When They Tell You What’s In Store For Summer Of 2020
Category: 1940s
Let’s Get This Show On The Road
Now that businesses are opening up, folks are itching to get out of their houses and back to work. After seven weeks sans income, my husband returned to his job, carrying his mask and his hand sanitizer (which they are selling at 7-11 for $8 at about 3 oz!), making the arduous commute into Austin. Many young folks in Austin aren’t wearing masks at all, or much of anything, according to this picture taken at Lake Travis on Saturday. I guess they figured social distancing is just a suggestion.
My heart breaks to think of the healthcare workers on their feet for multiple shifts at a time, unable to eat or bathe, trying to cope with the trauma they witness as best they can, scared to carry unseen germs into their homes. My heart breaks for the victims who had no loving hand to hold during their final moments, no solace or comfort before they left their bodies forever, bodies destined to be shoved into makeshift coolers in New York. Perhaps it takes maturity, decades of learned compassion, prioritizing and realizing that this life is not about selfishness, and we all need each other to make it. Survival of the fittest is not the goal.
I get it. I want to be where the people are. I want to cavort again. But even though I’ve daily jogged and tried to stay positive, taking hot baths and reading scripture, ignoring endless negative articles thrown my way, I evidently could not tell my own body to chill. My muscles got so tight and restricted in my neck and chest last Sunday, that I could barely breathe for two days, and I wound up in an ambulance, headed to ER (the last place on earth you want to be during COVID). My temp was 98.0, and I had no cough at all, so they didn’t waste a virus test on me. They determined that the chest pain, SOB, and left arm numbness was not a heart attack, and sent me home. As they said, the job of ER is not to diagnose, but to “rule out.” That said, don’t be too hard on yourself if your body, your hormones, your emotions are so out of whack, no matter what you do for self -care. Dr. Phil said we are all in a fight or flight mode designed to last for several minutes, not several months, and we can’t control the way the body chooses to deal with it.
So I’ll stay home yet again, watching the cars roll down the street.
Knowing that soon, I’ll be riding tandem bikes again.
And crossing streets with my peeps.
Watching films at the theater. Okay, I won’t do that because I hate seeing movies in public, listening to babies cry and patrons chew popcorn loudly. Guh-ross. But you can.
And won’t we be celebrating then?
Howdy, Y’all
Just a note to say howdy from one of the states that is now allowing 25% capacity dining.
We didn’t take our chances with that risk today, and continued instead with carryout, per our usual Saturday order, wore masks, held the containers swathed in a towel as we drove home, got home, threw the towel in the wash, switched all containers to our plates, then popped them in the oven at 200 degrees for 10 minutes, wiped down the counter where containers had made contact, washed our hands, and badda-bing, badda-boom, lunch. How about y’all? Eating out yet?
When You Want The COVID Vaccine But You Hate Needles
Countdown To May Day
Perhaps your state will start re-opening as per its Phase I guidelines on May 1st. Perhaps it’s May 8th. All I know is it WILL be May, and folks will be getting prepped and ready to shine.
Betty can breathe on Martha, and Martha can cough on Mary.
Carl won’t have to wipe down that wooden chair seat after he gets up.
The line at Great Clips will stretch past the adjacent Subway and Pizza Hut in the strip malls.
The cleaners will be packed with piles of people’s threadbare sweats and yoga pants.
Cobblers will be cobbling.
Diners will be packed elbow-to-elbow.
People might even board public transportation.
Ew. Seriously gross. Kirk is even having second thoughts about cushions never cleaned.
Butchers will be butchering, fileting, de-boning, and slicing deli meats and cheeses.
Department store racks will be scoured for wider waistbands.
Bars and restaurants, clubs and dance halls will throw open their doors and welcome the traumatized masses, stumbling in to relearn dances, to rebuild their tolerance to cocktails, and use public restrooms.
The streets will sound with joyous rapture and merry harmony. “So long, farewell, auf Wiedersehen, goodbye” to coronavirus.
At least…for now.
Bewitching Non-N95 Mask
Six To A Booth, Too Many
Even slim-hipped WWII vets can’t make three a comfortable proposition in this booth. Reaching for his Coke, he’d knock a bottle over. How is the fellow in the middle supposed to move? Can he breathe with his pal’s pipe smoke literally four inches from his face?
Mixed Feelings About Ms. Eichmann’s Punch
For All The March Birthday Babies Who Got Robbed This Year
Hair adorned with flower, a hostess at New York’s Stage Door Canteen offers birthday cake to servicemen.
Those of you denied birthday parties may have not even received cake this year. You can’t trust the local bakery to have prepared it covid-free. Perhaps you had to make do with queso de Swiss like Senor Gonzales here.
But from all us at “I Don’t Get It,” here’s wishing you a much better 2021!
Post-Dinner Movie In The Rain On Guadalcanal
Chair Carrying: Things Worse Than Quarantine
Chair carriers support travelers and their goods as they painstakingly make their way up the steep steps from the Kialing River in Chungking, 1941. And they didn’t even have Asics with good arch support. The provisional capital of China, not under Japanese occupation, would suffer from continuous terror bombing by the Japanese air force until 1943.
Below, conscripts of the Chinese Nationalist Army walk through the city on labor detail. Makes social distancing seem like a walk in the park.
Today, what we called Chungking is now Chongqing, but it still looks a bit congested for my taste. You wouldn’t catch me on that tram.
Honestly, before today, I only associated the word with old Chun King ads.
But today, I am sheltered-in-place and more educated than before.
And glad I don’t live on the Yangtze River.
© JingAiping/Shutterstock.com
It’s Just Me, Myself, & I
During these heady times, it’s hard to refrain from going stir crazy. But keep in mind that cabin fever is always better than lowgrade fever. Even the President said a hell-to-the-no when Birx mentioned her fever.
In the words of Nirvana, stay away.
Running out of ideas for solo activities? Well, let’s take a cue from history.
You could make a pyramid, reminiscent of the wonder of the world. You will be self-isolating, so no one will see your Daisy Dukes or judge your ale intake.
You could bundle up under the covers and read a good book, or just the Cliff’s Notes.
Catch up on the funnies in your paper.
You could science up and create a vaccine.
Or spend time with microfilm. How long has it been?
Try tobacco! And maybe write the Great America Novel while you’re at it!
Lie on your bed (but first take your saddle oxfords off because the virus can stay on the soles of your shoes for days) and think about yesterday, when all your troubles seemed so far away.
Pick up the telly and place a call to an elder relative whom you usually avoid because conversations with them are meandering and taxing and oppose your belief system.
If spring has sprung in your town, pack a sack lunch and head over to a nearby park, spray the entire bench with Lysol, sit down, and enjoy a snack, while hearing the mating calls of the doves.
And if you are part of the unfortunate “essential” few who have to be in public, remember to wear your mask.
I Don't Get It 