Tabatha Deans

Bringing Integrity to the Written Word

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!

 

 

 

 

 

March 13, 2020 Posted by | Uncategorized | , , , , , , , , , , | 3 Comments

Haunted by the young

HAUNTED BY THE YOUNG
I made the tragic mistake of boarding the 65 bus in the early afternoon, just as the junior high and high schools were letting out. The bus filled up with young hooligans quickly, and I scrunched deeper into the corner back seat. I had deliberately chosen that seat to be isolated and enjoy the scenic ride along Monaco, with only my thoughts go keep me company. It was snowing heavily and I was slowly working my way to Robert’s house. I had spent the morning writing mindless online posts, and intended to enjoy the ride. I looked forward to the two mile walk from the bus stop to his house in the fresh air and snow.

The children were cramping my space,as three of them took seats near me and began their senseless teenage chatter. They appeared to be about 13 or 14, two boys and one girl. They looked a bit nerdy by teenage standards, the boys’ feet looking too big for their skinny ankles, which peeked out from beneath pants that in my teenage years we would have called floods. Their pants were baggy, not in a gangster kind of way, but more like they had gone through a growth spurt since the beginning of the year, losing their baby fat and thinning out, as they simultaneously grew taller.

Their cheeks were red and blotchy, not from the cold so much as that constant state of insecurity and embarrassment indicative of young males. One boy and the girl were teasing the other boy, apparently he was moving, and this was his last day at school. They were well spoken, teasing him about needing therapy without his calming presence, dramatically declaring their love for him, how could they live without him. The words were said in jest, and the young man took the good natured ribbing quietly, only the deepening red spots on his cheeks indicated he heard their words.

I listened to this banter for several miles, before the young man pulled the cord signaling his stop. They gave him a final farewell jab of love, and he silently got off the bus. He turned to wave good bye, and I could see the forbidden tears of sorrow begin to fall down his face.

April 22, 2013 Posted by | Uncategorized | , , , , , , | Leave a comment