THE AGE OF PANDEMIC: CHAPTER 22 Salute to Parents and Caretakers

No matter what one's issues or complaints may be, there is always someone's else's story that knocks yours into the hinterland. Mole hills in comparison one might say; whine vs reality.  I can't get my hair cut vs. I lost my job cutting hair; I can't go to my favorite restaurant/bar vs I can't afford to buy food for my family; I have to wear a mask to leave my house vs I'm in quarantine after exposure; I can't visit my relatives vs mine died alone in a hospital and I couldn't be there.  See how that works? At any rate, most of us do feel your pain and have empathy. Forget the vocal and selfish minority screaming my freedom first as they spew their bodily fluids your way. Be sure to stay out of range of the freedom seekers who wish to take yours.

How the "sandwich" generation copes with working from home while caring for their parents and children out of school is unfathomable to those who do not have those responsibilities. They cheerfully proclaimed  "well at least I have a job and everyone is safe" for the first 30 or 60 days or so. The parents of small and school age children that require supervision, education and entertainment while being accountable for a full-time job are heroes. 

I asked my working Mother daughter if I could take the grandson for a week. To her credit she looked skeptical and warned me he was a bundle of energy, perhaps overwhelming for a week, but no worries. All was good, until I had to sit in on a ZOOM meeting. Amazing how much noise and commotion one small boy and his friend can cause when one is trying to act professionally in  a business meeting. Mute is a great feature so I can whip around and say "I'm on a call - CHILL." Not usually in an eight year old's vocabulary but fortunately he has been trained by his Mother to keep the noise level down when she's in a "virtual meeting". I mean when you hear "let's try a cannon ball" when they're in the bedroom, it does result in an anxious moment as you cringe for the inevitable crash.

NOTE: No one was actually harmed in the duration of the conference call. 

They were blessedly quiet when I made my remarks, although the follow-up phone call with the Executive Director was interrupted a couple of times with a "can I have a Faygo" or "what the heck are you guys doing, just wait a minute".   

The best part is at night though, when he winds down...a little. After an evening of fishing (when he landed a large catfish on his own) his "pungency" resulted in a quick shower, pjs and a cuddle. He gives Grandpa a hug and I tuck him in with his menagerie where he crashes in minutes. "Sleep in if you want" more of a wish than a reality. Love that boy!

THE AGE OF PANDEMIC: CHAPTER 21 Your Slip is Showing

In possibly good news/bad news for the United States Postal Service, people are utilizing their services more but unfortunately USPS is not able to keep up.  Though when one has a six-day (sometimes 7-day) a week service that impacts every single person in the US, there are bound to be a few glitches. It is remarkable to realize how incredible a job they are able to accomplish considering the "speed bumps" that keep cropping up to slow them down.

The pandemic only added to their already unworkable business plan by decimating their ranks due to illness or exposure to illness contributing, in the best case, to at least a 14-day "vacation" for employees. At least one finds out if middle management can actually do the job they are used to delegating. Inevitable delays in picking up, sorting and delivery occur. When you think about it the increased volume of mail and packages similar to the Christmas season has been occurring since March with no ability to hire or keep enough employees to handle the overflow. What used to take two days for delivery is now basically a "crap shoot" of  two to infinity on delivery.

Of course they were already in deep doo doo by the insane requirement that they fund pensions for people who are not ever born yet in today's dollars. The brains in Washington have been working overtime for years to destroy an institution that has been providing a vital service at a reasonable cost for 250 years. Privatizing is cheaper and more efficient they claim. Just look at airlines, utilities, road work, prisons and liquor commission to see how well that is working out for everyone. No bid and no accountability on services that should be for the benefit of, and paid for, by the people. But someone is getting rich, no worries.

Of course, the whole system of absentee ballots must have been negatively impacted by the current situation - Not.  As someone who has voted absentee for many years, it goes off like clockwork including primaries even during the pandemic.  But some would rather you face a line of many hours because they have brazenly closed down polling centers to discourage "certain" populations from exercising their rights as citizens of this country. Vote by mail is rife with fraud, for which there is no evidence; it is safer for the older or infirm voter; and more protected from the number of ignored and unanswered attacks from outside this country to impact our election process.

 I started with the Post Office in general and then apparently digressed  into the obvious plot of suppressing the vote. The point is one party is opposed to an honest reckoning of their job performance. Let your record stand up to the scrutiny of the electorate or just quit the pretense and openly shove this country into a total dictatorship. I believe in the people caring more than just bowing down and leaving the field to such evil.

At any rate, I blithely and innocently sent out my check and paperwork to the Secretary of State as usual by mail in early June to get license tabs for July. After a few weeks there was a "Ruh-Ro" moment as I realized 1) The State is working from home and 2) the mail is hopelessly overwhelmed.  To save a few bucks I did not order online in the midst of a pandemic. I am aware of the stupidity of that, but apparently I was not aware of the actual stupidity of that. Trying to call the SOS (how appropriate) was not possible.  However, I made the cut and received the tabs after only a week of driving illegally. However the registration for the boat is still in limbo-land. The only fear there, as most lake patrols are few and far between, is the possibility of said boat being stolen and bogus numbers put on its enticingly empty sides. Fingers crosed.

TREE-SURRENDER

Adventure for the week - haircut/scalping of our messy willow tree. Our neighbor called from the lake with a dire story of winds blowing, trees dancing, limbs cracking-essentially hell breaking loose. All of which led to his, not surprising, fear of tree crashing, limbs falling, debris bouncing onto fence, house, lake, etc.  As I was busy the OH was swiftly dispatched to survey the current emergency. 

The initial report was yes there is a big branch with a precariously large crack in it. However it was handily resting inside a deep crotch made by two other sturdy limbs. Only problem, Willows are notoriously known for not being very sturdy and have a tendency to pull their roots up and away from large bodies of water. They really lean and bend when even slightly challenged. They also drip leaves and twigs continuously. The good news is they grow quickly and offer much shade. Dilemma - tree branch could live in its snug new spot for five years or come down in the windstorm predicted for the weekend. Not to mention its filthy "shedding" habits.

The suggestion was immediately vetoed that one of the guys was going to climb up the tree with a chain saw and I decreed professional assistance was required. One also had to consider the amount of wildlife inhabiting the tree. Two empty nests so it's a go. 

 Now why is it that no matter what service one needs- contractor, plumber, well driller, electrician, tree dude-nobody calls you back. I still believe there is a need in there for small business people to pool resources and hire one operator to at least return a call. They will still be too busy to handle your issue, but at least you would know "your call is very important to me" and you would have a name to badger down the road when no action  occurs.

After only two days, three companies, and several calls later a "tree dude" agreed to pop over and see what was required. Though Burt says I need to quit letting workers know somehow that I am a safety geek with credentials, it always comes up. Go figure. Because no one is going to DIE working on my house. Anyway a plan of action was determined and price negotiated. We naively said we could handle clean-up. Big mistake-always pay extra for the clean-up. Once the MIOSHA thing was brought up "tree dude" says "well better not watch then".  Ha ha.

To my delight, and relief, he pulled out a complete set of forestry personal protective equipment, tied himself into the tree and made busy with the chainsaw. We settled in our chairs to watch the fun. "Take out anything that looks shaky or cracked". Another big mistake. The ensuing pile was as high as the fence and all the way from the neighbor's deck to the waterfront. "Tree dude" jokingly says "I did you a solid and dropped most of it on the neighbor's side". Well he was the one that was worried.  Again Ha ha.

For the next hour and a half these old fogies including the neighbor, were cutting, hefting and dragging all the willowy trash to the front of the house for later disposal. Gosh that beer tasted good when we finished. Final assessment, that tree is going by-by this winter, but I'm springing for the clean-up. Don't have to whack me with a tree branch...again.

ROADWAY GAMES

Running errands and acting as chauffer today I was struck anew at how much doggone roadway work goes on in Michigan in the summer. As the old joke goes - we have two seasons snow and construction; both designed to wreak havoc on our ability to drive in a straight line. However, we are extremely skilled drivers as we are able to maneuver rather adroitly around surprise obstacles and obviously the roads are not actually straight. Also as apparently speed limits are considered only a strong suggestion, unless a "red/blue bubble" is in close proximity, speeding is the norm. Which leads to the second old joke - approaching a snow-covered downhill at breakneck speed only prompts a Michigander to say "hold my beer and watch this".  We are not afraid of snow and ice, but at least the road workers are not in the line of fire, usually, in the winter.

70 mph to 60 to 45 if workers are present is the norm on roadway construction sites and we always wonder if we are the only law-abider that follows the suggestions. As if there is a prize for arriving at the destination two minutes early, the games of "chicken" continue to haunt other drivers as so many jockey for position before reaching the dreaded "one lane ahead" juncture. The "zipper" method, if we were patient enough to employ it, suggests merging at the last possible moment before reaching the one lane dead end. To work successfully, each car must gracefully enter in turn from each lane.  Right. The fear of losing one's assumed position in the daisy chain before reaching the merge spot renders a very sensible idea DOA.

If you have ever worked next to a lane of traffic going 45 or even 25 mph, you learn how vulnerable one is behind those barricades or cones and how much you rely "on the kindness of strangers" to get you through the workday in one piece.  Unfortunately, many do not. Although workers frantically scrambling up the side of a hill to get out of the way of a wayward driver may seem humorous, it made it hard to recruit people for the road work crew. Not to mention the extreme anger and threats they receive from commuters who do not want to be delayed or detoured by necessary roadwork.

 To illustrate the point, during my term we lost a foreman who rather than shut the entire street down tried to minimize aggravation to motorists by flipping a piece of cable up and over an oncoming car. Unfortunately he did not realize the cable had insidiously wrapped itself around his ankle. When the car hit the cable he was flung into the air and was fatally dropped onto the pavement. 

You never get over the loss and you can never fully explain why people do what they do after the tragedy. His motives were, perhaps exemplary, the result, almost pre-ordained and so unnecessary. It is one of the challenges of a safety program to always think of  "what could happen" and it is a hard sell to all involved.  I remember the surprise of a sewer crew chief who feared repercussions over the scope of their work in unearthing a sewer line for repair (often 15-20 feet deep). "Take out the whole corner and I will take the heat with Administration."  I got called to the "Principals" office more than once, but I did not regret it. 

An early example was in the power plant one day and I came across a man standing about 15 feet in the air straddling a boiler-no ladder, scaffold or fall protection.

Digress: As the first woman wandering around in the power plant using a restroom was an adventure and I actually blundered into makeshift locker rooms until I got the lay of the land so to speak. But holding the door shut behind me when I tried a quick exit after a surprise encounter with a shower room was a tad uncomfortable. Cultivating a sense of humor was one of those unwritten job requirements. When the first female boiler operator was hired I am sure she appreciated my "breaking the ice" so to speak. 

Anyway I told the tight rope walker to come down as I was not comfortable with his activity. Within five minutes an announcement came over the loud speaker to report to the PM Manager's office who reamed me out for telling his guy what to do. After five minutes of ranting he asked me if I was ever going to do that again?  I looked him in the eye and said "Under the same circumstances, yes". I have never seen anyone turn an actual shade of purple like that. Fortunately I knew CPR if necessary.

I know I started talking about road construction and digressed as usual.  One thing about my occupation was the opportunity to research, learn, interpret and implement. We had our first opportunity to design a work zone taper for an overhead line stringing operation across one of the expressways. As a city it was unusual to contend with high speed federal/state highways road diversion. I received a wonderful education from the Dept. of Transportation (DOT) folks and devoured the Uniform Traffic Guide handbook. But in the end, we had to make the decisions of what went where. I am proud that we completed the job safely but I am also glad we did not have to deal with the numerous distractions that exist for drivers today. The road worker deaths that have occurred in the last several years bear a grim reminder of how badly things can go.

 Humorous side note: on this occasion, the crew took me up in the highest bucket they had (80 feet high) to see if I would be nervous. My philosophy was always to "work" or observe every job before I had the audacity to advise them. It is a matter of respect in my book. Anyway as I am relatively short, 5'3" the side of the bucket came up chest high on me.  No problem, plus I love heights. They were a little disappointed.

CIVILIAN PERSPECTIVE (Chapter 1)

A friend suggested I write down some of my stories for my grandson to read some day. No good segue or apropos of nothing I will launch into some of my adventures. Though a lot of it was, as are most jobs, a lot of routine and paperwork, it had its moments. Making something out of nothing was fortunately something of which I excel and there is something to be said for the attractiveness of creation. Of course, one must remember these incidents occurred many years ago and many of the issues identified have been more efficiently and routinely addressed over the years. 

Though the hue and cry that ensued over my recent paper presented at a conference on marijuana in the workplace illuminate there will always be new problems with their accompanying hysteria to navigate.

As a Safety Director and later Deputy Personnel Director of a city I had unique interactions with the police department. When I was promoted I had to caution my new Safety Administrator not to focus his attention on police and fire.  Yes, I know that's where the fun and exciting stuff happens, but they have procedures and policies much more detailed than our rules and they do not need the amount of assistance, and devotion, that other departments desperately needed. But I also got to see some of the warts. 

First they are a different breed who unfortunately interact with, shall we say, the seamier side of life and thus do not trust others very easily except for each other. I attended a vehicle accident review one time when they were expounding on their low rate of accidents. I had to point out, as a civilian, that we see a "cop car" and are desperately trying to get out of the way, down a side street or slow wayyyy down so as not to become the object of attention. They were surprised at my observation. Apparently that would not be their reaction-go figure. Considering they drive with their window part way down (regardless of weather), listen to radio communications and run a computer while maneuvering the car, perhaps their driving skills are more exemplary than I considered.

In both disciplines, they are the folks who wade in while the rest of us are running the other way. But the fire folks were hoping I could persuade the powers that be to change the color of their shirts so there would be no mistaken identity issues.  Speaking of shirts, the police must have been proud of theirs (dark blue) because trying to get them to wear fluorescent vests, in the roadway, in the dark was considered less than macho apparently. A surprising reluctance to accept bullet-resistant vests, citing discomfort, bulky, too hot, etc., was real but eventually accomplished. I never did get the approval for athletic shoes on patrol while I was there. Nothing like slippery leather shoes jumping fences chasing a perp, etc. 

The gear weight issue was legitimate. On a ride-along we stopped for coffee about 3 am at a hole in the wall diner that I swear I did not know existed and could not find in the daylight. After my question on how much weight they carried (gun, cuffs, do-rights, baton etc.) the officer removed his gun belt and handed it to me. As I was hefting it to appreciate the weight another officer walked in the back door. You can imagine my face as I was lofting the gun belt in front of me and an armed officer went immediately into a crouch. Talking fast and handing back the gun even faster, we all had a chuckle. Turned out to be about 12-13 pounds when I weighed it later. 

I had the pleasure of firing one of their 357s when I was doing lead exposure monitoring at the police gun range. Without warning me of the kick (I had only fired .22s before) I promptly whacked myself in the nose from the recoil. Again we all had a good chuckle-no lasting marks.  If you did not know it before, I am here to tell you they all carry another "personal" weapon...always. They are expected to intervene, with weapon, even when off-duty and were required to practice fire both weapons at least monthly. It was an interesting day but very noisy. They do not make good enough hearing protection for eight hours of gunfire. All those cowboys and spies must have been half deaf.

When the HIV/AIDS/hepatitis issues become prevalent I got quite an education about vaccines, anti-body testing and treatment protocols. Then as now, no one believes the science and even the toughest dudes and dudettes become a bit hysterical over previously manageable situations.  Such as who and how do we clean up the blood? Who gets to clean up the police car after a sick or bleeding "passenger" was transported in the plastic back seat? What ppe do I now have to carry and who disposes of it. How does my uniform get cleaned? I even had to figure out how to set up an "evidence drying" area in an empty store room, as items come in still "fresh" from the scene covered with, well use your imagination. There was no template on a lot of this stuff so someone had to come up with these protocols back in the beginning. That is the nature of the employee safety business. 

Digress: When working with the city zoo I was asked how many snake bite kits would be required. Trust me. There is no guidebook from OSHA on that one. So thinking quickly I asked, duh, how many poisonous snakes do we have? One - so that was the answer. Yes, I know it depends on what KIND of snake it is, but that was a sufficient answer.  Not like a call in the wee hours saying maintenance busted through a wall and thinks they hit asbestos, but that's another story requiring me to pull in favors from better staffed safety departments. I was a one-man band most of the time.

 But the claim that drug evidence was "leaking" out of bags and getting the quartermaster guys high was a wee bit suspect. Actually got the head of emergency services from a local hospital to come in and calm the troops on that one. 

GETTING OLDER

From the arrogance of youth I always thought of my Grandmother as old even though she was in her early 50's when I was born. She was an active lady who flew to Florida and Las Vegas by herself in the 60's when most people were not that casual about air travel.  Due to rheumatoid arthritis her husband "Pappy" was confined to a wheel chair at age 39 until he died. Consequently she was, by necessity, the breadwinner and, as such, made most of the decisions. Not that he would have been able to stop much of her independent spirit. 

She was a wild card in the years when ladies were prim, proper and stayed home. From flapper to sales woman to landlord she was not a lady who took much advice from anyone. Though her husband and son swore she could not do whatever it was she wanted to do (legally, morally, etc.), she just ignored them. The stories of her escapades and wild driving were legendary, but she always managed to transport us safely "by the grace of the Almighty". She got out of a speeding ticket once by claiming the wheelchair was mine and she was in a hurry to get me home as I wasn't feeling well.  Pappy just sat quietly during this massive lie fiddling with his pipe. 

From her I learned that age is just a number and from my Grandfather that a minor difficulty such as not being able to walk was taken "in stride" as we did everything and went everywhere we wanted. No handicapper accessible back then so we had exotic restaurant tours through the kitchens of swanky night spots. A ramp at the house was poured with heel indents so he could maneuver up and down the two-story ramp with ease, often with a grandchild on his lap. As I look back I don't know if I could have managed it, but his attitude was just do it and worry about whether it's even "possible" after success or failure.

Digress: My Grandfather and I watched a movie where a lady was disguising the fact she could walk and was in a wheelchair. In a subsequent fire she leaped out of her chair to safety. Pappy saw my speculative look at him and said "Don't you dare think about it".  I'm a card.  Speaking of which I would cheat at the card game of War so he could win. Of course he knew; he was a massively successful card shark who parlayed his poker winnings at the horse races for fun.

That could be why I think of aging as a minor inconvenience and am usually surprised when I leap up from a seated position and stagger like I just imbibed a snootful of booze. Surely the lady cannot be gassed on one glass of wine, well two.  Nope. The darn hips lock up and cause a unintended hokey pokey dance until everything unkinks. Something they don't tell you -- or you wouldn't believe in the rosy flush of youth -- your mind stays at 18 or 20 but sometimes your body has other ideas. 

Also your skin becomes like tissue paper! A minor bump against a stationary object sets off intensely painful reverberations. One literally vibrates. Stubbing a toe in the dark sends you to a new dimension. A minor fall becomes a bruise as big as a baby's head, but not as cute. One positive thought, however. Body hair kind of surrenders due to those pesky hormonal changes meaning less need for frequent grooming. I believe I shaved my legs for a month before I realized I had no blade in the razor. No worries! But a new razor means extremely delicate manipulations due to the tissue paper skin referenced earlier.

As become older I ponder more. (No doubt too much time on my hands) Do we become more afraid or just more aware of the consequences? Are we hesitant to change or is it the voice of experience? Is it new or just repackaged "crap" from an earlier time? Are we suddenly invisible or just irrelevant? Do we try so hard to look younger that our value as a wise elder is disguised? Do I really have something to say or am I being annoying. 

 Ah well. Time to pop the top on my convertible and hammer Bon Jovi at jet engine decibel levels...WHOO OHH

THE AGE OF PANDEMIC: CHAPTER 20 To Mask or Not to Mask (clue yes)

An emphasis on make-up for the ladies has slowly died away as the mercury stubbornly maintains its premature dog-day highs and the sheer fatigue of bothering to dress, much less "to impress" becomes less and less important. Of all the appliances and utilities in the house the shower is the one beckoning in vain for some attention from the work-at-home population.

Digress; Speaking of the mercury rising, it's summer in Siberia and we're talking temps up to 100 degrees fahrenheit. Funny thing about melting permafrost. It causes buildings to collapse and greenhouse gas to be expended at a tremendous rate. A huge oil spill is still being dealt with in Russia as they claim surprise at the phenomenon of oil containment vessels falling over although other buildings dropping unexpectedly and ceremoniously into the earth should have been a clue.

The mask wars are alive and well with both sides claiming the moral high ground. Though how one defends exposing their fellow humans to the miasma of their germs in the name of personal freedom is beyond my understanding. In their defense that earlier mentioned miasma may be the reason some could be forgoing face armor. Friends and family please forgive me for my funky breath on occasion. Now that one has to rebreath one's own over and over, we get it.  

But is this the mountain we want to, literally, die on? The glares from both sides, though the effect is somewhat diminished by those whose faces are half-covered, is almost lethal. And don't get me started on the half/haves; those with their noses exposed. Outside of the sheer waste of  wearing a mask that leaves half your contagious respiratory system on display, it is not a good look. Somewhat like those thong swimsuits, on both sexes, that leave certain undesirable rear territory in full blooming glory. Jarring for those who are on the receiving end. In both cases wholly inadequate as a means of effective coverage.

Those who forego protection and social distancing are living and dying to regret it. State Governors and Presidents who say "do what feels good" and we can rely on people's good sense in the name of freedom have been woefully misinformed of what group of people we are talking about. Families of  Covid-19 partiers that give a prize to the first person to contract the disease and 20-somethings crowding a night club so tightly that they shut the whole State down must be so proud. 

With so many fashionable styles to choose from for both adults and children this is a small sacrifice to make for others. Though the masks that use a photo to resemble the bottom half of your face are rather creepy. As the "psuedo religious" are often the ones promoting non-compliance, I submit that Jesus said the two greatest commandments of them all are "Honor your God above all others" and "Love your neighbor as Yourself".  We got the love yourself bit down, but a little shaky on the first part.

Wear the dumb mask. It's not like we asked you to go line up and get poked with a sharp object. Oh wait that's coming actually.

UNFILLED MEMORIES

Some recent events triggered a wistful memory this week.  In the family a child was born and an elder passed away. The third reminder was a humorous suggestion from our daughter not to expect the same surprise on our 50th anniversary as she gave us on our 40th.  That is, the sonogram of our beloved grandson Joseph. Not happening, though I reminded her that her Mother got unexpectedly pregnant when she was older than her. 

But I can't blame those events alone as the unfilled memory is always there this time of year. If all had been right with the world and my baby-making abilities I would be celebrating the birthday of my second child who would have been 24 this summer.

Only in my life for a minute or months, "Peabody" never developed well enough to safely enter the world and chose wisely to forego the chance, leaving as they came - with emotion and tears. First with the startling news that I was pregnant at 44 and again, after I got used to the idea, dramatically leaving one night in a flood and pain.

 Our first little one followed the book taking the usual nine month incubation period and politely arriving one day before her due date after allowing Mom and Dad time to host their Christmas party. So why was the second so different? She was and is a joy so we were eagerly anticipating another perfect touchdown. Apparently someone had another plan. Although sitting up that night with Burt as a life drained away and later enduring the painful medical procedure finality, I think the worst was telling my girl that her little sibling was no more. We always had our best talks in the car-nobody looking at anybody and attention on other things less important if need be. I don't remember her saying anything but I could feel her hurt for me. 

I would mark milestones to the one that never was. Starting kindergarten when Kristen was graduating. A pretty little flower girl like her big sister or a cute ring bearer at Kristen's wedding. A teenage Uncle or Aunt to Kristen's son which both would have enjoyed immensely. Another child to keep us young in our golden years who understands technology! 

 

Of course life goes on with its mountains and valleys; laughter and sorrow; dramas and routines, we move on. But every summer I count my blessings of my beautiful daughter and grandson and offer a toast to the child (I always picture laughing) that waits for me in another place and time.