HOUSING WOES

Finding appropriately safe, affordable and convenient housing is a desired outcome. Overcrowding in desirable neighborhoods is something of a challenge for many species. Corner lots surrounded by large lush tree canopies with an adequate food source make our lake house patio a battle of human vs. bird every Spring.

One robin hosts her several broods in the corner of the lattice work that hangs over the grill area. Amidst brief skirmishes when lawn mowing is required, we manage to co-exist with the Mrs. and her fledglings rather well.  The baby cardinals in the burning bush also found peace and harmony without riling the local "people feathers". 

                                 

                                                                     

However the larger patio with its inviting openings all around the sitting area was clearly marked a "no bird zone". Poking at a seemingly abandoned mish mosh of reeds and other paraphernalia led to an angry confrontation with a dove currently in residence. Vowing never to return she unfortunately left a nest of egg-type inhabitants that were only discovered in late Fall. 

In an effort to avoid the egg/nest fiasco of last year, installation of wire cages in all open areas of the patio overhang were carefully installed.  Imagine the dismay when a pile of freshly cut weeds, straw and bits of fluff were discovered in a corner right behind the carefully placed screening.  As no activity was detected, this was quickly torn down in the evening. By morning the nest was re-established and two sparrows were hanging in a tree adjacent with mouths full of building material waiting for the human intruders to vacate the premises. Not wanting a summer full of chirping and bird poo dangerously hovering directly overhead, we are bound and determined to win this particular housing battle, before any children get hurt.

                                                        

AGE OF PANDEMIC: CHAPTER 16 Robo Calls & Customer Service Fun

"No I do not want to renew the warranty on the car I sold five years ago." I know I'm sliding on thin ice letting it lapse for what one would consider a flimsy excuse such as that.

 "No I do not need a supplemental medical plan that the caller insists I called in and asked for as unfortunately (for them) I am totally covered elsewhere." That one comes an average of three times a day.

"Oh yes, social security says you have been a naughty senior and please give me your SS number to make it right or the po po will be at your door to arrest you." 

"No, I don't think you're my grandson needing bail for a traffic accident." Although I think he is an amazing eight year old, I still say he is a little height challenged to use the gas pedal and see over the steering wheel at the same time.

So amazing the phone calls I apparently make in my sleep seeking assistance at three in the morning (cue Jake from State Farm). We all get bored in quarantine land, and making bogus calls could possibly be in my repertoire. However I believe I would limit it to ordering an unsolicited pizza for the neighbor or asking a homeowner if their refrigerator was running (go catch it, duh) when I was bored and TWELVE!

I picture these phone sales folks working from home which I am guessing they would be doing anyway. No novelty there. Captive and bored audience waiting for any aberration of their daily routine even if it's just conversing with some poor sap about insurance they're never going to buy. No, strike that. No one is that bored. But the most insulting of all, is the robo call.  Not even special enough to call you directly, they let the automated faker take the first shot; no doubt saving their ears on slammed phones or their sanity on no answers/hang ups/curses.

We're all familiar by now with the long pause on the message indicating a robot holding its metallic breath so to speak to pounce if any human-like sound is heard. Press 1 to talk to a "live" person; 2 to be put on the no-call list (wouldn't my reluctance to even answer the phone give you a clue); or the infamous call this 10 digit number that is - surprise - in Aruba or Latvia and will cost you $10 a minute. They sound amazingly lifelike until you start ranting at them as they plow through the pre-recorded script. One really needs the satisfying equivalent of a slammed phone sound when listening on a mobile.

Also small rant about the folks who answer the automated or live person customer service lines. Your first clue is they are much more polite than is warranted and no casual humor is involved. Although they claim their names are Bill or Annette, that is a lie.  

When I was first married I worked for a small subscription service that also published a newsletter from an politico in Washington D.C. which I edited while coordinating advertising and mass mailings to sell.  Although the owners were pure Indians from India they let the office staff call them by "Americanized" names which I thought was very impersonal. I made everyone practice the Indian names until we could say them. I felt it dehumanizing to not hear your own name, but in retrospect we probably butchered them past recognition to their ears. Also being of the Brahmin caste of Hindus they probably found such familiarity insulting.

Digress: Notable achievement of that newsletter job. I was able to organize the entire mail room staff to vote for McGovern. That was the first presidential election for which I was qualified to vote. In July of 1972 Nixon had signed the 26th amendment giving 18 year old's the ability to vote even though at that age they were drafted and paid taxes; issues that they should have had a stake in one would think. I would have been one day shy of 21 on election day if that change had not been ratified. However my non-chosen candidate managed to derail himself during Watergate. Good times when actions mattered for a President.

Recently I had the pleasure of trying to resolve a technical issue with my phone bill and was talking to "Cristine". Nice try but I'm thinking she was "assigned" Christine verbally, not in the written form so she did the best she could. Two phrases she used made me want to say "English isn't your first language I'm guessing" but that would be rude. 

"Sorry you have to be in this experience". Wha huh? I looked around to be sure I wasn't in any experience besides tangling with the bureaucracy of a large company. As we were wrangling with different questions that I had to keep rephrasing to get the point across, her second statement that struck me was "your patience does not go unnoticed". Really? I should have at least got a participation award for that one. Patience was definitely needed as she ended up having no idea what I was referencing although I was looking at the information on their website at the time. Consequently, my patience was not rewarded as I hung up on the whole thing. 

LIONS and TIGERS AND SPIDERS, OH MY

Fear is a personal thing. What kills me gives you a minor tickle, well probably not where electricity is involved. Or the concept, the mental picture of what makes me cringe may only make another giddy with hair-raising anticipation. It may be in our genes (jeans) and reinforced by our experiences. My Mama's fears translate into my own and the cycle perpetuates. 

Psychologists may say there are certain brain configurations that cause some to seek out more thrills and stimulation, feeding on that personal adrenaline and requiring more and more before they are satisfied. Possibly explains sky divers, lion tamers and 'gator wrestlers. Or maybe its just a lack of opportunities to make a living and hey we live in the swamp after all.

I cannot even begin to understand what a soldier feels just before a battle.  Highly trained, well armed or not, hell makes no sense when you are in the middle of it slogging through the brimstone. The fear of what could happen if not defending oneself and good old self-preservation probably takes care of the rest. Onward, ever onward as the alternative is oblivion. 

Caution is often described as fear when perhaps it is the most sane action that can be taken. Watching my grandson face his apprehension at jumping in the water and making his way to the ladder reminded me so much of his Mother who took the same cautious and successful approach to new challenges. After a while he was jumping and laughing at will. 

 I  think that sometimes others' fears laid upon someone else's scary attempt part of the fear equation. They cannot face what frightens them so they encourage, or discourage, others to take the first step. It's when fear paralyzes that the real damage occurs. 

In some cases the thought of failure handicaps our ability to give that speech, reach for that promotion, write that book, or swim the English Channel. Amazing that the same survival instincts kick in whether facing a loaded gun or giving a speech. Though vegetables and other items have been used as missiles against an unpopular speech/speaker. I think that involves both the 1st and 2nd amendments taken to extremes. 

In the third grade I had to take a desk in the front of the room next to the teacher as there weren't enough desks, which never happens today... Back then skirts and dresses were mandatory so keeping everything modestly covered was a daily challenge.

 Digress: High School in the 60's meant mini-skirts and no panty hose, only garter belts and stockings. Keeping things covered led to much inspired and complicated seating and rising procedures. 

Anyway the teacher would have me read to the class as I always finished my work early and got fidgety. As long as I kept my eyes down, I could get through it, but I was scared. However, it was also an opportunity to play the clown so win-win.  No doubt they weren't paying attention anyway. I think she used it as an unscheduled bathroom break.

In my professional career I had many occasions where I was the only one on my side of the fence insisting on adherence to the rules against unwilling and at times, antagonistic audiences. I was secure in the knowledge of experience and had seen how badly things could go from a health or legal perspective. I also managed to irritate the Mayor within the first two months of employment when I questioned methods of investigation used by a strong business supporter of his regime. 

Then a short time later I took on a very powerful department head and community leader on an employee issue that he did not agree with, to put it mildly.  Both times, though apprehensive, I knew I was right although perhaps more scraping and bowing would have smoothed the path. I became well known early on. One may not be loved but respect works just as well. 

You cannot be afraid to tilt against those old windmills. Even if you are the only one and people laugh or deride you for your beliefs or your unwillingness to back down. You're the one in the mirror at the end of the day after all. I remember it took me awhile to understand why Mother called me her Spartan warrior shaking her head, about my always taking the hard way. "You either come home carrying your shield or are carried home on it".

PERSPECTIVES

It all has to do with perspective. When one is brought up in the South expressions such as "Well bless your heart" can translate into "Are you bat shit crazy?"  or "I wouldn't believe you if you tied it up in a bow" up North.  Kindler gentler.  My picture of turtles on a log could be "oh how nice they're sunning themselves, the whole family" and another's "yum turtle soup."

Or "you uneducated troll" could actually be I'm not winning my argument. The glass is half full or the bottle of milk has half an inch of milk left so I'm not responsible for the empty carton that gets put back in the refrigerator. The house could use some dedicated cleaning or it looks "lived in". "I have to drive in this Mother Nature endowed white, slippery mess or "Yay, snow day, where's my sled!"

I am guessing that those who see rainbows instead of rain, sunny mornings instead of traffic pollution, sky scrapers kissing the clouds rather than shadows and caging in quarantine as opportunities, lovingly misguided as they are, are probably happier than most.  

So find yourself a log and enjoy the sun.

                                                                  

THE AGE OF PANDEMIC: CHAPTER 15 Little Things

Borrowing from buddy Dickens "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times." Though I think after 9? 10? Infinite weeks of quarantine it is difficult to pick out the little sugar cubes of happy in the oceans of castor oil. We've been taking our medicine, grudgingly but faithfully for the most part. Some have risen to heroic proportions and others have been whining about getting their hair cut. I think we can all just pony up the extra locks and man bun for a little while more.

Maybe I just want our complaints to be for something more substantial. Wait staff, bartenders, maintenance workers who normally live paycheck to paycheck while facing an overwhelmed unemployment system are acutely desperate. Then they must endure being browbeat by the comfortably ensconced millionaires in Washington complaining that "workers" will not want to go back to work because they are getting too much money on "welfare" (unemployment). I decree those DC fools should be the first to go forward into the front lines of commerce.  Let the rest of us know when it's safe to go to work and NOT DIE!

"We can leave it to people doing the right thing; we don't need the "granny state" to over-protect us" is the rallying cry. Then ask the woman whose sleeve was used as a tissue or the dead security guard's family if being soiled or killed for asking people to follow the rules has proven just how well we do the right thing. That only works if we actually act like adults and give a flying bat crap about other human beings. 

$15 for manual labor is too much. Too much for whom? When rent runs $2000 a month, car payments and utilities take another chunk and then we need food, clothes, child care, medical care, medicine; at what point is it too much? We do not all have the luxury or advantages or mental acuity to tackle higher education nor should we have to trying to survive in this country.  Comparing a fast food worker $15 wage as being similar to wages paid a paramedic should only tell you one thing. Paramedics are grossly underpaid as well.  But, no worries it's only your life. 

The concept that all workers should had six months of wages tucked aside in case of an emergency is ludicrous when in reality most need every cent just to survive, forget luxury. Oddly enough, multiple sources have indicated that the top 1% made even more money since the beginning of the year. Funny how that works. 

But we generalize and tell stories about a person or group of individuals we know who live off "welfare" paid for by the proverbial sweat of my brow. Anecdotal and extreme examples that somehow justify the "haves" that they are the "good guys" even though they hold all the wealth. They in turn have managed to convince the middle that they are paying for the poor and how much we should resent it. 

 Meanwhile the owners raise prices, stagnate wages, destroy unions, lay off workers and move their production and profits off shore. Yet it's the poor bum on "welfare" or "unemployment" who is to blame for the economic problems and woes of the middle class. Interesting. Medical and child care for all and a living wage does not sound so far-fetched after all, in my humble opinion. 

THE AGE OF PANDEMIC: GREETINGS Chapter 14

Another victim of the virus that is changing is how we will meet and greet in the future; congratulate; show love, compassion and sorrow. I assume kissing will still be "a thing" for intimate encounters though the spontaneous will probably become a thing of historic reference. Unless they develop a "quick test" that one can purchase from a vending machine in the bar or local gas station. I have faith that humankind will find a way.

But there will be no more friendly "atta boy/girl" body whacks after a successful game or business coup. Bumping elbows or rear ends will be trendy or perhaps learning to speak "with your eyes" as so many love songs purport to be possible will develop. I don't know how many spouses complain, in their heads, "how come he/she can't freakin' read my mind?" Well fasten your seat belts. That advance in the human experience may be on the horizon. Hmm with mixed results I imagine.

I can see the awkwardness. "Let me introduce myself," from an acceptable social distance waving in a friendly, non-threatening manner. "Can I see the graph with the numbers?" resulting in fashioning a paper airplane of the document for safe transfer. "Congratulations on your graduation, you'll find your check under the big rock on the porch". "So sorry you got hurt, you're bleeding, let me toss you a bandage, but please don't lose consciousness!" 

Digress: Actually funny story. Well not for the victim. I taught many First Aid and CPR classes before I was confronted with an emergency situation. Older lady took a header at a curb right outside my downtown office. Yelling for someone to call 911, I rushed to her, quickly taking in the extremely messy visage that used to contain her perfectly straight nose. I wrapped my coat around her and kept her lying down while waiting for the ambulance. She kept trying to get up saying she was late for an appointment. As she was conscious and breathing alright my only task was to keep her warm and calm. Having time to reconnoiter I remember thinking, "oh please I hope I don't have to perform mouth-to-mouth resuscitation". Help arrived and the lady was safely transported.  

However after that episode I changed my tutorial to recommend in an emergency, "don't think, just do what you have to do." Perhaps actually some type of metaphor for life. A lot of the time it is important to just do something relying on your training and your heart. Don't stop and think about it if you want to make a difference.

It's the compassion and sorrow piece that will prove difficult in the future. To offer a hug to someone in the throes of despair or pain; to offer condolences on the death of a loved one actually demands a human touch. Hopefully we will be able to show our love as time goes on.

THE AGE OF PANDEMIC: TRASH CAN WARS Chapter 13

Everything old, everything new; and when we can make a game of it why not? As the weeks of quarantine go on, the cleaning bug seems to have checked in, well, that is, for some of us. 

Note: If I didn't clean out the closet without a fire on my rear and a really good reason such as painting and carpet being laid, I'm not going to do it now because I'm bored. Besides the things one finds when you haven't cleaned the shelves (I swear I didn't know they were there) for 30 years are either ruined, unfashionable, surprising and sometimes appalling.

I mentioned in an earlier post of my finding a tiny box with my Mother's hand-writing and just my name. Before opening I was trembling with anticipation of what could be so lovingly preserved all these years; notes of wisdom, jewelry, pictures. I opened it with all the angst of a teen-ager still believing in magic and mystery to find....HAIR from my first haircut apparently. Thanks Mom.

Among the "treasures" (many are tossed and few are chosen) I also found one of the early versions of instant photo cameras that created those itty bitty pictures that fade every time you pull them out into the light of day. Also shoes, shoes and more shoes.  Why are there so many shoes and in pristine condition I might add. Ok, my secret passion is buying cute shoes. I mean I wore those horrendous moon shoes in the '70's that sloped upwards. Ugly as sin, but actually quite comfortable. When did this fascination with cute high-heeled numbers happen? I think my tastes changed when I realized: 1) I am short; and, 2) I can walk miles in spike heels and platform sandals! Now there are few occasions to practice my art, but I still have the collection pieces. I also had a mad collection of steel-toed work boots.

I digress. As a safety guru I perfected the changing of clothes and shoes while driving to an accident scene. Those high steppers won't do so well on most worksites and it usually impacts credibility. However there was one episode when I got a frantic call of a possible fatality at a construction site close to the office. I raced out dressed in 3 inch heels and fancy duds  to the scene. I remember pacing back and forth at the metal fence until a workman on the scene motioned for me to "gracefully" leap over the fence and he caught me. I was on my own and slogged through the mud, the blood and the beer. After CPR successfully revived the victim, I accompanied the ambulance to the hospital where I tried to explain I represented the company while sporting a pair of mud-caked patent leathers. Fortunately I was pushy, though messy.

 Back to trash. As the weeks wear on, we are all highly entertained by anything going on outside our windows, nose pressed to glass if you will. Why does that one house have NINE cars around it? Are they running a small manufacturing company? Who is that dude walking by 4 times a day in a stocking cap - neighbor or interloper? Who is sneaky with their dog poo and who is conscientious about clean-up, though clean-ups are more the norm as "everybody's watching" . They're getting a delivery across the street, but I can't quite see what they're unloading. We're all on a first name basis with UPS, FEDEX and Amazon Prime folks but binoculars are now part of the front room furnishings.

 But the best show is trash day.

Three different companies ply their trade on our street with a different day for each. We suffered with one company that was cheaper but erratic in both appearance and billing for a few years before cutting the cord. "But he's such a nice guy" when one ventured onto social media to ask has anyone seen so-and-so? You would be verbally pummeled by casting any shade his way. One guy, one truck-you do the math. Yes he was hardworking as he picked up at 10 pm sometimes, or 3 days late, and billing was six months to a year behind, but he's such a nice guy. I have to admit it's rather boring now that we have contracted with the standard big kahuna haulers. Always Wednesday between 9 and 10 am, every week, billing online. Where is the adventure, the romance, and the cussing when your lone can sits out there for days and you take abuse when you call for an update. I miss that.

However, checking how much trash and the nature of it is the big whoop for the day as you surreptitiously scope out the neighbors' offerings. Families and the very organized usually have a bulging giant can with a few plastic orphans hanging on, one hand on the can so to speak, to show they really belong and are worthy of pickup.

Recycle is a whole other thing however. My cans, bottles, newspapers and cardboard have taken up residence in 1/3 of the garage spilling merrily over the sides of the giant recycle bins that now have no where to go but plenty to wear. However I am loathe to just put it in the trash. Recycle is too ingrained and I am too cheap to buy the extra recycle service. My fervent hope is the quarantine ends before the recycle totally takes over. 

THE AGE OF PANDEMIC: BIGLY CRIMES & CONFUSION Chapter 12

And on the news front today I cannot let this one pass. Apparently the Prez has accused the previous President of bigly crimes. Will not say what, but menacingly intones "just you wait". For what? The sky to fall? News flash it has fallen, disintegrated and burst into flames on the lungs of the stricken. Who does this? 3rd grade bullies rushing to scare and threaten with little to back it up.  Oh well nothing new to see here.

However the fun fact today is that Maestro McConnell, our illustrious senate majority leader and human version of the venerable turtle, has proclaimed Obama showed no class by making comments criticizing the handling of the coronavirus crisis.  I am here to say Mr McyCo would not know class if he was struck in the mouth with a white gloved hand loaded with brass knuckles. 

There are so many clichés that go with this. Pot calling the kettle black; takes one to know one; you smelt it, you dealt it; I'm rubber you're glue whatever you say bounces off of me and sticks to you. Or to get Shakespeare involved "much ado about nothing".  Many have criticized, heck many are living it!  The emperor is strikingly and pathetically naked.

Management 101:  identify the problem, take responsibility, list the options, remain nimble in your solutions. Though in the "bizzaro" world we live in today a different lesson. Ignore or deny the problem, assign blame, fumble every possible option, create a bigger more destructive crisis. Meanwhile be sure to criticize the knowledgeable and promote destructive unhelpful behavior while thumbing your nose at  science and, most important, claim success at every juncture. 

At least we have everyone wearing a mask in the West Wing with one notable exception. Is it any wonder that people are confused?

MOTHERS' DAY

Throughout Mothers Day I kept thinking over the last times I saw my Mother and my Mother-in-law and how much I missed them. Very different women, yet exceptional in their unique ways. My Mother was a vibrant, intelligent agitator whose opinions never wavered when she believed she was right. She was known as "Shirley from Kentwood" on talk radio and was a frequent contributor. 

A warrior when she needed to be with endless energy until illness insisted on a prominent place in her life. I remember my sister telling of her battle to access her child when she went through a divorce. Her ex and his Mother were not letting her near her son, not at least until my Mother got involved. She marched into the house, her eyes flashing red my sister said, and in no uncertain terms took possession of situation and boy. No quarter given..

Our family is passionate and fiercely protective. Though my husband was more reserved he had to be ready for bear hugs and noisy debates when he visited. His family, just as family oriented, but quieter in their responses and Dad/Papa was the authority. I always believed my MIL was the power behind the throne as she diplomatically and deftly maneuvered the outcome. What a Grandma. Ten times to the playground if that is what her granddaughter wanted and ice cream for breakfast. But on weeklong camping trips and solo visits to Florida the two of them forged a bond of friendship and secrets and I know my daughter misses her deeply. When my FIL plunged into that dark hell of Alzheimer's disease, she quietly took up the mantle of command openly and with strength.

Both women were adored by their husbands well past 50 years of marriage. My Father a lost soul for many months after she passed, would visit every week and we just waited and listened to whatever he wanted to communicate until he slowly came back to himself. My MIL was widowed before her husband was gone as he slipped further and further away from her in his memories. Tethered to an oxygen hose she carried on alone as the man she loved since she was a teenager became a child again. 

I had no inkling when Mother went into the nursing home around Mothers' Day that she would never return to lovingly harass husband and family. The matriarch to the end. My sister steadfastly visited each day as did my Father encouraging her return to her throne. In fact, the one time my sister left for the weekend for a well-deserved rest and a concert she admonished my Mother not to do anything drastic while she was gone. Ever contrary she did. 

One of the last times I saw her I remembered she said she really longed for the taste of home-made custard. I "who do not cook" needed to grant that wish and made my first egg custard. After smuggling the container in, as it was definitely not on her diet, I gleefully presented the contraband. Being in a puckish mood she insisted I feed it to her. So I sat on the bed and we talked and laughed about life and I fed her little spoonfuls. Then when I rose to leave, she performed a little ritual that we used to do when I was a kid going to bed,. I should have known, but trust me you don't. 

A few months before my Father and I had to explain to her how ill she was and that we needed to know her wishes. Her vehement denial that she was going anywhere but home comforted me that she would overcome this setback. I also saw her fear as they moved her to a different room and now it was our job to defend her and reassure her that we wouldn't let them abandon her. A few months later she told us she was ready and in true Sweet fashion dramatically collapsed in the doorway as she and my Father were walking and was gone. I know that haunted my Father until he died.

Most people found my MIL, Jean, a quiet, sweet lady though the fire was just below the surface. She and I would have wonderful discussions and I know I could tell her anything. The last few years of her life she carted an oxygen tank around wherever she went. But that didn't stop her from enjoying her children and grandchildren whenever she could. Not in the greatest health, she came to be with us and her new great grandson for Christmas, 2013; the year when the power went out. We woke in panic when we heard the alarm on her oxygen tank ringing. The rest of the day was frantically securing hotel rooms and hot food. She took it in stride. Her next trip a few months later occurred when the house sprung a leak-a gas leak-and we had to abandon ship. Undeterred she weathered another hotel and a celebration of her great grandson's 2nd birthday.

Upon our last visit Jean showed me her exercise chart and asked me to help motivate her to perform the rituals. Like any good drill sergeant, I barked out the numbers and pushed. Again oblivious, though it did seem odd in retrospect that it was so hard for her to catch her breath. Within days we got the call to come soon. Arriving at the hospital she saw me and said "I'm so glad you came, I'll know you'll take care of things".  Yes, I'm the one who questions everything and is not afraid to ask for what I need, for others. A cursed blessing I suppose. After 3rd degreeing the doctor and chastising the nurse who said "she's just old" when I asked why she had such a rough night I knew I had to do something. 

Deja vu, they had given up on her. Although we got her to a better hospital and doctors who understood the connected symptoms her condition worsened. Again I volunteered to be the one to ask what her wishes were as her daughters were hurting too much to ask. As I bent over her poor intubated little body and asked her she made it very clear what she wanted. I remember I made a little choking sound and my sister in law's husband steadied me. I told the doctors we were ready for hospice. 

In a beautiful room overlooking Lake Michigan we spent the last few hours talking about everything but what was to happen and she slept. Of course, being the considerate woman she had always been, she waited until we left before she went on her way. 

I think they both passed as they lived. Hard but rewarding lives and wonderful legacies. It made me realize that when the time comes, I will be just as ready and hope to show the dignity and reassurance that each were able to pass on to us. I didn't realize it but my eyes are filled and the page is blurry. Bear with me, I guess I just needed to put it on paper. I miss them.

A young person whom I love very much was able to visit Nana this weekend. After two months he was bubbling over with adventures he wanted to share, starting one story before it prompted another and then a third. Not terribly coherent but so alive and entertaining. As the old "witch monkey" from the Lion King sings; Circle of Life. Looking so much like his own Mother and Nana the Great Grands would have loved him.                                                                          

                                     

THE AGE OF PANDEMIC: SPRING, I THINK Chapter 11

Harbingers of Spring - tremulous delicate flowers, robins with nests under construction , budding orangey clusters of infant leaves on winter-bare trees, verdant lawns  begging to be shorn, snow flurries. Snow flurries???  Yes, May in Michigan brings many surprises. Dug my flip flops out to go get the mail and had to switch to snow boots (well not quite, but covered shoes). Which makes me wonder why such a fuss over garden centers not open until a couple of weeks ago. We don't even try planting until Memorial Day. Must be a lot of green houses out there.

Unrelated fact. Did you know the definition of harbinger is "a person or thing that announces or signals the approach of another".  Good. I used it well.

Without a particularly busy schedule one has the luxury of watching the natural order in pure living color. One particular harbinger, robins, have an extremely piercing love/power cry and an extremely industrious life foraging the lawn daylight to dusk. The gender of the bird is quite evident as the females are wobbling around a tad to starboard with a fully loaded belly. Pregnancy is always the same for any female as her growing belly actually makes her question why her feet have disappeared. Feet or no, they have no knees I maintain, they stand patiently listening or feeling for little vibrations in the ground indicating prey on which they immediately pounce. Comical and tragic the epic battle ensues of bird vs worm each tugging for all they're worth. It's hard to know who to root for. Of course the OH muses whether robins could be trained to fetch night crawler bait for him but they tend to pounce, tug and swallow in a heartbeat without regard for others' needs or wishes. 

With humans out of the way, along with their infernal machines, animals seem to be taking over and enjoying every minute of it. A fox is running around the neighborhood in full daylight no doubt tracking Oreo and Marigold, two feline buds who hang around the wood pile. My neighbor was fascinated she said watching, probably a ground mole, making its way all the way up the lawn to the backyard noting the little raised furrow it kicked up on its travels. Why didn't she whack it with a shovel? As I say, we're not particularly busy and our reflexes are not quite what they used to be.

After hanging my humming bird feeder up eagerly and unfortunately prematurely (which actually makes sense when I put it that way) I was hoping to catch an early hummer or oriole commuter. After a couple of weeks finally success! Hummer feeding noted at 8:30 am. Always in a mad rush, wings flapping at warp speed, it is apparently still a little chilly to perch for any length of time. More of a fast food stop. But the sighting confirms another step into full-bore Spring. 

THE AGE OF PANDEMIC: GETTING OLDER Chapter 10

Finally in the shower at 2 pm this afternoon after a morning of cleaning, moving furniture and emptying closets... again.  Back in my previous life I had innocently scheduled new carpet to be installed in the bedroom on Tuesday, March 17. I then had the ambitious idea on the Friday before and reasoning since we had to move everything out anyway, this was an excellent time to paint the room first. I have always hated the orangey color in the room. However, it has apparently taken me 38 years to get REALLY tired of it only prefaced by the fact I was getting new carpeting. Necessity may be the mother of invention, but new carpeting prompts last minute re-decorating projects.

The OH was less than enthusiastic as there was only the weekend to get it done regardless of my plucky insistence that we already have leftover paint in a color I like; how long could it take; how hard could it be? Well as to the lst point, OH's motto is that it is never wrong to have more so off to Home Depot to get another can of the preferred paint color (took him days to let me know, we never had to crack the new can). Item 2- two and a half days; and of course Item 3 - a whole lot of cleaning, moving, prepping, etc. Over all these years of painting projects I am still the one who does trim and baseboards but never the rolling part. Sitting on the floor squinting at baseboards for two days becomes more of an aerobic exercise leading to a ballet of flailing and cussing just to stand up again. But I'm a stubborn cuss and when I start a project I finish even as I regret every painful moment. I may be living with my current paint choices, like forever.

Although ready for install on March 17 we all know what happened Monday, March 16. At midnight we became contestants in the quarantine game for the next 6-8 weeks. I realize it wasn't personal but a definite "woe is me" moment with bedrooms filled with extra furniture, drawers, shoes, extraneous odds and ends was a bit of a nightmare. The good news; we certainly weren't doing any entertaining anytime soon. How could there be so much STUFF in one room? Finding missing, necessary items became a daily game, but with my penchant for disposal without a thought it was rather cathartic and nostalgic at the same time. I found BABY HAIR from my first hair cut in a box with my Mother's handwriting on it. Who does that? Well I do actually. I probably have my daughter's hair somewhere waiting to freak her out when the time comes to clean out my stuff.

Construction got the "get out of jail free" card for May 7 so our ecstatic carpet dude was on the phone immediately to schedule our install. I am sure they are happy to get back to work AND to get a little cash flow going. Spent the morning cleaning, moving furniture and emptying closets...again for an 8 am start on the morrow. 

Anyway to get back to the shower and the theme of this rant. Almost forgot which is rather the point. I noticed the soap was down to a nubbin and wanted to be sure I put a new bar out. Yes, yes, I know. I am way behind the times as I use soap and a washcloth! Egads has the woman gone mad? Who doesn't buy an exquisite body cleaner in a sassy, sexy squirt bottle which is lovingly applied by hand in this day and age? Well mostly because soap is cheaper and I don't have the right type of shower massager.... but I digress.  Anyway a memory trick I use to help me remember is to repeat the item at least ten times out loud. Of course when one is in the shower it must be put to song so anyone in hearing distance was assaulted with my personal creation of "A Cake of Soap" with a catchy melody. Quit judging; this isn't American Idol.

I find as I get older remembering is not quite as efficient as it used to be. My theory is as we age we have been blessed with so much knowledge that it takes a tad more time to process. We know the answers on Jeopardy, just takes a little longer to bring it up from whatever mental filing system one maintains. Although I have modernized my internal filing system to a CD ROM, I am not quite to the flash drive level of retention and regurgitation. Of course things could change when I become old, which at the moment I believe is anyone five years older than me. That used to be ten years older so reality of setting in. At any rate, when I am older I may be reduced back to pencil and paper and an abacus to reach total recall.   Oh yes, I remembered to put the new soap out, or did I? I better check.

THE AGE OF PANDEMIC: PEOPLE Chapter 9

Have you ever left an encounter and realized several comments you could have made. Well I am here to reassure that even if you had the absolute most fantastic response to a situation, the person probably would not have waited long enough to hear it. Takes quite a load of responsibility off.  You're welcome.

Or you could be the other type of person with an absolute, soul gripping, mud sticking fear of empty air. You find a lot of the second type in politics. Loath to sound less than ready, many spout nonsense or answer with facts and blathering that have absolutely nothing to do with the question, subject or general innocent intent of someone remarking on the weather. "What a beautiful day" may result in inane comments about "it also rains or snows and by the way, I just love my hair stylist and discovered a new store in the mall that sells fancy umbrellas and rain hats but then what would I do with the dog when I'm wearing boots".  Something like that.  

Much like the current drastic situation where those, who I charmingly call "in-charge", are blathering and falling all over themselves to avoid any responsibility or even acknowledge  that we are in hip-deep in a health crisis and people are DYING! The sky is literally falling and folks in DC are getting back together to see how many "unqualified" judges (as determined by the American Bar Assoc) they can appoint to carry on the draconian agendas of the elite. Teachers, whose value have gone up tremendously as we try to "shelter in place" which means becoming your children's teachers, always told us hard work and good grades would bring us success. Wrong.  Apparently your best bet is to barely eke by but be the host/ess who can score booze, drugs, connections and be devoid of conscience. Such skills will, unfortunately, translate into future "clay feet" when a real crisis occurs. 

Incompetence normally likes to surround itself with those of intelligence and skill, but socially inferior, to perform the actual work.  On a sunny day they can blunt the horrible effect the lack of knowledge, discipline or experience adds to any managerial decision or issue. I definitely think the art of "chutzph" should be a required course before one becomes the drone of all work but devoid of all credit. The difference between the two groups of people may explain some of the "leaders" for which we have been blessed. Tons of chutzph-zero ability when the proverbial chips start flying. Fortunately we are wearing masks to block the flow.

To prepare for any potential situation the prez has merrily replaced anyone of competence (or they quit) and destroyed playbooks that might just be of assistance in the current situation. Only criteria for a position is absolute loyalty to himself. He has quietly hired an HR director (previously determined to be a security risk) to rid, not only the executive branch, but all government of any non loyalists. A practice that was, by law, done away with a 100 years ago because, the powerful were paying "favors" with government appointments over qualified workers.  No kidding.

 "I'm not responsible" is the current mantra but I want credit for anything that goes right. Unfortunately there is not much going right on a national level, except for the actions of those pesky "nerds", scientists and governors who not only paid attention in class but actually give a damn. Holding the latest "all about me" town hall in front of one of the greatest Presidents of all time, Abraham Lincoln, was absolutely bizarre. To claim he had been treated worse than our revered 16th President is the absolute definition of clueless egoism. Answering softball or avoiding questions in front of the man who held office as Commander-in-Chief during America's bloody Civil War, kept our country intact and was sacrificed for his efforts .  Oh yes, the comparison is blindingly obvious. 

THE AGE OF PANDEMIC: MASK-QUERADE Chapter 8

I am fascinated and amazed at the variety of face masks being sported by the population. Some are professionally rendered. Some are hand-made. Some are whatever leftover material, ragged t-shirt, curtain or scarf and rubber bands the user is willing to sacrifice to the cause. I tend to believe that they represent the leanings of the wearer, which means I seen everything from Mickey Mouse to the confederate (small c) flag. The American flag is also popular though I always wonder if that in itself is rather disrespectful of Old Glory to sport pants, shirts, underwear, do-rags and face masks in her image. I mean if it is SO horrible to kneel at the National Anthem, how is wearing the flag any less irreverent. But to set the record straight, I have no problem with either practice. Patriotism is in the heart and the soul not waving a flag around coupled with a MAGA hat.

I will now go on record and apologize to anyone I may have offended in the past....now that I can smell my own breath! My fondness for garlic, pickles and spicy food is now rendering a surprising impression when going out and about in my persoal choice of full cowboy bandanna. What some might refer to as verbal farts. Also I apparently mumble in real life which is becoming totally incomprehensible when trying to chat casually in my undercover mode.

Note:  OH says I mumble and I say he can't hear.  For those who know my family, it's the Roy and Shirley show all over again in a new generation. Also speaking of my parents in their later years; one was legally blind and the other couldn't hear directions but they at least made one good driver between the two of them. Further digression. When Mom and I were running the Free Press route in the middle of the night her driving skills would have made her a great wheel man for the Mafia as my brother used to say. She could always rock the car enough in the massive snow drifts common in Grand Rapids to get us out of trouble with one 100 pound girl pushing.

Another fun thing about masks is you never know who is speaking, not really. If you have something pithy, risque or potentially inflammatory to say your best bet is to stand near someone who fits the comment, preferably not a relative, and fire away.  With any luck the hearer will be confused and helpless to retaliate. Of course the person you choose might not be so charitable.  Fast get-aways are recommended. Or you could employ my father's tactic of motioning a lack of aural and oral abilities. But then in his case it was probably true, not that it stopped him from making a pithy, risque or potentially inflammatory comment usually at a high decibel level.

THE AGE OF PANDEMIC: HYPERBOLE Chapter 7

As good people lose their lunch over armed citizens, fingers on the triggers, invading the State house and legislators donning bullet proof vests our coronavirus in chief supports their patriotic actions while condemning their brandishing of weapons as totally unacceptable. NOT. I picture my concealed weapons instructor noting their improper use of firearms in threatening other citizens except in the case of committing a crime (that would be acceptable), but oops he is part of the mob.

How does it  make your point about freedom by threatening the health, welfare and freedom of others. My gun is bigger than your gun (or lack thereof) so I win? Hunters, police officers and soldiers know to respect their firepower. Just because you are bigger, stronger and carrying a weapon does not mean you can act the fool. Strength should begat an intelligent controlled response and possibly mercy because you already know your worth and have no need to prove it. Bullies are cowards.

I totally admire the example of control demonstrated by the stoic line of Michigan State Police toe to toe, chest to chest, and no doubt spit to mask facing the demonstrators. An especially poignant shot was the bald and bearded screaming man-no mask. The MSP calmly staring back over his mask and not moving. Guess who won? Reminds me of a confrontation with a certain Police Chief who was upset over an action my department had taken. All I could do was stand there, not saying a word, within a foot of his screaming tirade (no social distancing and masks then) feeling his breath and spittle as he ranted. When I said nothing and did not back away, he subsided. There's a whole lot of psychology and intimidation with that little personal space thing.

Here's a thought. If the State lifted all the sanctions do you even have a job to go back to? Or will they even hire you back after the outstanding demonstration of stupidity you have shown in not following the rules and your desire to scream and threaten when you do not get your way? Definitely the ideal employee who has proven their ability to crack and react with emotion when put under pressure or in a crisis. Also for you to go back, everyone else has to go back; co-workers, suppliers, supply chain, customers. Some or many may not be comfortable doing so. Does that occur to anyone? I believe some folks are saying publicly - "freedom now" and privately thinking "thank goodness the Governor has balls".   Just saying...

All that being said however, I do believe, with no proof, obviously, these were possibly paid outside agitators brought in to cause disruption. Because most of the people I know are following the orders and actually care if Grandma or Dad die from a virus that we are still trying to figure out. We are not Saints- we don't love it, and we follow begrudgingly, but we do the right thing. That is my America.