I Know Who To Blame!

 

10 AM this morning...the Husband not happy

Three and a half FEET. And it’s still coming down. And the radio keeps saying 12-16 inches. HA!

My office mate and one of my patients is responsible for this: one has been saying how much she likes snow, and the other has been complaining that there isn’t any snow yet and how she’d like a lot of snow so it really feels like winter. Well, listen up: winter doesn’t start until next week, thank you very much, and you have to remember that the weather gods are always listening, always looking for an excuse to play what they think of as a fun trick on us. Don’t talk about what you wish the weather was; don’t even think about it. You two are responsible for this mess we’re in!

I’m looking out the window at the back forty, where the garden is. The teak garden chair that was setting on the brick entryway I made this summer has disappeared. There isn’t even a higher lump to indicate where it is – I assume it’s still there and the weather gods didn’t take it back to their cave or whatever they live in this time of year. The snow piled up on the compost bins is so high I can only see the tips of the apple tree branches beyond them. One of my wind whirlies is completely buried, and the other two have snow up to their lowest blades, inhibiting their ability to whirl. The pear tree’s entire trunk is under snow. The wheelbarrow the Husband left out at the far end of the garden has disappeared.  There’s snow up to the garage door windows – it’s going to be awhile before the Husband can move that snow, and the snow blower, of course, is inside the garage, as are the snowshoes; and the woodpiles – yeah, right. Can’t reach them. And my bedroom window is almost completely blocked by the snow piled on the roof of the chapel, which it looks out on.

Picture me with a glove on one hand reaching through the foot-wide opening, which is all we could bash open, of the chapel door, trying to reach through with a shovel and one-handedly push the top of the 4-foot pile of compacted snow (snow’s been sliding off the roof onto the 3.5 feet that was already there) down to the Husband, who waded through 4-foot drifts from the kitchen wart to get to the bottom of the chapel wart, which is our way in for the woodstove cords which are still out of reach. None of which matters  if we can’t get the door to open.

Andy the snowplow guy made a rudimentary run through earlier today, but he couldn’t do much – partly because there’s so much snow, and because we have a wicked long driveway that’s more like a short road, and because everyone needs their snow moved and it’s slow going. 

Guess where the snowblower is?

Before it started snowing, a couple of patients brought me some holiday gifts from their kitchens. One is a jar of salt full of fresh herbs from her summer garden, and sprinkling it on tomato toast this morning was like summer bursting open on my tongue. The other brought me a sweet holiday bread – cranberries and walnuts and I think I detect a burst of orange as well – which is just like the winter holidays rolled into a mouthful of deliciousness. And that’s what that patient was aiming at achieving, I believe. We had an interesting conversation about what the holidays mean, and how the Gathering, and Story-telling and Story-making, and being a cornucopia of generosity and heart and welcome is so important for her and has been for her adult life.

I have to admit that after that conversation, I looked at the Christmas lights outside folks’ houses in a more awake way, last night on the ride home. I enjoy bright colored lights (it’s the French-Canadian in me) and always have, but talking about the spiritual, but non-religious meaning of the end-of-year holidays, brought my eyes back to the wonder they could see when I was a youngster. Followed by this  giant snowstorm, it opens the soul again to the emotions of the season that have become rationalized for me, more than felt, in recent years.

Our bodies are animals; come fall, we want to eat more, we feel more tired, we want to sleep more, bundled into flannel sheets and soft blankets. We want to sit by a fire in a cozy chair with a lap-rug and a cat, a mug of cocoa at our sides, reading a book about Christmas ghosts or the Wild Hunt or the meaning of the first stranger to cross our doorstep in the New Year. We want to take our dogs out and watch them turn into puppies again in the glorious, glorious snow. We long for the rich foods, the bright colors of the foods, the garlic and cloves and orange and cinnamon; the harissa and za’atar, the advieh and salt, pomegranate syrup and galettes and tortiere, the foods that mean the time is special and that we are safe and comfortable. We long for whatever makes us feel blessed and sacred; the enforced rest that lets us shed the past year and move on as holy warriors into the next.

My idea of comfort

These things are important; and during a year’s end when there is and has long been danger on all sides and our nerves are worn more than thin, it’s important to find the things that wake us up to the sacred. A lit candle; a special dish; a secret kept and wrapped in tissue paper; a favorite sweater; some balsam soap; a honeycomb in a bowl; a walk in the dark on a crisp and starlit night.

It’s been years since I put up a Christmas tree: small house, small rooms, two very large dogs with wavy tails, and cats too curious for their own good. The ornaments go on my curtain rods and stay all year, and I don’t really see them anymore. It hasn’t really mattered. When I did put up a tree, I exchanged erecting a real one, years ago, for a short, black, fake tree. It’s – different – and in its own way, can be quite lovely.

This year, I might put up the tree.

 

 

All photos Deb Marshall

 

Kitchen wart

 

November Covid Nag

Cases are rising, the upper New England states all have state-wide face-mask mandates in place and some restrictions on travel, indoor gatherings, etc. Here’s a reminder of stuff you may have forgotten or never realized to help you stay safe:

What we’re dealing with, and how to think about it:

Covid travels most in invisible respiratory droplets which we expel from nose and mouth from breathing, talking, singing, coughing, sneezing, hiccupping, throat-clearing, burping, laughing, shouting, etc. The harder and louder any of those things happen, the farther you expel droplets, the more droplets you expel, and the longer they’re apt to hang in the air, landing on anything and anyone below them. Think of them as being like the fall mists we get – you walk out, it looks clear, but you realize, in a moment or two, that you’re actually feeling a little wet. You won’t feel the respiratory droplets unless you’re in the direct line of a cough or sneeze – too gross to think about – but they’re there, anyway. You never know when you’re walking through them, you never know when they’ve landed on you, and you never know how many have landed.

Consequently, you must assume that you’re getting covered with droplets every time you’re in a place where someone’s not wearing a mask, where someone wasn’t wearing a mask even 20 minutes or longer ago, or where someone’s mask has failed to contain their droplets (see Facemasks, below).  They’re landing on and clinging to your head, your face, your clothing, your purse, etc. If there’s good ventilation, and not too many people in the area, there will be fewer droplets; if there are more people, or no or poor ventilation, there will be more droplets. Time spent + density of droplets + adequacy of ventilation = likelihood of catching the virus.

Facemasks:

Ø  Are not all created equal. If you’re using a cloth one, make sure it’s made of at least 2, preferably 3 layers, of tight-woven cloth

Ø  The ear loops tend to stretch (especially in cloth masks) and no longer keep the mask up properly. When this happens, don’t keep fiddling with it – replace it with a fresh mask, then wash your hands or sanitize immediately after putting the mask you removed in the trash or in your pocket.

Ø  You can’t wear the same one indefinitely. If it’s cloth, wash regularly – this means you need to own at least 7 facemasks; if it’s paper, throw it out and replace it regularly. Regularly means every day or two or oftener, depending on where you’ve gone in it, and how skilled you are at safely storing it for a second wearing. For example: When you leave the hospital after having an appointment with whomever, dump it immediately you’re out of the building. Ditto if you’ve foolishly gone to a gathering. If you’re in a relatively controlled space, for a reasonably short period of time, you may be able to wear it a second time if handled appropriately (see below). If this isn’t a necessity, use a fresh one every day.

Ø  If it gets wet, it is no longer protective. It doesn’t matter if it’s wet from the inside from your breath, sneezing into it, or coughing into it, or wet from the outside from precipitation. As soon as it’s wet, replace it, and dump the paper ones, put the cloth ones in the wash. Always have a clean extra mask with you in an easily accessible place.

Ø  The proper way to put on a face mask and change a face mask: 1. Wash hands. If you’re where there’s no sink, sanitize hands carefully and properly. 2. Do not touch the inside of the facemask. Place the loops over your ears, then adjust over face and mouth. Make sure you pinch the metal part of paper masks to fit tightly over nose so the mask doesn’t ride up. 3. Wash your hands again, or sanitize if no sink is available.  If you’re replacing a mask: 1.Take the old one off and either immediately put it in the trash or if cloth, fold it inside out and place it in a pocket or purse or, preferably, into a plastic baggie you’re carrying with you for this purpose. DO NOT place it on a surface to deal with later. 2. Without touching the inside of the new mask, put it on as described above. 3. Wash or sanitize your hands before adjusting the new mask.

Ø  How to handle a used mask: Assume the part that was against your face is the cleanest part; the loops are next cleanest. If you’re trying to save the mask to wear another day, without touching the inside, fold the mask in half inside against inside; then slip it into a clean paper bag for storing.  DO NOT put it on your kitchen counter, or dining room table, or anywhere else you don’t want contaminated.  When you put it back on, clean hands first, do not touch the inside, and wash or sanitize hands as soon as you’ve adjusted the mask.  If you’re wearing cloth masks  and it’s not obvious what is the inside and what is the outside, make sure you’ve marked the inside with magic marker so it’s obvious.

Ø  Store freshly-washed cloth masks in a plastic baggie.

Ø  When you get home and have removed your mask, carefully wash your hands and face. Your face is also covered with whatever you walked through. Do this immediately.

Hands:

v  Using hand sanitizer is not as safe as carefully washing hands. Whenever you have a choice, wash your hands, carefully, front and back, between fingers, wrists, for long enough (birthday song, remember?). If you’re where you can use one, use a nail brush also. Don’t share hand towels.

v  Using hand sanitizer correctly: put a glob on, rub it thoroughly over front and back of hands, between fingers. DO NOT touch anything until the hand sanitizer has dried – if you do, you’ve just spoiled the process. Sanitizer has to stay on hands until dry – they’re alcohol, it only takes a few seconds. Don’t rush it.

v  Thoroughly clean/disinfect your hand sanitizer bottle often, including the one you carry with you.

v  Alcohol dries the skin, as does the dry winter air, as does frequent hand washing. Especially now, you also need to regularly use hand moisturizer. As your skin dries out, very small cracks will form in the skin, many invisible – these leave the deeper layers of your tissue open to invasion by bacteria, viruses, etc. Keep your hands moisturized.

 The Six-Foot Thing:

Keeping a distance of 6 feet is just an estimate. If you’re around people not wearing masks, I’d keep a lot more distance than that – like, leaving, immediately!

The first thing to remember is that masks are not perfectly protective. They have gaps; they’re only 3 layers of protection unless you’re wearing an N-95 mask, which is fitted to you and many layers deep; and so you have to remember that there’s always a chance enough virus will penetrate to infect you, especially if your immune system isn’t at its best, which you probably won’t know until it’s too late.

The second thing to remember is that your hands are almost certainly not perfectly clean – you’ve touched too many things for them to be, including your face when you weren’t paying attention.  You’ve transported whatever is lingering on your hands to your face innumberable times, and the closer you are to someone who’s talking, shouting, etc , the more virus you’ve transported upwards.

The six-foot distancing is a guesstimate. We know the virus will travel that far during normal conversation; we know it will travel up to 20 feet or more if there’s singing, shouting, explosive laughter, etc. You be the judge of what’s safe. If you’re outdoors, which way’s the breeze moving? If you’re inside or outside and there are lots of people around, leave more space.  Be sensible and judgmental and don’t let anyone shame you into being less careful than you’re comfortable being!

Clothes/Shoes:

§  The soles of your shoes are covered with whatever you’ve walked through. Take them off at your door, put on indoor shoes, don’t track who-knows-what through your house. Pretend they’re covered with snow, it’ll make it easier.

§  Your clothes are also covered with whatever you walked through. It’s a good idea to change those, too, and put the ones you wore out into the hamper. Depending on where you’ve been, you should absolutely do this. Yup, more laundry.

Keep your lungs open, your spirits high:

      Find things that make you laugh. Go outdoors and sing in your back yard. Dance on your deck. Cuddle a cat or dog. Invent an imaginary fantasy world where you’re the Architect, and spend some time in it every day inhabiting it with new creatures, incredible flowers, interesting foods, oceans and caves and castles and cottages. Use it as a refuge and an entertainment. Don’t make it like reality – make it your place, for your entertainment and relaxation. Have fun in it!

 

Stay safe and healthy!

 

It's Definitely November

 It’s definitely November – the only leaves still clinging to the trees are the beech leaves, orange and brown. Even the larches have dropped their golden needles, and the garden’s few remaining green things are Egyptian onions, basically. I didn’t entirely get the whole thing weeded out before the ground started getting frost in it, but the garlic’s planted, the parsnips are (so far) safe from chipmunks and mice, and whatever’s left is either a perennial, or will turn to mucky compost that disappears under the snow over the winter.

The tall edge markers are up now so the inevitable snowplow won’t plow into my garden beds and blueberries; the wart furniture is tucked away, and the woodstove is in frequent use again. Owls are hooting to each other at night; birds are clamoring for sunflower seed and suet cake hand-outs. Biscuit refuses to go out, except during our excellent Indian Summer days – gone now – and Rasta spends most nights in the cellar, mousing. He’s very successful, usually catches one, carries them upstairs, drops them, loses them, then spends the rest of the night chasing them and trying to catch them again. I’ve found carcasses on the dining room floor, another in the hall closet, at least one mouldered away under the living room couch, and who knows how many are dehydrating under various radiators; I live in fear of stepping on a fresh one as I come downstairs each morning.

Biscuit waiting for treats

The Christmas cacti bloomed on Hallowe’en, as they are wont to do at my house. My blood pressure improved tremendously after the election.  And yet it’s been another very long month – my eyes are much better, but only ready for short drives, so a dear friend and the Husband have been ferrying me to work and back, and the most recent horror-show the pharmaceutical that poisoned me back in September has caused is pancreatitis – which turns out to be painful, nauseating, exhausting, and diet-restricting until the inflammation abates and I can again eat more than simple, easily-digested foods. I’m keeping my fingers crossed that this is the last of the surprises that pharmaceutical has hidden in store for me!

The highpoint of the last two months was, surprisingly, the MRI – I LOVED it. Seriously.  I went to the appointment with great trepidation, having heard how horrible the test is from everyone I know who has had one; but the moment the lab techs, who were very entertaining, started to strap me in, my brain said, “This is like going back to the Mother Ship,” and I relaxed and happily found I was perfectly comfortable, and the whole experience was  weirdly comforting. I had to ask them to turn the music off because it was interfering with my ability to listen to the songs the machine was singing to me. I loved the machines’ songs, and its vibrations, and its subtle shifting, and was very sad when the scans were finished. In fact, I spent the next few nights when I went to bed trying to arrange the pillow and covers in a way that felt like I was still in the machine, and trying to replay in my head the music it sang to me.

And now we’re all dealing with Covid holidays – and I hope we’re all going to be sensible and not do something foolish and dangerous just because the calendar says it’s time for a celebration. It may make you sad, but it won’t kill us to stay home and not have the big family and friends celebrations this year, but it might kill us if we foolishly do have them. And if it does kill us, it will do so miserably and painfully, so please, please reconsider whatever you’re planning and go for simple and not shared.

While we’re all struggling with those decisions and the reality of what this virus means, the Antichrist is actively trying to kill off as many of us as possible, destroy democracy, and ruin the environment as completely as possible in, among other horrors, the time remaining to him before they drag him out of the White House. And the once-loyal but now gutless and twisted opposition is cheering him on. The only bright spot in all this is that mostly he’s spreading contagion amongst his own kind and his most foolish followers, and one has to wonder if that’s not an ironic ending to his four years of destruction and madness. May he rot in jail in his coming life.

Maybe that wish makes me a horrid person, but --- ugh. I don’t have it in me to wish him well, nor any of the toadies who did his bidding or inspired his evilness or didn’t speak out and do something about it when they could have. I can wish that they somehow come to redemption, but that’s as far as I can go. In the meantime, if you see me doing small dances of joy, you can guess that I’m reveling that someone has been served up an overflowing dish of what they’ve been so avidly sowing.

We have a hard job ahead of us. It’s going to take a long time to reverse or change the horrors that have been perpetrated on us and among us, and we need to stay on top of it and insist that those in power do so. And we need to somehow find a way to forgive the people we love who chose to be blind to what was happening, or who reveled in and supported the excitement of the damage and terror and inhumanity that’s been done. We need to push and push and push until care and respect for all human beings, care and healing of our environment, and basic human needs are met, and kindness and consideration become norms. It’s not going to be easy. We’re all now warriors, confronting the forces of evil that the Antichrist let loose.

Gird your loins – this is one we can’t afford to lose.

Rasta Helping Me Write

 

 For the blog, 22 November 20

Crow photo Clare McCarthy; other photos Deb Marshall

A Very, Very Long Month

 

Dragon; Deb Marshall photo

 

Oh yeah – a really, really long month.

We all know the political stuff – just be sure to vote. No excuses. Your vote may decide whether the world as we know it ends.

We all should know the Covid stuff – it’s getting worse, in case you’ve been living in a bubble-bath for months and only associating with happy elves. Wear a mask, wash the cloth ones often, wash your hands  - don’t just rely on hand sanitizer – wash your hand sanitizer bottle often, avoid crowds, be brave and make the hard but safe and correct decisions about holidays, and hold your breaths until this is under control.

OK, don’t hold your breaths – but for god’s sake, don’t breathe all over other people!

So for me, personally – this is going to be a lot of stuff you may not want to know, be warned. My summer started with tendinitis set off by whacking a rock, hard, while hand-troweling holes for plants. That’s usually a 3-month recovery time, especially because it’s an old injury and it’s my dominant hand. But within a couple of weeks, I suddenly had pain in both thumbs; and then in both hands, both wrists, the forearm and upper arm and elbow of the original hand, the neck and shoulders…And then something bit me on the calf – something with a big, sharp bite – which left a lump, and enduring muscle cramping and pain that traveled up and down that leg, and did so for about a month, and seemed to make the hand pain worse; and then, all the Chinese formulas and needling and over-the-counter analgesics and pain ointments and plasters and braces and kinesio-tape and massage stopped working or didn’t work; and then I (in hind-sight, foolishly) took an extended- release pharmaceutical, which I had a wicked fine allergic reaction to, and the allergic reaction has continued to make my life complicated for weeks and weeks afterward, including increasing all the arm and hand pain, and making me see double at long distance, so I can’t drive myself anywhere for the time being. And the tendinitis is still not all better.

Portsmouth NH, Charley Freiberg photo

It’s been --- interesting. Good thing the garden had a crappy year, because sometimes I’ve been able to deal with it, and sometimes not. In the past month I’ve made up for years and years and years of no health problems: I’ve been to the ER twice, had an echocardiogram, an EKG (more interesting to get than the echo, which takes 45 mins and is boring, boring, boring) and I’m scheduled for an MRI. And I’ve seen my PCP and talked to her via email 100 times more than I have in the last 7 years together. And I’ve had blood tests for all sorts of interesting things. And no, nothing is obviously wrong; and the eyes are very slowly correcting themselves – and fortunately, my up-close vision wasn’t affected, so I’ve been able to stab patients with sharp needles through it all.

So, maybe the bite was a deerfly carrying some odd pathogen; or maybe I have long-term, old Lyme disease; or maybe the disinfectants I’ve been using at the office have been breathed too freely while I’m disninfecting; or maybe there’s a fungus or mold of some sort in the garden soil that the strange weather brought to the surface and I breathed too much of it; or maybe it’s a muscle thing and I need a chiro adjustment more often; or maybe it’s something else. We don’t know yet, and to quote the ER guy, we may never know.

Anyway, all that to explain quickly why I haven’t written in awhile!

Have you noticed what an absolutely spectacular fall we’re having? Oak leaves that are orange and red and burgundy, and other leaves glowing from inside, and lingering much longer than usual. Bachelor Buttons and Bells of Ireland and California poppies and Calendula and something I don’t know what it is are all blooming and fantastically beautiful, the Egyptian onions are going crazy, and the fall raspberries were superb. Dill is resprouting, and I’m slowly, slowly mulching and starting to plant next year’s garlic crop.  And in the last 2 days, when I look out the window at the garden, I’m only seeing one garden instead of two!

Pleasant Lake; Charley Freiberg photo

 

Though who could really complain about seeing extra gorgeous trees in full, mystical color?

Hallowe’en this year is the day of the blue moon. And just days before the election. To quote someone, probably Shakespeare by way of Penny, “The gates of hell are open, and all the devils are here.” Please vote – and not for the Antichrist.

Deb Marshall Self-Portait?