Next year will be the twentieth anniversary of the September 11th attacks in New York, Pennsylvania and Washington, D.C. As Americans, we watched the coverage in the days following the attacks. Watched as first responders, fire fighters and so many other emergency workers swarmed over the rubble looking for possible survivors. We saw the Search and Rescue dogs crawling through narrow openings, over girders and piles of concrete looking for any sign of life or death. These brave dogs gave their all.

      I found this description of these brave SAR dogs.

“Search & rescue dogs really like people. And dogs, while they don’t have the ability to know death happens to everyone, they do recognize death when they see and smell it. Search & rescue dogs at major disasters, not just 9/11, do get depressed when they are finding too many dead bodies and not enough living people needing to be rescued.”

     The handlers of the dogs working the Trade Center found their dogs getting depressed. So they would have people hide so the dogs could rescue a living being. Just finding a “ live” person every once in awhile kept them from getting too depressed to do their work. There were Labrador retrievers, golden retrievers, German Shepards; not unlike your family pets. The SAR dogs were suffering from PTSD just like their human counterparts.

     If you are following what is happening during this pandemic, you have to have seen interviews with those working in hospitals all across the country. The common themes are unbelievable exhaustion, unimaginable fear and heart-breaking sadness at so much death. Patient after patient dying alone because their families aren’t allowed to be there. But the nurses and doctors and other care givers are there. Holding hands or setting up that last teleconference with loved ones. Many of the nurses are new to the profession, they haven’t experienced this much death in their careers. They are working twelve hour shifts, day after day, separated from their families, their homes. Even if they do go home, they must isolate from their families because they don’t want one of their own to get sick and possibly have to die alone.

     Many cities haven’t had to deal with the hospitals and care givers being overwhelmed by massive illness. They are lucky. Being inconvenienced because you can’t have dinner at your favorite restaurant or go for a drink with friends seems like a very small price to pay in the face of what these courageous men and women are experiencing and sacrificing every day. Not sitting in a bar on Saturday and Sunday watching your favorite team or someone chasing a little white ball around a park seems a very small price to pay to honor their hard work.

     I know there are hardships. People need to work. It’s getting harder to feed the family. Rents and mortgages aren’t getting paid. It’s terrifying. Not testing, not enough testing. Food processing plants shutting down causing shortages which we all know will lead to more hoarding. With the lack of any knowledgable or comprehensive leadership, we must feel a way forward on our own. We must learn who to trust, what source of factual information we can rely on.

     Don’t we, at the very least, owe it to those who risk their lives everyday, to stay at home? Continue distancing, lessen the spread so our medical communities don’t become more over-whelmed than they already are? Unlike SAR dogs who felt better finding a live person, no one working on the front lines of this war will be exempt from PTSD. Not one of them will ever be the same. Shouldn’t we show the same concern for our caregivers that we do to a Search and Rescue dog?

     Let’s all just take a breath, stay home a little longer. Stop worrying about your gray hair, your nails, drinking with friends, your FOMO (fear of missing out). This will be over someday soon. Don’t take risks with your life or those you love. The person you are standing or sitting next to may be asymptomatic or just in the early stages and you will get it and spread it, perhaps starting a second surge. Remember, the Spanish flu had a first round of 3 – 4 million deaths. The second was four times as many. Let’s stop this pandemic before it gets that far. Stay home a little longer. If for no other reason, we owe it to everyone who has had to work from the very beginning of this, risking their lives working tirelessly every day. It’s a very, very small sacrifice to make.

     Remember when you were in school doing math or any discipline that required numbers? Dividing, multiplying, adding or figuring the square of something or whatever that was? I was not great with math and yet I ended up doing accounting for a lot of my working days. I hated it, every minute, week, month and year but I digress. I never understood when I would need math in my daily life. However, I finally understand why math because I, like so many, too many, others are trying to figure out how many squares of toilet paper it takes to get to the center of a roll of TP. How do I slow the shrinkage of that soft, fluffy roll?  What’s the magic ratio?

     We don’t have facial tissue (Kleenex) either so I am asking my toilet paper to do double duty—no pun—and I blow my nose on my toilet paper then carefully fold it and ask it to stretch itself to perform that Other duty too. Please don’t judge me. I looked into buying paper napkins (none) or cloth handkerchiefs (too expensive) and during allergy season we’d have to have hundreds. I could order fabric to be  delivered and Make hankies but I’d have to do laundry like three times more per week, ick! My laundry room is in the basement and it’s cold down there. Brrrr! 🥶

     I find myself wondering how others are coping with no TP. I wonder if plumbers are planning the extravagant vacations they’ll be able to take when this is all over. Calculating all the money they’ll be making repairing sewer systems because of the overload of toilet paper and baby wipes. (While baby wipe packaging Says it’s flushable, it’s not! Just ask a plumber.) I wonder if the cars I see parked on the street in my neighborhood, instead if being in garages, are because of the floor to rafter stacking of hundreds of 12 roll packs. I wonder when they go get a new 24 roll/2 ply pack? Do they wait until 3:00 a.m. so their neighbors don’t see they have what the grocery stores don’t? So those neighbors don’t break into their garages and redistribute the wealth?

     And when this is all over (and one day it will be), I wonder what will become of all their TP treasures? I suppose most of it will end up in a landfill because the packages either got wet or invaded by critters. Or the packages broke open and got dirty or were used by mice to make nests for birthing their expanding families. I guess they’d make good packing material to stuff around something you are shipping. But my suggestion to those who have more toilet paper and facial tissue than they could use in a lifetime, take at least one roll and one box of each and get them bronzed. Then put them on a base and put them on a shelf. You deserve to display the trophies you won during this pandemic.

 

     I don’t know what day of the self-isolation this is. I know it’s Wednesday but that is just because we are entering a new month. Hello April! We’re sort of moving through each day as it presents itself with not a lot of planning because, well,  we really can’t make plans. At least plans for tomorrow because we can’t. So, other than scheduling what we want to binge today we are sort of stuck in the same type loop.

     This morning we watched a morning news show and one of the interviews was with a pro basketball player who is donating money to out-of-work staff at the basketball arena where he would usually be playing. He said something that struck me. He said he hoped that things would change after this was all over. That we will have learned something. I whole-heartedly agree!

                Here are just some of the things I hope we learn or change.

     To borrow a phrase from “The Wizard of Oz”, “There’s no place like home.” We live such busy, busy lives that we can’t and don’t spend much quality time at home. It’s become a touchstone, a coatrack, a dinner table covered with keys and books and papers and other meaningless debris but rarely used to gather around and eat unless it is a special occasion. We’re always running here and there; errands, after-school activities, meetings and social functions. I hope our homes become a home again. A place where we come together to interact with each other, learn from each other, laugh with each other and spend time together, more than just being ships passing on their way to someplace else.

     People seem to be rediscovering group activities like jigsaw puzzles, games and catching up on books we always wanted to or meant to read. I was lucky because I grew up without iPads and Pods, social media platforms and incessant television. And my parents didn’t feel a burning need to entertain my sisters and me. If I wanted to go to the community pool in the summer, I rode my bicycle. Until I got my driver’s license, I rode my bike everywhere. We colored in coloring books until every single page was done, then colored original drawings on plain paper. We played with Lincoln Logs and Tinker Toys. We roller skated and jumped rope, played hopscotch, four-square and jacks. I spent hours playing with paper dolls. And my favorite thing, reading! I always had a book to read and not only was I entertained, I learned things I didn’t know. All this has served me as an adult because I can spend time alone, happily and not fall into depression. It afforded me the opportunity too know myself really well and how to deal with life without resorting to chaotic thought. I hope we all learn to depend less on technology, social media and TV to entertain us and find our own creativity. Being bored can lead to valuable introspection so I hope after this is a memory, we can still enjoy spending time with ourselves.

     I am usually prepared for something like being unable to get to the grocery store by having supplies of essentials around. But, and in my defense, as winters get milder, a debilitating blizzard has been the biggest threat and we haven’t had one in a decade (?). We aren’t in an area where we have tornadoes, hurricanes, floods or massive earthquakes. We’ve had destructive fires but not in my neighborhood. So I became complacent. I didn’t have extra TP, only three-quarters of a package of 12 rolls. I’m not sure what we’ll do when those are gone. I also usually have at least three boxes of rectangular box tissues and a few tissue cubes. Linen closet review showed only one box of one and two boxes of the other. Since it’s allergy season, we’re blowing through that like, well tissues. I never dreamed people would view either as some kind of trophy for winning the quarantine lottery. So, I vow to have at least one extra FULL package of each on hand—all the time. I hope everyone else does as well so no one feels the need to buy out the stores leaving everyone else wondering what they are going to do.

     Finally, spending time with people you love is a gift any way you look at it. Whether you get on each other’s nerves or the whining gets to a fevered pitch, take a deep breath. Soon this isolation, social-distancing will be over. Stores will re-open, restaurants will be crowded again, bars will be jumping. People will go back to their places of business, teachers back to their classrooms, students back to school, we’ll all go back to our regular lives. I pray we don’t have to experience anything like this ever again but all the sacrifices made, all the lives lost, all the hard work, cannot be in vain. It must not be in vain. We have to learn from this. We have to be better. The only real winners in all this are those who do the right thing by staying home and being considerate of everyone around them. Enjoy every day and every one, we are fortunate to have this time to spend with the people who mean the most even if you only connect via Zoom. (What’s Zoom again?)

   It’s time for a new normal. It’s time to build a new “ normal” model. I woke up this morning and decided I’d pouted long enough. I think we all deserve a good pout, don’t get me wrong; a pout, an angry rant or two, a pity party for one, a moment of righteous indignation. Whatever it takes. But I am a woman and I’m strong and it’s time to get this show back on the road.

     I’m over the anger at hoarders. I’m over no toilet paper, no tissues and I’m Almost over NO Chicken! (Breathe, relax, ohmmm) Things at the grocery stores will find their new normal and will stop allowing one shopper to buy 100 packages of toilet paper and 75 chickens per shopping trip. Things will even out. Those of us who were stressed-out because we are in That Demographic who have been told to limit our exposure to crowds but were running out of food, will start to relax, a little. I will really miss going to my favorite restaurants for those special nights out for a great meal with my husband. Most restaurants here are doing take out and delivery but it isn’t the same thing. Eating a great steak dinner in your car in the parking lot leaves a lot to be desired. But part of the new normal will be making meals at home just as special, taking extra time in preparation and presentation.

     I have to re-learn to plan out meals for longer than a couple of days. I need to clean out the freezer and make space for meat and frozen veg and fruit. I’ll need to discover new recipes. We’ll have to change what we eat. More homemade soups and stews, meals that will last for a couple of days. I believe we still need to support our favorite dine-in restaurants as we can with take out when we can so when we readjust to the Old normal again, they will be there to reopen.

     A big part of my new normal will be watching newscasts only once a day. Too much is too much, especially when the news isn’t really that “new” but just regurgitating the same scary information. And maybe the news shows, instead of focusing on only the bad news, will give us positive news as well. There’s nothing wrong with hope. Negativity just for the sake of negativity is pointless. I’m also cutting back on super violent movies and television shows-mayhem just for the sake of mayhem. We have enough bad stuff don’t we? Cartoon violence is one thing; blood and gore just for the titillating effect is ridiculously counter-productive.

     The new normal will hopefully bring us back together as families and friends and as a nation. Hopefully we’ll reconnect and remember what is important and forget the divisiveness. We’ll realize there is more to agree on than disagree about. We’ll make better hygiene a habit for a lifetime, learn consideration for others and think before we jump to conclusions based on faulty information. Maybe we’ll calm down, use more common sense, be kinder to each other. Show more love and acceptance to everyone. Find your new normal!

     Various issues have prompted me to write. If I didn’t think they were important, I really wouldn’t waste your time or mine. The following are things that have caught my attention over the last couple of weeks, grabbed me and compelled me to contemplate what it all might mean. So, here it goes.

     Almost twenty (doesn’t seem like it’s been that long ago) years ago, our lovely golden retriever, Libby, underwent surgery to repair her torn ACL. I will spare you the details and because of our experience, I would never let another dog undergo the surgery or recommend it to anyone else if their dog developed ACL problems. What reminded me of this sad circumstance was a television program about the opioid epidemic. Coincidentally, I’m reading a book by Louise Penny with an opioid/addict/trafficking theme. The drug is fentanyl. After Lib’s surgery, a fentanyl patch about 2” x 3” was applied to her hip to release pain medication 24/7. At her first check up after surgery, the vet said we could remove the patch in about a week. No other instructions or information. So, after a week, we carefully removed the patch. Libby went into true drug withdrawal almost immediately. She was extremely antsy. Whereas before she wanted to just lie around, now she just wanted to constantly walk around. She couldn’t put full weight on her leg so it meant we had to put a sling around her abdomen and lift her hind end to keep the weight off her knee. She weighed 80+ pounds, toting her around was difficult. She wasn’t sleeping and she cried, a lot. Night time was especially bad. She just couldn’t sleep. So, in desperation after a few nights of having her up and down all night, we slept on the floor with her in the living room. It was cold and uncomfortable but Libby finally slept because we were right next to her. The next day she was better. After about six weeks she was back to her old self with nothing other than a thin scar, no long-term addiction affects. She lived a good long life and we loved her dearly. Had we known what fentanyl was and how bad it is, she NEVER would have had a patch or a pill or an injection. And shame on the vet who prescribed it for her, Dr. Preston Stubbs. I suppose back then even he didn’t know how bad fentanyl is and was perhaps using our sweet Libby as a test subject.

     Opioids are horrible for humans. Shame on pharmaceutical companies for KNOWINGLY pushing these horrible drugs. And pushing them on unsuspecting pets is just plain disgusting! I’m struggling with how anyone could put profit ahead of life, any life, human or pet. How could you live with the knowledge that people, dogs and cats are dying just so you can make a buck… or millions?

     It’s time to put pressure on your Senators and Congress persons. Tell (Yes, I said tell. The time for polite suggestion is over.) them to get on the pharmaceutical companies and force them to fix this problem. Make your vote conditional on their actions toward this epidemic. If you have someone who is addicted, sit with them, hold them, get them whatever help needed. Be there, love them but most of all, refuse opioids whenever and for whomever they are prescribed. If there’s no demand, there’s no need for supply. So stop the demand.

     As you are aware, there is heavy coverage in the news about the possible pandemic looming on the horizon, the coronavirus. It’s a horrible scenario any way you look at it. Turning a blind eye, or maybe I should say a naive eye to the news won’t change the facts. A virus of this magnitude can disrupt lives worldwide, disrupt economies worldwide. It is spreading like wild fire worldwide. It’s not discriminating for any reason. Our country is woefully Under Prepared. The government agencies tasked with handling these situations have been defunded to pay for other “projects”. The stock markets are in free-fall but even if you don’t have stocks or other investments, this pandemic will, eventually, affect you one way or the other.

     Placing blame, pointing fingers or delusional thinking isn’t the correct action right now. Taking the advice of professionals and experts is crucial, vital and urgent. We need to prepare. How can sentient beings even think of not believing what doctors and scientists are saying preferring to believe the Pollyanna rantings of people who are under-informed or only worried about re-election or a personal bottom $$$ line. Believing a politician cares more about you and your family members over documented facts seems, at best, unrealistic. Saying it will all be over by April, magically just disappearing, is just an out and out lie. Proclaiming it to be a political ploy is downright dangerous. And because I love my family so very, very much, I’m begging you to read and educate yourselves on the facts. Listen to someone other than the Fox Network News puppets. Take this coronavirus pandemic seriously, please. For your sake and mine.

     My final snippet has to do with an ongoing dissatisfaction with LazyBoy. I got a different chair after my LazyBoy chair broke down (not from LazyBoy). The new chair is nice but isn’t the most comfortable chair I’ve ever had. As a quick reminder, LazyBoy will only repair furniture for a $90 pick up and $90 return charge plus the charge for labor to do the repair. Parts are under warranty so they would be free. Whoopee! Add approximately $300+ to an already expensive chair. We just found out LazyBoy doesn’t do repairs anymore and have contracted the work out. They will send their contractor out to your house for $150 once you order the part and have it sent to your home. How do you know which part you may need, you ask? You don’t so you probably need to either order ALL the parts or have the contractor out Twice for $300. Can you say racket? LazyBoy knows there is a problem with their chairs that do what mine does but they aren’t inclined to fix it… in other words, they just don’t care. 

     Our next door neighbor thinks he might be able to fix it if we get the right part. His parent are woodworkers and he is very mechanically savvy so we may have a solution. If not, well, we have other chairs around the house I can try. I don’t understand a huge company like LazyBoy not standing behind their products. They seem to only want to increase their profits while their customers don’t have the quality piece of furniture they paid a lot of money for. Where has decency gone? If you pay $1500 for a chair because you have arthritic back pain and knee pain and neck pain, because you need to get your legs up, it should work as advertised. And if the manufacturer Knows it has a flaw, they should fix it—for FREE! We will never buy another piece of furniture from LazyBoy and will tell everyone what our experience has been.

     That’s it from Snippetville. Until next time, stay warm, wash your hands, keep dirty hands away from your nose, mouth and eyes, be safe!

     

     I came to a realization today. I’ve been fighting with myself for quite awhile, maybe as long as five + years. I am fighting, suffering virtual bruises and abrasions, aches and pains. Struggles so strenuous I sometimes feel like I’m wading through thick, sucking mud. Some steps cause one foot to slide sideways while the other is stuck so firmly it can’t move in any direction. It’s been exhausting!

     So what has caused me so much consternation? Well, it’s complicated. For most of my adult life, at least my life since I got my first real paying job, I have been captivated with what most of us have been or are preoccupied with, obtaining stuff. Lots and lots of stuff! I am not now nor have I ever been a hoarder. Mostly because during my lifetime I’ve moved, a lot. Nineteen times before I was 45, most of those moves happening between my 18th and 40th birthdays. When you move that often, you try not to acquire so much stuff because you know you will have to sort through it to pack it up and then unpack it and put it away. That said, I’ve been in my home for a little over twenty years. I love my home and the thought of leaving it someday, well, just overwhelms me.

     But, I look around my house and see so much stuff; things I don’t use, need or (whisper) want anymore. My fight with myself is because I  need to simplify, down-size, reduce, decrease, scale-back. I want less to maintain, less to keep clean, less to have to sort through and possibly pack up. 

     I have equipment I got when I took up stained glass. I have a grinding wheel and tools and lots and lots of glass; water glass, etched glass, bull’s eye, streaky and opalescent glass in blues and greens and reds and purples. I don’t make stained glass anymore because the arthritis in my back keeps me from standing for long periods of time but I still have the accouterments. I have dolls I made out of gloves. Tiles and tools from when I took up alcohol ink painting. I have fabrics and skeins of yarn and spools of ribbon and pins and glues and faux flowers. Hard to believe but I sorted through boxes last summer and threw away bags full of (say it with me) STUFF. Yet I look around and still see more I could discard.

     Don’t get me started on my master closet. Ugh! Our master closet was originally supposed to be a small master en suite but the previous owner wanted a large master closet more. The plumbing is roughed out but that’s all. (Side note: When our granddaughter was maybe two or three she had occasion to see our master closet. She walked in and in an awestruck voice said “Mommy, they have a walk in closet.” It was so cute. I didn’t know what a walk in closet was until I was in my twenties.) Anyway, our closet is ceiling to floor – full! Know how you buy something online but when it arrives it doesn’t fit or it’s the wrong color or doesn’t even closely resemble what it looked like on the website but you figure it’s too big of a hassle to send it back? I have some of those. Then there is the sentimental collection. Gifts. Things you got from someone you love but just know it’s either a re-gift or something they got last minute with hardly a thought given to whether you would want it or even like it. Are we thinking they might ask about it later or want to see it sometime? Trust me, they don’t remember giving the gift in the first place. Why are we keeping them? There are hats we wore in high school, shoes that fit-ah twenty five years ago. Matching fleece shirts I made but we haven’t worn for at least—fifteen years? Photo albums, craft supplies, Yankee candles- some of them empty. (What are we saving the jar for? I don’t think they magically refill with scented wax.) And clothes, so many clothes we don’t wear and haven’t for years. We have old financial records and greeting cards and stories we’ve written; a children’s book I wrote and my husband illustrated.

     In the basement, there are empty boxes that something came in that we keep just in case we have to take it to a store for repair sometime. How long since that was a thing? I have coloring books and crayons, colored pencils and pens. And don’t get me started on toys from fast food restaurants and “collectible” action figures from TV shows. STUFF, STUFF, STUFF! TOO MUCH STUFF! If we ever do decide to down-size, it will take three years just to get rid of enough to be able to start to down-size.

     So I continue to fight with myself. I get anxious. I worry that someone will have to clear it out after I’m gone and no longer care what happens to it. Unfair job to leave to some unsuspecting soul. I know it should be gone but it seems like such an uphill task. I need to get started because I’m sure if do I’ll feel less anxious whenever I go into any closet or into the “ junk” room(s). Less debris to clean up if we should find the down-size home of our dreams. Easier if we are prepared, right? Oh, did I mention the extra furniture?

I fully admit I’ve taken some license here. Mainly because I wasn’t yet present. I wasn’t even a gleam in either of my parent’s eye. But the basic facts are true, collected over many years and from many sources. It is a story pivotal in my life and I feel an important one, especially today.

     It was a perfect ski day, cold but light (relatively speaking) winds. My  parents and their friends decided to make the drive up Casper Mountain to enjoy the day, skiing. It was December 1941. There was no picturesque lodge with a fireplace surrounded by leather couches and chairs. There was no building at all. No bar serving hot toddies or even hot chocolate with plump marshmallows floating on top. There was one slope with a rudimentary tow rope to return the skiers to the top of the hill.

     The road up the mountain was narrow and winding. Tire chains were probably used to provide the traction necessary make it to the ski area. The skis were made of wood, the poles had leather webbing at the ends to keep them from sinking into the snow. The clothing was chosen for warmth, not style. There were no downhill slaloms, no moguls, no snowboard free-styling, no snowboards at all. Just schussing and snow plowing and the inevitable plonking into a pile of drifted snow.

     After the runs of the day, everyone sat in their cars, drank coffee from thermoses and warmed up a bit before heading back down the mountain. Radio was the background to the lively conversation. In those days it was a main source for news. (Also news reels at the movies and daily newspapers.) Newspapers were delivered twice a day; once in the morning and again in the evening but radio brought news when it happened.

     As my parents  and their friends drank their coffee and talked about the day, with the radio playing  in the background, a news bulletin broke into regular programming.  The newscaster announced the Japanese had just attacked Pearl Harbor, Hawaii. Everyone was stunned into silence as the details were recounted. Everyone was immediately upset and angry. At the end of the broadcast, the skis and poles were packed up, everyone got in their cars and headed home.

    The next day, President Roosevelt gave his address to Congress which was broadcast over the radio where he began that famous speech, “Yesterday, December 7th, 1941—a date which will live in infamy—the United States of America was suddenly and deliberately attacked by naval and air forces of the Empire of Japan.” Further details had been revealed by then and the horror in those details was beyond comprehension, not the least of which was the proximity to mainland USA (Hawaii wasn’t a state then). What was on everyone’s mind, spoken or unspoken, was if the Japanese could make it to Hawaii, they could make it to California or Oregon or even further inland. That fact, coupled with Germany declaring war on the United States and possible sightings of German subs off the east coast, inspired enlistment in the armed services in vast numbers. And my father did just that. I asked him once why he enlisted. After all, he was older than most men who signed up. He also had a wife and young daughter. As he explained to me, he didn’t want either a Nazi or the Japanese to take over our country and tell his wife and daughter what to do or interfere with their right to live their lives freely.

     Know I respect your right to vote any way you feel is right. To vote for anyone you feel is qualified, knowledgeable, experienced, able to handle the incumbent responsibilities, someone dignified who understands diplomacy. I only ask two things: first that you educate yourself about who you are voting for and what their qualifications are. Secondly, that you exercise your right to vote. If you have spent any time reading about what people have sacrificed to get the right to vote, what women, in particular, have given to be able to vote, you’ll vote. Not taking advantage of this special right seems disrespectful to their sacrifice. Be mindful. Be careful about what you believe is the truth. What’s the old adage? “Half of what you see and none of what you hear (or read).” Make an informed decision. Be a leader not a sheep. Keep this already great country, free.

     My husband and I stopped at a bakery to get a loaf of bread a couple of days ago. As we were leaving and neared the intersection to make our turn toward home, we heard the scream of a siren. It’s hard to discern, many times, from which direction the vehicle is approaching. However, the law is you must pull your vehicle over to allow safe passage for any emergency vehicle, whatever it might be; either a fire truck, police car or ambulance. In the intersection we were approaching there were turn lanes east and west to north and south. We were going south intending on turning east toward home. I watched as the turn light changed from red to green arrow, fully expecting no cars to attempt the turn, either heading south turning east or heading north turning west, in front of an oncoming ambulance. And yet not one, not two, not three cars but four floored it to turn west in front of the rapidly traveling ambulance. The ambulance which was heading east had had to get in the west bound (empty) lanes because the east bound ones were stopped for the light. I held my breath and waited for the head-on collision I was sure was coming. Only by the skilled maneuvering of the ambulance driver was a catastrophe prevented. My husband and I breathed a sigh of relief.

     It reminded me of a story I heard from a woman I worked with way back in the 1970s. This woman was a former stewardess (flight attendant) for British Airways. She told me of an incident in June of 1972 when a BEA Trident airliner slammed into the ground only a few yards from Heathrow Airport-London. There were 119 persons onboard, all were killed. Rescue efforts were hampered because word went out about the crash and hundreds of people crowded to roads to get a “ look-loo” at the crash. Emergency vehicles could not get anywhere near the crash site. Law enforcement personnel had to literally tear down fences to allow emergency vehicles and personnel access to the area around the disaster. Lives were lost because of the crowded roads.

     I think about that every time I see people not yielding to emergency vehicles whether they are police or fire or ambulance. These people who have to rush to get where they are going because their destination is so important they can’t yield, can’t pull to the side of the road for a few seconds to allow the safe passage of the vehicle with a siren blaring tick me off. I know it is sometimes difficult to discern where exactly the siren is coming from but that’s no excuse for not following the law. What if the reason the emergency vehicle needing clear access involves one of your family members or someone else you know who find themselves in a dire situation. How will you feel if the difference between life-saving actions or grave results is because someone didn’t pull over to the side of the road to allow that emergency vehicle to get to the destination in time? I’m sure you would want them to get to your family or friend quickly to avoid an unfortunate outcome. We should all think that way whenever we are on the road and hear a siren coming our direction. Follow the law. Slow down, pull over and stop until the emergency vehicle has passed. You might be helping to save the life of someone you know.

     It’s 2 degrees. 🥶 Granted, it’s 8:30 p.m., October the 29th but the forecast for October the 31st (Halloween for those of you who live under the sea as a marine mammal and don’t know what Trick or Treat means) is expected to be in the low 30s around T & T time. There will be at least 8” of snow still on the ground. Unless your child’s costume is as an Artic or Antarctic explorer or a full fur teddy bear or a bed with a thousand quilts, the amount of candy they will acquire isn’t worth the risk of frost-bite, pneumonia, strep throat or any broken bone due to falling on an icy sidewalk or driveway. That last might not befall just your child, a parent can slip and fall just as easily.

     Today we can go to any grocery store and get bags of candy pretty much year ‘round. Plus, if you pick it out, you can get the kind of candy your child likes best. You can trust the candy hasn’t been tampered with in any way. Nor, in the case of states who have legalized marijuana, worry your child is getting a high-inducing edible. Besides, that much candy isn’t good for your child or you.  🤢

     I heard there’s a movement afoot to have Halloween moved to the last weekend of October. At first I was definitely against it. We’ve messed with a lot of holidays already. Part of the fun for little kids is wearing their costumes to school, showing off for classmates, teachers and grandparents and parents. But it’s difficult when October 31st falls on any day between Sunday through Thursday because the kids  have to go to school the next day. Everyone rushes to get home from work or school so dinner can be consumed early so trick or treating can start early so it can be over early in order to accommodate school day bedtimes.

     Taking all that into account, I’ve changed my mind. Moving Halloween to the last weekend of  the month makes sense. There’s still the issue of inclement weather in certain parts of the country. Just moving the day has no effect on snow or rain or frigid temps. And parents worry about predators of both kinds. Mountain lions have been spotted in urban neighborhoods here. Then there are drive bys, bullies, car accidents. So, is there a solution?

    Perhaps this is an idea for elementary school, at least. Have a half day of regular classes the last Friday of October. In the afternoon, throw an all school party. Everyone wears a costume, even the teachers. Teachers, administration and parents provide party food-cookies, cupcakes, juice, apples, whatever. Each child can then go room to room trick or treating. Candy, which the students bring from home and give to the teachers, can be passed out when the trick or treaters come to each classroom. The students could play games, too. This seems like a solution with less hassle, less stress and much safe.

    Depending how it’s viewed, fortunately or unfortunately, times have changed, there’s much more to worry about surrounding All Hallow’s Eve. Simpler times are just plain over. Maybe it’s time to reboot 🎃 Halloween traditions!

     Flu season is lurking around the corner. And before you get your thumbs out to send me a note telling me how bad flu shots are for you and the shots give you the flu and most of the time the shots prove ineffective and on and on, don’t. I still get a flu shot, as does my sweet husband, every year. We have both had serious bouts of pneumonia, his more serious than mine. He was hospitalized and, for a few days, teetered between this life and the next. I have had too many encounters with bronchitis; the final one ending with a partial lung collapse type pneumonia. So, we get flu shots.

     Over the years we have had some truly weird experiences getting flu shots. The first experience I can remember was back when the vaccine was scarce. The newspapers (remember those?) would print locations where one could go to get a flu shot, usually in a grocery store. I could never figure out the connection between groceries and flu but, oh well. So we would get up early to go stand in line at the local Piggly Wiggly. The first thing that happens (and is the only constant to this day) is you get a questionnaire to fill out with when you got your last shot, any allergies, etc. Then you get in line. Sometimes the lines were serpentine, like Disneyland. Hardly the end of the line ending in a fun ride or a Small World but my husband and I would patiently wait our turn, joking with our line-mates. One time we waited almost an hour in line only to be told, as we reached the front, they were out of vaccine. Oh poo, another day, another line somewhere else. I always kid my husband that he’s a big baby and he better not cry. I also Always ask for a sucker for not crying.

     Once we went to a local mall (fairly new at the time). The line extended from one end of the mall to the other, probably about a half a mile. By then, the shots were being recommended for seniors and children under six. Since my husband and I were neither babies nor over 65, we were actively sneered at and whispered about as we made our way to the head of the line. Again, we joked, well with each other anyway since we were in obviously hostile territory, all through the half mile long-hour+ procession to our painful destination. (Disclosure: We didn’t have health insurance or a doctor. There was no going to our private physician.When my husband had his life-threatening bout with pneumonia and almost died, his physician ordered him to get flu AND pneumonia shot every year as his immune system had been so damaged. We had legitimate reason to be there.)

     There was the time the shots were being offered at the local high school – evening hours. We ate early then headed out. We got there at opening bell – 6:00 pm. We should have guessed something was awry when we were given a map to navigate the halls of the school on our way to the hidden treasure. We fully expected to see dotted lines and arrows pointing our way through the labyrinth of the school. We literally “toured” the entire high school, and it’s a Big school. We were in line with families with four and five kids who were just thrilled to be there. We joked and made up stories about the people we saw in line and laughed and laughed. We saw student artwork and read notices on upcoming events. We were going to sign up for the winter choir concert but couldn’t find the sign-up sheet. By 8:00 pm we finally made it into the gym where five tables were set up with a nurse and helper to take our forms. We rolled up our sleeves, winced, then followed the crowd outside thinking everyone knew where we they were going. Bad move, they didn’t so we didn’t make it to our car until almost 9:00 pm. It had snowed that day and it was cold. Neither of us had boots because we didn’t think we’d be tromping through snow. The walks were slippery as they hadn’t been shoveled and nothing was very well lit. It was dark; very, very dark. We were cold and tired but we’d gotten our shots!

     Then grocery store pharmacies and drug stores started to offer flu shots. Until we both became eligible for Medicare, that’s where we went for our shots. The shot giver person always requested we walk through the store for half an hour to be sure we weren’t going to have an adverse reaction. They don’t do that anymore. We have discovered some people are much better at giving shots than others. While I never cry, well almost never, some shots do hurt and my arm might ache for a little while. I can honestly say I haven’t had more than a single cold in over fifteen years. But what I do have is peace of mind. We wash our hands a lot. I wipe down common surfaces with disinfecting wipes weekly. We avoid being around sick people as much as we can. But I honestly do miss those long lines, weird line-mates, the crazy things we did to pass the time. We had so much fun.