Home again, dinner, and back in the routine

My version of Cobb salad

Jordan is home again, and we’re glad to have her back. I fixed her a welcome-home supper—well, sort of. Before she left, she suggested a salad or something easy would be good so she wouldn’t have to cook. So I made Cobb salad—well, at least I prepped the ingredients: boned a rotisserie chicken, boiled some small new potatoes, and hard-boiled some eggs.

When she came home, I said dinner was all ready. We just had to peel the potatoes and eggs and fry the bacon. Plus cut up avocado and hearts of palm, and wash and put out cherry tomatoes. She looked at me and said, “That’s a lot of work.”

Tonight was our regular Tuesday night happy hour with neighbors Mary and Prudence, and Jordan regaled them with her story of her welcome-home dinner and how much remained to be done. But when it came suppertime, I peeled the potatoes, shelled the eggs, and fried the bacon. Got everything out of the fridge but asked her to plate it (we decided on individual Cobb salads rather than one big platter) because she knows what her boys will eat and what they won’t.

She confessed she was just making jokes and really likes to cook with me. We’re a good team in my tiny kitchen, though she constantly warns me not to run over her toes with my walker, and she sometimes banishes me because I get in her way. I tell her she should wear better shoes than flip-flops.

She is home for sure. Immediately rearranged the patio to suit her, rearranged things in my kitchen, took stock of what I need from the grocery, and generally told me what’s what. I am so grateful. And I imagine she did that inside her house tonight. So now, Jordan is taking care of all of us, the world is back in its orbit, and all is well. I assured her that Christian took good care of me, which amounts to seeing that I did not lack for company in the evenings and checking on me in the mornings. All the evenings she was gone but one, he and Jacob came out for supper, and the remaining night he came out to visit.

I am having the great dentist debate. I usually get my teeth cleaned every three months, because I have “that kind” of teeth. I should have gone in April but cancelled due to the virus. Now I have an appointment in two days, and I am waffling. I called the dentist’s office, and they detailed their precautions, which sounded good. But then Jordan said how uncertain some of her friends are. Then my neighbor said her physician-husband went to the dentist and found the precautions highly reassuring. So do I go or not? I will have to make up my mind overnight, because if I don’t go, I owe them the courtesy of 24 hours’ notice.

As everyone knows, cases in Texas are surging, and Fort Worth/Tarrant County, which had a relatively low daily new case count for a long time, is also seeing a surge. It’s mostly young people, which makes me wonder if they are the ones ignoring masks and eating in restaurants and not following strict guidelines. I meanwhile am going overboard perhaps, but I take this seriously. What a dilemma!

Rain all around us last night and today, but not a drop for us. I was so hoping it would dump on my new grass. This morning a neighbor assured me it was going to rain tonight, and I took it as gospel. Unfortunately, nothing happened, although Jordan said the ground was moist this afternoon. At any rate, the grass still looks good, and I am still praying for rain.

Sweet dreams, everyone.

Letter to a young man who won’t read it

Last night a friend told me her son, eligible to vote for the first time, wasn’t enthusiastic about Joe Biden, so he thought he’d just sit this one out. I was appalled. There is so much I want to say to him and can’t, so I’m saying it here: Voting is a privilege and an obligation if you live in America and enjoy the dwindling benefits of that residency. Even more of an obligation if you’d like to return America to the standards and values we were raised with and have held on to all our lives.

We vote not just for the president, but for an entire new government—from cabinet ministers on down a long list of presidential appointees, including right now attorney general.. And we vote, in 2020, for a totally difference concept of government, one that starts with the “little people.” If you don’t vote, you also miss the opportunity to voice your choice on a long-list of down-ballot state and local officials.

Somewhere I saw a meme that pointed out that voting is not like marriage. You don’t have to fall in love with a candidate—you simply have to make a reasonable choice about who would bring about a better way of life for all Americans. To make that conscientious choice requires some research, study of the platforms, familiarizing yourself with the issues and the positions of various candidates. It should not be a decision based on who appeals to you—that’s falling in love, not politics.

In the upcoming election, the economic issue raises its head. People believe that the economy will do better under trump, though history consistently demonstrates that the economy does better under Democratic administrations than Republican. Right now, the economy is doing great for the one percent, but failing the middle class and the poor miserably—especially people of color.

People claim that we have to open up after quarantine, that the economy is what matters most. I would suggest that human life  matters more. A sick and dying people cannot rebuild a shattered economy like ours. Opening up too soon will eventually leave the economy in worse shape—more deaths, more illness, more fear that will keep people at home, more overuse of health facilties, more cost to the government from unemployment and health care. Germany stands out as a country where workers survived pandemic unemployment almost unscathed, a contrast to America where 40 million are unemployed. (Sorry, you’ll have to research that one, but you will find our government could have used bailout for average workers, hourly employees out of work, instead of bailing out the wealthy and corporations who were not desperate, just greedy.)

A huge part of the problem in our country is the percent of the population that is noncompliant, from ridiculous “virus parties” to the guy next door who won’t wear a mask. Setting the tone for that is the man who calls himself president and refuses to wear a mask, wants mass gatherings of people at rallies and political conventions without disregard to the health concerns. Florida, whose governor is an ally of trump, recently experienced the highest ever one-day spike of new virus cases, after opening up.

It’s almost a circular argument that brings you around to the beginning—vote Blue. No, getting rid of trump will not make everything roses and sunshine immediately. It will take time to rebuild our country, but it is a task we must begin. And it starts with voting out trump and his enablers, including much of the Senate.

A long lecture the young man in question won’t listen to, but I needed to say it. Thanks for listening.

The perils of anticipation

This morning I was out of bed by eight—okay, it is Saturday, and I am retired—and in short order had my hair washed, bed made, clothes changed, ready for the day. All this haste was in anticipation of the late-morning arrival of Colin and his family. But somehow, I had a nagging feeling that they weren’t coming. They were driving from skiing in Colorado home to Tomball, outside Houston and would stop for a brief visit.

Sure enough, he called. He was coughing and has red eyes (probably allergies) and fourteen-year-old Morgan did not feel well. He left it up to me, and I reluctantly told them to skip the visit. I’m pretty much staying in and not taking chances.

So all my anticipation collapsed like a punctured balloon.

Still, that was joyful anticipation. I’ve had a couple of bouts lately with anticipation that was more like dread or, at the least, apprehension. In other words, I can work myself into a snit because I’m anticipating an event. It’s called chronic anxiety.

Much as I loved my recent  weekend in San Antonio, I suffered agonies of anticipation. Would I have to speak in public? How would the book signing go? Would Jordan be able to disinfect everything on the Vonlane bus and in the hotel? Would we be exposed to the novel corona virus? If nothing presents itself, I can dredge up bizarre possibilities to worry about—like bus accidents and hotel fires. Even as those things go through my mind, I know I’m being ridiculous.

Of course, once Jordan, Jacob, and I were on the bus, I was at ease. And in San Antonio, I loved the life was going on as usual (it may not be now), people were crowding the streets, laughing and singing. The neon-lit carriages  paraded through the streets. Jacob said it reminded him of New Orleans. We ate in wonderful restaurants, the meeting went well, my book was a success. The hotel was interesting and comfortable. And as usual, I wondered why I had worried.

But I came home and did it all over again, anticipating the talk I was to give Thursday morning at the Arlington Women’s Club. I invented excuses why I couldn’t go, I rehearsed my talk and convinced myself I would freeze in the middle of it. I was sure I’d talk too fast, too slow, too loud, too soft. In the car, I told Subie if she saw me panic, she should distract me with a question. She asked what question, and I said I didn’t care, just break the spell.

Once I was onstage and into my talk, I actually enjoyed myself. Theladies laughed and clapped and responded. Every once in a while I’d look at Subie, and her grin reassured me. I lost my train of thought for one brief nanosecond but got right back on track. And instead of seeming interminable, my talk seemed short—I was at the end almost before I knew it.

This reaction to speaking is nothing new. I spent many years talking to groups, conferences, workshops, and each time I suffered agonies of anticipation over a speech that went fine. I had a good friend who was a natural, entertaining, off-the-cuff speaker, and when I complained, he always said, “But you do it so well.”

It seems I can’t convince my mind to quit anticipating and accept that the event will go fine. I think I’m doing a bit of that right now with this virus threat. No sense wringing my hands as long as we’re all well and taking precautions.

Yes, I am pretty much cottage-bound, and it’s a strange feeling. Sometimes, unconsciously, I think of myself as ill or fragile and then I have to remind myself that I am perfectly fine—it’s the world around me that’s fragile.

The mind, at least mine, is a strange thing, capable of playing all kinds of tricks on us.

Meeting life with joy, or why do we blame ourselves?

Did you see the video of the 106-year-old woman dancing at the White House with the president and first lady? She was gleeful and so spry, said she’d always wanted to come to the White House and more recently to meet the Obamas. Now she was there in honor of Black History Month. Obviously, both the president and first lady delighted in her company, and one thing I must say to all his critics, from videos we see of him with the beyond-elderly and the very young, he is a man of compassion, grace, and love for humanity.

I on the other hand spent too much of the day having a pity party. It is now four days since I had the stomach virus, and the music lingers on. Saturday I felt great, last night with eight people for supper, I lost my starch—my neighbor came over to pull the barbecue, and Jordan, Susan, and Subie did the dishes. I ate but not much. This morning I woke feeling awful, got myself together once I got up and had a good and productive morning. But this afternoon and evening, my starch has gone again. One thing I know about a virus—it can linger and make you very tired.

But I also spent the day beating myself up mentally for giving in. I should, I thought, find the joy in life. It was all my fault for letting stomach issues get in my way. I should rise above. I also thought at times it was a sign of aging. I decided irrationally that my blog chronicle of the year would be of the year I aged—when in truth I’ve done so much else and really had a good year (I’m counting the year from my July birthday to the next, so it’s more than half over). Yes, I’ve had some health problems, and yes, I’ve probably lost some mobility but I’m working on improving it. And I don’t think my brain or my attitude have aged, so I’m going to ride out this pesky pestilence and stop blaming myself. I think it’s a trap we all fall into—blaming ourselves for things beyond our control.

Don’t mean to give the idea that I have the TV on all day, but sometimes I do most of the day with the sound muted, and tonight The Biggest Loser is on. I may not be in good shape, but I’m closer than some of the contestants. They are an inspiration to make me work harder at staying healthy and active. My resolve: back to Yoga. And stop feeling guilty.

Tomorrow is a new day.