Even when the skies are grey and intermittently spitting some combination of rain and snow, one must believe that the sun will come out again and shine. It just has to.
One day we’ll reflect back on these times and what we learned from the unimagined challenges of today. I wonder how we’ll be different.
I look forward to one day remembering when…
…Andrew Cuomo became my generation’s Kennedy and the country’s hottest bachelor.
…We learned that our country was home to people who binge purchase paper products without a care about denying others the opportunity to purchase the same traditional essentials?
…Grocery store excursions became explorations as you were forced to substitute random items for those on your shopping list due to lack of availability.
…You realized that hanging out around a bonfire while in your 50s (or even 60s!) was even more fun than when you were in your teens
These are bonafide whacky times. This free fall of the once great America is beyond anything I could have ever imagined. I hear comparisons to the AIDS epidemic and the immediate post-9/11 days and understand and appreciate the obvious similarities. This, though? This is different.
There’s a children’s book that I despise, The Giving Tree. I’ve been thinking about it in recent weeks because I feel a common thread between Donald Trump’s followers and the tree which couldn’t say no. Trump’s believers have willingly placed themselves in the very same position as that tree, cutting off a limb with each previously unacceptable comment ignored (mocking a differently abled journalist, pussygrabber, Pocahontas, nasty) and every act of utter incompetence perpetrated (refusing WHO mask donation, keeping people on boats to continue to skew numbers, eliminating an entire federal medical department trained to anticipate and deal with pandemics.) by this president. I seriously don’t know how a single person would allow themselves to cut down to a stump by this fool, this jester, dressed like a king.
So, on a lighter note – What’s on your pandemic playlist?
I welcome your contributions for the ultimate zombie apocalypse playlist. Leave yours in a comment, please!
On a scale of 1-10 how would you rate your own compliance with recommendations for changing behaviors in light of the current Coronavirus outbreak? 1 being completely blasé and 10 abiding to suggestions like you’re a kid and Santa’s watching because it’s the week before Christmas.
I’m feeling proud and impressed by the real leaders who make decisions based upon what they believe is the best thing for the public at large, and not necessarily for themselves. Governor Cuomo and the superintendent of my district have both, with calm gravity, conveyed the important and necessary messages and are working hard to get the job done, whatever it may be. Bravo.
Shoutout to store clerks and customer service reps. All working their asses off.
Some questions to ponder:
What do you want to be doing when the world ends?
Are you really going to hate on yourself for gaining 10 lbs and not have that ice cream? With sprinkles?
What matters most?
Can you help someone else during this tumultuous and anxiety inducing time?
What will we learn about each other during, and after, this crisis?
I don’t know what to blame it on – the full moon, the clock change manipulation of time, politics, Coronavirus, upcoming travel plans, parenting angst, the uncertainty of the future, not being able to run…but getting quality sleep has become an issue for me and I’m not happy about it.
It isn’t as if I haven’t gone through spells like this before, but right now I’m really feeling distressed. After a long day of being bombarded by the idiocy of our President, the relentless media coverage of what may turn out to be a pandemic and my own internal struggle to remain in the moment without projection of any kind, all I want is six solid hours of shut eye. Is that too much to ask, universe?
Last night’s “rest” was exceptional, as in exceptionally bad. I thought I did everything right, an afternoon pedicure for relaxation, a light dinner followed by an evening walk with Jeter, and a hot (but, not too hot) bath before climbing into bed by 9:30. All systems go, right?
At 10:41, I woke up for the first time. I resisted unlocking my phone and instead started mentally packing for an upcoming trip, planning outfits and shoe selections. When that failed to lull me back to sleep, I started thinking instead about the weather here and what items I might want to order in my next Rent the Runway shipment. I dozed off.
I next awoke at about 1:30. This time, though, I was unsuccessful in coaxing myself back to sleep without reaching for my iPad and completing today’s NYT crossword puzzle. Seventeen short minutes later, my eyes were still wide open. I rolled over and grabbed one of Jeter’s paws to hold as a sort of adult stuffed animal comfort object. Yes, I really do that sometimes. My eyes shut and I returned to sleep for about 40 minutes.
At 3:02 my eyes sprang open again and I attempted to soothe myself with a yoga inspired alternate nostril breathing exercise. Unfortunately, there was no zen to be had. Instead, there was an odd and distant noise that prevented me from resuming sleep. I turned the light on and read my book for about 20 minutes, which is always a last resort for me.
This last time, I went down hard and the remaining hours prior to my alarm waking me up, were filled with crazy dreams. I don’t recall all the details, but I remember living somewhere new in an apartment that initially seemed very small. As the dream continued, the space revealed more rooms than I had initially seen. There were doorways which I walked through only to find additional bedrooms with beds larger than the one I had originally believed to be mine. The family who owned the property invited me to explore and make myself at home wherever I felt comfortable.
When the alarm woke me at 6:00, I was groggy and disoriented. I hit snooze and ended the Beatles’ wake up song, Good Day, Sunshine, I rely upon to start my day off right, closed my eyes and hoped the dream would restart.
It sucks that my knee is injured and I can’t fully do the active things I enjoy doing. I see a surgeon in early February and my only question will be: In your experience, what is the most successful plan of treatment for women in my age and activity range who are most interested in being able to resume normal activities (even at a modestly modified level) in the speediest fashion? That’s my bottom line. I want to run.
There were two articles which really spoke to, and for, me recently. There are things in life which will forever cause me to shake my head, sometimes in a nod and other times in “no.” Both of these NYT pieces made me forget to breathe. I can only link to one because they other one, “I Quit a Seven-Year Affair,” has been removed from the Times’ site.* I’m not sure how I feel about that move, but the piece did remind me of Mrs. Maisel’s choice to share as much about Shy Baldwin as she did in her performance at the Apollo. I knew there would be repercussions.
For god’s sake can we leave Megan and Harry alone? They’re entitled to their one precious life, too and Harry’s already seen how an uncivilized society can kill a woman he loves. Who cares how they choose to live?
Speaking of caring, there’s so little of that in the world right now. This recent picture of an absolutely beaming Megan Markle walking with her baby and dogs, collected some heated comments about Megan’s son not being safely fastened in his front carrier. Everyone had something critical or nasty or judgmental to say and no one simply offered to help her accomplish the task. We’re moms. We need to be nicer to each other.
At a just-turned-green light, I hesitated prior to shifting into first gear and the man in the big truck behind honked his horn and then pulled into the left lane to pass me, giving me the finger as he jerked his vehicle in front of me. I shrugged. Whatever. As we approached Fuller Road, I moved into the right hand turn lane and, again, he aggressively yanked his truck partially in my path. I’d be afraid to witness his response to something beyond a too slow start at a green light.
This morning, J, shared a story about some kids pulling a Ding-Dong Ditch which resulted in the deaths of three teenagers. The home owner whose bell was rung, felt the need to pursue these kids at high rates of speed prior to ramming his vehicle into theirs and forcing them off the road and causing them to crash. What is the matter with people? Why are folks overly reactive to minor transgressions, yet numb to the way our government is broken? Is it an assertion of control in a world which feels increasingly unspun. Or maybe it’s actually overspun.
In the last week I was recognized by a reader I had never met (Hi P!) in a really complimentary way and told at an event a few nights later that I looked like Emma Stone. That’s a good week right there.
I read a book this week and can’t stop thinking about, Free Lunch by Rex Ogle. I’m working on a full post.
I can’t imagine a better Friday night than a winter one spent at Cafe Capriccio eating eggplant, drinking red wine and hearing a set of quality live jazz.
Happy Chinese New Year. It’s the Year of the Rat, but, honestly, isn’t that what we’ve been living with for the last three years?
Where did it start? Was it one side accusing the other of hatred of a particular group?Maybe Blacks or Gays or Mexicans? I myself have said that some are motivated by their dislike of a particular race, not their desire to support the law as in the recent enactment of the Green Light Bill allowing non documented immigrants to receive driver’s licenses. Even as I said it, I knew it wasn’t true. At least not for all of the people involved in the online discussion, a conversation which grew increasingly more hostile.
But, how else to explain the admiration and acceptance “they” have for a person who has unrelentingly demonstrated his lack of interest in respecting anyone who does not kowtow to his wishes and demands?
In return, I was told that I was blinded by my hatred of Donald Trump. The very same facts which had convinced me that the only decision was to impeach DJT, had somehow confirmed for “them” that he was the victim of a witch hunt initiated by Democrats the very day he was sworn in. The liberal media and socialist leaning politicians had stoked my mild disgust for conman Trump into an inferno of raging hatred. That’s what “they” told me.
Again, I say – I do not hate Donald Trump.
I hate what he’s done to my country.
Each time I hear about the economy and record low unemployment and America First, I can only reflect on the price we’ve paid for any of those situations, and what has really been gained by the majority of Americans, instead of just the 1%. While I’m suspect about the reality of our country’s blazing economy, what I do know is that we are seriously lacking in some fundamental and basic components of a civilized society. Our government is broken.
When Donald Trump was elected, I swore about the damn electoral college and the polls, but accepted the results. I allowed a glimmer of hope to remain after eight years of Obama hope. Maybe it wouldn’t be as bad as the campaign had promised. How often are campaign pledges kept anyway? Surely this oddly colored man would grow gracefully into the Oval Office and rise to the occasion.
I couldn’t have been more wrong.
The current situation in our country is not normal, at least not in my observations. The lack of compassion and civility, coupled with a sense of justified racism, have made America a place which no longer can be considered a world leader.
Yesterday’s impeachment communicated that we expect more from our government. It is unacceptable for our president to conduct himself as Donald Trump has and his impeachment confirms that so many understand that to be true.
I’m generally pretty easy going. I try to accept that not everyone thinks or behaves the same way I do and feel fairly happy most of the time. Heartbreaks aside, of course. There are a few things, though, that have recently got my blood boiling and I’m hoping that if I obey the full moon and practice letting go, maybe I can move past these injustices and minor outrages.
First – if Ireadone more time about how a 6-week infant was “allowed” to ingest methamphetaminesby the man responsible for caring for him, I just might lose my shit. This baby, with 8 broken ribs and a head injury declared “not grave enough” to warrant legal charges, was killed by both the individual who administered the drugs and injuries to him and the system which absolutely and completely failed him.
Next – The hypocrisy of the president andhis wifewhen it comes to respecting young people. I really don’t understand the outrage about a remark made by a legal scholar during the recent hearings relating to Donald Trump’s actions in relation to Ukraine. This apparently deeply offended the occupants of the White House, yet did not prevent the Idiot-in-Chief from making direct and disparaging remarks about Time magazine’s Person of the Year, Greta Thunberg. There is no bottom when it comes to Trump and his lack of sensitivity and basic social mores. He is absolutely repulsive and an embarrassment to the United States.
Speaking of the United States, I am appalled to live in a country in which aball playerreceives a contract compensating them to the tune of $324 million over nine years. There is nothing anyone could ever say to me that would justify that kind of ludicrous salary. Nothing. Don’t even try.
My last two issues are much more trivial, yet still infuriating. One is a driving etiquette thing with which upstate people are apparently unfamiliar. I’m pretty certain I’ve railed about this before, but it seems folks weren’t listening so I’ll say it again – if I have the green light, but am not proceeding through an intersection because I can not clear the “box,” you should not interpret my holding back to be an invitation foryouto make a right on red. If you’re someone who has mistakenly done this in the past, you’re welcome for the driving lesson because if you try that move in NYC, you won’t be educated quite so politely.
And, lastly, to the person who allows their dog to crap in my front garden (2x) and on the sidewalk (3x), when I find out who you are, we’re going to have words – and I’ll probably notify the city, too. The DelSo is a nice neighborhood filled with people who take care of their properties and are responsible pet owners. Pick up your dog’s sh*t like a respectable person.
I feel a little better now but if my rage persists, maybe Greta and I can get a group discount on those Anger Management classes.