For the first time in my life, I’m working remotely from home.
It’s been months, and I sit here alone, except for listening to WXRT Radio as my companion: Fittingly, Beck’s Uneventful Days is on today’s line-up.
The advisory comes through each hour:
“Stay home as much as you possibly can.”
Staying in place. It’s getting more difficult each day.
The isolation is getting the better of me. Plus, I need to distract myself from the pervasive news.
I call my mom.
As usual, she has good advice for me: Stay Busy.
She relays a story about her own father, who found himself relocating himself, wife and five children to New York in 1942.
His mechanical expertise was needed at LaGuardia Airport, where he spent long hours working to support the war effort.
To decompress during those stressful times, my grandfather set to work on a venture of his own.
He garnered all the excess lumber he could find in those days, recycling wooden pallets and the like, in order to start his project.
He devised a plan in the backyard of the family home.
“What are you building out there?” his wife asked the next afternoon.
“I’m building you some kitchen cabinets,” was his reply.
My grandmother looked out the kitchen window the following day, shaking her head.
What she saw looked nothing like the cabinets she had requested.
To be sure, the project looked more like a boat.
The secret was out. My grandfather spent his leisure hours designing and building a wooden cruiser cabin in the backyard of their rented home.
Looking toward the future, he knew, once the war was over and his family was back home in Illinois, he would use that watercraft to cruise the bluewaters of Lake Michigan.
The time came for my grandfather to move his family back home. With the help of his buddies, they removed the panels of the backyard fence, allowing enough room to push the new boat out of the yard and onto a trailer hitch to be taken to the railroad yard.
Grandpa paid to have his prized possession sent by freight car to Lyons, Illinois – its new home.
My grandparents enjoyed their cruiser cabin for years by taking excursions on Lake Michigan.
The craft even survived damage from a fire – started when my uncle was careless with holiday fireworks. My grandfather and uncle repaired the beloved boat back to near original condition, ensuring its capacity to act as a source of recreation for many years.
Mom and her dad (my Grandpa) pose with that wonderful ol’ boat
Decades later – 1969 to be exact – my grandparents trailered their cabin cruiser by car, down to their newly built home in Lake Placid in central Florida – a tranquil location for their retirement years.
Why did my mother tell this story?
… to remind me to search for a healthy diversion.
… to remind me that it’s time for a project of my own.
My venture won’t be as large. Nor is it likely mine will last 30 years. All I need is a task to occupy my time, alleviate my stress, and influence my imagination.
I came home from shopping at Aldi a couple days ago. Actual driving and shopping took about 40 minutes. Not too bad, considering.
I spent another hour in a tizzy, washing and sanitizing the groceries once I arrived home. This was the latest trick I learned from a video on WGN, our local news station. A Minnesota doctor gave a thorough procedure of washing store-bought items to avoid any chance of the items carrying the coronavirus.
CRAZY TIMES = CRAZY ME
Have you ever heard of such a thing?
Where am I?
I’m on Earth. Listening, hoping, fearing, and praying like many others.
The washing and sanitizing is done. Food put away. Counters cleaned once more. My hands feel tight from all the soap and water, so I grab my hand cream I keep in a kitchen drawer and reapply it for maybe the fourth time this morning.
Back upstairs, to the loft where our home office is located. I work remotely all day, exchanging heartfelt messages with co-workers and laughing over silly things while we try to keep things lively and not fret over the daily news blasts.
Finally, it’s 5:00 and I log off from the computer. It’s Friday, yet somehow it seems different. No plans to go anywhere. Just stay at home. My plans include eating and watching television. Many Fridays I can’t wait to do just that. But now, everyone is looking for an outlet.
WASH YOUR HANDS!
My husband arrives home – with more groceries! Grocery shopping is his newest hobby. I think he prefers the European way of shopping – only picking up several things every few days. Except he’s forgotten the warnings I told him early this morning about picking up more germs at the grocery store.
“Look, I brought you some red wine,” he says so nicely, holding a bottle of cabernet sauvignon.
I look at him like he’s nuts. I raise my voice, “I told you not to go shopping. Stop touching that. It’s contaminated!” I run into the bedroom, shutting the door with meaning. I’m so annoyed that he’s bringing germs into the house. And who’s going to clean all that food? Me, that’s who.
Where’s my phone? I need my Calm app to meditate and decompress. The anxiety and worry plus being shut within the house for two weeks now is getting to me. I need to relax and not become upset over groceries of all things… because this is just the beginning. And we all need to get along.
COPING
The next morning my husband convinces me to go with him just for a drive. He knows me well. “You don’t even have to get out of the car,” he promised.
The first stop is for an oil change. He drives to the dealer, and I follow in my own car. This way he can leave his car, while we run errands in my Chevy.
I gave him the stink eye when he jumped into my passenger seat. “Since when is an oil change an essential errand? Couldn’t this wait?” I demanded.
“They diagnosed the funny sound I kept hearing and determined the power steering pump needed replacing.”
Okay, that’s important. I concede that it’s a good thing we dropped the car off.
“Now I just need to run into Pete’s and get milk and potatoes for my mom and dad. You can wait in the car,” he suggested.
I watch him run into Pete’s, dodging the rain puddles on this gloomy day. The skies are an ugly grey. Why can’t we at least have sunshine here in Illinois? It’s the end of March, for goodness’ sake. I grab my phone and scroll through for social media updates and news briefings. Nope, I’m tired of everything I’m seeing.
I look out the window and watch a store employee picking up trash in the parking lot. He uses a long grabber stick to snatch the junk people leave lying on the ground. He tosses everything into an empty grocery cart. Everything is soggy, making it grosser than usual. The worker walks next to my car.
Should he be that close to my vehicle? Oh my goodness, Heidi, get a handle on yourself!
I peer out my rain-soaked window and see inside his cart. Plastic grocery bags, soda containers, burger boxes. And so many latex gloves. All in the latest colors.
Across from me is a couple loading purchases into the trunk of their car. The husband wears blue gloves. Except, his wife is bare handed. What is wrong with people? Following disparate protocols is like… well, like an Independent marrying a Republican. They just cancel each other out. What’s the use in even trying?
I think back to the wine my spouse brought home and how I freaked out that he touched it. I’m losing my mind.
MOVING ON
My husband returns with the groceries for his folks and we move on. He runs the food into their house, while I sit in the car and play a brief meditation on my Calm app. Breathe. Relax. Focus on yourself. The here and now. I cannot control outside events. Breathe. Relax.
My husband finally exits his parents’ home and hops back into the car. “They should be done soon with my Honda. We can go back to the dealership and wait for it. Do you mind running by the Dunkin’ Donuts so I can bring the guys some doughnuts?” He smiles at me. Sometimes I forget how handsome he is when I’m aggravated.
It’s back to the dealership, where he asks me to wait for him just in case the car’s not quite ready. I don’t mind waiting inside my car. At least I have the radio, and I don’t have to walk outside in the cold rain. I’m immersed in my phone again, when he knocks at my window. I unlock the door and he gets back in.
“It’s nearly ready,” he said. “Boy, everyone’s paranoid and there are signs all over the place telling people to keep six feet back. I had to sign the paperwork for my car, and I reached way over to the cashier window to sign for it but had to keep my feet on the yellow tape on the floor. I tell ya, I felt like John Belushi in The Blues Brothers movie when he picked up his belongings at Joliet prison.”
I couldn’t help it. I grinned, looking out my driver’s side window so he wouldn’t see that I was warming up to him.
“Not only that,” he went on, eyes twinkling. “I was telling the guy that I had to cancel my hair appointment. I said, ‘my hair’s so long, I’m starting to look like Farrah Fawcett!’
“And you know what the kid said back to me?”
“What?” I asked.
“’Who’s Farrah Fawcett?’”
I burst into laughter.
And that, my friends, is how I’ll be managing these stressful days.
PIZZA FOR BREAKFAST 