Meanwhile, in Colorado
Officer—“Do you know why I pulled you over?”
Me—“Not really, I wasn’t speeding and I’m wearing my seatbelt.”
Officer—“Where are you headed today?”
Me—“I’m going to buy some weed.”
Officer—“Okay then, have a good day and stay safe.”
For much of my adult life I indulged in the recreational and medicinal use of marijuana. There was always the fear of getting pulled over, for whatever reason, by a cop, and getting arrested for having pot in the car. I went to great lengths to hide it, sometimes deep in the trunk, under the spare tire, or in a box of tampons while traveling. I never had large quantities on me, just enough for personal use.
Since I moved to Colorado my appetite for the wacky tobaccy has waned, and I seldom indulge any more. But I realized that under the current stay-at-home orders state-wide, I could, if I were so inclined, leave my home to go to the local dispensary and pick up some herb. I could get a misdemeanor fine for leaving my house for no reason, but not for going to get weed.
COVID-19 has changed the way we all live, and we’re living through an unprecedented historical event. I’m impressed with how my fellow citizens have come together and done their part to flatten the curve. I agree with all the measures taken–schools going to distance learning, people working from home, even my nail salon closing.
Who knows how long this will go on, but I am seeing some positive aspects that fill my heart with joy.
Canals in Italy are looking cleaner and more beautiful. Air pollution is decreasing in major metropolitan areas. I’m talking to friends more often and face-timing family members who live far away, which I didn’t do before now. Senior citizens are getting the respect they deserve as businesses reserve special hours for them. I’ve personally lost a few pounds due to my increased daily walks, mostly out of boredom. Plus, my neighbor, who is a vodka salesman, just gifted me with two huge bottles of hand sanitizer, which his company, Woody Creek, has been making to help with the outbreak.
Times, are a changing my friends. Stay safe, be kind, and watch out for your loved ones.
Breaking point..
I’ve been social distancing for about three weeks now, after Jessica expressed concerns for Robert and I, who are both diabetic. She and I agreed, sadly, that there would be no Grammy sleepovers or family dinners for a while. I work from home and aside from dinners out with Robert or the occasional concert or event, staying home by myself is pretty much my daily routine anyway.
Like most people, I’ve been battling the fear, anxiety and some depression that has come with the whole Coronavirus pandemic. I’ve woken up in the middle of the night many times, feeling a deep sense of dread and certainty that I, or one of my loved ones, will certainly die. I wake up every morning and search my mind for some happy thoughts, something that will make the day less dreadful and scary. I think of Jessica laughing at some silly joke she made, Petra doing headstands while we were watching a movie, then falling over on Robert and I, planting her feet in our faces, or funny things Robert has said and done.
I must say I’ve done a really good job of staying positive.
Until I went to the grocery store yesterday. On the way there I heard on the news that Denver was invoking a stay-at-home order–meaning you could now be stopped and have to produce papers stating that you had a valid reason to be out. (In fairness, I think that mostly applies to people who are gathering in groups.) But chills went down my spine. We were officially entering time in history that we had only read about in history books. The roads, which had previously been pretty empty of cars, were suddenly busy as I drove through the neighborhood, and I realized as I followed long lines of cars that they were all headed for the same grocery store I was. In that instant, I felt a shift from the novelty of choosing to stay at home, to an official order to do so.
The good news is, when I got to the grocery store there was toilet paper on the shelves. The bad news is, that was my breaking point, and as I picked up a small package of four rolls, I burst into tears. Luckily everyone was six feet away so they didn’t see my ugly crying, and I had my lysol wipe to swipe my tears away.
I don’t know why that particular moment broke me. It was only toilet paper. Perhaps it was because I was surrounded by people who had all been feeling the same way I had, or more likely it was because I had just been denying the potential severity of what’s been going on around me. Either way, I cried all the way home, and woke up this morning with positive thoughts again. You might say I have surrendered to that elusive, sometimes controversial thing called Faith. I have been doing everything possible to stay safe and keep my family safe, and worrying about the outcome constantly isn’t doing me any good. The old saying “You could be hit by a bus tomorrow” came to mind, and the reality is there are so many things that could kill any one of us that we can’t control.
I feel much better today, and I’ll continue to engage in safe practices. But instead of reading the headlines as soon as I woke up, I scrolled back through the pictures on my phone and smiled at all the great times I have with my loved ones. Then I watched funniest home videos (thank you to whoever posts them on my FB thread). Now I am talking to people in Elbert County (which I cover for CCM) about how they’re dealing with the pandemic, and how they are all coming together to help each other.
My soul and mind are refreshed, and although I’m sure I’ll likely have many more breakdowns before this is over, today I’m happy.
My my my my Coronavirus!
“Please place your item in the bag.”
“I did put it in the bag you crazy witch!”
“Did you bring your own bag?”
“Yes dammit!”
“Please place your item in the bag.”
“Argh! It’s yeast, it doesn’t weigh anything, I’ve already put it in the bag!”
“Help is on the way.”
This is the conversation I just had, along with two other ladies at the grocery store, with the self-checkout attendant. We were all aware she wasn’t going to talk back, but all up and down the check-outs I heard these frustrating conversations going on. I don’t usually use self-check out because of these frustrations, but the lines at the real check-outs were literally out the door, as people are stocking up for the coronavirus apocalypse.
The two ladies next to me were in a frenzy because they just closed most of the schools in the area for about a month, and now they were left with their children at home, and suddenly have to feed them three meals a day, when many kids eat at least lunch at school, while many others eat breakfast and lunch. Their kitchen duty just tripled, and they simply weren’t prepared.
Those who know me know that I’ve always planned for an apocalypse on some scale. Due to my upbringing by government fearing parents, along with my short stint as a hard-core Mormon, I’ve always tried to have some kind of food storage on hand. Granted, it consists mostly of tuna, egg noodles and cream-of-mushroom soup, because I am prepared to live on tuna casserole indefinitely. Toilet paper, not so much. I’ve used many a paper towels or napkins to take care of business over my lifetime. My parents have been full-time snow-birders for years now, and live in a small trailer with a small tank for toilet water. They have a four-square rule for toilet paper, which I might have to adopt depending on the length of the toilet paper shortage.
While I don’t believe the coronavirus is going to be the apocalypse that ends life as we know it, I have had my share of fear and emotion as I watch it play out in the news. I’m not a senior citizen, but both Robert and I have diabetes, which is getting a fair amount of fear-fueled hype from the media regarding higher death rates if we do catch it.
That being said, I’m not really worried. I work from home and have unknowingly participated in social isolation for years, since I just don’t spend a lot of time in big crowds. Staying home, eating tuna casserole and watching bad T.V. is not really an inconvenience to me.
Since I’ve settled in Colorado and married Robert, I’ve enjoyed the luxury of having a better stocked pantry, including toilet paper, on a regular basis. (Who knew you could actually buy it in packages of more than four rolls?) But I remember many times when Jessica was young that I didn’t have the financial ability to keep more than two weeks of food in the house. I lived paycheck to paycheck, and any unexpected expenses, or loss of income, was devastating. I reported to work sick many times, and shame on me for doing that.
So with all the hype about the coronapocalypse, I would ask that everyone I know please be tolerant with each other, and let’s find a way to help each other through this, without judgment. Like almost everything in America this has created a divide–those who believe they should prepare vs. those who think it’s not that big of deal. Regardless of which side you’re on, the fact is that senior citizens are the ones dying here, and almost all of us have a senior person we care about.
Imagine if a care-giver, such as a CNA or home health support person, who don’t make a lot of money, continue caring for an elderly person even though they are sick, because if they don’t they won’t be able to feed their family. But if they admit to being sick, they run the risk of being sent home, without pay, for however long it takes them to recover and no longer be contagious. I personally would share my tuna casserole provisions with them so their children could eat and the old people might stay alive.
Here’s how we can all help. Of course if you’re sick, stay home. If you may have been around someone who is infected, stay away from old people. If you have a little extra income or provisions, donate to your local food bank. And for God’s sake, if you have a square to spare, share it with your neighbor!
Spirit Lake 2017
Family Ties
Tensions were running a little high as we left Longmont en route to Spirit Lake, via Vernal and Kathy’s house. We were leaving a day late and going three weeks later than we usually have. I picked Jess and Petra up and we headed out, both of us concerned about how cold it would be this late in the year.
It had been a busy and stressful year for all of us—Me planning my wedding to Robert, she finishing up the barn, taking on new projects and getting divorced, and Petra discovering that every one dies, Grammys can sometimes be a “peanut head” and going through a divorce. If ever a trip to spirit lake was needed this was the year. They were both in the end stages of a severe head cold, and looked like they felt pretty lousy when i picked them up. Petra announced that she was “tired” when I arrived.
We loaded up Jessica’s ’88 Volvo wagon, which I must say is as smooth as they come, but this trip began with a flashing red oil light on the dash. I checked the oil and she ran fine, so we hit the highway. Last year we had gotten into such a heated discussion that I overshot our turnoff to Utah by 90 miles. So we took a different route this year, and I only overshot our turnoff by about ten minutes, then quickly admitted my mistake and turned around when she renavigated us.
The drive from Meeker to Rangely was truly incredible. Petra announced she was going to sleep for the night, since she had already had ice cream and realized we were indeed, very, very far from Kathy’s. We listened to music and looked into the darkness. The sky was dark, but the moon sat on the horizon to the left of us, not quit half full, but it was as orange as a Dorito. It seemed to sit be sitting on the land, taunting us to come touch it. It was a magical moment.
I remember when it was just Jess and I who made the spirit lake trip. We would have these moments of magic, both of us in awe of the world. Jess was seeing it through her young eyes, I was seeing it through my eyes. It’s beautiful both ways, and It took my breath away to realize that we now had a third set of eyes to see it all over again. I was proud of Jess as a mother for keeping the tradition alive. I had floated the idea of starting a new tradition someplace closer, maybe in Colorado. But she persisted. Even when Kathy, a tent camping virgin, tried to persuade her, she persisted. Spirit Lake it was. The ultimate test of camping stamina. Good luck Kathy.
We spent the day leisurely packing, running errands and hanging out at Kathy’s. The sun was low in the sky when we headed up the mountain, but we arrived with plenty of light to set up camp. We scored the number 2 campsite, a deluxe site that does not have a view of the water, but has an entire backdrop made of jagged boulders that protect the pure water source as soon as it comes out of the mountain. The site was spacious, so Jess pulled the Volvo up to the bottom of the boulders and laid out a bed for her and Petra in it. Then she helped Kathy and I pitch our tents.
The temperature was perfect, I couldn’t tell you the exact degree, but it was cool but not chilly. Just enough cold to feel great after the city heat. And there were very few mosquitos. Bugs are always a concern at Spirit Lake, ranging from swarms of mosquitos to horseflies that will bite you just for the fun of it, and bring welts the size of mothballs wherever they feast. This year there were nearly none. We sprayed up with repellant just to be safe. School was back in session and it was the middle of the week, so the campground was mostly deserted, and we mostly had the place to ourselves. Overall we scored quite well.
We built a fire and took our time making dinner, and after cleaning up we sat around the fire, officially kicking off the 2017 hen party. Petra fell asleep in her lap listening to our stories of old and thoughts for the future. After putting Petra to bed in the Volvo, Jess returned for more adult talk. Life, relationships, a touch of religion and men were popular topics, and I was happy that I was able to impart my wisdom upon Jessica, and turns out I learned a few things myself as well.
Sadly, I didn’t think to talk to Kathy about what to expect her first time sleeping in a “plastic house” as she called the tents. I remember when jess insisted in sleeping in her own tent for the first time. Granted, she was probably 9, not 49, but it can still be scary. I also remember the time Mitch decided to sleep in his own tent. There was a mutual reaction. At some point in the night they both woke up and were disoriented, and yelled out into the darkness of their own personal universe. Jessica sat perfectly still until sunrise, hoping not to attract attention from whatever beast lurked outside. Mitch declared he “couldn’t see” before realizing his surroundings. “Oh, I’m so embarrassed.” I could feel his head droop in shame in the darkness.
We went to bed, and after twisting and turning to adjust my many blankets and sleeping bags, I finally fell asleep. Suddenly I heard loud talking, coming from Kathy’s tent. Something about porcupines followed by “I’m okay now.”
Backtrack here. After realizing Kathy was serious about going all the way to Spirit Lake and sleeping outside in a tent all alone, her husband, DAVE, insisted she bring a gun along. He gave her shooting lessons, and she did indeed, inside her Rec Center polka dotted gym bag, have a pretty nice blue handgun, with a clip rubber banded to the handle. It was an impressive display, and she affectionately called him Big Blue. We shortened that to BB, which comes into play later in the story.
Some late campers had been arriving at the campground, which resulted in much circling and lights on our tents, suspicious shadows and amplified sounds of people bickering in a still forest. When Kathy yelled out Jessica rolled down her window and asked if she was okay. Kathy realized her moment, and declared she was fine. She had passed the first mark. If she could stay in her tent until the morning, she would have passed the ultimate test of camping.
We all laid back down, and just as i was about to doze off, a really big RV decided to take up residence in site number 1, maybe 60 yards from my tent. It was 11:30 at night, and I unzipped my windows so I could watch the show, since all the noise meant I wouldn’t sleep for a while anyway.
“He’s gonna hit a rock! he’s gonna hit a rock!” I heard a distressed woman’s voice. Then some muffled bickering, then the rev of the truck engine as the driver starts to give it another round.
“Turn this way…Excellent, excellent, excellent…” I heard a single calm male voice through the darkness. The good thing about a tent is it seems to amplify the sound in the darkness.
“Turn it now…Excellent, good job, good job..shut up. Shhht. Excellent, excellent.”
The calm guider did the trick, the trailer was settled for the evening, and i attempted agin to sleep. I had chosen the Wild thing pajamas to wear, a striped thermal type outfit Robert gave me for Christmas, it was perfect for this occasion. I thought I had the best PJ’s to wear for this trip, but Kathy gave me pause for thought. She was adorned in a one piece, footed pajama , with some type of animal print on the outside. It had feet in it, but I think she put socks on over them sometime in the night, because the next time I saw her it appeared as if she were wearing cowboy boots.
Sometime during the new neighbor debacle, Kathy emerged from her tent, clad in her sleeping suit, and declared “What is the situation out here? I think we need to rally.” I wasn’t sure if she was fully awake, and I remembered she now owned a gun. Jessica “lit her up,” as we had come to call it, and Kathy assumed a stance that I wasn’t sure of—It looked like she was laughing her ass off and trying not to pee, which resulted in her dancing about from foot to foot, much like Yosemite Sam in the old cartoons. Which made me and Jessica both laugh, which resulted in all of us bouncing around trying not to pee our pants.
“Kathy, do you have Big Blue?” I yelled from my tent.
“No.” She gasped, and I realized she was laughing.
“Good. Jessica, do not let Kathy come out here with BB in her sleeping suit.” I was aware that what I was saying was out there, but the warning needed to be declared.
“I won’t mom. Go back to sleep.” Jess shone the light on me and my tent, before authoritatively turning it back to Kathy. “Are you okay?”
“Yes.” There was some other small talk but I took the chance to try to go back to sleep. There were a few more hiccups throughout the evening, including me coming down with the seriously sucky symptoms of the nasty cold Jess and Petra were on the tail end of.
The next morning our new neighbor came over as soon as they saw us up and drinking coffee. She apologized profusely and we ended up having a wonderful visit with her. Their family had owned the lodge many years ago, and we reminisced about the magic of Spirit Lake.
We spent two days wandering, driving to Manila for a Coke, committing the crime of trespassing, both at the fire tower and the lodge, which was for sale and boarded up. We went in search of a treasure we buried nearly 20 years ago, but wasn’t sure which rock we had buried it under.
Weather wise it was one of the best years I’ve ever been to Spirit Lake. Emotionally and spiritually, I have to say this year was THE best year I’ve been to Spirit Lake.
To Pee or Not to Pee
To pee or not to pee…That is the question that is dominating the internet, news programs and dinner conversation this week. I understand that some may have concerns, and I won’t judge or speak to their convictions, because I truly believe everyone is entitled to their own reality. Even if it includes being creepily concerned with other people’s body parts.
And, to be honest, I have had concerns about the bathroom situation in the United States for quite some time now. Peeing is something we all have to do.Most of us are lucky enough to have access to a bathroom, but I often wonder about the homeless man who gets a ticket for peeing in the corner of a parking lot. I have no answer for managing bodily waste from homeless people, but should it be illegal to perform the most basic of human functions?
As for discrimination, I think all women can agree that we have suffered from unfairly long lines for the ladies room. Especially at any kind of large event, when we start plotting before half time/intermission. Should we leave a few minutes early and try to beat the rush to the bathroom? Or should we wait until the break is almost over and hope the line has dwindled? There’s something disturbing about standing in a long line, doing the pee pee dance, waiting for the next stall to open up, all the while seeing that there is no line for the men’s room. I don’t think it makes any sense to have ANYONE doing the pee pee dance when there is an empty toilet anywhere within use. Why have we segregated ourselves this way? Why are there not just bathrooms. Bathrooms for peeing and pooping. No matter who you are, when a toilet opens up you should be allowed.
And then there’s the dilemma of the handicap stalls. Going into the handicap stall often brings judgement, even if there is not a handicapped person waiting. Should we leave that toilet empty, just in case? I do not. No disrespect for the physically impaired, but I think standing in line is part of life, impaired or not. So, given the chance, I will use whatever toilet is available, as soon as it is available, and the only situations I’ve ever encountered in a public bathroom is the errant toddler who breaks away and peeks underneath all the stall doors, or the newly endowed drunk woman who feels the need to flash her new breasts to every woman in the bathroom. I wouldn’t necessarily call either harassment.
I remember the bathroom on the hit show Ally McBeal was a unisex bathroom, and that seemed like a radical concept at the time. Now, I think it makes perfect sense. No his, hers, theirs or others. How about just “bathrooms.” Doing your business next to another person with just a thin wall separating you is pretty gross in general. Does it really matter if it’s a woman or a man doing the deed next to you? I think not. If everybody used the same bathroom it would cut down on the concerns of many. If mom, dad and child were all in the same bathroom, there would be little chance for abuse. If we were all in it together we could police ourselves, and cast out any pervert who may be lurking in the stall next door.
So, instead of using bathrooms to divide us, let’s use them to unite the poople, I mean people.
LET’S…DO…THE…TIME…WARP…AGAIN
LET’S…DO…THE…TIME…WARP…AGAIN
Much like the song from the cult classic Rocky Horror Picture Show, I feel like I’m in a time warp. I watch Jessica’s belly grow each week, and I watch all the excitement, anxiety and joy that she is going through as she awaits the birth of her first child. As my child, it’s all new to me to see her begin a new life. I’m very happy for her, and know she is finally getting to experience the pure joy of being a parent. But I also know she will probably never sleep until noon again, and that a good portion of her days will be filled with concern for her child.
As I watch her nesting in her new home, I have vivid memories of 24 years ago, when I was in the exact same position she is. I remember very well the summer heat, carrying her inside of me, happiness and excitement at the beginning of my new life. I remember all the feelings, and I remember dreaming about my future.
Now I am my future. And all of my worlds seem to be colliding. It’s like I’m 20 years old, and 45 years old, and 65 years old all at the same time. I can remember the past, am loving the present, and can see a future full of love and grandkids. I guess I never really expected to live this long. Not that I planned on dying, I just didn’t picture this far ahead in my future.
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Tabatha Deans 