Still in the Pandemic

 Holy Moly! Too many weeks since I've posted here. 

It's now August 20, 2021 and the Covid-19 Pandemic is once more raging. A new variant, the Delta Variant has roared into our lives. It is especially deadly for unvaccinated people, but even the vaccinated are vulnerable. 

Masks are required inside buildings again in California. School children are required to mask up in the classroom and to socially distance, but at least they are in school. We are all so tired of this constant need to be careful, to mask up, to stay distant from others, to obey the rules. But some still protest the need, ignore the science, defy the regulations, and harass the careful. 

This week they say we need booster shots after eight months. I thought we'd be safe for at least a year, like the flu shots, but apparently not. The trouble is so many of the effects of the virus and its behavior are unknown. Scientists research and pass on the information but too many are critical that the information changes. Of course it changes! As more is learned, we hope they adapt and change recommendations to accommodate that knowledge. 

I have no patience for grown-ups who behave like spoiled children. "I don't WANT to wear a mask, so I'm not gonna!" No one wants to wear a mask, but we do it to protect those around us. I just want to say to them: "GROW UP!"

Das all folks.

Cheers,

Mary

Christmas 2020

Aging and Control

 

Last night I watched Elizabeth is Missing with Glenda Jackson as the main protagonist, Maude. She is an elderly woman in the early stages of Alzheimer’s who lives alone. In the first few scenes, we notice signs on the cupboards and doors describing what is inside, and one on the front door reminds her to lock up. Maude also compulsively writes notes “so I can remember” she says. We soon understand that her condition comes and goes. She remembers to work in the garden with her friend Elizabeth, but on another visit she can’t remember which house belongs to Elizabeth, until she does. Despite the satisfactory resolution of the main mystery, we see Maude slowly devolve until she cannot be trusted to live alone. She causes heartache and havoc in the lives of her daughter and granddaughter. What Jackson does so well is illustrate the deep frustration of Maude as she understands her memory is erratic and fading. She knows she has “spaces” in her head, and at one poignant moment she cries when she realizes she hadn’t recognized her daughter.

Another movie out right now is The Father with Anthony Hopkins playing the title role. I haven’t had the courage to watch it yet, but the trailers show us another tale of descent into Alzheimer’s and the agony of a daughter watching it happen and trying to humanely cope.

As an aging woman living with an aging man with contemporaries who are also aging, it occurs to me that the primary cause for any upset is the lack of control. First we retire, which means loss of meaningful contribution to the world around us. The small (or large) circle of duties we performed each day was under our control. Then it wasn’t. Our body, the body that once birthed babies, fed them, rocked them, plucked them from danger, hugged them, clapped for them, with a heart that ached for them, ears that heard them, that body begins to fail. The mind that could calculate equations in seconds, that could balance a budget of thousands, that remembered names from years ago, that mind, slowly, slowly, develops blank spots, lapses, only to fill in those blanks hours later—or not at all. Control over the body and over the mind lessens with every year.

Hardest of all is the loss of respect from others. Checkers who once saw a strong, stalwart individual, now ask if you need help with the groceries. Bank clerks speak slowly and perhaps a little louder as you ask them to repeat a question. Grown children who once asked for permission to stay out late, start questioning your decisions. They want to reorganize your life, change things, when you want them to stay the same. Children you once controlled, now try to control you.

That lack of control hurts the most of all. It comes to us all. Knowing that is easy, but accepting it is not. So, like Maude, we fight. We fight to retain control before we lose it all.

 

A Child's Point of View

On Christmas Eve I visited my son and his family, initially masked, intending to eat outside.

When it was time to eat, I went to the balcony overlooking the cul-de-sac to call in the two youngest girls, 5 and 8. Sitting on skateboards, they rode the half  block down to the end of the sloped street, picked up the board, went back, and did it again. They were taking turns with three other little girls, girls they played with regularly, but only outside. A little neighborhood Pod.

As my granddaughters entered the house through the downstairs garage, their little friends looked up at me and started chatting. They asked first if I was the grandmother, and when I answered "Yes," like good conversationalists, they told me about themselves using "grandmother" as our connection.

"When Covid is over, I'm going to visit my grandmother and my grandfather. They live in Iowa." one little girl remarked.

"I have never met my grandma and grandpa. They live in Egypt, but my mom says we can't go there because of Covid" a younger little girl said.   

"I've met them," her sister remarked. "But a long time ago. I don't remember them too much."

"I remember my grandma and grandpa" the first girl joined in. "We went to see them last year, in the summer."

"You did?" I said. "What did you do with them?"

"We went camping in Iowa. But we can't do that now because of Covid."

 "I've never been to Iowa," I said.

"I've never been to Egypt," the second girl said. "I was born after my mommy and daddy came here."

I laughed, "I've never been to Egypt either."

"My mommy is sad because we can't go there," she replied.

"Because they won't let us fly on airplanes." her sister added. "But when Covid is over, we'll go to Egypt to see our grandma and grandpa. Mommy said."

I looked down at their sweet faces, smiled, wished them a Happy Christmas, then left to join my grandchildren for dinner. 

So hopeful, these young children between three and eight. So young, to be aware of this virus raging around us. "When Covid is over," they kept saying, but I wondered.

When will Covid be over? 

When will we be allowed to move freely about the neighborhood, the country, the world? 

 And when we can, will those grandparents still be alive and well enough to enjoy these little ones who long to see them? 

I'm lucky to see some of my grandchildren, not as often as I would wish, not as freely. No hugs or kisses, smiles often hidden by masks. The pandemic rages, and we all hunker down, hoping too, that soon it will be over so we can visit and hug those we love.

Pandemic Notes

 So the pandemic has been happening for months now. My husband and I have been watching the news with the ups and downs of surges, wearing masks, avoiding family gatherings (most of them anyway), cooking most meals in, and eating takeout only once or twice a week to support our local restaurants. And for seven months I went without a haircut! Holy Judy Collins! 

Only three times during these nine months have we eaten outside at a restaurant with friends--when it was allowed. Cooking every day means once in a while I have to venture out to replenish our supplies. We keep extra masks in the car and hand sanitizer to clean our hands before we drive home from the stores. Then we wash them thoroughly again when we get home. I tell you this to assure you we do take this pandemic seriously.

One bright and sunny day recently, I went to our local "organic" supermarket for a few needed items, wearing my mask, and socially distancing, except when the occasional shopper-in-a-hurry pushed by me. (I tried not to breathe when they did.) I hurried through the store, checking off the items on my list, afraid to linger where the virus might leap under the gaps in my mask and infect me.

When I had everything, it totaled 12 items, so I dutifully stepped towards the "15 Items or Less" checkout stand. Since an older man (60s) was checking out, I looked for the large green circle marked on the floor that clearly stated "STAND SIX FEET APART" and placed my feet exactly in the middle, grateful I 'd soon be on my way to the safety of home. 

Minding my own business, I looked around wondering if I should drop out of line to pick up some bread, then nixing that since I already had some in my freezer, and also reasoning I would lose my place in line . . .
Suddenly the man at the cashier's desk pointed me and shouted. "Get back, Lady! You're not six feet away from me."

Confused, I looked down at the green circle underneath my feet. I lifted one foot up. "Look," I said, "Yes, I am. I'm on the green dot. I'm exactly where I should be."

"No you're not!" he shouted even louder. "You need to move away!" 

I thought a moment, calculated his distance from me and figured it must be about ten feet. I looked to the cashier for help, but she had suddenly become blind and deaf, focused on his items and continued to ring them up on the cash register. 

"No," insisted, "I'm fine. I'm on the green dot." Trying to sound a reasonable note, I added, "Look, I'm old too. I don't want to get this viru . . . "

"I don't care if you are old, you  need to move back!" He shouted again.

"No I don't. Look, how tall are you? If you lay down you still wouldn't reach .  . ." He wasn't listening. 

"People like you are the ones who are spreading this virus . . . " He continued to rant more things at me, not all of which I could understand.

Feeling annoyed, I finally said evenly, "And a Happy Thanksgiving to you too."

He turned to me and sputtered something about causing him and others to die on Thanksgiving due to my behavior. Still shouting and waving his arms, he took a couple of steps towards me--actually decreasing the precious distance between us.

At that point I feared for my safety, and seeing no help from any employees in the vicinity, I dredged up my sergeant-major voice, developed during many years of raising five children, three of them boys.  

I raised my arm, locked on his eyes (above his mask), pointed my finger at him, lowered my voice, and boomed, "BACK OFF!" It resonated through the front part of the store, I'm sure.

He stopped dead.

The unflappable cashier never looked my way and just recited the amount he owed. Stepping back, he pulled out his wallet and turned to her. "Watch out for that crazy old lady!" he said. 

Wait! What! I'm crazy???  I narrowed my eyes, but I kept my silence.

Just then the other cashier at the station just beyond him called "Next in line" and looked at me. I hesitated as it meant I would have to pass behind and within two feet of the Idiot. Wallet still in his hand, he turned to me and beckoning to the passage past him, called out, "Come on! Come on!" sneering at me as I scooted by and turning to mumble to his cashier again about me "the crazy old lady."

I unloaded my twelve items as my cashier said, "Hi, how are you today?"  

"I was fine until I met up with the Idiot there." I replied. Ignoring my comment, she was distantly polite, and I could tell she thought I really was a "crazy old lady." I kept one eye on the Idiot as he finished picking up his groceries and passed behind me to leave the store, mumbling as he did.

 I like to think I behaved with calm dignity as I paid for my groceries and left. On the way to my car I smiled as I realized: for one sweet moment I had felt triumphant. I still had it! The ability to stop an active child, or an Idiot shopper dead in their tracks.

I had not backed down, I had kept my nerve, and I was not a crazy old lady.

Or was I?