The Great-Floor-Egg-Disaster (or Hardwood Eggs, Anyone?)

 I’m not a morning person. Let’s just say, I struggled to convince myself to get out of bed this morning by reading an article about the ten best ways that helped a sleepaholic get out of bed. That hadn't really helped.

I’m the kind of person who shouldn’t try to cook breakfast until I’ve had a cup of coffee. I shouldn’t even try to make coffee until I’ve had a cup. My spouse knows this.

As I stumbled into the kitchen, he had three frying pans full of food cooking—onions and peppers—which he alone eats nearly every morning, corned beef hash, which he hadn’t made in some time, and a pan for fried eggs.

He started my egg first since I like mine “over easy”, which takes longer and requires greater subtly than hard- fried or sunny-side up. As a result, when that egg was almost done, but before I had sipped any coffee, he consulted me on whether my egg was ready for flipping for its eight seconds over.

I said it was about ready and took the spatula in hand. As I did so, I noticed there was a lot of oil in the pan, so I pulled a paper towel to blot the egg before its planned landing on my nearby plate.

You know what’s coming next. Somehow between pan, paper towel and spatula my egg, with the yolk perfectly runny and the white just set, did a belly-flop on the hardwood floor of our kitchen.

My two pandemic passions have been baking and cleaning. Granted they usually overlap in expected ways. This morning they overlapped in unexpected and nearly spectacular synchronicity.

The night before, in the hopes of having dinner prepared for several nights to come, we had cooked a lot of foods, resulting in major messes on all counters and the floor.

So, I had run our robot vacuum-mopper not once, not twice, but three times. The floor in the kitchen not only was cleaner than the countertops, but also most surgery suites. So, yes, I used that spatula to slide my egg off the floor and onto my plate, wiping it lightly with my waiting paper towel. I had invented the over-easy-onto-the-floor egg, not a dog hair or bit of grit in sight.

The floor had taken most of the runny yolk and also excess oil. Not only have I invented a way to produce a healthier egg with much less cholesterol, but perhaps a way to make your breakfast overall better for you.

Stay with me for just a moment. There are those who claim many of our modern auto-immune diseases, allergies and the like can be traced to our too-clean environments.

Of course, my recipe for “over-easy-onto-the-floor-egg” will only test that hypothesis if one omits the three-moppings of the floor before making the crucial flip. Perhaps I’ll try that tomorrow.

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.

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.    

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.

Crazy Ways of Coping in the Time of Coronavirus

Schools are closed in Kentucky as in many states. Restaurants and bars also are closed here. Salons and gyms were ordered closed yesterday.  Many other venues we’d ordinarily go to are closing to help slow the spread of this particularly contagious and particularly deadly virus.  

We’re told to exercise social distancing, self-quarantine if we may have been exposed. And we’re told by our “youngsters” to “Stay the f---at home”. At least they care. Or they’re just relishing the chance for turn-around in giving unsolicited advice. No, I’m going with they care.  

So how are we to cope? This is a time of coming up with novel strategies for a novel virus.  

Many have responded by rushing to all still-open stores by buying hand sanitizer (Ok, that makes some sense.), toilet paper (Not really so sensible in huge bulk quantities unless your home cooking is really bad), and firearms (Just crazy. The virus is too small to effectively eliminate with bullets and the virus has yet to turn any victim into a brain-eating zombie.)  

Some folks also have rushed to hair salons for color and cuts. Before they have to stay home for weeks. I’ve got to ask—does anyone you live with not know your hair grows and is a different color than given by nature?  

This particular behavior brings to my, somewhat-warped mind an old episode of I love Lucy. Lucy and Ricky who, in the midst of one of their more nasty squabbles, have divided their home into “his” and “hers” sections. Somehow, Lucy got the half with the kitchen and Ricky got the half with the bathroom. Lucy, uttered, in what was shocking dialogue for the times (remember this was the 1950s), “There’s going to be a lot more brown roots around here.” 

But enough with remembrances of simpler times past. Though if you can find I Love Lucy re-runs on a TV station or streaming, it surely will be a mood-lifter.  

Given that the CDC now recommends medical professionals caring for coronavirus patients who have run out of masks use scarves or bandanas we can all use some creative coping mechanisms. Maybe that's why Trump's latest new medical person-in-charge, Dr. Deborah Brix, as she stands silky shoulder-to-shoulder with the President and Vice President as they emphatically stated at today's news conference there is no shortage of protective equipment or tests, wears all those silk scarves--for when the masks run out at the White House.

 

I promised some coping mechanisms for some coronavirus problems. I didn’t say any of them would actually work. But maybe they will give you a laugh. Or, who knows, maybe some of them will work. So here they are:

·      Order a clear, plastic, bubble umbrella as a self-protection device for when you absolutely have to go out shopping. If nothing else it will help with the social distancing as other shoppers will decide you are a risk because you are half-crazy. I’d suggest spraying with cleaner or disinfectant when you get home. I don’t know what the CDC guidelines are—probably still “Stay home.” But, if you order a bubble umbrella, at least on rainy days, even in non-apocalyptic times, you can use it as just an umbrella.

·      Order a bidet toilet seat—or add-on bidet sprayer for when the toilet paper runs out. I’ve heard the Japanese swear by these devices as much cleaner than toilet paper. If you have unlimited cash or credit, go for the “Rolls-Royce” model with not only water but warm air dryer, night light and heat. If you go for the top of the line, I may break my self-imposed, staying-home mantra to come visit your home—I promise with trusty bubble umbrella in place—to check it out.  

·      This one’s for those kiddos stuck at home and their parents who think half-crazy would be an improved state of mind, why don’t the cable channels, network channels, or whomever start showing school lessons? After all, not everyone has high speed internet but most people have a TV.  Grade school classes could start early in the mornings. Afternoons, evenings and the wee hours would be reserved for high school and college-age folks. Teachers could assign tests or papers based on the lessons and collect them at some future, theoretical time when it’s safe to congregate again. In anticipation that many students would fail to complete the assignments, creative writing assignments could be doled out to explain what happened to their homework.

·      Start fun, family cooking projects to cook from items in the back of the pantry. For example, yesterday I made gluten-free bread from a package that had been in the pantry for, oh, five, maybe ten years. I knew there was something not quite right when the yeast failed to fizz even a little bit despite the recipe saying it would. The final result was not so much bread as matzah or communion wafer-loaf. But a fun project that amused me for several hours, including scrounging until I found an old bottle of cider vinegar, and the eventual cleanup of every bowl and measuring cup we own.

·      Discourage ill-advised spousal cooking plans. For example, my husband, ordinarily an excellent and thoughtful cook, suggested his own cooking from the back of the pantry project—spicy, black bean casserole. The thought of ingesting that and the likely intestinal distress from my gastritis (and had he forgotten there’s a toilet paper shortage going on), gave me emotional distress. If he follows through, I may eat the rest of my left-over project—stale, gluten-free, flat bread. Hmm…maybe with peanut butter or jelly? Or canned tuna? Time for another pantry check. And an internet search on do-it-yourself gel polish removal. Maybe with something I find in the back of the pantry.

Book Club in the Time of Coronavirus

The Big C is no longer Cancer but Coronavirus. No doubt these are unprecedented circumstances and scary times for most of us, prompting widespread closures as well as crazy panic buying. Not only toilet paper but all paper supplies are either nonexistent or in short supply at our local grocery. But gun sales are up.

 

Really??? Maybe we should call this the Go-Crazy Virus. Coronavirus generally does not cause diarrhea. But people are preparing to guard their toilet paper stashes with deadly force?

 

There is reason for staying calm. Although Coronavirus is very contagious, about 80% of infected people will have mild symptoms at worse. On the other hand, there is reason for taking precautions. Those over age 60 or with pre-existing health conditions are at much greater risk of dying from this virus.

 

No one seems to know why advanced age makes it so much more deadly. That in itself is scary. But it’s also scary to admit that being over 60 is advanced age. Is God, nature, or something more sinister trying to weed us boomers and oldsters out?

 

When I started writing this piece last week, Kentucky had 6 cases. At that time, I had read an Atlantic article which made a good case that early stage quarantine is the only way to stop the spread of this virus. Today, I read that some cancer surgeries are being postponed to save room in hospitals for the expected tsunami of Coronavirus cases. So much for our early stage measures to stem the tide of the new and scarier Big C.

 

With all the home quarantine, social distancing, and venues of amusement closing now, here’s a new game—line of Presidential succession and age/health lottery. How far down the line do you have to go to find someone under 60 who also looks sort of healthy and is likely to survive COVID19?

 

I think you get to Mark Esper, Secretary of Defense. But it’s a judgment call—we likely all can agree Secretary of State Pompeo doesn’t look healthy. But Vice President Pence is only 60 and looks healthy-ish. I personally thought he was older. Must be his white hair.

 

What happens if Trump dies from the novel Big C, Pence becomes Prez, then gets sick, and another VP who is young and healthy is installed before Pence succumbs.

 

Or, what happens if Trump and Pence both quickly succumb to the virus?  Nancy Pelosi is next in line—but what if she is infected? All of these people are in public life and until very recently have been shaking lots of hands, mingling in crowds, and the like and are well past the age of 60. Any or all of them could become infected and are at higher risk of dying.

 

Does the Speaker of the House even have to be a member of the House? Something in the back of my head said no. When I looked it up, I found the back of my head notion is correct. The House of Representatives, now controlled by Democrats and whose average age is slightly under 60, could pick Kamala Harris or Mayor Pete to be Speaker and then she or he would become President.

 

Or maybe Kiefer Sutherland ends up Prez after all. I know—I’ve gotten silly at this point. Too much time on my hands. But if you’ll bear with me, I have another question? Will he be Invincible Jack Bauer from 24 or the ordinary mortal from “Designated Survivor”?

 

And what happens to Democratic candidates if the same death surge of oldsters occurs? Bernie and Biden are both in their late 70’s. Prime targets for a negative outcome from this novel virus. Are we left with Tulsi Gabbard? Even if she’s a Russian plant at least she dresses well.

 

 Anyway, Coronavirus Lottery could make a good parlor game if we were all still able to meet in our parlors. But the latest guidelines say no more than ten in your parlor. Or you can play it by text or facetiming.  Maybe this is a game app waiting to be developed.

 

Or, it could be the basis of a movie script, which we might end up having to stream rather than see in theaters. By the point in time when a movie is released about the new Big C will the worst of this pandemic be past? Will it have mutated where it’s killing most of humanity? Or will a new pandemic have taken its place?

 

I was predicting it was only a question of time before the MAGA groups and Democratic rallies spread the disease even further. But the President and Presidential candidates alike are taking steps to cancel those large groups. Governors across the country are starting to do the same.

 

Now, there are 25 cases in Kentucky and the Governor, in a very sensible and sober response, similar to some other governors, has closed all restaurants and bars across the state.

 

President Trump has been exposed to more than one person who is now confirmed to be infected. Notably, Trump was finally tested, even though he did not quarantine or even maintain safe distances with other people during the interim.

 

News reports state the White House says Trump has tested negative. But since he lies about everything, why should we believe him? Maybe it’s true and maybe it’s a lie. Also, it’s particularly hard to assess Trump’s health status when the color of his skin keeps to an unnatural shade of orange at all times.   

 

Last week my book club met with about 8-10 members, most of whom are a bit younger than I and are still working. At the time there were no warnings about avoiding small gatherings such as this. Nevertheless, before the meeting, planned for a restaurant, I shared the recommendations from the Atlantic article for early social distancing.

 

My fellow book lovers were all, “Meh, I’m more at risk at work than at book club.” One even has a compromised immune system. So, rather than look like the only coward, I went. We shared discussions of the book, a couple bottles of wine and also of hand sanitizer, but no common appetizers. And none of the usual hugs. Was it safe or foolish to get together?  Or more like playing music on a sinking Titanic? Who knows?

 

A large gathering in Louisville in about the same time frame, a fund-raiser at the art museum, now has resulted in a number of Louisville’s and Kentucky’s movers and shakers (the Governor ,the Mayor, a Congressional Representative to name a few) needing to self-quarantine and/or be tested after two attendees were subsequently diagnosed with the coronavirus.

 

For my retired spouse and me, most of the events we had planned over the next month, plays, concerts and dinners, now have been cancelled. We are cancelling non-urgent doctors’ appointments as the experts recommend for people over age 60.

 

We are told we will likely have scarce medical resources if we do not successfully slow the spread (or flatten the curve as the statisticians like to say) of the virus. If I hate to admit that age 60 or 65 is advanced age, I even less like the idea of perhaps rationing ventilators based on age, as they apparently have had to do in places such as Italy. In China the sickest people reportedly never made it to hospitals so the rationing wasn’t as much of a problem.

 

Sure, I’ll give up a ventilator for my children or grandchildren. But for some abstract millennial? Yes, that might be fair but not particularly palatable.

 

I have to wonder why we can’t manufacture more ventilators in the time before we desperately need them. During World War II, automobile and other factories were re-tooled to manufacture B-24s and tanks. Couldn’t we pretty quickly do the same for necessary hospital equipment? If hand sanitizer can be produced by New York prisoners, surely masks, ventilators, and gowns, could be produced in adequate numbers by manufacturers of somewhat similar products. At the same time, pop-up hospitals could be designed and built by the Corp of Engineers.

 

We also need to start preparations now for the November election. A federal law requiring mail-in ballots could be passed with sufficient appropriations to cover the cost. State election registries have the lists of registered voters and their addresses. Why not print mail-in ballots with the name and address of each registered voter on the reverse side? On-site drop off points as well as a mail-in option would avoid close contact by voters and would assure a paper record for any ballots that might be challenged.

 

With leadership and cooperative efforts these problems can be solved. America, like the rest of the world now has a common enemy. It’s not an attack from another planet but it may as well be. We should mobilize as if we were engaged in a war for the world. We are. And we should stop hoarding toilet paper and guns. Neither will save you from this virus.

 

Chasing that First High

The year was 1969. The summer of Woodstock. People my age were chanting about peace and love and listening to rock music.

It was the summer between my graduation from high school and starting college. I talked my way into a minimum-wage job ($1.25 an hour) selling men’s clothes but found myself mostly doing dreaded inventory at a neighborhood, men’s retail store: 3 whiskey (color) glen-plaid (pattern), 42 R (size). I learned to tell a man’s waist and inseam measurement on sight and how to talk him into buying that pair of pants, with a shirt that complemented his eye color to boot. But I never talked the store owner into paying the commissions she’d promised.

We lived a walkable few blocks away in a smallish, newish bungalow on a tightly packed block of two-family flats, our house like a toddler riding a shiny new tricycle amongst an army of road-weary teens on dirt bikes, all looking down on us.

One Sunday, our next-door neighbor called over the fence to me as I sat in the yard, Jackie De Shannon singing “Put a Little Love in Your Heart” from my transistor radio, as I sunned myself in pursuit of a tan that would never come to my red-head’s skin, a fact it took me another ten years and more than one case of sun hives to realize.

As I walked to the fence our neighbor, someone we’d only waved to, told me she had a problem. I said what neighbors said, at least back then, “What can I do?”

She responded by handing over a bushel barrel of freshly-picked, fat, ripe peaches from her tree. “Take these. I have way too many.”

I probably said thanks before I took them inside to our tiny kitchen. That Sunday my Mom and I made endless pies, bulging with the fat, juicy peaches. We handed at least one such pie back over the fence to our neighbor and froze the pies our family couldn’t eat.

In the process of peeling and slicing peaches I bit into one. As juice ran down my chin and hands, my skin tingled and stars burst forth in that center of my brain that responds immediately with a physical high to an addictive substance. I suddenly had a little love in my heart. My vision filled with a vision of a hot, golden, summer day.

I savored that perfect peach and then gobbled a few more when mom wasn’t looking. That first, perfect-peach high. I was hooked.

For the last 49 summers I’ve been searching for another peach that good

This summer I shared part of a box of Georgia peaches from “the peach truck” that comes to Louisville several times a summer. I’ve bought bags of Georgia peaches multiple times at the fruit market. I’ve also bought bags of peaches at various farmers’ markets, some from Pennsylvania, South Carolina and one from about a mile down the lane on Tucker Station Road.  

Almost all the peaches this summer have been good. Some are outstanding, others so-so. Some have just enough of the hint of that first, perfect, summer-of-1969-peach to keep me buying and trying peaches. Each time I think: “Maybe the next one”.

Swords Drawn—Don’t Eat those Cookies or Candy. They’re for Company

Yesterday we discussed serial killers and the Mueller Sword of Damocles suspended over Trump and his administration. Or not exactly. Spoiler alert if you’ve not read yesterday’s column.

The serial killer turned out to not be a serial killer since he’d only killed two people.  And, I did not discuss Trump. I just meandered into a discussion of fawning and faulty advisors and Trump’s troop sprang into my head unbidden.

But I’m back on track of talking about advisors and advice columnists, faulty and otherwise. As promised, I also will give this post a little holiday and end-of-year spin.

The columnist in our local paper, who shall remain nameless to protect her identity and also because the name she uses may be a pen name, recently addressed a complaint. 

The inquirer seeking advice said her husband eats all the festive, holiday candy she places in decorative candy dishes around her house. (I promised a holiday theme.) The husband’s gastronomic excesses occur even though he knows he isn't supposed to eat these candies.

The writer goes on to complain her husband’s decorative-candy eating occurs despite the fact she has provided him with volumes of healthy snacks in the pantry and freezer.

He eats all of that, as well as full meals, and also all of the potato chips in the house before she has a chance to have a few chips with her measly sandwich. Her husband swallows, practically unchewed, a whole can of nuts before she has a chance to think about eating a nut. And, to add insult to injury he eats all of this without gaining weight.

In response to the writer’s plea for advice on keeping her eating-machine of a husband to at least keep his grubby hands off the Christmas candy, the columnist suggests the writer display decorative candy made of glass.

What a great idea. This strategy should certainly discourage her husband from eating the candy after that first bite. But while her husband’s bad Christmas-candy-eating habit is likely to be broken so are his teeth, all in one swell crack.

He might also be discouraged from eating anything for a while. On the downside, the savings in candy purchases could be offset by the dental bills.

Once again, though, the advice columnist fails to get the question right. What I hear the wife screaming between the lines of her letter is: “How can my husband eat all of the snacks in the pantry, the food in the freezer, every last chip and nut in the house, and then polish off all of the decorative candy--and not gain weight?

Sister, I hear you pain. As does any woman  who has watched her husband consume all manner and quantity of junk food and never seem to gain weight. While if she eats a tiny bite of brownie she gains 5 pounds overnight.

Among many other gender disparities in this world, the ability to eat whatever one wants and not gain weight, unfairly burdens the so-called fairer sex.

As far as I know, there is no cure for this or many other of life’s inherent inequities. That says nothing about the non-inherent inequities. And it doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try to even the playing field. But that’s for another day. 

For now, we’ll just try to solve the problem of keeping decorative sweets to offer company when your husband is an eating machine. I have learned a few tricks from my foremother and can offer solutions to this timeless question that do not involve glass candy.

First, wait to put the candy on display until just before the guests are to arrive. That means hide the treats until then. It gives errant husbands a much shorter span of time to run in and eat all the candy. It also gives the guests at least a fighting chance at the candy.

Or try the other “trick” my mother used. When I was a child my parents never kept candy or snacks in the house. With one exception. My mother kept one particular type of cookie in our pantry: “Windmill Cookies”, so-called because they looked like little windmills. And maybe also because they were as hard as the material used to make actual windmills.

Guests may have occasionally broken a tooth while trying to eat one. Sort of like trying to eat glass candy.  But technically they were edible and it was not such a litigious society back then. Our family members, on the other hand, never suffered a problem as we knew better than to try a windmill cookie —so no rush trips to the dentist for us.

I once asked my mother why she bought the windmill cookies, our family’s least favorite sweet. My mother's reply was edifying, "I buy them because no one will eat them. That way, I always have cookies to set out for company."

If your husband eats all the decorative, intended-only-for company candy, consider buying technically edible but disagreeable sweets. That way you always have some to put out. After the first bite even the guests likely will leave the candy alone.

But, now that folks are so much more inclined to run to the courthouse over small incidents, you might want to warn them about possible broken teeth. Or is that like the serial killer next door? Is it caveat emptor when it comes to killers and candy? Discuss and analyze amongst yourselves.

Here's hoping your “company” cookies and candy last well into the new year and that 2018 brings joy and blessings to you, dear reader, and all of God's creatures.