COVID19: Pre-election Jitters

I don't write about heavy stuff here very often, because this is a safe space from that kind of trouble, but these are strange times, and so much of what I do and share here, the sketching and baking and getting excited about vegetables are a response to them. 

Hurt. Confusion. Frustration. Anger. Fear. Those are all the words I write in big, dark letters on the board without much prompting or soul searching. Those emotions have ridden barely below the surface of me for the last four years, and in what counts as normal conversation anymore, I can talk about them without hesitation, citing cruel offenses to humanity, our planet, the rule of law, the status of our nation on the world stage; calling out those who will forever and unforgivably bear the stain of this time.

2016. 

I know I need to write about it to unload it from my emotional luggage and position myself to recover.  Preferably before the 2020 election happens on Tuesday. One of the first things Jack said when we knew for sure that Trump had the electoral votes he needed to win the presidency was, "this is worse than 9/11," and has that not been the damn truth? especially these last few months with thousands of people dying from COVID19 every day?

COVID19: Phoebe Turns One

In a month, Phoebe will have been with us for a whole year, which means her first birthday is probably sometime this week give or take a few days. We rescued her the weekend before Thanksgiving, and Dr. Little estimated her to be about four weeks old when we carried her to see him the next day, so Happy Birthday, PhoebeKitty.

I started to say she's the tiniest, most pitiful kitten we've ever rescued, but that might or might not be true. We'd have to prowl through the aforementioned Dr. Little's records to find out for sure. Venus was so tiny, malnourished, and eaten by fleas when she showed up at the door in September 2001 that we didn't know if she'd live long enough to even go to the vet. She may have been smaller and sicker than Phoebe. Puddy was a scrap of dehydrated baby kitten when I found him in the Food Lion parking lot on Father's Day in 2015. He wasn't sick, but he was itty-bitty and needed a lot of support in the first weeks. 

For what it's worth, one of the things Jack and I are "good at" is helping little baby kitties confront their challenges and establish healthy, happy lives. 

The next real challenge Phoebe faces is transitioning to a diet of all adult cat food. Right now she gets a can of Fancy Feast soft kitten food in the evenings, but with her being a year old, that has to change. The protein content in kitten food is too high for adult cats, and the prospect of keeping her on any kind of canned food opens the door for Bill and Kinky - especially Kinky - to expect equal rations. He already has a hard time understanding why Phoebe gets something different and delicious in her very own bowl and lingers close at feeding time in case an opportunity for a sharing situation presents itself. 

Josie shares Kinky's concerns.

COVID19: Pandemic Biscotti and Looking Forward

The last time I made biscotti was Christmas 2009 when Lucia was one and teething. I'd made biscotti the previous year, having taken a biscotti class at our friend Claudia's house only a couple of days before Lucia was born. In the confusion of baking and blogging and becoming an aunt, some of Sis and Chris' friends who followed the blog for updates briefly thought the baby's name was Biscotti Lucia. Here's that post:

https://2busyandersons.blogspot.com/2008/12/biscotti-lucia.html

Lately I've had a craving for it, so when I mentioned that I was adding whole almonds to our grocery order and Jack piped up with, "Why don't you make some biscotti?" I decided to do it.

The first two batches - classic almond with lemon zest and vanilla and orange-cranberry - turned out so nicely that I'm thinking ahead to Thanksgiving and Christmas. Yes, I wrote those words, and we're not to Halloween yet. 

Sliced and ready for the second bake.

Even though there's zilch possibility of having anything close to a "normal" season and visiting with people the way we like to, I can't remember the last time I got excited about the winter holidays this early in the fall. 

                                      

COVID19: Early Vote

Jack and I voted Thursday afternoon.

We normally vote on election day at the Keltonburg Community Center and visit with Miss Linda and Miss Iva Dell, who always work the polls, for a few minutes. Miss Linda mentions the time she and Coach saw us eating with chopsticks at the Chinese restaurant ten years ago, and Miss Iva Dell asks how Sis' girls are doing and wants to see photos. Both women are retired elementary school teachers and worked with Dad at Smithville Elementary. Miss Iva Dell was my fourth grade home room teacher and graduated from high school with Uncle Billy, and Miss Linda's son, Rocky, and I went through school together and were in the same graduating class. Her husband, Coach, also taught at Smithville Elementary after a notorious career with the boys' basketball program at DeKalb County High School, including the years I attended. The roots run deep, and we always find plenty to talk about when we go vote. 

This time is different. With the dual threat of COVID19 and potential intimidation from the president's goons on election day, we took advantage of the opportunity to early vote at the courthouse. 

I thought voting was supposed to start at 1:00, so we arrived almost an hour early to find a group of people already waiting outside the locked doors of the courthouse basement. The line, as it were, was a dozen or so people scattered around the entrance area. The first person in line was a maskless man wearing a big, straw cowboy hat who sat in a lawn chair with an umbrella attached as a sunshade. He talked loudly to another maskless man who had also brought a chair from home and nodded as the man with the hat gave assurances of Trump's re-election and explained how "they're gonna target WalMart distribution centers and Amazon warehouses and burn'em all down when the results are announced. They hate white people that much."

The other man admitted that he sometimes watches a few minutes of CNN "just so see what they're up to."

I pilfered my giant handbag for the sketchbook and pencils I'd brought in case we needed to kill time, settling on a concrete bench to wait it out while Jack nervously took census of the other people waiting for voting to start. As I flipped to the drawing of a little block building I'd sketched-out the previous night and started adding trees behind it, Jack twitched and huffed yet another ragged sigh into his mask. He wanted to leave and didn't have to say it, and I admit I'd lost track of how many folks were crowding into the space nearby. 

I whispered some angry words about abandoning our spaces near the front of the line - we're so rarely early for things, and Jack whispered some angry words about dying of COVID19, then we stomped off to the car.

Forty minutes later, we put on our masks and joined the line. Groups and clusters of people, some wearing masks but most riding bareback, wrapped around the "Union Planters corner" to "across from Cantrell's Jewelry." 

A lot of visiting and laughing happened, and a toddler in orange pants gave hugs to the older women her mother knew. A man with a giant Trump flag and a tiny American flag mounted on a fishing pole shouted random admonishments from the sidewalk beyond the 100 ft. polling place boundary near the bank's drive-thru. The pod of folks immediately in front of us was a pair of elderly couples and a little man who was thankfully wearing a mask, because he talked a blue streak the whole time. He wasn't spinning conspiracy yarns. He talked about his garden and his cousin's garden, a truck he had fixed at Mark's Body Shop, all the tobacco his mama's people used to grow, taking a load of goats to the sale barn, every lawyer who's represented him in the last twenty years, going night fishing at Holmes Creek, and how he usually waits to vote on election day.

I eavesdropped, shifted myself away from folks, and shuffled forward almost to the courthouse doors. The check-in table was within sight. The closer we got, though, the more the couple behind us and the people in line behind them pressed toward us, and our progress stalled. Suddenly, one of the election officials appeared in the doorway and instructed everyone to spread out. She waved toward the "stand here" stickers placed at safe intervals on the interior floor and then asked us all to move aside, explaining that a voter had passed out and was unresponsive. She moved up and down the line to see if anyone knew the woman, but no one spoke up. The ambulance arrived, and the crew quickly packed up their patient and headed to the hospital with her. 

A half hour later, votes cast, we headed home. The lingering irritation I had about abandoning our place near the head of the line was misplaced because that situation was less safe than standing in line, and after all, we've waited four years for this, what's an extra hour and a half? 

Here's the guy with the flags. We know his name, because the former chairperson of the local Republican party had to remind him where he was supposed to stand. 

COVID19: Pandemic Update

10/20/2020. I wanted to type it out to look at it. 

Tennessee's COVID19 numbers are spiking, but this time, the bulk of cases are hitting rural areas like DeKalb County where we live. We've had 17 deaths here, and I'm afraid to speculate how many more families in our community will have to face incredible loss before this pandemic is brought under control. 

Governor Bill Lee flatly refuses to issue a mask mandate, even though the White House has given him the directive to do so according to a couple of verified news reports I've read in recent days. He insists that people are going to do the right thing when exercising their personal freedoms and says we should give people the space to make their own choices. Funny thing, though, is how his belief in personal liberty doesn't extend to women who need abortions, but that's another basket of mess for another day's words.

 

Monday, Tennessee reported more than 3,300 new cases of COVID19, which is the one-day record thus far in the pandemic. People who have hung their hat on patriotism, community, and living "the golden rule" would just do anything to help their neighbors and be a good citizen except wear a mask. Governor Lee has delegated the decision-making for mask mandates and restrictions on gatherings to leaders at the local level, and for little towns that mostly run themselves and don't generally require a lot of hard-core leadership, being tough and sticking with unpopular decisions for sake of public safety are easier said than done. 

COVID19: Fancy/Not Fancy

The first acorn hit the roof over the weekend, so fall has arrived. 

No matter what the calendar says, and we've already talked about how the buckeye in the front yard is naked by the end of July, the season is official when we hear the first BANG>rattle>rattle>rattle on the roof. Jack and I have both seen and heard and been struck by falling acorns in recent days, but until we hear the first one. From inside. With music or the TV going. That's the official. Officially.

In celebration of the change of seasons, I made this pie, which is actually a galette, with two apples Mom and Dad gave us and one apple that came in our first box from Misfits Market. More on that in a future blog post.

Anyway. Here's the pie:

Isn't it pretty? The apple shape was unintentional, but when it turned out like that by happenstance, I took it as a good sign.

Galette is the easiest way in the world to do pie. When I told Mom what I planned to do with some of the apples she and Dad had just given us, she accused me of being fancy. Maybe this seems fancy because the name is French, but I've seen, and probably made, mud pies fancier than this. 

The crust is a plain'old homemade crust (or use store bought - it's fine) with mostly butter and a little bit of lard rolled out in a basic circle shape with 3 apples sliced thin, a teaspoon of cinnamon, a tablespoon of lemon juice, and 3 tablespoons brown sugar tossed together and arranged into rough stacks. The pastry gets snugged up tight with some loose pleats and light squeezes here and there. Drizzle the juicy stuff from the bowl over the apples, give the pastry a brush of egg wash and a sprinkle of coarse sugar, and slide that puppy into the oven for 40'ish minutes, and you have galette. I roll my pastry out on parchment then move it onto a sheet pan. Add filling. Flop the edges over. Hug around it with your hands. Boom. Pie.

Not fancy.

There's no rolling pin magic trick to get the pastry into a pie pan or crimped-edge expectation, no top crust to bungle, no trimming off the excess or guess-work about whether the inside is done yet. The most tedious thing is thinly slicing your fruits. If the slices aren't thin, the pie will be soggy. Use vegetables, like onions, peppers, and spinach, for a savory pie. Add onion powder or a spice blend to the flour for the crust to up the ante. 

Jack made whipped cream, and we grated a bit of nutmeg on top. Maybe that's fancy. It certainly was delicious.

COVID19: Hit the Floor and Roll with It

For the last couple of weeks, I've been using a foam roller and a couple of different little balls to do what's called a trigger release on my piriformis muscle and several places around my shoulders. Using the word "miracle" bothers me, because a) I don't believe in miracles and b) it's only been two weeks. 

And while I don't believe in miracles, I do believe in jinxes enough to not brag about anything before it's proven itself in the long run. That said, WOW! my creaky, gristly, wake-me-up-at-night parts feel pretty great.

The mule who normally kicks me in the right hip at 4'ish in the a.m. has stayed in the barn and so has the little pitchfork which regularly hits my right shoulder with tingles and aches from her razor sharp daggers. The only night my sleep was interrupted by aches and pains have been the nights when I decided to take the day off from literally rolling in the living room floor. The creaks and groans aren't as bad as normal overall, but hitting the floor - and the wall - for some trigger point release is becoming a key part of my daily routine. 

Sis first introduced me to the foam roller when she brought hers to the farm a couple of Christmases ago.  She was either training for a half-marathon or rehabbing something injured and said foam rolling felt great and had helped her overcome pain and activity intolerance. At that time I was too undone to think about adding anything to my life, especially exercise, so I banked her solid recommendation in the back of my mind where it stayed until recently. 

I was actually browsing support pillows when I noticed the Amazon Basics Foam Roller in  "Recommended for You" items and started scrolling through the reviews. An hour later, after reading a couple of trusted-source articles about the benefits of foam rolling and trigger point release, I added one of the Amazon ones - 36" long (easier for beginners) in solid blue - to my wish list and began considering how I could integrate twenty minutes of relaxation practice into my daily routine. 

The next morning, after tossing and turning and not sleeping well, I found more time to read about trigger point release then hunted for odds and ends to give myself a makeshift session. Jack's homemade back massager - eight old tennis balls ke-bab'ed onto a 20" length of PVC pipe - is a wonderful DIY tool for its intended purpose, but the balls are too soft and squishy to reach deeply enough into muscle tissue to have much impact and neither did an intact tennis ball. A piece of differently-sized PVC pipe we use to massage our feet was too short to do any good on my hip and had rough edges which dug into my skin through my clothes. 

So I ordered the roller.

The first workout was clumsy and halting as I fumbled through the moves from the photos in the articles I read, but I knew instantly when I hit my piriformis. I mostly knew what to expect and moved the tight band of muscle across the roller, settling slightly into the "knot" and allowing the roller to press more deeply into the tissue. I felt an easing of the tightness and slowly rolled myself down to the next little tight spot and moved around and to the other side. After finishing with my hips and buttocks, I shifted my effort to my upper body. The roller felt a little clunky around my shoulders, but I followed the sequence of exercises I'd reviewed ahead of time and went about the rest of my day. 

That night I slept more comfortably than I have in as long as I can remember. All kinds of variables come into play and the keys to restful sleep aren't the same for everyone, but right now, I seem to be closing in on some of mine. 

In the weeks since I started rolling every other day or so and with the addition of a lacrosse ball and a massage orb, both inexpensive additions to my toolbox that were recommended by my massage therapist friend to isolate specific muscles around my shoulders, the results have taken me to the next level.

Not only am I sleeping better, I parked the car today and was able to turn my head and shoulders both directions instead of backing into the parking place instead of relying solely on the mirrors. I look forward to seeing where this goes. 

It is definitely a path in a positive direction. 

Here's a good basic resource if you're interested:

https://www.healthline.com/health/foam-roller-benefits