Shop and get out...

We are still slightly hopeful that we'll get to see the whales in Alaska.
Our cruise is scheduled to depart the middle of May and even if it's cancelled, we figure we might get to go later in the year — if the world ever returns to normal.
So Marc and I took our gift card from Scheel's and went to buy me some new binoculars, just in case I get the chance to use them.
(I've apparently lost my last pair.)
We found the store to be open and we headed in, expecting the store to be mostly deserted.
It was.
There were very few people inside and the cashiers were all wearing protective masks, sitting behind desks that had been put in front of the registers.
Signs were posted all around, telling us to stay away from other customers and to decide what it was we wanted to buy without delay, get it and get out!
Well, maybe not so bluntly put as that, but the message clearly was "don't linger and don't wander around unattended."
We carefully looked around, then stood back and asked an associate where the binoculars were.
He pointed up and indicated we should take the escalator to the next floor.
We did that.
We arrived at the upper floor and found the binoculars in a fenced off area behind glass with a female associate standing guard.
We looked at the prices and the various options.
I found some I thought I liked and we went to tell the guardian of the display what we wanted. I thought I would get to handle them for heft and peer through the eye pieces.
"Okay," she said. "We'll get you a pair."
A man showed up with some in a few minutes, handing them to me with dispatch.
I paid for them and we retreated.
I didn't try them on until we had returned to our car.
They were fine.
I like them.
(Marc wanted to check out the hiking boots but it didn't seem like anybody wanted us to hang about.
When he picked up a shoe, I looked at him in alarm.
"I don't think you are supposed to touch things," I said as I noticed employees giving us startled glances.)
We are now back at home thinking we are probably not well suited for this new reality, this new way to shop.
We realize we like to go about, check things out and maybe buy stuff we don't need, on impulse.
It's also hard to be regarded with suspicion and to remember everything we do is dangerous.
We are wild cards.
We're older with underlying conditions and we are pretty hard to retrain.
Perhaps because we just don't understand.

Crying in the car...

I didn't expect an emotional outburst.
From the start of this Corono virus thing, I've pretty much maintained a stoic stance.
I worry.
I fret and I miss being able to make plans with my family and neighbors.
I try to keep things in perspective.
I pray.
But I haven't cried.
Until yesterday.
A sweet lady in our ward suggested we all get in our cars and meet in front of her house.
We would then drive by in a line past the houses of two of the missionaries who have quietly come home due to the perilous circumstances within their mission boundaries.
We could maintain social distance but still convey our love and good wishes.
It was an interesting idea and we were all mostly free on this particular Sunday afternoon.
Marc was asleep but I was intrigued with the plan so I went ahead and got in line.
At 5 p.m. we all started our engines.
(I asked the lady in charge if the police were on board with this. She said she didn't know but the bishop was!)
We began to circle the block, a long caravan of cars with mostly vans with teenagers standing out of the top windows waving.
As we came past the missionary's house, we all honked and waved.
And I burst into tears, the first tears I've shed since this all started.
I cried for the losses, the fears, the things we haven't been able to do together, the things that might still happen, the new normal, the empty store shelves and the countries that are closed to tourists, the suffering.
I sobbed in my car and finally turned back into my driveway because I couldn't see clearly any more.
I went in the house.
My husband was awake now and wondered what I had been doing.
He looked curiously at my wet cheeks because while I was crying, I was also smiling for the first time in two weeks.
I told him he'd missed the parade.

Burnt sugar...

Sign of the times

Scene of the crime

In my 50-odd years of baking I have often had to find a way to soften a brick-hard bag of brown sugar.
Despite my efforts to keep brown sugar soft — I've put in a ceramic bear that is supposed to keep the moisture in, I've double-bagged it, I've kept it in the fridge, I've kept it in a pantry, I've kept it in the dark downstairs, I've kept it tightly taped shut in plastic, I've even massaged it to bring the softness back — it still goes hard once the bag has been opened.
So I sometimes warm it in the microwave.
In the past five decades I've never had a problem.
Usually it takes only a few seconds and, voila!, the sugar is ready to use.
I can spoon it out and make my chocolate chip cookies.
I was warming some a week ago and admittedly, I was distracted by all the "good" news on the TV, the computer and in the newspapers.
It didn't take the first time through.
So I ran it again, 30 seconds, I think.
This time, though, I reached in to fetch the bag and my fingers sank into molten brown sugar.
Yikes!
Oww!!!
It hurt immediately.
And it hurt a lot!
I peeled the pieces of melted plastic bag from my fingers and plunged them into a stream of cold water from the tap.
Ahhh! Better.
For the next few hours I kept my hand in an ice bucket as much as possible. It kept me from crying.
I basically heated ice with my two injured fingers. 
The blisters bubbled up.
The burns were on two of my essential fingers on my right hand.
It made everything harder, cooking, cleaning, driving the car, holding hands.
It's now been long enough that the blisters are reduced to beautiful, colorful, crispy scabs.
But hope is coming back and in light of all the misery, fear and chaos in the world right now, a couple of burnt fingers don't really matter.
They will heal.
Life will return to normal for me.

It actually puts things into some perspective.

Panic shopping

I sent Marc to Smith's on Friday night just to get shrimp for our Jambalaya.
He came home without anything, discouraged and dismayed with the lines, the madness and insanity. (This is a guy who usually maintains his optimism. He was aghast at the empty shelves, the loaded shopping carts.)
We talked about the situation and assessed our basic needs and headed out again to Costco, no less, Saturday morning armed with a short list of essentials and some basic resolutions.
I wanted chicken and Marc wanted pickles.
We figured we could do this.
But we dreaded coming over the hill thinking we'd see masses of people and cars.
Actually it was all right, the lines of shoppers with their carts went clear around both ends of the building but you could see the finish line.
We got in line.
We chatted casually with other shoppers.
At 9:30 a.m., the door opened and people went in like well-mannered folks. No running. No violence.
We both headed to our stations. Marc was assigned eggs and the all-important pickles. I took the job of getting chicken and sausage.
We tossed in some fruit and bread.
We picked up a couple of cases of diced tomatoes.
Not wanting to be greedy, we stopped short of grabbing things we didn't need but opted for some creamies and a bag of potato chips for comfort.
We checked out.
It had only taken us an hour and we felt much better.
Perhaps we'll need to return in a day or so for more but this helped assuage my panic.
I think it might work to hunker down for a couple of days and think for a bit.
Maybe it's going to be all right.
Just maybe...

I'm being tracked...

I am currently under surveillance.
Every move I make with my Nissan Leaf is documented.
If I brake too quickly or if I take a corner too sharply it gets noticed.
If I speed or do anything at all that is amiss, I am written up.
On the other hand, I often get a score of 100 for driving like a true grandma in my electric Leaf.
It's part of a new program offered by the state to try and define if we electric car owners are paying too much or too little for our zero emission cars.
It started with a $100 charge to our registration bill that is supposed to make us equal to gas-powered vehicles who pay taxes for road maintenance.
A few folks objected to the seemingly random tax tacked onto our yearly bill.
It kind of came out of nowhere when somebody realized we drive on the same roads that other cars drive on and we don't pay for them.
So now we are enrolled in a test program that asks that we attach a little gadget to our steering column.
Once activated, it becomes a little driving use hall monitor that notes everything we do, every trip to the store, every mistake, every turn.
If I step on the gas too hard and accelerate too quickly, I get a little red bubble on my history.
If I am going over the speed limit by a mile, I get another red dot.
Marc think it's hilarious because I am always telling him not to treat the Leaf like a race car when all he wants to do is prove it has good pickup and can handle the road.
Actually,
I think this little gizmo is basically proving that I am pretty much a responsible, careful grandma driver with very little zip and style.
(Never mind the history I have of backing into things. I've atoned for that.)
I don't really mind that the little gadget is really shadowing my every move.
I have nothing to hide at this point.
And eventually it might reduce our annual fee.
Or — if my suspicions are right, it'll give the powers that be a valid excuse to increase what we pay each year for road use.
At least that will be fair.

A great big problem for us all...

The Corona Virus isn't funny.
That said, my husband still laughs at me when I check the daily updates on my computer.
It's killing people and quite possibly the American Economy.
And no one really knows how to stop it or get away from it.
Denial isn't working.
Neither is minimizing the problem. (Sure, the common varieties of flu kill a lot of people too but this is a bug that seems to live longer and defy the things we do to survive it.)
At last count, over 90,000 people have contracted the virus and thousands have died. Many seem to be running around unaware that they are contagious.
No one seems to have clear answers as to what to do.
Antibiotics do not work against the Corona virus. There is no vaccine for it.
Washing one's hands is certainly a safeguard but not a surefire solution.
Neither is gargling with bleach as some crazy people with a death wish suggest.
Wearing a face mask only helps stop somebody who has the virus from giving it to you, not you getting it.
Buying a lot of toilet paper and cases of water apparently is helping some feel they can control it.
But that's a false illusion (though I'm sure we'll need those things when we're all under quarantine).
We can try to adjust our habits, stand six feet from one another and avoid crowds.
We can stop going to church and to ballgames and conventions but I'm not sure we as a society can stop hugging and shaking hands and touching one another.
I think we depend on touch to reassure one another and to give comfort.
We enjoy concerts and reunions and big events.
Maybe we can learn to fist bump and wave but I have little hope that that would work.
I'm worried about more than the stock market slide and the probable cancellation of our upcoming cruise.
I'm fretting about the children and the old folks, which is my demographic currently.
I think we're underestimating the calamity. We simply don't know what to do for sure. This wasn't in our Relief Society training classes.
We can hope for a vaccine.
We can try to maintain our courage and be optimistic, even tell ourselves it's going to be fine.
But when it comes right down to it, I think our best option is to pray.