Routines Past and Present and Scary Dogs

I’m a creature of habit and predictable patterns. I was going to say like no other, but that wouldn’t be true. Birds fly south every fall and come back in the spring. Bees and ants rest in eight hour cycles. Bears hibernate. Every species on earth has its breeding seasons and its sleep times. The sun rises every morning and sets every night and aren’t we happy about that. At least it does for those of us who live in certain regions on the earth. People who live at the top of the earth, however, where they get very little sunshine, how do they know when it’s time to sleep? Here in Michigan we just have a short twilight before darkness falls. In the Arctic Circle it’s completely dark from mid-November to the end of January. The rest of the time they have, according to sciencing.com, one of three kinds of twilight that last 24/7---Civil Twilight, Nautical Twilight and Astronomical Twilight if you want to look them up. And,  boy, did I ever get off track to what I wanted to write about which is the routine I’m settling into here in my new community. 

 

I’m almost as routine-ridge as my mom was when I was growing up when we did the laundry on Monday, ironed on Tuesday, cleaned on Wednesdays, ate left-overs on Fridays and grocery shopped on Saturdays. We only had one car so if my mom had errands to run mid-week on Thursdays she had to take my dad to work early in the after afternoon and pick him back up after midnight. During her menopause years her doctor told her to get a job to help with the symptoms she was experiencing. Ya, like we all know, now, that that was voodoo medicine he was practicing. But she did it and and that meant she had to take my dad back and forth to work every day that she worked. His factory was in a bad part of town so she went down to the humane society and got a big black dog that hated men. 

 

Jody was a purebred, Belgian Shepherd that had been badly abused and it took my dad months before he could be in the same room with that dog. Jody was loyal and protective of my mom and me but she never did learn to fully trust men. She was the perfect dog for woman to have in a car at midnight or to protect your teenager daughter when her older brother had his friends over when our parents weren't home. It only took one boy to try to kiss me and get bit for his efforts for the rest of his friends to see the error in getting in the personal space of “Little Rat.” My brother wore his nickname of “Rat” proudly and at the time I didn’t question how he got it and now that I'd like to know that back story its probably lost forever. But I'll bet my brother still remembers how our driveway was often filled with boys working on cars. The TV series Happy Days could have easily based a few episodes on their banner. Those were fun days, but I digress. Again.

 

Sundays here has evolved in being my housework and laundry days and often I don't-get-dressed because I avoid the campus restaurant and the after church crowd that gathers in the public area with their families and/or off-campus friends. This place has settled into a pattern of having the exercise classes mostly in the morning slots which keeps me from dropping into them. Four-five afternoons a week they have lecturers, entertainment or podcasts on the schedule. We've even had two bus trips to the art museum with another planned to a lavender farm. Every afternoon and evening of the week including Sundays they have something going on in the game room but all my good intentions to take part hasn’t happened yet. The crafting-for-charity get-togethers are usually in the mornings too but I do make an effort to go...it's only on the schedule maybe once a month? And I haven't missed a monthly book club meeting yet.

 

Once a day I eat at the cafe`and once a week I eat in fine dining restaurant, both to get my fix of socializing which usually takes two hours if the mix of people there is to my liking, which is most of the time. If not, I could be in and out with a take-out box as an option. I’ve taken to writing in the mornings like I used to do before the move but the afternoons that I visualized myself painting or quilting hasn't happened yet and somethings got to give for me to correct that...write less, go to less afternoon events and I don't really want to cut either one. Like yesterday afternoon we' had a live demonstration of playing steel drums. (I'll write about that later.)  Throw in a few outside appointments and shopping and the week disappears quickly. My evenings are my treadmill, reading, jigsaw puzzle and my Netflix times. I've never liked crafting after dark.

 

Oh, and it should be noted that I’m trying to ease back into watching the Sunday news shows again and at least a hlaf hour of news every day. But doing so feels like I'm living in a loop, like in the movie Groundhog Day. Everything’s changed, but nothing has changed if that makes any sense. The Pandemic, Trump, supply chain shortages and scary people trying to destroy Democracy here and around the world. Banning a book from high school libraries about the Holocaust because it has a photo of naked lady standing in a gas chamber? Where was the outrage over Mrs. Trump’s girl-on-girl naked photos? As you can see I’m not yet sufficiently decompressed from the long break I've been on from my previous addiction to watching (way too much) news. It still has the power to raise my blood pressure. But its still our civic duty to stay informed, so I'm trying again... Besides being informed before elections get here, what happens in the world could become a question on the dementia test and who wants to fail that life changing quiz.

One of my routines is to stop writing when I hit my 1,000 word quota and I’m 85 words over now so I’m putting a period on this post right here. ©

 

Photo: The dog above was our second Belgian Shepherd, Cindy, but she and Jody looked identical. Both of these dogs and my mom were inseparable. Cindy, however had a sweet personality that could be trusted completely not to bite. My mom could tell that dog to go get the grandkids who were playing down the road and that dog would herd them just like they were a flock of sheep, usually the youngest, my nephew would be crying because that dog wouldn't let him go anywhere but back towards our cottage. The girls were older and understood and didn't seem to mind having a dog come get them when grandma called.

 

My Totally Boring, Extremely Exciting Day of Normal Routine in Abnormal Times

It was Thursday, the day the New York Times called the memorial service in Minneapolis for George Floyd “a somber moment after days of anger and unrest.” I’m sure I don’t have to remind anyone that Mr. Floyd was the black man killed by a white police officer who kept a knee pressed on his neck for eight minutes and 46 seconds.

I didn’t see the service. By the time it started I had already hopped out of bed a couple of hours earlier than I’ve been doing during the pandemic lock down, had my breakfast, a shower and had taken the dog for a long walk. Ohmygod, it felt good to feel ‘normal’ again, like I had a purpose for getting out of bed after weeks of not caring if I did or not. The governor of Michigan had finally lifted the stay-at-home orders a few days before and I was ready to run some errands. We’re still supposed to use social distancing and masks but that didn’t damper my joy; I’m prepared to do that all summer long if it helps prevent a second wave of the Covid-19 virus.

The sun was shining and my first stop of the day was to drop the dog off for a haircut. The beauty and nail salons in our state are still not free to open up until June 15th so I thought I was being cute when I asked Levi’s groomer if he’d book me for an appointment in his Foo-Foo Doggie Beauty Parlor. He laughed and said everyone is asking him the same question. Next I stopped at the post office where the thin plastic sheets that were hung haphazardly from the ceiling the last time I was there three months ago had been replaced with permanent Plexiglas separating the breaths of customers and clerks. I’ve been using the postal office’s pick up service for my e-Bay sales which is efficient and easy but I’ve truly missed seeing the counter girls, Miss Mary Sunshine and Ms. Grumpy Pants. I wasn’t mailing e-Bay packages though. I had a large box to send off to the postal stamp museum out East after finally getting verification on what one of my blog readers told me. Yes they do, indeed, accept stamp donations for their educational program. It cost me $16.00 in shipping fees and well worth for it for the bragging rights to another successful placement from Jean’s Antiques Adoption Center.

After leaving the post office I went to the dollar store and if there’s a heaven, someone please cover up my dad’s ears when I tell you how much fun I had leisurely strolling up and down their aisles. I only bought a package Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups, a can of Pringles and a six pack of Orange Crush but I felt like a million bucks picking out the purchases I didn't need and could have easily done without. Why, you ask, would I not want my dad to know? It's embarrassing to admit this but here's the back story: After we took Dad's driver’s license and car keys away from him five years before he died I was his chauffeur for his weekly dates with his girlfriend and wherever she wanted to go, that’s where Dad wanted me to take them. The choice of fast food places always depended on which place had the best coupons but for all five years, their dates always ended with a trip to a dollar store. And twenty, twenty-five years ago when that was going on I was a dollar store snob. I was convinced the merchandise had been stolen off the back of 18 wheelers and I refused to buy anything off their shelves. I never told Dad how I felt about the place but he probably still knew I was being snobbish because many times I didn't even go inside while they shopped. 

Fast forward twelve years later after my husband died, I found myself shopping a nearby dollar store every time I ran errands because I didn’t want to go home to an empty house. Sorry, Dad, your daughter turned out to be a hypocrite. Sorry to Don (my husband) too who heard me grumble about dollar stores so often I doubt he’d ever been to one. We grow. We soften. We do about-faces and hope no one notices our former snobbery.

After the dollar store adventure I swung back around to pick Levi up from the groomers. It’s across the street from Starbucks and I hadn’t been there since early March when the pandemic shut them down. It’s been open for a couple of weeks but the one time I was near it the line was so long I didn’t want to wait just to say I did it. But Levi is spoiled and he has his routines too and getting a pup-appuccino after a haircut is one of them. Ohmygod, if felt so good to be there! The girl at the takeout window was super upbeat and chatty and she was properly impressed by my ‘pretty boy’ hanging his head out the backseat window. I got a bacon and Gouda sandwich and a S’mores Frappuccino and the two us drove a short distance away, parked under our tree where I thoroughly enjoyed our lunch and my totally boring, extremely exciting day of normal routine in abnormal times. ©

Pandemic Routines, Depression and Disappointment

This post is brought to you by people watching myself. It's all I've got, no laughs included.

I’m disappointed in myself and I don’t know how to turn things around. I am wallowing in pandemic inspired depression and I’m reminded of that the minute I wake up in the morning and my feet hit the floor. Another day of sameness to look forward to is the first thought that pops into my head, another day of being ashamed of how much time I’m wasting when I could be using it more productively. Instead, I spend too much of my awake time burying my nose in the refrigerator or trash books or wishing I could have my pre-pandemic schedule back. I’m such a creature of habit that I miss routines like going to recycling or seeing my gal pals twice a month or reading labels in the grocery store. Recycling opened up again last week so there’s that to look forward to, but my gal pals getting together again and leisurely trips to the grocery store are collateral damage of Covid-19. I don’t see that changing anytime soon.

Around 8:00 AM I shuffle into the kitchen, put my Starbucks Sweet Morning Blend coffee grounds in my maker and while I wait for it to perk I jump on the computer. (Not literally jumping up and down on my keyboard, but you knew that didn't you.) Once my coffee is ready I’m again reminded that we’re in pandemic mode because I haven’t been able to buy my specialty spray foam to top off my coffee since the shortages started in the grocery stores. The dog doesn’t care, Levi sleeps in until around 10 AM and speaking of grocery store shortages, I live in fear that I won’t be able to buy his Milk-Bones Trail Mix or Milk-Bone Brushing Chews. I might be able to understand disruptions in our food distribution chain but Levi will make my life utterly miserable at 10:15, 3:00 and at bedtime if he doesn’t get what he demands. He doesn’t suffer in silence. He’ll bark his demands until I get my head out of the clouds and make my way to the antique canister set where I keep his loot. Yesterday I reminded him that he’d better watch out. If meat prices keep going up, he’ll be in danger of ending up on someone’s crock pot. 

By 10:30 I’ve had my breakfast and I’m reminded again that we’re in a pandemic by the orange juice I’ve add to my mornings. It’s silly to think it can help build my immune system up to fight getting the virus but don’t tell me that. I want to believe I’m in control of something besides picking the lint out of my belly button. Also by 10:30 I’ve checked on my e-Bay sales, checked my blog for new comments or new posts from my blogger friends plus I've read my email and Facebook page. Facebook is one giant billboard flashing reminders that we’re in a pandemic. And just so you’ll know, I’ve quit watching the morning news shows or TV in the mornings for that matter, which in itself is a huge reminder that the pandemic has changed my routine. 

Between 11:00 and 12:00 I force myself to get dressed and I do mean 'force' as I'd happily stay in my bathrobe all day. But if you're taking my mental health temperature I should add that I've actually only done it 3-4 times since the pandemic lock down started in mid-March. My afternoons are spent researching the collectibles I’m selling, photographing them and writing up listings plus getting them ready to ship so they can be weighed before uploading the listings to e-Bay. I could do this all faster if I wasn't sneak-reading chapters in trash books in between my downsizing work. If I had any sense at all I’d get myself outside after getting dressed to walk the dog around the neighborhood. I have my excuses and even I don’t want to hear them---hear about all the new dogs in the neighborhood that makes it harder to walk Levi and I don’t want to hear about how strange it is to pass by so many other walkers as we try to avoid getting close to one another. With the exception of the inspirational sidewalk chalk art it’s not friendly “out there” anymore and I half expect to see drawings of a hands giving walkers the middle finger showing up because foot traffic has gotten fierce and frequent.

In the pre-pandemic days I used to eat lunch out around 2:00 and several times I week I’d do that out of the house and run a couple of errands while I’m out and about. I miss listening to my Sirius XM radio in the car far more than I would have guessed. Now, the pandemic has me considering if I should cancel it because I’ve only driven my car a whole 12 miles in the past 10 weeks and I don't see that changing any time soon. I also miss people watching at the Guy-Land Cafeteria where I used to sit writing blog posts out long-hand. I miss the monthly get-togethers they had at the continuum care campus where I’ve been planning to move. I miss that dream---the dream of me and Levi wandering the trail around the lake on their campus with a camera in hand, then going back to my unit where my time would be spent in guilt-free painting, writing and reading. Now, 'guilt' seems to be my middle name.

Since the pandemic hit the U.S.A. I’ve been eating a combined lunch/dinner around 6:00/7:00, while mindlessly sitting in front of the computer again or playing my two daily required ‘brain-games’ on my Kindle. Early evening is also when I go to Amazon Unlimited to return a book and find another book to read between 11 PM and 2:30 AM. Even reading straight-forward genre books that don’t require any thinking doesn’t cause me to fall asleep without the use of a sleeping pill and even then they sometimes don’t work. The minute my light goes out, I’m back in pandemic worry mode. And I’ll end this post where I started by saying, I’m so disappointed in myself and I don’t know how to turn things around. ©