Achieved my second dose of the COVID vaccine last Friday. Happy to report no side effects have shown up so far. Even my shot-arm didn't give me much trouble.
We pause in the midst of a deadly pandemic to celebrate the inauguration of President Joe Biden and Vice-President Kamala Harris. Proud of my state of Georgia for helping elect them both and for electing Jon Ossoff and Rev. Raphael Warnock as our new U.S. Senators. It's a joyful, hopeful day. Onward!
A few of the day's highlights:
Joe Biden sworn in as President
Kamala Harris sworn in as Vice-President
Lady Gaga's Star Spangled Banner, powerful and perfect
Amanda Gorman, 22 years old, delivers her poem "The Hill We Climb"
Georgia's newest U.S. Senators sworn into office by our new Vice-President/President of the Senate
The whole roll-out of the vaccine is a hot mess, with every state and community doing it in different ways. I suspect that the only folks getting the shots right now are of a particular race and socio-economic class, and while I, too, am of that particular race and socio-economic group, even I can't get the damn thing. I worry about me. I worry about non-white poor folks getting access.
Life is beyond stressful right now on every level. I believe I'm holding it together for the world to see, but inside? Nah. Not so much.
At work, I stay masked and keep my distance from our guests. At admissions or in the shop, I'm behind plexiglass. When I'm at Swan House or Smith Farm, I'm outside, masked, and keep my distance (I talk loud).
All my shopping is done online, I do not eat in restaurants. I do not meet friends. My immediate family, plus the other set of grandparents, have been together since late May/June, keeping our contacts few and far between. All meetings for work, church, etc., are via Zoom or Microsoft Teams.
I get a COVID test whenever I feel it might be necessary. Sometimes the rapid one, sometimes the PCR. Keeping safe is my top priority.
I'm emotionally, mentally, and financially tired, drained, stressed. Having to chase down this vaccine is too much. So, I give up.
And I do not want any more advice on how to get this done. Unless you text, call, or email me saying you are on the way over to my apartment with the first vaccine injection and can guarantee that you'll be over in a couple of weeks with injection number 2, then please, no more suggestions.
Congratulations to those of you who have managed to start the vaccine process. But for me, I'm out until the system is easier to navigate.
They were coming to Washington, D.C. on January 6 to try to stop the certification of the Electoral College votes for President-elect Joe Biden.
Well, let 'em come, right? Let 'em swagger around making goofy threats, waving their stupid Trump flags. Men acting like little boys with their brainless women - what could they do?
The Capitol is well-protected, and there's always the National Guard. Look at all the over-reaction to peaceful protesters in June - tear-gas, rubber bullets, huge show of force by law enforcement. Naturally, all this would be in place to greet the Trump whackadoodles, right?
Oh how wrong we were.
Goaded by the most disgusting man ever to hold the office of president, the MAGA idiots stormed the Capitol building, intent on destruction and perhaps murder of elected officials. Videos show Capitol police opening the barriers for these terrorists and are most definitely complicit in this act of domestic terrorism.
Can you tell how angry I am right now?
Hm. What was the difference between the over-reaction to peaceful protests in June and the lack of law enforcement reaction to this mob terrorist attack on our nation's Capitol?
Hint: skin color.
I'm so angry, I can't complete this post in any cogent manner. How many law enforcement officers were involved? Military? Elected officials? How can any American with half a brain support this?
More violence is promised by these low IQ, trashy thugs in the coming days. We shall see if this country can hold together. Democracy is fragile, evidently, and what we thought was a foundational Constitution is being shredded by 40% of our population.
Maybe I should be fearful, but what I am is angry. Steam-coming-out-of-my-ears angry.
Oh, and coronavirus cases and deaths have skyrocketed.
It has been an historic year. One damn thing after another, actually, but lest I tempt fate on this almost last day of the year, I seem to have survived. So many didn't. No need for a yearly recap - who'd want that? Still, I do have some last thoughts to get down for posterity, so here goes.
Things Done:
And that's it. That's all. I managed to stay alive.
Things Left Undone:
I didn't finish writing any of my great American novels, become a master chef, learn to knit or throw pottery, run a marathon, sort my finances, organize old photos, or become fluent in Urdu. I didn't even read as many books this year as I did in 2019.
What I Learned:
And that's all I have to say about 2020. It's been a watershed year in the most awful of ways. Too many senseless deaths, life upended in a million ways. I'm thankful that at least I can hold my grands close, and I pray all of us stay well.
Let's tiptoe into 2021 and lie low until we see if it's safe.
I'm staving off holiday blues by reminding myself that 1) I'm alive - not only that, but I'm not - nor have I been, so far - hooked up to a ventilator; 2) daughter made it though a bout of coronavirus and son-in-law and grands have managed to avoid it completely; 3) the kids and I (and their teachers) have a welcome break from virtual school; and 4) meh - I wear a mask, mostly stay home, and keep my distance, but a major chunk of this is out of my control.
In short, I view this as a go-with-the-flow Christmas. It won't be the best Christmas ever - memorable, but not the best. Major family traditions have gone by the wayside for 2020, but we still get plenty of laughs playing board games, creating outlandish art projects, and modeling in impromptu fashion shows.
Yes, I have a tree with colorful lights. I'm watching Christmas movies non-stop. The balsam candle makes everything smell Christmasy. Christmas cards from family and friends connect relationships to the season. And, of course, the food. But that once-a-year-definitely-Christmas feeling is missing this year.
So Merry COVID Christmas. The main thing is to stay safe. Try to live long enough to see the end of this pandemic and Trump. Wear a mask. Only hang out with my own little safe group. Vote. Get the vaccine when offered. And next year - next year - I'll double-dose on Christmas spirit.
But this year, I'm just going to relax and get through it.
Except it's not.
We'll be about a third of our usual Thanksgiving crowd, paring way down, and sticking to the immediate family to stay safe. We'll miss seeing everyone. We'll miss everyone's special recipes.
Still. I'm thankful. I'm thankful that most of the family has avoided coronavirus so far, and the ones who have been laid low have recovered.
I'm thankful we - and the teachers - have survived virtual school.
I'm thankful I'm still semi-gainfully employed (The gainful part is in question.)
I'm thankful we elected a normal, respectable person to lead our country and pray we can recover from the last four years.
I'm thankful I can read and write. I'm thankful I have a comfy bed and a big ol' bathtub.
Mostly I'm thankful for my family. Which is why we're staying as safe as we know how this weird holiday season.
Tomorrow will be great. It will be memorable. The goal: To eat till our buttons pop and survive to see the new year.
And, of course, to be as thankful as can be for love, laughter, and good health.
This has everything and nothing to do with the current pandemic. It's really not the year to get twisted into knots about what to buy me.
I don't need more stuff. And what I do need can't be bought. Sleep. More time and adventures with the grandkids, family, and friends. Peace of mind. Continued good health. Time.
So please no gifts. Please.
Christmas is my very favorite time of year. What most people hate about it, I love - all the carols, all the lights, the hustle-bustle, too-full calendar. All the corny stuff. And I love Baby Jesus. Santa. A live Christmas tree. Lights. Peppermint. Pine. Cinnamon. Oranges. All of it. I love.
But the prezzies? Nah. Don't need 'em. Please, nothing for me.
And for the record, I'm not buying you anything, either. The only ones on my list getting gifts are the grandkids, because - you know - grandkids.
If you've already bought my gift, keep it for yourself or donate it. I truly do not want anything for Christmas, including any guilt that will ensue if you get me something and I have nothing for you (because I won't have anything for you).
So sit back and enjoy your November and December without wondering what to get me for Christmas. And that will be my gift to you.
P.S. - I love Christmas cards. Be sure to send me those.
As a daughter of the South, I already knew - though I'll never understand - the Trump voter. They are family. They are friends. I know what drives them and what they're afraid of. I've listened to the fears. I've listened to the hopes.
Many are one-issue voters - abortion, guns. Many come from a homogeneous background - white, Protestant or evangelical, consider themselves the "real" Americans, triggered by words like "socialism." Others see their world changing in a way that leaves them afraid and confused. And when constantly told that the "other" is taking your job, your way of life, killing babies, and coming after your guns, folks will follow anyone who promises to put a stop to whatever they're afraid of, whether it's bullshit or not.
Got it.
Now, Trump voter, it's your turn. It's time for you to tuck away your fears and preconceived notions about us. You need to listen and really hear what millions and millions of us think. We outnumber you, so trying to understand us will be to your benefit.
Like you, we represent a wide range of beliefs, fears, and hopes.
Like you, we consider ourselves moral and patriotic.
Like you, we want what's best for our country and the people - all the people - who live here.
Unlike you, we're not a very homogeneous group racially, culturally, economically, politically.
There are a lot more "unlike yous" that you need to understand, but those differences are as varied and personal as there are individuals.
We are certainly not politically monolithic. We range from solid center - even a little right of center - to left-wing radical. In fact, we're all over the place politically. I know this frustrates you. It sometimes frustrates me. But I believe our crazy political spectrum is a strength, not a weakness. I'm proud that we don't have to tick off all the center/left boxes to work for good.
So. Now it's your turn. You have to wonder why this country and cities around the world took to the streets to celebrate the defeat and downfall of Donald Trump. If you don't wonder or don't want to know, I invite you to come out of your very protective comfort zone and learn about us.
Honestly, I'm not feeling very kumbiya at the moment. I'm over trying to understand you. It's time for you to take the time and effort to understand me.
I don't know if any hearts and minds will be changed. But we all have to live and work and play in this country together. We are all citizens of the United States. It is in our best interest to at least find some common ground.
The ball is in your court, Trump supporter. I'm ready when you are.
Please, God. For the sake of John Lewis, Ruth Bader Ginsberg, and those of us still living and breathing in this land, end the nightmare that started four years ago tonight. Amen. #BidenHarris2020
We're finishing up the 9th week of virtual school, and I'm still in awe of the teachers. The amount of work they put into ensuring a variety of teaching methods, learning tools, apps and off-computer assignments that allows for just about every learning style is truly amazing. They seem to work around the clock, as assignments come through at all hours of the day and night.
As a writer I'm particularly impressed with the amount of writing the kids have to do, both the 2nd graders and the 5th graders. All are getting well-schooled in grammar and parts of speech. Punctuation, capitalization, and neat handwriting count. Dramatic and information narratives, short dramas, and writing exercises for, yes, language arts, but also math, science, and social studies are required several times a week. Glad they're all getting lots of practice in expressing themselves effectively.
Virtual learning has its ups and downs - so much freedom and variety, but a lot of extra work for everyone (especially the teachers) and just plain ol' missing the structure of being at school, being with friends.
And I have to admit - inwardly screaming, actually - that I'm tired. Working six days a week - three with the kids and three at the History Center - is testing me right now. It's a physical thing, but it's more than that. I feel dispirited. Part of it is this crazy virus, certainly, but it's also the awful things that Trump has foisted upon our nation and the stress of worrying about the upcoming election and its outcome. (Yes, I've voted and my ballot received and accepted.)
So, yes, months of stress and feeling helpless and hopeless wears on one. Throw in working a 6-day week, and I'm beginning to sink. Even all the Halloween candy and horror films aren't doing much to bring me cheer.
But like everybody else right now, I have no choice but to stay on this long, strange trip carrying a tiny candle of hope that we'll turn a corner and behold a better world.
So, fellow travelers, let's link arms and hold each other up as we struggle along. [insert hopeful Depression Era song here] Sigh.
Great horror stories - I mean really good ones - are hard to come by. Alas, most horror films since the 1970s seem to follow a few templates that wear thin after a while. Those story templates are:
Family living in New York/Chicago/Boston/London experiences some kind of trauma or upheaval (impending divorce, death of a child, loss of a job, or all three) and believing that somehow leaving the city behind will solve things, hightails it to some small village or bucolic setting to start anew. Unfortunately, horrors beyond all imagining await them in these little idyllic burgs - ancient curses, possessed houses, creepy yokel neighbors - that make anything NYC can throw at 'em look positively Disney-esque.
or
or
College students leaving trendy campus for fall/winter/spring/summer break, heading to a remote mountain or lake cabin, only to end up chopped to bits by inbred goofballs or monsters from the deep woods or lake.
These repetitive tropes, however, 
serve up an important lesson: bad things happen when you leave the city. I don't care how cute a cabin is or how peaceful that sweet small town looks, it's all a murderous, bloody facade. Flee the bright lights at your peril, children.
Now, there is the occasional city-horror story - Rosemary's Baby, Devil's Advocate, and several films about haunted rent-controlled apartments left to broke, unsuspecting relatives - but none are as terrifying as venturing outside the city limits to small-town or countryside locales. Anyway, who can turn down a fabulous apartment at the Dakota with Ruth Gordon as a next door neighbor, eh? Makes baby-devil worth it, I say. And a rent-controlled apartment? Shoot, who cares if it's haunted? I mean, even after bad things happen, you can forget it all by going to a Broadway show or a museum.
I'm a city girl, and I'll take the Dakota and Ruth Gordon every time.
After four weeks of virtual learning, you'd think all the kinks would've been ironed out, all technology glitches un-glitched, all transitions from app to platform to app would be seamless, and all stress levels at a post-yoga session calm. But, well, no.
With two 5th grade boys - in the same class, so they can work together and keep each other motivated much of the time - and two 2nd grade girls - different classes with the same assignments at different times (oy!) and a proclivity for a lot of social interaction, my job as monitor/proctor is to keep them on task, get them from one class to the next, and keep everyone engaged with whatever's happening on their screens. There have been melt-downs. There can be confusion. And every once in a while, Charlotte looks up and sends up a plaintive cry, "I want to go to school!"
I feel ya', girl!
Now, to be fair, there's a lot that has gotten easier. We're getting better at completing and submitting assignments. We've discovered the value of vigorous exercise (running, trampolining, hide-and-seek) during all breaks - even during the 10 minute ones. It makes a huge difference in the kids' ability to focus on the next class. The lessons are incredible - well thought-out and varied with short, cool videos, brief teacher instruction, group work, and interesting assignments that are fun to do.
But as tiring and frustrating this can be for our kids and their monitor, we do have the technology and the art supplies and the science and math journals, and a safe, organized place to work. My heart breaks for all the children who don't have those things. My heart breaks for parents having a hard time following the instructions (shoot, I have trouble with that) and making sure their kids understand the assignments. This is hard. It's hard for me as an English-speaker with a post-grad education. I can't imagine doing this with anything less, Plus still having to go out to work, which I'm doing but only part-time. How full-timers are handling this, I'll never know.
All any of us can do - those of us with resources and those blessed ones without - is to keep going, plow ahead, and not give up. Easier said than done on many days - I get it. And for all the teachers working 24/7 creating and distributing lesson plans, schedules, assignments, and offering counseling times, words cannot express our appreciation for you. I pray this translates into higher salaries and benefits for you.
So on to virtual week five. We're living through historic times and as long as we all keep well, everything will be fine. Really.
Of course the kids miss in-person connection with friends and teachers.
Right now, however, that's not possible. Even if they were to get back
into the classroom, safe separation and wearing masks would be required
(and so hard to monitor and regulate). At least they can see their
teachers and classmates when online, so it's a (safe) trade-off.
The teachers communicate regularly about changes in technology access, daily/weekly lesson plans and expectations, where to get and send in assignments, and ways to ask questions and clarify instructions. (Yes, there are apps for all those things.) The amount of work that has gone into making this new way of teaching/learning work, is incredible. As a former high school teacher, I so appreciate that the teachers' workloads have increased beyond all reason.
I cannot praise these educators highly enough. Such remarkable work, all in the cause of giving our children quality education during this historic time.
We'll all get through this and come out the other end with learning, adaptability and technology skills we didn't have before. All of it will stand us in good stead for the future once we can get back to real brick-and-mortar school.
And most of it is thanks to our virtual-but-real teachers. Thank you!
Daughter and Son-in-Law have done a great job setting up the workstations and providing all the necessary technology and supplies.
The teachers have done a fabulous job getting everything organized. So many apps, links, logins, passwords, schedules - oy!
We had a shaky start, at least getting Liam up and running. Liam's class was to start via Microsoft Teams, but none of the logins seemed in work. They finally switched to Zoom, but still, we couldn't get his video camera to work and the audio was sometimes garbled. It was touch and go, and he managed to do the assignments and set up his virtual locker in Google Classroom. (See? So many apps . . . )
Charlotte's set-up, however, went tickety-boo. Her classes started via Zoom straightaway, and she had no video/audio problems. Her morning was filled with greetings and getting-to-know-yous, a story about first day jitters, a coloring assignments, and a word find. I'm so proud of her reading skills - she's on her way.
It was a day to beta-test remote learning 2.0. There were kinks. We all survived, however, and based on what I saw, the teachers have been amazingly creative in providing fun, interesting, engaging ways to do this virtual learning thing.
Yes, we all want things to get back to normal. Everyone wants the kids, teachers, and staff back in the classroom. But things are way to dangerous right now. Despite the shaky techno-start for Liam, we're thankful that at this time and place, we can work together with teachers and classmates to continue receiving a quality education.
Remote school 2.0 is underway. It will get better, easier. Just different. For now.
I've never liked shaking hands, mainly because I don't know where those hands I'm shaking have been. I'm not obsessive-compulsive about cleanliness, and I have a good firm handshake, to the point of arm wrestling some people.
But, eeewww, shaking hands has always seemed a disgusting ritual, the pressing of my palm against someone else's sweaty, hot/cold, greasy, who-knows-where-it's-been palm as a form of greeting. Or sealing a deal. Or doing an initial power-dance.
So if there's one Western custom that I hope is obliterated by this coronavirus pandemic, it's the handshake.
The East has a much better, more respectful form of greeting - palms pressed together and a slight bow. I don't touch you. You don't touch me. Namaste. I bow to you. The divine light in me bows to the divine light within you. My soul recognizes your soul. Good to see you. Let's get this meeting started.
It's a perfect, non-contact, respectful greeting or deal-sealer, eliminating the initial power display of who has the firmer grip, who's top dog. Though it's a Hindu greeting, it seems a very Christ-like way to acknowledge a first meeting, an old friend, or the beginning/end of a business agreement.
And maybe, just maybe, a simple prayer-like greeting might bring more humanity and empathy to our comings and goings, meetings and greetings. That certainly can't hurt.
And besides, I don't know where your hands have been. Namaste, y'all.
I mean, I was all set to vote for Julian Bond. He was smart, well-spoken, good looking, and another civil rights icon. In 1966, when the Georgia General Assembly refused to seat him as a duly elected member because of his anti-Vietnam War activities, the case went all the way to the Supreme Court. Bond won a 9-0 decision from the court. What's not to vote for, eh?
In the great scheme of political talk shows during election years, I had to set up interviews with both Lewis and Bond for the political editors of the AJC. I started with Bond's campaign office. I was handed off to at least three different staffers who promised to get back to me. Frustrating. I felt I had to get Bond on the schedule first (because he was going to win, right?), and after a few days and who-know-how-many phone calls and call-backs, I got him on the interview schedule.
