Fall is in the air

My gorgeous daughters
in a very blue light

It may be 95 as I write, at four o’clock on a Sunday afternoon, but this morning as I waited for the teakettle to sing to me, I stared out the window, watching several leaves drift slowly out of the trees. I think it is supposed to turn much cooler tomorrow. With my usual bad sense of timing, I made a pot of chili for supper. I offered to change the menu, suggested meatloaf, but Christian opted for the chili. It’s Cincinnati chili, sometimes known as Skyline, and is a real departure for me. Curious? You can read about it in “Gourmet on a Hot Plate” this coming Thursday.

It’s been a quiet weekend. Jordan has gone to Austin for a belated celebration of Megan’s 50^th with some of M’s girlfriends. She plans to stay over tonight and return in the morning. Early Saturday morning, we had joint mammogram appointments—sort of like mother-and-daughter dresses but not quite. At her insistence, we went to the clinic she has used for years. I had never been there. Made a mental note to dig out my insurance card—and that was the last time I thought about it until I walked in the clinic door. They would not take my word that I would call in the information. I had to reschedule, which bummed me out because I’d gotten up earlier than usual to be there—and the new appointment is even earlier on a Saturday.

I don’t get out much, as everyone knows, so I was truly impressed at the social distancing respect I saw. When any woman walked through the clinic doors, she stood back, waiting until the patient at the desk had moved away and the receptionist motioned. I did not see one person without a mask. If everyone would follow these two guidelines, we’d squash this damn virus. Makes me so angry at the whole darn Republican party, though I know there are a few mask wearers among them. Still, trump is the worst, and why is Lindsey Graham refusing to be tested?

Quarantine hit me in another way today. For more years than I care to count, I have belonged to a monthly breakfast group called the “Book Ladies” (we’d have welcomed men, but none seemed inclined to join us). We have not met since March, and today’s reminder said that the café where we normally meet is open for inside service. But like a chorus, all of us said we are not ready to eat in a restaurant. Online we don’t get the good exchange of book news that we always shared.

I miss restaurant meals. Food never tastes as good when it travels from the restaurant to home, and we have pretty much decided we like what we fix at home better. Christian, Jacob, and I had take-out last night, courtesy Jean, but that was mostly so we could eat on the patio and share a meal with Jean. It’s not restaurant food I miss—it’s the sharing of meals, the fellowship that implies. How to put that feeling into words is much on my mind because I will be on a Zoom panel this week about culinary mysteries at Bouchercon, the annual huge fan con which has had to go virtual this year. I’m struggling to say succinctly why I am turning more and more to food writing—and I know it somehow has to do with caring and sharing. I don’t think I’ll get all Biblical and talk about loaves and fishes, but there is a spiritual element to it.

And, for me, that’s one good thing about quarantine. We eat together as a family most night—the Burtons come to the cottage. Either I have made supper, or they bring it. I was pretty good at planning meals for one—and there are some things they won’t eat that I would like to fix for me. But that’s all outweighed by the sense of family we get in sharing meals. My mom always told me all things work to some good end, and perhaps that is the good she would see in quarantine.

Sweet dreams, all!

The weekend the world changed

On the Vonlane bus to San Antonio

Tomorrow marks eleven weeks of social isolation for me and my local family. I asked Jordan tonight about individually wrapped Clorox wraps and she said she was able to get plenty the weekend we went to San Antonio. Since then, she’s never found them in stores. As we talked I realized that was the weekend the world changed.

We went the weekend of March 7 because I had a chance to sign The Second Battle of the Alamo at the annual meeting of the Alamo Society. Jordan, Jacob, and I took the Vonlane “executive” bus to Austin. That part of the trip was like other times I’ve ridden that bus—nice lunch service, friendly attendant, nothing remarkable.

In Austin we picked up Megan and her son, Ford, and drove on to San Antonio. At that time, San Antonio had a few cases of COVID-19 and the proactive mayor had declared an emergency. So we went with hesitation. An email to the president of the society beforehand assured me that many from the group were already there and everything was fine. Armed with wipes, sprays, and what-have-you, we ventured forth.

We stayed at the historic Menger Hotel—a two-room suite for me and my girls, a separate room for the cousins (they were thrilled). Jordan sprayed every inch of those rooms every time we went into them. She harangued us about washing our hands frequently. She was vigilante.

But life in San Antonio seemed to go on as usual—we walked crowded streets, mingled with the tourists at the Alamo, ate in some really good restaurants, took Ubers around the city, and had a fine time. Come Sunday, we drove back to Austin, ate at a Mexican restaurant, and then the three of us boarded a Vonlane for Fort Worth. And that’s when I saw the changes.

The girls left me to nap while they took the boys to the River Walk.

It was a ruse--they went to drink margaritas.

Over the weekend, Vonlane had really upgraded their sanitary measures. No masks, but the attendant wore gloves and frequently offered us sanitary wipes. She used tongs to hand us baggies of chips and Styrofoam containers of supper. We did have a catastrophe—the driver braked suddenly, and my salad flew across my trail table, sailed across the aisle, and landed upside down under the driver’s seat. The attendant, wearing her gloves was unflappable and cleaned it all up easily. But I was struck by the difference in sanitary measures from Friday to Sunday. That marked, for me, the beginning of the change in our lives.

When we came home, Jordan and Christian took Jacob to Broken Bow in Oklahoma to fish for spring break. It was a good choice, as they saw almost no people. I don’t remember what I did most of the week, but I clearly remember that good friend Subie and her sister Diana took me to the Arlington Women’s Club where I talked to a group about my life as a writer. It was a speaking engagement I had worried and fretted about and wished I’d never accepted, but as usually happens, it went well. I just need to get over the anxiety beforehand.

That evening, Carol and I went to Lucille’s for super and remarked that it was less crowded than usual. We wondered if people were staying home because of the novel corona virus. The date was March 12, and I have been out of the house only once since them—to ride with Jordan when she picked up to-go food. That weekend, the stay-at-home directives came down, but for me the world really changed the weekend before.

What stories my grandchildren will have to tell their children.

Grandsons at the signing

How will our lives change?

The food truck from Heim Barbecue ended up parked across the street from our house tonight. Expecting to have two teenage boys this weekend instead of one (my oldest daughter and her youngest son will be here), Jordan went out to stock up on meat and found herself seeing lots of neighbors, all staying respectfully six feet apart. But it sparked a thought in me about our changing society.

I can’t remember the name of the prophet who in the seventies or eighties predicted the end of print and books. The academic world was in an indignant uproar. Then with the advent of cell technology, predictions came about the isolation of society. We would all be locked into our technological worlds, with little if any human contact.  Now with the pandemic and quarantine, we’re beginning to see some of it.

Will we ever feel really comfortable eating in restaurants again? I have a daughter-in-law who swears she will never eat in a buffet again. Of course, I also have a daughter who wouldn’t eat in them anyway unless she was the first to go through the line. But is take-out, like food trucks, going to be the coming way of life? Get your food and retreat into your house. No  shared lunches or dinners. Are we going to get so used to the isolation of quarantine that it becomes a way of life? Predictions are that there will be continuing waves of the virus—more illness, more deaths. I remain convinced we are social animals and will emerge from this perhaps more cautious, having figured out safe ways to gather. But it may be the end of gigantic crowds, not all a bad thing in my mind.

In some ways the changes to our lives may be good—or they may be quickly erased once the restrictions are loosened. For a while there, the air cleared, the world restored itself, nature and wildlife flourished. I welcomed that, and I will hate to see our highways clogged again, our skies crisscrossed with planes. I hope we learn a lesson from this about how destructive mankind has been to the world.

Meantime, I’m going to enjoy that barbecue.

The only other excitement of the day was the arrival of the a/c repairman. He’s worked on this house for twenty years and is a trusted person, but you never know who can be a silent carrier. So the minute the poor man went out the front door, Jordan came in the side door, Lysol spray in hand. But tonight, the a/c in my bedroom is once again quiet and smooth. So now it’s a nice  cool evening, and I don’t need the a/c.

Tomorrow will be a more exciting day. My older daughter and her youngest son (one of Jacob’s best buddies) will arrive for the weekend. Like us, they have been strictly quarantining, and she has promised no potty stops between here and Austin, Jordan has  been laying out a set of semi-quarantine rules for them, and together we have been planning menus. I’m very much looking forward to the visit.

My quandry: how can you see one of your children and grandchildren for the first time in months and not hug them?                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                  

Notes from the quarantine

I went to church on the computer this morning, not necessarily unusual for me, except today there was only the ministerial staff and an eerily large, empty church—no choir, no congregation. Knowing the circumstances made the service even more inspirational. Music was provided by two soloists; the senior minister welcomed the distanced audience and preached, appropriately, on the subject of breathing and the breath of God. Other ministerial staff read scripture, led us in prayer and communion. Russ Peterman suggested juice and a cracker for communion but said coffee and bagel would do. For all that it was a bit casual and a lot removed from the usual, the service was reverent and spiritual. And the staff is being creative about ways to bring us together, as a church, as we remain socially isolated. Tonight, I am proud to be a member of Fort Worth’s University Christian Church.

UCC’s distance programming would not have been possible of course even ten years ago. The question lingers—how much does social media help flatten the curve of disease spread, or does it help spread the disease by spreading panic and anxiety? Food for thought.

I saw a church on TV this morning that had used police yellow caution tape creatively to block pews so that parishioners were forced to sit several feet apart.

I am continually impressed by messages on many lists—my neighborhood newsletter, writing groups I belong to, even Facebook—of offers to help others. People are jumping to look out for elderly neighbors and others who perhaps cannot get groceries or other needed supplies. A good friend, only slightly younger than me, said today her physician neighbor checks on her almost daily and has offered to bring groceries. It’s a gesture being repeated on a wide scale across the country.

Of course, there are jerks. There is a man—in Tennessee, I believe—who has stockpiled 17,700 bottles of hand sanitizer. He intended to mark them up ten times or more and sell online. But Amazon and then eBay cut him off. Now he doesn’t know what to do with what he once thought was his nest egg. I say he’s a despicable man, taking advantage of a health crisis, and the least he could do to redeem himself is to donate every one of those to the homeless and various shelters.

Reaction around the world is intense, but I love that in Florence, Italy, people are singing patriotic songs from their balconies. In London, the government is considering ordering the elderly to stay inside for four months.

Here reaction varies from “Get on with your life,” once a philosophy espoused by the president, to strict self-isolation. The president has gone from a January 22 statement that all is under control to the recent declaration of a national emergency.

It’s interesting—and a bit frightening—to think how this health crisis is changing the way we live. We will probably never go back to the old normal. We will find out that working remotely works, we will perhaps worship more online, distance living may become more common. Whether that’s a good thing or not is up for grabs—only time will tell.

Me? I’m a happy camper, doing some research on a book. And I have a list of things to cook. I’m staying in, not welcoming anyone but my family.