It’s Thanksgiving, again. On this day, we are supposed to give thanks for, well, everything.
This year, most of us have to dig deeper. Our gratitude has to swim upstream against a backdrop of known racial injustices, idiot liars who want to openly subvert our system of democracy, a pandemic and quarantines, masks and physical distances and general anger, division, resentment and malaise that have marked this year like a branding iron. For those of us who are also sick with COVID or some other malady (and there are way too many of us), it is yet another layer of excrement on a shit cake that is 2020. So why do Thanksgiving? …
It’s official, then. I have tested positive for the novel coronavirus. Now what?
Absolutely nothing, except treat the symptoms. I get to drink tea, eat chicken soup, and sleep in even later than I’ve been sleeping in. And it certainly changes … absolutely nothing. Except that I am quarantining myself, as does everybody else in the house.
I miss taking walks. I miss waking up without a migraine. Blah, blah, blah. I am so sick and tired of complaining. There is just so much space in my head, and I don’t want to give any more away to stupid viruses. I want to enjoy each moment, breathe deep in acceptance and blah, blah, blah. …
Benjamin Franklin once said, “Three people can keep a secret, … if two of them are dead.”
That quote is the reason I don’t believe that the moon landing was faked — imagine the logistics on that particular scene. There is equipment to rent, there are people to pay, there is a great deal of special effects to consider, most of which didn’t exist then and even if they did, how many people worked on that? I don’t see how it could have been done with less than a dozen people. Even if they were all paid handsomely, not one talked? Not one? I would be singing like a canary, I don’t care what document I would have signed. …
If I found a magic lamp, and rubbed it, and the emerging genie would then grant me three wishes, I would spend the first wish on good health for me and mine. I would spend the second wish on getting a magic wallet that would give me an unlimited supply of $20 bills.
And the third and final wish I would use on all world’s political leaders — I would ask that each of them, and their families, to develop a conscience and compassion. And forever more, in perpetuity, in any and every position of authority, the mantle of empathy, understanding, of kindness and consideration for others would be placed upon those who rule.
I was texting with a friend this morning, and she asked how I’m doing. I told her I had not received my drive-thru COVID test results yet, but I’ve been waking up with migraines too often, and my back is super hurty. On the other hand, I said, it may have to do with my shitty eating habits (like not eating until 2 or 3 in the afternoon) and shitty sleeping habits (like not going to bed until 2 or 3 in the morning). …
OK, as much as I didn’t want to write about COVID (or think about, or acknowledge its very existence), reader be warned. This blog is about COVID …. dammit.
My daughter, Riva, tested positive for COVID-19 today. Or rather, she finally received the diagnosis from a test she took last Saturday. This came about because she started feeling flu-like symptoms, coughing, fever, loss of taste and smell. As she had just had a flu shot the day before, we thought, “Can you, in fact, get the flu from the flu shot? I know they say you can’t, but … maybe?” We hoped for just the flu (which is not great, in and of itself), but prepared for the worse. …
Come as you are, as you were,
As I want you to be.
Nirvana, “Come as You Are”
For some reason, I was inspired by this song today. So, I thought I would write a poem. This poem is completely unrelated to the song, but thanks to Kurt Cobain for the inspiration — may he rest in peace. Enjoy.
COMING AND GOING
You came, but you were late
And she hated you for that,
So, she threw you off the bridge,
But you swam away intact.
You came early, ran, in fact,
Still your words didn’t match your deeds,
It’s the tears that confused…
The month of November is a difficult month for me. It has nothing to do with daylight savings time, and nothing to do with colder weather, and only partially due to election stress. I had a still-born daughter on November 3, 1999, and that means that this year, our daughter Ruthie would have turned 21.
I used to love the month of November. …
To all the dogs I’ve loved before,
Who traveled in and out my doggie door,
I’m glad they came along, I dedicate this blog
To all the dogs I’ve loved before…
(with apologies to Willie Nelson & Julio Iglesias)
Before Toffee and Bella, my current sweet, weird, annoying dogs, I previously owned two dogs. I always wanted a dog, but we could not keep one in our little apartment in Minsk. But America was the land of opportunity, and that included the opportunity to have a house and a yard and a dog. The very first dog I got was for my 15th birthday, and I named him Leo (pronounced “Lay-o” like Lays potato chips, not like “LEE-o” the lion). …
We miss concerts. We miss seeing theater performances — and we’re not even “theater people.” We miss going to the movies. In our desperate search for entertainment that will not endanger our lives, my husband found a near-perfect solution.
I happy to share that we went to our first (and quite possibly our last) Halloween-themed drive-in drag show (held in the parking lot of a large mall). …