Bored and Getting Angry at You Know Who

Once again I’m sitting here ready to write but I haven’t been doing anything write-worthy. I told myself I could start working on that Great American Novel that once-a-upon-a-time I thought was in me. Ruling that out---again---I thought about adding another chapter to one of the family history books I wrote and self-published since my husband died. As most people who’ve dug into family history know, writing about family is a never ending project as you dig deeper into the past and at the other end of the spectrum new generations come into the picture. For me, though, I was sitting on decades worth of my mom’s, mine and my great-great aunt’s research and I feared if I didn’t pull it all together into an easily read format, it would be lost forever when I’m gone. (I’m talking boxes of handwritten notes and documents.) After I finished the book on my mom’s side of the family and had five copies printed so that all of her grandkids would eventually inherit one of the godawful costly books, I did the same for my dad’s side. 

Researching my mom’s family revealed the fact that writing is in my genes. During the American Revolution War one of my ancestors wrote the first history book of that war. There’s lots of material out there on her life. Her letter exchanges with famous people---the signers of The Declaration of Independence---are in print. I have a book of selected passages from her journals, and she ghost wrote a lot of the rebel rousing pamphlets that whipped the citizens up against the King of England. I’ve tried to read some her essays but, my God, her writing style was so full of flowery phrases and words that I didn’t know how to pronounce that my brain couldn’t wrap itself around the content. I’d need it translated into 21 century speak. 

Mercy Otis Warren wasn’t my only ancestor who had writer’s ink running through her veins. Three of my mom’s aunts ran a hometown newspaper after their father died and they worked there writing and setting type their entire lives. One of the aunts---Edna---also wrote three local history books and when the last sister died she bequeathed to a northern Michigan college a collection of 100 bound books containing a 100 years of newspapers printed by the family. They’d been courting the ladies for years to get those books. Edna used to give lectures on local history well into her late 90s. I never heard her speak but some of the reviews I’ve read say she was spell-bounding. She was a Republican and wasn’t afraid to challenge people’s set-in-stone opinions and I hear tales that she could do it with Mark Twain-like humor. 

Speaking of humor, have you noticed I haven’t written a single funny line in this blog post? I could poke fun of myself for sitting here at 11 AM still in my bathrobe. I had a shower at bedtime last night so at least I’m not smelly even though my hair is spiky and weird from sleeping on it wet. Or I could admit that my house is such a mess that if I had to call an ambulance I’d want to meet the EMTs out of the front sidewalk. My dining room table is piled high with boxes of stuff I have listed on e-Bay and the rest of the house is dusty and dog toys are littered everywhere. My cleaning service hasn’t been here because of the stay-at-home lock down and I’ve forgotten how to turn on the vacuum. I’m worry about the girl who is assigned to clean my house, though. She was living on the edge of poverty as it was, an OCD person with low self-esteem and a basket full of childhood trauma that she’s still working through. I can’t imagine how she’s faring with no money or work coming in. Scratch that, I can imagine. Her boyfriend works at a medical marijuana farm so I imagine the two of them are smoking joints or whatever it is that people do with pot these days.

Our governor ---Grechen Whitmer---is a democrat and is taking a lot of organized flack from Trump fans since he pinned the “that woman” sign on her back. A few days before Easter, however, she got in even more stupid trouble for giving an exemption for the Easter bunny to keep on working through the stay-at-home lock down "even though he might not be able to bring as much as in past years due to shortages." People are funny; while I thought it was sweet to reassure little kids about the Easter bunny, the usual suspects on Facebook aka the Trump fans were criticizing her for making light of the pandemic blab, blab, blab. 

Then in their next breath the same Trump supporters were promoting what turned out to be huge demonstration at our state capital this past Wednesday, saying Whitmer over-stepped her authority by imposing the stay-at-home orders. Sponsors of the protest, the MI Conservative Coalition, started a recall petition at the rally/protest while President Trump tweeted his encouragement with, "LIBERATE MICHIGAN!" When asked by a reporter on Thursday if he'd urge protesters in my state to listen to local authorities, Trump refused to answer, saying instead "I think they're listening, I think they listen to me, They seem to be protesters that like me and respect this opinion and my opinion is the same as just about all of the governors. They all want to open. Nobody wants to stay shut." Protests are popping up in other states with Trump tweeting his support to them as well, like it's a popularity contest rather than a deadly virus on the line. So much for science. So much for common sense and setting ego aside for the greater good. Am I angry? You bet I am! ©
  

As of 4/17/20 3PM 

Michigan has had 2,227 deaths from Covid-19

 and 

30,023 confirmed cases

Snow, Snow and More Snow!

 

I’m looking at over a foot of snow that fell yesterday and overnight and we have another seven inches of the cold, wet stuff coming during the day. The pair of teenaged sisters I thought I struck a deal with to shovel my snow this winter have not shown up, nor did they call. I gave them my business card but they couldn’t remember their own phone number so I can’t call them, not that I should have to call. I told them to come shovel whenever it snows. Kids! I’d say their whole generation is irresponsible but yesterday when I was at the grocery store preparing for a week of bad weather, a boy in his late teens who was in the checkout lane in front of me saw me unloading my cart with my arm in a sling and he said, “Here, let me help you with that.” I replied, “Oh, you don’t need to do that, I have lots of time but I do appreciate it.” And I did. When my cart was empty I thanked him and said, “Someone raised you right!” He beamed and said he has a great mother. Why can’t that kid and mother live next door? Why can’t all kids appreciate the effort their parents put into to raising them to be empathic, kind and well-rounded individuals? I wish I had a great-granddaughter. I would have tried to fix them up.

Needless to say, today brought with it the first cancellation of my winter season…a Thanksgiving luncheon at the senior hall. When the area schools are closed, so is the hall and its activities automatically get canceled. At least all that food won’t go to waste. Over a hundred street people will get an early turkey dinner. I feel sorry for the people who have to bring that food downtown, though. It’s nasty outside which is one of the reasons why I can’t decide if I should apply my Plan B to get rid of my snow or sit it out and see if the teens show up as promised. The problem with waiting is the deeper the snow gets, the less successful I’ll be at getting rid of it on my own. Better to make two and three passes throughout the day than to wait until the snow is so deep and heavy it can’t be moved without giving yourself a heart attack. And I’m kind of afraid if the girls see me outside with my little electric snow blower they won’t ever come down to shovel, they’ll think I no longer need their help. Decisions, decisions.

I won’t be surprised if the activities at the senior hall on Wednesday get canceled as well, the second in a series of genealogy classes I signed up for. Not a big loss for me but if I have to miss the Thursday lecture on weather and climate change, given by a well-known meteorologist, that will tickle my funny bone. Don't worry, I won’t go full blown cabin fever if I have to stay at home so many days in a row because by Friday when my movie and lunch club is on my day planner, the storm is supposed to be over. Hallelujah, and praise the gods of glorious sunshine and calm skies who are coming my way. I should build them an altar in my living room so they’ll stick around. Do you think they’d like essential oils, feathers, river washed stones and chanting? I could manage that. A bird committed suicide on my window yesterday and the dog brought him in to show it to me---he thinks he’s a cat---and I could still dig some feathers out of the trash where the bird's final resting place is inside an orange juice carton.

Last month I had to spend $1,200 on a dental vet bill for Levi and I’ve been watching for the points to show up on my credit card so I could spent them. I thought there would be more than a lousy $12.00 worth that I could use at amazon.com. I’ve had my eye on a pricy book of letters written by my ancestor, Mercy Warren Otis, and when I went online to check it out there was only one copy left. The $12.00 made a dent in the asking price but with only one copy left, how could I not pull the trigger and buy it? I can’t believe I’m going to read the actual words of a woman one historian has labeled ‘The Republican Mother’---me the flaming liberal, although I’m sure the word meant something different back in Revolutionary War times when she lived than it does today. The reviews were mixed---only two online---one glowing and probably written by a friend of the person who compiled the letters and another that said the writing style was too hard to read. Duh, isn’t all period literature hard to read? The struggle to understand what is underneath the flowery language is half the fun. The creepy part is the portrait on the cover of Mercy looks uncannily like my mother. They could have been sisters. Maybe Mom was a time-traveler and didn’t tell me? Anyway, so now you know what I’ll be doing on Thanksgiving day…curling up with a treat-myself book. That is if I can get my sidewalk cleared in time for the UPS person to deliver the book to my door. ©

Widows Moving Out and Moving On

I am Exhibit A in why widows shouldn’t make any big decisions in their first year of widowhood…like selling a house and moving. Even before Don’s funeral a little over a year ago I was telling everyone I would put the house up for sale this coming spring and buy a condo on the other end of town. Spring is coming and I no longer feel the need to flee. Quite the opposite, I feel the pull to stay close to the dog park, the nature trails, my favorite grocery store, the post office, my antique booth, and a little tourist town I’ve grown to love. The other end of town also doesn’t have an active senior center. I’ve been following their newsletter online and from what I’m seeing they might as well close the doors. I lived on the other end of town all but thirteen years of my life. I could do it again---pretend I’m not a “flaming liberal” and blend in with the ultra-conservatives down there---but do the pros outweigh the cons of doing so? The biggest draw to moving to that end of town is it would cut a half hour off the hour and a half drive it takes to see my family. They all live in the country, near tiny towns that I love, but I’m a big city kid so moving to one of those towns isn’t an option. Yet.

What I’ve almost decided is that if I get to the point where I actually need my family for ‘old person support’ then I’d probably be at the point where I ought to be living in an assisted living facility. At that point, it would be more practical to move to one of the places within minutes of my nieces. But what to do in the meantime---hopefully a decade---that is the million dollar question. I’d like to downsize. The house is too big for one person but it’s a universal design house which makes aging in place the best fit you can get. Houses like this are few and far between and the only condos I’ve found built universal design are in a baby boomer community---you guessed it---on the other end of town. I’ve been following their newsletter, too, and they don’t do much in the way of organizing social outings, lectures, classes, day trips and clubs like the senior hall a mile away from where I’m living now does. I couldn't keep going to this one, if I move out of the township.

I love watching the HGTV program House Hunters International. I am fascinated at how easily people make up their minds to pull up roots here in the states and move half way around the world. They often move to places where they don’t know the language or have any human ties living in the country of their choice. How do they do that? I know the world is getting smaller with all the communication devices available today, but try hugging your iPad when you want to cry on someone’s shoulder in the middle of a life-crisis. Do some people make friends so easily that they don’t see it as a problem not to have a circle of support closer than a trans-Atlantic ride on an airplane? Do I place too much importance on having a circle that in reality I’ve rarely ever needed? I suspect the answer to both those questions is “yes.”

I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking this is an age related thing that I don’t want to live more than one or two area codes away from family. But I don’t think so. Unlike the people on House Hunters International, the most exotic place I’ve ever fantasized living is on an Amish farm under the Federal Witness Protection Program where back up would only be a cell call away. Or on Nantucket Island, sharing a cottage with an agent assigned to my case who, coincidentally, thinks my novice paintings are masterpieces.

Nope, my lack of adventure isn’t age related, besides I can go anywhere in my head and be back home in time for dinner. I’m just a person whose has always lived with a backup plan. The only trouble is there is no plan B for dying. We’re all going to do it someday and I’d much prefer that I don’t do it on the streets of Calcutta where someone would steal the ID and money off my corpse and I’d get cremated in mass with other anonymous and penniless people. Is that any way for a woman eligible to join the Daughters of the American Revolution to die? Hell, no! I’m going to stay at home and hope someone finds my body before the dog gets too hungry. My, am I in a morbid mood today or what!

Bottom line: I feel a widow’s pressure to move to a small house and/or redecorate something. Build a new nest. But the pressure is coming from within, I can afford to age in place if that is the path I decide to walk---I wasn’t sure of that a year ago. But if I stay will I be able to push past these feelings of being unsettled and restless? Whatever I decide about moving out and moving on I’m so glad I was paying attention in Widowhood 101 class the day they covered to topic of not making major decisions in the first year. ©

P.S. To the history buffs out there who might be wondering what my connection with the American Revolution is, it's Mercy Warren Otis.