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

Pandemic Easter in the Rear View Window

With the strict stay-at-home orders in our state, I had nowhere to go on Easter, no special plans or even traditional holiday foods in the house or colorful peeps lined up begging, "Bite me!" Under normal circumstances I would have had at least some ham in the refrigerator waiting to attack my blood pressure and a half eaten box of peeps already attacking my ample waste line. So thank you, Pandemic, for small favors.

Feeling like I should do something to treat myself on that aberration of a holiday, I splurged after my first morning pee and used three squares of toilet paper instead of two. Back before the pandemic I never counted squares or cared how much I used and now it’s become a world-wide obsession. The travel bidet I ordered isn’t due to be delivered until later this week. I haven’t decided yet if I’ll write about this oddity that the pandemic is bringing to my elder years. Other countries are gun-ho on the gadgets so who knows if I’ll find humor or frustration in the trials and errors of using it or---gasp, that-water-is-cold!---it leaves me feeling clean and refreshed.

On Easter I did my Sunday morning chores---picked up dog poop, gathered up the trash and put it out for Monday’s pickup. While I was out there I brought in the Sunday Press but this time I put it in a quarantine place I set up in the garage for it and my mail to sit for half the week instead of reading it right away. Then I washed my hands and used a half of a Clorox wipe on the door handles, the faucets and everything else I’d touched after getting the newspaper and finished by washing my hands again. Rounding out my Sunday chores was watering the plants, planing my week of nothingness and checking on my e-Bay auctions that always close on Sundays. Surprisingly, sales weren't too bad, given it was a holiday---$537 for eight items that I prompted packed for the post office to pick up the next day..

On the cu-de-sac where I live I can see ten houses and when I was taking the trash out all but two houses were quiet on the Pandemic Frontier. Two families had company over, one of which had six cars in the driveway and two out front and while I was out there a ninth car pulled up. Three little kids and their parent came tumbling out, carrying food obviously completing ignoring the stay-at-home rules of no one being allowed in our houses if they don’t live there. These neighbors have a huge American flag in their front yard that they proudly hoist most mornings but they aren’t American enough to respect all the health care workers who are begging people to stay home so, we as a nation, can keep the pandemic from overwhelming the hospitals even more than they already are. My state has 27,000 confirmed cases of the Covid-19! It’s a good thing I’m not a block monitor because I hate confrontations.

We don’t have block monitors, or course, but they were a ‘thing’ back during WWII. I don’t actually remember the guys who wore Civil Defense arm bands and went around making sure everyone had their blackout shades pulled down but I remember my parents talking about those days. My older brother probably remembers because he, too, had a job during the war. He’d take his little red wagon around the neighborhood weekly to collect tin cans that were used in the production of ammunition. That wartime chore was repeated all across the nation by boys too young to do anything else. My dad was working practically around the clock at a factory that manufactured airplane propellers and bullet casing and his job was deemed essential thus the Department of Defense wouldn’t let him sign up for the military. No Rosy Riveter could learn to be a die maker/machinist who could build and fix broken dies overnight. 

All my life I’ve heard stories about the Greatest Generation, the generation my folks were a part of. The generation that lived through the Great Flu Epidemic of 1918/19, the Great Depression, WW II and all the wars that came after. On the home front during WWII men, women and children worked together to made a real difference. They did without, they improvised and they made it through to the other side of the darkness. It warms my heart to see glimmers of that same kind of toughness and willingness to do what needs to be done during our current world-wide crisis. The pandemic is testing a new generation and if my little anecdotal story from my block is any indication, only 20% are failing the test and are being careless, selfish jerks who think the rules for the greater good don't apply to them.

I’m not a religious person. Easter has never been about the resurrection of Jesus Christ for me. I’ve only been to church on Easter Sunday once in my entire life, and that was back when I was a chameleon changing my likes and dislike to fit whatever guy I was dating at the time. But I have studied world religions and Catholicism extensively in college so I can rightly claim I know what I’m turning my back on. Easter, for me, was always about family and food. Lot of people missed their traditions this year be it secular or religious which is both sad and at the same time, a symbol of unselfish love. One of the advances of age is we get to look back and see the difficulties of the past and that gives us street cred to say, “This too will pass." Next Easter I suspect will be extra special for everyone, no matter how we each celebrate. This year I'm glad to see it in my rear view window. ©

Routines in a World Gone Wild and Woolly

I’m such a creature of habit that it’s not funny. If someone wanted to kidnap me it wouldn’t take them long to figure out where and when to do it. Not that anyone would want to snatch a little old lady from the parking lot of the grocery store on a Saturday afternoon, I’m just sayin’ I like routine. And I wanted to say it with as many words as I could because writing during the pandemic has gotten increasingly more difficult and I have a word quota to fill, you know. By the way, the ‘wild and woolly’ in the title of this blog should not be confused with the 1932 short film, Wild and Woolly or the 1978 television film, Wild and Woolly. I’m referring to the 1917 silent comedy movie about a cowboy-obsessed Eastern who went on an odyssey to turn himself into a tough guy Westerner. Hasn’t the pandemic given us all new territory to conquer, new things to learn to survive?

Probably the routine I miss the most is my 1^st and 3^rd Mondays brunches with my Gathering Girls pals. We’re coming up on our third anniversary of meeting for those laugh-fests that comes with our food. I set up a private Facebook page hoping to keep us in contact that way but most of the ladies in the group don’t love and hug their computer keyboards the way I do. They don’t kiss them goodnight or hang around cyberspace looking for human interaction---Hey, sailor, looking for a good time?---so the Facebook page was a flop. Next I set up a private chat room hoping to do virtual lunches, but only three of us seemed to be technically savvy enough to enjoy that form of keeping in contact. I may try it again before I banish chat to the graveyard of Bright Ideas Gone South. One of the ladies in the group reaches out through text messages a couple times a week which is nice but I really hate those tiny screens and keyboards on our cell phones. I did discover I can use the voice feature to type but so can the TV on in the background which freaked me out when I thought my phone was possessed. There's been a few emails in our group and even a phone call. But nothing takes the place of poking fun of ourselves face-to-face in a restaurant. 

Another routine I miss is going to the post office every Monday and Tuesday to mail my e-Bay packages. The ladies that work the front desk are fun to interact with. One is so sweet I swear she’d taste like honey if you could lick her. Not that I have a desire to do so but I couldn’t think of a metaphor to convey how creditably upbeat and positive she is. The other woman who works the counter is near retirement age and is a bit cranky but you can get past that veneer with a few compliments now and then. I’ve made it my mission to make her feel appreciated because there isn’t a single question about postal rules she couldn’t recite forward and backwards. Like can I ship a be-be gun? "Yes, as long as there are no be-bes in the chamber." Can I ship a full bottle of prohibition ginger beer with a cork top? "Yes, as long as you tape something like a bladder control pad around the top and put the whole thing in a zip lock bag in case it leaks." She is my postal guru. I swear if I had a full sized submarine to mail, she’d know how to dismantle it and ship it piece-by-piece.

I also don’t enjoy the new routines the pandemic has brought of getting up early on Mondays and Tuesdays to get my boxes put out by the door for postal pickups. And the idea of getting up before the sun on Tuesdays or Thursdays to go to our designated senior grocery shopping time slot makes me crazy. I’ve tried ordering groceries online but the software at one store wouldn’t let me check out without clipping coupons and when tried doing that, I got kicked off the site. Three times! At another grocery store I got frustrated with their software. Apparently I do a lot of shopping by the color of the packaging which doesn’t help when you need to know brand names to put into their search line. After my husband’s stroke I made him a little picture book of products he was in charge of finding in the health and beauty department. I guess I need to make my own little picture book of product labels for online shopping. I didn’t know it for a long time but Don was often showing a marked page of that picture book to other shoppers who’d help him do my bidding. Oops. Even without words at his disposal he made lots of friends at the grocery store. I used to call him the Ambassador from the Planet Aphasia.

Back to routines: Every year for decades around my birthday I’ve done a biannual appointment with my internist. His office called wanting to set up a video appointment. The office personal who called seemed annoyed that I don’t have a way to video call. No Zoom, no Skype, no Duo. Ya, I’m smart enough to set something like that up but I pulled the Old Person Card and said I’m not tech savvy enough to do it. The idea of having to look good when the phone rings and worrying about the background the caller will pick up is stress I don’t need. Not to mention my face in selfies---which I presume all those platforms are basically showing to callers---is a bridge I don’t want cross over. Nope, I’m fine with voices only, old fashion Graham Bell where no double chins or wayward chin hairs could show up in a screen shot/meme titled 'wild and woolly.' ©