Perhaps I’m odd. Perhaps my early years as an only child enhanced my ability to entertain myself. Perhaps I have forgotten what it was like to be young. I just can’t understand why people are having such a hard time staying at home.
I see in my Facebook feed challenges to live for a couple of months off the grid in a remote cabin, and winning a bunch of money. Heck, we have all sorts of entertainment in our living spaces, yet people continue to crowd into bars and large parties.
My question for the Baboons today is:
Why is it so hard to stay home? What would you include in a tutorial that would help people stay put? How would you manage in a remote cabin off the grid for a couple of months?
Today’s post comes from Wessew.
That is line from a 1963 Bayer Children’s aspirin commercial. The little boy makes an inquiry of his playmate’s health and receives reassurance from her mother that things will be fine. His delightful response? “Mothers are like that. Yeah, they are.”
With the C-19 pandemic, many of us have heard similar screening questions. “Pain? Temperature?”
My construction work at medical facilities requires a negative response to gain entrance into the building. I’m quite sure that over these past months that I’ve had my temperature taken a hundred times and it has consistently been 97.5. This is a surprise, as I recollect normal body temperature being 98.6 or did Keith mis-inform me with the lyric in his 1967 song:
“Hey, 98.6, it’s good to have you back again! Oh, hey, 98.6, her lovin’ is the medicine that saved me! Oh, I love my baby!”
Somehow “Hey 97.5” doesn’t work as a lyric.
Do you have a favorite fever song?
Last week I got bitten by a bee, on my bottom lip. I felt the bee start to fly in my mouth (I’m sure that’s not where he/she meant to go) and I spit it out pretty quickly, but not before I got a mild sting. No big swelling, no allergic reaction but it did hurt for a few days. On Day 3, if I looked REALLY hard, I could see a teeny whitish blister. Kinda. Certainly no one else could see it, including YA.
Then on Monday, while hammering a nail in the bathroom, I missed the nail and whacked by left index finger something good. I swore so loudly that I had to go apologize to the neighbors. It really hurt. No bruise, no blood under the fingernail. Nothing except for the lingering soreness.
Now I don’t know about you but I think if you get hurt enough that it still hurts after a day or so, you should get a little bruise or a blister or something. It doesn’t have to be some egregious wound, just a little badge of honor for your pain.
Have you ever received a trophy (or badge or prize)?
Well, the dog may be happy and the garden is really thriving and my kitchen floor is spectacularly clean, but I can’t say that my lower legs are particularly flourishing with furlough and shelter-in-place.
Two weeks ago I dropped my bow saw putting it away and it scrapped my leg below the knee, so I have seven ½” long wounds, nicely healing but still a bit pink. I have a bruise just below my left knee – I really have no idea how I got that one. I have a nice gash from a rock that whipped its way out of the lawn mower and at least five various pokes from crawling around on mulch while weeding.
The spot that’s bothering me is the bug bite that I got on Thursday – it actually looks like two bites right next to each other, so it probably happened when I kneeled on something, but it itches like the devil and is still red after a few days. Lots of Benadryl gel helps some. Neosporin and a bandaid felt good this morning but I figure I’ve got a couple more days until it’s healed up.
I’m not sure if I should just give up my lucrative leg modeling contract or start wearing long pants while I garden.
Any unintended consequences lately in your life?
Husband, as a rule, has excellent taste in food. There are exceptions, like cornmeal mush, that I won’t touch. That is traditional to his mother’s family who came from southeastern Ohio. I don’t understand it. I like polenta, but the mush his family makes isn’t like that at all. He also likes fried clams. My nonexistent gallbladder, which rebels over fried food, can’t tolerate it. The main food disagreement we have is over biscuits and gravy.
He never started eating biscuits and gravy until we moved to North Dakota. Don’t ask me why. I like biscuits. I like sausage. I just don’t like glutinous, gloppy gravy on top of them. Husband has taken to making it in secret. He says the combination of softness (from the biscuits) and the spiciness (from the sausage), all held together with the comforting gravy, is too appealing to him to give up. I noticed this week that there were bags of biscuits in the freezer I hadn’t noticed before, and he admitted he had made biscuits and gravy for breakfast, and tossed out the leftovers before I got home.
I think part of this has to do with his diabetes, and his feelings of hunger when he wakes up in the morning. He says there isn’t really isn’t anything I like that he doesn’t like, but that he finds biscuits and gravy so comforting. He blames it on the diners and truck stop cafes that he ate in while he worked on the Rez for six years.
What do you eat that your housemates won’t eat? Do you eat anything in secret? What are your comfort foods?
I news clip caught my eye yesterday about incidents of hysterical dancing that broke out in Germany in the 1300’s. Men and women started to dance, and were unable to stop. Others joined them. The dancers rarely stopped to eat or sleep for days and sometimes weeks. They did not appear happy to be dancing, but they didn’t stop. Outbreaks of this dancing continued through out the Middle Ages. It was sometimes called St. John’s Dance, and, later, St. Vitus Dance and the Tarantella. There are theories that it was caused by ergot poisoning, but that is still up for debate. Other theories attribute it to living in stressful times. It seemed to die out with the advent of Protestantism.
There was a modern outbreak of hysterical laughing in 1962 in a girls’ mission school in Tanganyika which eventually affected around 1000 people in the surrounding community for 18 months.
Given the stressful time we are living in, I started to wonder what sort of mass hysteria might we see occurring. I thought it would be nice to see mass recycling or picking up litter and trash. Unstoppable acts of kindness would be refreshing as well.
What mass hysteria would you like to see? Have you ever been “hysterical”?
Husband had been so hopeful. The two libraries in town (Public and University) had been closed until two weeks ago. The Public Library opened “appointment only” and he ordered a classic, 1930’s book from inter-library loan about the history of the Great Plains. He has been reading it this week and is pretty happy about it. He was hoping this was a sign that things were returning to normal.
The COVID-19 numbers had not increased in our county for about three weeks, with a total of 63 as of last Sunday. That was until yesterday, when it went up two. It went up because there is this baseball league in town in which young adult players come from other parts of the country, live in sponsor homes, and play baseball all summer. Well, an 18 year old player from Oklahoma came up Sunday, was feeling ill on Monday, and he and one more person tested positive for the virus. Now, all the players and hosts and their families are being tested. The rest are all negative as of yesterday, but we will have a couple of weeks of continuous testing to see if it has spread. This is frustrating.
How do you think reopening should occur? How are you doing with precautions? What will be a sign to you that things are returning to normal?
William and Kate say the kids are out of control. Kurt and Goldie are fighting in public and have called off the wedding. Mutant wasps have arrived in the country via Washington – the same as Covid-19. Hillary has just six months to live. Ted Cruz’s father linked to JFK assassination.
Where was I?
I figured that being furloughed would be like practicing for retirement. So it’s been surprising to me that I’m struggling. I’m not as happy as I thought I would be and some days it’s felt like time is stretching out endlessly in front of me. Last weekend I sat myself down (well, figuratively) to try to grapple with my problem.
It didn’t take long to realize that furlough during shelter-in-place is NOT like practicing for retirement, so my expectations were out of whack. Although I had never actually planned my retirement, I did have some things that I wanted to do when I had the time – volunteering was big on the list. I want to volunteer at my neighborhood library, the Crisis Nursery, Feed My Starving Children, maybe the Arboretum or even one of the zoos (although I expect there is a pretty good waiting line for these spots). I know I wouldn’t be a good Humane Society volunteer; not sure I could pass the training and even if I did, I’d probably end up with six cats and seven dogs by the end of my first week. For now, volunteering in person is off my table.
After some thought, I decided that I COULD contribute by making and sending cards. Over the past couple of weeks, I’ve seen few card-making opportunities online in which organizations are soliciting card donations to send to sick kids, folks in essential services jobs and medical personnel and decided that this is right up my alley; I have a passion for it AND I don’t need to leave the house for supplies – I can easily make cards for months without having to get anything (yeah, I know, kinda sad)!
I’ve sent off two packets so far for essential services folks and also a stack of medical personnel cards as well (see photo). When it rains next, I’ll spend a day doing cards for kids. It’s not exactly a new lease on life but I find that I’m feeling a little better this week. I also decided to make garden thank you cards – for letting people know that I appreciate their gardens on my daily walk. And, of course, if anybody needs any cards – I’m your gal – just let me know!
Do you have any favorite volunteer gigs when we’re not sheltering in place?
My next door office mate, Darla, is just a joy. I have written about her several times, and she never ceases to amaze and delight. She monitors the services and care that Developmentally and Intellectually disabled individuals on her case load receive, and makes sure they are being treated appropriately. She has some fairly serious health complications of her own, yet is a fireball of energy with an infectious giggle and a wicked sense of humor. Her latest quest, started, I suppose by the COVID-19 pandemic, is to have all her own end of life decisions and plans completed, and that means buying a funeral plot. Morbid, I admit, but the way she goes about these things is so refreshing and life-affirming.
Darla decided that she wanted to be cremated, and then buried in a plot near New Hradek, the small Czech community where her husband’s family has a farm, 5 miles north of our town. She is from a German-Russian/German-Hungarian community 10 miles to the East, and has no intention of being buried in the Gladstone Cemetery. Her parents are buried there, and she initially thought she could save a lot of money if she and her husband were buried in the same plot, as all of them would be cremated. “How many urns can you fit in a plot?” she asked a local funeral director. “They don’t take up that much space”. He just rolled his eyes at her. (They are old friends). She got somewhat fanciful, and suggested that she and all of her seven brothers and their spouses could also be cremated and buried with their parents in the same plot, stacked like eggs in a double layer crate with the same sort of packaging between the urns. None of her siblings thought that was a very good idea, so she returned to the New Hradek plan, and is waiting for the very elderly manager of the cemetery there to get back to her. It is taking him a while. “I just hope he didn’t wake up dead !” she said to me the other day.
Darla has a very specific directive for her husband if she goes first. He is to rent a coffin long enough so that all her DD clients can view her body and see and understand that she is really gone. Then they can cremate her. I can hardly wait to hear how this all turns out.
What are your plans for eternity? Got any good funeral stories?