I loved going to the County Fair. It was in a city park when I was a youngster and the transformation was always a thrill. The food trucks would roll in and then the rides like giant insects crawling up the sky. Lots of carny workers, so mysterious and so unlike the people in our small town. Cigarettes dangling, long hair in ponytails, perhaps a little shady but only through the eyes of a 9 year old or the old ladies in town. It lasted 2 weeks and there were musical shows, 4-H competitions, cotton candy and the Ferris Wheel.

It always took me a few days to get up the nerve to stand in the dusty line to the approach to the Ferris Wheel. It didn’t matter if I went by myself or with others, it was me against the Ferris Wheel, steel structure against human flesh & bones. I was never one to be afraid of heights, changes or challenges but the Ferris Wheel represented a loss of control. It was unreliable as to where it might stop or if it stopped at all. I would watch it for a few days to get the rhythm of its motion, the predictability of its stops and starts but it seemed to have a life of its own. I took it personally to conquer the Ferris Wheel, to know when to get on so, horrors of horrors, you wouldn’t stop at the top and sit there, for what seemed like days but was merely minutes. I was probably holding my breath the whole time, my eyes squeezed shut until I felt the structure shudder and move forward. It seems silly to think of it now, child against machine, even imagining that I could win that battle.

This memory popped into my brain yesterday as we navigate this most difficult time, certainly the most damaging of my 60 years. We are stuck at the top of the Ferris Wheel, some of the country has its eyes squeezed shut, some look out upon the big picture and try to find some positivity amongst the ruins of this pandemic. I don’t have an answer or alternative, I’m not a scientist or a doctor but I am an observer. We are our own worst enemy regarding this virus. Viruses don’t have political parties, they aren’t running for office or fund raising. They simply look for hosts to thrive and flourish. We, for the most part, have provided them with luxury hotels because we don’t want to wear a mask or stay home away from large crowds or we MUST get our hair cut. Unfortunately, this is not a sprint but a marathon. We obviously are not, for the most part, dedicated athletes that know how to pace ourselves.

I mourn for the loss of life, the loss of normalcy, live music, dinner with friends, the dismantling of life as we know it. There is going to be lots of carnage, economic chaos, very hard choices. I’m not here to criticize anyone, finding answers about COVID 19 is like finding a needle in a haystack. Science is where I seek the answers and I hope that our leaders can look to scientists to help them with moving forward. My heart is heavy to see my country on life support. See the millions of people without jobs, entrepreneurs without a clue as to how to stay in business and the dedicated people of all professions who go to work everyday and risk their health so other can have a little bit of normalcy.

Ferris Wheels don’t hold the same challenge as they used to when I was a kid, life provides its own challenges, times when we are stuck in a bad situation, have to figure out how to get ourselves moving again. Forward motion is always the best remedy, one foot in front of another.

“Hope” is the thing with feathers –
That perches in the soul –
And sings the tune without the words –
And never stops – at all –

And sweetest – in the Gale – is heard –
And sore must be the storm –
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm –

I’ve heard it in the chillest land –
And on the strangest Sea –
Yet – never – in Extremity,
It asked a crumb – of me.

Let’s hope Emily Dickinson is right.

We are used to seeing superheroes on the big screen, full color, sharp outfits and amazing super powers. I have loved them all, loved that the good guys win in the end, good over evil, love conquers all. Now, I’m not so sure. This sneaky virus, like a hooded thief in the night, has turned our world upside down, literally. All of the activities we loved, the restaurants we dined at, our dentists, chiropractors, gift stores, hair stylist, shoe stores, concert venues, gyms, art galleries, libraries, coffee shops–all shuttered for now and nobody knows for how long. Nobody says out loud how many places won’t re-open because life is too hard right now and we can’t bear to think of it. Our brains shut down like trauma patients. The news can only be taken in small bits, like a 3 year old eats spinach because you know that it is reality but the taste when you swallow is really bitter. Some of us are lucky and have routines but mostly, working from home with the kids, is a brand new experience for all. At least, in our homes, we are mostly safe.

The superheroes now don’t have capes or snazzy outfits–they wear scrubs and borrowed masks and homemade devices to ward off this tiny killer. Somehow, the richest country in the world doesn’t have enough PPE for these frontline workers. The scam is up. A healthcare pyramid scheme that is falling down like a house of cards. We are failing big time and putting nurses, doctors, paramedics, CNAs, physical therapists in grave danger. We are letting them carry the load for a failed healthcare system. It is appalling and sad and unbelievable. I’m not a doctor or a healthcare worker but my heart breaks every day as the deaths of these heroes increase everyday. I can’t imagine the stress of having to go into a war zone everyday. They should all get a presidential Medal of Honor when this is over.

So, I’m looking for Xena to make her appearance. She is fierce, just and a general badass. She didn’t take no for an answer and didn’t back down from any obstacles, no matter how hard they were. She had a trusty sidekick and a supporting cast that appeared just in time to save the day. Xena didn’t make excuses and she righted the wrongs that were forced upon people. She did the right thing. And she always knew what the right thing was. That is the trick these days. There are excuses that we only have so much money, we can only save so many people, we can’t do everything, we are powerless. We may not win every battle and life is going to be different after this is over. And it isn’t going to be over anytime soon but we can’t be powerless. Each one of us can do the right thing and those single right things add up to a whole bunch of right. A kind word, a delivered meal, a card in the mail, send the nurses at your local hospital lunch. All of the good energy has to build and build and finally burst like a bubble of love, spreading over the land. My fellow Americans, be like Xena. We need you more than ever right now.

I bought myself a record player and two bookshelf speakers. That may seem old fashioned in this techno age of playing music from a 6 inch phone but it all got started because my Great Aunt Betty passed away.

Betty Marie Gurden passed away at 91 from dementia related complications. She was the Tasmanian Devil, fierce and smart, never taking no for an answer, single handedly running the annual Gurden reunion until she was 85. And you better not cross her or at least, have the sense to stay out of her way. She loved her family, Tom Jones, Tiger Baseball and stray cats. She lived on 8 mile in Detroit in the 60’s and didn’t leave when the riots devastated the city. I loved going to her house to visit because we got to go to a Deli, a Tiger game and she had a laundry shoot from the bathroom to the basement which I thought was the coolest thing ever. However, I did not know that we shared a love for Opera until she died.

Family members were allowed to take a few mementos from her house as they were cleaning it out and preparing to sell it. As with estate sales, I always feel like a voyeur, rifling through the collections of people laid to rest, piles of clothing, books, paintings. It reminds me of a body in a casket, the physical is present and the soul has passed to another atmosphere. I had decided to take her record player, a KLH Model Twenty, made in Cambridge, Massachusetts in the 60’s. The speakers I left as they were too big for my apartment. Then I found the promised land, her record collection. Pristine boxed sets of Operas, Glenn Gould, Leonard Bernstein, Brandenburg Concertos, and of course, Tom Jones. I took as many as I could carry without feeling guilty.

I asked a few people about helping me with the record player, checking it out and seeing if it still was functional but the lack of speakers was a problem. The connections were different for a player that age so you really needed the original speakers. Dilemma, as I possessed these beautiful records so I started doing some research, set a budget for myself to purchase a new record player and bookshelf speakers. My choice was a Audio Technica record player with direct drive and Edifier bookshelf speakers. The journey has begun but not without help from Karl.

Karl is a huge music fan and audiophile. I have the pleasure of working with him most days. He is passionate, enthusiastic and was willing to help me set up the player. It was like Christmas Day, opening each box and carefully taking out each piece as we assembled the record player. As any good audiophile, he explained the function of each knob and switch, making sure it was level, jumping up and down on the floor a little to adjust the weight and we were ready. He said he loved the manual return because it made you “interact” with the music. Rhaposdy in Blue, directed by Leonard Bernstein, taken carefully out of its’ pristine but brittle sleeve, waiting for the iconic opening trill and nothing. Some sound but even using the remote to turn it up didn’t help. So we did what anyone does for a last resort, we read the instructions! Apparently there is a switch on the player for speakers or for USB recording to a computer. So with one flick of a switch we had sound, beautiful sound!

I think of my Aunt Betty when I play my (her) glorious records and wonder why we never talked about Opera. We could have gone to the Detroit Opera Theatre, sitting in the dark, waiting for the first sounds of strings and reveling in a soprano’s aria. I’m hoping the music reaches her and she knows how very much I appreciate the chance to honor her every time I place a record on the platter and the needle touches down,

Often, a day or two in a different environment can bend your mood or shift your psyche. Too many days in a row at a computer with line after line of numbers, can fry your synapses and make you weary. So, why not hop a train to Chicago and see what kind of stimuli can turn you upside down and inside out?

Any type of traveling can be tricky. Crying children, people on cell phones, smelly food, crowded transport can make or break your trip. The train can be soothing and freeing but also late. Sometimes very late. I remember waiting 12 hours in the Toronto Train Station waiting for them to clear the tracks of a giant snowstorm. Summer can often be worse, loss of air conditioning or accidents or delays. It is not that glamorous to travel anymore. Even car travel can be troublesome with summer construction in full bloom. Yet our feet get itchy and our minds get to wandering so a little day or two away from the regular grind is refreshing.

My friend lives in Rogers Park near Evanston, Illinois. It is a lively area with beautiful tree lined streets and Loyola University nearby. It is a 45 minute subway ride from Union Station in Chicago so you have time to people watch and make sure you make your stop, always a concern when I am in a new city!

You kind of forget that Chicago is bordered by Lake Michigan but it is a welcome cool breeze compared to the steamy city heat. The little beach on the edge of Evanston has an annual painting contest to spruce up the concrete seats that face the beach. The students of Loyola have also had a dune reconstruction project that has restored the dune on the point and it is filled with native plants and surrounded by chirping birds. The city folk seem very serious in making sure it stays that way.

My friend is a lovely host, he is a wonderful cook and a great walker. He finds out the history of the place he lives and shares it generously with others. He told me that there are 86 languages spoken in Rogers Park and I got a great tour of Loyola University & their wonderful pipe organ. There is also a echo chamber right outside the church which a police officer demonstrated on our way out of the church. My friend did not know this tidbit and I was glad to be with him when he learned something new!

I love that most places we went were around 15 minutes away. Any way you travel there is a subway or coffee shop or fabulous restaurant or little movie house. It was a reason I loved the neighborhoods of San Francisco. They made you self sufficient even if you weren’t very adventurous or curious—you had to be a patron and learn the neighborhood rules. And mostly, you could complete the circle in your neighborhood and if you were smart, learn about your neighbors and be part of the social network.

I admit that I am not that keen about talking to people on the train. I’d rather sit quietly, enjoy the scenery, read, write. Often, I feel a bit chagrined at my reluctance to social but my job keeps me socializing most of the day and this was a vacation so I drew the line in the sand and put the guilt on a shelf for another day.

I’m sure I will venture back to Rogers Park for another visit and an excellent omelette with toast provided by my friend who has a lovely little condo with no television or computer. The sounds of the city bounce around in his courtyard along with the beautiful strings of a classic piece of music that plays on his radio in the kitchen. The soundtrack of his life for 22 years and counting. A place he loves and shares with his traveling friends. I’m lucky to be one of them.

I spend at least 3 hours a week driving Highway miles from one point to another. Sometimes there are traffic jams, road construction and delays, I never know what I’m going to encounter from one trip to the next but I can always count on seeing Roadkill. Deer, Raccoons, possums, an occasional bird, I even saw a coyote once. It always bothers me much like the circus when I was a child. Sadness just washes over me when I enter a circus, I had to stop attending even though my sweet grandpa was a Shriner and got free tickets. I had to make excuses because nobody else was staying home and I had never heard anybody else talk about their feelings concerning animals.

When I was a kid, there use to be an animal control truck that would gather all the dead animals from the road. It was a small town but I imagine it happened all over the state. It seemed more dignified then leaving them on the side of the road to become one with the pavement. This obviously doesn’t happen anymore as I see the same roadkill over and over on my weekly trips.

I am thinking particularly of one deer. He has been there for months on an extremely busy stretch of M-14. He must have come from the Barton Hills area. Not posh enough apparently. I have watched him deteriorate from a plump deer to skin and bones, still on the side of the road. One minute you are a happy deer, frolicking in the prairie, enjoying the sun during an afternoon nap and then you are dead, lying on a concrete slab, cars whizzing by, oblivious to your demise. Just another bit of roadkill to avoid or turn away from.

I don’t have the solution to cleaning up the roadkill. It just seems so undignified to finish out your life lying on the side of the road for all the world to see. I suppose I could sew little covers and drop them on the animal as I sped by. I’m sure it must be a quick death for which I am grateful. I often wonder if the lights mesmerize them into a sort of hypnotic state that renders them helpless and therefore roadkill. Do the little souls float up from their bodies or seep into the concrete, ashes to ashes, dust to dust?

There is a theory that animals should be the greeters at the gates to another life. When a cat or dog shies away from a person aren’t you suspicious of them, like they have a secret evil life that only animals can see? I vote for cats as they are a bit more discerning. Dogs are “love me, love me” and cats are more “what can you do for me?” I could see a panel of 8 or 10 felines wearing robes, passing judgement and handing out sentences. Giving you that blinking look that says, “where did you think you were going, you were late feeding me too many evenings. Karma is a bitch.”

Even before the lights went out, I was in the dark. It has felt like that for months. I was home 52 minutes on Friday night when the lights flickered and the air conditioner powered down. It was an overloaded transformer that burst into flames, dropped a live wire onto two cars as they exploded like a scene from an old Starsky and Hutch episode. The tempreture had been in the high 90’s all week and it was probably the worst time to lose power.

I took electricity for granted. Lights, charging the electronics, cooking, hair dryer, television, air conditioner. Luckily, the hot water heater was gas powered so at least we could take showers. The estimated time of recovery was 3:30 pm on Saturday then 11:30 pm then “Indefinite.” That was a hard pill to swallow but also a sort of freedom that there was really not a damn thing you could do about it. My landlord had a gas generator and he attached an extension cord to both of the apartments he rents in his house. I appreciated the light to read by and another for a fan but luckily it had cooled down to a reasonable temperature. I probably read more in the 4 days without power than I have in the past year.

Really the worst part of the power outage was having to eat out for most meals and keeping the canned cat food in a cooler with ice. Canned cat food never smells good on a good day but leave it in a cooler and yuck. The cat seemed okay with it. At least, she didn’t have to eat out.

Without electricity, no street lights or televisions or radios, it was quiet and oh so, peaceful. Well, except for the constant noise of the generator. I couldn’t iron or watch the horrible news or an inane television show. I dreamed about cool breezes and humming refrigerators filled with left overs and icy coca colas. It wasn’t a bad way to spend 4 days in the dark. And now that the lights are back on, I’m still in the dark, fumbling around, searching for the light switch.

Humans have a deep loathing of change. Of any kind. From our favorite jeans, to a break up of a relationship or the death of a loved one, we are in no mood for changes. The ironic thing is that change is a constant factor in our lives. One of my favorite quotes about change is from Marcus Aurelius, “Everything is only for a day, both that which remembers and that which is remembered. Observe constantly that all things take place by change, and accustom thyself to consider that the nature of the Universe loves nothing so much as to change the things which are and to make new things like them. For everything that exists is in a manner the seed of that which will be.”

David Bowie sang a song about it, Ch-ch-changes turn and face the strange Ch-Ch-Changes, Time may change me but I can’t trace time. So we get nostalgic about the “old days” when things were easier, people were kinder, more generous and we had no cell phones. I think about the changes my Great Grandfather saw in his lifetime. Men landing on the Moon, computers and answering machines. He was one of the first people in Owosso, Michigan to have a hip replacement. Since he was a high school history teacher, change was a constant to him. His point was to remember the past and not repeat the mistakes of it. The sad reality is we don’t do a very good job of remembering.

People qualify change into the categories of “good” and “bad” but as with most things, it isn’t that simple or straightforward. Take cell phones, for instance. Many people would laud this as a great invention. I often think about 9/11 and the fact that people had phones to call loved ones and say goodbye but to also alert the country on what was really happening. Definitely, good. Dinner time with people who constantly check their phone or worse yet, Answer it!, yikes that is bad! We can all agree that cell phones are amazing tools when used properly and that this change has revolutionized phone use. Remember when you had to wait until you were home to check your answering machine? So much has changed in so little time.

Most of the time, change is forced on us. This is painful, uncomfortable and just downright annoying. We are all like little rats in our own maze of life, going to and fro, down the same path every day until a roadblock forces us to go in another direction. It is scary, nothing is familiar–we don’t have the same prompts or none at all. It can be traumatic and the pain can linger. Everyone has a different style in dealing with it. There is no textbook or checklist to consult, it is just a leap of faith, a feeling that things will get better, that get us to the next step of accepting that change. And sometimes they aren’t better just different. Is it a life lesson or just a random experience?

I’ve had my share of changes, broken relationships, moving to California and back, changing jobs after 20 years, the loss of loved ones, watching beloved friends deal with illnesses and what I have I learned? Mostly, that there is no closure. It is a myth and a disservice to healing. We carry our loves, our break ups, our losses, our victories in a suitcase in our hearts. A messy suitcase with lots of memories, some are laying on top of the pile and some you have to dig deep to find. A file folder of change that has altered the way we see ourselves, others and ultimately the world in which we operate. I can’t say I have embraced all of the changes that have come my way, some I fought tooth and nail, some I had to resign myself to accepting. As Elphaba sings in Wicked, “I don’t know that I’ve been changed for the better but I have been changed for good.”

Whether or not we want to admit it, the weather does a number on us. It is usually part of our daily conversations, we bitch and moan when it is cold, we bitch and moan when it is hot and then there is the lack of sun. It has been an incredibly rainy and overcast spring in Michigan. One of the three wettest springs in history not only in Michigan but historic flooding in Iowa and other midwestern states. It has done a number on crop planting and most people waited until the last minute to buy flowers and vegetable starts because it was just so chilly and damp.

There is much conversation about weather, climate change, global heating or however you choose to describe it. There is no doubt about it that things are changing and more rapidly than most scientists expected. It will affect the way we do business, grow our food, the areas we live in. Change is inevitable with the climate and we can expect it to impact our lives just as much as policy makers in Washington. Much like a Supreme Court justice, Mother Nature has a life time appointment.

I have lived most of my life in Michigan with cold, snowy winters, wet springs and hot, humid summers. That was the mantra unless you lived in the UP and had about a month of summer. We were used to the predictable cycles and relished the warm breezes of fall or the stretch of 80s weather in the summer with blue skies and absolutely no clouds. Those days on Lake Michigan with the hot sand and diamonds shining on the blue water, priceless. It all seems turned around now. 50 degrees in January, tornadoes in March, no snow until February. These are our new normals.

Living in San Francisco was a treat in many ways but the weather, oh my. If there is a day in Michigan with a cool breeze, warm sun with no clouds, I call it “San Francisco” weather. Granted there was February with the rain coming down sideways and the bone chilling dampness that no layering could warm up. I remember feeling like a rotisserie chicken in front of my little wall heater trying to stave off the chill of a rainy San Francisco February day. I miss the fog. There is nothing like it. Watching it roll in and envelope the city was a thrill. My apartment window had the Golden Gate Bridge perfectly framed in it and often half of the bridge was covered with a layer of fog.

Maybe I have been in a funk because every Thursday and Sunday, my days off, have been rainy days. Literally, for 6 weeks it has rained so I’ve not been able to geocache or do anything without getting soaked and driving in the rain is my least favorite activity. People are jerks when it rains and less cautious even though rain is just as dangerous as snow. So here I am complaining about the weather that I have no control over, ha. Today the sun is shining and we will all comment on “Finally, a sunny day.” Humans, we are so predictable unlike the weather. Mother Nature rules, get used to it.

While eating a Chinese dinner with a friend, we received the complimentary fortune cookies at the end of the meal. I can’t remember what her fortune was but was empty. Yes, empty. In all the years of fortune cookies, I’ve never had an empty one. A good omen or a dire warning?

Fortune, a loaded word from the get go. Fortunate/Unfortunate–different universes separated by a a two word letter. A person with a fortune is considered golden. Whether by hard work or inheritance, having a fortune is desirable. Is it possible to have a fortunate life without a fortune? The degrees of fortune vary between cultures and along socioeconomic lines. A fortune in Smalltown Indiana is much different than a fortune in New York City.

My fortune has never been based on money. I made enough money to keep me from being poor but it doesn’t qualify me for “middle class.” My bills have always been paid, I have a decent car, have been able to vacation but have always carried various amounts of credit card debt. It was always paid but a weighty cloud that follows you every month. Recently, I have been able to eliminate my credit card debt and it is liberating.

I’m fortunate. That I know. Money is fabulous, it gives you endless options and keeps you afloat. I like money but know that there is more. I’m looking forward to my next Chinese dinner to see where my fortune is taking me.

Everyday we are bombarded with sounds. Alarms, phone calls, notification pings, sirens, music and yelling. In order to counter the cacophony of the world, we do meditation, yoga and hikes in the woods. We wear earplugs and listen to our favorite music and keep the unwanted world away from our ears.

I have never been comfortable in big groups or at large parties. Somehow, there was too much noise, too many people, too many feelings swirling around and they usually landed on me. I believe that I am an empath. I suck up the feelings in a room like a sponge to water. It has always been this way and I’ve never found a way to control it except to spend time alone.

Working in retail puts me in contact with people all the time. People with questions, people with problems, people who are just naturally friendly and want to talk. I figure I spend half of my day talking on the phone or to someone in person. It is an odd kind of social interaction, not friendship but friendly–a mutually beneficial relationship for both parties. By the end of the day, the tank is empty. The need for quiet grows louder.

Luckily, I live on a fairly quiet street. It can be noisy at times when there are parties in the backyard or people come to fetch their cars after a night at a downtown bar but more often it is the birds that constitute the majority of the sound waves in the air. It is lovely to wake up at 3 in the morning and hear the stillness.

Geocaching is another way I recharge my quietness. It isn’t always in the country or the woods but the focus of the search quiets my mind and smooths away the noise of the rest of my life. A day spent outside, in a beautiful setting is always a day well spent.

I relish my quiet time, it is an important part of self care, at least for me. In this world of blustery people and politicians, it is more important than ever to find a quiet place and be grateful for the loveliness in your life. Recharge your quiet battery, it will come in handy when you most need it.