Soup Soothes…

Between rain, freezing rain and then snow it’s been a gloomy couple of weeks. Today though, the sun seems happy to make a glorious comeback, shining through leafless tress and onto lawns, sidewalks and streets covered with snow and sheets of ice. The wind is howling though, which made for a very short morning walk with The Poodle. He tried my patience mightily as he was in absolutely no hurry to get his business done despite the frigid temperature and roaring wind. I yanked and yanked on The Poodle’s lead as I navigated cautiously around patches of ice and piles of snow turned to impressively large blocks of ice thanks to the recent activity of snow plows.

“The next house, if that ever happens, is going to include a fenced-in yard,” I say to my boy through chattering teeth.

The route that usually takes barely twenty minutes with The Poodle takes more than forty, not just because of his lollygagging of course, but because of all the ice. I, for one, was terrified of falling and breaking something, but even The Poodle was slipping at times which had to have been uncomfortable for him due to his arthritis. By the time we returned to the house I was convinced that I was in stage one hypothermia. Even through my favorite impossible-to-do-anything thick mittens my fingers were so numb I could not get The Poodle’s lead off, nor his handsome winter jacket. I left both on for a good ten minutes while I made myself another cup of coffee to warm up. Naturally he was a tad confused, standing in the foyer waiting patiently for his human to act appropriately.

A steaming hot shower and another cup of coffee still did not warm me up sufficiently. Hubby would advise that I turn up the thermostat. Admittedly, I am stubborn on a few things (stress on few). The thermostat setting is one of them. While I like to be warm, I can’t stand feeling smothered in heat when indoors, not to mention the added expense on the heating bill. A setting of 67℉, max is perfectly fine with me plus I get a smiley face report (literally) from the utilities company stating that my winter energy consumption is far better than my neighbors. There is bliss in that!

As the day progresses I know that some sort comfort food will be necessary for dinner. I’m still recovering, as it were, from the heartache and stress from a few days before of getting my son out of my house, again. There is absolutely no joy in this…no cause to celebrate this third (final) ousting. All the reasons literally make my heart, soul, and every bone in my body ache. I still feel as if I am pulling myself up through quicksand.

Thankfully, our “Dry January” is well over and wine is on the menu again. And no…I did not give up a thing for Lent as I have done for some forty or so years. This year it is what it is. I’m giving instead, more smiles and compliments to whomever crosses my path. Even one to the lady in our neighborhood who walks her German Shepherd (she’s a thoroughly odd individual and I often almost run in the opposite direction when I see her coming). I know. Perhaps it’s too small of a “give” but after so many months of constant stress, it’s what I can muster. And, although the lazy bug has got me good lately, I still managed to pull off a spur-of-the-moment delicious bowl of cabbage and potato soup. Oh my, I’m feeling rather tickled with myself! How lovely it was to end the day with a healthy and hearty soup, drizzled with olive oil, topped with cracked pepper and freshly grated Parmesan cheese, good crusty bread and a fine wine. I’m sufficiently warm now, blissfully enveloped in a post-dinner satiety with The Poodle in my lap and a happy husband at my side. Honestly, I want for nothing (well…almost nothing). So yes dear reader, though it wasn’t chicken soup, I’d certify that indeed, soup soothes the soul.

There is bliss in that.

A Maple Glaze Saves the Day

Photo by Amelia Hallsworth on Pexels.com

The other day I was sitting in the car outside of a medical facility waiting for my rocket-man.

Oh, wait a minute: Can I even call him that anymore now that he is out of work?

The air was crisp at 32 degrees but the sun was finally shining after a week of winter gray…and forty-eight hours of intermittent snow showers. I’d brought my Kindle to read as I waited in the car. I’m still working on Sharyl Atkisson’s book, Slanted and Anthony Doerr’s Pulitzer Prize winning, All The Light We Cannot See. Hubby’s procedure from start to finish was expected to take a little more than an hour but due to the ongoing pandemic (read, Chinese/Wuhan/Corona Virus), I was relegated to wait outside of the facility. I’m barely peeved about it, really. It’s a tad inconvenient but honestly I would rather wait in the quiet of my car, in the cold, without a mask, than the alternative. I’m reminded too of my dear friend who’s husband was not allowed in the hospital during her thirteen hour-long surgery and six days in the ICU; now that had to have been agonizingly difficult for the entire family! Thankfully, she is on the mend and forging ahead with unwavering positivity because that is always how she rolls.

Snow blankets the large grassy area in front of me and it sparkles in the morning sun as if dusted with a thin layer of diamonds. I have yet to touch my Kindle as my mind is cluttered with worry. Worry that my husband doesn’t get a clean-as-a-whistle report from the doctor; worry about what lies ahead…and, perhaps too, what doesn’t. And what’s with my own head? I’ve lost track of space and time. For starters, I am still making referencing mistakes on the new year. I seem to be stuck in a 2020 worm hole, still referring to 2021 as 2020. Wrote February 2020 on a check yesterday and even entered a calendar appointment for eight weeks from now in the wrong year…2020.

Why on earth is my headspace stuck in such a catastrophic year as 2020? Surely I am not sliding into early mental decline. I can only chalk it up to the fact that the year 2020 with all of it’s ugliness, strife and insanity…not to mention a million 2020 themed memes, is so seared into my psyche that I can’t seem to shake it, even well into the new year. And why not? After all, has there been some magical turn of events now that 2020 is behind us? Is the world happier, healthier and saner since you know who left office and you know who took office?

From my perspective at least that would be a resounding “no.” So now we’re supposed to wear not one but TWO masks? It’s hard enough to breathe with one! And how about our nation’s capitol? Truly, for me, the daily Trump drama of four years had well passed it’s saturation point; the fatigue so overwhelming that I forsook all mainstream media and fell deep into a Netflix addiction. Trying to clean myself of that habit should be easy now, right? Trump is out so I should be relieved. Ah, but it’s been replaced by even greater division, even more insane political theater, and the rapidly accelerating avalanche of a pernicious brain virus of woke culture, not to mention a sock-puppet for president. There you have it. Just my humble opinion mind you. Cancel me if you will.

A large black crow swooped down onto the snow. It breaks my train of thoughts which obviously were going nowhere positive fast. I watch as he pecks at the ground, his beak piercing the snow, as he looks for food. I look at my watch and note that only five minutes have passed since my husband entered the building. As I reach around behind my seat for my bag to retrieve my Kindle my eyes spy a place of pure delight. Why did I not notice that upon entering the parking area? Lord have mercy this day has taken a deliciously lovely turn for the better.

All is well and right with the world!!

Instead of the Kindle I reach for my wallet, exit the car and of course, don the damn mask. Less than five minutes later I have happiness in my hands.

A cup of hot coffee and a Texas Doughnut. Caffeine and maple-glaze sweetness has saved me from falling into a dark hole of sad thoughts. I care not, in this deliciously sweet moment, about what’s happening a stone’s throw from where I live. Hubby will be just fine. The vaccine is here and mask burning is on the horizon.

There is bliss in that.

Less than Twelve Hours Left…

As the “worst” year draws to a close I struggle to find something profound or remotely poetic to say in this here space. Alas kind four readers, I’ve got nothing. I am weary to the bone from the events of the last ten months. And, as if Covid, insanity politics, riots destroying cities, cancel culture, friends who have unexpectedly passed and loved ones who have lost so much, the life-quake still residing in the basement, and a host of other little p.i.t.a. issues…as if those weren’t enough...

….my “rock” gets pink-slipped. How on earth does that happen with years of rave performance reviews?

Indeed, this year has been one Stink, Stank, Stunk after another.

Full disclosure; it’s not as if my husband didn’t see this coming months ago when a reorganization literally dumped him into the wrong division. He’s been clamoring to get out of said division and back into his areas of expertise since, even as desks and business units played musical chairs with people’s livelihoods. But now, at the wise young age of sixty-three he’s considered a “pale stale male.” I probably need not elaborate. Still, he never envisioned getting a pink slip. And, although inching ever closer towards contemplating the next chapter, we weren’t quite ready to make big changes.

Now, along with trying to navigate the life-quake and other family issues, we are trying to figure out what IS next. We’ll sail through it and land on the other side says my rock. He is ever the optimist and I am thankful for those reassuring words even If I struggle to believe. Covid of course continues to make it quite difficult to investigate options. Plans to travel this year and check out potential places to hang ones’ hat for a spell have been dashed of course.

Last year this time we were spending the day with sis and family. In her cozy basement family room we ate ourselves silly and raised bottles of champagne to the new year as we danced jigs and blew on our party horns like little kids. This year we’re laying low in our own abodes. I tell sis I’m probably not going to watch the ball drop with Ryan Seacrest. I get that he aims to bring “fun” into our homes but honestly, I’m not up to listening to President-Elect Biden incoherently blather on about healing and unity.

So, today as I scrolled through Facebook over early morning coffee I see this meme by self-help guru and blogger Mark Manson. I’ve not read his books but occasionally I stop and read his insights on FB in an effort to find something (anything) useful to impart on the man-child residing–OH SO TEMPORARILY– in the basement. Like I don’t know this already…but yes, It speaks to me in my present state and of course, gives me pause.

So here we come 2021. I’ve got a few more hours to wallow in my little pity party and then, as the ball drops– as God is my witness– I endeavor, with every fiber of my being, to move the F**K on, even if I have to fake it.

Seriously folks, I am praying for an infinitely better year ahead. From my heart to yours, may 2021 bring you peace, love and joy and keep you in the best health possible.

Break, Bend, Accept…kind of

Lord have mercy! More draconian shutdowns just in time for the holiday season. Whilst those governing from their power towers order us to stay home, they are dining out at $750-a-plate dinners or hopping on private jets to vacay in Cabo or some such place. Personally, I absolutely do not begrudge fun times for anyone, the well-heeled included, but imposing what is not okay for me but fine for thee…well, it’s such hypocrisy. Hey, that kinda rhymed!

Still, could 2020 get any worse? Ah yes it can!

I say this as not one but both cars are in the shop today, one needing major repairs.

2020 keeps on giving.

So yes, I’ll admit that these days I’m finding it increasingly difficult to find five degrees of bliss, let alone ten. I know I am not alone in this. All over the world, no one has made it through 2020 unscathed, unless of course they were living in an ice-cave, in say the Antarctic. Many folks have experienced profound loss in one form or another this year. One friend, for example, will spend her first holiday without her husband by her side. Another friend of some thirty five years is undergoing, literally as I write, an extremely complicated thirteen-hour surgery (yes, mind-boggling, you read that correctly) for a rare form of cancer.

I am waiting to exhale on good news.

Yes, I should feel a bit peppier, after all, as I have said a hundred times, I’ve a nice roof over my head and plenty of food in the pantry. But, I am—as I have also said a hundred times—only human. I acknowledge it’s all through a lens of perspective (others have suffered, sadly, far more than I) but while I am trying not to view 2020 as the worst year ever, it certainly has been the most challenging in a while. The past eight or so months have been, and continue to be, a roller-coaster ride and not the thrilling kind. From shingles to an unplanned dental implant to the stress of not being able to visit a loved one languishing in a memory care facility. Add to that a multitude of unplanned expenses that certainly didn’t produce one iota of bliss as well as an angry flare-up in both knees.

Ah yes…I’m back to scouring the internet for total knee replacement details (as if I didn’t know enough already) in the form of blogs and YouTube videos, which only (shockingly) serves to depress me further. I had managed to sail through spring, all of summer and even some of autumn with barely a twinge in these deteriorating joints. In fact, a bicycle vacation was on the books for early autumn though of course we know COVID squashed that. Fortunately, walking outdoors in the fresh air everyday between five and seven miles through these COVID months has been my salvation from all the madness going on in the world, and at home. Rain or shine, I’ve so enjoyed time on the trails with my “old man” Poodle-love (who turned twelve last month) and then, once leading him back to the comforts of his bed, continuing on, back down into the woods around the lake or around other trails that wind through peaceful, lovely neighborhoods.

Since we were in an election year I made use of time spent walking trying to make sense of political events and the insanity going on in various parts of the country, though I’m not certain I’m any smarter–or healthier–for it! Nearly every day I took to listening to various political podcasts, eschewing main stream media (I’m sure I need not explain). I venture to say this constant streaming of politics and attempting to digest alternative facts and viewpoints–sifting fact from fiction– daily for months on end hasn’t been altogether healthy for my headspace, nor has the stress of an ongoing family crisis–our 2020 life-quake– (which I acerbically refer to as our 2020 shit-storm). And, the plot just thickened with potential life changes in the year ahead. Holy-Molly! Suffice it to say, I’m been mighty upside-down these past few months.

Fear not. In time, I’ll bounce back…to a new normal. We all will…right? Tree decorating helps…along with wine, chocolate and Hallmark Christmas movies. Just saying.

I think of a passage I read recently from The Book of Awakening by Mark Nepo:

We are all made delicate. The hard things break. The soft things bend. The stubborn ones batter themselves against all that is immovable. The flexible adapt to what is before them. Of course, we are all hard and soft, stubborn and flexible…and so we all break until we learn to bend and are battered until we accept what is before us.

Mark Nepo

So, I am back to listening to music now and thankfully lots of Christmas tunes are keeping my spirit light and hopeful. I danced jigs around the Christmas tree while decorating, managing to send The Poodle nearly running in the opposite direction. I still muster up enough energy to sit on my meditation pillow for about fifteen minutes a day although it must not be nearly enough as I can turn into a head-exploding purple minion on a dime when trying to get my adult son to wake up from his twenty-year stupor and face the music. And trust me kind readers…I’m pleading inside, like you must be too, for a far better year ahead (dare I dream, a mask-less and COVID-free one) and I’m praying for the peace, happiness and health of friends and loved ones, near and far.

God does not give us more than we can handle….so the saying goes. Break, bend, accept what is before us… (to which I add kind-of because I’m stubborn that way.)

It is my hope that my own spirits continue to lift despite our continuing life-quake and even as I believe our country is headed in the wrong direction. The fact that some 75 million folks feel somewhat like-minded is oddly reassuring, although frankly, I’m not sure there is much bliss in all of that either. But more than anything, it is my sincere hope that spirits lift for all who are experiencing a certain bending and breaking; may we all make it through to the other–brighter–side of things with grace, humility and hearts full of kindness, love and hope.

And yes, Virginia… there is heart-warming bliss in those bear hugs I still receive from my nephew (even though he’s shy of being a teenager), in the pretty pink poinsettias adorning my hearth, in the warmth of rocket-man’s embrace, from my poodle-love curled up by my side, and yes… in the glow of tree lights on a cold December evening.

As Leaves Pile Up….

Photo by Devin Lyster on Unsplash

Autumn typically is…almost…one of my favorite times of the year.

Typically? You ask. Well, it is 2020 after all.

Almost? you ask.

My kind “four” readers know the answer to that. What follows autumn is winter and this ole’ gal is not a fan of being chilled to the bone. It’s not that I’ve always felt this way. I truly loved my seventeen-plus years in Colorado and obviously there is, most winters anyway, a lot of snow on those majestic Rocky Mountains and certainly enough in the mile-high city of Denver to make one who is averse to winter to permanently seek Caribbean climes. For me though, the difference between winter in Colorado and winter in northern Virginia is humidity. Colorado winters are, in my humble opinion, infinitely more tolerable due to its arid climate. Simply put, the lack of humidity makes cold temperatures feel less so.

I suppose I should simply live in this moment which is a beautiful autumn day full of sunshine and swirling colorful leaves just beginning to pile up in yards and on street corners. I should enjoy the chrysanthemums blooming, their rich bursts of color competing with pumpkins and Halloween decorations in lawns all around the neighborhood. I should be thinking about pumpkin pie and cranberry sauce…cozy nights on the sofa wrapped in my favorite Pendleton blanket…and new Hallmark Christmas movies sure to come despite Covid up-ending the world.

I should. But I don’t have the energy today….

Alas, the life-quake that has shaken our neck of the woods continues to keep me in both a state of perpetual sadness and unbelievable stress. As I try to remain positive during this new crisis, involving…you guessed it…my son, it’s all I can do to “just be” one moment at a time. It seems impossible to think of the upcoming holidays and the joys that they are supposed to bring while dealing with yet another crisis. We’re navigating through this new storm–which I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy–as best we can; whacking my Dammit Doll repeatedly against my desk helps but man would I give anything to have an MMA heavyweight punching bag hanging in the garage right about now.

So yes…I am decidedly not in a positive headspace at the moment and regrettably I cannot pretend, as I often do, to be otherwise. I struggle to find an ounce of fun and frivolity…anything to snap myself out of this shit-storm (no better word at the moment!). As I watch the leaves fall and pile at my feet I feel the weight of our up-ended world heavy on my shoulders. Though I know it is not a panacea, even my simple meditation practice has not eased the pressure as much as I had hoped. I know this too shall pass…I know that change is the only constant…but still…

Uncharacteristically, I have a list a mile long of what I dread as winter approaches (and don’t get me started on politics!). I dread, already, the teeth-chattering cold and fierce winds that will make it impossible to walk around the block without getting frostbite. I dread less sunlight, shorter days, and ice-storms. I dread, silly as it seems, the probability of not being able to spend long lazy weekend mornings over coffee and a good book at the local Starbucks due to ongoing Covid restrictions. But most of all, I dread that this madness will never end.

Argh! I know…aren’t I just a ray of sunshine?!

But hey, tomorrow is another day kind reader and with it promises of less bleakness from me. So….there is bliss in that!

(see, I came around….sort-of.)

Life is Sweet, For Some

Photo by: Cristina Crawford

On this morning, life is deliciously sweet (for some) and oh so symbiotic.

Take this bee. For a moment I marvel at it and, due to my current state of affairs, even wonder how lovely it must be to not have a care in the world on this hot and humid summer morning. Yes, I know. It’s quite absurd to think a bee hasn’t a care in the world. And, obviously, this bee does have a pressing issue: It is laser focused on food. But it doesn’t stop there. The bee “knows” that flowers are its life-source, in the form of the flowers’ sweet nectar and pollen. These are carried back to feed the family, or to be more specific, the entire colony of bees.

But what of flowers? What’s in it for them? Ah…yes of course! Bees are their life-source too. Without them, flowers and many plant or vegetable species wouldn’t be able to propagate.

I continue to admire the work of the bee as I snap a few photos of it with my iPhone. Sweat drips from my brow, stinging my eyes as I continue walking. I stop to wipe my eyes and catch sight of more bees. Perhaps it’s the heat taking affect but I start to wonder: Hmm… what if the bee and the flower were to have a conversation what would it be like?

“Well….hello beautiful,” the bee says buzzing with a dizzying delight. “And how are you on this fine morning? As you can see, I am dragging a bit and therefore am in need of a pick-me-up via your sweet elixir.”

“I am only too happy to oblige you my friend,” says the flower as the bee’s long proboscis sinks into it’s glorious color.

“Yippee! All is right with the world,” hums the bee. In fact, it practically does somersaults of joy as it happily flits from tree to tree before returning to the garden of flowers.

One more go of it before I leave your sweet embrace,” says the bee landing back on his chosen beauty. ‘I’ll just be topping off the tank, as it were. I hope you’ll oblige me just a wee bit more. And, you know it is not just for me. I’ve got a colony to feed after all.”

The flower is grateful beyond measure. “Thank you for spreading my pollen around Mister Bee. My numbers were starting to dwindle and I needed some help. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

Perhaps life would be sweeter if more people would understand that we are all in this crazy life together. We need to work together because we need each other. Beyond that, a heavy sprinkling of gratitude would be most appreciated as the cherry on top.

Okay. So, The Poodle is over-the-moon grateful on this particular day. And why wouldn’t he be? He’s just been given his favorite treat of all time by the neighbor who loves him so. Bacon.

There is bliss in that.

The Chaos of 2020 Continues…

As I approached the front door from my long morning walk I spot, once again, a fox scurrying down into the creek bed behind our house. I stopped for a moment, hoping that the scrawny fellow would come back out again if I stood still, long enough.

Hmm. Not today. So…Let’s admire my geraniums instead.

Opening the door I was met with wild fervor from The Poodle. Almost immediately his snout got tangled in my ear buds. What a pair we were as I bent down, attempting to pet him, untangle, and take my shoes off all at the same time.

“Yes, yes….I’m back….I see you old boy.” I say as I finally manage to get my ear buds off. “and thank you for this exuberant display of poodle love!” Since he’s getting to be quite the slow poke in his advanced years I had opted for a solo morning walk. In fact, I needed to pound (and I mean pound!) the pavement…alone…in search of a modicum of escape–relief really– even while sifting through a storm of thoughts and tumultuous emotions.

Hubby was already at “the office” (in his study) preparing for a conference call. “How was your walk,” he asked.

“I’ve decided to pull the plug on Twitter,” I replied. Given the state of our current situation, I am sure he did not expect this reply.

“Really? Why?” he asked looking up at me from behind his computer monitor.

“You have to ask me that?”

Ah, I get it.” he said. “Well, you can elect to simply not read it.

The past couple of months have just about done me in with all social media. I’m ready to throw in the towel because, in my humble opinion, the world has gone completely bonkers. The vitriol, shaming, finger-pointing, labeling, virtue-signaling, distortion of facts, division, destruction…etc. etc. has left me feeling profoundly discombobulated…and, more than any time in my life, hopeless. Every media platform seems to be aimed at the most egregious group-think. If one dares to think or question differently the knives come out; you risk being cut to ribbons publicly. We cannot seem to have reasoned, calm, discourse on any topic anymore. Even my meditation practice has done little to ease the pain and heaviness in my heart.

But, for the record dear readers the insanity of the world isn’t what has upended me in this given moment. Simply put, it helps not one iota that once again my world has been thrown into complete chaos due to my adult son. There I was happily enjoying a cycle ride with my husband on a sun-filled beautiful Saturday morning four and a half weeks ago…and then we get THE call.

Here we go again. How bad can it be? Say what?!

So now, we find ourselves in a nightmarish shit-storm. I cannot go into details in this here space…not at the moment anyhow. Honestly, I would take flying snakes right now over what life has thrown us. But dare I ask; is it possible that 2020 gets any worse?

Wait…forget it! Talk to the hand….I do not want to know!

Suffice it to say….there is no bliss in any of this.

Checking In…

I don’t know about you all…specifically my “four” kind readers….but some days I feel like I am standing on the edge of an enormous cliff–the Grand Canyon comes to mind– ready to simply set myself free now before a zombie apocalypse takes hold and we all descend into irreversible madness. Don’t mind me, chalk it up to postherpetic neuralgia pain from shingles. In fact, I still have what I term (a la The Pink Panther) a “Commissioner Dreyfus” twitch of the left eye. It’s just that there seems to be no end in sight more than two and a half months into this Covid-19 madness. Hotspots are still raging and headlines even warn of a second, more dangerous wave later this year! My modest meditation practice has not been enough to calm the waves of anxiety and not being around people much isn’t helping either.

Just the other day I braved going to Target for the first time since March. I needed an item or two–nothing absolutely essential mind you. Mostly, I needed to GET OUT OF THE HOUSE and see someone other than The Poodle and my husband. Don’t get me wrong, I love them both dearly but…24/7 has had some tense moments. And yes, I pinch myself daily because my husband can work from home…bills are paid and food is on the table… and we are (knock on wood) doing remarkably well as opposed to so many other souls worldwide.

Although I am loathe to wear it…of course I donned a mask for my Target outing. It’s a pretty little thing actually, one that I found online via Etsy and certified as made in the good old U.S.A. I try to find the bright spot in putting the damned thing on–as in, my eyes look bluer than usual when wearing it and I can skip applying lipstick–I still detest it worse than pineapple on pizza. I feel like I am being suffocated with each breath I take.

It’s pretty. But still..I loathe it.

As I got out of the car in the Target parking lot, I inhaled fully and exhaled slowly, thoroughly enjoying the miracle of that breath before I donned the mask. I honestly had a skip in my step as I headed into Target, eager was I to be among people…doing something routine…normal.

Let’s just say the experience left much to be desired. As I pushed my cart through various aisles I felt as if I was in a science fiction/horror movie. Save for one or two folks, everyone wore a mask. Yes, I know: That isn’t new…of course this has been a common sight pretty much since the beginning of April. What was so disheartening was the dead quiet in the store. And I mean dead. The absence of people chatter and even background music was almost otherworldly. The atmosphere was thoroughly joyless. In fact, there was a tension in the air that was palpable as people pushed their carts–eyes downcast or looking away when passing another cart-pushing human and, despite being appropriately masked, physically distancing movement was sometimes so exaggerated as if it were me who was infected with viral hemorrhagic fever and was covered with oozing boils from head to toe. One guy practically overturned his cart in an effort to physically distance himself from me.  Even the checkout experience was completely devoid of pleasantries. In fact, the woman who checked me out didn’t say one word (I kid you not) even when I inquired as to how her day was going.

Well that was a thoroughly unsatisfying experience.

Taking the SOCIAL out of our daily lives is bound to turn us into Zombies I thought as I practically ripped my mask from my face as I neared my car in the parking lot. Once in, I sat for a moment with eyes closed, enjoying the sound of my breath. Inhales and exhales that were easy and calming…

Yes, I know. What a luxury to breath…so lucky, am I.

Still, it’s hard not to get my head bobbing in wonder –or my knickers in a twist–when I see so many folks driving in their cars, alone, wearing masks and gloves. Really? Or the gal checking me out at the local grocery store behind the large plexiglass wearing a full face-shield AND a face mask under it. That just seems to me…excessive. Or being told by the lovely scheduler over the phone that doctor’s offices will be requiring mask wearing during office visits through the end of the year and into 2021.

2021?!

Enter expletive of choice here […..]

I try hard not to get caught up in the unknown. So much IS unknown and it’s taking a toll on all of us. Even, dare I say, The Poodle. He’s wondering, I am sure, when his humans are going leave the house so he can slumber in blissful tranquility. Not to mention what COVID information (and who) to trust. The politics, polarization, finger-pointing, fighting and sheer ugliness of it all has made me terribly sad…not to mention imbibing much more than usual.

Sigh.

I suppose that the only thing that is for sure is that none of us are getting out of this world alive. So, yes…my “right” brain says I simply need to “roll with it” and be better at living in the moment. This too shall pass. Still, I know that I am not alone in wishing for a light at the end of the tunnel. A return to even a new normal would be perfectly fine with me at this point. A visit to Wegman’s just yesterday granted me that wish. Instead of being corralled into one insanely long check-out line that wrapped around the store twice we were able to follow the regular BC (before corona) check-out process along with maintaining a six-foot distance.

Seems like a silly thing to get excited about but even with wearing the mask, how blissfully normal that was!

Now, it we could get toilet paper, paper towels and Clorox wipes back on store shelves….

Still no toilet paper but hey…six rolls of paper towels is progress

Spud Heaven

Photo by Rebeca G. Sendroiu on Unsplash

…and no, I do not refer to a narrow spade for cutting the roots of plants and weeds.

Rather, it’s the lovely potato that I refer to. The deliciously starchy root vegetable that I once proclaimed–as any silly five year-old might–I would marry because I loved it so much.

So…six days ago I had to have a tooth extracted (a molar…number 31, to be precise). No…not the best thing to have to do in any circumstance, for sure, but even less so during a pandemic. I have to say the oral surgeon’s office was excruciatingly thorough in following Coronavirus safety protocols. I couldn’t get into the building without answering basic questions on my health and travel status (travel? Are you kidding me?) and my temperature was taken with a nifty digital thermometer that simply hovered over my forehead. Every office staff member was masked and someone was wiping down every counter, pen, chair and magazine stand literally every ten minutes. It was so exhaustive that I was surprised that the staff weren’t attired in hazmat suits.

Two hours later, the extraction complete–which included a bone graft (a synthetic material packed into the extraction site) as the first step in preparation for a dental implant–I was on my way home. I exited the building, out into the bright sunshine and crisp-cool breeze, with the right side of my mouth packed in gauze. My cheek was already beginning to swell significantly, and my head was pounding but I was so thankful to have that “little” ordeal over with. After a stop at the pharmacy for pain medication (which seemed to take forever) we were homeward bound. Once there, I plopped myself into my favorite chair and welcomed The Poodle who remained in my lap for hours until throbbing pain forced me to get up and take a pain pill. Still, I was happy to read, finishing Lisa Wingate’s emotional story based on true events Before We Were Yours and then starting former U.S. Ambassador to the United Nations Nikki Haley’s book: With All Due Respect…and even happier dozing with the warmth of my poodle-love curled in my lap.

It would be close to eight o’clock in the evening before I felt the first pangs of hunger. I hadn’t eaten anything in twenty-four hours.

“Do you want chocolate ice-cream or mashed potatoes?” asked my husband.

I’ll try the potatoes was my reply.

Not even ten minutes later I was presented with a small bowl of Bob Evans garlic mashed potatoes. I ate those first small spoonfuls in a painfully slow and hesitant manner as the swelling (despite icing the area) was still significant. But, Oh My God dear reader, let me just say….

…those spoonfuls sent me straight to heaven.

“God these potatoes are amazing” I said groaning with pleasure. I could eat this for the rest of my life and be happy.

And indeed, for four days straight, following the soft food regimen necessary after oral surgery, I ate heaping bowlfuls of Bob Evans mashed potatoes. Loaded, garlic mashed….sour cream and chives mashed….or just plain mashed….

I was…and still am…in spud heaven.

If you’re looking for something new to soothe your soul during this pandemic, I highly recommend going face down in mashed potatoes.

Bliss out my friends ❤️

It Could Be Worse

Unless one has been living under a rock for the past couple of months it’s painfully obvious that we’re all living in some pretty challenging, downright frightening, times. In my neck of the woods (some twenty miles from our nation’s capital) we’ve been doing the whole stay at home thing and social distancing since March 15th. I’ve seen my sister and her family twice since then and she lives two doors down. We’re washing our hands with never before OCD fervor and, since we cannot find even one roll anywhere, we’re counting toilet paper squares (not naming names here but…someone in my house is becoming OCD about that too). We are also watching entirely too much Netflix and T.V. And, don’t get me started on the bathroom weight scale. Okay…get me started; I’ve gained five pounds and naturally, I’m not too pleased with myself. Even my Apple Watch is disappointed with me: You’re Usually Farther Along By Now….get moving…it practically shouts.

Sigh.

And, to make matters just a tad more complicated I am experiencing significant tooth pain. My issue has been brewing since last September. The periodic pain forced several visits to the dentist and one to the endodontist. Oddly, we weren’t able to definitely pin point which was the affected tooth (there were two candidates) so the last advice was to simply keep monitoring the situation and of course return when the pain started to get more frequent. Months have now gone by with nary a twinge of pain.

Until a week ago.

Yes indeed, you’d be saying. Great timing. Let’s have a dental issue return during a global pandemic…when practically everything (including my dentist’s office) is shuttered…until June!

Despite the dental office being closed I was fortunate that my dentist returned my measured (read: not frantic) call yesterday. However he confirmed he cannot practice, per CDC guidelines and our state Governor’s edict, until June. Before my head could pop off in disbelief he advised to go back to the endodontist and he would initiate the call. Thank God! Apparently endodontists are considered essential care workers. I was all set to see him in the morning.

That was on Thursday of last week.

So, I’ll admit to having a crying-in-my-soup moment. Between the throbbing tooth pain, not seeing or hearing from family, and having the routine of life upended with no clear light at the end of the tunnel I was a five-minute mess. Not only has year-to-date has been less than stellar–an understatement— but I went into the Easter holiday with a root canal.

After my five minute melt-down, and, as I nursed the throbbing pain in my mouth with tea and Advil, I happened to be reading a book review for Fortitude: American Resilience in the Era of Outrage by Dan Crenshaw. He’s the Navy Seal who was seriously wounded in Afghanistan in 2012. He spent many grueling months in rehabilitation including extended periods of time harnessed face down in a hospital bed. He lost one eye, which is now covered by a black path. In 2018 Mr. Crenshaw went on to win a long-shot victory, becoming a U.S. House of Representatives congressman for Texas’s second congressional district. The book (which I am set to read) explores how he was able to be resilient in the face of seemingly insurmountable odds and how prevailing cultural ills and whatnot are occurring due to a decline of resilience, also giving rise to victim-hood as a virtue. What I gather from a brief snippet of reading is that his “calm and serene” attributes, formed in part by his Navy Seal training, have served him incredibly well.

I suppose this book review caught my eye because during my five-minute meltdown it was clear I needed to put my own challenges during this time of global crises (which are more than just tooth pain) into perspective. Things could always be worse….much worseand they are and have been for many souls around the globe. I realized too that my meditation practice, though fraught with distraction during the last several weeks, has helped immeasurably. I just haven’t been giving myself enough credit (a serious character flaw). So, yes indeed: my five-minute meltdown would have easily been a far longer and dismal pity-party, say a year ago. And besides, I am human after all and even the Dalai Lama gets testy, though on rare occasions.

Unfortunately, that root canal revealed a root fracture which means the tooth needs extracting. I hear the news with a strange calmness. It is what it is. After I made the call to the oral surgeon to schedule the extraction, I try not to worry about the expense of yet another dental implant (I have had two already) particularly as we watch our retirement savings go on their roller-coaster ride or hear more incredibly bad news about the economy. Instead, I keep downing Advil and Tylenol to manage the pounding in my jaw and I remain thankful that I have a roof over my head, that most of my family and friends are safe and that my poodle-love is curled at my side, snoring away.

On This Easter Monday, I count my blessings, and there are many.

There is bliss in that.