Lord Willing and the Creek Don’t Rise

I’m not a religious person and wasn’t raised in a particularly religious family. My mother and grandmother were churchgoers, Presbyterian and Methodist, respectively. How did that happen I wonder. My wife is religious although not the service going sort. Not for lack of trying but I guess compatibility is an important thing when it comes to churches. No, I’m not religious but that hasn’t stopped this phrase from being embedded into my consciousness.

Lord willing and the creek don’t rise.

If you haven’t heard it, I suspect it’s the religious version of Knock on Wood. In my family, it was always said to ward off doom. That the car would have enough gas, that the paycheck was enough to cover food and the mortgage, that the grades would be good enough to get their oldest out of the house and to college. That’s me, that last one. And the answer was barely. That creek sure did come close.

I found myself thinking that phrase often in the last two weeks. That my breathing wouldn’t get worse. Or, that the kitchen renovation would go off as planned (more on that later). But mostly, that RR wouldn’t come down with COVID. We masked in the house and we stayed six feet away from one another. She was tested every three days and negative every time. It was this last test that had me close to prayer. Let it have been enough. It have been 14 days since she has been at school. 14 days since she has been out of the house for anything except walking the dog. 14 days of masks, eating alone, and no hugs. 14 days of every so often tears.

Lord willing and the creek don’t rise, that last test will be negative.

And it’s finally over. That test is negative. I’ve nearly found religion.

They Weren’t Kidding

When they said COVID would make you very sick. Or that being vaccinated wasn’t a sure fire savior. To be fair, they also weren’t kidding when they said that it wouldn’t make you AS sick.

You’ve got to be kidding.

Somehow, despite being masked almost 100% of the time, Debra and I still managed to contract COVID. It’s that almost, isn’t it? I guess they weren’t kidding when they said that masks were practically the holy grail of illness management.

Ten days later and I’m feeling better. I wish the thousands of dead who didn’t have access to the vaccine had had it. For the rest of them, the ones that could have had it, that still don’t have it, despite having no real reason, I can’t imagine why they’d want to go through this. Stabbing back pain, congestion, fever, can’t breathe. No, I mean really, can’t breathe. Even with the vaccination, oxygen is elusive.

Like I said, I’m feeling better now. All except the back pain and breathing. I’m not going to be walking up the hill outside my house without pausing for awhile, I suspect. All because of almost.

They weren’t kidding.

About That Pandemic

I wish I could say profound things about…well, anything lately. Do you ever feel like you’re in a crowded room with a lot of very smart people? All so clever, well-read, well-dressed. All of whom can speak so powerfully, so eloquently about the issue of the day, the month, the year. Black lives, the pandemic, women’s bodies. They have children, maybe, they know all about vaccine rates and trials. There’s that one women using words you can’t even understand to hold forth on Portland’s autonomous zone. And, everyone else is adding insights and nuance and there you are. You don’t have the words, probably, or maybe your words have already been said. You don’t have a contribution that makes a difference or that isn’t without flaws and holes. I’m that person and I’ve been choked for words for a year.

Now is probably the time to say that the pandemic has done a number on us, on me. It’s obvious, right? A year of silence both in written word and, to be honest, spoken words. But, it hasn’t been bleak inside our walls. That makes it even harder to talk about in Polite Company. There are problems. I’ve lost 25 pounds and gained it back (and then some). My daughter homeschooled and then wore a mask through an entire school year and, let’s face it, will do so for another year. She had one playdate. It was terrifying. My wife hasn’t played shows, just started practicing recently, only to see the probable end of practices coming down the Delta path. There has been isolation, mentally and physically. But, and here’s the Polite Company part which, Dear Reader, you are not, there have been some good things that outweigh the rest.

I hadn’t had a migraine until this week, a throwing up, horrendous, kill me now, migraine. This week, the week before I go back to work in the office. I know you know this isn’t a coincidence. I’ve been at peace, more calm, less stressed, slept better, woke up happier, you know, all the things you aspire to when you’re re-evaluating life, since I’ve been working at home. Now? I’m crying in the shower, throwing up in the toilet, and picking up habits I thought I’d left behind. I return to the office on Monday and even typing that makes my heart beat faster.

I’d love to keep this feeling. Having my wife and daughter close, with the same salary, in the same town, without having to work in an office. It seems like a tall order though, especially given the freedom my job typically holds (new boss, some questions). I’ll be working two days a week from home (for now) and I’m holding on to that like the proverbial drowning person. I feel like I can’t get any air and I’m sinking.

So if I’m without anything to say, you know why. I’m an indifferent texter or I’d tell you to text me. Even you, who still thinks you are Polite Company. I’m usually great with anonymous penpals, not so great with anything else, lately. I hope you can forgive me.

A COVID Halloween

How long did you trick or treat if you’re in a place that does that sort of thing? What age did you stop dressing up? If you don’t have younger siblings, did it all stop a bit earlier?

I ask, you see, because this is RR’s tenth Halloween. I feel like she only has a couple more before she becomes the weird older kid who shows up solo to get candy. It seems like the kids with younger siblings are able to trick or treat much longer than the ones who go alone or in a group of older kids. And yet, this Halloween, there’s no trick or treating for her.

Maybe most parents are letting their kids out but mine is in physical school and I don’t want her bringing her who knows what germs to every person who opens their door. I also won’t be opening my door because I don’t want to hand out candy to kids in the middle of a pandemic. Last year there was a terrible storm that almost canceled Halloween. If a storm could do it, a pandemic most certainly should.

So we’re taking her to our close friends house, an almost pod, if you will, for a two family Halloween party. We’re a big Halloween family so this both breaks my heart and delights me. I’ve always wanted RR to have a Halloween party. My birthday is the day before my mother’s in November so I always had Halloween parties instead of birthday parties (nice, mom) and I have very fond memories of them.

I don’t have any judgement for the folks handing out candy or going trick or treating. In fact, I’m partly sorry I won’t be home to participate. It makes me sad for the kids that are going that there might be fewer houses. Definitely there will be fewer in our neighborhood where there are signs up recommending the kids participate in a socially distanced parade to show off costumes and get candy.

Also, can we talk about ready-made costumes for pre-teen girls? IT’S A WHOLE OTHER WORLD. There’s are jokes about putting sexy in front of everything for adults – sexy Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz, sexy nurses, and so on. This year my kid wanted to go as an angel but guess what? SEXY ANGELS. She went with a “dark angel” whatever that is, which turned down the sexy but still you guys, next year I’m making her costume.

School at Home

I don’t make the mistake that we’re homeschooling. And by “we’re” I mean my wife is and by “homeschooling” I mean coming up with lesson plans, teaching, and ensuring work is done in a meaningful and lasting way. On the other hand, she is taking the comprehensive work plan the school sets out and making sure it’s done properly which is no small feat. I think if we were homeschooling in the true sense, it might be a little bit easier since we would have more flexibility on due dates and might know the material better. But on the other hand, we would have to come up with all this stuff, learn it, AND teach it so let me tell you, I think we’re getting the better end of the deal.

Well, I am anyway. As I said, my wife is doing all of the teaching while I’m doing a lot of the working. She’s balancing work and RR’s school. And she’s planning on going back to school herself so we’ll end up shifting yet again. This entire year feels like it’s shifting constantly. I hate to throw it all on 2020 but, man, it sure feels like a shitshow.

Anyway, school at home is hard. Mothering is hard. Wifing is easier these days (I hope that’s a shared opinion at least). The basement flooded. A bird died in the heater. We had to replace all the cold water pipes. Suffice to say, home-owning is hard. 2020 is hard. What else is new?

When that Disaster Pays Off

We are so lucky I have a titanium bar in my leg. As we speak, my daughter is in her morning school meeting, my wife is meeting with her boss, and I about to be in a group discussion about my Library’s COVID services. Our internet is plugging away just as hard as it can.

Fifteen years ago, while at work, I was on a deck that collapsed. The wooden platform crashed toward the house, trapping my ankle underneath. It shattered in such a way that it took almost a year to suss out a solution and get surgery to fix it. I’m now up two silicone plugs, six screws, and a bar. That deck was on a commercial property and 15 other people were seriously injured. Necks, backs, legs. There was a lawsuit and the result was a down payment on this small house.

This house has held us up for 11 years. It has weathered an infant and a stable of animals. It’s now hosting remote therapy sessions, two jobs that have moved online, and fifth grade. It just took a disaster to get us here.

The State of Things

I’m finding it harder than usual to write anything I’d want to read, let alone you’d want to read. I suppose I’m also finding it hard to say anything either. All my energy goes to work and trying to reopen a large university library system. When it’s done for the moment, and it’s only ever a moment, not an hour or a day, there’s always something, I find that I don’t have brain space to string together a meaningful sentence. For instance, I have incorrectly typed every other word in the paragraph. It’s slow going friends.

We are still waiting on final confirmation from RR’s school that she will be going back at all. We’re hopeful for the modified one week on/one week off schedule they surveyed us about but as the city schools close around us, I’m increasingly worried about that precious week at school. Her entire social life this spring was through facetime and texts. She celebrated her birthday with a socially distanced visit from a friend. This summer we put her in small fully masked 5 person camps off and on. This week we are braving a swim camp that is half masked, half cordoned off swim time. The campers get their own square to swim in. It is still terrifying. Misspelled word count: 15.

Once we visited friends in the northern part of the state, which has a higher virus percentage than we do and we’re about to omg go to the beach in North Carolina for a few days. I’m concerned but I am also burnt out and so, mask bearing and flip flop wearing, we’re going. Maybe it’s the librarian in me, but I feel the need to document all of this. I hope you are doing the same, though oral stories to friends and family, through your own journaling, through photographs and memorabilia. I certainly have a variety of masks that mark each stage of the pandemic. From the early stitched and ill-fitting to the bendy nose area and high tech fabric ones. Even the Disney ones from the trip we couldn’t take that are the thickness and breathability of those large white old-school baby diapers. They are a chronicle in themselves. Misspelled words (including this one): 10.

And so, in this 22nd week of working from home, we are slowly opening up our lives. I hope it’s for the better or the same, but not worse. And, at last, not a single misspelled word.

Summer Camp

Hoo boy friends, it’s a return to the 1970s. There is no summer camp. We’re staring down three full months of free time while still working full-time. My kid is a delight but she isn’t a go outside and come back when the street lights come on kind of a kid. She’s not a curl up with a book kind of kid. She’s an almost 10 and I want to DO something WITH you kind of kid.

This house isn’t really big enough for an in-home day care teenager to spend time with her and, right now, I can’t picture them going out to do anything other than go for a walk. The pools are closed and won’t reopen. The libraries are closed. The parks are closed. Life is closed and it’s hard to conceive of what it will look like when it reopens.

So I’m making schedules in my head. We’ll get them down on paper. There will be reading and math. There will be walks and exploration time. There will be screen time and cooking class. There will be boredom. There will be stressed out parents and a frustrated kid. There will be happiness and laughter. There will be plenty of free time that she’ll figure out how to fill. We’ll work it out.

Alone

Who here is tired of being home with other members of the household? Raise of hands, please, and ignore the fact that both of my arms are waving frantically. Since March 17th I have been at home with my family and while there is a lot of good about it, I am occasionally done with togetherness.

Here’s an example: today I’d like to work from the living room, watching trashy TV and returning emails. It’s something I do when I work from home and I’m surprisingly productive. My brain is able to turn off the distraction and have a pleasantly peaceful work experience. I was fortunate that I could do that for about an hour. But I wanted more, as you do with delicious things that make you feel nice.

But then RR was done with her math work and my wife had a break between meetings and suddenly I’m watching Teen Titans Go and I’m decidedly too distracted to work in the living room, next to my dog, in a cozy chair. Granted, I was in the central living space so it’s no one’s fault but my own. That said, I found myself wishing for just a moment, that I could be alone in the house as I used to be when working from home.

It’s not as if I couldn’t ask for time by myself. My wife would take RR for a walk in a heartbeat and leave me with 20 minutes. On occasion though, I want what I had – a long period of peace in our house – and I’m frustrated that I can’t have it. I’ll bet my wife wishes she had it, too. I’ll bet everyone in this house wishes this were over. But it’s not going to be over, not in the way you might see it as a return to normal and neither one of us is headed back to work anytime soon. It’s a hard pill to swallow.

Old Dog New Tricks

Moses is failing. A few weeks ago we had a vet come for a house visit after he spent an afternoon and evening dragging his lower half through the house. His leg muscles are deteriorating, said the vet, it’s degenerative. But try tylenol and CBD and look for more bad days than good. This dog still has some life in front of him.

Sure enough, Moses recovered and we’ve had three goodish weeks. But then he started tripping more, legs shaking, and, every once in awhile, dragging his back legs. The stairs to the yard are steep and unavoidable and more frequently he ends up flat halfway down (if he won’t let us carry him). I may not have mentioned – this is 80 pounds of best friend we’re talking about.

The vet assures us this doesn’t hurt him and there’s no whining or yelping to accompany his collapses. Just a general sense of indignity wafting off of him. His brain is utterly perfect. His faculties intact. He still wants to play and go for walks. Rather, drags, since about halfway he starts struggling, no matter the length of the walk.

At some point, probably soon, he will become incontinent or “have more bad days than good.” How do you decide to say goodbye to your best friend when everything about him but his legs works just fine? And why is this happening when our regular vet isn’t available? Fuck you COVID and degenerative myelopathy both.