Yesterday was a difficult day and I am trying very, very hard not to rant. There are some days when everything is hard–due to the virus restrictions–and my blood pressure most certainly soars.
And I am not going to bore you with my complaints and whining.
Needless to say, I wish I lived in one of those states that was opening soon. As a “high risk” person, I will certainly be avoiding crowds and I will be self-isolating. I’ll be eliminating all unnecessary shopping trips and will wear a mask everywhere. I will take care of myself. But I think I should be able to go to the dump and the bank, among other places.
I think I should be able to walk on the beach. I should be able to see my doctors.
If our governor has her way, we’ll be on lock down for two months, if not more. That is one hell of a long time. Especially after a year of breast cancer.
The walls are closing in.
Yesterday I “auditioned” fabric for the sides of my scrappy “isolation quilt”. What started out as a simple project to fill up the hours evolved into something much prettier than I had imagined. So I had to up my game when it came to selecting the side-setting triangles, which will frame those 50 blocks.
This project did not go well. I ended up ordering some fabric from a quilt shop in Great Falls, Montana. It may or may not work, but at least the fabric was half price. Plus I supported a local store.
Forget “Take Out Friday”. Yesterday, after spending an hour or two cleaning up the fabric mess, I declared it to be “Take Out Thursday”. Last night we supported one of our favorite places, Tony’s Pizza. I ordered a large salad and a large pepperoni and mushroom pizza (I parked in a space near their door and they delivered the food to the back of my car). Banjo Man and I turned on the tv and dug in as if we’d never eaten pizza before.
Okay, I admit I’m out of practice making cookies. Except for a few afternoons of cookie-baking with my little friend Sam, I’ve been out of the cookie-baking habit since 1988.
Sam and Claire, December 2018
Claire’s birthday was last week. Needless to say, the family is practicing strict self-isolation. So…no party.
I baked chocolate chip cookies and, despite the almost-burned bottoms, they turned out just fine. So I packaged up a dozen or so and, along a pink box filled with pink Barbie gowns, delivered them to Claire.
How did I have pink Barbie gowns? Well, my daughters had dozens of Barbie dolls and assorted outfits. A few years ago I found them all stuffed in a garbage bag, so I picked out the decent clothes, washed them by hand and dried them on a towel in front of fireplace. Then I packed them in a plastic bin marked “Barbie”.
Which meant I could find them almost immediately when I entered the storage room. Banjo Man was incredulous. For Claire’s birthday gift, I picked out all the pink dresses and outfits to put in the pink gift box. It was a success, according to Claire’s mom.
Last Sunday (Easter) was Sammy’s birthday. Can you imagine the disappointment? Not only don’t you have a party, you can’t even visit your grandparents or go to the beach! I did have some new Matchbox cars put away, along with a New Englands Patriots “Spot It” game, so it was easy to put together a birthday basket.
But I needed cookies. So I turned to an old favorite, my grandmother’s sugar cookies. Make the dough, roll them into balls, press them with a fork, sprinkle sugar on top and bake. Easy, right? Sam and I had made them before. I even had fancy sprinkles.
Ready for the oven.
Except…
The cookies melted together and turned into a sheet cake. I had made a double batch so the disaster continued on for a while. You see them in the bowl? I had to cut them in pieces to get them out of the pan. They were buttery and crispy and yummy, but they were too ugly for a birthday gift.
In the midst of all of this chaos, Banjo Man poured himself a glass of milk, sat down at the table and ate six of the bad cookies.
So I started over. What had I done wrong? I realized the original recipe called for shortening. I had used half butter and half Crisco. BIG MISTAKE.
What on earth was I thinking????
The next two dozen cookies were perfect.
Thick, dry and crunchy. Not too sweet.
Happy Birthday, Sam! Next year will be much more fun, we promise.
I found what I thought was the perfect mask when I watched this You Tube video:
At the 41 -second mark you will see how easy it is to put on. There is a filter pocket, too.
I made six of them–which took all Friday morning and some of the afternoon–before realizing that the cording was necessary. Those ties made from t-shirts didn’t allow the mask to slide easily.
I said a lot of bad words.
On Saturday I was up at 5 and searching the internet for 3/16″ clothesline. And my local Home Depot had it in stock. But how to get it? Well, Home Depot has “pick up lockers”. You buy your clothesline online, pay for it with a credit card and then you receive an email with a bar code and access numbers. All you have to do is go to the store, find the lockers and scan the code. You didn’t have to interact with any humans and risk certain death.
It sounded good to me. I ordered a 100-foot roll. That’s enough for twenty-four masks. Banjo Man asked me to buy giant garbage bags, so I placed that order, too.
Saturday afternoon I drove twenty minutes south only to discover that the Home Depot parking lot was packed with cars and there was a line of at least fifteen masked people waiting their turn to get inside. Lots of DIY going on in southern Rhode Island this weekend!
I turned the car around and went home.
Sunday afternoon (after the Walmart grocery pick-up) I tried again. This time there was no line. We put on our masks and gloves and trudged across the parking lot looking like we were about to perform surgery. Just inside the door was a row of lockers and a scanning machine. The directions were clear: scan your bar code for access to the locker. I found the first email on my phone and scanned the code.
“STAND BACK”, came up on the screen. We almost knocked ourselves over trying to get out of the way before one of the lockers exploded open in a violent fashion. Nothing happened so we tried again.
STAND BACK.
We stood back, way back. And then? A little “pop” and a locker door opened three inches to reveal the two boxes of garbage bags.
I repeated the process for the clothesline cord. Success!
It’s good to know that this shopping option exists, at least if you’re not buying tile or paint or lumber.
We’re in Week 5 now. I’ll be checking the grocery stores to see when I can get a delivery next. We’ll need milk and yogurt and eggs by the weekend.
As we waited in our designated pick-up spot on the side of Walmart yesterday, we watched about fifteen seagulls fight over a slab of mystery meat. Was it a mouse? Something that dropped out of a grocery bag? It didn’t matter. We were watching Seagull Soccer and Banjo Man was highly entertained (the above photo was taken befire the game started).
I now have the Walmart Grocery app on my phone. After I pressed the “On My Way” bar, it tracked the progress of my car via a map.
Such is the world now.
The process went smoothly. All of the cars that were parked in their numbered spots had their trunks or back doors opened and waiting, like baby birds in a nest. When it was our turn a young man (not wearing a mask–go figure) approached the car and asked for our name. Then he disappeared into the store and returned with a cart loaded with our groceries. There was no way to tip him, unfortunately. I realized too late I should have left a tip envelope in the back. Next time I’ll know.
They were out of yogurt and toilet paper, so we didn’t get our full order. But somehow we ended up with thirty lemons. Banjo Man suggested I make lemon chicken. I told him we had no chicken. In the process of trying to use what we already had in the freezer and in the pantry, we finished up all of the packages of chicken breasts.
If you have a recipe for lemon beans, please let me know.
Last Easter seems so very, very long ago. Here we are celebrating together at Ken and Ginny’s in 2019.
Ken showing Mom a picture on his phone.
Ginny’s Easter cake.
Oh, the food!!!
Such a gorgeous table.
That Easter morning I discovered I had a problem…and it was probably breast cancer.
Oh, what a year!
But I survived. My mother is now in a nursing home and suffering with dementia. Sometimes she doesn’t know who I am. But sometimes–while we are Face Timing on the phone–she does know me…and those minutes are precious.
And who could have predicted that the country would be in self-quarantine this Easter?
This morning is sunny, though only 30 degrees. We have defrosted a bag of pulled pork and a container of baked beans. I will make coleslaw. We’ll make a stab at fixing some kind of Easter meal. I will miss our friends and all of the “what have you been doing all winter” conversations.
Instead we will watch Andrea Bocelli’s concert on YouTube at 1 PM. And then we will drive to Walmart for our scheduled 3:00 PM “grocery pick up” time. Just the two of us. Wearing masks and gloves.
I have decorated my fireplace hearth with Easter eggs and forsythia. There are daffodils blooming outside. It’s a different, strange Easter but it’s still Spring. And one more step closer to summer.
Do you ever feel that if you step outside of your house you’re going to die?
Sigh.
We had to go to the Post Office yesterday–having been delaying it for a week–and it was as if we were risking our lives, going into battle, crossing a mine-laden field, wading through a muddy pit of alligators.
You get the picture.
Banjo Man wore a mask, gloves and goggles. He practiced “social distancing”, the good ol’ SD we have come to know so well. He said it went well.
I waited in the car. We wiped everything down with our travelling Clorox wipes when he returned. Radioactive, you know. Or something.
Another brush with certain death was the bank’s drive up window. Who knows how many infected hands have touched the tube that zooms back and forth to the teller? Oh, how we wiped it all afterwards! I cleaned my reading glasses, my sunglasses, my pen, my hands, the keys, the window switches, the steering wheel and the gear shift.
I’d spent most of the day making face masks for the Texas kids. It had been a long and frustrating process. How many YouTube videos on mask-making can you watch without foaming at the mouth and falling off your chair?
Don’t ask.
Given the stress of mask-making, I skipped listening to all news reports and the constant stream of press conferences on the news channels. I absolutely could not hear one more devastating statistic or catastrophe-predicting “model”. Between John Prine and Andrea Bocelli, I kept myself from worrying about the world as much as I could.
I made six–complete with a pocket in which to put a filter of some kind (coffee filter, paper towel)– only to realize that because I hadn’t stocked up on cording (really, who knew there would be no cording and no elastic available to buy?) the masks’ “easy on” advantage was compromised. To my disappointment, it didn’t work with ties made from one of Banjo Man’s t-shirts.
So I had to go to Plan B and start sewing pleats in them instead, then stitching the ties on four corners. I sent three different designs to Son #2 Will, who is right in the middle of a growing hot spot in Austin. His work hours have been cut significantly, but although he is very tired of his own cooking–which leans heavily towards chili and eggs–he is doing fine and being very, very careful. But he definitely needs masks. Which was the main reason we went to the Post Office in the first place.
The other three masks will go to Ben, Amber and the Funny Grandson (doing well and practicing strict isolation, along with online learning) just as soon as I can gear up to (a) finish them and (b) go to the Post Office again.
As our sanitized selves were driving away from the bank and back to isolation, I told Banjo Man that I was going to support the local economy and ORDER TAKE OUT. He could join me or not, but I absolutely could not eat another bowl of squash soup (I don’t know how much squash soup I froze in 2019 but it must have been gallons).
I informed him that I was ordering a burger and fries. Yes, FRIES. This former speakeasy in the woods a few miles north of our house has the very best french fries in the state.
Banjo Man shuddered. “I don’t want any fries.”
“Do what you want,” I said, in a less than loving tone, I admit. “But I’m calling in an order. They have curbside pick up. I don’t even have to wear a mask.”
A couple of hours later we were on our way to the Rathskeller. We’d ordered two fancy burgers, fries, a beet-and-goat-cheese salad and chowder. Sure enough, a table had been set up at the edge of a sadly empty parking lot for pick ups. Right at 6 PM a guy ran out, called my name, and dropped the bag on the table before running a safe distance away. I hopped out of the car and thanked him, left a tip on the table under a rock and we hurried home.
It was so easy. Not like wading through a pit of alligators at all.
And the car smelled so darn good.
Once home I removed all the food from its containers, tossed the containers in the trash, washed my hands and wiped down the counter. Just in case.
We turned on THE WIRE (season 3) and oh-so-cheerfully settled ourselves in front of the television.
And of course Banjo Man ate his share of the fries.
I’m in a slump. Along with the rest of the world. I try to fight it, but there are times when I give up and sit at the computer and play Solitaire.
That’s so depressing.
We’re finishing up four weeks in the house and there are at least three or four more to go, but we’re able to order groceries and we’re healthy and the internet still works. That’s what counts.
In an attempt to fight inertia, my friend Ruth and I text each other pictures of what we accomplish each day. It helps keep us away from our computers. So here’s what I sent her last night:
I washed my hair.
I made baked beans. From scratch. And threw some hot dogs in for dinner.
I finished nine more blocks.
And have eight more in progress.
I’m also spending an hour a day going through my mother’s clothes, etc to decide what to do with her things now that she is in a nursing home. It’s amazing how much can get done in an hour.
Note: I do not know what to do with the dolls she loved so much.
And then I get on the treadmill. Not that I want to, but it makes me feel less like the slug I know I am.
What are YOU doing to keep busy? I’d love to know.
I’m not sure where you are and whether or not you’ve tried “online ordering” from your local grocery store, but let me tell you: it’s an adventure.
The first time we received our delivery, a young couple employed by Instacart shopped for us. While they were in the store, they sent me texts to ask if they could replace what I’d ordered with something else. There were quite a few things that were not available. It worked great, despite the gaps. They wore gloves and were very careful to leave our groceries in the driveway while we watched from eight feet away.
Last week we tried again. I carefully checked the “No Replacements” boxes on the things I was particular about.
That didn’t make any difference to “Kenneth”, who arrived gloveless and maskless and in old overalls. He was cheerful as he stumbled to our door but didn’t seem to understand the “social distancing” part of the directions. I backed up into the house and he dropped the bags by the door.
“Dropped”, as in two dozen eggs. He opened them to check they hadn’t broken. He touched my eggs with his bare fingers.
This means I will have to wash my hands after cracking every egg.
He replaced my Twinkies (do not judge–they are for emergency meltdowns) with purple “Snowballs”. He replaced our bags of Brussels sprouts with those with cheese sauce. He replaced spinach and broccoli with assorted frozen mixed vegetables. He did this all without asking/texting. And I was stuck with it.
The Snowballs went into the trash. We’re eyeing those cheese-sauce-coated vegetables with suspicion, but they’re in the freezer. We cleaned every single thing Kenneth brought us with Clorox wipes.
This week we finally scored a spot at Walmart for “pick up” (which took two days of trying). I’ve ordered the basics: lemons, oranges, yogurt, potatoes, frozen blueberries, onions, butter and an UNO card game. They are out of lemons and potatoes, but we’re not discouraged. On Sunday afternoon we’ll head to Walmart at 3 PM and see what we get.
We’ve been religiously practicing self-quarantining for four weeks. FOUR WEEKS! So we are healthy and safe.
And no matter what weirdness ends up in our grocery bags, that’s all that matters.
When I get to heaven, I’m gonna shake God’s hand
Thank him for more blessings than one man can stand
Then I’m gonna get a guitar and start a rock-n-roll band
Check into a swell hotel; ain’t the afterlife grand?
And then I’m gonna get a cocktail: vodka and ginger ale
Yeah, I’m gonna smoke a cigarette that’s nine miles long
I’m gonna kiss that pretty girl on the tilt-a-whirl
‘Cause this old man is goin’ to town
Then as God as my witness, I’m gettin’ back into showbusiness
I’m gonna open up a nightclub called “The Tree of Forgiveness”
And forgive everybody ever done me any harm
Well, I might even invite a few choice critics, those syph’litic parasitics
Buy ’em a pint of Smithwick’s and smother ’em with my charm
‘Cause then I’m gonna get a cocktail: vodka and ginger ale
Yeah I’m gonna smoke a cigarette that’s nine miles long
I’m gonna kiss that pretty girl on the tilt-a-whirl
Yeah this old man is goin’ to town
Yeah when I get to heaven, I’m gonna take that wristwatch off my arm
What are you gonna do with time after you’ve bought the farm?
And them I’m gonna go find my mom and dad, and good old brother Doug
Well I bet him and cousin Jackie are still cuttin’ up a rug
I wanna see all my mama’s sisters, ’cause that’s where all the love starts
I miss ’em all like crazy, bless their little hearts
And I always will remember these words my daddy said
He said, “Buddy, when you’re dead, you’re a dead pecker-head”
I hope to prove him wrong, that is, when I get to heaven
‘Cause I’m gonna have a cocktail: vodka and ginger ale
Yeah I’m gonna smoke a cigarette that’s nine miles long
I’m gonna kiss that pretty girl on the tilt-a-whirl
Yeah this old man is goin’ to town
Yeah this old man is goin’ to town
is there any more pie? 