sunshine in my ceiling -- 2/11/2020

 I'm waiting for a sunny blue sky white cloud day to see what I can see looking through my ceiling window. One evening just before sundown I saw little cottonball clouds tumbling across the gray.

Once.

Mostly I see gray sky and/or white light. I don't know if that's filters or tinting or what. It will take the forementioned blue sky white cloud day for me to know.

Or there could be something technical with the oblique and direct angles of light.

It would be really neat to look up from doing the dishes and seeing the moon looking in on me, or a couple stars winking.

Will I see that?

I don't know.

One day I'll find out. It may not be until April, May or June, but one day -- or night -- it will happen.

8Rita O'Toole, Mary Dietz and 6 others

New Year; Same OLD Me

There's really not much difference between December 31 and January 1, but just the changing of the calendar gives off a feeling of freshness. Of new starts, new chances, and Things Changing. 

It's a bit of silly, feeling that way, but most of us feel it anyway.

I think it has more to do with the returning daylight than anything else. 10 days or so, from the longest night and perhaps darkest day, the difference is already discernible. 

It is the return of hope. The promise of new life.

Usually, the coldest weather is yet to come. The snows, the ice, the blustering, freezing winds. 

But despite those disheartening events, there is daylight. A little more each day, and by the time a week or 10 days has elapsed, we can and will marvel how much longer the light is lingering.

This year past has brought almost every person some form of disease or disaster. The loss of someone or something; and the loss of individual freedoms for the greater good. (More shibboleths, I know, but the best way to repeat concepts as old as humankind.)

Let us try to remember this: That we have all lost something, even if it's "only" the world as we knew it. 

Scientists and politicians, so recently at odds, all forgot to reckon with the forces of Nature, or maybe the Wrath of God, if your beliefs lead you that way. When too much of any species occupies and consumes, in various ways, an area, then there comes a dying-off. You can blame the "smaller globe" syndrome. You can blame the Chineses people, who were just as disastrously dying as anyone else. You can blame spaceships, UFOs, aliens, angels, disturbed spirits, diseased factories, diseased morals. 

When there is so much disease, there will be a dying-off. 

This is one of the immutable rules of physical existence.

It is one of the rules of science.

It is also one of the rules of religions. That the diseased will be destroyed in great numbers whether in judgement and condemnation, or inertia.

Whatever the cause, it IS how things are. We start this New Year with the hope of brighter days coming and new life growing. We do not want to forget the loves we've lost or the lessons learned.

Let us fix what we can, instead of arguing over who to blame or how to avoid the inevitable.

Let us grow into better brighter tomorrows, worthy of those we cherish, whether they survive the struggle or not. We can bring something of them into the Fresh Tomorrow.

Let "us" be "us."

There is no them.

Only us.

Quarantine: What Does it Mean?

 I've been reading a lot of information, and seeing results on social media. Information about how the Spanish flu epidemic (as it was called in those days) was handled.

The most popular social "call to arms" concerns wearing masks.

They didnt legislate masks back in those days. People weren't forced to wear them.

While it is true that the federal and state governments weren't creating mandates on the issues, most towns and cities did make laws.

Rather, they enforced existing laws.

Back in those days, there were laws called Quarantine laws. 

If your household had a contagious illness (measles, diptheria, whooping cough, smallpox) public health officials came and posted a great big, very red sign on your door.

QUARANTINE by order of...

With that sign on the door, no one left the home. No one entered the home, or if they did, they had to remain throughout the quarantine period.

Doctors, nurses, and police were the only people allowed access, and even then had to follow strict routines, which included sanitizing. Sanitizing sometimes included complete changes of clothing.

Groceries and medicines were delivered to the doorstep. Neighbors could drop off gifts on the porch. 

Once they left, the subjects of the quarantine could bring in the deliveries.

There was no question of going to work.

There was no thought of going out to eat.

No one went to the park or the playground. In some cases, even the back yard was off limits.

People didn't protest this, although they grumbled and had the same worries we do today. Keeping job, paying rent, nor having machinery repossessed.

They didn't protest because they knew.

Infectious diseases were frequent, common, and deadly if the protocols were not followed. There were fatalities any time one of these visited a neighborhood, or a town, or a city. 

But the quick imposing of a quarantine could lower the deaths and limit any lingering impairment. Centuries of experience had proven this many times. And if it could be stopped in the neighborhood before it reached into the town, there would be even fewer deaths and disabilities. Everyine wins.

No one questioned it.

If anyone thought of their constitutional rights, they tended to focus on the one first mentioned. The right to Life. They knew the quarantine laws were the most effective defense of the right to life.

After the Spanish flu, we became more educated. 

We made new discoveries.

We discovered bacteria, viruses, antibiotics, and vaccinations.

We learned surgeries and therapies. Epidemics, renamed pandemics, were a thing of the past.

And

We forgot.

Time was proving out how much better off we were, overall. There were outbreaks of things, usually in strictly limited geographic areas. These were handled by the combination of better medicines and the routines of the quarantine programs.

We were smug.

We could handle it.

Until the day and the disease came and there was no controlled access. Everyone was going everywhere. With everything.

And the virus spread around the world. 

It's still spreading. 

So.

Do not share information without understanding it, if you can help it. 

Before you condemn proven effective actions, consider the history behind them and ask yourself in what ways things have changed and what changes we should keep and which are not working as we have hoped.

Above all else, remember that the right to life comes before the right to liberty.

Names for All

 I read a lot of advice columns -- or I did before the internet decided everybody needed to pay everyone every day for the privilege. I miss them, and no one is eating in restaurants and leaving their papers for the next guy. 

Anyway, people can write to advice columns about some pretty silly things. Which way to hang your toilet paper roll comes up semi-regularly. 

Lately, a popular topic has been names.

Did you know people are stealing names? If you've been named after someone, your parents were unoriginal name thieves. If you've been named a common name, your parents are name thieves and unoriginal.

Did these people really never go to school with classmates bearing the same name? No reason to know Chris C is not Chris S. That Jennifer H is not Jennifer G?

How did that not happen?

Someone wrote in crying that his sibling stole the name Nola from him. He thought it would be cute to name her after the Big Easy, when he saw it written that way, once upon a time. 

Sorry, bud, it's not a new name, nor a newly invented one. It's been around a few hundred years in one language or another. Probably several. 

I do have more respect for those trying for something original. (As long as it isn't bulky, awkward, or too weird.) Jayken and a middle name, for grandpas James and Kenny and Uncle Mark (middle name). Little girl's names can be pretty if one wants to go for the feminine or the flowing. (Sometimes dangerous in today's belligerent society.)

Nobody owns a name. Even if you put together a unique portmanteau name, someone will see it on a birth announcement, or on social media, or hear you say it in a store, and think, oh that sounds so (adjective they like) and will remember it, and within a few weeks everyone will be naming their child your unique name. 

They may be the first with it (unlikely, but possible) but tell that to a high school sophomore with a lot of freshmen with the same name. 

Even copyright laws acknowledge that names are void from being owned. The main we reason we all can't write Gone With the Wind is because one novel with that title so impressed itself upon the public that any others will look like pale copies, even if it's a completely different subject matter.

It's not illegal.

Names cannot be owned. 

I have to admit, though, I did feel a pang of ~ something ~ with/for the woman who wrote in that her aunt stole her planned baby name and gave it to her dog. I don't have a lot of patience for dogs with kids' names, although 1) it's none of my business and 2) it's okay in honor of someone or 3) named after the giver or other VIP. 

And imagine if it's a kid with a dog's name? Rover Fido Smith, you come back here right now. 

And that is why I don't know if I feel sympathy or mockery for that woman. Because I don't know if she was giving her child a dog name, or if the dog was getting a human name.

I just wish she had used an example in her letter!

Strange New World

 I think everyone can agree, at least here in the US, that this year has changed the world. Changed the norms. "They" keep talking about the "New Normal" -- which is a long way from normal, and isn't even all the new. It's just never affected so much population at the same time, largely because there has never been so much population at the same time before. 

The big thing for us all -- the world -- has been the pandemic; the covid; the coronavirus; the new plague; the new SARS. Whatever you want to call it. 

But it wasn't the only thing. The year started off wrong before then. Schools were already closing because people were getting sick, but this sickness in these great numbers has absolutely noithing to do with the one that came along later.

Australia was on fire. 

There have been eclipses and earthquakes. There have been floods and even more fires. (Last I knew, Colorado was still burning.) There have been killer hornets and hurricanes. There have been Supermoons and Micromoons and blue moons. Wearing -- or not wearing -- a face mask became a civil right, while people are still being denied housing or help or work and being waited on. 

I'm forgetting a lot. 

No doubt come the end of the year, everyone will have lists and stories and who-knows-what. 

The scary thing is there's still seven weeks for even more fun to be had. 

This week alone we've had elections and reactions and Boston was shaken.  Who knows what the future still has for us?

Many people have died.

Some have been born, yes. 

Births and Deaths, the most universal of human experiences were, for a while, legislated to be done alone, with no family near; with no loved ones attending. 

Imagine having ONLY strangers to share your most intimate, most human moments with no one of your own. You may not even know their names, and because of masks, you definitely don't know their faces.

Too many of these deaths were NOT caused by Covid. 

Too many of these had nothing to do with the Great Illness.

They were dying of normla things. Flu, and emphysema, and liver failure, and kidney failure. Aneurysms and strokes and hemorrhages murders and suicides. 

Accidents and terminal diseases. 

My oldest daughter died of a cancer of unknown origin. 

In approximately six weeks, she went from having achy legs to be dead. 

And I couldn't be there for her, in person. In myself. 

I couldn't talk with her -- she lost her voice. 

I couldn't hold her hand.

I couldn't say good-bye, let alone sit with her as she left us all forever.

This is unforgettable.

This is unforgiveable.

First? Frost of Fall

 Tonight's the night!

Put on the socks, wrap a quilt around my head and shoulders, wrap my hands around a hot cuppa (for me, coffee) and sit on the porch.

It rained today, so the light is shimmering.

The lowering temperature has the air smelling so clean.

The clean smell of falling leaves and fading greens; of pollen-heavy goldenrod and foxtails, and all those plants. Not so heavy, tonight, the pollen, because of the earlier, settling rain.

of long darkened evenings and darkening days and long nights ahead when warmth is the best aroma and even in our electric or gas or other technology age, the scent of warmth calls to mind woodfires and cooked food and family.

Too soon the coming cold will be tiresome.

Too soon,the wet, dark evenings will be an annoyance.

We'll be over it.

the plants will die, the greens will brown, and the trees will be bare.

But for now, for tonight, we can enjoy the changes in the air.

We can cherish the passing of the seasons.

We can await the coming hours of darkness knowing that, one way or another, the light will come again.

Eventually.

And the cuppa warms the hands, the nose, and the heart as surely as the socks and quilts warm the body

Don't Know; Not Sure I Care Much

 I don't know what's wrong with me. 

i can't sleep and I can't stay awake. I lie in my recliner day and night like a giant sloth. I do very little, and nothing holds my interest. I usually read or write or work puzzles or do some kind of busyness. But it seems to be too much work to hold up a book, or to hold up my blob of a body and type or write.

It's definitely asking a lot of myself to do dishes or sweep the floors. Or go to the store.

Or put things away.

Or anything besides  nothing, as I wait for the next round of sleep to bless me with unawareness.

Yes, this all sounds like the old demon Depression. I'm already drugging that and it's been working. Or I thought it was. 

Anyway, I don't think that's the problem, but that particular demon can be a great deceiver.

This feels different. I don't really know how to explain it, but it feels like a metabolic malfunction. But when I see doctors, there is nothing provably wrong with me. Everything is testing out fine, and within my established norms. 

I try to keep myself busy, which is quite a trick when doing nothing. When I have plans, when I can help, I do so, with pleasure. 

And I really, really really wish I could go for a long walk on these quiet nights. 

But I can't.

I Lost Yesterday

I lost yesterday.
I slept through it, for the most part.

I did wake up and eat, at some point.
Went to the bathroom and stuff like that.

But -- I woke up when the alarm went off.
I thought it was the 10 am alarm, so I got up and took my morning mrdicine, and picked up the phone to turn the alarm off. I had a lot of notifications, but Sundays can be like that sometimes.

I puttered around doing the waking up stuff, and turned on the TV, and it was there that I first noticed the time.

It wasn't 10 am. It was 7 pm.

What?
How did that happen?
I remembered the night before, going to bed about eight and waking up around 10, or maybe it was 2. I don't really pay attention to the time, unless I'm looking for something on the TV. I didn't do that this time. I did push the button for the TV, but it didnt matter what was on the tv. It made quiet noise so I wasn't hearing the sounds my ears make when on their own.

I drifted back off to sleep.

And didn't wake up until 7 pm?
So weird.

And its the second time this week I time-warped.

I managed it better this time.
I guess experience counts?

Loved the Rain, And You

I've always loved the rain, and sharing it with you.

The opening lines of a complete regretful eulogy of a song, complete with instrumentation and a wistful familiarity.I had the whole song, as I sat on the porch watching it storm and missing Tammy.

Yes, I know. I keep going back to that.
It was important.
It was something to look forward to.

And something that never happened.

I doubt I will ever realize it's raining again without that thought.
If you knew Tammy, you'd know.

Anyway, the song.
It was so familiar, and so wrong, but right at the same time.
Loving the rain, and enjoying it, and sharing it. The storms, lightning flashing, thunder booming or rolling.
The rain slanting down.
The clean smell of it, even those first soured minutes onto hot pavement in the heat of a summer afternoon.
Walking along under the trees.
Laughing at children running into and out of shelter, laughing, not knowing if they liked it or not.
But laughing at Mommy and Mammaw playing, dancing, jumping in the rain with them.

In and Out, In and Out, a tapestry (tap dance?) of rain and laughter and love. Every stitch, every step a part of a larger, joyous pattern.

And the Music stops and the pictures of what was, what is, and what will now never be stops also, frozen in a moment -- ah, but such a lot of moments! -- forever.
And the rain forever falling, and the laughter, and we, too, are falling and floating with it, because it is what it is, and we both loved it then, and love it still.


It was in a dream, so I lost a lot of the words when I woke up, but they've come back to me, a line or two at a time.
As yet, I can't put them in order.
Maybe someday...

The familiarity bothered me.
And I found the song.

https://youtu.be/ixa7-EG0YhE

See what I mean about it being both wrong and right?
And even if I do remember my words to the music, I'll not be able to use them, except privately, which seems almost a shame.  The music belongs to someone else, and most of the words. And I'm not someone to go begging for exemption from copyright infringement. That's a big deal.

Ah well.
It's one thing I know I did right, loving the rain, and sharing it with you.
Now you can ride the clouds, up and down,  in an eternal bonding with your beloved rain.
Enjoy, my pluvial Pisces.

Two Weeks In

Two weeks ago, My 32 year year old daughter died.
She had an unidentified rapidly spreading cancer.

She wasn't even sick.
She had back pain and leg swelling.
She worked on her feet eight or ten or twelve hours a night, five or six nights a week, overnights at McDonald's for approximately 10 years.
Of course her back hurt.
Of course her leg(s) swelled.

These are the same symptoms that forced me out of work, despite an extended medical leave for rest and treatment.


Her daughter was 80 days from her 12th birthday.
Already taller than her mother (and grandmother), already more curvy, a good artist, largely self-taught and still self-teaching.
She made her mother so happy.
She made her mother laugh.
She made her smile.


Her son turned 7 the day she was admitted into the hospital.
They had his party on Saturday, his birthday would be Sunday.
By midnight, by Sunday, by his actual birthday, she was in the hospital.
He would not see her in person again.
He, too made her laugh and smile and play, and just beam with happiness.

She was so pleased with her kids even when they frustrated her. That was part of the fun, part of the job, part of the love.
The largest part of her reason for existing, for working her legs off.

He would not see her again.
Hailey would not see her again.
I would not see her again.

She died in a local, neighborhood hospital, with no final hugs from her kids, no good-bye from her mother, no farewells of any sort from the rest of the extended family, who tried to organize a parking lot banners-and-waves for her.

She did not die alone. On the last day, they finally allowed her husband to be with her, and he was there for her.

He was there for her, holding her as she left us, helping her to ease into the long good-bye that she couldn't bring herself to acknowledge.
He, better than anyone, could get her to face hard facts, to admit to hard truths.

He. too. is way too young to be facing this, and left with these bereft children while his own being is split into parts, as if an amputation. If Hailey was 80 days from her 12th, he was 78 or 76 (sorry, cant remember the day right now) days from his 31st.
Too young.

They have been part of one another for over a quarter century. They had been a couple for more than half their lives.

He is handling it in the ages old way: One task, one chore, one minute, one hour, one day at a time.

Me, I guess I'm handling it the same way, but I wonder.
It just seems too damn big to be true.
Too crazy.
Too wild.
Too fictional.

I'd like to think this is one of my crazy story-telling dreams, but I know it is not.
I'd like to think this is an alternate reality, and somewhere she's sending me a text or pictures of the kids, but I know it isn't and I know she's not.
She just isn't.

Even if there were to be an alternate reality, that isn't where I am.
Although it remains where she isnt.

I wake up between 3:30 and 4 every morning, if I sleep at all.
That is when she would be getting off work and we would talk, text, chat, and often meet. Usually across the street at Kroger's store, just before they opened.

I want to show her things from my house, I want to share jokes about tv shows and brief flurries of arguments about songs, and ...

Well, if you've lost someone, you know.
If you haven't, you can't know.

Tammy, oh Tammy.
I miss you so.