Today, Studly Doright went into his office in Tallahassee, gathered up all of his essentials and returned home to Doright Manor from where he will office as long as necessary. The cat and I have mixed feelings about this.
On the one hand we’re relieved that he won’t be interacting with potential carriers of COVID-19, and that he’ll be around to share his sense of humor and his “don’t worry, be happy” mentality.
On the other hand, Scout and I are wondering how we’ll stay out of his hair during the work day and how we’ll sneak in our snuggly naps. We’re just going to have to learn to sleep with our eyes open, I suppose.
Here we are, staying in place, trying our best to keep the corona virus from finding us. In my sci-fi addled brain, COVID-19 is a monster lurking in the internal organs of some stranger’s infected body, awaiting an opening, perhaps a sneeze or a cough, to propel him into the next host.
And that host could be me, or worse, someone I love.
Yes, I know that in most cases of the virus the symptoms are mild—barely noticeable in some instances, but those that are bad, are scary.
BUT! Nature doesn’t give a flip. These past few days have been gorgeous here in Florida. Sunshine and temperatures in the 80’s. And in some parts of the country, snow is falling like crazy. The monster keeps on creeping, but nature doesn’t care, and that comforts me.
I hope all of you are safe and healthy and able to appreciate whatever nature is sharing with you today.
Right off the bat this morning, even before I’d gotten out of bed, Studly Doright said, “I think you need to take my temperature.”
Alrighty then. Nothing like that kind of request in the middle of a global pandemic to get one’s heart racing and one’s feet moving. I immediately went to our thermometer drawer (which is also our band-aids and q-tips drawer) and fished out both of our thermometers, knowing that neither had been used in ages and were likely in need of batteries and also knowing I didn’t have any batteries on hand.
I sanitized the one that was most likely to be working, and stuck it under Studly’s tongue. His temperature registered at 97.4. I knew that wasn’t right—he’s always a predictable 98.6. Tried again just to make sure and got the low reading again. The other thermometer wouldn’t even turn on.
Now, using the Mommy Method of temperature taking, aka kissing Studly’s forehead, I was certain he wasn’t running an elevated temperature, but he was adamant that I locate a thermometer. After going to seven stores in three different communities I found just one thermometer, a fancy one that works with an iPhone app. I bought it, but can’t find the lightning charger that came with my iPhone, and the thermometer requires that for set up purposes. #%*€£#%.
I also found a battery at one of the stores, though, they were in short supply, as well. After fumfering around with the fancy thermometer I gave up and installed the battery in our old, cheap, run-of-the-mill thermometer. Voila! Why didn’t I just do that first?
Inserted the thermometer into Studly’s mouth, and in less than a minute it beeped. He does not have a fever. The Mommy Method was accurate, after all. He also has none of the other symptoms of COVID-19, but his stomach is upset. He stayed home from work today—something he NEVER does, and is snoring loudly on the couch—something he does frequently.
Here’s hoping all of your thermometers are in working order and that if you need to find your lightning charger it’s close at hand. Mine sure wasn’t.
Most, if not all festivities celebrating St. Patrick’s Day in the U.S. have been cancelled. I’m sure children who remember to do so will still pinch their unsuspecting parents who’ve forgotten to wear green, but hopefully from a safe distance after which they’ll vigorously wash their hands (front and back—not just the fingertips) while singing “When Irish Eyes are Smiling.”
I do not look great in green, so I was always the pinchee and seldom the pincher. When I taught, I made sure to wear a sprig of green on my blouse lest I risk my arms being pinched black and blue by day’s end. Little darlings who caught me unprepared paid for their cheekiness when grades came out. (Not really. I’m not vindictive in that way.)
St. Patrick who, legend has it, drove the snakes out of Ireland, could certainly help us out today, if we could only persuade him to drive the current ‘snake(s)’ out of our lands. COVID-19 needs to go, along with several people whose names I need not mention (one rhymes with Tronald Dump).
Maybe if we all wear green, forgo pinching one another, and wash our hands relentlessly, good St. Patrick will save the day, but we might have to suffer awhile longer.