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.

I’m THAT Middle Aged Woman

When I was a child, my mother went through every diet she could find. She was an average-sized woman, on the thin side, always has been, but she was in Weight Watchers. She drank green-colored shakes that left a film in the sink and grunge on the blender no one could get off. She counted calories and took vitamins and pills designed to keep you from feeling hungry. She ate salads while we ate lasagna. She also ate heaps of ice cream when no one was looking. It always starts with your mother, doesn’t it?

I’d have said I’m not that person. I take up more space than your average-sized woman and I’m never on the thin side. I don’t count calories and I don’t eat salads. I’m bigger than I wish I was, looking more like my round father and rounder grandfather and nothing like the sylph-like beanpoles on my mother’s side. It’s getting harder to do the things I know I “should”. Exercise, eating things that are not doughnuts, you know. I think I care less. Or I thought I did.

You see, my wife is always in some sort of pain. Not in a whining, terrible way, no. She suffers silently. An aching back, a sore shoulder, a wince when no one is looking. And so, when she suggested looking into an anti-inflammation diet, I was right there with her. We embarked upon the detox phase only for her to say, halfway through, I didn’t mean for this to be a diet. But of course it is. The word diet has changed for me since my mother was weighing her low cal bread, meaning more of a habit of eating than an activity. But this, this feel-good (and it does), vegetable heavy, spice packed, way of eating is definitely a diet AND a diet.

It reminds me of the Whole 30 (check) and Paleo (also check) but not at all like Weight Watchers (check), all of which we tried for a year and abandoned. How am I not like my mother? I certainly don’t tell RR why we’re having stuffed portobello mushrooms instead of pasta but the flaxseed is sitting on the table and we’re clearly eating more green things than we ever have before. We’re trying to model heathy eating but are we doing that when we swing so wildly around? She is a beanpole herself and I’d like to keep her that way, if only to spare her the looks in high school, the disappointing trips to buy clothing, the pinched waist and sucked in belly.

But then again, here I am, with my own mother who surely wanted those things for me as well, only to fail when I turned out like myself. Raising a child is ridiculously hard work, when you think about it, especially when you can’t do that over a croissant and coffee.

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.

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.

Anxiety, of Course

Are there people who aren’t coping with a bit of anxiety right now? We already know I am and my child keeps chewing on her fingers. My wife seems impervious to it all though, so I imagine some of you must also be blissfully floating through a pandemic. An exaggeration, of course, but that’s what it feels like for those of us (me) struggling.

RR started virtual school this week. It’s an every other week thing but this is the first time she’s back at it since last spring. I checked in on her this morning and she was raptly watching her teacher lead but her brow was furrowed and she was crouched over the screen. Can she understand? Is her slow processing speed keeping up?

I still have questions about how the school is supporting the children who need extra help. They have added an additional teacher to the classroom but shifted away the support teacher who was working with her in the spring. RR worked so hard on her math and reading over the summer and I hope she is seeing the results. But what about school overall?

It doesn’t always work for me to wait and see and deal with each thing as it comes. That’s so often what I hear therapists recommending. Less planning, less problem solving. I have choice words for how that makes me feel. But in the meantime, I can pick back up on some of the other things they recommend, starting with a short meditation each day. RR is joining in (OOOHMMM, she says) and hopefully it will help us both.

More Alone

Not too long ago, I complained I was never alone. Now I’m going to be alone in a way I didn’t want to be. On Friday, we will put our beloved dog to sleep. His body can’t hold him up any longer.

It’s heart-breaking to see a dog continue whose body has failed but whose mind is fairly intact. I find myself dissolving at the most unexpected moments and I can’t picture life without him. Why does this seem worse than when my father died?

There’s so much else going on in the world and in my personal life right now. Murders, calls to defund the police, marches, protests, job security, death, uncertainty over absolutely everything. I don’t want to say goodbye to my best friend.

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.

Rain, Rain

It’s funny how some things seems so much…bigger…when you’re stuck at home. What’s the right word? Confined? Restricted? Locked up? I mean, I could leave at any time so it’s much better than it is in some parts of the world and if I go outside and pass someone, I can still worry about rapists and the virus in equal parts. As an aside, will it be regional, do you think? Corona on the west coast, ‘Rona in New York, Covid-19 in DC, Covid in the surrounding areas, and SARS-CoV-2 in Atlanta? What about the racist names? What are the history books going to settle on?

I’ve gotten off track. I wanted to talk about the dismal weather we’ve been having. It’s bleak and cold and entirely unwelcome. I know it’s spring and April showers bring May flowers and all that but May 1st is tomorrow, it will be 66 degrees and I’ve had just about enough. Not that I’m pleading for it to be hot and mosquito-ridden, I’d just like a bit of a happy medium for enjoying my time in the house, working, in front of a window that is, for most of the time, displaying a steel grey sky and dripping wet plants.

I’m cloudy myself at the sight of it. I feel grouchy and irritable and generally bleak about everything. It feels like nothing will be better until the sun finally comes out for more than a day. Can you use light therapy to forget we’re social distanced, the economy is crashing, and people are dying?