Operation DoGooder: Gratitude

Since helping Kevin get into his new apartment, I've stayed in touch with him by stopping by every so often. Back in December and January, it was every week, but as he's settled in and become comfortable in his surroundings, it's evolved to every other week or so.

Staying home all the time to avoid the 'rona has been hard for him. He'd just started to feel settled, and was looking forward to getting out more in the spring when everything shut down. Like the rest of the world, he's had to adjust his expectations. Other than the people who man the counter at the local convenience store, he tells me I'm the only one he sees. It's a lonely existence.

Still, when I talked to him this past week, he was filled with gratitude. 

He has a television and a deck of cards, and spends his days watching reruns of old classic TV series from the 60s and 70s and playing solitaire. When he first got his antenna and found the channel, he asked me where he could get a TV Guide; he was sorely disappointed to hear such things no longer exist in print. Not one to stay down too long, he spent the next week logging which shows were on when. He only cares about the one channel, and they don't seem to change the lineup too often, so he's now set and knows what show to anticipate watching next. 

With his newfound freedom to set his own schedule, he's settled into a night owl's schedule and goes out for a walk each night in the wee hours of the morning. While we gave him the basics to furnish his apartment, the package was sorely short on decorative items. After a few months of staring at the bare walls, he couldn't stand it anymore, and he's started bringing home fallen sticks from his nightly ambles. The branches, along with a few live plants he's gotten his hands on, go a long ways to making the place feel like home.

One of the benefits of staying where he does is the physical connection of the building to a local social services center where they offer a free lunch each day. (He's fuzzy on the details of why they do this, but enjoyed going down for his daily social interaction before the virus stopped everything cold.) The people of his building, all of them at high risk for complications if they catch the virus, can no longer come to lunch, so the Center has taken to delivering lunch to each apartment every day instead. He looks forward to the daily knock on the door and rushes to open it before they get too far away, so he can shout his thanks down the hall.

Food, safety. He can control his own schedule. He lives in a decently maintained building and pays an affordable, sustainable rent. He's a shining example of something gone right in a world gone tospy turvy.

It does my doGooder heart good to see him doing so well.

Staying Put

baby ducks!

Missouri has started to reopen bars and restaurants and public spaces of all sorts. Me? I'm staying the course. As Leonard Pitts said in a recent column, "I'm not about to die of stupid."

I long ago lost any illusions I had surrounding the notion I could somehow avoid bad luck, bad genetics or a combination of the two. Given that I am a cancer survivor, I am at heightened risk for a bad experience with the 'rona virus if it catches up with me before a vaccine can be developed.

So, until the curve flattens out, I'm not budging. I have not one, but three face masks I can choose between when venturing into local stores. I try to sanitize my hands as soon as I get back into the car after I'm done shopping. I will do what I can to minimize my risks.

All that said, I still need to live.

Against the rules of caution, I went to Iowa for lunch last Sunday. My niece had called partway through the week; needed a good place for a time-out from her regular life. My sister, who is also high risk and also mostly staying put, disregarded her own precautions to climb into the car with her husband and ferry the restless teen on down to Ankeny, the halfway point between our houses. Given we'd already broken quarantine, we threw caution to the winds and shared a meal in the Chipotle parking lot before going our separate ways. What the heck.

As I drove on up, it was easy to pretend nothing in the world had changed. The drive is familiar, I thoroughly enjoyed the varied spring greens adorning the trees on the way. There was some traffic, but it was fairly light; I was able to let my mind wander hither and yon as the road unfolded before me.

I had to laugh at myself when I stopped for a pit stop. As widely reported on the news, masks are few and far between in rural America. And, for a stupid second, I wanted to blend in. Since no one else was wearing a mask, I didn't want to stand out by wearing mine.

Where did THAT come from?  Since when have I minded if people look at me crossways? I mean, I used to care, but that's been more years ago than I care to count. Sometimes, old patterns of belief pop in at the oddest times... The mask went on.

My week has been spent learning to adjust to yet another person in the house. It takes time to learn to share quarters; there's been lots of wriggling on all parts as we figure out how to get along.

I think it might just be a plot on the part of the Universe to keep me from getting bored. If so, it's working.

Clearing Brush

the last stretch of brush before

Since I finished clearing off the lower patio several weeks ago, I've been spending my outdoor exercise hours clearing the hill behind the castle. The house is right next to a park, and from the park's playground, you can see it sitting perched at the top of the hill, looking as if it was grown out of the surrounding bedrock by a powerful witch in some former grand era.

Said hill doesn't belong to the castle, but no one else has taken care of it for decades, and it seemed like a good place to put my energy once I finished up clearing the patio.

It's taken several weeks of cutting bushes and dragging them down the hill to get the space cleared. I love the results. Now, when you look at the hill, instead of seeing a mass of impenetrable brush and brambles, you see a visible slope to the base of the castle. (note to self: plant some ground cover...) As I cut, I stopped to pick up the many pieces of broken glass, other pokey things, and assorted bits of trash. Many buckets later, it's now a safer place to walk, though it'll never be barefoot ready.

the last stretch, after

When I started, I wasn't sure what to do with the bushes I was cutting down, so I started a pile at the bottom of the hill, on the edge of the park. No one came to yell at me, so as I kept working, I kept piling. The pile ended up some six feet tall, and covers an area roughly 20'x20'.

Earlier this week, as I was finishing up the last stretch of the project, a couple of trucks from the parks department came and parked across the road from where I was working.

"Uh, oh", I thought. "I'm in trouble now." After all, I hadn't talked to anyone before starting work, and I'd made quite a mess.

One of the drivers motioned me over.

"You do all this?"
"Maybe. <pause> Am I in trouble if I did?"

He laughed, a full belly laugh. "No. You're not in trouble. You're doing a good job, and the whole area looks a lot better. As a bonus, with it cleared off, there's no longer a place for people to hide and get up to mischief. No, you're not in trouble; I wanted to thank you for helping out."

the slope up to the castle

"Whew!", I thought, then ventured a question. "So, about this brush pile. I didn't ask before I started, and it got bigger than I anticipated it would. I don't have a good way to get rid of it. Do I need to call someone and 'fess up that I made a mess, or will it automagically go away by itself if I pretend I have no idea how it got there?"

He laughed again. "No need to worry," said he. "It's not my job, but there's another crew who comes around to do the mowing. They'll take care of it as part of their regular maintenance."

"Whew, again!", thought I. As the pile grew, I'd been worried about that part. It was good to know I hadn't stirred up trouble for anyone (including myself) with my unasked-for community service project.

Still smiling, he wished me a good day, and drove off. I waved goodbye, and turned my attention to cutting down the last stretch of growth. As my complaining knees and I climbed the hill that afternoon after finishing up, I was tired, the good kind of tired..

It felt good to have done good.

Face Mask Madness

I was scrolling my way through comments on the Nextdoor app last week, and in the middle of a discussion surrounding someone's post about the things they've found to appreciate about this lockdown, some guy piped up that he'd 'HAD' to get into a fistfight because some other guy called his wife a dumb broad because she was wearing a mask.

Beyond the fact it was a tasteless and sexist remark, I find this wrong on so many levels. Let me try to count a few of the ways.

• the assumption that some random stranger's opinion of the things done to protect one’s health matters
• the assumption that such words deserve anything more in response than a bark of laughter and look of pity
• the assumption that throwing punches resolved anything (he didn't say if the other guy punched back...)
• projecting here - the assumption that his wife was unable to stand up and speak up for herself.

I'm guessing a few lessons on anger control would ease some pressure in the life of the guy who posted the comment.  Just sayin'.

However, It's the one who made the dumb broad comment who really has me puzzled. (Unless, perhaps, he wasn't commenting on the face mask at all, but, rather, on the lady's taste in companions. I could go down that road fairly easily.)

Dumb to wear a face mask?  Really?

I realize there's been a lot of conflicting advice out there around face masks since the pandemic settled upon our lives, but near as I can tell, that's partly because the experts have also been learning as we go about trying to understand this invader. Now we know there are a lot of asymptomatic carriers out there, doesn't it make sense to try to protect others, just in case you're one of the carriers? Not to mention the part where it makes it less likely you'll breathe the virus in.

It doesn't help that our president, VP and the governor of Missouri, among others, are convinced wearing a mask shows weakness or makes them unmanly or some such nonsense. (I haven't read reports of female leaders refusing to wear the things, though I'm sure the women are out there...)

There is a group out there who publishes Darwin Awards each year - stories of people who died doing spectacularly stupid things. (I just checked - the group still exists, though I hadn't seen the list in some years. darwinawards.com, if you're bored...) I was going to say the anti-maskers are putting themselves in line for the awards, but then I found the website, and it turns out they'd have to up their game to make the cut.

Me?  I'd rather be a dumb broad than a sick or dead one (or the one causing other people to be sick or dead).  I'll wear my mask.

Time Warp, Again

Even with Joe and his family here to anchor my routine, I still find myself losing track of the days. It's not surprising when I really think about it - there's no real need to know precisely which weekday it is. There are no appointments to keep, no meetings to phone into.  It doesn't matter if I have to stop and think to remember what day it is - my calendar for next week is completely blank.

I've managed to establish some rhythm to my days; it helps me to keep on an even(er) keel. Weekday mornings, I get up and watch the baby. His presence here each day is one of the silver linings of this stay-at-home business.

His needs are simple, his eyes are bright as he watches and learns about this world. Last week, he figured out how to sit up on his own. In just a few days, he went from downright wobbly and needing a constant eye to make sure he didn't topple into something, to sitting (mostly) securely as he delights in his newfound ability to pick up rattles and toys.

I find myself futilely trying to hold on to the moments when he falls asleep in my arms while drinking one of his six daily meals, experience tells me they will be gone in a blink. Already he is learning to hold his own bottle; is eating more solid foods. His first teeth should erupt most any day - before I know it, he'll be able to chew, and I'll be watching him chasing peas around the tray of his high chair; he'll no longer be willing to lie back and snuggle in.

Afternoons, since I've finished up clearing that lower patio at their new place, I've been reclaiming the steep hill behind and beside the house. It has a lot of invasive honeysuckle bushes and prickly things that need cutting down, and a LOT of pieces of broken glass that need picking up. (I know I won't be able to find all of the shards, but I figure every one I throw into my bucket is one that won't cut young Joe's tender hands when he begins to explore the hill, as surely he will in just a few years.)

The task greatly resembles real work. It's hot, even on these relatively cool days, as I cut and saw and drag the 10-15' branches to the brush pile. I stop often to stoop over to retrieve yet another piece of glass as I spot it glinting in the sunlight through the ground cover, adding it to my bucket of pokey things. It's turned out to be a great calf, ankle, and upper body workout. Most nights, the exercise works its magic, and I sleep soundly despite the undercurrent of anxiety prevalent in the world.

This isn't how I'd planned to spend these fleeting spring days, but I'm good with that. Soon enough, the new house will be habitable, and Joe and his family will be moved on in. (Not) soon enough, this round of quarantine will be over, and the baby will go back to day care. Soon enough, I'll have to (get to?) begin again to learn how I want to spend my days when the only tugs on my time are the ones I put there myself.

Soon enough.

Corona Spring Continues

The quarantine is wearing on me. I miss my friends; I'm tired of fear and masks and always eating at home. I want to make plans again; to go to the grocery store knowing the items I want will most likely be on the shelves. The latest news says it will be several more weeks before the restrictions are lifted. And since I know I am one of the lucky ones in this crisis, I feel guilty for even thinking about gritching about it. (The guilt helps not at all, in case you're wondering...)

And then.

With my apologies to Dr. Seuss: It came without fanfare. It came without (hash)tags. It came without chocolate or bunnies or (reusable) bags. And she puzzled three hours 'til her puzzler was sore. Then the Grinchess thought of something she hadn't before. What if Springtime, she thought, doesn't come from a store. What if Easter, perhaps, means a little bit more.

I found a treasured silver lining in this past week's Easter celebration. I haven't gone to church for the past few years (long story...). Some times I miss it more than others, and with the virus rampant this year, it's definitely tipped to the missing more side. I've longed for the fellowship of the years when I sang in the choir during the Triduum; participated with all my heart and soul.

And, to answer my need, this year, with all the churches closed, the Easter celebration came to me. I listened to the Holy Thursday service from one, Good Friday from another, and Holy Saturday from yet a third church, their services available online for any with internet access to see. Three different faith traditions, all preaching the same message: The darkness will not last.

My heart needed to hear that message.
Because it's true.
This, too, shall pass.

Springtime is here and it is beautiful and it smells good and shame on me if I'm too wrapped up in my head to properly notice. Once I realized I was pouting early last week, I stopped doing it. I've taken time to open my eyes and nose and ears, and there Spring was, waiting patiently for me. The trees and tulips are blooming, wearing their best dresses. The grass is growing and smelled fresh and clean when I cut it. The cardinals are in full song in my backyard.

It was there all along, waiting with open arms to welcome me into the joy of new life.
Hallelujah!

Busy Quarantine

before

Home, Sweet Home!

But it's not the quiet, ordered dwelling I was teaching myself to love this past winter. Joe, Rita-Marie, JoeB, the three cats and the dog are staying here until their new home is habitable. The castle will need a new roof, new plumbing and new wiring before they can even think about moving in. The wiring is underway, the plumbing will start as soon as there's power, but we're still gathering bids on the roof, trying to come up with the optimal affordable solution. Some things cannot be rushed.

We've all been wriggling around as we adjust to fitting in together. We're working hard not to step on one another's toes, trying to respect what each needs to thrive in this new space. Such good adults we are!

It's been going well, and suddenly, despite the cancellation of all the activities I thought I had planned, my life is busy. Rita-Marie is busy finishing her last grad school course and simultaneously figuring out how to remotely teach her group of fifth graders as she completes her first year of teaching; a heavy load. It's a little hard to type with one hand, though she's getting quite good at it, so I've been helping her out by watching the baby most mornings. (Joe's job is considered essential, so he's gone all day.)

So, instead of a quiet session with coffee and paper, my mornings are now spent on helping JoeB practice learning important things, such as rolling over (he's got this one!), rolling back (still working on it), sitting up (almost there!), eating mashed peas (he's ALMOST convinced the solid stuff is food), and how to soothe himself to sleep at nap time with the help of his comfort diaper. He needs no assistance with baby giggles and sidelong smiles. Not a bad gig; not bad at all.

Most afternoons, I've spent at least a few hours working on my self-assigned task of clearing the lower patio at the castle. While I'm not normally an anxious person, it turns out I'm not immune to the pervasive air of general anxiety surrounding the quarantine, and have had a lot of restless nights. The key to a good night's sleep has turned out to be spending a few hours a day shoveling dirt. The weather's been beautiful, the trees are just starting to turn green, and the task is going slowly which means I have plenty of time to enjoy the fresh air. (There is a lot of trash and broken glass in the dirt which I'm trying to pick out before tossing it over the wall to the wooded hillside below.)

I'm getting close to done. I've found several of the lines of the original stonework beneath the 18" of extra dirt. It'll need to be repaired, and I'm sure Joe will want to add his own stamp to the space, but it was once beautiful and will be so again. That's our watch phrase on this project:  It will be beautiful again; it'll just take a little elbow grease to get it there...

Fortunately, once I finish digging, I'm in no danger of losing access to my new gym. There are plenty more areas for me to turn my attention to; ivy needs to be pulled from the walls, and it looks like my newfound tuck pointing experience from last summer will be put to good use repairing the walls supporting the front porch. If I don't want to do that, there are weed trees to cut down, invasive honeysuckle bushes to clear out, trash on the hillside to pick up. It's a good long list; guaranteed to keep me moving long after COVID has passed us by.

I am well aware of how fortunate I am in this time of turmoil. My April bills are in no danger of not being paid, I have plenty of ways to occupy mind and body. My heart aches for those who have lost their jobs; for those who have become severely ill from the virus; for the families of those it has laid low. I pray for the medical people, putting their own health at risk each day. For the utility workers, the trash picker uppers, the store clerks and shelf stockers, the shipping clerks - all those who are out there working so most of us can stay home to try to slow the spread of disease.

May God's Strength be with them.

=========
On another note:  Yesterday marked two weeks home after traveling through airports, and it was Kevin's (my formerly homeless friend) birthday, so I ventured out to see him and bring him some birthday cookies. I hadn't seen him in over a month, but he's been doing well. Stir-crazy like all apartment dwellers, but healthy. He's found himself a rocking chair, a small table and some plants to make the place his. Does my heart good to see him well.

Staying Home

Despite my ungrounded fears of closed airports forcing me to stay in California, I was able to return home without a hitch earlier this week.

The trip home was a lot surreal. We made it from Kate's house to LAX in record time; the roads were uncrowded - practically unheard of in Los Angeles. There was just one person ahead of me at the security checkpoint; I made it through in less than ten minutes, including the time it took to swig my water and rescan my bag because I forgot to empty the bottle before heading through the scanners. (oops...) The concourses were nearly deserted; I didn't even need to wait in line to get my morning latte. My flight had seven passengers on it.  Seven. It made for easy traveling, but uneasy nerves.  LAX is supposed to be bustling and crowded; the quiet heightened my sense of "WRONG!" Despite my anxiety, the trip home was uneventful; the nearly empty plane made it easy to practice our social distancing.

It was easy for me to find silver linings in the disruption of my vacation plans. Since Kate wasn't spending any time commuting, we had more time to just be together and talk - major bonus! I'd originally planned to while away my days in Malibu on the beach while Kate worked; instead, I spent my time helping her and Lexi transition to working and learning from home.

Fortunately for Kate's work productivity, Lexi is one self-motivated third grader. We found a learn-from-home schedule online, and tweaked it to match what they needed.  The schedule worked for all of us. It had screen and non-screen learning times, creative time, move times, some time to rest, and yes, some time to just watch videos; one of Lexi's favorite ways to unwind.

I tend to be a bit introverted, so you know I've had plenty of alone time when I happily volunteer to do the grocery store runs. Kate and I tend to eat a lot of fresh fruits and vegetables. Fortunately for our diets, the rest of the world does not, and since the items are not hoardable, we found a steady supply of good food despite the overall shortages.

We did have to (get to?) expand our horizons a bit, since they were out of rice, shelf-stable staple that it is.  There was still some Ferro on the shelf, which we'd both heard of but never tried, so we brought some home.  It was delicious, and is now on the list of my favorite grains.

And, we did manage to get to the beach for one afternoon before things were completely locked down. The morning rain had moved on, leaving sunshine, wispy clouds, and temps in the lower sixties. There were a few people there, but not many, so we walked down to one end of the beach, and I sat down to watch the waves, while Kate walked with the dog and Lexi tried her hand at clambering up rocks.

As soon as I sat down and focused my eyes on the horizon, I felt all my tension slipping away. My heartbeat and breathing slowed to come into sync with the primal rhythm and sound of the waves.

Beauty Is, they told me.
Breathe with us, you are of the water, and the water is of you.

This, too, shall pass.

COVID-19 Craziness!

The world has turned upside down with dizzying speed, leaving me both bemused and off-balance. I have always had a vivid imagination, and have spent many an hour while driving the interstate musing about how I thought I would react in case of total social disruption.

My musings never came close to today's reality. I never imagined a world where I would have access to the internet, but not toilet paper; where I would be healthy, but asked to stay away from all other people. A world where an entire semester of school would be cancelled - those poor college kids - how will they be able to finish their semester's work???. A world where work-at-home would be mandated for most, but where medical workers and trash truck drivers and supermarket checkout people would somehow rally and carry on and do their jobs despite the danger of infection, so I can continue to buy food and get rid of waste, and be cared for should I fall ill.

I feel like I've stepped into an episode of the Twilight Zone. It's all normal on the surface; the heat and lights work, I have food in the fridge and water freely available from the tap. But underneath, I feel a sense of impending calamity; the world has shifted beneath my feet and won't easily find even an uneasy balance any time soon.

I can't imagine the scope of the economic fallout which will surely accompany the closing of so many businesses. I know many people in our country have less than a month's expenses in reserve - when they are unable to work, how will they be able to live once the bills come due? And for those essential workers who do fall sick - who will replace them while they recover from their illness?

So much anxiety, so few answers. Several times this week, I've found myself on a downward spiral of fear and uncertainty. But, so far, I've managed to stop the spiral; the hard-learned lessons of my last decade halting my descent into fear.

Today, I still have. Tomorrow is guaranteed to no one.
Look for beauty in each day - so far, I've ALWAYS found it when I remembered to seek it out.
Stop.  Breathe.  Try to Relax. (this part is escaping me today, but I'm working on it...)

This, too, shall pass.

Bronchitis in a time of Covid

The last couple of weeks have been a blur.

I managed to pick up a major case of bronchitis helping Joe move boxes into his new house the last weekend in February. (There's some mold in the place, and carrying boxes upstairs triggered my asthma and irritated my lungs, so when I got home picked up the petri dish (aka, the baby), I picked up his latest respiratory ailment at the same time. That'll be the last time I stress my lungs if there is black mold around; believe it or not, I am capable of being trained. The baby gets a pass for being a little petri dish. That's what babies are.)

I was a week in, my fever had broken, and in the olden days, I'd not have thought twice about taking my scheduled flight to California earlier this week. This time, I thought twice about it, but got on the plane anyways. I took all the proper precautions around sanitizing myself and my surroundings; figured I could safely remain tucked in my window seat for the flight and thus avoid either infecting others or getting infected with something new myself. I had me drugged to the gills, so I could avoid advertising my remaining cough. My theory worked for most of the flight until the dry air took its toll, and...  If looks could kill, the one my seatmate sent me would've done the trick. Probably a good thing where was an empty buffer seat between us. (Yes, I safely coughed into a kleenex, and it was a dry cough at that. I can only imagine the daggers he'd have sent if I'd actually coughed up some gold.)

It's been good for me to finish recovering out here in California. I know myself well enough to know that if I was at home, I'd be outside pushing the limits of my battered bronchial tubes. Here, I haven't dared to poke my nose out the front door, which means I've actually been giving my lungs the rest they need to recover fully from their viral bout.

I've been watching the Covid-19 pandemic unfold with a sense of unease and wonder. From zero to 100. Schools closing, major public gatherings canceled. My granddaughter's school is going to hold remote learning sessions for them next week.  (For 3rd graders?  Really?  Should be interesting...)
No Final Four, no St. Pat's parades. European travel bans. Sick leave for hourly workers. Something new is clearly underfoot.

I understand the reasoning behind the tumult - to slow the speed of transmission of Covid-19 and give our health care system the ghost of a chance to have the capacity to take in those whom the virus lays low. The genie is out of the bottle, this virus is not going to be held locally - our only hope is to flatten the infection bell curve.

I'm out here for another two weeks - it'll be interesting to see if the planes will still be flying when it's time for me to go home. If not, I'll do my best to roll with the flow. I'll get home eventually...

and from now until then, I plan to enjoy each of these precious days with my daughter and granddaughter.