Coda

How did we do? This year, we had time to play some and explore some. We had unexpected events like my breaking my pelvis which threw all our plans into disarray and brought me face to face with my old age. We had wonderful trips. We said goodbye to people, places and things we have loved. We cried over lost opportunities; we celebrated some events for the last time.

Are we lucky, lucky, lucky? Yes. We come from privilege. We had time to make decisions on our own terms, rather than to react to events over which we have no control. I know that this is not the reality for most. However, if you have any chance at all to take some time before tumbling along your path, do it. Who knows where a gap year, even if you’re not grey haired, will take you.

Last Ride

Today, official numbers are:
   USA:  1,242,267 sick; 
               72,767 dead
   World: 3,765,648 sick,
                260,384 dead

Now the numbers are projections of illnesses and deaths. For its  total population and demographics heavy with us elderly, Florida has been a charmed state, ranking 45th, with 657.9 deaths per 100,000 residents. The US is 726 deaths per 100,000.

One factor is that many of us began our self isolation early, even though our governor dragged his heels on declaring stay-at-home orders and our Spring Breakers partied on. Old people are cautious. Now many Floridians are anxious to have the open-up orders given as quickly as possible. It’s the economy, stupid, to use that Clintonesque phrase. And I have sympathy. Thank goodness all of our children have jobs deemed “essential”. Most families weren’t that lucky. For Grant and me, stay-at-home will be our way of life until we know more.

No, We Can’t Ride Without Our Mirrors  

In the meantime, our year of living on Key Biscayne is over. This morning, we took our last ride on the Key up to Biscayne Bay. I love Miami. It is such a beautiful city, perhaps because it’s so new. The architecture is playful. Lots of color, cutouts, odd shapes. One of the buildings downtown has huge ribbons and bows tied on it.

We are almost all packed up, ready for the movers to come tomorrow morning. Grant is cleaning the refrigerator, and I’m sanitizing the bathrooms. Two more boxes to tape shut. Then it’s either drink the dredges of the booze or dump them down the drain. I’m working on the former. Coconut rum on ice. Next up is the anisette.

A Load Off My Mind

The image keeps spinning through my brain like a movie: the huge (visualize 5’ long and 2’ in diameter) auger falls off the trailer in front of us, then bounces higher than our car, as we speed down I-95. Thank goodness the auger came down to the left, and Grant swerved to the right, so our car wasn’t crushed, and we weren’t killed or injured. Our windshield did suffer a crack, perhaps from a chunk of asphalt chipped up when the auger touched down the first time. No other damage, except a few nerves.

After Grant helped the driver reload his equipment, he let Grant photograph his driver license, then sped off without a thank you or a wave. In Florida, windshields are automatically covered with no deductible, so he could have been nice, but I guess it wasn’t a great day for him. At least he noticed his load had broken free.

One day I was driving on I-595 to pick up Patten at American Heritage School where he attended high school on a 4-year academic scholarship. I think he is still listed as never graduated because the ad min didn’t record his required volunteer hours he had worked at the Discovery Center. But he did finish at U of Miami with a BA in International Business, so now moot. Back to I-595. That day, I was following a pickup towing a trailer with a big sheet of plate glass which started flexing back and forth in its stand.

To be safe, I decided to change lanes, and just as I did, the pane of glass flexed one more time, then broke into a million pieces. It just disintegrated all over the highway. Once I got to the school, and Patten looked at my car, we realized a piece of glass had cut my AC hose, so that was a pricey lane change. The crazy part is that the truck driver and his passenger just went speeding down the road, without a care. They never looked back or noticed their glass was gone. I almost followed them to see the expression on their faces when they got to their job site and found their trailer empty. Still makes me smile to think of them scratching their heads in confusion. I hope it didn’t cost them too much in the experience.

Turnpike Stop 

Friday, we were on I-95 because we had taken a carload of treasurers to our new house. We had been in a dither figuring out how to pack our paintings and my plants, when Grant suggested we just put them in the car and head on up to Windermere. My knee-jerk reaction was, “No!”  We have been so good about staying home, why would we risk driving up the turnpike with the necessary gas, bathroom, and food stops we’d have to make? It wouldn’t be safe.  But it really made sense, so we packed the car, put our masks and hand sanitizer in easy reach, and drove north.

Saturday, our covenant group check-in questions were: when will we feel safe, and what will we do then? I had been thinking about the pandemic and whether I will feel safe enough to fly to visit Mary in San Diego this summer. After seeing that auger fall off the trailer and bounce over our car, I realized safety is an illusion. I can do everything right, but it may not matter. That doesn’t mean I’m going to go hug a stranger or buy tickets to a UM football game, but it does remind me that I can’t control everything even when I think I can.

Death and Taxes

Latest Figures  

Today, official numbers are:
   USA:  1,040,223 sick; 
               59,819 dead
   World: 3,173,410 sick,
                220,413 dead

The US has had over a million people sick and more than 50k dead. And as certain as the sky is now bluer with less traffic to create smog, those numbers will continue to grow as we open up and go out. The curve has been flattened, but the area underneath remains the same, just spread out over a longer period of time.

Our other certainty is taxes, so, even though the IRS has generously ruled that, due to the coronavirus, Americans do not have to file until July 15th, rather than the usual April 15th, I decided to get our papers together. I usually wait for the deadline to loom, then frantically try to get it all done. Why not give myself a break this year? Not wanting to schlep a package to the post office, I have dutifully scanned it all and forwarded the file to Dennis who has prepared our return for years. I had convinced myself that I would then throw away all the actual papers, but I was wrong, and once again I have the lot bulldog-clipped and tossed into my important papers box. I have been able to scan and pitch our medical receipts, so one small step towards the paperless society.

The later filing date was a hope to keep the economy more intact if we didn’t pay taxes for a few months and used the money to support local businesses, which, of course, are all closed. I appreciate the thought since I’d rather keep control of my money as long as possible, but I’m not clear this idea was thought through. And, by the way, I read that those of us who make quarterly estimated payments still have our June 15th payment on time. Huh? The down side is that since I make sure we always have to pay a little, not get a refund, the IRS doesn’t have bank routing and account numbers to be able to deposit our $1,200/adult stimulus money. Social Security has the information. Big Brother doesn’t seem very organized. Thank goodness we weren’t planning on spending the money in the near future. Actually we were planning to parcel  it out to our local food bank and nature groups, but they’ll still be needing money, no matter when we get it. Perhaps we will be some of the lucky people who get a real check, with ”Donald J Trump” written on the memo line. Certainly suitable for framing.

I also read that American citizens married to illegal aliens are specifically excluded from receiving a stimulus payment. Talk about hateful legislation. Fortunately lawsuits are filed. Unfortunately, I’d bet the majority of the people in this group are people who need the money now, not in years when the courts finally rule. One more letter to be sent to my Congress people.

My Life Goes On

Naples High, Class of 1967

The song “How Can I Keep from Singing?” runs through my head. 

          My life goes on in endless song

          Above earth’s lamentations,

          I hear the real, though far-off hymn

          That hails a new creation. 

The Rolling Stones
One World Concert for WHO

Our lives go on, changed and unchanged. We are talking with our family and friends more, we are being with them less, actually not at all. Zoom is our new medium. Our phones, tables, and TVs are full of faces in black boxes. My high school girlfriends, the Rolling Stones, the Metropolitan Opera orchestra, talk and play in my living room in little squares.

Metropolitan Opera Orchestra for On-Line Gala

It reminded me of a set of paintings made by an artist when we were homeschooling. (which, by the way, is how everyone is being educated now, but in the 80’s and 90’s was a rare phenomenon.) We organized an art co-op with 4 other families, whose beliefs ran from a multi-generational family who followed an Indian guru who eventually convinced them all to sell their property in Broward County and move to North Carolina to an evangelical family who didn’t believe in evolution. I’d say we were in the middle of the continuum but it was more like a set of points radiating out.

The second year, I led a unit on painting, using Drawing From the Right Side of the Brain for my guide.  As part of our weekly meetings, we visited an oncologist who was also an artist who painted portraits of HIV victims as they were then known. At the time this was a deadly, scary disease. In fact, when a woman approached our UU congregation about attending and bringing her HIV-infected foster babies, we had to do some soul searching. She had been turned away from another church. Easy to think now that we should have welcomed her with open arms, living up to our professed values, but our younger son was 18 months old and was going to be in the nursery Sunday mornings with her children. Our solution was to have Grant volunteer as did several of our gay members. Only time we hadn’t begged to get nursery workers.

The oncologist/artist painted portraits of each of the children in our co-op plus a couple of the younger sibs. Although she wouldn’t give us the paintings, she did made a collage of them, with black borders between each child’s face. A Zoom view from time before time.

We were so afraid when HIV first came into our consciousness. Could you get it from the air, from toilet seats, from them, whoever them were? Now it seems to be one more thing out there for which we need to be aware, but not afraid. No longer victims of, but rather people living with AIDS, because it is a chronic disease rather than a death sentence.

         Through all the tumult and the strife
          I hear its music ringing,
          It sounds and echo in my soul.
          How can I keep from singing?

Songwriters: Eithne Ni Bhraonain / Nicky Ryan / Roma Ryan

         

Latest Numbers

Today, official numbers are:
   USA:  826,240 sick; 
               45,373 dead
   World: 2,573,143 sick,
                177,602 dead

The US now has almost double the number of deaths as our nearest, dare I say, competitor, Italy. So I guess we’re Number One in something. Partially because we are doing a better job of testing and recoding deaths accurately, partially because we are bigger country and the smaller ones like France, Spain, and Italy, are running out of victims. Africa and South America have yet to weigh in. China has reigned in its contagion, but only by draconian means with phone apps everyone must use that show whether they are allowed out or must be quarantined.

In this country, cases are beginning to show up in the hinterlands, causing meat packing plants to shut down, and food supply lines to slow, because the workers are sick. Unemployment is estimated at 22,000,000. BTW, Florida is evidently the slowest state to process unemployment claims. Another dubious Number One. I’m debating about worrying about the food pipeline. To that end, I ordered okra and eggplant seeds, the only veggies that will grow in the Florida summer heat. Plus some sunflowers and marigolds for fun. I guess they are also edible. Wonder if we can catch fish in our little canal. Maybe I should put fishing rods on the list.

If Only We Wanted to Drive Cross-country

I guess good news is that oil prices are so far down, they’re negative, implying that producers will have to pay to have their oil stored, rather selling to refineries. It’s a matter of futures, short selling, and other financial shenanigans, but the bottom line is that the bottom line is way down. Gas is cheap, if we had anywhere to go and wanted to.

Twice before I remember really low gas prices. The first was around 1970. Steve and I would drive straight from Atlanta to Naples in our muscle car with the 350+ cc engine. Dang, I can’t remember the model. During a gas war, we paid $0.25/gallon. Since that car got about 6 miles to the gallon, cheap gas really helped our poor student budget.

The second time was when my children were young, so mid-90’s. I don’t know why gas dropped in price, and I’m too lazy to look it up, but it went below $1.00. I remember having them look at the pump so they could say they’d seen 2-digit gas prices in their lifetimes. I was driving a Dodge Minivan which got a lot better mileage than the go-fast car, but it sure wasn’t as much fun to drive.

Happy 50th Anniversary, Earth Day. This Great Pause has brought blue skies to Los Angeles and cleaner water in Venice. Surely all our national parks are enjoying the respite from millions of visitors. If only humans could learn.

I Miss the Beach

“The Corona Can Has Arrived.
Another Way to Find Your Beach”  

The natives are getting restless. I saw my first lawbreaker a couple of days ago when we rode our bikes past the beach. A woman was tucked down behind the little dune, with her feet in the water. She ducked her head down when she noticed me. Sunday, as we came over Rickenbacker Causeway bridge, I saw several people swimming at the north end of the beach. A cop’s car was parked nearby, so I wonder if they just ran into the water, then were given the bum’s rush out by the police. In either case, I’m jealous. The water looks so inviting, and the weather has turned hot. How ironic is the beer truck delivering to the local grocery store?

Stuff I Thought I’d Go Through
Before Moving to House.
So Delusional.   

We were coming back from packing up our storage unit, and the best thing I can say is that it’s done. Grant took on his grumpy packing persona he drags out for all packing events, and even though I asked him to be patient, he continued to bark orders, punctuated with exasperated sighs. I’m not sure why I was surprised. Any camping trips or vacations began with his being annoyed. At least after the next three weeks, I’m unlikely to have to ever pack again.

My friend Mary, who moved from Plantation to Pace, Florida a couple of years ago, told me from her experience, at our ages, I had one move left in me. She was right. I’ve just divided it into two parts: Fort Lauderdale to Key Biscayne for the first and biggest pack, now to Windermere with a much smaller one. Of course, something’s, like the kitchen and clothes, have to be down both times, but the big move was the first. I was on my own for that one. Thank goodness I had my friend Sally come help, and I hired Ryann for the last few days. I wouldn’t have made it without them. This time, because of coronavirus fear, it’s just me and Grant.

Thinking about swimming in our new pool is keeping me going. Or should I say, my head above water. But I do wish I could go to the beach.