Author Archives: uppervalleygirl

Your Water Break at the Halfway Mark

I’m not going to candycoat it. We’ve had it with this virus. It’s maddening, with no end in sight — a marathon with an invisible finish line. If you randomly approached strangers and asked, “What are you talking about?”, 85% of the time they’d reply, “COVID.”

I don’t know about you, but I’m a planner. These days we can’t plan a thing more than two weeks out…never know what’s around the corner! Reports come in, rules change, doors open and close. I’m kicking myself for not taking a river cruise, going to Scotland, Nova Scotia or Scandinavia, or trying Cuba before it was shut off (again) or surf camp, tennis camp, renting a lake house with friends. Yeah, it’s hard to schedule trips with people, everyone’s so busy, but I could have gone alone! It’s fun to travel alone. All that observing.

When will church start? The Olympics! Choir? Chorus? Contradancing? Canoodling? When will live concerts and sports and Broadway return? Hotels, movie theaters and the next Westworld? Will I lose my job? Will I get a job? Will I get a job requiring hazmat gear or cooties-soaked mass transit? It’s just painful.

On one hand the virus is not a face-melting pox…but then we’d know who has it, which is the problem. To bright-side it isn’t impossible, but it’s a stretch. “At least…” we’re not in a nuclear war; it’s not the Holocaust; it’s not 9/11; it’s not a global Katrina. Yet any way you slice it, COVID-19 sucks. Because we can control little beyond following protocols around masks, distancing, OCD-caliber handwashing, and donating money or time, we just have to suck it up.

We’re increasingly vigilant towards our mental well-being. Resilient human nature has us generally bouncing back, but striving to be upbeat is now more of a repeating calendar task (“no end date”). We have to work at it. A New Hampshire friend quit watching the news. Unapologetic, she says, “I find that going inside is the answer.” Meditating, sending love, enjoying your sheets, picturing a freer future, and resting—knowing that there are many people worldwide without such luxuries. I’ve never slept so much in my life. Dreams are like a free vacation. Occasionally a peculiar or disturbing dream, true, but well it didn’t actually happen, now did it? Didn’t cost a dime or expose you to microvarmints.

For meditation, I highly recommend the (free!) Insight Timer app. Thousands of guided meditations. Choose a topic, or just nature sounds/music and set the timer with various gongs and bells. Great good fun. It displays how many people are currently meditating; numbers have gone way up. Some gems are Canadian Jennifer Piercy (try Yoga Nidra for Sleep), or the young Jonny John Liu, whose name enchants and whose accent lulls in Self-Transformation Through Self-Acceptance. Just download Insight Timer and click on the Search magnifier at bottom. Off you go! I fall asleep before they’re over. Shh.

When spiraling downwards, I try self-talk, summoning pleasant thoughts. Like: this mess involves the entire planet. So the top medical smarties worldwide are working on solutions ‘round the clock. Vaccines! Treatments! Virus-killing UVC light-spraying robots on subways! Maybe this horror will end sooner than we think. Just maybe we are in fact, as one scientific predictor put it, halfway there. Envision what you’ll do when it’s over!

To make handwashing less of a bore: the virus’s fatty membrane holding it together is destroyed by soap. You’re not just rinsing virus down the drain; it literally falls apart. Don’t fret, I missed one! Just lather up, remember your nails and rings. You’re making it impossible for it to replicate. For the (required!) 20 seconds, you know to sing Happy Birthday twice. I sing it
to different people, dead or alive, real or fictional, as I launder my paws. To amuse self. Mental well-being.

I feel your pain, Dear Reader. Keep steady on your mount on this long and crazy journey. If you fall off, just get back on your pony and keep slashing through. I’ll water you both when you pass my station, so you can keep going. The way you act and process thoughts will determine our collective outcome. Think of solutions and wish hard. I miss you. Good day.

 

 

Not To Be Outdone…

…by Cereus or Son of Cereus, this gutsy little potato, totally unmonitored and uncared for, put on a show of his own.

There’s an I Dream of Jeannie bottle vibe to his photographic staging here. Ordinarily he lives, unobserved, in a forgotten window sill. He was happy for his moment in the spotlight. As are we all.

Son of Cereus

In the prior post, you see a gnarly Night Blooming Cereus, which had finally grown enough for me to make a serious cutting. In the interest of gifting a plant to a deserving NBC fan, I boldly took clippers to soon-to-be Father Cereus. It was a gross feeling. I did not follow internet instructions on rooting. I took the easy way dictated by maven Jeanne in Hanover.

Just look at him go! I’m so proud I could cry. He already sprouted his first leaf—as if a tiny hand, proudly raised high, waves, “Good-bye Mommy! Good-bye! I’m going to live with your favorite neighbor!”

(You know who you are.)

Sniff, sniff.

Night Blooming — But Cereusly, Folks

My Night Blooming Cereus, which has suddenly grown up, is going to put on a hell of a show this year. Multiple blooms, surely!

It’s gotten so leggy I can’t move it to the middle of the room for a viewing party this year or the delicate flowers can fall off, which I assure you is tragic. No one can come over to see it anyway — unless I set up some ridiculous one-way walk-through with floor arrows and a :15 timer (which I just might do). BUT: the window. Hmm. There’s a spot by the hydrangea for people to view NBC’s glory from outside, like a creature in a zoo. I can open a different window and, with a fan, blow the scent all over the neighborhood; its smell is half the fun.  I’ll do a time-lapse for ya if the reflective glass allows a decent recording.

You can see the first year here, with some background info.

(The sad part is that any COVID shopper will understand “floor arrows.”)

Nothing Spells Summer…

…like sandals, sour cream, and Chicken in a Biskit.®

Spelled thusly so Nabisco doesn’t get slapped cuz it’s not a biscuit by FDA standards? Or a fun word play on Chicken in a Basket? Either way: all the plastic, salt, fat, and carbs a girl could ever wish for. P.S. That’s one happy chicken. If only he knew.

  • Sandals
  • Ultra-fatted sour cream
  • Manual foods
  • Mesmerization
  • Extras for sharing (avec sanitizer or 6-foot tongs)
  • Raging good tymes = SUMMER!

A Modern Stone Age Family

. . . must have used this slot for processing transactions, like payments for commissioned cave paintings and wooly mammoth chops.

Other ideas?

One Man’s Contribution

My NYC friend who is a modern-day Steve McQueen sent this earlier this week:

Someone threw out a dressmaker’s dummy in SoHo…I made a little modification for Mr. Floyd.

Observations Tied by a Single Strand of RNA

We all hear wrenching COVID stories. This column isn’t about that. Though important, we’re not discussing that today. Today we laugh, as able.

Regarding what humanity is doing to defend itself against this nasty l’il microvarmint, there’s an expression that applies: “We’re building the plane while flying it.” Worldwide, we’ve been trying things out on the fly, not knowing if some step we take will send passengers down the chute, eject the pilot, or blow the plane up entirely. One thing, however, we do have control over. That is isolating our masked selves, and continue reducing the spread. I know: yawn. It’s inhuman.

While I understand crawling the walls, going out of your skin, and pulling your hair out, not necessarily in that order, try to remember that someone somewhere has things way worse than you. Sure, I’d love to go to the library, gym, movies, church, concerts, sporting events, get a hair job. Who wouldn’t? I tell people I tried something new: I dyed my roots white. Like it? Me neither.

But as for whackos protesting for their “rights” to have these businesses open (I can and must get my massage! Your church must open!), what about the right of others to stay alive? Suck it up and tough it out, man. If you don’t care, then you don’t know anyone who’s died. You will—this isn’t magically going away next week. Stay home and amuse yourself. Unless you’re being beaten or belittled by a deranged housemate – then yes, get the heck out. Just open the door and run.

I’ve often joked about survivalists stockpiling canned goods and ammo. Well, look who’s laughing now…all the way to the bunker.  Here now some other deep thots stockpiled from the nutters I call friends. Feel free to submit your own.

Randolph: I know I’m on a roller coaster, but I’m learning to lean so I don’t throw up.

Florida: What does your jigsaw puzzle say about you?

Upstate NY:  Face Timing with parents over 80 includes no visuals beyond foreheads.

Tewksbury MA:   And the hour-plus getting them set up to Facetime or Zoom.

Maryland: I’m letting my eyebrows grow wild and I’m starting to look mannish, yo.

Middlebury:  Spending all this time at home is too much togetherness for couples or families.   Every time I turn around, my spouse is there. Outside, people coming towards us don’t move over to maintain 6 feet.  Then there are the idiots in grocery stores who won’t follow the required one-way pattern in the aisles. I hold my breath.

D.C.: Finally know what enough sleep feels like! But I’d give it back to feel safe and secure.

Cape Cod:  While dog walking, the empty nip bottles along my route now replaced by discarded latex gloves is depressing. However, nearly everyone I pass smiles. People acknowledge that we need friendliness to get us through. Refreshing! People distance-gather at Falmouth harbor at sunset. We call it The Ha-ba Ba(think: Boston accent).

Reading: Mankind should use this incarceration wisely, because when it ends, we’re going to go NUTS working and frolicking and there will be NO time for introspection, thank GOD.

Contoocook: If a hairdresser wants to open her shop, no problem. Just sign forms that say you and your customers are refusing medical care if you get sick. You’re on your own.

Bethel: With sport facilities closed, the shooting range is ACTIVE – and louder, with less traffic drowning it out. Wait. I hear silence. Did they shut it down?

N. Carolina: I’m relishing the time at home with my 7 YO – I got my buddy back!

SoRo: My old lady hair is coming in. I’ve hated the pollution, time and expense of coloring it, so now I’ll see…it’s a weird gift that we can all try out going Natural at the same time.

Braintree:  The courses should all open. In golf, you’re allowed to touch only your own balls.

Pets looking at us, all Why you home every day…and why ain’t I gettin’ more grub as a result?

Boston: Our area was expecting 75 mph winds. Authorities said to “secure loose objects” outside, and to buy ice and candles. I’m like, wow, should I pick up a scalpel in case I need to unexpectedly perform surgery? The real answer: maybe. Anything seems possible now.

Well! Thank you, nutters. I end with a lovely sentiment from a friend in New York City who is a veteran of The Moth and has survived so many cinema-worthy escapades I call him Steve McQueen.

“I was a guest lecturer for the School of Visual Arts before the shutdown. They wanted someone who could speak about the connection between storytelling and design and somehow they found me. I told them that for the first time in human history, hundreds of millions of people are going to bed and waking up with exactly the same set of worries at exactly the same time and that we need to find a way to bond over this experience because we are proving what is possible once we act together.”

Yes! Act together, though apart. End global bickering. Unite! Good day.

 

hazmat dog link.

Fake Braille for the Newly Blind

Braille probably takes a while to learn, and my older friend isn’t about to try. So when he asked for some CDs of cheery Broadway musicals (yep, some of us still play CDs), I glued “indicator letters” on the jewel cases so he can tell them apart, e.g., “G” for Godspell or “MF” for My Fair Lady. I can’t think of an alternate deployment of felt letters, but you might.

Two glues worked:  Mod Podge and super glue. A glue gun might have melted the felt or plastic. Three letters of readable size took up too much space. Cardboard wasn’t thick enough to read. The thicker the felt, the more readable. If the colors are ugly or your stenciling sloppy, well:  they’re blind. Don’t forget a nice cup of coffee as you craft.

Beaver or…

…bored teenager, night of a riverside party? Neither was anywhere in sight.

 Really, I’m not kidding. Don’t know the first thing about beavers, except they’ll menace you with that SMACK if you get near their dam.

I vote  Beave  just  because  I  don’t  see  a  yoot  having  that  much  patience.  Beavers  are  busy,  and  they  are  also  patient.  But I defer to the authorities.

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