She said, “I need to find silver hoops.”
He heard, “I need to find silver boots.”
And that’s when the fun began.
Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
She said, “I need to find silver hoops.”
He heard, “I need to find silver boots.”
And that’s when the fun began.
Yes, it’s Sunday, and time again for my recurring segment, the Annual Week in Review.
In politics, shit storms continue around the world. This week, the POTUS tweeted about Obamagate, an expression never heard or seen until the POTUS’ tweets, leaving everyone baffled about WTF he was talking about.
Arguments abound about whether social-distancing, masking up, and sheltering-in-place are worthwhile. A lot of false information is being spread. Vetting everything takes time.
My 401(k) is down about six percent (fifty-five thousand) but my personal brokerage account stayed up, as I have a big chunk of Costco in it that I bought a decade ago. My wife’s 401(k) is down about twenty-five thousand. All those accounts are investments, and aren’t needed right now, so it’s an annoyance more than anything, for which we’re fortunate. I’ve checked with family to ensure they don’t need any financial help, and have given to some charities.
Personally, I’ve been painting the inside of the house. My wife has always complained that the house is too dark. Three years ago, we painted one bathroom and the guest room with Homestead Resort Parlor Taupe. It looks nothing like taupe to me, but ecru, but, you know, marketing. Pleased with the result after three years of study, we (I’m employing the couple we here) are painting more areas.
That paint color had been discontinued, so getting more of it required having the color analyzed and mixed. It worked, though, thanks to modern technology.
I began with the foyer and progressed through one hallway, usually painting three hours a day. Much of the time was spent taping the baseboards and door jambs (which are both brilliant white) to keep it all neat. (There were seven doors in the foyer and hall, including the front door) As it looks great, two more gallons of paint were ordered on Monday and picked up yesterday (which required a masked visit to Lowe’s, known locally as thunderdome). I’ll be continuing with more rooms.
Besides painting, we acquired more plants. My wife’s initial efforts with arugula, leaf lettuce, and basil went spectacularly well. I’d already weeded, turned and fertilized the raised beds, so last Saturday, we masked up and headed to our local Grange Co-op for more plants. They were well-organized there, and over ninety percent of the people we encountered were socially respectful and distanced themselves. (Somehow, I expected that from gardeners.)
Three tomato plants (of different varieties), lemon cucumbers, and zucchini were planted in the raised bed, leaving space for us to add more. More lettuce (including our fave, Romaine) was planted in our ‘green beds’ and positioned in the sun on the patio.
I’ve also been doing yard work, trimming the trees and bushes, conducting the annual battle against blackberry brambles, weeding, and cutting the grass.
Haven’t been blogging much, because I’ve been writing a lot. With or without a global pandemic, fiction writing is my escape. I’m having fun writing like crazy each day. I often don’t know WTF I’m doing, other than following the main character’s leads. I often cringe because I don’t know where it’ll all take me, and I’m constantly learning about him. Sometimes he seems like the Hulk to me (without the green skin, and he doesn’t return to being Bruce Banner). His Qiqz addiction informs his thinking and behavior; I’m still understanding Qiqz and his origins.
Meanwhile, other surprising directions include understanding the Plies (who are people who accept a specific role in society) and the egg people (who I’m just starting to explore). Did I mention this is dystopian? Yeah, I’m drawn to dystopian fiction; to me, it offers the same large canvas of mystery and exploration that murder offers crime victims, or love offers romance writers.
I usually write three to four hours a day (although goofing off (to shift into the mood) is included in that time).
My wife cooks dinner for us six out of seven nights. I cook on the other night, and sometimes try to help in the kitchen, depending on what we’re making. I have grilled us plant-based burgers a few times, and grilled chicken for myself (she’s a vegetarian). We’re each responsible for making our own breakfast and lunch. She’s also baked for us a few times.
Exercising has been more challenging. Walking is my primary source of exercise. Before COVID-19 arose in March in our area, I was walking about ten miles a day, with eleven or twelve reached a few times a week.
I now go out walking once or twice a week, going up the southern hills where people are rarely encountered (I have a mask on when I’m doing this), but otherwise run in place in the house, or use the Stairmaster. Inspired by my cats and interested in increasing my pulse each day, I’ll do a few minutes of mad dashes, racing around the house like a crazy cat. I usually pretend that fast zombies are after me or that I’m running football pass routes. Whatever works, right? But I’m only getting about seven and a half miles per day.
I’ve had three beers to date since we began sheltering-in-place nine weeks ago, and no wine or other alcohol. Not a deliberate choice, so much as I’m not interested in drinking.
I do have a cuppa coffee each day, though.
My wife has been Zooming with others. She takes a morning exercise class three times a week and a belly dance class twice a week. She has Zoom tea with friends with one group every other week, does book club once a month with Zoom, and visits with friends catching and giving support to one another via Zoom once a week. Yeah, she’s the social side of our couplehood.
Beyond all that, I kill time. I’m working on another jigsaw puzzle, fifteen hundred pieces, featuring a Corvette. Time is spent on social media and reading blogs. I feed, groom, and play with the cats (and clean their litter box and clean up their gaks), play computer games, read books, and stream television. Streaming is down; we finished “Counterpart”, which I enjoyed, and began “Upload”. I’ve been watching “The Last Kingdom Again”, building back up to the new episodes released this year, and watched the new season of “Bosch”, and a few movies and documentaries. I read a lot of news, though. Of course, I call and chat with Mom and Dad.
We have gone on two shopping expeditions, one day to local stores, and yesterday to Costco and Trader Joe’s. Since we’re over sixty, we could have gone in during the early ‘protected’ hours; we didn’t, because we were advised otherwise. It was bad intel. If we go out again, it will be during the protected time.
Oh, yes, and we voted, by mail. By mail is the Oregon standard; it is the only way that it’s done.
That’s all from my niche of existence. I know this all sounds pretty self-congratulatory. We are damn lucky, in multiple ways that I often take for granted. Hope you’re all doing well out there in cyberland. Stay well.
That is all.
It’s funny, but sometimes when I post or share something humorous or sad on Facebook, the same two people react to it. They always react the same way. It’s memorable to me because they were married for a decade and then had an acrimonious divorce. I was so sad to see them part. They’d been one of my favorite couples.
Now they won’t speak to one another, and I can’t enjoy the company of the two of them together. Except there they are, on Facebook, together again, laughing, shocked, angry, and crying through emoticons.
They’d been doing together since they were wed forty-two years ago. “Everything that we can do together, I mean, of course.” She felt some things weren’t possible, “But we tried to do everything together. We were never apart from one another for more than a day or two, maybe three, tops.” She’d been a nurse, but was now retired; he’d been, and was, a doctor.
Travel was required for her to visit her father. “Dad’s really well for ninety-three. It’s easy to forget he’s ninety-three because he looks so good and does so well. But he is ninety-three, so I worry about him. Especially since he’s down there and I’m up here. He’s a retired engineer, and very particular about his habits. Everything must be done certain ways. He eats the same foods for the same meals at the same times every day, breakfast, lunch, and dinner. There’s no variation.”
But this was about her husband. “He didn’t want to go with me to Southern California. Dad always watches Fox News. He’s completely apolitical, he’s not a Trump supporter, doesn’t have a MAGA hat, or anything like that, but he watches Fox News all day long. Henry just didn’t want to go, and cited that as part of the reason. So I flew down there alone.
“I’d been down there for a week when I received a phone call from Henry. He was frantic.”
“I’m out of clean underwear,” he said.
“Well, wash some.”
“I would, but I don’t know where the detergent goes.”
“It goes in the drawer.”
“I can’t find the drawer.”
“When I thought about it, I realized that it was the longest that we’d ever been apart.”
When she returned, she discovered his clothes in the washer. They were moldy, wrinkled and almost dry. She thinks that Henry just tossed the soap on top of the clothes, wasn’t satisfied with the process, and just quit.
They haven’t spoken about it, yet, but he does have some new underwear.
It was a long, coherent dream last night, one that seemed like The Great Escape or The Irishman, a movie that went on for several hours.
I’d come into money. From that, I’d bought new property. After leaving it, I went with seven others to wander and explore the area.
We were four couples. One couple was my sister-in-law and her daughter. Another was my sister and her friend. A young couple, man and woman, were the third, and my wife and I were the final couple. I knew the young couple in the dream, but I can’t place them in my life.
We stopped, sitting at a table under some trees. The table became a rendezvous location. While I sat, the others came and went, shopping and visiting with people, etc.
A package wrapped in brown paper was brought to me. I opened it. Inside were watches. Some were gold but several were silver. All were new. Most were jewel encrusted. “Oh, yes, I ordered them,” I told the others, trying watches on. The others were exclaiming over them. I was dismayed. The watches were expensive but gaudier than anything that I would wear.
I began giving them to others. “Here, take a watch. Wear a watch.” I had more watches than I realized and wondered why I’d ordered so many, laughing at myself for that. The young man (of the couple) came up and asked, “May I take a watch?”
“Yes, yes,” I said. “Take a watch, please.”
The dream went on (with the same four couples), but that was the watch part.
The perfume of you and I
still intertwines
with the thoughts of what we doing
what we meant to say
before we went away
left me wondering who we think we’re fooling
we never talk
and stay distant in our walks
with a feeling that something’s brewing
it never boils and never perks
but it’s always there, it always lurks
I think our love is cooling