Quarantine week seven, day 46

Last night, we discussed how it seems like its been MONTHS since we were thrown together, but just now typing my title for this post, forty-seven days IS longer than I first thought. How crazy is this? In Florida, we rank in the top ten of states affected, but in our large county, surprisingly, we are under eight hundred cases and very few deaths. I give props to our sheriff and his office. They have been very visible, and they have made sure our county quarantine ordinance was evident to everyone when out and about with signage in every storefront. I'm sure his budget is way off the mark already for the year.

At home, for now, we are a well-oiled machine, pumping and grinding with daily chores and projects, making sure we each have our alone time, as well as some family togetherness. Each person has his schedule, and we are respectful of that as we are of each other. We've had minor tension incidents, and most were due to my grouchiness. I've discovered during this quarantine that I really like an empty house--at least for a few hours during the day. 

This week I ventured to the grocery store because our weekly delivery order and pick-up order (we do both from two different stores) dropped the ball on three items. Darcy and I, masks intact, entered Publix for those three items, but once through the door, the magic of picking out my own produce grabbed me with a vengeance, and it was all Darcy could do to rein me in.

Darcy: "What part of we are here for three things are you not getting? Three things, Mom. Get out of produce."

Fifty dollars--and more time spent than budgeted--the high kept me going for the rest of the day. Apparently, Tom's suggestion to drive around town isn't so far off the mark.

 Our county commissioners voted to open our beaches next week. So, Monday is the day we can all slide our toes back into the sand and jump into the gulf. Six feet away from someone else, of course. 

From there, it's just a matter of time before businesses reopen and people either ignore that or flock to have their hair and nails done, order a beer, or eat a meal. Personally, I'm staying put except for necessities like my yearly mammogram and a follow-up visit to my heart doctor. I'll stick with eating here at home and wait to see how things progress. I'm lucky. I can do that.

Darcy's college summer session has already been deemed online, and her job won't be reopening until July 1st, so her plans for subleasing and staying at school have died. She will be here, studying online and working at her old summer job alongside Madison if and when a decision is made to hold summer camp. Oleg's internship will be online, and he will return to his apartment when that time arrives to learn the business world from the comfort of his home. 

Maybe, just maybe, I'll get that quiet time come June. 

Or not.

Bringing Indiana to Florida

Somewhere between the YMCA and the sheriff's gym closing during the quarantine, and maybe a little lack of exercise imagination, Tom decided he needed a basketball goal. It isn't the first discussion on the topic, but having grown up in basketball territory, I know what is required, and a sloped one-car driveway, isn't it. Topic dropped.

Until quarantine.

I shook my head, reminded him of the minimal space between neighbors, and the four cars parked at any given time on the sloped driveway. Unless he planned to block in the area behind and to the left of the goal, I didn't see how a basketball goal would work. I suggested the kind seen throughout our neighborhood--one that can be moved--because the street would be a halfway decent court, especially now when everyone wasn't racing up and down.

He didn't like the idea, and on the first weekend, he began digging.

Within a few days after that, a basketball goal was delivered to our house in a huge box that had to be stored under my car while he contemplated how much concrete he would need to get the thing set up.

He settled on 200 pounds, ended up needing 600 pounds, and with Oleg's help, he mixed and stirred and poured concrete until he had a piece of the pole in the ground next to the driveway between our house and my neighbor's.

He nixed our suggestions of handprints and signatures and insisted it would take a week to dry. It took a little over one day in our record-setting Spring temperatures despite two days of rain, but he followed the instructions that accompanied the goal and left it for a week.

Eventually, he added to it.

And finally, the day arrived for him to begin building the backboard. He built it, unbuilt it, built it, unbuilt it again (he blamed the directions), and after several hours in the raging heat, and with Oleg's help once again, he finally finished and attached the backboard.

So far, we have yet to hit the neighbor's house. Or, if they have, they have not told me about it, and as long as more than one person is there to rebound, the cars have been spared--somewhat.

Darcy: "But if you do shoot by yourself, it's a great cardio workout chasing the ball before it hits anything or rolls down the driveway."

Okay, maybe I can admit Tom was right about the basketball goal. I did request he raise it to regulation height after several days of dunking, and I think it looks damn good outside my house when I return from my morning walk, and maybe if they keep practicing, I won't have to worry about the neighbor's windows and cameras.

Quarantine week six, day 38

The stories unfolding this week aren't uplifting as in the past five weeks. No more stories of nightly cheers for healthcare workers or neighbors helping neighbors. It's beginning to get real out in the world. People are revolting at stay-at-home orders. Tempers are flaring. Bank accounts are quickly depleting. Businesses are shuttered--possible for good.

And yet, COVID-19 rages on.

My week started with someone calling to discuss "this COVID situation." It was a random call from an old neighbor who I speak to maybe once or twice a year. He said he called me because I was "opinionated" and "could be counted on for an intelligent discussion."

I was working in my office--busy filling out my genealogy tree and hunting down long lost relatives in the 1700 and 1800s. I was taken aback. Especially when he informed me this virus was nothing more than a broader flu mostly made-up by the democrats to take down our president.

Him: "Do you know anyone with the virus? You, personally?"

I didn't then. While I knew people who had family members afflicted, I didn't personally know anyone who was sick with the coronavirus. Thank god. Unfortunately, I do now, but then--I didn't.

He felt that proved his point. The one-sided conversation--at times significantly heated--went on for over an hour. When it ended, I was left with a stomach ache, ugly feelings, and anger so hot it took me hours of ranting and raving and texting to get over.

Why is it certain people need validation? Why do they expect others to get it right and then knock them down when they aren't? It reminded me of those people during hurricane season who pooh-pooh the coming storm, bitch about the grocery supplies running low, and then mock the forecasters when the hurricane turns and misses taking us all out.

Not everyone is a seer, buddy. But hey, I'd rather err on the side of caution than go into a store without my face mask.

Me: "Have you read people's accounts of being sick? Because I have, and I don't want this virus for anyone."

Him: "I won't get it. But I take precautions. I wash my hands. I wear a mask. But what this is doing to the economy is criminal. It will devastate this country, and eventually, we won't be able to print more money. The media has blown this way out of proportions, and we need to open businesses back up and get on with life."

And apparently, he isn't the only one. Protests are happening while I type. Governors are opening states. Humans aren't wearing masks or standing six feet apart. Misinformation is being spouted that this disease doesn't affect our youngsters. People are over this virus--over what it has done to our world, and by golly, they are restoring things, and if the rest of us don't comply--

I hate to even speculate...

I get it. As much as I can, I get the despair from the economy. Even though I've not been greatly affected here at my house--my husband and daughter are still working--I've been afflicted. Anyone who has a financial portfolio has been hit, and while I don't worry at this time whether or not I can pay my rent or my weekly grocery bill, none of it will matter if I'm dead. And that is what this virus does--it kills--at a rate quicker and deadlier than the flu.

It's raging across the world at warp speed, taking down people regardless of age, race, and social standing. It's killing the healthy. It's killing the weak. And yes, it is killing our youth. Unlike the flu, this virus is destroying humans internally long after it has left the body--the liver, the heart, the lungs, the brain. It spreads from person to person and multiplies inside the body much quicker than the flu, and so if avoiding crowds is the answer to slowing it down--count me in.

My caller asked me if I would sit and eat in a restaurant when they opened. Would I go to a movie? Fly? How long before I would? A week? Three months? A year? Two?

I can't answer any of that. Contrary to the phone calls I receive, I don't have the answers. I don't think anyone--just like the meteorologists predicting where a hurricane will hit--has the exact answers. Life isn't like that, nor is it perfect. Mistakes are made. We are only human. But what we can do is try.

Try to eradicate this virus. Try to get a vaccine made. Try to slow down the spread. Try to open up this country. Try to respect one another, whether we agree with each other's beliefs.

Open your business if you must. Venture out into the world and go about life as you once knew it. I'm okay with you doing that, but please--for the love of the rest of us who chose to stay in quarantine--WEAR A MASK, AND STAY SIX FEET AWAY!

Congrats to the Zoom couple

We were supposed to be in Orlando last weekend for a wedding. It was going to be a whirlwind three days of activity full of laughter and liquor. Tom had Friday off from work, the hotel was booked, and we were so looking forward to getting away for fun.

Instead, my friend SueG's son got married in his own home, with all of us watching through computer monitors, laptops, Ipads, and phones via Zoom.

We were to bring our beverage of choice, mute our audio, and send good vibes and well wishes telepathically. Some made funfetti cakes and cupcakes to help celebrate--it is the bride's favorite and was to be a staple at the wedding reception--and many lifted champagne glasses to toast the couple.

It went fast as weddings usually do, each individual video box highlighted by a yellow ring when someone spoke. There was music--and tears--and in a blink of an eye, the officiate pronounced them man and wife. The best men and maid of honor gave speeches, including videos of people within the groom's favorite sports teams organizations, and a photo montage of the bride and MOH from middle school to present.

It wasn't the day the couple had planned for over a year, nor the expectation their guests had--Tom and I watched from chairs in our bedroom--but it ended with the same result--a wedding with their family and friends and a legal tender between two people ready to start their new journey together.

What a story to tell the next generation...

Quarantine week 5, day 873485

Someone on social media said it was like hanging out in Vegas this quarantine routine, and I immediately responded in agreement. Yes! It's now my response to everything.

Me: "Does anyone else want a glass of wine?"

Darcy: "It's not even five o'clock."

Me: "Vegas, Baby!"

or

Madison: "It's three o'clock in the morning! How did that happen? Why aren't we sleeping?"

Me: "Vegas, baby!"

We were doing reasonably well on the days of the week--until Tom had Friday off. From then on, we were off by a day, and it's gone downhill since, each day rolling into the next with very little change. We are a well-oiled machine cranking along with work, projects, and three square meals a day.

We each have a duty. 

Darcy is in charge of groceries. She has us picking up groceries at Walmart, and she also registered with Instacart for delivery service from our local supermarket because Walmart is three to four days out, and we go through Ding Dongs milk and bread rapidly.

I'm in charge of laundry and deep cleaning. With five humans changing clothes often during the day, not to mention the multitude of showers, I'm in the laundry room daily. I set timers with our many Alexa devices to alert me to the finish of cycles, and hopefully, those coincide with my Apple watch, which alerts me when it's time to stand up and move. Folding clothes is a great way to close those rings.

Oleg's responsibility is the dog. He is in charge between the hours of Tom leaving and Tom arriving. He takes him outside, plays with him, cuddles him, and feeds him. When Elliot alerts me to some need, all I do is yell that the dog needs assistance, and Oleg hops up from wherever he is to deal with it. So much so, that Elliot is now starting to cut out the middleman to go straight to the source.

We all cook. Darcy gathers us at the end of the week, and we chime in with needed ingredients for our meals, and those that don't cook that day are on clean-up duty after eating.

In the evenings, after the sun has long set, we walk a mile. It could be at eight o'clock, or it could be ten o'clock. No one looks at a clock, and sometimes when we're out, we ponder on not seeing humans or lights on in the houses we pass. Oops. Apparently, not everyone is in Vegas.

Even our downtime is routine. We read. Madison and Oleg play Animal crossing on the Wii, and Darcy and I each run a bakery in an old app where we cook and sell pastries that must be prepared and served at certain times. We communicate with each other as if this is real life, and none of us consider it strange.

Madison: "Oleg, the market is open at noon, and we can get peaches today."

Me: "Darcy, are you getting the new oven? Should I? What types of pastries does it cook?"

Madison does a weekly podcast with strangers she has befriended. Darcy has a weekly video wine check-in with friends. Oleg has a weekly Facetimewith his family in Ukraine, and I have a list of family and friends I call to check-in. Occasionally, we do a six feet drive-by chat or a six-feet cocktail hour in the front yard with friends.

We wash our hands--and the items we bring into our house. We wear a mask if we need to enter anywhere that isn't our own home. Recently, during a stop at Walgreens for essentials, Darcy returned to the car full of excitement.

Darcy: "I just hit the jackpot!!"

Vegas, baby!!

Easter 2020

My kids haven't been home together for Easter in forever, so, once I realized the day was rapidly approaching, I knew I had to keep the tradition alive. I online ordered eggs and candy, dug out their Easter baskets, and insisted we don masks to enter the Honey Baked Ham store for a spiral ham for our holiday dinner.

The Easter bunny did her his usual marking of the eggs with initials so one child didn't receive more than the other, and then she he filled the eggs and hid them around the house. Tom The bunny was very giddy to be going back to the ritual of hiding the eggs, remembering the old days with affection.

Luckily, the youngest still has the enthusiasm for holiday traditions

Oleg had not participated in this tradition before, and fortunately for him the eggs had initials, otherwise he might have ended up with an empty basket. The girls had an advantage. I mean, it isn't like the bunny found new hiding spots in our small house nor are the girls old enough to have forgotten. Eventually, Oleg realized if he just followed Darcy he'd score his eggs.

All three "kids" got into the hunt, and this might actually be the year where we found all the eggs. Usually, there are one or two that are not found until months later. Then it was Elliot's turn, and all five of us enjoyed watching him search and open his eggs more than anything we did that entire day.

Our dinner was delicious with Honey Baked ham, Grandma's potatoes (Simply Potatoes cheesy recipe but Darcy refers to it as this as Grandma Mary Anne likes to make it), green beans, and a brownie ice cream sundae.

Easter in quarantine was a success!

Charmin, please help!

We have a septic issue--one I've written about before on this blog--and it requires us to use one-ply toilet paper only. The plumber recommended Scott, but after much searching and investigation and tryouts, I declared Charmin Essentials Strong (formerly Charmin Basic) as our household toilet paper. Unfortunately, the only store to carry it in bulk is our Walmart, and so Walmart replaced Target as my go-to store.

Because we live in a small house, items like toilet paper and cleaning supplies reside in various hovels in our one-car garage. We just don't have the space to stock up when it isn't hurricane season, and I usually would purchase two twenty-four packs of Charmin when needed. I mean, for the most part, that lasted two months when we were empty-nesters. Not so much when we added Madison to the household, but still, I wasn't hoarding toilet paper.

See where this is going?

The week before Spring Break, I considered a trip to Walmart for toilet paper, but it was a fleeting thought. I had two packs and a pack of some terrible off-brand toilet paper Tom had purchased that--I'm ashamed to admit this now--I was slowly tossing in the trash each week. It was the worst paper ever. I tried to use it, but it literally, and I'm serious here, disintegrated in your hand when wet. Still, if worse came to worse, I had it, and so, I didn't buy toilet paper.

Now I can't get it. Oh, I can maybe find some two-ply, but I'm not willing to take the chance. I mean, are plumbers even working right now? Would I want one in my house? Even my bug guy said they aren't coming in the house, and he sprayed outside instead of in.

We are now down to the last Charmin pack, and I've become a toilet paper police officer. When people tell me they found and purchased toilet paper, I'm jumping down their throats. Did you need that paper? How much do you have hoarded? You are the reason why people like me can't buy it! I need the $%^& toilet paper because I'm about to jury-rig a bidet in my bathrooms, and you're buying up toilet paper like it's candy just because you found it.

I guilted one friend so much she brought me a tiny pack of two-ply off-brand she bought for one dollar because the packaging said it was septic safe. I took it before I reminded her she didn't need any more damn toilet paper at her house and to STOP BUYING IT.

Every day Darcy looks online just in case.

Every day it's a no go.

Things are about to get real here, people.

Plumbing issues

During one of my non-sleeping nights recently, I sat up in bed because of a noise in my bathroom, which turned out to be my toilet running. At 3:22 a.m. Long time readers know how I don't turn on lights even in the early, dark mornings, and so, I proceeded to take off the back of the toilet tank with only my nightlight as a guide. 

We replaced our toilet recently, and these new-fangled commodes no longer have the chain, the piece that usually falls off of the thing-a-ma-bob attached to the rubber stopper, and is the cause of a toilet always running ninety percent of the time. Instead, I stared at the inner workings that led to my turning on the bathroom light. Just to be sure I wasn't hallucinating. 

Yep. No clue. I turned off the water, solving the problem until morning. Only then I lay in bed, worried my husband would get up and use the toilet, setting off a chain reaction beginning with why the toilet wasn't filling. I lay there for another ten minutes trying to talk myself down from waking him. 

It's like waking a sleeping bear. My girls learned early on not to come to his side of the bed. Hell, even the dog comes to me in the night. 

On the rare occasions when waking him is a necessity, I prepare myself for the tirade. It always consists of a time update, how he doesn't understand, and involves questions as to why I noticed said problem at this time of the night. 

For example:

When five-year-old Madison came to my side of the bed to tell me she thought she was going to throw up, and then did so while I was leaping out of my bed shouting for her to get over the toilet.

Tom: "It's two o'clock in the morning! Why would you come in to tell us you were going to throw up? That doesn't even make sense. Not at two o'clock in the morning."

When our hamster escaped and climbed into our window blinds, and I thought it was a citrus rat.

Tom: "It's one o'clock in the morning. I don't understand why a rat would be in our bedroom at one o'clock in the morning. Go back to sleep."

Recently, at 1:20 a.m. I discovered our pool vacuum was not working. 

Each time I go to the toilet in the night, I can hear the pool vacuum busily cleaning our pool. It's a soothing sound. A sound of an appliance doing its job to make my life easier. I've grown fond of the noise, and it is quite loud when the bathroom window is open. 

The pump is outside our bathroom window, and when I sat down on the toilet, I immediately noticed the absence of my soothing pool vacuum and immediately recognized that the pool pump was having problems. Hello, I was in pool management for over thirty years!

Instead of bothering the husband, I went outside to investigate, agreed with my first assessment of a pool pump issue, and attempted to turn off the pump. I couldn't. For some reason, I could not get the pump shut off, and worried that the motor would burn out, I woke the husband and gently gave him a quick version of how I discovered the problem.

Tom: "It's one o'clock in the morning. I don't understand how you knew the pool pump was having an issue at one o'clock in the morning."

Me: "I could hear it making noises outside our bathroom window."

Tom: "At one o'clock in the morning?"

Me: "Yes, Big Ben, I was using the toilet. Normally, I hear the vacuum cleaning the pool. That's not the sound I heard tonight. It's beside the point. I'm sorry to bother you, but I can't get the pump shut off. It won't budge."

Tom: "It's just a switch. It goes on and off. I'm still having trouble understanding how you knew something was wrong with the pump. It's one o'clock in the morning."

Me: "It's actually 1:32 a.m. Are you going to help me, or not?"

He did. He had no trouble turning off the pump, and then because he couldn't understand why it wasn't working, he attempted to fix it, all the while griping about the time. I finally convinced him to let it go and to go back to bed. But not before I had a laughing spell, which always happens when he gives me a time update.

Tom: "I'm glad you can laugh at one o'clock in the morning. I need to sleep. I have to go to work."

So, not wanting a repeat, I was talking myself off the ledge of waking him for the toilet issue when suddenly he sat up and began to get out of bed. Yes! He had to make a trip into the bathroom.

Me: "FYI. The toilet is running, so I shut off the water."

He froze, glanced at the clock, and shook his head.

Tom: "It's three o'clock in the morning."

Me: "Yes, I know. I got up to use the bathroom, and the toilet didn't shut off. I tried to solve the problem, but I don't know these newfangled toilets, and so I just shut off the water."

Tom: "I don't understand how you knew the toilet was running at three o'clock in the morning."

And we were off. I eventually started laughing. He ultimately got the toilet to stop running, got back into bed, and groused some more, alerting me to the fact it was a $5 part from Home Depot. Then he went to sleep. I, however, lay awake, wondering:

• Am I supposed to buy the $5 part?
• How will I know what part he is talking about?
• Is this $5 part considered essential while we are quarantined?
• If he says he will buy it, I need to remind him that Home Depot closes early now. He'll need to leave work before that.

Of course, I was too groggy the next morning when he woke me to say good-bye and thus didn't get any of the above mentioned to him before he departed. Of course, the toilet started running after the first flush. I turned off the water, and when he returned that evening, I reminded him the water was off. 

The hubby turned to Oleg man to man.

Tom: "I get this voice at three o'clock in the morning, telling me the water to the toilet is shut off."

Oleg, having heard the story already from me, wisely refrained from commenting, and Tom went out into the garage, returning with a spare part he'd taken out of another toilet.

He took me into the bathroom to educate me on the operations of the new toilet. Oleg came along because--man to man.

I pulled out my phone as soon as the lid came off and took pictures. Oleg raised an eyebrow. 

Me: "Get used to it, buddy. I have a blog to maintain."

The toilet was fixed lickety-split. Oh, and so was the pool pump. It just needed priming. 

Fingers crossed this doesn't come in threes. 

At (fill in the number) in the morning!!!