Lately I haven’t written anything for the blog until I’ve reached my daily goal of at least a thousand words in my novel. Today, though, I’m breaking my rule for a quick public service message.
There’s a link I found on Facebook that will help folks locate supplies in their area. Instok.org has been a godsend, and while I don’t know if it will work outside of the U.S., there’s likely something similar in your country.
Click on the link, then type in what you’re searching for, enter your zip code, and the locations where your item is in stock will be listed. It’s helped me find toilet paper twice now. Next, I’m going to look for Chris Pratt. Wouldn’t hurt to try, right,
How are you? How are you coping right now? At my house, it’s just Studly Doright, Scout (our elderly cat), and me. Currently we have toilet paper and a plan in place in case that runs out. You really don’t want to know the details of that plan.
We have food enough for at least two weeks, more if we dig into our stash of things we aren’t crazy about eating, but will if we have to. I’m not sure how we manage to buy items that we think we’ll eat, but never do. Some of it is left over from the last time the grandkids visited, but most of the unwanted foods were purchased with good intentions.
Studly is working from home with lots of help from Scout, who now makes sure he’s up and ready to head to the office around 6 a.m. Her favorite thing is helping him with conference calls. She’s probably saved the company a fortune simply by adding her occasional meow to the conversations.
I’m sort of a loner anyway, so except for the fact that now 99% of my time is spent at home all day every day, nothing much has changed. Before the pandemic, I’d go on solo expeditions looking for things to use as blog fodder.
I worry about our kids and grandkids, my brothers and their families and Studly’s mom and his siblings. Worry isn’t productive, though, so I pray for them all every day, often more than once. I hope someone out there is praying for me.
Oh, and I think about all of the bloggers I follow. If I don’t see a post from the regulars fairly often I begin to fear the worst. Please post something, even if it’s just a meme or a photo or a reassuring sentence. Let me know you’re okay. Same with those who follow me. You’re important to me.
Friends, I’m 63 years old. Post-menopausal. Almost out to pasture. 😉
Last night though, I had the damnedest dream about a steamy (and I do mean STEAMY) romp with Owen Wilson.
The two of us couldn’t keep our hands off one another. I’m blushing even as I write about it.
The question is “why him?” I mean, he’s adorable and goofy, and a Texan to boot, but I’ve never even entertained a mildly romantic fantasy about Owen, let alone a full-blown x-rated one. Now, Huey Lewis is a totally different, and age appropriate, matter.
Generally, Studly Doright and I are on the same page when it comes to movies. We do have our particular viewing niches, though. He tends toward movies that are big on sophomoric humor, while I enjoy science fiction more than he does. We can usually compromise, and often do the quid pro quo thing where we alternate movie choices. “I’ll watch Dumb and Dumber with you tonight if we can watch Star Wars, A New Hope, tomorrow.”
Occasionally there’ll be a movie he really wants to see that no amount of quid pro quoing will satisfy. For example, I do not like war movies. They make me furious and anxious. Okay, one could argue that many sci-fi films are nothing more than futuristic war movies, but by their very nature they are elevated above the nitty gritty of say, Saving Private Ryan, a film that haunted me for years.
Last night, though, we decided to watch 1917. I’d heard so many great things about the making of the film, and didn’t veto Studly’s choice as I normally would any other war movie.
Did it make me angry? Yes. War is an abomination. I hate the glorification of war that is part of many films. But there was none of that here. My anger wasn’t at the movie itself, but at war in general.
Did it make me anxious? Incredibly so. I almost could not breathe in certain scenes. But, I did like this film, I actually liked it more than Studly did.
The cinematography is incredible. I know nothing of movie making, but apparently the people in charge on 1917 did.
Studly Doright and his co-worker, Scout, look over the day’s agenda. He says she’s taking direction fairly well, and seldom questions his judgement. She also works for room, board, and meals, so that’s a plus. Her bonus pay consists of treats on demand and an occasional scratch behind the ear.
I applied for the job, but lost out due to ergonomic and spatial constraints: I cannot arrange myself on the desk like Scout can.
Today, I wrote 1,853 words in my novel. That’s a really good day for me. I’m still well shy of 60,000 words, but I am going to get it done. Yay!
The biggest accomplishment of the day, though, was that one of my characters said something that made me cry. I mean big tears rolled out of my eyes then down my cheeks and I had to stop and collect myself before continuing with the tale.
I cry fairly easily. It’s not uncommon for me to sob while reading a novel, but until today, I’d been fairly well prepared for anything my own characters might say. It’s not the first time a character has surprised me, but it is the first time the surprise has resulted in tears.
On this Tuesday in quarantine I’ve discovered the long lost tv remote control that Studly Doright claimed he’d looked high and low for. It was in plain sight on the table next to his recliner. “Huh! What do you know?” he said.
In addition, I located a set of headphones that he swore he’d already searched for. These weren’t on top of the end table, but inside it. Again, he said, “Huh! What do you know?”
I’ve had my favorite Irish breakfast tea with a splash of almond milk and a bit of honey. Now, until a few weeks ago I’d have laughed at the idea of any kind of milk in my hot tea, but it’s quite good and for the rest of the morning I’ve spoken exclusively in an Irish accent. I’m better at Scottish accents, but as far as I can tell there’s no Scottish breakfast tea in the house. Maybe I should look on the table beside Studly’s chair.
I’ve worked on the novel a bit. I wrote a thousand words yesterday, but only 500 this morning. I’m having trouble getting my characters to shut up and move along. And I know I need less talk and more ambiance to flesh out the book.
For lunch I ordered takeout from Sweet Pea in Tallahassee. I worry about my favorite vegan place during this time. I tip extra every time I buy a meal there, but I know their business is probably slow right now. Be sure and support your local mom and pop businesses if you can.
My laundry is as caught up as it’s ever been. I do at least one load of towels every day on the “sanitize” settings, and that takes a considerable amount of time.
I tried to take a nap, but my brain won’t stop trying to solve the problem I’m having with the novel, so I picked up my phone and began writing this post. I wonder if the solution to my characters’ issues could be found on the table next to Studly’s chair? It’s worth taking a look, I guess.
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.
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.