That dreaded second vaccination.

 

This afternoon, Jordan and I got our second COVID-19 vaccinations. I feel almost guilty writing that because I know so many deserving people are trying desperately to gain access to the shots, applying countless places and caught in an endless vacuum of waiting. We are fortunate because our family doctor is a member of a network that is coordinating with the county to deliver the vaccine and therefore receives a supply. Obviously, I am more than qualified to be in the 1b group because of age, and Jordan qualifies because she is listed as my caretaker.

I sometimes bristle at the idea of calling her a caretaker, in spite of all that she does for me. It’s not that I don’t appreciate her; it’s more that I rebel against the truth that I need a caretaker. But when I take a bold, straightforward look at reality, that’s the truth. I don’t drive, so she drives me to various medical appointments, which are about the only things that get me away from the cottage. She does my grocery shopping, my laundry, cleans my cottage, and fusses at me to drink more water, be sure to take medications, etc. There are a lot of things I can’t do from a walker, and Jordan does them with endless good cheer. I need to shut up and realize that she, as a caretaker, makes my life easy and happy life possible.

So now we’re in that limbo: will we have a severe reaction or not. Facebook is full of stories by people recounting their negative reactions—it’s enough to scare anyone. My doctor reminded me, however, that only about one-third of recipients of the second shot have a negative reaction. It can range from that of a neighbor, healthy young man, who was in bed for two days to a slight headache. And I’m told that older people are less inclined to react because our immune systems are weaker. Still, it’s kind of unsettling to get a shot that you know might make you feel worse. Christian is going to make a comforting chicken dish in the crockpot for dinner tomorrow night, and we will return the favor Sunday after he has his second shot on Saturday (he is eligible because of an autoimmune condition).

And then there’s the question of what we can do after we are fully vaccinated, and the vaccine has had time to take effect. Dr. Fauci, in whom I have absolute faith, says still wear your masks, social distance, and wash your hands a lot. I intend to do that, because even vaccinated, we can be carriers and infect others. The statistics on vaccinated people who get the disease are slim, but it does happen. Still, it seems to me that we are dealing with a disease that is even yet largely unknown—maybe in ten years, we may know the answers, but we don’t now. So that lunch with my daughters will be postponed, and I’ll essentially continue to live in quarantine.

More than one person has said to me, “So if that’s what you’re going to do, what’s the point of getting the vaccine?” It seems twofold to me. By getting vaccinated, I am pretty much protecting myself, but I am also protecting others. Even if I might still be a carrier, I would think odds are less likely. And I do believe that increasing vaccinations are what are making hospitalization and death numbers go down. Being vaccinated is what you do for yourself—and for your family, your neighbors, your community.

I read a Facebook post the other day in which a woman vehemently said she was never getting the vaccine because it is poison and is part of Bill Gates’ depopulation plan (never did figure out why Gates would have a depopulation plan, but I wasn’t about to ask that woman). Such ridiculous thinking doesn’t bother me, but I have also read that large percentages of health care workers and first responders are declining to be vaccinated. And that worries me, because of the implications for continuing spread of the disease. What do they know—or think—that we don’t? I know the vaccine was approved in a hurry—desperate situations call for desperate measures—but I tend to trust science. I wish everyone did.

More later. So far, I feel just fine and ate a good dinner, but it’s too soon to tell. In a sense I feel like there is a dark cloud hanging over my head. Can I blow it away?

Stay well, warm, and safe, everyone.

 

Lost friendships

 

Lost friendships happen, for many reasons, and they are always hard, but they seem more poignant to me during pandemic. Maybe what I’m trying to say is they leave unanswered questions. This holiday season I reached out to three longtime friends—people that have at one point been a big part of my life but that I don’t see or hear from often. I have not had a response from any one of them, which leaves me wondering: have I somehow offended? Is this a matter of political differences? Did they or a family member succumb to COVID-19? Or old age?

One is an author who befriended me when I was young and green. She is several years older than me, lives in another state, and was having trouble with her eyesight. I sent a Jacquie Lawson Christmas card but never got that email that tells me she opened it. Another is an author who lives nearby but with whom I’ve lost touch, and I’m sad about it—we used to be great traveling buddies, going to various conferences in Texas. For a while there we had a dog-and-pony show—she talked about being a fifth-generation Texan, and I countered with a newcomer’s point of view. I know she’s been ill, with severe balance problems, and has a caretaker at least part time. Maybe she’s given up reading email?

Finally, there’s a woman, long divorced as I am (our husbands were colleagues), with whom I used to enjoy dinners. Somewhere along the line it developed that we had political differences, and she would chide me for bringing up my liberal views. Jordan had been particularly fond of her and worked to make her welcome in our home. Is she ignoring my email because of our political differences? Did her grandchildren, who live in her building if not her apartment, bring COVID home to her?

The problem of losing friends over the trump regime is real, and I have given up on one longtime friend who told me she and her husband voted for trump because “we had no other choice.” I almost exploded over the lunch table. I was so upset that she said, “I’m upset that you’re so upset.” And that was in 2017 before we knew how bad it would get. Occasionally we email, and she told someone blithely that we didn’t get together because her husband and I disagreed over politics. No, it’s not politics. It’s morals, honesty, kindness, justice, humanity. Later, her husband told her to tell me that Biden will take us to socialism which is the first step on the road to communism. I think he needs to study his “isms,” including fascism.

But I grieve over lost friends. They are a part of who I am today. Friendships have shaped me, and I’m uncertain what to do next. A phone call might be awkward, whether their silence is due to age or illness or politics. A repeat email may be fruitless, but I will try that. I want to know that these people are okay. And I wish for a world where these was less divisiveness.

Maybe I’m being judgmental. I hear in myself a voice that says it’s okay for me to cut off trump-supporting friends but it’s not okay for them not to respond to me. And maybe ultimately that self-contradictory place is where I am. I may well have become as zealous against trump policies as his followers are for them. It will be interesting to see how this all plays out. I for one am nervous about January 6.

But meantime, I’m going to email those people again. I want to be the one to reach out—and I want to know that they are okay.

What's on your plate?

 

Americans never debate food as much as they do as Thanksgiving approaches. This year, I’m beginning to feel it’s a little de trop to want turkey. People are having everything from tenderloin to pizza and decrying the traditional turkey. Frankly, I like it, look forward to it, have mourned the last few years because we were always at one child’s house or another and never had leftovers. A benefit of staying home this year is that we will have the leftovers. I’m already having dreams of turkey hash.

Today there are ways to cook the turkey that my mom never thought of. I remain a fan of good old oven roasting, which provides good flavor and lots of gravy. For several years, my sons and sons-in-law have fried turkeys, and I admit that produces a good bird with crisp skin. But still, my Austin daughter and I often have a separate turkey roasting in the oven, so we’ll get gravy. Then, there was the year of the rancid oil—but we won’t go into that horror. This year, we are operating in this house without an oven (long story), so Christian will air-fry the turkey, which he would do anyway because he loves that way of cooking the bird. I have bought extra gravy from Central Market. It’s usually good in flavor but pale in color, and since food is half eaten with the eye, I use Kitchen Bouquet to darken it.

Then there’s dressing or stuffing. I think years ago we solved the nomenclature problem: stuffing goes inside the bird; dressing is fixed in a separate pan. About the same time we figured that out, we realized that while stuffing the bird had real flavor advantages, it also offered health problems in the form of potential food poisoning. I don’t know anyone who stuffs the turkey these days.

In Texas, there is not much controversy about dressing—except in my mind. I do not care for cornbread dressing. I want good old northern stuffing made with Wonder bread and lots of celery and onions and butter and sage. My good luck because my friend Jean also loves northern stuffing and will bring me some. She is a bit upscale though and uses Pepperidge farm white bread to make it. Meanwhile Christian will make the cornbread dressing of his childhood.

And then there are sides. My family is firmly convinced green bean casserole is essential, and they want it made with canned green beans, mushroom soup, and French’s onion rings. Period. One daughter-in-law makes it with fresh green beans (the horror!), sour cream, and Parmesan. We’re all polite, and it’s good—it’s just not the same. Recently I’ve discovered that some families consider Brussel sprouts traditional, and I’ve come to realize that my family wants mac and cheese on the table.

Folks move away from traditional desserts too. I have a childhood friend whose large family still makes my mom’s chiffon pumpkin pie recipe. Pumpkin won’t go in my house, which bothers me a bit, but one son loves sweet potato pie. Mostly we don’t pay attention to dessert because we’re too full by the time it comes around. This year, for the four of us, Jordan will make a chocolate pie and a yellow cake with chocolate frosting—the latter because Jacob loves it. Overkill in my mind, but I am quiet about it.

So there it is: in spite of all the trendy changes and rebellious choices of new foods, my family comes down firmly on the side of tradition: the four of us will have turkey with gravy, mashed potatoes, dressing (with northern for me), green bean casserole, and mac and cheese. For dessert, chocolate pie and yellow cake.

Although we have much to be thankful for this year—health, plentiful food, meaningful work, a safe home, the love of family, a year without the devastating losses many families have faced—it is a year tinged with disappointment. We should be in Austin, at Megan’s new house, with all seventeen of the family. Covid put the squelch on that gathering, so we will give thanks for a new administration coming in, a vaccine on the immediate horizon, and other blessings—and we’re watching for the next occasion when we can all gather at Megan’s. Heck, we might just create our own Alter holiday some weekend.

Meantime, join us in giving thanks. May your table be bountiful, your journey easy and happy.

Saturday just feels different

Dinner tonight - cheese enchiladas

If you’re quarantining, as my family and I, Saturday’s no different than any other day. Sunday, for us, stands out in the week because we attend virtual church service and we try always to have a special Sunday dinner as a family. But Saturday? No. You get up, do whatever it is you do during these days, eat breakfast, lunch, and dinner, follow your routine. As I’ve confessed more than once, I am a creature of routine, and I do best when I have a set pattern for my days.

Monday through Friday that works just fine. My day includes work, reading, internet activity—yes, I follow social media, usually at the same time each day. But Saturday just feels different. On Saturday, email slows down (I get an extraordinary number a day) and social media isn’t as active. You can’t take care of business details effectively, so I have two follow-ups on my desk for Monday morning. Not as much takes up my time, so this morning, I browsed through the New York Times Cooking Community Facebook page--twice, something I rarely do. Even so I started on my manuscript and wrote my thousand words well before lunch—usually it’s 12:30 before I get there.

No rule says quit at a thousand words and many days I go over, having done as much as 1700 in one day. But today at a precise 1,014 I ended a scene and thought it best to do some thinking and planning before going on. So there I was, not yet noon, and I was through work for the day. I do have a couple of projects that call me, but I had effectively met my goal for today.

My day got a lot more interesting late this afternoon. Good friend Jean came for a distanced happy hour—we laughed about quarantine, but she has been so isolated that she has not had to put gas in her car for over two months. We talked of many things—history and houses—and it was good to take a break from riots and looting and conspiracies and health crises. As our country is in a mess on many fronts, it amazes me that daily life goes on so pleasantly.

Jordan was our chef tonight, and we had chicken/cream cheese enchiladas—a recipe I’d clipped some time ago because of her love of all things with cream cheese. The enchiladas were rich and delicious, and the recipe madelots—she says we have 300 left. She made a huge salad with blue cheese dressing, and we feasted.

So another Saturday down. I just counted. This is twelfth Saturday I’ve spent in quarantine. No wonder I’m tired of them. It feels good to be opening up just a tiny bit from quarantine—we are only seeing people, no more than two at a time, who we know have been as careful about quarantine as we have. Still, it’s a bit scary since asymptomatic people can spread the virus. I read today that twenty-four states have uncontrolled outbreaks of COVID-19, and Texas leads the list. To me, it’s due to two things: a lack of strong national leadership and a large section of the populace who is non-compliant. I wonder what outbreaks there will be after this weekend of protests.

Be safe out there, folks. It’s still scary.

Earth Sunday

My patio during the hailstorm

Earth Sunday started with a bang in my small corner of the world. The last weather report I’d heard said showers would be gone by seven or eight in the morning, so I thought nothing of them. It was neither particularly sunny nor particularly gray—until about ten or so, when I suddenly began to hear distant thunder. Gradually, it got closer—and so did Sophie, who crept up to lie right behind my chair. Then came a heavy, steady rain. And then! A new noise. Took me a minute to realize, it was hail.

North Texas is notable for unpredictable weather, but we don’t get a lot of hail, especially not this late in the spring. Last I can remember was several years ago, in March, when I had a devastating roof leak. This was mostly small hail, maybe dime-size, but there were a few balls that approached quarter or even golf-ball size. They sure seemed to rattle against my south windows. A few minutes can seem like a long time, but it was over fairly quickly. And, praise be, no damage.

By the time we “went” to church, the sky was clear again. University Christian Church is doing such a terrific job with keeping us together as church during social distancing. Today, in recognition of Earth Sunday (Earth Day is Wednesday, April 22), the service was filmed outdoors, except for a few musical parts. Try as I might I couldn’t recognize the spot and will have to drive by the church to find it, but the service began with senior minister Russ Peterman, casually dressed, coming through an arbor with some kind of blooming spring vine all over it. Other segments were filmed in various spots, but the sense of God’s nature was strong.

Russ Peterman preaching, outdoors, without notes

Pretty impressive

Fittingly, the sermon was on the global reaction to the health crisis. Pointing out that the Chinese symbol for pandemic or health crisis has two symbols—one for disaster and one for opportunity—Dr. Peterman suggested that this is a time of deep awakening. Because social distancing, staying at home, with fewer factories operating, fewer cars on our roads and planes in our skies, has resulted in such dramatic dropping of dangerous gasses in the environment and in cleaner air and rivers, he suggested that we can either go back to what was normal—or we can move forward to a new and much better normal. It is up to us.

In a nostalgic note, I have to add that I loved the music. Various stanzas of “For the Beauty of the Earth” were interspersed, with different soloists, throughout the service. It is one of the old hymns from my childhood, and I can almost sing all verses without a hymnal. This morning, I hummed along with the music…and loved it.

We haven’t been doing much take-out for our meals. I guess it’s partly economical, partly li8king our own cooking, and partly leery of contact with the outside world. But last night we ordered from Enchiladas Olé which has recently opened a second location in our neighborhood. May be the best chicken enchiladas with sour cream sauce that I’ve ever had. Good guac, spicy beans, rice with each serving—and such generous portions. We’ll do that again.

So here we go—another week of quarantine. I’m craving, of all things, oysters Rockefeller—credit that to an article I read about oysters—and I’m missing good friends. One wrote me this evening that she is ready for shared glasses of wine, and I certainly am too. But I have work to do, and I’m content. Like many Americans, I am afraid that the president and some governors will open the world too quickly, and we’ll see great spikes in cases. I am also appalled at the protests, except that I have known we have ignorant protestors who are always looking for a cause and have now found a new one. A meme today said they are protesting because of “Muh freedums.” So apt. It both amuses and horrifies me that they feel it appropriate to carry rifles during their protests. Their ignorance and thoughtlessness is appalling, especially when you read about the severity of some cases of covid-19 and the desperate and lonely deaths of many victims. I hope common sense prevails. I know I for one am staying quarantined and am most grateful to be able to do that. I hope you can too.

A day with a goal and the virus gets up close and personal

Today dawned bright and sunny—I know because Sophie had me up at seven and again at seven-forty-five. But by late afternoon it had turned gray again, there was rain to the west of us, and rain in our forecast for tonight and tomorrow morning. Jordan insists tomorrow will be a lovely day and I will sit outside, because she’s going to clean the cottage and doesn’t want me to breathe the fumes. That means, Lysol spray and bleach and all those things I think are too strong for our environment. But, hey, I am grateful she does it, and yes, I’ll sit outside.

Today was a day with a goal: I worked on putting together the next issue of our neighborhood newsletter together. For once, I have a plethora of contributions—I think people took lots of pictures because they’re bored. It’s great and will make an interesting issue, but I have to figure out how to handle it. Still I was glad for the chore, because I know it has a goal—the issue will come out the first of May, the Lord willing and the Creek don’t rise. (Did you know that old saying does not refer to a flooded creek but to the days when settlers feared an uprising by the Creek Indians? That’s your history lesson for today). Anyway, so much of my time these days is spent on what you might call spec work—novels I don’t know will be published, research projects I don’t know will come to fruition—that I am grateful for a guaranteed project.

In the course of working on the Poohbah newsletter and skimming the internet, I’ve done what bored people do—collected bloopers. Here are a few:

--some one who referred to her under ware (underwear)—can’t remember the context but it wasn’t as risqué as it sounds;

--someone else who wrote about taking our lifestyle for granite (for granted)—maybe she meant it was carved in stone

---on a cooking site, someone referred to a well-flowered cake pan (well-floured)

--these remind me of a young lawyer I dated in my salad days who truly thought it was chester drawers (chest of drawers). Now that was supposed to be an educated man!

Corona virus got up close and personal today when I learned that my Bronx brother- and sister-in-law have both contracted it. He is in day 21 and almost well. I knew he had been tested, but it came back negative. His doctor/daughter said there is a 30% false negative result. Sure enough, tested again it came back positive. The first test was a method they have already discarded as not accurate, which shows you how much we are still learning about this virus. My sister-in-law has only shown symptoms for six days, but she says the disease “packs a wallop.” I worry about her, because I hear he is doing the cooking. I love him dearly, but a cook he’s not. I recently wrote him for his mother’s brisket recipe, and he patiently explained that he eats it, he doesn’t cook it. He referred my request to his wife, who was most helpful. I am grateful they both seem to be doing well.

I also worry about my niece from that family. For several years, she has been an R.N. on an orthopedic unit at Lennox General (in Manhattan, I think—my knowledge of New York is slim). Her unit has been converted to a COVID-19 unit, so she is one of the medical personnel in the thick of it. Her sister, a doctor with young children, is working from home—praise be.

My California relative that I can’t define (she is my ex-husband’s child by his second wife but feels like a daughter to me) writes that in Santa Clara, California, a study has shown that between 40,000 and 81,000 residents had the virus. The reported number of cases was 965. Pretty scary statistics.

As I write, it’s ten o’clock at night, and I hear the rhythmic sound of my grandson practicing basket shoots in the driveway. Got to love that kid. Sophie is, of her own accord, asleep in her crate. Nice now, but I wish it would last until at least eight tomorrow morning. That’s my magic hour.

Standing on shifting ground

I think many of us feel we are standing on shifting ground, the earth beneath our feet so uncertain that we have quite lost our balance. Schools and churches are closed, sports events and conferences cancelled, travelled advised against. Even grocery shopping sounds a bit perilous for some of us.

My mom always told me some good comes out of all bad situations, and we are seeing that today. Someone online pointed out that the closings show that we are coming together, as communities, as a nation, to protect each other. When my church announced a two-week closing, the minister wrote that it did so “prayerfully and carefully” because the health of the congregation was most important. When Left Coast Crime, a California writer’s conference, was cancelled at the end of the first day by order of the county, many attendees turned down their registration refund and donated it to the sponsoring group that had worked hard for three years and incurred many debts to sponsor the meeting.

Of course, there are the price gougers out there. I have heard of $20,000 airline tickets from Europe and $150 bottles of Purrell. Those folks are always among us, but most Americans are rising to the occasion and meeting this crisis with common sense and caring for others.

And still life goes on. I spoke at a luncheon yesterday for the Arlington Woman’s Club, a lovely bunch of women who apparently like to read and talk about books. The mood was upbeat, and you’d almost not have known there was national panic about COVID-19. But there was an undertone. The president of the group said to me, “We may have to quit meeting. Most of us are of the at-risk age.”

One of the things I worry about is whether or not I am making a contribution to the common good. Over the years people have tried to reassure me that my young-adult books foster the habit of reading in children, and my adult books bring much-needed pleasure and distraction from reality and its frequent difficulties. Still I often feel a bit frivolous.

Yesterday I unknowingly gave these women a gift. I told them school children always ask, “How much money do you make?” and “How old are you?” I said the answer to the first is “Not as much as you think,” but for the second question, I said, “I’m proud to tell you that I am eighty-one and still writing.” My audience cheered, clapped, and laughed. Afterward. Sue Hogg, president of the group and a wonderful woman with a great sense of the joy of life, said to me, “You gave them hope. You told them that they too can do something at our age.” Her words really encouraged me.

I am not an easy speaker—I work myself into a tizzy beforehand, sure that I will embarrass if not disgrace myself. But usually, with good preparation, I’m okay once I get going. But I was a bit dismayed yesterday to come away with four new invitations to speak. Not sure I can screw up my courage that many times.

Friend Subie and her lovely sister, Diana, went with me to the lunch, and an old friend among the listeners made me laugh by referring to them as my “staff.” When I told Subie I had four new invitations, her response echoed my thought: “I’m not sure I can do that many.” Subie and Diana hauled books for me and sold them, and several women said now they were going to read more of my books. I left in a glow.

But I have the feeling that’s my last public appearance for some time. That ground has shifted, and I’ll be pretty much staying in my cottage. How about you? How is the virus impacting your life?