Everybody knows by now that the United States and the world are in the grip of one of the dangerous coronaviruses called COVID-19, but what’s a virus and how can it make us feel ill? Why do our bodies react the way they do? Are viruses alive?
“Viruses aren’t considered alive – in class I call them pseudo-alive,” says Dr. Eric Mendenhall, an associate professor of biological sciences at The University of Alabama in Huntsville (UAH).
A virus has got to have a living cell before things can rock and roll.
“They require a host to even begin to function. However, since they use DNA or RNA to pass information to the next round of viruses the cell makes for them, they are subject to some of the same principles of evolution and selection that alive organisms are subject to,” Dr. Mendenhall says.
It all happened last fall. As I’ve mentioned before, I sometimes drive, or now past tense, drove for Lyft and Uber. It wasn’t a full time job, but I loved it. I’ve met some amazing and wonderful people doing it. I suppose if it didn’t invade their privacy, I could write a book about that. The downside of driving is that I’m always in close quarters with my passengers. Too risky under the present Covid-19 circumstances.
That’s partly why I’m not currently engaged in taking people around right now. The other reason is, hubby won’t let me… take that risk. I’m loved.
Around November of last year, my husband got a real bad case of the flu. Like responsible adults, we had both gotten our flu shots for the year, me earlier than him. I got mine in September before I went to see my sister in Florida, knowing she might be having her brain surgery in the near future. I wanted to be sure I wouldn’t be a risk to her and perhaps add a layer of protection for our visit.
As it turns out, we had a great visit and neither she nor I got sick. However, November rolls around and hubby got it. The flu. The following week, I got it. I wasn’t nearly as sick as he, but it was still very, very bad. So, before I would go driving again, I ordered face masks… from China. I didn’t want to feel that bad again and I was taking no chances. I got some yellow ones with a nautical theme and some black ones.
I got more than I thought I’d ever need, so I put them away. Then, after all that, I hesitated to use them, partly for vanity reasons and I didn’t want to offend my passengers or have them think I was sick or that I thought they were. Plus, it is the U.S. and it’s not our norm. Then when I learn Covid-19 originated in China, the issue then became because they were from China. As it turns out, the virus doesn’t live that long on paper or plastic products, so they’re safe now 4-5 months later.
I, We finally got to use them our first day out when we took Chloe to the vet last week and then again when we returned and had to put her down. (still not over that) Since we were already out, we took that time to do a little shopping, so we wore them to the store as well. We hadn’t been able to find meat anywhere, but I noticed this was a new store and hoped it might still have meat.
Me, in a mask at the restroom in Sprouts grocery store. I hated to go there, but couldn’t wait. That’s what happens when you age. I washed everything I needed first and touched nothing afterward. I carry antibac with me. That’s an Uber/Lyft thing as well.
THE NEED FOR MASKS
Last night, while texting with my daughter, who is an RN at SLC University Hospital, she mentions how badly she felt that she had to go into pediatrics without a mask. THEY DON’T HAVE MASKS!!! I told her I had these and she was interested. She’s the one who informed me they would be safe.
So, I went on a hunt for the others. I couldn’t remember where I’d put them since I hadn’t really needed them. I had a couple out that were stashed in my car, enough for hubby and I and for when we went out to the vets.
Well, I found them in the linen closet!
There isn’t a lot, but one was the washable kind, the others not. I told her they would be in the mail today for her to share. She was so excited. My grand daughter chimed in on our group text… “THANK YOU GRANDMA!”
I wonder if the masks I use when I’m painting are any good? I just may have a box of those somewhere… Hmmm, does anybody know?
After writing that last line, I took a break. The little I was sending just felt so meager… So I went on the hunt again. I went through my paint junk to see if I could corral the ones I used for my refinishing projects and guess what? I found out I had been using medical masks!!! And, what’s more the box was nearly full!
I put them in a baggie, without handling them, just in case and so they would ship easier. I just hope they’ll be good enough.
My neighbor, along with countless other people are making washable masks for our local hospitals but for a moment I wondered if maybe I shouldn’t have dropped them off locally instead. She just told me I could have some to send to my daughter. Aren’t people grand?!
The thing is, she’s my daughter and she lives with my son, my great granddaughter, great grandson and granddaughter, so her risks are higher for bringing it home to them, so I think I’m doing the right thing.
As for the rest of us? We can best do our part to help all of our medical professionals, who are in the line of fire, by staying in lock down. We can still be in our backyard or balcony, if we have them. I know it’s harder for folks who don’t have that, but please do your best. Skype, Facetime or Zoom with family and friends. Stay connected. WE all love you!!
On a side note. A call was made by California governor Newsom, on the news last night, for help from any retired healthcare professionals or those about to graduate from medical school to come forward to help. They will be paid and receive healthcare benefits, of course. The response so far has been thousands responding in just a few hours! They will be vetted according to specialties and needs of course, but that’s still amazing.
Today, (last night) we had to put our sweet kitty, Chloe down. We knew she was suffering, but not how much. We changed vets because the last one just kept changing her diet and she kept throwing up or refusing the food altogether. We got to where we wanted her to eat something and kept hoping that the next thing we’d try would work and make her better, but nothing did. We learn she had extreme kidney failure. So, we let her go.
We bawled like little kids, but stayed with her til her heart was no longer beating. She died peacefully with me stroking her head. Hubby kneeled beside her and kissed her head goodbye.
All this taking place on the patio at the vets on a blanket on the floor. Because of Covid-19, the only ones allowed in the vets office were pets. We had to be out on the patio or in our cars.
It is what it is.
We knew she was starting to fail, but when I dug up these pictures, I could see it showed, from the lackluster in her eyes, and the lackluster of her coat. These photos are fairly recent, so we thought maybe not that long. Unfortunately, the vet reminded us that cat and human time is different, so perhaps in cat years, it was longer than we imagined.
Of late the non lap cat, became a lap cat, always climbing up to be near us and in this case, hubby’s tummy or the crook of his arm.
Given that I’d been preoccupied with my sister’s failing health, Chloe pretty much took a backseat. I wished I’d been more aware. The vet, trying to be consoling, did say, “it’s hard to know sometimes”.
When I told the family, they sent their regrets. She’d been with our family since she was a kitten. She would have been 18 this fall. The kids would share a memory about her. One of them said, they “will always remember her chasing that golden retriever down the street”, and she did, her feet hardly touching the ground, looking almost airborne as she ran after that big dog. My niece loved her crooked ear, the result of an encounter with a huge, yellow tabby she was trying to rid our backyard of. Unfortunately, she was a 3/4 cat and he twice her size. He won. When the cone was removed, her ear had healed crookedly.
When we moved from Alabama to here, she handled the drive marvelously sitting on the dash of my car most of the way. When we flew her to Tennessee, she didn’t fair as well. From Grand Junction to Denver, she howled unmercifully and defecated, stinking up the whole cabin. Fortunately, it was a short flight and the layover in Denver was long enough that I could bathe her in the sink and clean her up. The remainder of the flight went fine.
Hubby wrote a fitting eulogy on Facebook with the above photo announcing her demise to our friends.
“Chloe and I had a great run of 18 years that ended today. She was a most excellent blend of feisty, cuddly, ornery, loving. grumpy, mean, and playful. In other words, a typical cat. Gonna miss the old girl!”
What he doesn’t say is, they had a routine. A special bond. She would wait for him in the bedroom each evening before going to bed and he would throw his dirty t-shirt on her and they would wrestle. She’d growl and he’d toss her about for a couple of minutes and then she’d purr. If he delayed going to bed, she’d come and get him. Towards the end, play was less rough and finally just the t-shirt on her and his hands on either side, a few sweet nothings and a kiss. She never stopped looking for it though.
Even though these two didn’t get along, cold weather brought them somewhat together. We lost him last July. Picture taken the year before. Now that I see these pictures, I notice now how the serious decline was recent and not as far back as I’d imagined.
When you come from a small town, ya gotta watch out, especially when it comes to finding a beau. You never know what you might get.
Case in point.
I was born in Alabama, but grew up in California. I first moved back to Alabama as an adult in 2005. Oh, I’d visited on occasion and dad would introduce me to folks here and there but mostly I didn’t remember most of them. When I visited he’d take me and my girls around and introduce me to folks and say “that’s your cousin” and I’d never see them again. I didn’t know most of them, but one time I was sitting in a store waiting on my dad and some lady comes up to me and says “You’re a Brothers, aren’t you?”, I looked around and dad was nowhere in sight, so that wasn’t her clue. I said, “Yes”. She introduced herself as another cousin, who’s name I recognized but had never met. The thing is everyone counts as a “kissin’ cousin” in the south because somewhere down the line, we ARE related. True fact.
When Grandma married grandpa it was frowned upon by her family who were, not so much upper class, as they were from a better batch and considered “refined”. Grandma is the one with hat. My sister Diana reminds me a lot of her sister, Nell.
She had just the one sister. Nell. To this day, the Freeman’s will not acknowledge the Brothers side of the family. Aunt Nell would go on to live considerably longer.
Grandpa, on the other hand was born on the wrong side of the tracks, rough around the edges and a bit crass. He came from a family of like 12 kids, but I believe only 8 survived to adulthood.
He was from the south side of the social spectrum, and like daddy, he could be meaner’n a snake and ya never knew when they’d strike. He was also a womanizing cad.
Daddy told my sister and I about the time grandma learned about one of his liaisons. It just so happens it was with a lady down the road. Far be it for grandma to take that from anybody (except grandpa). So, she grabbed one of the boy’s baseball bat and hightailed herself down the road and threatened that gal within an inch of her life! I’m sure grandpa just laughed. Heck! We told Daddy, she shoulda taken that bat to grandpa!
Grandma was a stay at home mom. She tended the chickens, milked the cow, churned their own butter and was pretty much in charge of the food. When I was a kid, I remember her cultivating about 1/2 acre of produce that would later be “put up” or canned. Grandpa would till the soil and she did the rest. Daddy said, they were poor, but the depression never affected them because of it.
When I was little, she’d send us kids’ out to pick okra, green beans, tomato and corn. She always made us wear these huge bonnets to keep us from getting too tan. Ladies weren’t supposed to get a lot of color in those days. There was nothing like grandma’s cooking either. My could she make the best biscuits, slathered in home churned butter and honey or sorghum and her fried okra and sweet corn with a side of fresh, sliced tomatoes with a dollop of mayo were to die for. Chicken was reserved for Sunday dinners.
When my sister and I moved back there to care for mom and dad, we learned that the house on the right was one grandma bought with her own money. Grandpa hadn’t bought it, but she had, if you can believe that. That would have been in the early 50’s. I remember Diana saying “Go grandma!” Grandma was also one of the first young women who made the paper when they got a drivers license! Pretty amazing lady, I’d say.
Both of them were born in the late 1800’s. 1892 & 95, I believe. They had four sons, the first one died at the age of two or three. Prior to them getting married, grandpa, in his twenties served in the Army in France during WWI. One time while in the attic, we kids found a box of letters from his “fan” club of girls he’d met there. Who knows, we may have “cousins” in France as well.
I remember once, daddy told me that when grandpa was “Sheriff”, daddy got in trouble with him, so grandpa put him in jail. Jail was very similar to the one Andy Taylor ran, only probably a bit smaller. It was a small town and that jail still exists, though it sits empty now. I mentioned this to daddy before he passed and he tells me he doesn’t remember ever telling us that story. Did Grandpa take us by there one day and tell us that maybe? Daddy is the kid that looks like he’s full of the dickens, so it’s wouldn’t have been impossible he was in trouble all the time. I told him, I could imagine him giving his momma a considerable amount of grief. He didn’t deny it. So, even though the story’s veracity came into question, we still tell it. The little cutie in the middle there would grow up to be like grandpa, liking the ladies.
From what I’d heard, Grandpa was known to have jumped around from job to job and was constantly chasing the pie in the sky dreams while doing his womanizing. One day, when daddy was doing a T.V. repair house call, some guy tells daddy, he was his illegitimate brother. Daddy did not know him, but at the same time he was not terribly surprised.
One of grandpa’s later job’s was running oil with my uncle to homes in big tanker trucks.
Before that he ran coal. He even had a jack of all trade business card that though inappropriate and offensive to us today, was a sign of the time then.
Ironically, grandpa, from what daddy said, was fair minded to all his workers black or white and as far as we kids ever saw, this was true. Grandpa was a hard worker and expected the same of anyone who worked under him, including his kids.
I believe he ran the Woodyard the longest and there’s a good chance the coal business was run simultaneously. I say this because the sawmill is where daddy, lost part of his foot at the age of 16, it’s also the backdrop of the picture with the three towheads and he was still running it when I was born, some 10 years later.
Because the train ran right up to the Woodyard and because that was where I was born and lived the first couple of years of my life, I would always find comfort in the sound of trains going by.
Even though grandpa tended to play around, he wasn’t totally without honor. When grandma got sick with cancer, the cost of her care was more than he could handle. He talked to the then sheriff and asked his permission to run a still for the time being and requested said sheriff to look the other way while he raised what he could for her expenses. The sheriff agreed. So, grandpa set up a still, tucked away in the woods on the farm a few miles away. He did this with a partner friend. Said Sheriff would later come around and ask him if he’d raised what he needed. Grandpa replied honestly that he had, so the sheriff told him to tear it down then. Grandpa agreed, but his partner didn’t want to. Grandpa walked away from it, but his partner would later get arrested. That’s how things were in those days.
After grandma died, he married her friend Minnie and when Minnie died, he married, Ada. Minnie was sweet and everyone liked her. Ada on the other hand would be the death of grandpa.
I didn’t know grandpa when he was young, so what I remember of him was kind and funny. I remember him popping his false teeth for us. He told me once to keep my arm back in the truck, because a passing car could pull it right off. He proceeded to tell me of how he was driving by and having some fellas arm on the hood of his truck, so I pulled my arm in immediately. I don’t think I believed him, but I wasn’t gonna take any chances. I remember he liked to whittle. He was skinny and looked like a witch in his later years.
My two girls did get to have some good times with their great grandpa and that’s pretty cool, though they never knew grandma. She died when I was 13.
We kids are what remain.
My Aunt Mildred, Uncle Kenneth, mom and grandma (she probably hated this pic) in back.
Miss Brennenstuhl. My forever favorite teacher. How I even remember how to spell her name is a miracle in of itself. Up until junior high, my teachers would be female.
Miss Brennenstuhl was my 6th grade teacher. She had blonde hair and wore glasses. She was quite angular and thin with long legs. She wore shirt waist dresses with flowing skirts. Her full lips covered a slight overbite and she kept them painted with bright red lipstick and I remember she smiled easily. Oh, and she smelled nice. Was she pretty? I don’t know, but to me she was old, but she had to have been at least 40 and I think I was more fixated on the noticeable amount of makeup and the stylish clothes she wore. To put it simply she was put together quite admirably. Why that impressed me, I have no clue. I was a tomboy. When she wore her hair down, it was slightly longer and fuller on the bottom than Marilyn’s here but same style. Her makeup almost exactly the same. When her hair was up, she was classy.
She was what one would have called, in those days, a spinster. An unmarried “older” woman over 30, yet looking not unlike the above pictures. She wore yellow often.
At times, she could be quite stern and because I was the child that was generally on any teachers bad side, I wasn’t on hers. For some reason, she took to me. Perhaps I was her challenge for the year. The one she made it her goal to impact positively and she did.
School had not been easy for me. In kindergarten, I remember having a teacher, who did not accept that when I asked to go potty, I meant it. I think she thought I was fooling around in the john. Perhaps there were some kids who might have, but I really had to go. Often.
One day, just as we were getting ready to sit on the floor to have our lunch, I asked to be excused, she said, “No”. A few minutes later, she was having to buy lunches for the kids who were unfortunate enough to be sitting near me. From then on, she never said “No”. But she also penalized me for it by holding me back and making me go to pre-first, because I guess lacked the maturity and discipline to move on with the rest of my class. That was such a disappointment to me, but after awhile I made new friends, but I never got over feeling as though I wasn’t good enough.
Then in second grade. I was always getting yelled at and I was always crying and I remember how this teacher could barely look at me and I’d start crying and because she always made me cry, I then got tagged with the moniker “Howling Coyote”. She must have been pretty intimidating and scary to me for whatever reason. But, I was always in trouble in that class and I can’t remember why. On the playground, a young roundish Mexican boy name Bobby Gonzalez would be my worst tormentor and others would then follow suit.
Mrs. McConnell, third grade was of Japanese descent married to an American. I remember her name because it didn’t fit her looks. Behind her back, I recall kids making racial slurs and comments. In retrospect, she was probably as American as I am as well. There was definitely no accent. She was stern, but I remember learning, the alphabet and how to form my letters properly with her. In her class is when I would learn to read so she was okay. I loved reading and penmanship and because of her and the teacher that followed, I had beautifully formed letters. Of course, I know I wasn’t the only one with good penmanship because it was stressed to us in those days. Sadly, this would not continue because as the years have past, young people today can hardly write cursive at all. I noticed too that girls were generally better than boys at cursive and boys tended to print better. I knew a few boys who could do both equally well, but that wasn’t the norm.
I remember my 4th grade teachers vaguely. That year I started out the year in Alabama and finished it in California. My 4th grade teacher had also been my fathers. I think her name was Mrs. Foote. and then I had Mrs. Newman in California. Nothing terribly exciting there except again, Bobby Gonzalez. He quit calling me “howling coyote” but would tease me about my newly acquired southern drawl, exaggerating it by just calling out “y’all”. Why he hadn’t noticed my accent before I don’t know other than perhaps it got stronger that year I was away.
School districts were divided and Bobby would be no more until junior high. These next years were when I remember learning about and growing fond of the library.
My 5th grade teacher was also strict but I’m not sure fair, perhaps she was but I couldn’t tell. I know I wasn’t a favorite. Sometimes I thought she liked me fine but at other times not so much. However, she was the one who discovered I could draw when she asked all the kids to draw a picture for Veterans Day, in addition to writing an essay to go along with it. She would then enter it in a competition. I painted a field of poppies on a hill. Myself and Alex Rapach, a new boy in school, won top honors for our art and essays. He was a great artist and always knew he would grow up to be an architect. Knowing what I know now about architects, it was no wonder, he was a natural. During recess, he would make me hanky mice, while I played jacks. He then taught me how to make them myself, a skill I have long since forgotten, but he was my first crush and because of that I was always trying to keep up. Until that year I never realized I could be good at drawing or painting. I enjoy them both, but the truth of it is, I’m just okay at it. I accidentally finish something worthwhile, but it’s rare and those all belong to other people now. Mostly because they loved them, so they were gifted. Whaaat? Isn’t that what it’s all about?
By 6th grade, our love had faded and then came Miss Brennenstuhl, who would further cultivate my artistic nature. I’m not sure I was liked that well at first because I am a talker, a fault that aggravated all my teachers actually, but we connected through my art, which she encouraged and through music and stories. She loved reading to us and she did so so well, that I was able to see those stories play out in my mind like I was there with the characters. Between those two teachers my love for books and reading grew exponentially. If anything could shut me up, it would be a book. That year I would become lost and feral in Alaska with Buck and I would learn about the trials of Anne Frank for the first time.
What connected us and made Miss Brennenstuhl stand out was dance. I think I may have really wanted to impress her because one day, I mentioned I had an Arthur Murray Way record on dancing. It came complete with diagrams for foot placement. She asked if I could bring it and I supposed I could and did. I think my mom bought it in hopes dad would learn to dance and maybe take her dancing, but I believe I was the one who got the most use out of it.
With me as her guinea pig, I say that because the one thing I don’t have is rhythm, but she was patient with me and she and I would demonstrate to the rest of the class, the steps to the Samba, the Foxtrot, box step and the Tango. I was a klutz, but I always got to be the first one to try a new routine with her. Boy did she light up when she danced and it was thrilling to see. I was quite tickled and pleased.
Another time, for art class, I drew a huge Bird of Paradise that turned out magnificently. It’s pose was similar to the second photo below but it’s tail spread like the first, it was beautiful if I may say so. She loved it and hung it up in her classroom for the remainder of the year. At the end of the school year, she asked if I would mind if she kept it. I gladly gave it to her and when I went to visit her several years later, it was still up in her room. I don’t know if anyone can relate to this, but she built me up in so many ways. Most importantly, she proved to me that she hadn’t lied when she said she liked it. Do you know how that would make a kid who got beat up and knocked around at home feel? She made me feel valued and that meant the world to me.
Later on, I would look back at the teachers I had and the ones I liked the most were not necessarily the easy going ones, but the ones that had structure. I remember a teacher that goofed off all the time in class and I nearly failed her class. There were no guidelines, I never felt like I knew what was expected of me. I remember my boyfriend getting straight A’s in her class, but not me. He was one of those that never studied either and boy was I surprised when he graduated with honors.
Since then I have figured out, judging by my son that I may have had ADD. I wasn’t stupid, just needing that structure. I remember when we moved to a different area, the school he would have been assigned to would be open concept, a no walls classroom. So we drove him elsewhere, we knew he would never be able to focus in that environment. Even to this day, I’m a tell me what you want and don’t beat around the bush kind of girl, because if you don’t make it clear, you can bet, I won’t get it. I’m also the gaze out the window kinda girl, easily distracted. I’ve gotten better, but it wasn’t easy growing up.
If you were to watch me clean house, you’d see that in action. If you remember the diagram of Billy in Family Circus, taking the long way to get from point A to point B? That’s me. I’m sure I’d make the average person dizzy watching me work. But… I get the job done and I can be OCD … I like a place for everything and everything its place.
Have a good “Lockdown Day”! Be kind to someone and give them a call or just say “Hi”
I caught my neighbor outside yesterday and we yakked for awhile. He lives alone, so imagined he’d be lonely, so from 40 feet, we talked, keeping our social distance. I think he appreciated it.
This is gonna be a short one and you can yell at me if you don’t like it. Just don’t be overly mean. <smile>
I perused HBO, STARZ, Netlix and HULU thinking I might like something musical and the only thing I found was Hello Dolly! I love the tunes, but the movie itself was chaotic. The young men were idiots, Mr. Vandergelder the epitome of everything disgusting of the male specie of the time and Dolly conniving and manipulative. But, it was a musical.
Normally, I have a wide assortment of CD’s but since I started streaming, I found I wasn’t using them, so I got rid of all but a few of my amazing collection. Hopefully, I didn’t donate them to Goodwill and I haven’t yet torn through the garage to see if they might happen to be in a box for a future yard sale, so keep your fingers crossed. I did find French Kiss though and that’s upbeat and I do have the Firefly series, which I’m a fan of, so there’s that. I did find, Flower Drum Song though and I bet you’ve not even heard of it. It takes place in San Francisco Chinatown. Very obscure. (I’ve included clips)
I have found a couple of cool new series that have shown up like X Company and A Letter For the King. I started The Protector and though the story is okay, the protagonist is so irritating, I gave up on it. I bore through the first season and it never got better. I don’t like stupidity, so shows like Dodgeball or Wedding Crashers do nothing for me. Movies or shows with idiot characters are unbearable, whether male or female. I am also tired of Vampire themed stories, perhaps because I’ve seen almost all of them and I now find them tedious and boring. Witches are okay if they don’t get too dark. I did like Apocalyptic shows are depressing. We have always been fans of TWD, but now it feels too real. I liked the mystery of who dunnit shows, but now their stories are so obsessed with covering all their social statements that the stories get lost.
For example, the new 9-1-1 Lonestar show with Rob Lowe. I love Rob Lowe, but… for pete’s sake, his team consists of a homosexual (his son) plus another, a vegan, a transgender, a Muslim girl and one of my favorite characters, an Hispanic and a red neck seeming guy who was rejected because he was white but when the captain finds out he happens to be married to a black girl, he was in. (They are a great couple btw.) let’s see… well never mind, you get it. Supposedly, when the captain transferred from New York, his goal was to be as diverse as possible, I get it, but… it is a bit much. Oh, and on just about every emergency they respond to, on this first episode, it too hits on racist or bigoted issues. I’ve lived in the south and those exist but not to the extent this first episode had to get in. This one was over the top and I almost turned it off after the first episode, but it leveled out some.
My point, is so many shows have to get it all in. I’m sorry, they don’t need to drown us in all that. My step brother, who is gay hates it as well. The majority of his friends are none of those things. That’s not real life. That’s not the real world, except maybe in San Francisco. Okay, it’s T.V. and that’s not real life either.
My feeling is diversity comes from the heart and you can’t force feed it to the average person or they will turn off. Period.
I’m off track. I know it. What I wanted to share is I want shows that make me feel happy. Right now our situation is dire or so it feels like. Right now we don’t have the ability to party and have a good time, especially if we’re alone. I have my hubby, but we can only do so much to entertain ourselves. So some nice old happy movies would sure be nice. Hmmm, I wonder if I can stream some YouTube clips? I haven’t tried…
Today has been a day for hubby, putting out one fire after another, “at work”. I’m waiting for him to get up and make a clean sweep of all the equipment. His boss posted to all that she had to walk away from hers before she blew everything up. When you work from home, you can’t just get up and go to the warehouse to yell at shipping to quit %#$@ing up! The system’s not great, but they’re still working… for that we’re thankful.
Yeah, So many people loving the great weather thought it a good idea to go to the beach, the parks and other places to get away from home. Problems is…
Just like we did and yes there were more people out than we expected or were comfortable with when we went out but guess what? The next day there were so many more that the police had to close off parking lots to those places in hopes of discouraging the crowds and masses that were tired of being cooped up.
There were so many people on the boardwalks and sand, that practicing social distancing became nearly impossible. But… no one turned away. So, closing off sections became necessary. They have now announced that there will be an $1,000 fine for those who don’t heed the crowd abatement rule!
It’s interesting, but people react in several ways. Those that thumb there nose and say, “by golly, no one tells me what to do”, there’s those who feel too much is being made of this and feel everyone is overreacting. There will be those frightened half to death and are trembling in their shoes and those who will draw inspiration from all this and vow to be more creative or more faithful. We will see those who believe it’s the end of the world and in some ways it just may be the end of the world as we know it. That it will have an impact on each individual, there’s no doubt.
One of the things noted on this mornings newscast is how many people are eliminating electronics and finding ways to engage with their families and children. They admit to major adjustments being made. Yes, they’re noticing some dissension and discovering how little they’ve been interacting with one another because of their busy schedules. Husbands, wives, children will find new ways to get along… I hope. So, yes we may start looking at things differently or… we may just go back to how things were.
In the meantime, communities are finding ways to stem the tide.
Our community has opened up our convention center with cots for the homeless in our community, so they will not be wandering the streets spreading the disease around. What they didn’t say and I want to know is, is it even impacting the homeless? I thought it was a travel related disease. We got it because someone traveled somewhere else and brought it here. I really don’t know the answer to that.
My doctor explained that it is called a “novel” virus because so much of it is an unknown. We don’t know what it will do next. We don’t know enough of it’s characteristics. Even though the news focuses on certain ages, it is affecting all. So, don’t tempt fate!
Now if that isn’t motivating enough… Please read this:
Obviously, I am not out and about, so my information is coming to via the news and other sources. I too, must do without and staying in. My husband makes a post office drop each day and if I need anything he stops at the grocery store to pick it up. The crowds are not what they once were, he says. Today, we took a short walk and only saw one person across the street.
Even my gardener is gone, grass is overgrown and we can’t mow because we have no lawnmower. I’m still hoping he will show since he really doesn’t need to be in contact with us or anyone else other than his partner brother. Of course, it has been raining. A lot. He has a partially started project in our backyard and a wheel barrow collecting water and we, suffer a weedy, muddy backyard and overgrown succulents that have all but consumed our padre statue. I’m not Catholic, but I believe it is a Saint that guards critters. We found it at a yard sale some years ago and thought it was cool.
We, in the meantime must wait for this to be over with. Everyday, we learn something new about this virus or we hear of another fatality. My hubby said he saw a stat that those numbers will start to grow exponentially. So, we wait.
What I think too, is that no matter what steps anyone in power does, when all is said and over and done with, the criticisms will be, they didn’t do enough or everyone overreacted. They will be damned if they do and damned if they don’t no matter what they do. Be kind.
So in the end, let’s be fair and considerate and do the best we can to help make this go away as quickly as possible.
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