new methods, I have a few ideas. Did you know…Alexander the Great used saffron to make his hair shiny and orange?

Diversionary topic, discuss amongst whomever is in your household: Has Trump heard of this trick to make his hair match his face? How would that look? And what is it with powerful leaders and their interest in turning themselves orange?

Anyway, when I mentioned this idea to my spouse as a possible beauty trick he replied, “Do you know how expensive saffron is? Who do you think you are? Alexander the Great?” I replied, “I’m considering it because I’m worth it.”  I didn’t think I better mention my using his stash of beer as a setting lotion. 

On pantry diving, I have discovered no saffron so it’s presently a moot question. But I did find cumin, red pepper and also Hungarian paprika. Any one of which might temporarily restore the red highlights of my youth. But I’m afraid they might also irritate my scalp. So, if anyone out there wants to try some spices or herbs as haircoloring please let us all know how that turns out.  

In the range of serious tips, I’ve read that both mayonnaise and olive oil are wonderful hair conditioners. And I think mayonnaise also is supposed to suffocate head lice. Though with restrictions of movements and social distancing, the spread of head lice, common colds, and even air and water pollution are bound to be decreased.

Just be careful if you decide to use any of these techniques in your home. You don’t want to slip on olive oil in your shower or turn your bathtub orange.  If Trump succeeds in vanquishign the virus by Easter, as he confidently predicts he will, you can always cover your orange or strangely glossy hair with an Easter bonnet.  

Staying Busy in the Time of Coronavirus

There are still plenty of things to keep the average stay-at-home senior busy.

My plans for the typical day include reading the paper, thinking about what we can put together for dinner, and engaging in one or more of my new hobbies, including:

·      Calling friends I’d ordinarily see

·      Calling friends I don’t ordinarily see

·      Writing and blogging

·      Exercising

·      Trying homemade beauty techniques or beauty products stashed in the backs of cabinets

·      Taking photos of plants and flowers inside and outside our house

·      Ironing shirts that ordinarily go to the cleaners. (Just kidding—I haven’t gotten that bored yet.)

·      Scrounging back of cupboards, closets and drawers for useful, edible or amusing items

·      Checking online to see what is available. For example, is toilet paper available online and if is, is it a recognizable brand or something possibly weird? Are the 5 star reviews or 1 star reviews to be believed? So far it appears there are some exotic brands available. I have no idea what they cost, how long shipping takes, or whether they are the best thing since "Don't squeeze the Charmin" commercials raised American expectations for tp or disintegrating tissue paper. As our modest supply dwindles this will have to move from hobbies to chores list. 

·      Watching and trying to identify birds I see in our yard. My spouse’s search of his closet netted binoculars which I plan to use to help in this pursuit. So, neighbors, please know I am not spying on you if you happen to see me looking out the window with binoculars. But be on notice to not engage in any odd backyard behavior like burying bodies wrapped in rolled carpets. These are scary times. I will call 911 more quickly than Jimmy Stewart sent Grace Kelly to check on the funny goings outside his Rear Window.

Little, Unexpected Joys in the Time of Coronavirus

Over the weekend and while we are both feeling healthy, we made a quick stop at a neighborhood grocery to pick up some fresh produce, and whatever staples were available.

 

I found tangerines, bananas, milk, the last package of fresh meat—chicken thighs--and a few other pantry items we were getting low on. I was looking for toilet paper—none found, and also Cheerios or rice Chex since I have a gluten allergy and cannot eat a lot of cereals. To my surprise, while there were no regular Cheerios there were all sorts of different varieties: cinnamon apple, honey nut crunch, raspberry crunch (ok, I made that one up but there were some other very strange ones I don’t recall) and also chocolate Cheerios.  

I had never even heard of chocolate Cheerios. In ordinary times, even if I had, I wouldn’t have considered buying them. I was reasonably sure they were more expensive, higher in calories, sugar, and other non-healthy ingredients not found in ordinary Cheerios. But chocolate! I don’t know about you, but chocolate causes me to feel happy, at least in a temporary burst. Must be endorphins or serotonin or some other chemical reaction because I suddenly feel like I’m in love and all is right with the world, even if for just a few minutes. So, I gave into my inner child. After all, these are difficult times for all of us.  

I have eaten a lot of Cheerios in the last few years after my celiac disease diagnosis. They are reasonably healthy, easily transportable and, even if a bit boring, they are a quick breakfast or snack solution for me. But I had just about gotten to the point I could not look at Cheerios without wanting to gag.  I do not want to cause chocolate Cheerios to become as scarce as toilet paper, so I will only say they are a fun variation in breakfast foods during difficult times. But, if you should find some, please buy just one box from the shelf and leave the rest for someone who might also really need a chocolate high right now. Like me.

Guilt in the Time of Coronavirus

Right now, people around the world are suffering from the coronavirus. Some are desperately sick. Others, the first responders and medical personnel, are trying to care for the sick, make do with shortages, and make the best decisions they can, thinking selflessly of others first.   

Sadly, a large number of people are mourning deaths of loved ones from this pandemic. Some people are scared and depressed as they follow the news of the deaths and illnesses. Many isolated people are lonely. Some people have pre-existing conditions that are going untreated, illnesses besides the coronavirus. Both my husband and I have postponed, or had postponed for us, preventive checkups for previous cancers, dental and eye doctor appointments. Not to add to the fear, but there is no doubt that many likely have heart disease, cancer, and any number of other conditions that are not being detected but lie in wait for them. 

Some people have stepped up to make masks at home or other protective gear in creative ways. Young people have offered to shop or run errands for others who are at greater risk. Teachers are posting lessons, reading books and offering other learning opportunities on Facebook. People can and have pulled together to help during this crisis in amazing ways.  

There are the lucky ones, who, so far, have avoided serious illness. Since tests are not available, they have no way of knowing whether they might be contagious. They are stuck at home, trying to do their level best to not go crazy during these stressful times. And, those of us raised on Catholic or other religious or cultural guilt, feel that deep in their bones we should be doing more.  

My sewing thread collection is over forty years old, as are my sewing skills. If push came to shove, I probably could fashion a mask on my 47-year-old sewing machine. It wouldn’t be pretty and it wouldn’t likely hold together for long. I also wouldn’t wish that on anyone if they had another choice. Now that I’ve seen reports of groups with actual sewing skills making thousands of masks and I also saw masks being sold on Amazon today at reasonable prices, I’ve decided I need to continue to put my guilt to work in some other way more suited to my talents, such as they are. Posting blogs that I hope are a bit humorous and diverting for others facing these difficult times is what I have chosen to continue doing. My hope is that each of us will continue to do all that we can to help take care of ourselves and each other.

Love, Beauty, and Goofiness in the Time of Coronavirus

Somehow the coronavirus has cured any writer’s block I’ve had over the past year. You will have to decide for yourself whether that is a good thing.

Just about a year ago I was diagnosed with breast cancer. I was one of the lucky ones, a lumpectomy, actually two surgeries, since the first didn’t get clear margins, followed by a bad infection that landed me in the emergency room, followed by twenty-three radiation treatments and a lot of fatigue. But I eventually made a full recovery and returned to normal activities. At that point I thought a lot about writing on thoughts of

But I didn’t write. Instead, I self-imposed a new test for publishing my musings—Do I have anything to say that hasn’t already been said, and probably better?  By that standard, the answer always seemed to be “no”.

 Now, I have another reason to feel grateful and lucky—that my diagnosis and medical treatments did not occur during a pandemic. I’ve also found my writer’s block “cured”, and not just because I have more free time on my hands. Truth be told, as a retired person, I have plenty of free time.

But now I again feel the need to share the thoughts rambling around in my head. Ordinarily, those thoughts do nothing but ping from one side of my brain to another. Maybe some come out in conversations. But a lot of them are lost into my synapses that comprise my increasingly short-term memory.  

Perhaps my so-called insights with a mix of goofiness do not seem to be too excessively represented in the things I read. Or maybe I need to write based on my need to connect.  Or maybe it's a little of both.

Today I listened to the New Yorker podcast, “How Humanity Survives Pandemics” where they discussed the natural human desire to connect. We are a social species. One reporter said she’d received more phone calls in the last week than she had in the last year, some calls from friends she had not spoken to in a year.

 

Recently, I also called and emailed friends and relatives I hadn’t been in contact with for a while, thinking to myself it would be good to check on them. Such calls and emails probably are at least as good for me as for them.  

 

I love to see friends and even acquaintances in large, happy gatherings. Such gatherings energize me. I also love small gatherings like dinners or movie nights with friends or family. Those types of groups give me a warm energy as well. But I also love spending time at home with just my spouse and dog. I think those times restore my energy levels.

I’m pretty sure I would not love being alone without a spouse, friend, or pet. I hope I do not have to find out what it is like to be completely alone. That’s one of the aspects of this pandemic that seems the worst.  

Dying from a disease like the coronavirus must be awful but perhaps not among the absolute worst ways to die.

 

Optional diversionary goofiness—compete online, by social media or other ways, to see who can come up with the most more awful ways to die. I have to give acknowledgement to my granddaughter for this particular goofiness diversion. She seems to have inherited a dark sense of humor from someone or several someones in the family. 

Back to what in my opinion makes this highly contagious virus particularly awful are the stories of people dying in isolation without the contact of loved ones to comfort them. Also, with funerals cancelled for the same reason, survivors cannot share hugs and tears of comfort.  

I’ve seen the recommendations for self-quarantine for those infected—no close contact with family or other household members. My spouse and I would both be able to follow those instructions if needed to keep the other safe. Our collie dog, not so much. She has no sense of social distancing. And as social a species humanity may be, some canines are even more so. I hope that is not a bridge we need to cross.  

The same New Yorker podcast mentioned some of the remarkable ways people have taken to lift their and other’s spirits in these difficult times: In China and Italy, group singing from balconies (ah, to be non-infected and on stay-at-home orders in an Italian neighborhood of opera singers). In Iran, doctors and nurses of both genders, after donning full-protective-coronavirus-battle array, dancing together, an activity normally forbidden by the Ayatollah.  

I think you can mark all of these activities in the “goofiness” category. But in a very good way in a time sorely in need of goofiness.  So, adapted from the WWII British motto, I propose a new slogan:

Keep Calm and Carry-On but Go for Some Love, Beauty and Goofiness.