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.

 

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

Dialing All Friends...Smarty-Pants Car—Where Are You?

I know you’ve all been there.  At least if you have an iPhone or other smarty-cell phone.  Sometime your cell phone has made a call for you that you did not intend.  If you are lucky, you stopped the call before the other person picked up.  Though, despite your best efforts to hide the fact your pocket made a call, the call’s recipient probably could tell you had called.

How did we ever manage without Caller ID?  I remember thinking it was a silly idea when I first heard of Caller ID.  Why did I need to know in advance who was calling?  Wasn’t that the purpose of telephone etiquette—where the caller says “Hello, I’m John Doe. Is this Dorothy?”  I only took Caller ID service because I worked for a phone company, and my assistant got some points if we all took the service.  Or maybe she lost points if we didn’t.  Despite my skepticism, after one day with Caller ID I was sold.  I wondered, “Caller ID, where have you been my whole life?”

I don't think I’m the only one.  No longer do most people answer a phone call blind.  We’ll want to know who is calling.  We also no longer need to be able to recognize the voices of our family and friends. Even mental telepathy and ESP are obsolete.  We now have Caller ID.

But back to that butt or pocket-dial.  Your friend or acquaintance whom you called by mistake--they either called you back or pretended to not notice you'd inadvertently placed a call.  If you’ve been less lucky, some friend or relative listened to you while you muttered over grocery prices as you pushed your cart through the aisles, or pumped gas or, worse yet, engaged in a real-life conversation with a companion that they could overhear.

I think I’ve done all those things.  I even butt, or pocket-dialed an acquaintance while walking my dog and--as I bent to pick up my dog’s deposit--dropped my sunglasses into that deposit.  Sort of the trifecta of screw ups.

You might be surprised at the words I used to express my dismay at the sunglass/dog poop situation.  I was surprised at the words I used.  Suffice it say—they would not have been acceptable to the nuns who taught me.  Or to my Mother.  And the person I had inadvertently called on my cell who was listening to the whole verbal deluge was a friend of my Mother’s.  No doubt, given the luck I was having that day I probably said a number of things that would not have been acceptable to any of my Mother’s friends.  Oh well...it was that kind of day.

Recently, I’ve topped even the “pick-up-dog-poop-drop-sunglasses-in-dog-poop-butt-call-disaster” incident.  Now my cell phone has taken to making phantom car calls on its own.

We bought a car that communicates with my iPhone through Bluetooth.  Sounds pretty cool, eh?  My car stereo (do they even call them stereos any more or is that a sound system?) will play audio books, podcasts and music from my cell.  How wonderful has technology gotten?  The car-cell collaborative strategy also will play GPS directions and probably will drive my car when I’m not paying enough attention.  I think the artificial intelligence collaboration between my cell and my car has reached the awareness stage.

I may start to call my smarty-car-cell collaborators “Car 54”.  If you are not old enough to remember the TV program “Car 54, Where are you?”  I’ll summarize it briefly.  Two police officers patrolled in a police car assigned that numerical designation.  The officers were always up to hijinks and rogue behavior.  But only in the nicest, most humorous ways. You can watch a bit at:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mQfXPGCYlfI 

As I think my car and cell are likely well intentioned, and since I am so much at their mercy, I will give them “Smarty Car 54” as an affectionate, but nostalgic  name in the hopes they use their considerable combined power in a helpful and benign manner.  Also, that way, when my car and cell phone team up and go rogue, I will have a named entity to blame.

Recently, my Smarty Car 54 decided to call one of my sons.  I had not touched my cell phone or even said anything to it.  I think perhaps I turned on the windshield wipers.  But I had no awareness that I had done anything that would result in a call to my son.

What takes the cake is the occasion when my husband’s call was answered in my car while neither my husband nor his cell were in the car.  I was leaving for an appointment, pulling out of our garage in Smarty Car 54, when a woman started talking to me from my car.  The woman appeared to think she was talking to my husband who happened to be sitting not in the car but back in our kitchen.  He had been on hold on his cell phone when I left the house.  Apparently, my husband’s cell through Bluetooth switched the call to my car sound system just as the called party picked up the call.  Luckily, my husband was not engaged in any smarty-pants behavior.  Unluckily, I was suddenly talking to his insurance provider.

So now both of our cell phones were ganging up with our car to confuse the hell out of us old folks who were just trying to do normal stuff like make phone calls on a phone.  Or drive a car.  But not at the same time.

The only thing I could think to do was to drive the car into the kitchen and let the lady talk to my husband.  No, I didn’t actually do that. I did run back inside and ask my husband to get in the car and talk to the lady who was talking to me and see if he could get the call back on his phone rather than in the car I was planning to drive away.  He did.  I drove away a bit later.  The Smarty Car 54 hijinks certainly gave me an excellent excuse for why I was late for my appointment—my car had been tied up on a call with my husband’s insurance company.

Currently I am lucky if I can get my car to play the radio. I do not even try to  replicate any of my smarty-car-cell phone hijinks, at least not intentionally.  But apparently, I can do it unintentionally.  My brother recently told me he had received a phone call, supposedly from me, and the call sounded like it was from my washing machine.  I assured him it must have been the Smarty Car 54 that called him.  As I told him—the washing machine has had it phone privileges taken away until it gets the laundry done without my having to sort the clothes, lift the baskets, add detergent and fluff or fold.

Redbuds in bloom

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.

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.