is there any more pie?

This afternoon I will attempt my first “inside”, non-medical errand in ten weeks:  going to the recently reopened AAA office to apply for a Real ID.

I have my mask, my hand sanitizer, my antiseptic wipes and all (hopefully) of the necessary paperwork.

This “gold star” drivers license was to be required for boarding airplanes starting October 15, but now that date has been pushed back.  But my RI driver’s license expires in December and I’m not going to be in Rhode Island for a few months, so I didn’t want to leave this chore until November.  I’ve heard some horror stories about how many trips it takes to the Motor Vehicle Registry to comply with the necessary paperwork requirements, so I thought I’d start the process now, in my last weeks in the state.

I’d actually planned to do this in February, when  Banjo Man was in Nebraska with his family.  But I kept postponing that trip to town–I was tired, it was cold out, blah, blah.  I postponed other things, too, like trips to my mother’s banks to combine accounts and to get my hair cut.  There was always next week.

Well, we all know how that went.  I really, really wish I hadn’t procrastinated in February.  Lesson learned.

These last two weeks going to physical therapy have been strangely enjoyable.  Imagine having to be somewhere at a specific time!  Putting make up on.  Fixing my hair.  Finding clothes that match.  Wearing socks that aren’t covered with pieces of thread.  Chatting with someone other than Banjo Man.

Oh, the joy!  

So I ask, have you ventured out to run an errand?  Bought groceries?  Gone to the Post Office?  Been to a salon?

I have done none of those things and have no plans to.  Maybe in June…

Waiting for the physical therapist.

I have no idea why I thought taking this picture was a good idea, but I do feel like I’m losing my mind and maybe this is proof.

It was good to get out of the house this chilly, sunny morning.  After 45 minutes of torture at the hands of Sherri, the cheerful physical therapist, I swung by Panera Bread for a salad, which was placed through the open window of my car by a masked employee.

These are weird times.

Banjo Man and I still discuss whether we should fly or drive the 3000 miles to the lake.  I have read all of the precautions and new protocols from Southwest and they certainly sound reasonable and safe.  Everyone has to wear a mask.  The middle rows of seats will be empty.  No food or drinks will be served.  The air in the cabin is mixed with outdoor air and changes every three minutes, plus the filters are the kind used in hospitals.  I love to fly Southwest and I trust them.

And we would only have to travel for one, long day.

Then again, driving would mean that everything would be in our control.  I’ve read the new cleaning policies for the Hampton Inns and they sound excellent.  We would wipe down the faucets and remote, etc. in the room and would bring in our own blankets (Banjo Man doesn’t trust the duvet covers), but otherwise I think it should be totally fine to stay in hotels along the way.  We could take advantage of fast food drive up windows (hello,  Wendy’s chili!), Subway and restaurants with outdoor seating.  We’d have a cooler with fruit, etc.  It could work.

My therapist isn’t so sure I should spend 7 days in a car, but she brightened when I said I would spend an hour or two in a hotel pool each evening.  There’s no evidence that the virus is spread in swimming pools.  Hurray for chlorine!

So we will keep discussing the pros and cons.  Feel free to chime in.

And tell me, have you taken any pictures of yourself wearing a mask?  You know, for the photo album as a way to remember 2020?

How could we ever forget…

Yesterday afternoon’s conversation:

Banjo Man:  I’m going to town to the Post Office.  Do you want to ride along?

Me:  Mmmm…no, ’cause then I’d have to brush my hair.

We are in Week 9 of isolation.  Self-care has hit a new low.  This morning I wrote “shower” on my To Do list.

Last night’s conversation:

We were watching a ridiculous Bachelor spin-off called “Listen To Your Heart”.  One of the young female contestants has a habit of wrinkling her nose when she smiles and she was smiling a lot.

Banjo Man:  I think I’ll start wrinkling my nose like that.

Me:  That would be a pretty big wrinkle.

We spent the next two hours wrinkling our noses at each other and laughing uproariously.

Happy Mother’s Day to the lovely women in my family and to my much-loved friends.

I hope all the love and happiness you deserve comes your way.  Especially today.

An old friend sent me this picture of my parents last week.  It took my breath away.  Why?  My mother’s smile.  I realized I hadn’t seen her that happy since my father died.

1991

Because it’s Mother’s Day, I thought I’d share some of my mother’s advice:

“Put your husband first because your children grow up and leave you.”  She firmly believed, like Dr. Laura, that you should be your husband’s girlfriend.  My father was always the most important person in her world.

“A woman needs her own money.”  This one had a lot to do with her love of shopping.  Her stamina in a shopping mall was positively Olympian.  I never had my “own” money until I started selling books, but when I opened my first checking account I realized Mom was right.

“Tell your husband what you must, but don’t tell him everything.”  I’d heard this one many times, but it was especially appropriate twenty years ago when I was obsessing over buying a fancy sewing machine.  I’d brought my mother along–she never refused an outing and had been promised lunch afterwards–and, exasperated with my dithering, pointed out that my husband didn’t need to know exactly what the machine cost.  She also declared it was about time I did something for myself.  I bought the machine and we went to lunch.

“Put that baby to bed and have the evening with your husband.”  This was advice she gave when her adored first grandchild was a toddler.  She believed that children should go to bed early and their parents should have time together.  Marriage always came first.

Last year’s Mother’s Day was, well, miserable.  Banjo Man and I knew I had cancer, but we didn’t know how bad it was and didn’t want to tell my mother or the kids until we had a biopsy and a definitive plan to deal with it.  I was in pain.  The rain pelted down.  Denny’s, where we’d gone for breakfast, was packed with hungry people.  My mother wasn’t in the best frame of mind either.  I’ll admit it was hard to pretend to be cheerful that morning.  We had plans to go out for dinner with Barb and Rod later, but we cancelled.  Enough was enough and we knew we couldn’t pretend that everything was fine much longer.

And it has been quite a year.

But today?  The sun is shining, but the temperature is only 43 degrees.  Another “Six Feet Sunday” with Barb and Rod is not in the cards this afternoon.   I’m going to bind that Corona quilt and start hand stitching while watching tv tonight.

I wish you all a peaceful day and send my love.