Well, I just got home after several days on the coast. Blair and John Samuel went on an anniversary trip to Boston and needed a dogsitter. I know I’ve told y’all that they have a rescue dog who carries some emotional baggage from her past, so she requires extra tender care. She also has pretty severe separation anxiety when her humans go away and I made the offer to come stay at their house to, at least, let Allie be in her familiar surroundings. I mean, the area where they live is not a bad place to have to spend a few days. 

Since I’d be gone for a while, I asked my mother if she’d like to come with me and we’d squeeze some shopping and seafood experiences in between our dog care. I thought it would be nice to enjoy a few quiet days away with her -watching movies, reading, and visiting. And, of course, Ruby had to go along to entertain Allie and help distract her from the fact that her humans were on hiatus. Ruby is nothing if not distracting. So, I loaded her in her kennel and my mother, who isn’t a dog person, and a whole bunch of luggage and dog food into my car and we headed out on Friday morning. 

Their flight was early that morning and we arrived around 11. Blair had left a delicious lunch ready for us in the crockpot. We unloaded the car and quickly settled into a routine. Mama would go walking early in the morning at her leisurely pace. I’d take the dogs walking three times a day at a very un-leisurely pace. We’d go out and get a good lunch and shop a little bit every day. We napped. Read. Snacked. Rocked on the porch. Cooked dinner. Watched movies. It was a lovely time. 

Well, Mama had been having some allergy symptoms since the night before we left home. We have terrible allergies in the fall- even worse than in the spring. So, she sneezed and her nose was runny and her voice was hoarse and she had a little cough. All the while, she was steadily taking her allergy meds. Until. The day before we were heading home, she got a call that she’d been exposed to Covid, the week before at a small party, so we had to get her tested. It was positive. She’d had a breakthrough case that she’d picked up from another breakthrough case at the gathering. 

There I was stuck with my Covid roommate and Allie with notable car anxiety- making loading her up and taking her home with us, for the duration of their trip, an impossibility. I might also mention here that this is about when it started thundering, another fear of Allie’s, so I administered the CBD anxiety chews her parents left me. At this point, I thought I might benefit from some pot myself. As a matter of fact, we all could have. 

After much back and forth and phone calls with Mama’s doctor and my brother, we settled on coming home, the next evening, as planned and get her an antibody infusion, the following day. She didn’t feel too bad and was still enjoying herself, so we stayed. She was worried about me, but, I mean, we’d been breathing the same air for 4 days, so I didn’t think one more day would make much difference as far as I was concerned. I had to complete my sitting mission for my emotionally fragile granddog, so I dosed Mama up with my vitamin D, C, and Zinc and headed out to walk them again.  

Well, you have to pick up the dog poop in Blair’s neighborhood, which is just disgusting even for this dog lover. And with 2 of them, they kept me busy. We don’t do that in our neighborhood. We operate on the “Watch Where You Step” system and it seems to work nicely. Anyway, Ruby did her afternoon business and I leaned over to scoop it up and that’s when I saw it. A worm in her poop. “This is just so great,” I thought. Allie is going to get worms from her country cousin and her parents will freak. Overprotective dog parents doesn’t even begin to cover what they are. 

So, I got back and texted Davis to have some dog wormer ready when we got home. Then I texted Blair. I felt it was close enough to the end of their trip that she could digest all the news without it ruining anything. I needed to give her a little heads up for when she drove up and her grandmother was locked up in the car and wouldn’t get out and her house was a fog of Lysol Spring Meadow. “First of all, your Grandma has Covid, but she’s feeling fine. Second thing, Ruby has worms and you’ll probably never want us to come near your house again with all of our nastiness.” I thought she took it all fairly well after some reassurance. 

Well, Mama was feeling ok and doing her little exercises and we continued having a good time. And as a refresher, she’s not a dog person and she is also very germ conscious, so I knew the worm thing would have to be my and Ruby’s little secret as I’m a firm believer in what you don’t know can’t hurt you. 

Fast forward to right before we leave. My mother Cloroxed (southern word for the act of applying bleach cleaner) every surface of Blair and John Samuel’s house. If she’d touched it, looked at it, or walked past it, she wiped it down. She sprayed Lysol in the air and went and got in the car about 10 minutes before they were to drive up. She said she was going to sit in the back seat and double mask so to not infect me, being closed up together in the car on the way home. I told her that ship had already sailed several days ago, but it made her feel better to do it. 

They finally arrived and I passed the care of Allie’s special needs back to her parents. Allie celebrated by howling for 5 straight minutes. I think it was her recap of how horrible the whole experience was for her. We put Ruby in her kennel in the back of the car with her grandmother. There, they sat together. The grandmother who didn’t know the dog had worms. The dog who didn’t know the grandmother had Covid. Each living in their own ignorant bliss as we drove off into the dark Alabama night. 

Ruby has since been wormed. Mama has since been infused. Both are doing well. I’m showing no symptoms but staying away from people for a bit. 

We’re all just doing the best we know to do right now. Going on the latest information we have. Trying to minimize risks and damages. We can do everything in our power to stop the spread and, sometimes, it’s still not enough. I’m just thankful that my mother isn’t too sick and grateful for a few days- just her and me. Even if it was a bit contaminated. 

Y’all stay safe out there! Happy Weekend! 

JONI 

Ok, a little mature lady talk. I’m 53. That mysterious age where these eerie transformations are supposed to be happening. They use to call it “The Change” which indicates you’re going to be altered or transformed into something different than you once were. Boy, I’ll say. I wasn’t sure what it was called way back when my Mama was going through it, but I certainly knew she was going through something and it wasn’t pleasant for any of us. I remember how the usually sweet, gentle, and kind woman began emitting sparks from her eyes and smoke rose from her mouth when anything made her mad. Anything covered a lot of ground back then. When there were no sparks or smoke, there were tears. And not just any tears- the epic kind that said, “you have ripped my heart from my chest and I will never recover from what you have done to me in this moment.” So, those were our choices for a couple of years. The crazed angry woman who could kill with the flaming arrows of her stare or the pitiful creature in a puddle of her own tears. Of course, while this was all going on, I was in my later teenage years and a hormonal hurricane all my own. As I recall, those were some good, good times. 

Well, since I had a partial hysterectomy, I’ve wondered how I would tell when I crossed over into that spooky change thing. I mean, would the eye sparks come first and then the large uptick in Kleenex usage? Would I start to notice more and more people trying to avoid me and that would be my first sign? I wasn’t clear on how that worked, but I may have noticed some stronger hints as of late. I think they could be put into two categories- physical changes where I feel as if my head is attached to an alien body- unfamiliar and of another world than the one I’ve been living in until now. And then the mental and emotional aspects in which it might be said that some of my fruits of the spirit have been out of season- namely the patience, long-suffering, and self-control. 

Now, those physical changes can be a doozy. I believe my facial hair progression, through the years, has gone from just a little bleach to hot wax to now a battery powered razor. Of course, they don’t call them razors when they’re for the ladies. No, it’s a personal trimmer. A beautiful metallic gold apparatus with the feminine sounding name, Flawless, written on the side, but let’s get real- it’s a miniature weed eater for hormone deficient women and, when I put it to my chin, it sounds just like the weed whacker hitting that tall patch of grass around our mailbox. My eyelids are drooping now and my neck is starting to show a lot of give and my arms are getting that textured look not unlike a worn leather recliner. And the pain in some of my joints even had me buying some of that topical pain relieving cream like my grandmother used. But the most glaring place I notice the physical change is around the middle. Oh, the middle. What is all that? Sure, I’ve had a muffin top since the children were born, but we seem to have advanced it to the next level. 

Needing a new dress for a wedding, I recently brought home two to try on with my shapewear and shoes as they can make all the difference, although, I’m not specifically a Spanx girl. I find it doesn’t really do much to minimize anything, but just gives it more the appearance of a water balloon. But, you know, we can only ask so much from our textile foundation garments. I mean, they’re not liposuction. Anyway, I determined one dress would work and the other was just too fitted in the midsection for this new and transforming me, where there is no longer a discernible change in girth from the rib cage to the waist. And I decided, while I was suited up in my spandex, I’d try on every dress in my closet and cull the hopeless cases- something I’ve been saying I needed to do, every Sunday, when I’m trying to decide what to wear to church. It took a while, but I struggled and pulled and sweated and ripped seams trying on each and every one. Now, they’re hung back in the closet in order from “Fitting For Now” to “Will Fit If I Drink More Water” to “Might Work If I Contract a Stomach Bug” to, finally, the “Will Require a 2 Week Liquid Diet” section in the very back. Who knows- someday, I may need some dental surgery. That would be the only way I’ll get back into that section. Anything that fell beyond those perimeters, I considered too far fetched and placed in the special give-away pile. 

The emotional and mental clues I’m getting from the ominous “Change” have been appearing for a while and are growing. I fixed myself a glass of tea at lunch today and then I fixed myself another glass of tea not remembering I’d fixed a glass of tea just two minutes earlier. My mind is as foggy as a……um….well….a really foggy place. And then there are my emotions. It’s like I can’t help it, sometimes. Something just comes over me. Yesterday, I was out running errands in the rain and I was in and out of the car all day and getting aggravated. Getting in and struggling with an impaired umbrella that was dripping all over everything had me spouting off words my Mama taught me never to say. And I find myself getting angry at inanimate objects. Like slinging the said malfunctioning umbrella all the way to the back of the car and hitting the window or kicking things that are in my way to show them who’s in charge. And I’ll just go ahead and warn you if I get behind you in traffic, you won’t be able to do anything right. You’ll be going too slow or taking too long to turn or driving in the wrong lane. I’ll find something in your driving to talk out loud to myself about and don’t be alarmed if I honk for emphasis. Just say, “Bless her little changing heart- her patience fruit has just completely rotted on the vine.” 

I’ve also become considerably more irate with injustice and unscrupulous behavior. I obviously can’t watch the news in my current state. It’s like I can’t let things go. I’m hormonal and I’m taking names. I’ve recently turned in a school bus that I felt was being unsafe and dialed the 1-800 number on the back of an 18 wheeler that was driving like a fool. Just today, I sat in wait to take pictures of the tag of a shoplifter. If I had a badge and a holster, I think I could really clean up some stuff. And if my new body wouldn’t look so ridiculous in those super hero costumes with the steel bras, I’d go so far to say I’d even be a good fit for the Justice League- somewhere between Superman, Green Lantern, and Wonder Woman, there I’d be- Mental Muffintop. I’d need an outfit with an empire waist for it to work though. 

So, all that to say, the times, they are a-changin’ and so am I, apparently. If you’re a-changin’ too, well, I feel ya and I’m here for you. So, let’s just forge ahead and carry on with what we were doing. What were we doing? Is it hot in here? What did you just say to me? I can’t remember why I called you. I can’t believe you’re not hot. Did I already tell you this? What do you mean the zipper won’t go any higher? Yes, I’d like to report an incident. Where did my eyebrows go? What were we talking about? What are all these brown spots? Nothing’s wrong- I’m fine.  

Y’all have a great weekend and for all you, young women, out there- never change.

JONI 

I was watching a 9/11 documentary on Hulu this morning. I couldn’t help but cry as I saw people hanging out of those smoky windows. People, with no hope of being rescued, leaping into the air after it was determined to be the best of two very grim options. My lip quivered listening to answering machine messages of sons saying goodbye to mothers and wives saying goodbye to husbands. “Please tell the children I love them always.” My eyes teared for the co-workers who went back in to save others but never came out again or those, who lagged behind the crowd, refusing to leave an injured stranger behind. I cried for the unimaginable trauma those people endured on that terrifying day. A day that could only be described as a living nightmare. Their desperation. Their fear. Their hopelessness. Their pain. Their confusion. I cried for them- those people who were physically present and what they experienced. But, I think some of my tears were for how many lessons we’ve forgotten since then. 

On that day, we didn’t have a sprawling list of prerequisites in order for someone to qualify to receive our care and compassion. We didn’t stop to ensure that political affiliations or stances on social issues lined up with ours before dispensing our assistance. There were no checklists to be completed in order to prove someone’s worthiness of our love and concern. We didn’t give careful examination of skin color or background or religious views or personal records before we deemed them eligible for our sympathy. On that day, we didn’t care about any of that. It was enough that they were our fellow man. Created by God, the Father, and in need of His mercy just like us. If only that was still enough, today. 

God, help us find our way back to that place where it’s enough.