Lazy W Marie

Carpeing all the diems in semi-rural Oklahoma...xoxo

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a carpenter, an accountant, and a basketball fan walk into a bar

This pandemic interview is with my youngest brother and our parents. Please give a warm welcome to three of the most beloved people in my life!

Thanksgiving 2020 xoxo

The novel corona virus was still a distant concern for Oklahoma in late 2019, as Joe and Alison Dunaway announced to their five adult children a hope to sell their house and downsize. It is a lovely, sturdy, memory-filled, brick two-story on 41st street in northwest Oklahoma City, so why would they leave it?

I’m not saying that’s what started the pandemic. Just floating theories here.

Still, facts is facts: In early March that next spring much of the family, including some grand children, gathered to help with garage demolition, one of the many improvements they wanted to make before listing the property. We had a big family cookout and laughed and played tug o war and even let Dad win at that. Nobody cried openly about abandoning our childhood home. We were on our best behavior, is what I’m saying. But they still wanted to sell.

Within a week, the shut downs happened. And one year later, they still live there, soooo… (author shrugs knowingly)

“It’s not a punishment, it’s a consequence.” ~My mom, about literally everything that felt very much like a punishment when I was little.

Now for their actual pandemic story, and my little brother’s too. They all three visited the farm on the evening of my birthday a few weeks ago and indulged my curiosity. We were eating dinner as I took notes, and it was fun and enlightening. I had no idea my family members were such fully formed human beings:

John Philip Dunaway, supposedly 35 years old, is Joe and Alison’s youngest child and an avid sports fan. Kobe Bryant’s tragic death on January 26, 2020, became a landmark in Phil’s mind, kind of a timeline milestone to which all other headlines became relative. He doesn’t remember worrying about the novel corona virus before that, but he does remember noticing when news of the health scare began to eclipse Bryant’s passing. It felt “surreal” he said. He also remembers the evacuation of the OKC Thunder basketball game on March 12, 2020.

Dad’s attention was grabbed with a twist of skepticism at first. He remembers thinking of the local government, “What do they know that we don’t?”

Mom works for an accounting firm who services mostly trucking companies, so this year of record setting shipping has kept them busy right from the beginning. She has seen in brand new ways, through the invoicing side of operations, how integral truckers are to the smooth functioning of our society.

Her employer acted swiftly that first half of March, 2020, to get everyone working from home. Mom told is about the day they announced it. She used a rolling office chair to cart her own equipment and office supplies to her car then, once home, set it up on her own. The instructions she was given could be summed up as, “Wherever it plugs in, that’s where it works,” and it did. Mom continued working from their living room all year, with the exception of about a week in October when Oklahoma was hit with that historic ice storm and electricity was out for several days. That week, she returned carefully to the office.

She definitely misses her coworkers but has adjusted beautifully over the months. She also appreciates how hard her managers have worked to keep everyone connected, engaged, and motivated. They have hosted online talent shows and parking lot carnivals; they surprise employees with cakes at their door steps; and they just seem to provide the kind of daily support and attention that keeps everyone working well. Mom foresees this remote working situation continuing indefinitely, even after masks are no longer required. She likes not having to spend so much time driving, and she loves having her lunch breaks free for taking neighborhood walks with Muddles and Kate Toto (their four legged daughters).

Philip’s job at the Oklahoma Tax Commission kept him moving all year. Sometimes working from home, sometimes alternating shifts in their building near the Capitol complex to help manage DAV paperwork and mail, also working in a new facility downtown, the one with a great view but questionable elevators. The months have been varied, and he has adapted great. Also, he never got sick despite several coworkers who did. We are so thankful.

Dad’s daily work changed the least. He is a property manager responsible for office buildings all over the city. He wore masks all year long and still does, and though he was inevitably exposed to positive cases he never contracted the virus himself (for which we are so thankful). Most months, building occupancy has been much lighter than usual, of course, thanks to so many people working from home.

I can attest to our parents’ determination to keep the family both healthy and safe as well as connected all year. We have had Zooms calls, sometimes weekly. Our local group has enjoyed a few tentative, distanced gatherings outdoors. And Mom and Dad have redeemed their grandparent privileges by helping chauffeur Angela’s teen aged girls to and from school when needed. Like students everywhere, Chloe and Kenzie have juggled an ever changing schedule, and with their sweet Mom working full time, keeping that world smooth was a beautiful team effort.

Philip is easily our most app-savvy sibling. Early in shut downs when grocery shopping was cumbersome and restaurants were closed, he took the plunge and started using “Shipt” to keep his apartment well stocked.  Everything he needed could be delivered to his door.

Mom and Dad ate in mostly familiar ways throughout pandemic. Mom is diabetic, so she missed out on much of the baking the rest of the world was using to soother their nerves. “It was hard” not having sweets, she said, “But it always is,” Dad added.

Dad stepped in to do much of the grocery shopping since he was already out and about every day, but Mom did share this somewhat disturbing and truly memorable tidbit: At a particularly low point when infection rates and just everything in current events felt especially serious, she went to the store and bought onions and a package of chicken livers to cook for Dad (he is famous for craving liver and onions but rarely eating them because, eww).

Brace yourselves: She wanted Dad to have his favorite meal once more, just in case they died.

I kid you not. She sat across from me at our dining room table and told that story nonchalantly between bites of jasmine rice with feta and Greek chicken.

Dad, seated at her right elbow, turned to her and objected, “What livers? I didn’t get any livers.”

“Well we never died.” And they resumed their meal straight faced.

I cannot make this stuff up.

Speaking of diabetes, Mom was able to use Telehealth consultations to stay in touch with her doctor. She was tested a few times for the virus but never contracted it.

These conversations we have had about this past year have afforded me such a wonderful view of my parents as human beings. Dad surprises me with his optimism and inclusive world view. Mom’s compassion does not surprise me one bit, but it does serve to remind me of her soft, sensitive heart. As for my baby brother, pandemic has caused me to see him as more of an adult than ever before. Yes, I know he is 35. But I was in 6th grade when he was born, so he is often a baby to me. A tall, lanky baby  who has worked at the same government job for 13 years and always brings frozen desserts and his own drinks to family parties.

I wanted to know how they felt in relation to other people. Did they feel in harmony about how to navigate safety protocols, for example? Dad thought for a moment then said gently, like the concept surprised him, “Sure, I don’t remember conflict, but I also didn’t avoid people for differences.”

Mom acknowledged some laxness among certain small groups, maybe less attention to hand washing and sanitizer from time to time, which prompted an interesting story from Dad: Recently, since the winter holidays, the offices he manages are using noticeably less hand sanitizer. We all theorized on whether it is because people are now bringing their own or because they have become less diligent over time. It’s interesting. We reached no conclusions.

Phil felt at ease with people in general, though he did express frustration over our governor having never ordered a statewide mask mandate. Phil shared my appreciation for how Oklahoma City Mayor David Holt handled this exceptional year.

Dad read more books this year than usual but doesn’t remember everything he read. Or at least, few titles stand out. He paused a moment to glare at me over the rim of his glasses, insisted dramatically that he was not invited to the siblings book club even though it is a cold hard fact that he WAS.

Where the Crawdads Sings stands out as a great family reading project. We devoured it en masse then had an outstanding Zoom discussion about it. I so thoroughly loved hearing what my sisters and Mom and Dad thought of the story, the characters, the inbuilt mysteries, and the surprises at the end, all of it. Those of us who love reading got that from our parents the same way we inherited an embarrassing love for good Tex Mex. My fingers are crossed that once the Crawdads movie releases, we can all see it on the same weekend.

The group has been trying to also read Boom Town, but so far we are as unimpressed by the author’s snarkiness as we are entertained by our state’s and city’s history. None of us has finished it yet. Like a quiet rebellion.

Phil misses the frequent Knights of Columbus events, especially football parties and the annual bowling tournament. Dad, whose voluntary role with the K of C has always kept him pretty busy, admits that “having fewer meetings to attend was somewhat relaxing,” though he does miss the people. They tried Zoom a little bit, but it fell somewhat flat.

Mom struggled with such fewer family gatherings this year but said with lots of affection that we have done a good job at creatively seeing each other and not getting sick. So true! Since shut downs last March, we have had a handful of sidewalk and patio visits, one memorable outdoor Thanksgiving, and enough masked car rides to end the year feeling very thankful that no one spread the virus to each other.

True to form, Mom spent a great deal of energy this year talking more to her loved ones, especially her sister Marion and their first cousin, Maureen. This past year has brought innumerable health challenges that compounded some already scary chronic health problems, and the ongoing isolation has been damaging to everyone’s state of mind. Long phone calls and careful but crucial home visits have been literally life saving. For this, Mom will always have my admiration.

Dad shared a depth of optimism that really humbled me. He said it was, “amazing that so many people did cooperate” with the plea to wear masks and socially distance, despite the absence of a statewide mandate. “I have never seen that in my life,” he remarked and, with some of his own humility, added, “My life was less changed than others’.”

Of course he quickly punctured the reverent mood by claiming it was all about his own “abundance of patience.” Ha!

What gifts did pandemic bring my family?

Phil very much liked the stimulus checks, and he earned a significant raise at the Tax Commission this year too. One could say that his pandemic gifts have been abundance and added security.

Mom feels so lucky that no one of our family lost jobs or lives this year. She was visibly moved saying so, fully aware of how close we all could have been to tragedy. They lost many friends to covid-19. “So blessed!” She searched for wood to rap with her knuckles. She also learned how to settle at home more and is determined to “use this year’s experience, not waste time.” Going forward, as the world reopens, she intends to be more selective and deliberate about how she lives her life.

Dad shared that pandemic sharpened his awareness of the interrelationships that exist in the world, between everything. Society, families, everything. It is all connected. Did it change his view of essential workers? “Nope. Maybe I just see degrees of essential. I always saw them as essential, everyone is in a continuum. It’s a cohesive, holistic society.” He made great big, round shapes in the air with his arms as he said this. I thought for sure we were on the verge of another rant about the myth of overpopulation. Instead, he continued making his point, “There are so many interdependent tasks, who is not essential?” At that I choked back some actual tears.

He also reflected that he had taken for granted the ability to see people, and that this experience “makes it more precious. You realize you need it.” (Ok Dad you can join our book club jeez.)

How fun to hear about the television they watched like Cobra Kai and to be zero percent surprised that Mom is sick of television after a year indoors. Philip is such a movie buff, and as for television he remembers gobbling up the original Twilight Zone series as well as Hercules.  

I could go on for hours about my family and bet you could about yours, too. Suggestion: If you want to start a great conversation with your parents, ask them their opinions of why liquor stores never closed during pandemic.

The End.
XOXOXO

the golden girls of pandemic

Please say hello to my two favorite California residents and read about their year in pandemic. Their stories and insights were so fascinating, this story could easily have been twice as long. Grab a snack and enjoy!

The first several weeks of 2020 were hectic and happy for Gen and Julia, each of them living their respective lives in their own Los Angeles homes, with their own jobs and cars and schedules, but enjoying plenty of overlap, too, because they are best friends. They had group lunches, work trips, book launches, a birthday party with cake and wine and silliness where Vince Vaughan made a memorable appearance, an outdoor concert, a book club meeting, and more.

They had heard a few reports of the new corona virus, but neither remembers thinking of it as anything more immediately threatening than, for example, Ebola or the swine flu. Then came the evening they both recalled, when otherwise normal hugs between friends suddenly felt uncomfortable.

 That was one weekend in early March, and all of that lively momentum came to a screeching halt. Looking back on how much they were exposed to large groups then, they both agree, “It’s a miracle we didn’t get covid that week.”  Their first big event cancellation was a traditional getaway to Arizona to watch MLB spring training, and it was a big disappointment to both girls. Lockdown came hot and heavy after that, slashing through season tickets for basketball and much more.

Julia spent three solid weeks holed up in her Los Feliz apartment, spending the first few days of shelter-in-place cancelling all of her imminent travel plans. She is a literary publicist by profession, and her 2020 schedule was already shaping up to be “bananas,” so there was a lot of travel upcoming. Undoing it all was a feat.

Gen’s last normal day of work was March thirteenth. She worked, then, at the Los Angeles Philharmonic, in the finance office. She remembers the environment feeling weird. First, they scrambled to decide who would be working remote. Then they scrambled to purchase enough laptops for those employees. It was uncharted territory for sure. Add to this, a colleague at the Phil lost her husband to the virus early on. LaTonya’s disabled daughter also contracted the virus, and though she survived it, her condition was serious. Everyone’s sensitivity was heightened.

We all remember those moments when the pandemic first felt real, and maybe we remember thinking it would only last for a couple of weeks. Gen and Julia are no exception. They were initially determined to wait it out, each on her own, hoping for a swift and healthy end to shelter-in-place. When infection rates swelled nationwide, lockdowns took on heavier meaning, and the end stretched farther and farther out of view.

On April 9, 2020, Julia also ran out of clean laundry, ha. So they combined resources and became roommates for the first time in their decade long friendship. They had stayed together a few times over the years, to help each other mend from surgery or illness or broken bones. Both retired LA Derby Doll skaters, convalescence was familiar territory for these ladies. But rooming up in healthy times was new. All they had to worry about now was a deadly virus. Julia packed one huge suitcase, filled mostly with her books, left her apartment vacant. More than one year later, they are still enjoying good chemistry and making lots of happy memories.  

Julia chose to not shop right away. She had enough dry goods to wait it out for a few weeks and wanted to avoid crowds at all costs. Gen had lots of frozen foods already but did collect a few shelf stable additions. She chuckles now at her early choice of Pepperidge Farms smoked sausage, something she doesn’t normally even eat (You are not alone in this, sister, lots of people did this).  Her known snacking weakness is a large carton of those tiny Goldfish crackers every few days (I am seeing a Pepperidge Farm theme here), but she denied herself this pleasure. Instead, she soothed her nerves with chips and salsa like a good born and bred Oklahoma girl. Julia’s stress snack was, and this delighted me very much, Jack Daniels. (I feel like Hemingway would be proud.)

Masks were an easy yes for the Golden Girls of Pandemic. They wore scrappy, homemade first runs made by yours truly. They bought surgical masks and K-N95s online, and they found cute crafty ones, too. Gen is an avid runner and often wore a neck gaiter for easily slipping up over her mouth and nose. For a time, they wore two masks at once in public. Will they continue to wear masks after pandemic?  “Yes, I hope so,” they agreed, especially “when we are sick or traveling.”

We chatted about all the many unknowns in those early weeks. They conveyed such gravity and humility about their place in the world. As Julia put it, they aren’t medically trained or emergency responders or of use in any essential service, so, “The only thing we could do to help out was not get it and not spread it.” The way she spoke that, with the gentle tone of helpless surrender, made me ache.

Gen’s handsome little bungalow is located in a densely populated historic neighborhood, where she knows and socializes with many of their neighbors. They all look out for each other in normal times, and this past year has underscored that bond. For two months the neighborhood soundtrack was almost nonstop emergency sirens. Ambulances came and went every day. It was stressful and sad, and the sounds echo, serving to illustrate in real, human ways the cold facts of local statistics. It kept everyone on edge, no matter how much they isolated strictly at home. “It was scary,” Julia said.

Despite the outside worries and stressors of not just the virus but also the raging political and social storms, daily life on the inside of their home seems to have been blissful, overall smooth and productive for these retired Derby girls. They each had plenty of physical space for working on their laptops then stretching out to rest and read. For a while, they used a spare bedroom and some creative sound blocking materials so Julia could record her podcast. Gen spent some time nibbling away at home improvements, though admitted to often being “frozen by indecision.” She told me about a few unfinished projects and noted with gentle self deprecation, “There was a lot of sanding of wood.”

Over the months, their food repertoire expanded greatly as Julia took over much of the cooking duties. In fact, it was more than duty. Julia came to relish 5:00 p.m., the predictable time of day when she could walk away from her laptop and lose herself in the kitchen. They ate Italian food made from scratch and cooked flash frozen seafood delivered from Santa Monica. They experimented with baking and red beans and rice and vegetable pot pies, perfected sourdough pizza crust, and much more. Gen cooked too and was happy to clean up after their frequent feasts.

The girls obviously did a good job building routines that supported their mental and physical well being. Living according to deliberate structure comes naturally to Gen, and it served them both well this year. Julia took to regular long walks, outdoors when possible then on the treadmill when infection rates were too high to risk being in small alleyways. Likewise, Gen ran plenty, sometimes more miles than before thanks to the time saved by no longer commuting to work. They found a comfortable domestic rhythm, and this made all the difference in preserving, and maybe deepening, their friendship.  

Through all of this, the Golden Girls of Pandemic stayed proactively connected to friends and family via, you guessed it, Zoom. Julia’s Mom lives in Santa Cruz, much of Gen’s family is here in Oklahoma, and their friends are all around the globe. I appreciated their honesty about how average life updates soon felt mundane, because everyone was always doing the same stuff, over and over, ha. Their solution was to grow one of their standing Zoom gatherings into monthly game nights, just to stay connected. That is cool.

These two women are bookworms of the highest order (hashtag cool nerds), so I was interested to hear how pandemic affected this part of their lives. Gen read as much as ever, though not everything she tried held her attention. I will personally add here that pandemic afforded our family of origin a unique motivation to read the same books, I think because we were checking in with other more often. Gen took the lead on this, and one month last summer will go down in family history: Almost all of us, including both of our parents, read Where the Crawdads Sing then had a long Zoom about it. We read others and will continue this new tradition, but I will forever be thankful for that particular book and the excellent conversations it started between (almost) all of us.

Julia’s usual setting for diving deep into a book is either a crowded bar or an airplane. With neither available all year, she had trouble relaxing enough to read for pleasure. Sometimes the YA genre grabbed her better. No worries though, she was able to read all of her books for work and the two book clubs she leads. Certainly, that is still a lot of reading.

As for other media consumption, they were pretty indulgent and even figured out a system for trading the remote control back and forth. They watched The Crown, The Americans, and Six Feet Under, the latter of which they both said was “Oh… so good!” On Super Bowl Sunday, since neither of them cares for football but “It is the one true American holiday, when un-athletic people sit and yell at athletes on television,” Julia asserted, they assembled a table filled with all the best dips and appetizers and binged gluttonously on Bridgerton. That is to say, they watched the entire series in exactly one day. “We kept a butt count.” Gen exploded into laughter at this admission and was even able to supply the episode number when the most butts appeared, in case I needed that. (Thanks weirdo, no.)

Pandemic served both of them professionally, just in different ways. For Julia, once she accepted and overcame the challenges of recording a podcast from home, she thrived. And it was overall a good year for the world of literary publishing, notwithstanding the monumental jam up when President Obama’s book The Promised Land went to print. Julia and a friend and colleague also managed to finish and publish their own book this year, which is pretty amazing.

Gen thrived too, working steadily from home all year, but the unique environment brought into focus some underlying management problems at her firm, things that pre-pandemic life had kept a little bit hidden. She gained the perspective she needed to give her notice toward the end of 2020 and started job hunting. Her standards were high, as they should be, and her patience paid off. After a few long months of searching, interviewing, and weighing options, she found her dream job, which she started yesterday.

I asked the golden girls for their opinions on how their local government handled the outbreak and what they feel could have been done better. Gen and Julia agreed that California, and specifically Los Angeles county, initially seemed responsive enough. Then pockets of the population grew resistant to mask wearing and sheltering in place. These groups gained noise and momentum and asserted their need for personal freedoms. Eventually the Governor “caved” on important restrictions like indoor dining. Gen and Julia were disappointed but, predictably, stayed their own course. The wobbly backbones exhibited by local leadership may or may not warrant removal from office while they continue to serve, but they will definitely change the voting plans for many citizens.

Feeling at odds with other people was especially tense during the winter months, when infection rates were up. Everything, it seems, was more tense then.

Their mental health faced challenges like anyone’s. Gen felt hers rise and fall a little but said most days were regular or average, and she is definitely grateful. She still had “some crap days,” as called them, ha. But she shrugs those into the periphery.

Julia said she “hit a wall in November and December, I was just at emotional capacity.” Besides the covid pandemic and intense political climate, which she aptly described as “chaos on all levels,” she was still grieving the loss of her Dad almost a year earlier. Her family had to repeatedly delay his celebration of life (as of this writing they hope to gather safely in April 2022), and that hurt. The Santa Cruz County high school where he taught classes did host a small event just before the holidays. It was all such a depth of emotion to churn and stir and simmer, all while getting through the holidays and staying safe in some of LA’s weeks of most widespread infection. It is no wonder to me that she hit a wall then. But she is bouncing back.

For two adults who so faithfully adhered to the CDC safety protocols, I was curious whether they ever needed to quarantine for specific exposure reasons and whether they ever needed medical attention not related to covid. The answer to both questions was yes, for both ladies.

Julia voluntarily quarantined even harder than usual, for the two weeks preceding her trip to Santa Cruz, to attend her Dad’s school memorial. Gen, frustratingly, learned that on her final day at the LA Phil, when she made a brief appearance to tie up loose ends after working so many months from home, she was exposed to a colleague who tested positive. So she had to quarantine after that. Thankfully, neither Gen nor Julia ever contracted the virus.

As for needing normal medical attention in the midst of this crazy year, their stories are memorable: Julia cooked shellfish one night, and Gen broke her tooth eating it (worth it). So that earned her a trip to the dentist (still worth it). Another painful sounding kitchen injury: Julia was rehydrating dried chiles and burned the skin on her stomach so badly she was worried about infection. This and an unrelated episode of a stye in her eye were both treatable via Telehealth consultations. A miracle of modern connectivity!

Gen and Julia both acknowledged that throughout the year they found themselves “cracking up on the same day,” which had to be interesting. Things are definitely looking up now.

I love my sister and her best friend both so much. Over the years I have joked about Julia being our surrogate Los Angeles sister. There is a lot of comfort in knowing they are close to each other, though far from us. And though they are younger than me, I often catch myself glancing toward them in my thoughts, for a bit of leadership. The coin of affection is protectiveness and love on one side and admiration and curiosity on the other. Gen thinks so clearly, has such calm, steady methods for sifting fact from fiction and for magnetizing good information from all the noise. And Julia is so layered and passionate. As pandemic wore on and global realities evolved month to month, our family Zooms and group chats sometimes included talk about politics and which news sources to trust, and I appreciate that so much.

I asked for their reflections over all, for their big picture perspective on life after this experience. Gen, a true contemplative, was geared up with her answer. She said that pandemic and isolation have offered her an opportunity to “think about the why of things” in her life. “What is friendship? Why are people friends?” Julia chimed in that they had lots of time to more deeply discuss politics, race relations, and myriad social issues. These were fruitful conversations.

They also shared with me that, and this is where they lost me, they spent lots of time talking about farts.

Okay. Wait, farts? Yes, and other bodily functions.

This was about the moment when my otherwise serious interview subjects started laughing like seventh graders, something about Capri Sun lemonade being spat out one day and maybe there was a microwave involved? They were both laughing so hard at this inside joke that their faces turned red and their speech devolved into squealing. I tried laughing with them, but I was 100% laughing at them, laughing uncontrollably. The fact finding was clearly over.

There is no End,
There are Only New Beginnings
XOXOXOXO

shelby, tender & immovable

Welcome to the first of many Covid Pandemic Interviews! I am so happy to introduce my sister in law’s sister, my brother’s sister in law, and my friend, Shelby. I know you will love her and be in awe of her story.

Before the Storm:

In December 2019, Shelby and her husband Mark returned to live in their home state of Oklahoma after a short chapter on the east coast. They were drawn home by family, numerous small town Oklahoma festivals, and the superior Tex Mex food culture here (amen). An experienced cardiac step-down nurse, Shelby began work in one of Oklahoma’s largest hospitals on January 6th, 2020. She worked in the Intensive Care Unit, unaware that within weeks she and her team would be at the eye of the storm.

By early February, 2020, Shelby had heard of the novel corona virus but not experienced it firsthand. Testing was expensive, scarce, and mostly being done for patients who had recently been overseas.

The last normal feeling thing Shelby remembers doing was eating at Ted’s Escondido, enjoying one of those much anticipated Tex Mex dinners she just couldn’t find on the east coast. Soon after, cases in Oklahoma started to rise and the hospitals filled up with very sick people. On an otherwise normal Monday at work, in early March 2020, she said everything felt different. She and her team were assembled and instructed to wear both surgical and N-95 masks at all times, a behavior which suggested that they themselves might be contagious. This seized her attention. The fear of spreading the virus from hospital patients to loved ones at home was forefront, so Shelby immediately chose to self-isolate, spending more than a month sleeping in the living room, separated from Mark and keeping her hospital clothes apart from his, just in case.

Ground Zero:

Shelby worked at a hospital where patients from around the state were transferred, when smaller hospitals could not treat them. She described their atmosphere as one of extreme caution, since the virus was so new and so many questions were being raised every day. “The science was unfolding before our eyes,” she said, and they were “learning as they go.” Before long, they were at 110% capacity, with 38% of those patients very sick with Covid-19. People were dying horrible deaths, PPE was being conserved, and the doctors and nurses were scrambling to learn enough to effectively battle the new enemy. The hospital was overrun and understaffed, and growing more so as lucrative travel team jobs lured nurses away to even harder hit states. Shelby chose to stay, both to be near her family and because she already felt invested in her team and mission.

Prior to the covid-19 pandemic, Shelby was a nurse in the cardiac step down unit and was happy there. But her initiation into ICU just a few weeks before such an exceptional time in history seems almost predestined. In the midst of so many horrors and so much uncertainty, she found deep purpose in caring for the extremely sick and called it “an honor” to hold the hands of so many who would not survive the virus. She and her teammates at the hospital, her “work soul mates” as she affectionately called them, made sure no one ever died alone. Shelby was among the nurses we have seen on television who used Zoom and iPads on wheels to help loved ones say goodbye.

One of the difficult realities of the hospital being so overrun was that chaplains on staff could not often see dying patients. For this reason, Shelby and her team were frequently tasked with providing more than medical care. She was put in a unique position to minister to people in their final hours and moments. She always asked, “Would you like me to pray?” And, she said, they always accepted. No patient ever told her no.

For those patients who recovered, left the ICU, and were eventually discharged, Shelby and her team celebrated. She said it was a victory they shared together, because they all cared so deeply for the people entrusted to them. They loved and prayed for everyone.

While acknowledging that ICU burnout is prevalent and a real concern, she does not foresee a career change anytime soon, and not only because covid numbers are finally improving. The environment of deeply caring for one or two patients seems to fit her personality. She finds herself thinking about them all the time, praying for them, becoming invested in their stories. Shelby is unabashed about her faith, too. She said, “He gets me, He sees me,” and credits God and prayer for helping her do the needed work and thrive in such a hard year.

Connection, Self Care & the Vaccine:

The horror stories ramped up, and Oklahoma’s infection rate swelled again and again as we approached first summer then winter. Long, exhausting hours at work were balanced with tentative, masked, outdoor visits with her parents and sometimes with her sister and nephews, who were visiting Oklahoma before moving overseas. This warm, gregarious, affectionate family had a hard time not hugging. They sufficed with small patio gatherings and lots of extra phone calls. She said it was so hard to “pump the brakes” when spending time with them, difficult to resist the urge to hold or comfort a toddler, to comfort each other. But seeing what she saw every day at work, it was ultimately an easy choice.

Self isolation took many forms, and Shelby always kept her parents’ health and safety in focus. She stepped in to do the grocery shopping for them, eliminating the temptation to eat in restaurants. She and Mark found a rhythm with their safety protocols at home and also learned a new love language which told him when she might need to cuddle after work and when she might need to be alone with her feelings. Or with a pizza. Besides pizza, Shelby’s pandemic stress snack of choice was Triscuits with pimiento cheese dip, particularly the ones with either smoked gouda or jalapenos.

Socializing simply could not happen. All their hopes and plans to reunite with Oklahoma friends have been tabled this past year, and they watched as one by one the small town festivals were cancelled.

Neither Shelby nor her husband Mark, nor their adult daughter Boston, who is a restaurant manager in Ada and faced constant exposure and a complicated, ever shifting work life, nor Shelby’s parents, ever contracted the virus. It’s easy to imagine how thankful they all are to have survived the year without serious illness or worse.

There was a long stretch last year when, though physically healthy, Shelby found it difficult to concentrate long enough to read books (a common phenomenon in pandemic, I am learning). Instead, she listened to audio books, favoring mysteries and gothic romances for an escape. Shelby also rewatched the Hobbit series and binged The Office with Mark, although they had seen it before.

We talked about mental health and the cultivation of peace in the midst of such fear and chaos. Shelby used the word “curate” to describe how she took control of her online life. She unfollowed political accounts and people whose posts were too disruptive to her peace of mind then filled that void with Facebook groups about her genuine interests, like stained glass art, gardening, and cathedrals. She chose to nourish herself in gentle, deliberate ways. “A lot of us spend a lot of time in our heads,” she observed wisely. This already smart, glowing woman seemed to have learned that furnishing her mind with beautiful things would keep her sane and centered. “Find the joy where you can,” she told me. (Again I say amen!)

We spoke at length about the vaccine, about how she felt when it was first announced, and about her experience.  Having to work a full shift the first day the vaccine was available to her, she got in line and was vaccinated as soon as possible on day two. Shelby called the feeling “indescribable” and admitted to crying.  “Is this it? Is this the end of things?” she thought, and, “finally we’re going to get a leg up.” Her voice broke at this, and I got that giggly, warm, weepy feeling just listening to her recount the memory. The relief was palpable.

She also told me a story about a colleague, a long time male nurse who was videoed receiving his vaccination. Normally a stoic guy, unemotional and gruff though experienced as a first responder in a wide array of tragedies and historic medical events over the decades, this man wept as he received his shot. He broke down in front of his friends and colleagues and offered them this intimate assurance, his blessing to weep and be moved: “They don’t know what we’ve seen.”

Reflecting on the Year & Looking Forward:

I asked Shelby what she wishes people would do differently, given her perspective. How does she believe society could have handled this better? Her answer was chilling and not what I expected. She said gently and firmly that everyone should have a living will. We should leave instructions for our loved ones that clearly state our wishes for the end of life. She saw many patients whose conditions declined so rapidly toward “medical futility” that, on the worst days of their lives, families did not know what to do. They faced impossible, tormenting decisions because the patients could not speak for themselves, and they often had to make these decisions without being able to see their loved ones. Establishing a living will in healthy times is a gift to your family later.

I asked Shelby whether the pandemic has changed her. First she announced that it certainly opened her up to the power of hand washing, ha! And she described all the reasons why our new normal might include wearing a mask for air travel or to minimize cold and flu season. In fact, she talked about mask wearing overall, about how it has been such a small concession for people to make, just kind of shaking her head at the resistance some groups showed.

Shelby also joked about how our Oklahoma-bred tornado preparedness might have to mature into something broader, to serve as a buffer against future mass crises. Regarding Doomsday Preppers? “Nobody’s laughing now!” We chuckled at that but only for a moment.

She also expressed with some gravity that “the pandemic was eye opening on so many levels, we were all so unprepared.” And she expressed her hope that “smart people are preparing for this to happen again.”  She considers herself “cautious to a fault” now and, as with her faith, makes no apologies.

Shelby’s spirit seems to be not just unharmed but perhaps bolstered. Despite all the trauma, uncertainty, pain, isolation, and heart-wrenching work of the past year, all of it unplanned and unprecedented, she presses into the belief that “Life is resilient.” When I heard her speak those words on the phone last week, I felt it. Now, when I just think of her saying those words, it feels like a quilt made of very old, beautiful velvet and denim, soft and strong and reliable. A trustworthy fact that will keep us warm. Life is resilient.

Shelby and I spoke on the evening of  March 4, 2021, nearly one full year after she began wearing two masks at work and started her voluntary self isolation in her living room. Oklahoma numbers are down now and falling steadily every week. Vaccinations, amazingly, are gaining traction statewide. And she and her family remain safe and healthy. All gifts for which to be wildly thankful.

I know that all of us who watched the news all year and witnessed as best we could the love being poured out through nurses and doctors want to give Shelby the biggest hug right now. We want her, and her work family, to feel all of our appreciation. We want their deep reservoirs of compassion and fortitude to be replenished in abundance, for their own happiness and well being as well as for whatever is coming next. We need them to be whole and well nourished.

One of the final sentences Shelby offered me was just what I needed to hear, just what we all need to hear sometimes: “I knew life could be hard, but I never lost hope that things would get better.” And so, no matter what any of us faces, no matter how real the threat or how long and hard the battle, we absolutely must not lose hope. Things will get better.

Thank you, Shelby, from the very bottom, neediest place in my heart.

duck tales, a-woo-hoo

Between what ages would a person be to have read the title of this blog post as a cartoon jingle, and what after school snack are you now craving?

On the first brutally cold morning of this artic storm in Oklahoma (in every where), our two ducks were so cold they were struggling to walk in the south coop, so we quickly brought them into the house to warm up. They took up residence in the downstairs (pink) baththroom and have provided loads of entertainment ever since. Their bathtub days are numbered, though, as the forecast continues to imporove, so I am sharing a few stories to really soak up the moment.

Rick Astlee and Klaus in a friendly stare off,
Mike Meyers Lemon doing his own thing as usual.

First, Klaus believes this is all for him. He believes we brought them indoors for his pleasure alone, and he has established a routine where two or three (or seven) times per hour he interrupts us, staring unblinkingly at us from his soul, and leads us to the closed bathroom door. The instant we open the door and he can see the ducks, his tail starts wagging. No, his whole, long, substantial body starts wagging. He grins wolfishly and pants in a baritone way, gazing left and right and in small, slow circles as Rick Astlee and Mike Meyers Lemon scuttle around the towel-lined bathtub. After a few minutes of tense but safely guarded interaction, we escort Klaus out and close the door. For the next three or four minutes, our gentle giant finds the nearest stuffed animal and thrashes it hard, violently I am afraid; then he runs back and forth across the concrete floor, smiling like it’s his birthday. Then he usually falls asleep. This routine is literally the first thing he does upon waking up in the morning and the very last thing he does before retiring at bedtime. We are powerless against his begging. I do not know how we will handle the emotional void when the ducks return to their chicken flock.

Next, the ducks are noisy. I mean, quacking is the least of it. They are big and strong (for ducks, at least, in my limited duck experience) and highly energetic. They make lots and lots of racket, especially when we run them some warm bath water to play in. Today as we exited the bathroom for them to swim peacefully alone, they went bezerk. Mike Meyers Lemon especially flipped upside down, spun in tight little counterclockwise circles, and dove repeatedly, in that wonderful dramatic duck-swoop way, into the foot-deep warm water. It was quite a sight. Even without the water to splash, though, they climb and wrestle and pitter patter nonstop until about 9:00 p.m. It’s amazing and sweet.

Also, my favorite beach towel: Will my favorite beach towel, which I grabbed that first day to warm up the ducks, ever be the same again after their indiscriminate filthiness? No. The ducks defacated all over it and embedded seed like it was a mosaic project. Goodbye, blue and green sea turtle beach towel that was the perfect length for me. You died a noble death. Thank you for all the paperback reading-sunburn-on-the-deck memories.

The ducks’ indoor adventure has coincided with the widespread energy crisis in Oklahoma (and beyond), at the epicenter of which my husband has been working an average of 16 hour days. He is virtually undistractible while working this hard on something this important; but today at a relatively calm moment, he heard the ducks’ chaos from his upstairs office. My tall, handsome, super smart, thunder-and-lightning bolt husband appeared just to playfully reprimand our temporary houseguests: “You ducks better caaaallmmm doooowwn! That’s enough! You’re being crazy! We are gonna have to burn this bathroom down after this!” Sadly, they ignored him wholesale and continued their white water party. This man has been crafting large scale, unheard of solutions to unprecedented crises all week long, fearlessly confronting people in much higher positions than his. And then he was ignored and flatly disobeyed by a pair of two year old water fowl.

One more note about the ducks’ indiscriminate filthiness: The smell is pretty special. Have you ever been to, like, a herpatarium at the zoo, and there is also a cat’s litter box in there for some reason?

The End.

romance right now

Happy Valentine’s Day, friends! Is your romantic celebration looking different this year? Ours definitely is. And I actually love it.

My husband has been working extraordinary hours this month. His normal Commish responsibilities, plus the weight of legislative season, all compounded by the ongoing complex problems brought to the utility industries by this crazy weather… The man is giving it all, 24/7. Although we have been together at the farm pretty solid since mid March of last year, these recent weeks he has felt a bit absent. Even when he emerges from his upstairs office, he is barraged with phone calls, texts, emails, and ongoing new emergencies at all hours of the day, every day. We never know how much down time we are going to enjoy together.

This may sound a bit grueling for our marriage, like a low key complaint, but that’s not at all how I mean it.

Not only am I immensely proud of the work he does, and the fact that he is happy to pour himself into it, but also I see a few beautiful daily constants remain for us:

We always drink coffee together in the morning; we never miss dinner together; and we always go to bed at the same time. There are plenty more sweet, unexpected ribbons of time together throughout each day, for which I am thankful, but the other day it struck me that those three rituals seem to be non negotiable. What a gift.

I am thankful that we have such a well established rhythm and harmony, so we can absorb disruptions of every variety and remain in step. I am thankful that our feelings come from somewhere deep, like abundant well water, rather than from intermittent rainfall. We can keep up with shifting circumstances, and I love that.

This snapshot was taken in the French Quarter at a very cool little artists’ walk we both love. He was refusing to let me smooch him like I wanted to. Then he grabbed me and held me up in the air. xoxo

For posterity, I feel like documenting what romance looks like this Valentine’s weekend, in pandemic, during an historic winter storm, while my man is purely exhausted from his day job:

Romance in times like these can look like chopping the frozen pond and troughs several times per day.

It can look like taking overlapping conference calls in ear buds so he can drive to town and buy horse blankets because his wife is worried sick about Chanta and Dusty.

Romance can be grocery shopping together well ahead of the snowstorm and unceremoniously handing each other boxes of chocolate to take home, then laughing out loud inside our masks like it’s the best joke ever.

Romance, in fact, is laughing together every chance we get, at anything we want. It’s also watching documentaries together, and freely criticizing strangers who join cults.

Romance is trading prayer requests with each other, for the people each of us talks to separately, as well as updating each other on good news and difficult news. Romance is counting our blessings as if it is the counting of them that makes them real.

Romance turns out to be old school, crayon-decorated coupons for massages that he is too tired to give and future outings that we cannot guarantee, because the tradition is old and good and happy. Romance can be homemade brownies filled with chopped up candy bars. Steaks that are sort of shaped like hearts and layers and layers of silky, fuzzy blankets.

Romance is obsessively loving every single animal together, so much. It is wearing your black felt cowboy hat and winter coat with the upturned collar (so sexy) to gather shivering ducks so they can warm up in the bathtub and then cuddling an overly attached a cat who won’t stop fake nursing our blankets. Romance is clearing ice from horse hooves even though your sweatpants are making you crazy and your eyes hurt.

Romance is troubleshooting every single cool breeze you detect and investigating every sound that might be a troubled pipe.

Romance is checking on your friends together and being proud of the kids together.

Romance is selecting television distractions that won’t drive your wife too crazy and playing UNO even when you are dead tired and she mostly wins. : )

A different hat than he gets to wear this week, but honestly he wears them all so well.

Sometimes romance is jewelry and rose bouquets, fancy restaurant dinners and cologne. But we have no need of that stuff now.

Gulf coast getaway 2019

Soon, babe, we will get dressed up, go out on the town, and maybe even travel. Until then, I am happy to get bundled up and care for the farm together.

I am so happy to cook our dinners and desserts here, take hasty hot showers to protect the septic field, and live thereafter in soft pajamas. These nine acres are paradise to me, and you make it all better. You embody all the romance in the world, and I am so glad you are still my Valentine.

NOW DRAW FOUR BITCHEZ
XOXOXOXO