Saturday, May 2, 2020

Flashback to 2015: Jefferson Island, Louisiana: Rip Van Winkle Gardens

I remember the pleasure of standing under cover of bamboo, listening to the softness of the rain and the creaking of the boughs.

A flashback of those moments, and others, in this 2015 post.


Sunday, May 24, 2015

Jefferson Island, Louisiana: Rip Van Winkle Gardens


Jefferson Island, Rip Van Winkle Gardens, Louisiana


Yeah, I know, looks weird, yes? It's a slug. Or roly poly, maybe. I like her upturned mouth.

Time's awastin' on my 2nd Louisiana year, and today I wanted to put to bed the Rip Van Winkle Gardens on Jefferson Island. It was my second visit, the first being abbreviated back in October 2014.


Jefferson Island, Rip Van Winkle Gardens, Louisiana
Gosh, what a pretty place. With so much shade, it's a pleasant escape from Louisiana heat. Many spots to sit and be contemplative.


Jefferson Island, Rip Van Winkle Gardens, Louisiana
There was a short afternoon rain while I was on the paths, and I took cover under a stand of bowed tall grass and bamboo. A taste of this rain below:




At another spot, I sat in front of thick bamboo and listened while it creaked and the peacocks complained loudly to each other. And my belly rumbled a couple of times, too. Here it is below:




When I was here last fall, there was some exciting snake action, which I caught on video here:




Can you see the snake in the picture below? It's a copperhead.

Snake in the bamboo, Jefferson Island, Rip Van Winkle Gardens, Louisiana


No? Let's get a little closer:


Snake in the bamboo, Jefferson Island, Rip Van Winkle Gardens, Louisiana


And let's get a real good look:


Snake in the bamboo, Jefferson Island, Rip Van Winkle Gardens, Louisiana


Hahahaha, I like snakes.


As I said here, I much prefer the gardens on Jefferson Island to the gardens on Avery Island. That is, if one is ambulatory. Jungle Gardens on Avery Island is a driveable experience, so it works much better than Jefferson Island for people who find walking difficult.

A slide show below of Jefferson Island's Rip Van Winkle Gardens:




#30

Friday, May 1, 2020

Word of the Year 2020: Build 5: It Takes a Village



Kazbegi, Caucasus Georgia. May 2012.


On Build thus far

Word of the Year 2020: Build 1: After the Floods
Word of the Year 2020: Build 2: Fronterista
Word of the Year 2020: Build 3: "House"
Word of the Year 2020: Build 4: Chosens



There comes a time when a solo woman observes that she might have to leave behind the cachet of a "woman of a certain age" and enter the land of a "woman of age."

"Not today," she says to herself. But it's coming some day, not too far away, because from her ship's deck, she can just make out the shoreline, and her boat inexorably inches closer to the beach.

In preparation for landing, she's got to consider aging issues.

I've talked about building a chosen family. A chosen family brings mutual intimacy, emotional sustenance, wise counsel from brains not our own, soft places to fall.

For practical, simple transactional needs that arise as singletons age, it's good to build a real-life or virtual home in a village.

Money Crashers offers a useful article on How to Plan for Old Age and Elder Care When You Don't Have Kids.

The advice isn't just for elders without kids - it's also for elders who have kids, but the grown kids:
  1. Live far away
  2. Already have care-giving obligations to others, such as special needs children or in-laws for whom they provide care
  3. Struggle with personal challenges
  4. Are well-intentioned and enthusiastic about being supportive, but just don't have the skill set their parents need
  5. Exploit their parents' finances or are emotionally/verbally/physically abusive
  6. Don't want a relationship with their parents

The article uses the term "elder orphan," a label with only sad, victim-y connotations that I don't believe are helpful. However, the advice in the article is solid.

Some highlights for what solo elders do to build a village around them:
  1. The Village to Village Network
  2. Work longer and save more to pay for future in-home care expenses that will help you stay in your own home
  3. Choose a supportive neighborhood (e.g. walkable to grocery store, library, park)
  4. Consider house-sharing or communal living
  5. Make new friends
  6. Wellness-tracking or wellness-alarm systems
  7. For folks who have the means: geriatric care manager



One of my daydreams is to buy a plot of land that is, literally, here:



In this daydream, I have one or two dogs to provide companionship and safety. I live in a tiny cabin. I might not have any internet access. I have water. I have this stunning view.

Although this might work for a year, realistically, I'm going to want to age in a town, in a walkable neighborhood, with internet, live music, diversity of age around me, a library, pocket parks.

I'll want a village.




Sunday, April 26, 2020

Tucson, AZ: COVID-19 Unfolding, Part 17: Laundry Economics Revisited



At the laundromat. El Paso, Texas. February 2019.




As a renter who lives in budget apartments that don't include washers and dryers, I use communal laundry facilities. Fortunately, all of my domestic apartment choices thus far have included facilities on-site.

It was in 2013, when I lived in Lafayette, Louisiana, that I first learned some lessons about laundry economics. This was the first time in my domestic rootless life when I had to pay to use a washer and dryer.

Not mentioned in that 2013 post about laundry economics was another lesson I learned. I remember clearly the elation I felt upon this discovery. Which was: Buy more pairs of underwear! What a eureka moment!

Underwear takes up so little space and is so light! By having more pairs of underwear, I could extend the number of days without having to do laundry! I don fresh underwear each day, and although I could handwash it, I don't want the hassle. I do feel okey-dokey about wearing external clothing three, or maybe even four times, before tossing it into the laundry bin. (Since COVID keeps me home most days, four times is common.)

So now enter COVID.

There are two laundry facilities in my apartment complex.

One day, in March, the managers suddenly closed the facilities due to COVID!

They directed tenants to nearby(ish) laundromats.

To protect tenants and apartment management staff.

What?!

Diverting tenants from a relatively low-traffic, on-site facility to one that would be often filled with customers? And where one must hang about said laundromat until the laundry was complete, thereby extending the duration of exposure to and from others?  It was a decision that would result in greater danger of exposure to tenants (and to other Tucsonans), rather than less.

And what about the tenants who had no transportation? Or single-parent tenants with young children, who would have to schlep their kiddos to the laundromats, putting them at greater risk for contagion? 

Fortunately, after (I assume) some consternation expressed by tenants (including me), the management sought and found processes to protect both tenants and office staff, and they re-opened the on-site facilities some days later.

But the closure prompted me to consider strategies to change my usual practice of once-a-week, one-load laundry work to every other week.

I counted out my underwear. Twelve.

I have bought six more pairs of underwear.

Saturday, April 25, 2020

Tucson, AZ: COVID-19 Unfolding, Part 16: COVID Artwork


COVID art: Ethiopian Orthodox Easter. Tentative artist: Habesha Expat. April 2020.


The friend of an Ethiopian friend posted the Habesha Expat (fka as Habesha in Dubai) image on a social media site several days ago. I was really taken with the marriage of culture and message in the artwork.


Below is a forlorn Mother Georgia stuck at home. It made me laugh out loud. 

Mother Georgia quarantining at home. Artist unknown. Source: I Am Tbilisi. March 2020.



Another art piece via I Am Tbilisi, a picture of a mural by artist Gagosh:

"Less Than 2m," a mural by artist Gagosh. Source: I Am Tbilisi. April 2020.



Via the Washington Post to the Art-Eater (Richmond Lee) Twitter account to the Tensor Chan Twitter account, there is this work on the Ghana Pallbearers' meme, in which the message is: Stay home or dance with us:

COVID art: Stay at home or dance with us. Tentative artist: Tensor Chan. April 2020.

And another take on the Ghana pallbearers below from Yuki Geriawan aka anzuarden.art:

COVID art: Stay at home or the music starts. Artist: Yuki Geriawan aka anzuarden_art. April 2020.


Additions subsequent to original post:

COVID Facebook meme. Artist unknown. May 2020.







Tuesday, April 21, 2020

Tucson, AZ: COVID-19 Unfolding, Part 15: Mind in Detention



Old jail. Columbus, New Mexico. April 2013.




There's a 12-step aphorism: Never venture into your head alone; it's a dangerous neighborhood. 


In this stay-at-home time, there are advantages to being an introvert queen in her queendom of one.  Especially a queen who has sufficient resources to stay in touch with family and friends via her phone and the internet, income to pay her bills and buy groceries, a vehicle to get to the grocery store, and power to keep herself cool as the Sonoran Desert heat ramps up.

The queen is also resourceful in finding myriad ways to amuse herself and in glamping her nest with soothing smells, sounds, and visual treats.

Nevertheless, there is danger in spending too long alone.


Old jail. Columbus, New Mexico. April 2013.


One's interior world can telescope with the loss of stimuli from:
  • Adventures in the outdoors - movies, dancing, hiking, museums, cafe lurking, meals with friends, family gatherings, new books, driving around, neighbor chats
  • Entertaining or provocative stories told to us by our friends and family
  • A diversity of news content
  • Tactile contact with others, whether platonic hugs, professional massage, haircuts, or sensual touch with a partner

Old jail. Columbus, New Mexico. April 2013.



One's interior world can shrink when every day: 
  • One is subjected to verbal and emotional abuse from a dry-drunk tyrant who drinks the teardrops of women, men, and children for his sustenance; and
  •  The media are the abuser's enablers - delivering every assault by eyewitness video, by written quote, by Greek chorus, by analysis - regardless of their so-called journalistic credentials, ethics, political or social biases, or revenue venality. In other words, none of the news organs gets to claim a higher moral ground on their collaboration in the abuse.  

It is not much different from living in a household with such an abuser, who is the center around which everyone revolves, always in reaction mode. Or in walking-on-eggshells mode, so as not to provoke an attack.

It is like watching, unwillingly, the video of that plane crash into the World Trade Center building again and again and again and again and again and again and again. [Trigger warning: This video is still so shocking; think carefully before choosing to click on the video link. I am not kidding.]


Old jail. Columbus, New Mexico. April 2013.



I've witnessed - outside of COVID - how some of us allow our worlds to become smaller and smaller, and we enclose ourselves in a dim cell, swaddled in fear and suspicion and darkness. But feeling safe, perhaps.

Old jail. Columbus, New Mexico. April 2013.


I don't intend to fall into that camp, whether it be in the time of COVID or as I age further. 

The light is what I seek. And this requires both decision and action on my part to keep it bright before me.

But glory be, some days are harder than others.


Art in the Park, Old Missouri State Penitentiary, Jefferson City, Missouri. February 2006.



Monday, April 20, 2020

Tucson, AZ: COVID-19 Unfolding, Part 14: Plans --> Pouf!



Dandelion seed head. Source: Wikimedia. Photo credit: Greg Hume



My original plan was to leave Tucson at the end of this month - the end of April.

My original plans for this summer were grand!
  • A 20-year commemorative road trip to Alaska.
  • A road trip with my mom. 
  • A week's trip each with my youngest descendants, one of which is to Washington, D.C.
  • A circuitous recon romp through spots in Texas, Louisiana, and Mississippi to scope out potential spots for my next year-in-residence. 
  • Leisurely visits with friends in New Mexico. 

My original plans are ....... pouf! Scatter shot like an aerosol blast of pollen from a dandelion seed head. Or virus.

As COVID's tendrils wickered through our populations, I thought, OK, maybe the Alaskan road trip isn't realistic. I'll be so ready to emerge from my cave, comfy though it is, wanting to trade hundreds of contemplative solo miles for social connections. Instead I thought: Maybe by summer there'll be an all-clear that will bring outrageously affordable plane fares to faraway places. Vietnam, maybe! South Korea! Romania! Maybe this was the year for Rwanda! A door of possibilities opened!!


Delaying Tucson departure

In March, I peered into the future and tried to guesstimate when COVID would peak in various locations. Realistically, I thought, things in my target recon trip aren't going to peak before mid-April, at least. So if I left in April as originally planned, I'd probably just have to find a new hidey-hole.

Several options presented themselves to me until I asked myself: Why leave a perfectly good hidey-hole where I've already got things set up for my comfort? And in which I am the queen of my own little queendom of one?

My landlords and I were mutually happy to extend the lease another month.


Now, where after Tucson?

 In the moment I'm writing this, I don't have a fucking clue.

At the end of May, I believe things will still be dicey in many locations. At the moment, I'm only thinking about the month of June.

My assumptions

  1. It will not be safe to take that trip to D.C. in June with my descendant. (BTW: He is graduating from high school this year. Only there won't be a graduation ceremony in May as originally planned. BTW: And one of my nieces cancelled her original wedding arrangements for June, postponing them til June 2021.)
  2. Wherever I decide to go, it will be east of Arizona, as this gets me closer to my year-in-residence candidates and other summer plans that might be possible to resuscitate. 
  3. There may still be restrictions on what we can do and where we can go, so choosing a destination because of, for example, its BC (Before COVID) music and dance scene is likely to disappoint.


Do I want to work in June? If yes:

Deal-breaker: Needs to be a place with reliable, fast internet access. Libraries (which usually have decent internet access) may still be closed in June in most communities, so that means that my home needs to have the requisite internet access. Given how "developed" and "First World" the US alleges to be, it's absurd how many US homes with internet have sucky internet or phone service. (What's that you say? You want an example for comparison? OK. Almost a DECADE ago, I had phone service in Ethiopia no matter where I was, from big city to a spot in the middle of nowheresville. And, oh yeah, they had solar phone chargers, too.)


Option 1: Rent a room from a friend eastward of Arizona who has fast, reliable internet. Not all of my delightful friends have the requisite internet capacity. Also, the friend-potential landlord needs to be willing to bring in a possible contaminator (me) to their infection-free bubble. And we each need to feel comfortable with the other's behaviors in mitigating infection threats when we leave the bubble.

Option 2: Motels might offer drastically-reduced rates to month-long guests such that I could afford to hang out in one.

Option 3: I can likely find an airbnb-like arrangement through friends-and-friends-of-friends (FFF?) and craigslist inquiries. (I say airbnb-like because I divorced actual airbnb.)

If I go the motel or airbnb-like route, I'm considering Livingston, Texas, in Polk County. This is my new hometown, after all. Living there for a month will build my domicile cred. I can get a library card, visit a dentist (if offices are open and feel safe to me), and use that as a base for day trips to two places on my recon route for year-in-residence candidates. 



Do I want to work in June? If no:

An attractive proposition is a camping spot in a place that isn't too hot, and which, ideally, has some amenities that are functioning, such as: at least a pit toilet, access to clean water, access to electricity for charging devices, and enough cellular bars to make phone calls possible.

Polk County, Texas, remains a possible candidate for this scenario. There are some nearby state and national park lands. Whether their campgrounds (and any of the campground amenities) will be open in June is a question mark.



Today, I know nothing about what June will bring. However, it is something to have the beginnings of an outline of a pre-plan.



Monday, April 6, 2020

Tucson, AZ: COVID-19 Unfolding, Part 13: First 3 Things I Want to Do AC



Tequila overlooking Antigua, Guatemala. April 2016.




AC --> After Corona.


Seven Springs Winery, Missouri. October 2009.



The top three things I want to do within days of AC are:
  1. Pedicure
  2. Massage
  3. Get happy-drunk with a friend or two, which is, to say, not sloppy or stupid drunk, just a little happy drunk

Traditiona wine accoutrement, Kachreti, Kakheti, Caucasus Georgia. September 2011.




We must do what we can to revive the economy, n'est pas?



Wine in Signaghi, Kakheti, Caucasus Georgia, at Pheasant's Tears Winery. April 2012.




Sunday, April 5, 2020

Creative Life: A Love Note For a Waning Moon


My mom in the arms of her mom. 1930.



I'm thinking of my mom today. Her baby sister died last week. Due to COVID, a memorial service will not occur until an as-yet-undetermined date.

My mom's closest brother - her confidant - died a couple of years ago, maybe less. She and her brother could talk about things my mom didn't want to talk about with her adult kids. My mom misses him terribly.

My mom isn't one to express her fears too much. She doesn't like to show her soft underbelly to others. From her mother, she learned the gruff family motto: "Never show the white feather."

The first time my mom faced cancer, which resulted in surgery and chemo, I pointed out, so helpfully, that there were cancer support groups at the hospital. She could talk with other people who walked in the same shoes as she, deriving strength and solace from each other. "Pfft," she sniffed in some disdain. "Why would I want to do that?"

A couple of years ago, my mom had no choice but to enter a hospital and then a rehab facility for a time. Which she loathed.

Sometimes I spent the night with her at the hospital or, later, at the rehab center. On several occasions, my mom said to me, "Come lay down beside me on the bed."  I did so, and I wrapped my arm around her torso, and I laid my head near her shoulder, knowing this was a rare privilege, indeed. Mostly, we just lay quietly, maybe while watching a TV show. I cherish those times.

Her light wanes.

I think of a poem I wrote at a past Tumblewords Project workshop. The leader that day, a poet named Rios de La Luz, walked us through a writing model called "corporeal writing," in which we focus on a part of our body, and how our bodies hold memories. One of the poems I wrote that day arose from childhood body-memories of how my mom would comfort me when I was ill.


As I Die

When I die.
No. As I die,
I want this:

The hand of a lover
On my brow,
Lightly.

Skimming slowly up my forehead,
Across the border of my hair
Atop the remnant of my infantile fontanel.

Pausing there, then
Sliding down the
Silkiness of my hair.

And again.
And again.

Like my mother did
When I was a toddler,
Maybe feverish or maybe
Just settling into a warm sleep.

Like I did for my daughter
As she leaned into me,
Pressed against my belly and my breast,
The rhythmic smoothing of her brow

Up and over,
Up and over.

Like past lovers did for me
As we lay in bed, under covers,
Quiet, thinking of nothing.
Sensing only, that tender instructive
Smoothing of my brow.

Up and over,
Up and over.

"This," I always thought,
"Is how I want it to be as I die."




I hope it's like this for my mom, when that time comes.




Related posts: Travels With Carol





Saturday, April 4, 2020

Tucson, AZ: COVID-19 Unfolding, Part 12: An Opinion on Opinions


Newspaper in Gallup, New Mexico. May 2013.



My opinion on opinions: Henceforth, I have none. None on corona, is what I mean. To be more specific, none that move beyond my portable six-foot bubble.

Until yesterday, I floundered at the bottom of the bottomless swimming hole of everyone's opinions. They are everywhere. Inescapable. On my Washington Post (and before that, New York Times) news feed. On the Google News aggregate news feed. On social media. Some in-person acquaintances. 

To rescue myself from that pool, I dog-paddled my way to the surface, got the fuck out of the water, and shook myself off like said wet dog. 

We are in the midst of an enormous anthropological experiment. Most folks, including epidemiologists and other medical folks, are still learning on the job about what's happening medically.

Six months from now, and better yet, a year from now, we'll be able to look back and take note of what the hell happened, what helped, what didn't help, and what we need to learn from this for the next time.

Not that we - "we" being our respective societies - will actually apply any of our learning the next time, as competing interests will always come to the game and flip the board. It's more of an intellectually satisfying learning that will occur.



CDC's 2011 zombie preparedness campaign, which makes damn good sense in a creative way.


So until AC (After Corona) and the flurry of Important White Papers, I'll ignore the pandemic chatter. I'll excuse myself from any conversations about COVID's origin, its comparative virility and lethality, and treatments.

Instead, I'll:
  1. Make the most informed decisions I can by following subject matter experts (SMEs) that seem reliable, based on their past records of clinical rigor; 
  2. Follow the rules of the land I'm in re: physical distancing; 
  3. Take measures that "my" SMEs recommend to protect my health and the health of the souls who enter my physical orbit (even if the powers-that-be decide to open everything wide sooner than my SMEs recommend); and
  4. Be of assistance to some folks who need a kind word, a generous action, and cold cash. 

I feel relieved to let go of the debates, to let cool the inner turmoil that boils up when I see click-bait headlines, pimped not only by the usual trashy vendors of salacious stuff, but by the so-called venerable news organs.

This is self-care. 


Friday, April 3, 2020

Tucson, AZ: COVID-19 Unfolding, Part 11: The Playlist



Sign at Vermilionville at Cajun Jam. Lafayette, Louisiana. December 2013.





In addition to good smells, ginger beer, and recently, some sugar-free ketchup for my boiled potatoes, I have a stay-at-home COVID playlist.

My playlist is designed to shoot out endorphins, sending my spirits - if not soaring - at least a little levitational.

I listen during my food prep, as I slice jícama, chop lettuce, measure out an allotment of grapes, cut up strawberries. Or while I read. Or do a lil exercising. Or play a wan game of pseudo-Scrabble with a fairly smart bot.

Baroque

From Halidon Music's channel:

Birdsong


KRVS 

On Saturday and Sunday mornings, streaming KRVS transports me to South Louisiana with:




Thursday, April 2, 2020

Flashback to 2014: Lafayette, Louisiana: The Sound Track

The South Louisiana soundtrack I've collected from my time in Lafayette and Opelousas is beloved by me. The music and the spirit accompany me on many a road trip. 



Sunday, April 13, 2014

Lafayette: The Sound Track

You know how in a movie there's usually a soundtrack, right?

And you can love the soundtrack and even buy the soundtrack, but you know, of course, that soundtracks don't exist in real life. Because that's only in the movies.

Except in and around Lafayette. Here, there really is a soundtrack.




The soundtrack envelops me whenever I get into the car and comes by way of a local station such as KRVS - Radio Acadie. (An in-house KRVS concert video above, featuring one of my favorite zydeco musicians, Corey Ledet, on the accordion.)

Cajun and creole, la la, zydeco, swamp pop.

Picture it. Driving down a shaded street over which live oak limbs stretch, and in the spring, as it is now, azalea bushes at their peak of splashy color.

Passing shops with delectables by Poupart Bakery, T-Coon's, Chris' Po-boy, Jolie's Bistro.

Crawfish signs, signs for boudin and cracklin's.

Deep-porched, steep-pitched bungalows sitting atop cement blocks .... drawbridges

... and on the radio you hear English and French, and songs old and new that have you tapping the steering wheel to the beat of a waltz, a two-step, a jig, or the zydeco eight-count.

A real-life soundtrack.

Wednesday, April 1, 2020

Word of the Year 2020: Build 4: Chosens


Cabin, Bayou Segnette State Park, Louisiana. Pre-Katrina.



On Build thus far

Word of the Year 2020: Build 1
Word of the Year 2020: Build 2
Word of the Year 2020: Build 3: "House"



While drafting Build 3, I found the Psychology Today article, Finding Connection Through "Chosen" Family. A nice definition for chosen family that the author gleaned from another source: 

According to the SAGE Encyclopedia of Marriage, Family, and Couples Counseling, “chosen families are non-biological kinship bonds, whether legally recognized or not, deliberately chosen for the purpose of mutual support and love.” The term originated within the LGBTQ community and was used to describe early queer gatherings like the Harlem Drag Balls of the late nineteenth century.

Perhaps this counseling term of art, "chosen family" - in vanilla US culture - arose from the specific history above, but humans have been creating chosen families since the beginning of time, I reckon.


Cabin, Leroy Percy State Park, Mississippi. December 2011.


Anyhoo.

For life lessons on how to age richly, I've got role models in friends and family members at least a decade older than me.

My role models have taught me how I do want to age and how I don't want to age.

How I do want to age is to carry a positive view on life and be engaged in life. If I were to put a 12-step spin on it, my aim is to be happy, joyous, and free. .... And, oh yeah: to maintain every right to self-determination for as long as I can.

What my positive role models for aging have in common:
  • Active participation in a circle of friends who give each other tangible and intangible support in difficult times
  • Active participation in a special-interest community that encourages relationship-building, such as one built around fun, service, faith, 12-step program, the arts, or activism, etc.  
  • A "yes" default setting - remaining open to, even seeking out, new ideas, music, arts, perspectives, and ways of doing things



Cow Cabin, Palo Duro Canyon State Park, Texas. March 2010.
 


What my negative role models for aging have in common: 
  • An insularity of thought, experiences, and relationships - in other words, they have chosen to live in a closed system that can only contract as time goes on, as the members of their restricted circle of intimates begin to die off or move or become unable to interact
  • A "no" default setting - a reluctance to engage with new people, experiences, or ideas
  • Inertia - being unwilling and, after a certain point, unable to take actions that might enrich their physical, mental, or spiritual selves

My positive role models have built, I don't know, let's say, additional "houses."

So many folks have fraught families of origin. If such is one's only "house," it is almost a sure thing to get sucked into a dystopian worldview.

Building additional "houses" gives us access to more ways of thinking about how to live a life, wisdom from others about how they dealt with problems we're dealing with in the present, reality testing from more neutral intimates than fraught family members, accountability buddies to keep us going with habits we're trying to adopt, and soft places to land when we feel overwhelmed.


The idea of building houses outside of my family's "house" is the antithesis of how I was raised. Throughout childhood, and even today, the message has been: All you need is your family.

Building houses for chosen families: I'm studying the blueprints these days.


Acadian-style cabin, Louisiana. July 2015.




Tuesday, March 31, 2020

Tucson, AZ: COVID-19 Unfolding, Part 10: Creature Comforts: Smells


Cinnamon, spice souk, Dubai, UAE. January 2012.



Smells.

Each time I venture out into the COVID wildlands, I bring back with me some creature comfort. A Survivor Island comfort item. A treat.

In my most recent expedition, I picked up two slender, plastic cylinders of herbs: dried rosemary and dried oregano. At home in my cave, each time I pop or twist a lid, I draw in their aromas. A slight eucalyptic vapor of the rosemary, and a nostalgia for my childhood's Saturday-night-homemade-pizza dinners that the oregano summons.

These herby perfumes give me so much pleasure for so little cost.


A twist of herb, Yerevan, Armenia. March 2012.



I remember my visit to the Celestial Seasonings tea plant near Boulder, Colorado, a few years back:

Walking through waves of scent. An aroma bath. Breathing deeply to pull in those biological perfumes. Sheer sensual pleasure.

The mint room. It's in its own room because mint's perfume is so sharp, so pungent, that it invades all other fragrances in its wave. Some visitors cannot even stay in this room for longer than a few seconds because they are overcome by its power.


My humble herb garden, El Paso, Texas. October 2016.



I remember an ode to the intoxicating fragrance of ripe mangoes, written by Ngishili:
And I am just here breathing the sweet air. If this day’s oxygen were a drink, it would be served as a brightly colored tropical cocktail with two olives, a tiny umbrella and a fancy pair of drinking straws. It might as well be, considering that taking a deep breathe leaves one heady; at the brink of being intoxicated. But all I can think about is mangoes. I know that the mango trees are laden with fruit at this time of year. The mangoes are still green and will be ripening en mass in a few short weeks. At that time, every mango tree will litter the ground with yellow ready fruit, with such mischief that it would be impossible to walk past the tree without being dunked on the top of your head.


I remember how swoony the scent of guavas made me in Playa del Carmen, Quintana Roo, Mexico:

The guavas' fragrance wafts over me as I work at my laptop. It is the stuff of cliches - "heady" and "intoxicating." I don't know of any other fruit that has the same effect. Maybe a freshly-cut lime. But where a lime's scent is sharp and energizing, the guava's is a silky perfume that makes you inhale slowly and deeply. Why don't we have guava-based perfume?

Guavas and lime, Playa del Carmen, Quintana Roo, Mexico. November 2010.


Excuse me while I go to my cabinet for an olfactory hit of oregano and rosemary.




Monday, March 30, 2020

Tucson, AZ: COVID-19 Unfolding, Part 9: A New Kind of Dance Bag


On the Blue Goose Walk at Sabine Natural Refuge. Louisiana. July 2014.



In South Louisiana, as I immersed myself more into the zydeco and cajun dance scene, I fashioned myself a dance bag, which evolved into this.


With COVID, although I stick to home most of the week, I generally venture out once a week for provisions. Each time I've gone out, I've observed new small things that require touching. Money. Plastic cards. Reading glasses. Purse straps. Seat belt straps. Car door handles. Steering wheel. Sunglasses. Hat. Wallet. Produce. ... etc.

I'm not a germphobe, thank goodness. My goal during the time of the crown is not to achieve an unattainable, sanitized perfection. My goal is to be pretty darn good at doing stuff that protects me and others who might come after me a few moments later.

(So, I saw a man and woman at an intersection. The woman raised her leg to tap the crosswalk button with the sole of her shoe. She couldn't use her elbow? And, yes, I know there are those who use their shod feet to push a toilet handle, too, completely oblivious to, for example, a child coming along afterward and putting their chubby sweet fingers on the handle to flush the toilet like a big girl. FFS.)

So anyway, my corona expedition bag for when I go out for supplies, in two categories:


I keep these in my car, so I don't bring them back in the house. Between excursions, they sanitize-in-place for days in the car, untouched by anything except the sun bathing them all day.
  • Pair of sunglasses
  • Pair of reading glasses
  • Utility gloves 

I've also got a container of sanitizing wipes in my car, which I use to wipe down the steering wheel, interior door handle, gear shifter, starter, etc.


Gogo wristband with pockets


From inside my place, I bring:
  • My plastic cards in a washable terrycloth wrist band (think: sweat band with a pocket)
  • Some cash in a pocket.
  • My driver's license in a separate pocket.
  • Bandana face covering

I pull my hair back into a pony tail to avoid flyaway strands tickling my face, which tempt me to touch it while I'm on an expedition.


When I return home, the wristband and cards, the bit of cash, and my driver's license go onto a table by the door, to just sit for days til I go out again.

The bandana goes into the laundry, as does the outer clothing I wore on my expedition.


What I leave at home: 
  • Phone
  • Wallet
  • Purse

As with sheltering-in-place, the only indicator of success is if ......... nothing happens.

Nothing happening is a good thing.

Sunday, March 29, 2020

Tucson, AZ: COVID Unfolding, Part 8: Sounds of the Normal

Palapa roof repair, Playa del Carmen, Quintana Roo, Mexico. November 2010.



On Tuesdays, the lawn care people come, as always. The grumble and whine of a mower and edger, in the recent past, sometimes an irritant, is now a reassurance. Good, I think. These folks still have jobs in this hard time. Good, I think, some normal routines continue.

Every several mornings - early! there is the grunting and groaning of the trash truck. Good, I think. These folks still have jobs. Good, I think, some normal routines continue.

I note the lawn care guys seem well-protected in their gear and also their social distancing. I hope the trash pick-up folks are doing the same.


Trash day, Jefferson City, Missouri. December 2006.



My apartment complex owners have been undertaking roof repairs. Good. Some people still employed. The sounds of their work, reassuring. There's a truck. It emits airful beats, like a ventilator, pumping. For these folks, I worry for their health, as I'm not confident about their care in maintaining a safe distance in their collaborations.

When I hear the whine of police sirens, I don't think of normality. I worry about the cops' exposure to the people they interact with. ... Or the exposure of their detainees' from the police officers. How do you maintain a healthy physical distance in such intimate, tense interactions?


The other night, I heard the whip-whip-whip of a helicopter as it circled someone, something, across the street from my apartment. Whip-whip-whip, it circled, shining its beacon downward. Eventually, it left.


Saturday, March 28, 2020

Tucson, AZ: COVID-19 Unfolding, Part 7: Creature Comforts: Ginger Beer / Ale


Swamp Pop ginger ale. Lafayette, Louisiana. February 2014. Which I never tasted; I just admired the brilliant local-centric marketing.


The phrase "creature comforts" has come up in several of my English lessons recently.

In the time of corona, it soothes the spirit to indulge in small comforts. ("Soothes" also emerged in a lesson the other day.)

Last week, I indulged in a two-liter bottle of diet root beer and a bottle of ginger ale.


A ginger beer-ale thing seems to be shaping up for my corona confinement, a term more typically applied to post-partum mothers.

It all started with a stunning experience when I drank a glass of CeeDee's Jamaican Kitchen homemade ginger beer. 

At the very first sip, my taste buds sprang up in shocked awe – BOING!! – the drink had an intense ginger flavor with a sharp, spicy bite that invigorated. Kind of like riding a roller coaster that was really scary, but after it was over, saying, “Let’s do that again!”

You may know this already, but even though the name is ginger “beer,” it is typically non-alcoholic. (I did not know that.)

It likely has a ton of sugar, though, so it’s not something I can indulge in too often.

Last week I bought Canada Dry ginger ale.

This reminds me of a CCD (Catholic catechism) class when I was around 16. A married couple taught it. One day, they addressed pre-marital sex. The couple made a case for not having sex before marriage, mostly dealing with sin, of course, but they also presented this argument, which they seemed to direct most pointedly at the girls (because it was the girl's responsibility to keep her legs closed, because boys will always be boys):


Let's say you want to buy a car. 
You've never driven a car. 

You go to a Cadillac dealership.
You test drive one of their cars. 
Hoowee! This is nice! Looks good! Feels good! Yeah!

And then you visit a Ford dealership. 
You test drive one of their cars. 
Oh. 

Moral of the story: Do not test drive boys. Or something like that.

Speaking of cars, boys, and girls (especially bad girls), it's time to revisit one of my favorite girl-power songs:




Getting back to ginger beer / ale.

Too bad I had that CeeDee's homemade ginger beer before I had a Canada Dry ginger ale.

So in my most recent hunt-and-gather foray, I pulled down a six-pack of zero-calorie Live Soda Ginger (packed with MILLIONS of probiotics, which I didn't care about).

Gooooood.

Even so, I'll try a different brand next time because now I'm on a ginger beer / ale quest. Kind of like my instant coffee quest in Longmont, Colorado.


May 4 update: Oh, no, Blue Sky ginger ale. More disappointing than the Canada Dry experience, as my expectations were higher for you than CD. Bland and weak. For shame.






Friday, March 27, 2020

Tucson, AZ: COVID-19 Unfolding, Part 6: Fissures


Near Mora, New Mexico. August 2013.


Within a 48-hour period, I learned that:

A niece's husband has been laid off.

My daughter works in a business considered an essential service, so (good news!) she still has a job, but (unfortunately!) her employer has not set things up for remote work, so there is daily exposure among co-workers for potential infection.


In Tucson, a friend (and all of her co-workers) abruptly lost their jobs. Two weeks of severance plus any accumulated personal time off (PTO). Bang. Done.

In New Orleans, a friend's daughter has been ill with the crown for two weeks, going on her third. She's feeling better. She's isolating at home. She works(ed) in health care and a co-worker had the virus.

In Missouri, a friend and her sister were hospitalized on Monday (March 23) and placed in isolation. My friend, "Cherry," suffers an underlying condition that has rendered her already physically fragile, with chronic pain, and easily fatigued, even by talking on the phone or writing. On Wednesday morning, when talking with a mutual friend, Cherry continued to feel very weak from the new infection, and couldn't speak for long. Tests have come back positive for the virus.  Inexplicably, the hospital discharged Cherry and her sister on Thursday (March 26), and they made their way to a relative's house, over an hour away, for self-isolation.

The sisters became ill in one county, hospitalized in another, and are now in a third for isolation. Whether or not the hospital reported the confirmed test results to any of the county health departments is in question. Or if the hospital or any public health entity informed the extended stay hotel where the sisters had been staying, so that their staff might be made aware.

Caution: Although my information comes from mutual friends who have direct contact with Cherry or the local health care system, it's possible - even likely - there are variables that are unknown to any of us, and which make my narrative flawed. 

Here is the European Center for Disease Prevention and Control's infographic for hospital discharge criteria. Two criteria are two consecutive negative results and the lessening of symptoms.


Magical thinking

Based on what I have heard about my friend's situation, it suggests there is a grave lack of coordination between hospitals and public health entities. At least in some communities or some states. And even though they are not yet in one of the red zones, such as NYC.

I share this story because there are some folks who seem to take a city, county, or state's minimal infection numbers as accurate - or close to accurate. Or we hold unrealistic confidence in systems that work smoothly in fair weather, but are not equipped for a hurricane, even though we "know" it's headed our way.

To me, this is magical thinking.

We've got to "act as if" community spread has already occurred in our community, notwithstanding its size or population density.

And don't get me wrong - plenty of smart, capable, experienced, well-educated women and men are on the job! They are working their asses off. They are not stupid!

However, I've observed over the years that intelligence, training, and experience are not reliable indicators for effectiveness, especially in a crisis. Often, an ability to quickly assess a situation and then timely execute on same - that's the key.  Like this guy in Bristow, Oklahoma.

I hope, as COVID-19 continues to unfold, that I acquit myself well as a responsible and supportive member of several community circles. I'm already doing some things of support for others (including, of course, keeping to home most days and social distancing when I do go out), but I will do more.

Recently, I've come to realize there are some forms of action I'm not good at.

On one hand, this grieves me because I wish I were good at them. On the other hand, there are kinds of action I am good at. So as COVID unfolds, it's useful for me to understand this, to go with my strengths, and, therefore, be more effective for others.





Wednesday, March 25, 2020

Tucson, AZ: COVID-19 Unfolding, Part 5: Grups and Onlies


Rustavi, Caucasus Georgia. May 2012.


In a day when serious news, lunatic fringe news, a "balance" of op-eds, and celebrity news all enjoy equal status in one's news feeds, even from such venerable organs as the New York Times, Washington Post, et al ........... my mind reels from a whirl of old movies and TV shows that turn on unbidden.

Sacrifice the old! 

Kill the grups!



Turning 30? Enter the Carousel!





Or the more recent horror movie, Midsommar, in which old folks sacrifice themselves for the greater good by dropping off a cliff. Not showing a clip as it is so grisly.


Everything's fine! 

The socialist, commie, leftist, liberal, snowflake, stoopids are just exaggerating! Come to the beach! The house of worship!

Remember Jaws? Keep the beach open!





Hoarding, buying ammo .... 


From Panic in the Year Zero:








Saturday, March 21, 2020

Tucson, AZ: COVID-19 Unfolding, Part 4: A Second Kindness





This morning I went to the food rescue at St. Demetrios Greek Orthodox Church on Fort Lowell. I arrived near its 8:00 opening, thinking there wouldn't be many people there, at least not at the start. Hoo boy, was I wrong! A crowded parking lot and a long line.


OK, then.


I gave the people in front of me and behind me a generous portion of space for their protection and mine. I brought gloves with me. Exact change ($12) so neither the intake guy nor I would have to handle any more bills than necessary. I inserted my paper "account" card into a plastic ID carrier so I could clean it later. Prepared to read aloud my card's number instead of expecting the intake guy to hold it so, again, neither of us would have to handle this stuff unnecessarily.


Waited in line. Did some stretches.


And you know what? When I arrived at the front of the line, I learned that someone way up ahead had paid for FORTY people behind him! Just to save you the math energy, that's almost 500 bucks!!! As each of of us approached, we had the option, of course, to continue paying forward or to accept gracefully the gift. I happily paid it forward because, damn, I still have work, I don't have a lot of bills, and I don't have young'n's at home.

The intake guy wore a mask and gloves, and the usual taking-down-of-the-card-numbers was in abeyance for this week.

I was grateful to bring home good vegetables for the coming week:
  • Grape tomatoes
  • Roma tomatoes
  • Baby acorn squash
  • Green beans
  • A honeydew melon
  • Mini red bell peppers
  • English cucumbers

 In other shopping news, the shelves are still bare of these items:
  • Toilet paper
  • Paper towels
  • Bleach
  • Hand sanitizer
  • Gallon water jugs
  • Eggs

In the event I come down with the crown, I laid in a supply of some symptom-relieving meds. As my liquid hand soap supply is running low, I'm transferring to bars of soap, and I bought some of those today.

For my comfort items on Survivor Island, I bought a two-liter bottle of diet ginger ale and one of diet root beer.