The Circle Game, Revisited

 Covid Nineteen, not Los Angeles

...Because it doesn't really matter what city we are all living in. We're living in Covid19. Kinda like Stalag 17.

But on a lighter note. Days are passing, and I am reminded of Joni Mitchell's song about the carousel of time. Because this is all about time. We have spent over five months dealing with this pandemic, and it has impacted all of us in more ways than we probably realize.

Today, I was listening to my local NPR station do a segment about how we are dealing with anxiety and depression through this pandemic. My friends and I often ask each other about this. But the truth is, a lot of people still don't talk about how they are feeling. We share a lot about what we are doing; how we are coping. But, as we move through our days, we should be feeling a lot of stuff: fear; anger; isolation; either family members being too much in our space or loneliness in our aloneness; boredom; frustration; helplessness. Those are the bad feelings. But a lot of the people who phoned in to talk about how they were dealing with the pandemic spoke about positive changes in their lives: reconnecting with friends and family; establishing a new hobby; getting onto a more positive fitness regimen; being creative, and, of course there were the ubiquitous bread bakers. Granted it all takes motivation and work. But, it is possible to make lemonade... (as well as bread).

My friends sometimes ask me to get together with them, socially distanced of course. And I have done so a few times. But I don't feel that I need to. It is enough to be in touch by phone, or text, or even email. While I have always enjoyed all the conversations over lunch or dinner, it's not the same today. It will be. But right now, it's weird to sit with people with masks on. And we're fortunate that we can see each other via Facetime w/out masks. On my end, that requires a make-up session, but I'm up for that. Make-up and pajamas works pretty well for me.

I have written about how I figured out my plan to get through this, and it has worked effectively for the most part. For the most part. There are still times when I want to cry out: Enough! Uncle! Hey, I live alone. So I actually do cry that stuff right out, and often loudly. But my equilibrium returns sooner or later. I work out, I answer emails, I clean closets, I cook. I watch the Dodgers win. Days go by and summer, happily, will end. Normally, I love summer, but I am so over this summer. Over. It.

I do have a medium-level of anger that is just below the surface. I become aware of this when I venture out to the market, and people pay no heed to the rules of social distancing, or they are rude to a fellow customer or cashier. I do have a low level of depression and sadness. But I can live with that. Have lived with it. Will live with it.

I have thought a lot about this. I think that, in the end, to get through anything including this pandemic and this life, you have to have faith. And a fundamental understanding of existential philosophy, literature, and good, old-fashioned psychology. Human frailty, our own and that of those around us, will take up much of our thoughts and emotions as we go through it all. And all we can ever hope for, with all of the tools available, is that we can comprehend it a little. And that may just be enough to get us by.

It will soon be Labor Day. A marker in time. As Joni sang: The seasons, they go 'round and 'round. We are currently captured in a carousel of time and Covid. But we are moving through and someday... someday, it absolutely will be behind us. And the lessons we learned in going through it together just might sustain us in the future. I believe this. And, trust me, you can too. Thank you for reading my blog.

The WHO/Who

 Los Angeles, still, probably forever...

I am cautious about where I get my news. These days it is hard to get unbiased news on TV. The local stations are blatant in their quest for ratings, and what is with the women in cocktail dresses doing weather? Cable news skews away from the middle in both directions. And online news is dangerous, especially if people skim articles or only read the headlines. Danger! This way be dragons.

I subscribe to a few news sources online which I deem to be reliable. I read The Wall Street Journal and The New York Times more or less cover-to-cover once a week when I buy the print version for the food, lifestyle and literary sections. Honestly, that's why I buy them: NYT on Wednesday and WSJ on the weekend. But I do get a kick out of, once-in-awhile, saying to someone: As I was reading in the Wall Street Journal, recently...

Yesterday, I got hooked by a headline of a Wall Street Journal article online. The hook said something to the effect of How the WHO almost failed in their... Now, I love The Who. I've seen them in concert three times, and their Who's Next tour concert was one of the best concerts I have seen in my life (I saw The Beatles, I saw Pavoratti, I've seen a lot of concerts). So I clicked on. Of course you know what's coming. The WHO is the World Health Organization.

This really annoys me. And, as you might garner from recent, and frankly future posts, I am easily annoyed right now. In fact, I am working hard to keep my blog from being a stream of rants. But this one has been brewing for a long time. Why are we eliminating words from our vocabulary? Isn't this part of the dumbing-down of our culture or worse, pandering to the cool youth of our culture who have created all of this shorthand? I often have to look up the meaning of some of these FOMOs and other internet English abreves. When did our time become so important that we can't write out words? I accepted the switch from email to texting, though I am currently enjoying pandemic email correspondence with a few friends. Texting is expedient, and while not as easy as using a full-sized keyboard, you can still text meaningfully. I write out most words, though I think a few ASAPs and LOLs are acceptable. But then there is tagging. I have yet to ever tag anyone's texts. I find it incredibly dismissive. If you don't have the time or want to make the effort to respond with a word or two, then don't respond. I don't need the Batman cartoon caption from you. I am a believer in words and in language. I am an admirer of the power of words and communication. And, frankly, I don't like where this is going. I get that texting is an expediency, and a great method for a quick check-in. It can also be used for meaningful exchanges. No problem with that. But it can feel demoralizing to share something heartfelt and have someone respond with an exclamation point in a bubble. And, as a college graduate, I find it exasperating that I sometimes need to decypher what obscure government committee is being referred to by their initials. Trust me, I get POTUS and SCOTUS (though the latter sounds like it's related to male anatomy). But we are now winding way down this path. And, as I am redundantly writing in many posts here, we gotta lotta time on our hands right now. I would like to issue a plea that we use our words.

As for The Who and The WHO. I will pay more attention to caps in the future. Or, as the gorgeous Roger Daltry sang when I saw them in that stellar concert in 1971: I won't get fooled again... TYFRMB

Lamplights

Los Angeles, California

I live in all of the rooms of my house. And, as I write this, I am reminded of a friend who once told me that she thought of therapy as living in all the rooms of your house. I like that metaphor. But this post is not about therapy. It is about time.

While I live in all of the rooms of my house, there are rooms where I spend more time than in others. Obviously, my bedroom takes up about a third of my day. Through this pandemic time, my living room has become the mat half of my gym, with my dining room serving as the aerobics half. My dining room has a mirrored wall, so it functions perfectly in this capacity, once the dining room table had its leaves removed, and the now-round table has been pushed into a corner.

But I probably spend the most time in my den. My den was not a room I used very much in the past. It has a sectional sofa, and it is the room where the primary TV resides. But, going back ten or fifteen years, I didn't watch a lot of TV. In fact, I watched very little. But now, the TV is more like pandemic central. And the den has become a bit of a cocoon for me. It's a nice room. It has a view of sometimes-stunning sunsets, and a fireplace and a large TV. And it has two lamps.

The lamps are connected to timers so that they come on at sunset. My house is also, more or less, filled with battery-operated candles that also are on timers. This costs me a fortune in batteries when I replace them each quarter, but that's ok. With all the house lights off, the candles provide a pleasing glow, especially in the summer. But again, this post is about the lamps.

I recently noticed that I could no longer read in the evening, as it was too dark before the lamps came on. They were set to 8:45 pm, and that was working fine in June and July. But now, half-way through August, the lamps were running late. So today, I reset the timers to 8:00. That might be a little early, and, in truth, optimistic. But, I went for it. Because I cannot wait for time to pass. It's all I think about. I wanted to skip August. And now I want to skip September, and most of October. Just... move, damn time.

I suspect everyone feels so. I spoke with two friends this past week who are struggling hard. One said that she had received a survey from the CDC which asked, along with other questions, was she feeling depressed as a result of the pandemic? She was alarmed to find that she needed to answer that she was. She is a very vivacious, energetic, and social being. Of course she is going to be depressed. Another friend reported that he wanted to go to restaurants, and wanted to travel the world. Of course we want to do what we cannot. It's getting harder.

Tonight, it is still light outside, and we are in the throes of a wicked heatwave. I will prepare some salmon (remember when this was kinda a food blog..?). I will watch the Los Angeles Dodgers play the Los Angeles Angels at Anaheim (if that makes any sense to you, you should really leave a comment). And I will wait, with some anticipation, for my lamps to light when the sun is on its way down. I feel I've gained forty-five minutes on my daily time watch. I feel I have taken a great big giant step towards autumn. Generally I am not happy to see summer wane. And that giant step... Not a big deal, right? But right now, in the world according to Covid, it somehow feels like it is. Thank you for reading my blog.

Lobster Rolls

Los Angeles, California (where else?)

Todd texted me to ask if they could bring Connie + Ted's lobster rolls for an al fresco distanced visit. Connie and Ted's Lobster Rolls? Don't be kidding me, I responded. I set the big table outside, loaded the cooler with ice and drinks, set out both Clorox wipes and antibacterial hand wipes, and picked out an outfit to go with matching mask. Kinda my thing right now, matching masks to outfits.

They arrived with the lobster rolls before six. We were just coming off of a heat wave, and I had worried that it would be too hot outside, but it was perfect. As were the lobster rolls. SO good, even better than usual. Or maybe that's just how favorite food tastes when you haven't had it in a while.

They were the first dinner guests at my house since March 14th. And the first restaurant food I have eaten. And the first game I have played. We played Trivial Pursuit after dinner. The original Genus One Trivial Pursuit. It is forty years old and contains a lot of questions about the moon landing. It asked what the policy of racial segregation is (not was) called in South Africa. Entertainment questions were about movies prior to 1980. You wanna win? Play this with a millennial.

It was a lovely summer night and wonderfully comfortable to talk and laugh with old friends (family, in a good way), albeit masked throughout. They came directly to my patio and I designated a door and a powder room for their exclusive use. And you know what? I hate this. Of course I want to see friends and I want to open my home to my friends. But the protocol for dealing with these events is that you have to treat everyone as if they are contaminated. I want my house open to my friends. I want house guests. I want to be able to share food and drinks. But not now. You have to keep your distance and so, to add insult to injury, no greeting and parting behavior. This means (obviously), no hugging. I LOVE hugging and I miss it a lot. By the time this is over, I will be down about a thousand hugs. Seriously, the enforced disconnection is killing.

As I have written before, Lynnette comes to my home on a loose schedule of about once a month. She and Jim normally travel all summer, so I sometimes don't see her for months at a time. But this is five months! The last time I saw her was when we hugged at Sky International Airport in Phoenix before I boarded that near ill-fated flight to Monterey. We talk at length on the phone, but it's not the same. And I took for granted the days wandering around Ikea with her, eating Fatburgers, and traveling around the world while playing Ticket to Ride, thinking we would do it all over again next month. Which next month? And the worst of it, no plans can be made until plans can be made. It just keeps getting harder.

I guess we need to keep calm and carry on, right? Spending time masked, with Todd and Christopher, playing an outdated trivia game is better than not seeing them at all. And the lobster rolls from Connie and Ted's reminded me of how easy it is to make lobster rolls. And the weather remains mild and pleasant which, frankly, is a little plain damn weird for August here. So, I count the blessings as they present themselves. Time will pass, even if for now, it is being squandered on a pandemic. And so, I need to end on a happier note: Lobster rolls. What was it Sam said about drinking champagne as the Nazis were marching into Paris? This ought to take the sting out of being occupied? Would lobster rolls and champagne take the sting out of being held hostage by the coronavirus? Can't hurt... Thank you for reading my blog.

Time Out

Los Angeles, California

I have loaded recent posts by writing about how I spend my days. And when my days are filled, I do pretty well. But, there are those other times, the ones that feel as if I have spent the entire day walking in circles. Certainly I am not actually walking in circles all day. It just feels like it. I have usually accomplished something, even if it is just brushing my teeth and making my bed. And, truthfully, even on those days I generally accomplish more. But I have found that setting aside days for leisure: doing crossword puzzles; trying to take a nap; or recently, hanging out by the pool reading, these seem to be the worst days. Lord knows I haven't taken a vacation since March, and I am a quart low on vacations over the past five years. So why can't I enjoy a Vacay Day? Well, the obvious has already been addressed here: Distractions help a lot. Even if you don't have the disease, you can still make yourself feel bad (angry, frightened, anxious, frustrated) by thinking about it. And, honestly, even without a deadly pandemic, there are a lot of things going on in our world that can freak you out if you take too much time to reflect upon them. Keeping busy keeps your mind in a better place, focused on your task or activity.

Hanging out by the pool has been an unexpected challenge. I have a pool in the center of a U-shaped home, set in a courtyard which, along with the house, is on top of a gentle hill. It is private enough. And the view, looking up from the lounges by the pool to the mid-century modern home with its well-trimmed, swaying palms that sits above my back hill, is pretty nice. This should be the perfect place to hang, read, write, and swim. But for years I have shared the space and now I am alone. Living alone works for me. I actually enjoy it. But something about being outside by the pool brings the ghosts of summers past with it. And I miss spending time with my friends.

Brendan and Diana began coming to our home almost twenty years or so back. They first came with their daughters, who slept feet to feet on the L-shaped sectional sofa in the family room. After the girls were on their own, Brendan and Diana came alone, and their visits fell into a pattern in the days spent together. We would get up at staggered times, and drink our coffee and tea, with a side of conversation, on the smaller patio with the round teak table. Breakfast was help-yourself pastries, yogurt, granola, hard-boiled eggs, and fruit. Days were spent by the pool, or in the pool playing basketball or having float races, fueled by juice drinks and beer from the outdoor cooler. Snacks provided mid-day. Sometimes during the day I would slip inside to do some prep work for dinner, which was usually a simple pasta or roast chicken and salad with wine and good cheeses. And there was always cake.

After dinner, we relentlessly played Shithead (I apologize for the vulgarity, but that is what it is called), a card game they taught us, until well into the early hours of morning. While playing, Diana and I sang along with the songs from my playlists which accompanied our games. Then bed, sleep, do over. On the last night, they would take us out to dinner. Two years ago, Joel and I chose a Cuban restaurant, so they could experience something somewhat akin to our salsa club nights.

This year, as July 4th rolled around, I began to spend time outside with the idea that I would enjoy my outside solitude as well as my pool. But, so far, it hasn't worked. I have just felt sad that I am not enjoying this space with Joel and with my friends -- with any friends. And I have begun to think how I can do that. Clearly, it is not going to work with Joel as he continues as an essential worker and we continue to shelter apart. Nor will it work with Brendan and Diana as travel would be involved as well as co-habiting. We have all been cautious, but any risk is unnecessary risk. But, maybe I can devise a frister day, with one of my girlfriends who has been just as cautious as I have throughout this time. I spend so much time talking or texting with the girls. Maybe I can move a conversation to the lounges under the umbrellas by the pool. They are easily six-feet apart.

This all brings up the continuing hardship of this time, feeling bereft of the pleasures we have come to expect that we will always have. There is certainly a lesson in this, and I expect it is about appreciation. Recently, I watched the film Room for the first time and I couldn't stop myself from thinking that there were some parallels to life under Covid19. It's as if we have taken ourselves hostage as our only defense to something our country hasn't a handle on. And the feelings that come with this are feelings that must be felt. They provide the awareness part of awareness plus action equals change. The action will be in how much I will strive to appreciate my life when I am once again free and able to share my home with the people in my life. And the change will come from viewing the world in a different way, through that lens of appreciation. Only then will time out become welcome again. And that, along with sharing my home each summer with friends, like Diana and Brendan, is something to anticipate with no small degree of gladness. Thank you for reading my blog.