Hang in there, baby...

Mother Nature is giving us one last hurrah. An Indian Summer, if you will. I know it’s not politically correct to call it that, but that’s all I know it by and I always thought of it as a beautiful term. It always conjured within me peaceful images of Native Americans on the plains.

 

It’s so odd to have falling leaves outside. The bright hues of Autumn in the earth tones. It looks as if it should be cold, but I’m still wearing shorts and a t-shirt. It reminds me of the Autumns of my youth. It was never cold for Halloween. Our costumes were never covered up by jackets and you never had to wear long underwear under anything. A princess looked like a princess. A pirate looked like a pirate.

 

Mid-October I usually remove the polish from my toes. I tend to have a sad sigh as I do it because it’s an end of a season. My bare toes will not see sunshine for 6 months.

 

This year I’ve managed to prolong the inevitable. My toes are still enjoying their peeks of sunshine on them, although it’s so odd to have piles of leaves under the trees in the background.

 

As I sit here in my t-shirt and look at the weather forecast, I see my bare foot days are coming to an end probably tomorrow.

 

This Autumn has brought other interesting nature things to my front doorstep. I’ve seen a few shooting stars and one green meteorite.

 

I don’t know if that means anything metaphorically, but it is unusual – just as this year has been.

 

So during this pandemic, I try to see the positive because the negative outweighs nearly everything.

 

I look for the small things to appreciate. The simple things that help me through these trying times. This month its:

Shooting stars

Green meteorites

Bare feet

A rallying cry of summer

 

 

 

What are your walls for? Protecting me or protecting you?

 I answered "both", but gave it a lot of thought.

I do have walls. I’ve admitted to building them. 

I used to have rooms in my head where I locked things away. Sometimes I would dream of a big house. The house was always some sort of Victorian mansion. Some parts were beautiful, other parts were haunted and scary. Most of all, there was always a main large gothic staircase that went up to the second floor.

 

I would go up the stairs and there would be a long hall with many doors on either side of the hallway. Some doors I could open and inside those rooms I would see my old bedrooms from when I was a child.

 

Some rooms were locked and I couldn’t get in. The peepholes were blocked or the room was dark and I couldn’t see inside.

 

Some rooms I could get into and the entire inside was missing. A huge gaping hole would be in the middle of the room. I could never tell where everything went. If it was blown up, withered away, or fell apart.

 

As I grew older, I found that locking crap into rooms of a house in my mind wasn’t strong enough, so I built mental walls. Big, large, thick and sturdy walls. Like the ones you would see in castles. 12 feet thick. Impenetrable. So tall you couldn’t see the top so no using grappling hooks to scale those walls. And domed so nothing else fell in. Or they would just meet the ceiling of my mind.

 

Now, I know it’s not healthy to shove things aside and lock it all away, but this is my coping mechanism. At my age, I’ve dealt with what I am ready to deal with. At some point I’ll deal with whatever else, but for now - no.

 

That which does not kill you makes you stronger.

 

I find truth in that statement.

 

My walls have made me stronger. They are used as support within my mind. They are solid and weight bearing. I find comfort imagining them as an old castle dungeon as pillars.

 

Yes, I’ve seen the movies where one pillar goes down and it’s a domino effect, but in my mind, there are so many of them that it will take a real shit storm to topple my support system.

 

So yes, my walls are built to protect you and they are to protect me. I am stronger with them and in turn can deal with you.

Patience of a Saint...

 I slowly turn in my chair and peer longingly out the open window.

 

The sounds of crickets and cicadas fill the summer air. A bird chirps in the apple tree.

 

It is calming – being one with nature if not in body but by spirit.

 

I close my eyes and imagine a cool breeze drifting over my skin with a kiss of Autumn on it’s breath.

 

The goosebumps rise on my shoulders and arms as if I were actually able to manifest both a breeze and lower temperature.

 

The rustle of fallen leaves are too faint for me to hear. The crickets sing loudly as if to push the sound of Fall off a little further.

 

I imagine the damp smell of the earth as the leaves decompose. Again, like a wisp of smoke that I can’t grab, it slips through my mental fingers as if it were never there.

 

My eyes open and I still see a summer scene in my yard. Green grass and trees. Birds flying everywhere. Squirrels doing squirrel things.

 

My imagination coffee break is over and I must crunch numbers and tune out nature and my wishes for the time being.

 

Tomorrow I’m going to imagine a huge snow storm, a fire in the fireplace, chocolate chip cookies cooling on the counter, and me reading a book by the fire.

 

Call me a Waaaaambulance....

I'm hot.

I'm tired of working insane hours.

I want to go to the beach and lay in the sand with my toes in the water.

I usually do staycations, but I'm ready, like most people to get the hell out of Dodge.

Not that I can go anywhere.

Everybody has the cooties.

People are confrontational - just itching for a fight. Even I get in the mood to poke some jackass in the eye for being a jackass. But then I'd have to touch them and I'm not going to do that. So I give them the stink-eye instead and mentally set them on fire.

Is it the heat? Being cooped up too long? Cabin fever only there's no snow?

All I know is that I miss the old normal of bitching about normal stuff.

Does it really matter?

Who cares - what color you are?

 

What your creed is?

 

What your gender might be?

 

Who you love?

 

 

 

 

 

We are human.

 

 

We should all be treated equally as such.

 

 

If you're a jerk, it doesn't matter color/creed/gender/love - you're a jerk. 

 

 

Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself" (Matthew 22:37-39)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

ps - except for people who enjoy eating raisins. There's something wrong with those people.

 

Trip the light fantastic...

I'll admit I'm getting a bit cagey.

I try to keep a positive outlook on life.

Look, there's nothing I can do to make this pandemic go away as a singular person. But I can be part of the solution and not the problem.

I stay inside. Avoid crowds (a no-brainer on a good day anyway). And try to remember that this is not forever, just for now.

If you want me to wear a mask and gloves to protect myself and those around me (and the ones I love) I'll do it. Do I have to like it? No. But I'll do it.

I just try to keep a bit of silly in my back pocket for rainy days like this.

Do I imagine launching my groundhogs (which have been named: PITA, Forest-Forest Gump, Bubba, Lieutenant Dan and Jenny) with a trebuchet at my neighbors for not observing the social distancing rules? Hell yes. Will I explain in graphic detail how I would go about it. Also a resounding yes!

Am I having conversations with the cat about his pooping habits? Yes. Has he taken my advice? No.

Have I learned how to cook new and exciting meals consisting of coleslaw, burritos, and Cheetos? Yes I have. You can now call me Chef Boy-are-dees Gross.

Have I started playing video games again to soothe the fears, frustration, and general anxiety from this new normal? Yes. Do I feel better after causing complete mayhem in my video worlds? Absolutely.

What I'm trying to say is that we are all in this together. Find a way to cope. Your way may not be my way and vice-verse. Reach out to friends. Create something. Learn something. We're going to come out on the other side a changed society - but it might be a good thing in some ways.

Remember to acknowledge the inner child within. Let them out to play and be ridiculous if you need to express yourself.

I know I am.





ps. tiptoe through the tulips

Day 204325 of Quarantine...

Captains Log:

Star Date - I don't know because I have no idea what day it is. It's daytime. Later it will be night time.

The locals have gotten restless.

The bearded one is training the native fauna to perform tricks that only he understands. So far we have 6, of what appear to be Tribbles. They are small, furry, and smelly. The Tribbles, not the bearded one.

The young one has taken to speaking only in gamer code. While he is appearing to be content, sometimes his bursts of maniacal laughter unnerves the rest of the team. Will keep him fed appropriately so as not to disturb him further.

Working from the main domicile, while at first was a great adventure, has become one of tedium. Domicile life blends into work life and vice-versa. Once the weather gets better, windows can be opened and then the feeling of being trapped will lessen. I hope.

The domesticated cat has taken to speaking, or yelling, at the humans. The scary thing is that we are all now starting to understand him and respond to his demands. It won't be long before he takes over and rules us with an iron tail.

Still no word on when our lockdown will expire. I hope it does soon before we start eating the Tribbles for fun.

Clouds...

Stuck inside.

Going batty.

Trying to stay safe and healthy. I take my vitamins and avoid people like the plague. Pun intended.

Each week or so I reach out to a friend I haven't heard from in a while.

Two weeks ago it was my college best friend, Sue. We lost touch a number of years ago when her mom got sick and I had gone thru a difficult death of another best friend. We had things to deal with at the time.

I found her number and called. We were so excited to talk again and absolutely reconnected. She was feeling lonely and needed a friend. We started back up where we left off.  Call it kismet. But we text almost every day now. Another human connection that keeps our worlds less disconnected. Good friends are like that, you just pick up where you left off and continue the conversation.

One week ago it was a friend who has been elusive. Part of the reason is because one third of our tripod had passed, and she found it difficult to talk to me because I reminded her of the things we used to do as a posse. She still struggles with the death that dealt us such a blow, we broke.

After a few glasses of wine, we were able to laugh and do some reminiscing that didn't cause pain or a lag in the conversation. I think we're on the mend. We talked for hours about nothing in particular but laughed a lot. It was good to belly laugh.

Last night I texted one of my most wayward friends, Diggity. She's that one friend who lives on the fringes of society in every way. I didn't really expect a response, I just wanted her to know I had been thinking of her and was hoping she was ok. She was excited to hear from me and is doing good. Got herself cleaned up and is holding down a job. I'm so proud of her and told her so. Another connection with a lost soul.

I'm not sure who I'm going to contact next week. I have a list of friends who I miss.

So, amidst all this scary pandemic crap, I have found a way to survive and hopefully brighten someone's day - if even for an evening.




ps - I wound up speaking with another one of my fringe friends today. Sometimes there's a reason for distance, but it was good to talk with her again.



pps - silver linings

pan*dem*ic

Pronounced -

/panˈdemik/

adjective

1.    (of a disease) prevalent over a whole country or the world.

 

I have to say that I’m rattled.

Rattled to the bone.

Maybe it’s the amount of jet-fuel I’ve been drinking. It could be the scary news that keeps popping up on my news feed. Maybe cabin fever has finally set in. Maybe it’s because I’m a germophobe and this is actually one of my nightmares coming true.

Maybe because this is actually scary.

I am quarantined. Not because I’m sick, but because my city is. All non-essential businesses are to be closed.

The markets have bare shelves. I can’t purchase toilet paper, any sanitizer or oddly enough, cooking oil. The only meat available yesterday was bison (no thank you), Lamb (really, no thank you), and some kind of insanely expensive beef from Japan called “Wagu.” I’m sure it’s tasty and all, but no thank you.

I have this jittery feeling in my entire body. My stomach has butterflies. I’m not sleeping well. I worry about my family getting exposed. I worry about already being exposed. (I’m not sick, really).

My cupboards are stocked. My family is safe. I am ok.

I just have to keep that mantra.

It’s all going to be ok. It’s just going to take a while. I’m ok. You’re ok. Stop watching the news. Lower your caffeine intake. Social distance. Wash hands. Don’t touch your face. Don’t touch anything.

And that being said, I’m not a touchy-feely person but I could go for a hug right about now – but we’re not allowed.

 

 

Good night, sleep tight...

As I strip the bed of its sheets, I am reminded of my childhood for some reason. I go through the motions of pulling the heavy comforter to the floor, followed by the woolen blankets, followed by the flannel top sheet, and then the bottom flannel sheet.

 

The pillows are stripped one by one, and for a moment I wonder why I need so many pillows. They are a pain in the ass to change. Yet I love my sleeping pillows more than anything and I don’t share them with anybody. Ever.

 

I kick the pile of sheets to the corner of my bedroom and present my bed with crisp, clean sheets. Bit by bit the bed gets pulled back together and looks presentable. The squirrelly bottom sheet fights me as I try to stretch it out over the mattress corners. The bed is so large that I’m making it while climbing all over the top. The cat decides to jump in on the fun. So now I’ve made my bed with a cat buried in the covers.

 

While I do find that part humorous, the rest is a tedious task I could do without. Then the age-long debate in my mind rears it’s ugly head again.

 

I’m not a fan of making my bed. Never have been.  So why do I do it?

 

The husband likes the bed pulled all together and presentable. Presentable for whom? It can’t be me because I don’t care. It can’t be for the kid because even he doesn’t make his bed. His room, his mess.

 

Don’t get me wrong, if I had all the money in the word and a maid to do it, I’d have crisp, clean sheets on my bed every day. But since I have neither, I’ll have to deal with it.

 

I think it all stems from my childhood. My mother was insistent on everybody having a made bed. And “made” meant tucked in and clean lines. Yes, I am capable of doing hospital corners and bouncing a quarter off the tightly tucked linens, but I don’t do it.

 

My mother prefers the tightly made bed with everything tucked in. She says that she can’t climb into bed with the sheets rumpled because that’s not the way to go to sleep. It needs to be welcoming and ready.

 

For me, as a child, she used to tuck me in and it was so tight it was like I was in a straightjacket, but in bed. I couldn’t move.

 

As an adult, I cannot sleep in a bed made so tightly. I find that I can’t breathe. I can’t get comfortable. I feel trapped. I need the loose covers. I need to be able to move.

 

When I go to a hotel, the first thing I do is rip the bed apart. I prefer rumpled. Clean but rumpled.

 

I throw the old sheets in the hamper and look back on my messy creation. There’s a moving lump on my side of the bed, and a pile of extra blankets piled on the other side of the bed.

 

For me the whole scene looks inviting. Its comfort and happiness. My bed is ready to loosely hug me and lull me to sleep – giving me space to dream of impossible things.

 

I can't wait for bedtime.

 

 

PS - Don't let the bedbugs bite!

 

Neither here nor there...

I unplugged for the holidays.

It seemed as if it were needed.

Was my time spent well?

Yes.

I spent my time with family and friends.

Watching movies.

Reading old books and new books.

I cooked.

I ate.

I watched shooting stars.

And I slept.

Sometimes it really is the simple things in life that make it special.