My Masked-Saturday Activities
Perhaps I looked like a flamingo
in a black snow jacket as I stood in line at Ollie’s. I had my left leg bent up behind me to ease that twinge
of sciatica pain that was working its magic on my lower back at that
moment. I felt my face making a twist
with each passing second that I waited, and my back tweaked.
The woman in line behind me dropped something
flat and paper-ish for the second time.
She was elderly and I couldn’t even bend down to pick it up for her
because I was cart-less and my arms were full:
a package of puppy pads, a new journal with a beach scene on the front,
a dual-sided dog dish, and a dog treat launcher (just wait until Valor
gets a go-at this activity!). My nerves
were frazzling as each line was loaded with people, only three clerks were
working, and the guy in the next aisle literally DROPPED a rolled-up rug that
went BAM! and all of us jumped. His cashier
just laughed. The woman in front of me
was leaning on her cart with one foot on the rung. She turned to me and rolled her eyes. The general patience of all the people around
us was fraying at the edges. The woman
at the cashier’s station was having some sort of a payment problem that wasn’t
resolving. I tried to think of how embarrassing
it must have been for her, then my low back twinged again and the woman in
front of me exhaled in frustration and said, as if we were talking already, “and
I just had chemo last week.”
Now I ask you, what the hell do
you say to that piece of news from a stranger? I said:
“I’m sorry. But I guess it is
better to be on this side of the counter than that side,” as I nodded towards
the cashier. Inept. Some days it’s what I do best. I think that’s why I used to prefer to be the
pitcher when I played softball: I’d rather
deliver the news than have to respond to it like the batter does.
I had just come from PetCo where I
got some supplies in anticipation of little Sophia Hope’s arrival in
March. I get tears in my eyes just
thinking about it. Apparently, puppies
coming-and-going both make me cry.
I always thought it was just when I sold one, I cried. Now I am crying four weeks in advance of
having her in my arms, tucking her little face under my neck for the very first
time. Which reminds me, I’ve got to
clean ears of the spaniels I’ve already got. At PetCo I had an adorable little turquoise
gem-studded tag engraved with her name, my cell phone # and last name. It was so cool when it was engraving, then it
popped out of the machine and I marveled at how tiny the inscription was. Maybe it’s just my eyes are aging, but I have
trouble with small print now. So
aggravating. But she will be
microchipped just in case….
I was driving home thinking about
my morning. Saturday COVID routine is
only a little different than normal times were:
I wear a mask. The responsibilities
are the same. For some reason, I feel a
need to purge this house of extraneous things (is that nesting before Sophia
comes home?) Today I tackled the Chris
Arabik Memorial Sock Collection. I’ve
got one of those plastic 3-drawer towers and have them labeled: white/light socks, Dark socks, Athletic
socks. Then I have a pink fabric bin
with decorative fringe where I keep heavy winter socks. I went through each container and matched
socks and inspected for holes. Ask a
Type-A person if they can throw away a good sock AND a bad sock with a hole in
it. No we cannot. I have now a plastic lego back with a sticker
on it that says: “Socks without mates.” In case I buy the exact same design of a
particular pair of socks, I have a back up when one of THOSE gets a hole in
it. Then I have a box in the bathroom
closet for the holey-socks so they can be used as dusting rags. Not that I dust. It’d just be wasteful to throw the socks
out. One pair went into the trash. It was stressful. It’s too bad I was born in the 60’s, I would
have done so well if I had lived during the Great Depression.
I headed out the door after the
Sock Detail to take the trash to the landfill and flirt with “Dynasty.” Last week he tried out, “Hey, Babe.” I don’t like it as much as “Hey, Beautiful!” Actually, I don’t like Babe at all. The 30% of me that is fire-breathing feminist
finds that functionally demeaning. Don’t
ask me to explain that in any more detail.
Today he tried out, “Hiya, Sweet Pea.”
I guess that makes my mother Olive Oyle and my father Pop-Eye? They will be thrilled…. Not.
I went to the Methodists with two
bags of bottle returns for them. I went
to the Wesleyans with one bag of clothing for the bin. And then I went to the Boulevard to the other two
stores as previously mentioned.
On the way home, the radio was playing,
“The God of Angel Armies is Always By My Side.”
I always think of an event I was at a few years ago in a Protestant church when I
hear that song. I happened to be
standing near a Protestant pastor and his wife.
They were singing so loud, in his case it seemed like he was trying to
impress someone with his zeal. I was
singing along, holding my own but still felt at the end that it was more like
dueling vocal-banjo’s than it was worship.
That’s what I get for going to a church not my own. Speaking of which….
More recently, a doctor at work
barked at me for going to Church during COVID.
I said to him, “Look, here’s what you don’t ‘get.’” – we have that kind
of relationship after a decade of working together.
“In my church, every other row is taped
off. I’ve been single for my whole life
and the last 30 years I’ve been sitting socially-distanced by at least ten feet
before it was in vogue. Everyone is
facing the same direction with masks on.
Either the masks work, or they don’t – and I believe they do. PLUS, I’m Catholic and we PAY someone to
stand up front and sing FOR us: the cantor.
It’s not really a germ event.” He
laughed out loud. I was only kind of
kidding.
I came home after my journeys
today and cleaned the Bird Room with the spaniels at my heels. Wait until Sophia Hope sees that she has
birds IN the house here! And when we have
fed and watered the four birds (Spice Finch, Fischer lovebird, Cockatiel, Sun
Conure) in each of their cages, the dogs sit nicely waiting for a Pepperidge
Farm goldfish cracker. It’s a big
hit. They won’t leave the room without
one. The conure, “Sunny D,” moves close
to the bars of the cage and extends his wings out behind him and bobs his head
low until he gets one too. Then we move
onward to more relentless house-cleaning.
I should “nest” like this more often.
I am getting a lot done today. 😊
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