Masked
Saturday’s Theme Music
An old song is stuck in my head this Saturday morning, the last Saturday in January, 2021. In other news, the sun rose at 7:26 AM and will set at 5:23 PM here in Ashland. All those things happen every day, but at different times.
They call songs stuck in your head ear worms. I call them a diversion. I typically get trapped in one specific section. I call it a groove loop, a reference back to the time when we listened to records on vinyl, which had grooves.
The stuck song is “Spanish Harlem”. The stuck version is by Aretha Franklin and came out in 1971. I was about fifteen. The eternal question of why this song is stuck in my head can’t be answered today. It arrived as I decided to eat a banana as my breakfast’s second course. First course was oatmeal with cranberries and peanut butter, sprinkled with gluten-free maple granola.
The COVID-19 situation continues to alarm many, including me. We experienced a solid week of double-digit new cases, and the rolling three day average was dropping. Across the country, cases were dropping. Only two states were reporting increases on Thursday. Yet, dire warnings about the variations were increasing. Recommendations to wear two masks, or wear only N95 masks were issued. Then, last night, boom, our county reported triple digits again. It’s wave after wave. Like the ocean, some waves are larger than others, and you need to be mindful of sneaker waves.
Time for coffee. Stay positive, test negative, WAM (wear a mask), and get vaccinated, when it comes your way. Here’s the music.
Friday Laments
More first world blues…I’m just cryin’ in my coffee.
- One problem with the local C-19 vaccination plan: teachers are a high priority. Great! Many agree with this. But, boo, the shots are being administered during school hours. It’s not a dash and do, either.
- Our biggest issue in Oregon is as it is elsewhere, just not enough C-19 vaccine to do the job. People are generally accepting and patient, because that’s how it goes for now.
- I went for years without a doctor. Then I had trouble in Peckerville and ended up with a urologist. The trials exposed my hypertension, so I ended up with a GP. Each prescribed medications for conditions – BHP and BP – that I’ll probably take for the rest of my life. Less than three years later, both of these medical professionals are gone. They’d moved into the area, it didn’t work out, and they moved away. I liked both and they did a good job, but I’ll need to find someone new when my prescriptions expire this year.
- The healthcare insurance front grows more expensive for me. As a veteran and military retiree after twenty years, I had good healthcare insurance via Tri-Care. There were no premiums. That went on for years. Now, starting this year, I must pay $25 per month premiums. Not bad. But, since I’m turning 65, I’m required to get Medicare Parts A and B in order to keep my Tri-Care. A is free; B is about $150 per month. Guess this is all due to that wonderful ‘support the troops’ rhetoric that I often hear. As it so often happened, big promises were made with great patriotic fanfare and furor. Then, when the bill came, everything changed.
- I’ve ordered meals online from restaurants three times in the last three months. Each was to give us breaks from what’s in our larder and breaks from cooking. It’s a treat. But each time, they’ve offered a coupon, and then, each time, there’s no place to enter the coupon code when the order is processed. Small matter, but irritating: like a lot of modern life, it seems like a false promise.
- What I’m watching: “Baptiste” on PBS via Prime — terrific series; “His Dark Materials” on HBOMax, very strong, good production values and acting, faithful to the trilogy; “Doom Patrol” on HBOMax but it’s falling in our appreciation as the characters become sillier and seem to take forever to come to grip with matters; “All Creatures Great and Small”, a remake of the first series of that name, based on the books, and it’s almost as entertaining and charming as the first go-around. We’re not watching “The Undoing” which just seemed too insipid in too many ways after three episodes; we prefer more dynamic and intelligent characters. Just recommended to us is Portait of A Lady on Fire and Mary Shelley, so they’ve been added to the list. Still working through the last of “Vera” and “The Wire” during late night down time.
- Hulu manages to continue to irk me. Their system often seems to think we’ve watched an episode that we haven’t and wants to jump us ahead. It’s happened enough times that I don’t just click and go, but make mental notes: what’s the season, episode number, and title that I’m watching now? What was the last one watched? What’s the summary? Did we see this? No. I saw others experienced this. The fix is the digital equivalent of a hard reboot or a hammer to an appliance: sign out and sign back in. That works most of the time, it’s claimed. Guess I’ll try it. Haven’t done so yet because logging in with a remote is a pain, you know? I’m such a whiner.
- Meanwhile, Prime Video, the service previously known as Amazon Prime Video, has the opposite issue, insisting that I haven’t watched an episode when I’ve already watched it.
- Got my coffee. Time once again to write like crazy. Meeting Text for the first time today. She’s the late Zipper’s daughter. Looking forward to what she has to say.
Sunday’s Theme Music
7:31 AM and 5:15 PM mark the times the sun rises and sets in Ashland, Oregon, today, Sunday, January 22nd. It’s 30 degrees F out, and feels like it. There are some days when the temperature doesn’t feel as cold (or as warm) as it’s supposed to be. That whole index and wind chill thing, I suppose. Today, though, felt 30 when we were out.
Yes, we were ninja shopping again, hunting fresh produce for soups, smoothies, and salads. My wife always times these things because experts say we should be in and out at the speed of sound because that confuses COVID-19. When people zoom by, COVID-19 reacts, “What was that? Someone there? Hello?” Then it forgets what it was doing and walks off muttering to itself, “I know I heard something. I know something was there.” Yes, COVID-19 is becoming old news.
I found myself humming “Days Like This” by Van Morrison. The song came out in 1995 but sounds like it’s from the 1960s. That makes sense because Van based it on the 1961 song, “Mama Said”, which was a hit for the Shirelles. I don’t know if I knew that before and had forgotten but Wikipedia claims it’s the truth, so it must be.
It was a day like this. My wife likes to be at the store at the beginning of time or the vulnerable hours, whichever comes first. I dislike shopping at the vulnerable hours, objecting to that expression, which is shorthand for “hour set aside for vulnerable and elderly people to go shopping”. To avoid the term, I tell myself we’re going at victory hour — you know, vee for vulnerable, vee for victory. I don’t want to call it the vee hours because there was a television show (and maybe a movie) called “Vee” about alien visitors. I don’t want to think of myself as a vee, in case I turn out to be a visiting alien the next time that I see a doctor. (Doctor: “It appears that you’re an alien.” Me, looking around, “Whooo, meee?”) Don’t mock me; my body is constantly revealing new information. Like, as my hair has thinned, I’ve noticed what appears to be a treasure map on my scalp. It could also be where a dead body is buried, so I’m not going to check it out, just to be safe.
On a side note, I had a special moment today. I went into the bathroom to do some business and not one of my three cats showed up to supervise, even though they’re all in the house and awake (because I saw them watching me on the way to the bathroom). Although I was first surprised, then hurt (“Don’t they care any more?”), I was then delighted to be in on the can alone. I so enjoyed it, I lost track of what I was doing and ended up wondering if I should paint the baseboards, of it they’ll just come clean with Mr. Clean Magic Erasers. Upon exited the restroom, I discovered one of my cats waiting for me. Looking at me, he said, “I would have come in, but it stinks in there.” He wasn’t smiling. (He sort of looked like Abe Vigoda as Fish on “Barney Miller”.) Then I encountered the other two cats waiting in the hall. They said, “He’s right, it stinks in there. You should have that checked out.” Like they know what they’re talking about. They’re cats. They can’t even open a can or use a spoon.
For the record, we were in the store for nineteen minutes and spent $115.10. That works out to $6.06 a minute. 2021 is gonna be an expensive year. I’m glad that we weren’t in there an hour.
Is there a song called, “Years Like This?”
Be positive, test negative, wear a mask, and get vaccinated. Here’s the music. Listen to it while I go get some coffee. I need it.
Commercial Break
My wife informed me she’s ordered snail mucus.
The snail mucus is good for her skin. It comes from South Korea (aka, the Republic of Korea). The procurers assure us the snails are not harmed when the mucus is milked.
We’re talking about opening a snail farm in southern Oregon. Gotta figure out how to milk those snails. Don’t think our fingers are small enough. Must be really tiny fingers to milk those snails. Maybe it’s done by a machine. Hope they’re not using children. They have tiny fingers. Just sayin’.
I gather that South Korea is on a roll with skin and hair products.
Meanwhile a relative sent us CBD TheraReleaf lotions and creams in the mail. They’re extra-strength, of the Arnica+ variety. I applied some lotion to my sore left hand last night. That was the one I broke. Still swells and stiffens after strenuous flexing and exercise. The arm, hand, and wrist all felt mighty improved after the lotion was applied. That could be my mind thinking it should be better, right? Yes, but I think it’s the lotion. I’m going to keep using it.
I like its smell. It reminds me of licorice.
I’d like some licorice. It’s been months since I’ve had any. Why don’t we keep licorice on hand? Answer: because I gobble it up like a cat hoovering in catnip.
My wife mentioned ordering Kitty Chups for our felines. I searched online for more information. The first result was from Amazon, and was for women’s apparel. Whaaat? I clicked on it to see what came up. Cups came up. Cups, not Chups. Kitties were featured on the cups. No women’s apparel was on the page. No wonder half the world seems confused about what’s going on.
Amazon said, “You can search instead for kitty chups.” I clicked on that. Products similar to the Chups came up but the page asked, “Did you mean kitty cups?”
Oh, my, just watched a trailer for a new show, then the first seven minutes of the first episode. That would be Resident Alien on SyFy starring Alan Tudyk. Looks promising. Hope some streaming service picks it up fast. You listening, Netflix?
Bet Amazon gets it.
Thursday’s Theme Music
Today’s choice is a 1969 love song by The Beatles. “Don’t Let Me Down” was written by John Lennon for Yoko Ono. It wasn’t a great hit for them on its release but has since acquired greater admiration and respect. It came to mind last night as the last song played on a documentary watched on Hulu, The Beatles: Eight Days a Week – The Touring Years.
The song’s refrain fits these times. “Don’t let me down,” is sung as a strident request throughout the song. Seems right for now, as we depend upon one another to survive a pandemic. Do the right thing; don’t let me down. Likewise, here in the U.S., as elected Federal officials meet to confirm the 2020 presidential election results, we ask them to do the right thing. Abiede by the Constitution; don’t let me down.
Last, it’s a request to the new year, 2021. Hey, we’ve been through a lot in 2020. Rough year, you know? We’d like something more positive, please. Don’t let me down.
Stay positive, test negative. Wear a mask and get vaccinated. Don’t let us down.
A Healing Dream
It was another busy dream night for me. Of all that I remember (or think that I do — who knows?), this one was the most intriguing.
I had an elderly cat. Tired, I could see that he was hurt, aching, and in pain. Thinking that I had to do something, or wanted to something but had no other recourse, I put him on my lap, talking to him, petting him, and willing healing energy into him. Someone witnessing it laughed and mocked me. I shrugged that off, thinking the contact made the cat feel better and cost me nothing.
When the cat left my lap, it seemed like he moved more easily, like his pain was gone. That delighted me. When I stood, I discovered pain that I had was also gone, surprising me. Noticing I stood had some pain/discomfort, I decided to do another test. I took the cat onto my lap and held him longer, stroking him, and willing him to feel better and be better. As I did, I was certain I was feeling better.
I awoke feeling enormously refreshed today, feel of hope and energy. I hope others can enjoy these sort of dreams, but they always cause me wonder about the nature of dreams and existence.
Monday’s Theme Music
I was out helping my wife with the Food and Friends Project. She’s the official volunteer. Once a week, the takes her place in the rotation to deliver meals to shut-in seniors. The list has become reduced to one page, just eight clients for her route, since the pandemic has set in. We know a few passed away to non-COVID-19-related issues. We wonder about the rest. I’m just the driver, helping her so it goes quicker for her, and it gets me out of the house, doing something else.
While out, I saw so many people walking alone. Of course, I generally walk alone; I plan to walk today. It’s sunny, temperatures in the high thirties, but dry (and that damn wind has stopped for a day). Perfect to do two to three miles of hills.
Among those walking alone were people who seemed like me. Out on errands or walking for the satisfaction of it. Some, though, you question their circumstances. Anyway, it prompted me to begin thinking about all of that, about who we are, who (and what) we were, and who/what we become. So much is beyond our control as circumstances and/or tragedy strikes and/or our bodies and minds betray us. Who we become often becomes dependent on who we have around us.
All these thoughts snaked around to a 2005 Audioslave song, “Be Yourself”. The song is about trying to find salvation (is it inside you or elsewhere) and also what you hide and what you reveal, and what you are inside.
Someone tries to hide himself, down inside himself he prays
Someone swears his true love until the end of time, another runs away
Separate or united, healthy or insane
h/t to Genius.com
2020 is closing up shop. Stay positive, test negative, wear a mask, and get vaccinated. 2021 is about to begin. Bring it on.
Thursday’s Trinkets
- Feels like a Saturday. Odd, for me. I haven’t worked for a company where I kept a schedule for several years. You’d think the days of the week would’ve lost their feel by now.
- How does Saturday feel? Less structured. Freer. More relaxed and less stressed. Comfortable as a pair of your favorite shoes. Full of expectation that something good is just about to happen.
- Mood was dark earlier in the week. Ah, the standard black cycle. Went into a snarling depression. Thinking about what/how to write a scene, I sulked. ‘Thoughts went, I’ll be sixty-five years old next year, struggling to finish a novel. Written fifteen. Published four on Amazon to no great success. Agents are barely interested in what I submit to them, and I don’t pursue getting published with any great energy. Why am I wasting my time with this shit?’ Then I went mumbling away, did some other things, and thought, oh, this is what happens, and went back and resumed writing. Mine is a fickle mind, probably like most people. The fact is, I enjoy writing, and employing my imagination to create puzzles for my mind to solve, then scrambling to find he words. That’s writing, innit?
- Some of the week’s hours were spent helping my wife. She belongs to an exercise class. They meet every MoWedFri at nine AM via Zoom. Pre-COVID, it was an hour earlier at a gym. The instructor has been teaching this class for forty years, and my wife has been going for fifteen. We’ve made many friends through the class, including the instructor and her hubby. The class also launched my wife’s book club. Each year for Christmas, the class members take up a collection and sign a card for the instruction. Well, hard to do that this year. So I set up a private Gofundme for them. We worked with the Y on a letter that was sent to the members. Then I created an eighteen inch by thirty inch prop check for my wife to use to present the collection to the instructor. The prop came out okay, although elements reminded me of a fifth-grade project. But we had to use what we had on hand. It’s the thought that counts, right? The class took up over eleven hundred dollars. Knowing the instructor and her hubby, who aren’t in need, they’ll share it with others who are in need. They’re quite generous people.
- Setting up the Gofundme was extremely easy. It impressed me with how simple it was. Which had been my impression, leading to why I helped my wife. She and her friends were thinking it was technical and required computer savvy. It doesn’t.
- Reading Bill Bryson’s book, The Body: A Guide for Occupants. It’s rich with history and details. Great expanding knowledge. I’m not as intimate with my body’s functioning as I’d like to be. That’s one reason why I selected this book as a read. As I’ve aged and endured some minor health issued (enlarged prostate gland, broken arm, high blood pressure), I wanted to know more details about myself. I’ve been reading on the net, pursuing symptom after symptom, organ after organ, getting more granular with processes and functions. I suspect many people take up the same pastime of learning more about their body as they age. I keep thinking that I should’ve paid more attention when I was younger. You know, before things began giving me problems, right?
- Ran into a friend at the grocery store. I was checking out, he was coming in. About eight AM on Wed. We were both masked and had hats on. I said, “Pat.” He stopped in front of me, six feet away, and stared. “Who is that?” “Seidel.” “Michael!” A smile lit his eyes. “Didn’t know you. Hat. Mask.” We chatted for about ten seconds, and then pressed on. Not great socializers, either one of us, but it was pleasant encountering him.
- Watched Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom last night. Fraught with dialogue, tension, and foreshadowing, the film kept me focused. Strong characters…well, strong in every area and value. Viola Davis is on the shortlist of actors that always shade my opinion of a movie. If she’s in it, I’m more likely to be drawn to watching it. All that I’ve seen her in, she impresses me. Chadwick Boseman had also joined the list so it was crushing to hear of his death. Gotta say again, though, white people are often cruel, greedy assholes. Which, as a white person, pisses me off.
- It’s been a windy week. My cats DO NOT LIKE WIND. Tucker refuses to leave the house. His position is fine with me; he’s safer in the house. Boo the house panther likes to go out in the morning for a few hours in the back yard (if there’s sunshine) and an hour in the evening on the front porch. Papi, though, (aka the ginger boy, Youngblood, and Meep) despises the wind. He goes out the back and returns to the front, banging on to get back in. Does this six to eight times a day. Bored in the house but too bothered by the wind (and the cold) to stay out. Poor boy. I wrote about his feelings about the wind last month in The Despised Wind.
- My Fitbit report said that I did eighty-seven miles last week, three less than the week before. I thought, bullshit. I don’t know how that thing counts. Yes, I know the principles they employ; I’m just dubious of the results. Still, I keep trying to maintain a twelve-miles-a-day average. Need some sort of goal to focus.
- Got my coffee. Time to write like crazy, at least one more time. Happy holidays, whatever one it is which you recognize or celebrate. Remember, stay positive, test negative, wear a mask, social distance, and get the vaccine. Cheers
Next Year
Picked up some library books the other say. The library set up is working for this lockdown era: go online, put a book on hold on my account. They send an email when it’s ready. I have a window before it’ll be put back on the shelf, giving me time to plan when I’ll go down there to pick it up.
I go several times a month. There’s a table set up outside, under a canopy, Saturday through Thursday, noon to four. Tape is used as markers to indicate the traffic flow and safe distances. Patrons line up six feet apart. The librarian comes out. We’re all masked. You give your name; the librarian goes inside and return with your books. Your account number is verified verbally via the last three numbers. They give you your books and you go on your way.
As part of the process, a slip of paper with the book’s title and its return date is printed. On that little slip are also two little financial gems. One states how much money you’ve saved yourself by borrowing from the library. The other tells how much you’ve saved this year.
The first is $26 on my slip of paper today. That was for two books. Both are hardcovers. Neither were published this year. I suspect I could get them for less than twenty-six dollars used.
The second number is $660. That’s how much I saved this year, they said.
Well, I don’t know about that. I pay a little in taxes each year for this. It was a bond issue for the county library system, and it’s part of my annual property taxes. I don’t think they take those taxes into account when they tell me how much I’ve saved.
But I like the system. I’m a writer. I’d like people to buy and read my books. It’s great that the library system pays books to fulfill that for writers. I hope my books end up in the library some day. It’s also an excellentway to save on trees, innit? Buy a book and let multitudes read it.
All that led to ebooks. These books were available to be borrowed as ebooks. ebooks do even more to save trees, although we then get into the sticky situation of electronic waste.
I don’t do much ebooking; I like the personal heft of the thick books in hand as I carry them around and read in various postures. I know I’m silly and sentimental that way. I could use ebooks and save more trees. Yet, I resist.
I blame blue light for some of that resistance. I watch television (so cut down, you reply) while I’m running in place (oh, you answer, that’s a little different) or using the Stairmaster as part of my exercise. I’m not good at reading while walking (though I’m trying). I also spend a lot of time on the ‘puter reading news (so cut down, you suggest) (I probably should, I answer, as not much of the damn news is good for my spirit), writing, and editing. I don’t want to add the strain of reading ebooks to the strain I already thrust on my eyes.
Nothing is as clear cut as it first appears any longer, whether it’s environmental impact, saving money, or selling books. Our lives are choices, decisions, and compromises. I could, instead of running in place or exercising while watching television just curl up with a book. I could, instead of using a hefty volume, make it an ebook and reduce other strain on my eyes. Or I can go to audio books —
Yeah, don’t even go there. I am a fan of audio books; I’ve used them when driving long distances, and I’ve used them while exercising. I’ve found, though, I prefer the inner voice that I create when I’m reading something.
So, I’ve thought about these things. I recognize some of my habits are comfort ruts. Comfort ruts can be pretty useful in periods of stress, such as, say, a global pandemic. Then again, it may be that I’m just too lazy to change, modifying that ‘too lazy’ to ‘too old and set’.
This is just one facet of existence. These same sort of exercises go on with other things as we live, from medicines to using plastics to cars to public transportation to fossil fuels to recycling to GMOs to organic food to nutrition to healthcare to eating healthy to money to politics to welfare to taxes to social security to war to equality to fashion to music to film to being healthy to relaxing to having fun to —
Well, that point is hammered in. Life is a busy process of constantly re-balancing all these choices. I wonder what’ll it be like in another hundred years.
Strike that: let’s just see what it’s like next year.
Michael Seidel, writer 