Steven Harper's Blog, page 45
June 24, 2020
Me at Lowe's
"Hi, I need check with flooring. Can you tell me where--oops! Your mask has slipped. Pain in the butt, right? Ha, ha, ha. So it's down that way. Cool. Thanks."
"Hi, we're moving to a new place and we want to expand the wood flooring from the kitchen into the dining area. The previous owners said they got the kitchen flooring here, and--oops! Your mask has slipped. Pain in the butt, right? Ha, ha, ha. Anyway, based on this photo, can you tell me which flooring they used?"
"Hi. Your colleague over there said that you can set up a measuring appointment for us. Can you--oops! Your mask has slipped. Pain in the butt, right? Ha, ha, ha. Yes, tomorrow should be good."
Sigh.
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June 20, 2020
Moving, Phase II: The Big Gay Moving Company
The moment we had basic confirmation of a closing date, I started hunting for a moving company. I'm well past the age where you bribe friends with beer and pizza for hauling your ashes across town.* I don't lift furniture, tote TVs, or bundle beds into rental trucks. I pay for strapping young men to do that, thank you.
I left messages with a couple-three places, and a few minutes later got a call from one of them. While the company owner was taking down the details, I mentioned that a big chunk of the household had already been moved out because my husband got a job in another city, so we had to split our stuff.
"Did you say your husband?" the guy said.
I cautiously allowed that I had done, and was wondering if this was going to end with me hanging up and calling someone else.
"=My= husband and I founded this company twenty years ago," the owner said. "It's great to hear from another married couple."
Well! That was just splendid! I hadn't gotten a quote--or even a contact--from any other company, but I decided right then to hire the big gay moving company. What's the point of being part of the pink mafia if you don't use it once in a while, am I right?
*So all of you who have been hiding since I announced an impending move can take off the camouflage.
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I left messages with a couple-three places, and a few minutes later got a call from one of them. While the company owner was taking down the details, I mentioned that a big chunk of the household had already been moved out because my husband got a job in another city, so we had to split our stuff.
"Did you say your husband?" the guy said.
I cautiously allowed that I had done, and was wondering if this was going to end with me hanging up and calling someone else.
"=My= husband and I founded this company twenty years ago," the owner said. "It's great to hear from another married couple."
Well! That was just splendid! I hadn't gotten a quote--or even a contact--from any other company, but I decided right then to hire the big gay moving company. What's the point of being part of the pink mafia if you don't use it once in a while, am I right?
*So all of you who have been hiding since I announced an impending move can take off the camouflage.
comments
Moving, Phase II: Packing Begins
We have a (likely) closing date for the condominium. You know what that means, right?
Packing!
Actually, it means a lot more than that. It means calling an electrician and a plumber to come in and fix a few issues (including the fact that the bathtub in one of the bathrooms doesn't have a shower in it). It means deciding if we want to paint at all (probably not, but the issue is still under discussion). And it means deciding what to do with the flooring.
See, the kitchen, which is lovely and wonderful, was recently redone with laminate wood floors. The rest of the condo has brand new carpeting. This includes the dining area. Putting carpet in a dining area is a bad idea for a whole host of reasons, so we'd like to replace it with wood flooring that matches the kitchen. The problem is, we visited the web site for three different local flooring places, and none of them had a match for the kitchen. We finally emailed the current owners to ask where they got it from. Hopefully they'll write back soon. Probably should have done that in the first place!
We also bought boxes, more than fifty of them. Buying boxes makes my skin itch. It feels . . . wrong. I've moved dozens of times in my life, especially when I was very young, and we NEVER bought boxes. A big part of moving for my family was heading out to troll the grocery stores and the alleyways to hunt for boxes. We brought them home in triumph. Scoring banana boxes was awesome--they were strong and great for dishes. I brought home pickle buckets from the fast-food restaurant where I worked because they were perfect for plates. All these things were free!
Nowadays, though, I just don't have the time or energy to go box hunting. This means buying them. My heart jerks in agony at the thought, but here we are. Hardware stores now sell boxes, and they want a dollar each for a small one. Bigger ones cost double and even triple that. Darwin and I paid a small fortune for a bunch of cardboard we're ultimately going to toss into the recycling bin. I was grumbling under my breath the whole time.
We got them home, and I turned to my dear husband to announce, "Now we have to start packing."
Darwin gave me a bemused look. Start packing? As in . . . now?
"We have two weekends to pack," I pointed out. "This one and the next one. So you're going to be here to help me for only four days. We have to get everything packed that we can during that time."
Darwin allowed that this was true, but he wanted ice cream before we got started. I said that ice was usually a reward for AFTER packing, but Darwin remained adamant. So we went to a local twisty-cone place and got ice cream. There!
When we got back, the packing began. We packed up the exercise room in the basement (which included a two bookshelves worth of books and DVDs). We packed up the laundry room. We packed up the broom closet. We packed up the kitchen linens and upstairs DVD collection and two kitchen cupboards. At which point we declared ourselves Done For the Day.
But more packing tomorrow . . .
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Packing!
Actually, it means a lot more than that. It means calling an electrician and a plumber to come in and fix a few issues (including the fact that the bathtub in one of the bathrooms doesn't have a shower in it). It means deciding if we want to paint at all (probably not, but the issue is still under discussion). And it means deciding what to do with the flooring.
See, the kitchen, which is lovely and wonderful, was recently redone with laminate wood floors. The rest of the condo has brand new carpeting. This includes the dining area. Putting carpet in a dining area is a bad idea for a whole host of reasons, so we'd like to replace it with wood flooring that matches the kitchen. The problem is, we visited the web site for three different local flooring places, and none of them had a match for the kitchen. We finally emailed the current owners to ask where they got it from. Hopefully they'll write back soon. Probably should have done that in the first place!
We also bought boxes, more than fifty of them. Buying boxes makes my skin itch. It feels . . . wrong. I've moved dozens of times in my life, especially when I was very young, and we NEVER bought boxes. A big part of moving for my family was heading out to troll the grocery stores and the alleyways to hunt for boxes. We brought them home in triumph. Scoring banana boxes was awesome--they were strong and great for dishes. I brought home pickle buckets from the fast-food restaurant where I worked because they were perfect for plates. All these things were free!
Nowadays, though, I just don't have the time or energy to go box hunting. This means buying them. My heart jerks in agony at the thought, but here we are. Hardware stores now sell boxes, and they want a dollar each for a small one. Bigger ones cost double and even triple that. Darwin and I paid a small fortune for a bunch of cardboard we're ultimately going to toss into the recycling bin. I was grumbling under my breath the whole time.
We got them home, and I turned to my dear husband to announce, "Now we have to start packing."
Darwin gave me a bemused look. Start packing? As in . . . now?
"We have two weekends to pack," I pointed out. "This one and the next one. So you're going to be here to help me for only four days. We have to get everything packed that we can during that time."
Darwin allowed that this was true, but he wanted ice cream before we got started. I said that ice was usually a reward for AFTER packing, but Darwin remained adamant. So we went to a local twisty-cone place and got ice cream. There!
When we got back, the packing began. We packed up the exercise room in the basement (which included a two bookshelves worth of books and DVDs). We packed up the laundry room. We packed up the broom closet. We packed up the kitchen linens and upstairs DVD collection and two kitchen cupboards. At which point we declared ourselves Done For the Day.
But more packing tomorrow . . .
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June 9, 2020
Moving, Phase I: Completion and Exhaustion
At last everything was done. The garage and basement were neatly set up. The lawn furniture and grill sat on the back deck. The altar was cupped in the back by the fence. I grilled some kielbasa and served it with fruit salad and steamed cauliflower.
It was now late Sunday evening, and I was just too tired to face the 90-minute drive home. I stayed one more night in Albion with Darwin, and we both slept =hard=.
I hung around on Monday, doing school work online and petting the cats (who felt utterly neglected in this entire affair). It's a small benefit of this whole plague-induced distance learning thing--I can work from literally anywhere.
But at last it was time to go back to Wherever.
Next time, no matter how small the job, we're hiring movers!
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It was now late Sunday evening, and I was just too tired to face the 90-minute drive home. I stayed one more night in Albion with Darwin, and we both slept =hard=.
I hung around on Monday, doing school work online and petting the cats (who felt utterly neglected in this entire affair). It's a small benefit of this whole plague-induced distance learning thing--I can work from literally anywhere.
But at last it was time to go back to Wherever.
Next time, no matter how small the job, we're hiring movers!
comments
Moving, Phase I: Sacred Space
In the morning, we returned the U-Haul truck. Then Darwin set to work cutting back overgrown parts of the lawn and flower beds while I rebuilt my altar.
Putting up the altar is like putting a jigsaw puzzle together without a picture to guide you. I decided the cut stones I found on the property would make a good base, since they were bigger and longer than most of the stones I'd brought with me. I also decided to build the altar higher than before, with a bigger set of roofing stones. See, the altar needs a sheltered area for the Goddess statues because they erode in the rain. My Mother Goddess statue has already lost her nose, in fact. I have three wide, flat stones. In the old altar, one was a roof and the other two were flagstones set on the ground. This time, I wanted to use all three to make a wider, higher roof. My old altar was barely tall enough to squeak the Goddess statues under it, and I wanted more room for them this time.
I built a crescent-shaped wall with care, making sure they leaned backward just a bit to counter the stones' natural inclination to lean forward. When the back section was high enough, I enlisted Darwin's help to get the roofing stones in place. I accomplished this by setting a section of roof on the wall so it jutted way into the crescent. It wouldn't stay, of course. It would tip forward, if left alone. So while I held the roof piece up, Darwin piled more stones on the back part as a counterweight. They held it perfectly! We did this twice more, creating a nice, wide sheltered area.
That done, I set up a pair of shepherd's crooks on either side and hung baskets of flowers from them, then placed the various objects among the stones--a statue of Kwan Yin, a brass stag, a stone with a triple spiral in it, a Celtic offering cup, a stone goblet, candles. And the Goddesses. The moss inside the shelter creates a soft green carpet, and the trees lean in to offer their shade.
When it was done, Darwin pronounced it beautiful. And it is.
comments
Putting up the altar is like putting a jigsaw puzzle together without a picture to guide you. I decided the cut stones I found on the property would make a good base, since they were bigger and longer than most of the stones I'd brought with me. I also decided to build the altar higher than before, with a bigger set of roofing stones. See, the altar needs a sheltered area for the Goddess statues because they erode in the rain. My Mother Goddess statue has already lost her nose, in fact. I have three wide, flat stones. In the old altar, one was a roof and the other two were flagstones set on the ground. This time, I wanted to use all three to make a wider, higher roof. My old altar was barely tall enough to squeak the Goddess statues under it, and I wanted more room for them this time.
I built a crescent-shaped wall with care, making sure they leaned backward just a bit to counter the stones' natural inclination to lean forward. When the back section was high enough, I enlisted Darwin's help to get the roofing stones in place. I accomplished this by setting a section of roof on the wall so it jutted way into the crescent. It wouldn't stay, of course. It would tip forward, if left alone. So while I held the roof piece up, Darwin piled more stones on the back part as a counterweight. They held it perfectly! We did this twice more, creating a nice, wide sheltered area.
That done, I set up a pair of shepherd's crooks on either side and hung baskets of flowers from them, then placed the various objects among the stones--a statue of Kwan Yin, a brass stag, a stone with a triple spiral in it, a Celtic offering cup, a stone goblet, candles. And the Goddesses. The moss inside the shelter creates a soft green carpet, and the trees lean in to offer their shade.
When it was done, Darwin pronounced it beautiful. And it is.
comments
Moving, Phase I: The Altar, the Witch, and the Basement
I hauled my altar stones in groups of two and three to a section of the backyard, wishing desperately for a wheelbarrow. It was gritty, heavy, arm-breaking work. But at last it was done.
The boundary between our backyard and our neighbor's is marked with a line of trees and a half-broken wire fence that looks like it went up in the 20s, back when the area was farmland. A section on our side is all shady and mossy and soft, the perfect spot for an altar. I stacked all the stones and bricks and statues back there, and discovered another pile of bricks and cut stone which must have been there for several decades at least. The cut stones don't match anything in any of the buildings around us, so I think they're leftovers from an old farmhouse or stone fence. The bottom ones were deeply buried in the soil, pressed there by many years of weight and waiting. I decided on the spot to incorporate them into my altar.
But not yet--we still had unloading to do.
We decided that Darwin would bring stuff in from the truck and put it at the top of the basement stairs. I would bring it down and decide where to put it.
Here, I discovered an . . . interesting feature of the house.
The main storage room in the basement is lined with built-in wooden shelves. These shelves look handy--until you try to use them. Then you discover that the shelves are too close together to be of much use. No box fits on them. So I had to put the boxes on the floor in a different area of the basement. Oi! I was cursing the shelf-making by the end.
Unloading the basement turned out to be the worst of the worst of the worst. I kept running up the stairs and finding a box or two at the top. I'd haul it down and come back up to find yet another box. It was like the Easter Bunny was made at me--always dropping more horrible presents. I was tired and achy and sweaty and dealing with an endless stream of boxes.
But finally it was over. Everything was in its place. The truck was swept and ready to be returned in the morning. The garage was tidy, the basement was neat, and we were done.
Remember in the previous entry when I said we made a mistake? This is where we found it.
"We should have hired movers," I said. "This job was supposed to be little, and it was a lot bigger. And we're older. I would happily have paid $500 to avoid all this."
comments
The boundary between our backyard and our neighbor's is marked with a line of trees and a half-broken wire fence that looks like it went up in the 20s, back when the area was farmland. A section on our side is all shady and mossy and soft, the perfect spot for an altar. I stacked all the stones and bricks and statues back there, and discovered another pile of bricks and cut stone which must have been there for several decades at least. The cut stones don't match anything in any of the buildings around us, so I think they're leftovers from an old farmhouse or stone fence. The bottom ones were deeply buried in the soil, pressed there by many years of weight and waiting. I decided on the spot to incorporate them into my altar.
But not yet--we still had unloading to do.
We decided that Darwin would bring stuff in from the truck and put it at the top of the basement stairs. I would bring it down and decide where to put it.
Here, I discovered an . . . interesting feature of the house.
The main storage room in the basement is lined with built-in wooden shelves. These shelves look handy--until you try to use them. Then you discover that the shelves are too close together to be of much use. No box fits on them. So I had to put the boxes on the floor in a different area of the basement. Oi! I was cursing the shelf-making by the end.
Unloading the basement turned out to be the worst of the worst of the worst. I kept running up the stairs and finding a box or two at the top. I'd haul it down and come back up to find yet another box. It was like the Easter Bunny was made at me--always dropping more horrible presents. I was tired and achy and sweaty and dealing with an endless stream of boxes.
But finally it was over. Everything was in its place. The truck was swept and ready to be returned in the morning. The garage was tidy, the basement was neat, and we were done.
Remember in the previous entry when I said we made a mistake? This is where we found it.
"We should have hired movers," I said. "This job was supposed to be little, and it was a lot bigger. And we're older. I would happily have paid $500 to avoid all this."
And Darwin agreed.
I took a long, hot shower and swallowed half a bottle of ibuprofen before bed.
But we weren't quite done yet. . .
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Moving, Phase I: Prep and a Huge Mistake
The owners of the Waterford condo accepted our offer. Yay! Now we're waiting for a closing date. We have three weeks before we have to turn our current house over to its new owner, so we're under something of a deadline, here.
In the meantime, we've started the moving process.
The condo is all one floor, with no basement and no garage. The house in Albion has both of these handy features. That means the Albion house will be our "main" house, where the big stuff is, and the condo will be the satellite house.
And =that= means we'd have to pack all the stuff in our current basement and garage and haul it to Albion. We picked a date--last Saturday--and reserved a U-Haul truck.
That was our mistake.
Not the U-Haul. U-Haul was actually wonderful to us. I haven't rented a U-Haul truck in years, and was pleased to learn they have an app that allows you pick up a reserved truck any time you please, without potentially plague-ridden human contact. Additionally, the day before Phase I, U-Haul notified me that they didn't have a 15' truck available, but they'd upgrade us for free to a 20' truck. Well, cool! This later saved our bacon.
Several days before Saturday, Max and I cleared out both the garage and the basement of anything we didn't want anymore. It created quite a pile for the trash men! We packed everything that wasn't already in boxes and put it all in one place.
Then we dismantled the altar.
For those of you who haven't seen my photos, I have an altar in my back yard. It's made of rough-stacked stone and brick, with a little stone shelter for my two Goddess statues and lots of nooks and crannies for other objects. I didn't want to give it up, but there's no place at the condo to keep it. It would have to go to Albion.
Max and I dismantled it, stone by stone, and hauled the rocks to the driveway, where they awaited the U-Haul. I'm sure it's at least a ton of material. That was a job!
On Phase I day, Darwin and I picked up the U-Haul--lovely app!--and parked in the driveway, where we commenced the loading. It was rough, dirty work. We put the basement stuff at the front of the truck, rested, put the stones on the truck, rested, and put the garage stuff on the truck. The trickiest was the big freezer.
I love my big freezer. It lets me store all kinds of wonderful foods long-term. But you know the story by now--no room at the condo. I won't have easy access to it, and this makes the resident chef unhappy. Nothing for it, though. I put everything from it into a set of coolers, and noticed the frost that had collected inside. Hm! This touched off much work, trying to speed-defrost it. I used buckets of warm water and towels drenched in hot water draped over the ice, but it was very slow work. In the end, I hit on the idea of using the garden hose. This sped things along nicely, though I wish I'd thought of it an hour earlier. We loaded up the newly-defrosted freezer--thank heavens for Darwin's hand truck--and we were done!
There was exactly enough room in that truck. If we had gotten the 15' truck, we would have had to make two trips. Yikes!
Darwin refused to drive the truck, so it became my happy job. I hate driving big, unfamiliar vehicles. (Does anyone enjoy it?) But off we went! The drive was uneventful, just the way we like it.
At Albion, we unloaded. And unloaded. And unloaded. Max had to work, so it was just the two of us. Additionally, we had to figure out what went where. Do we put the garage storage cabinets against that wall or that one? Where do put the shelves? What do we do with the tall garden tools?
But at last, all the garage stuff was off the truck. But the boxes weren't unpacked, just stacked.
"Do we want to unpack this stuff now or after the basement stuff?" I asked.
comments
In the meantime, we've started the moving process.
The condo is all one floor, with no basement and no garage. The house in Albion has both of these handy features. That means the Albion house will be our "main" house, where the big stuff is, and the condo will be the satellite house.
And =that= means we'd have to pack all the stuff in our current basement and garage and haul it to Albion. We picked a date--last Saturday--and reserved a U-Haul truck.
That was our mistake.
Not the U-Haul. U-Haul was actually wonderful to us. I haven't rented a U-Haul truck in years, and was pleased to learn they have an app that allows you pick up a reserved truck any time you please, without potentially plague-ridden human contact. Additionally, the day before Phase I, U-Haul notified me that they didn't have a 15' truck available, but they'd upgrade us for free to a 20' truck. Well, cool! This later saved our bacon.
Several days before Saturday, Max and I cleared out both the garage and the basement of anything we didn't want anymore. It created quite a pile for the trash men! We packed everything that wasn't already in boxes and put it all in one place.
Then we dismantled the altar.
For those of you who haven't seen my photos, I have an altar in my back yard. It's made of rough-stacked stone and brick, with a little stone shelter for my two Goddess statues and lots of nooks and crannies for other objects. I didn't want to give it up, but there's no place at the condo to keep it. It would have to go to Albion.
Max and I dismantled it, stone by stone, and hauled the rocks to the driveway, where they awaited the U-Haul. I'm sure it's at least a ton of material. That was a job!
On Phase I day, Darwin and I picked up the U-Haul--lovely app!--and parked in the driveway, where we commenced the loading. It was rough, dirty work. We put the basement stuff at the front of the truck, rested, put the stones on the truck, rested, and put the garage stuff on the truck. The trickiest was the big freezer.
I love my big freezer. It lets me store all kinds of wonderful foods long-term. But you know the story by now--no room at the condo. I won't have easy access to it, and this makes the resident chef unhappy. Nothing for it, though. I put everything from it into a set of coolers, and noticed the frost that had collected inside. Hm! This touched off much work, trying to speed-defrost it. I used buckets of warm water and towels drenched in hot water draped over the ice, but it was very slow work. In the end, I hit on the idea of using the garden hose. This sped things along nicely, though I wish I'd thought of it an hour earlier. We loaded up the newly-defrosted freezer--thank heavens for Darwin's hand truck--and we were done!
There was exactly enough room in that truck. If we had gotten the 15' truck, we would have had to make two trips. Yikes!
Darwin refused to drive the truck, so it became my happy job. I hate driving big, unfamiliar vehicles. (Does anyone enjoy it?) But off we went! The drive was uneventful, just the way we like it.
At Albion, we unloaded. And unloaded. And unloaded. Max had to work, so it was just the two of us. Additionally, we had to figure out what went where. Do we put the garage storage cabinets against that wall or that one? Where do put the shelves? What do we do with the tall garden tools?
But at last, all the garage stuff was off the truck. But the boxes weren't unpacked, just stacked.
"Do we want to unpack this stuff now or after the basement stuff?" I asked.
"Now," Darwin decided. "It won't get done if we put it off until later."
I agreed with this assessment, so we unpacked. The freezer cranked to life in its new home. The cabinets filled up.
Then it was . . . the altar.
To be continued . . .
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June 3, 2020
Batwoman
In non-rioting news, we got word that Ruby Rose, the first LGBT person to play an LGBT lead on a super-hero show, has decided to leave BATWOMAN after one season. Rumor has it that the punishing schedule proved too crushing for her. The CW has announced that, rather than recast the role, they're creating an entirely new character to become Batwoman. They're still planning to hire a lesbian, and Batwoman will continue to be an out LGBT super-hero. Well, cool, then. I would rather they had recast the role and gone ahead, but this could work, too.
But that's not what I really wanted to talk about.
This incident potentially sheds light on something I'd noticed about BATWOMAN. Did anyone else see it?
They seemed almost afraid to have Batwoman appear on her own show.
No, really. The show seemed to be working overtime to keep Kathy Kane out of the cowl. When Alice persuaded/forced Kathy to break into Arkham with her, for example, the show twisted the plot so that Kathy wore a rabbit mask instead of her Batwoman costume. In another show, they had Kathy be so upset about killing someone that she couldn't bear to put the costume on, and only wore it in the last couple minutes of the show. In fact, on multiple episodes, Batwoman showed up only in the climactic scene.
I started getting ticked. Why wouldn't they let Kathy be Batwoman? Supergirl spends most of her episodes wearing the big red S. The Flash and Green Arrow both wore their costumes at least half the time. Why didn't Kathy get into her costume more? Are they depowering the lesbian, perhaps? It seemed possible, even likely, given the history of LGBT characters in the media.
But with this bit of new news, I'm wondering if Ruby Rose actually had something to do with it. Perhaps getting into and out of the costume was more time-consuming than she was willing to handle, and she pushed the writers into changing the stories around so she could wear it less often.
Did anyone else who watched the show notice this, or was it just me?
comments
But that's not what I really wanted to talk about.
This incident potentially sheds light on something I'd noticed about BATWOMAN. Did anyone else see it?
They seemed almost afraid to have Batwoman appear on her own show.
No, really. The show seemed to be working overtime to keep Kathy Kane out of the cowl. When Alice persuaded/forced Kathy to break into Arkham with her, for example, the show twisted the plot so that Kathy wore a rabbit mask instead of her Batwoman costume. In another show, they had Kathy be so upset about killing someone that she couldn't bear to put the costume on, and only wore it in the last couple minutes of the show. In fact, on multiple episodes, Batwoman showed up only in the climactic scene.
I started getting ticked. Why wouldn't they let Kathy be Batwoman? Supergirl spends most of her episodes wearing the big red S. The Flash and Green Arrow both wore their costumes at least half the time. Why didn't Kathy get into her costume more? Are they depowering the lesbian, perhaps? It seemed possible, even likely, given the history of LGBT characters in the media.
But with this bit of new news, I'm wondering if Ruby Rose actually had something to do with it. Perhaps getting into and out of the costume was more time-consuming than she was willing to handle, and she pushed the writers into changing the stories around so she could wear it less often.
Did anyone else who watched the show notice this, or was it just me?
comments
June 1, 2020
The Plague Diaries: Loss of Graduation
Saturday evening, Darwin and I were out for a brisk COVID 19 walk when my phone buzzed me an alert: Max's graduation was starting in an hour.
I'd put that alert on my phone last autumn, when Max started his senior year. Today, instead of being a reminder of his upcoming milestone, it served as a reminder of how much we've changed, how much we've lost.
I should have been, at that moment, finding a seat at the Convocation Center at Eastern Michigan with the rest of our family. I should have been straining to find Max in the crowd of seniors who filed in to the main floor. I should have been listening to speeches. And I should have gotten teary-eyed as Max crossed the stage to get his diploma.
Instead, I was walking outside on a chilly spring evening, noting a reminder on my phone I'd made at a happier time.
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I'd put that alert on my phone last autumn, when Max started his senior year. Today, instead of being a reminder of his upcoming milestone, it served as a reminder of how much we've changed, how much we've lost.
I should have been, at that moment, finding a seat at the Convocation Center at Eastern Michigan with the rest of our family. I should have been straining to find Max in the crowd of seniors who filed in to the main floor. I should have been listening to speeches. And I should have gotten teary-eyed as Max crossed the stage to get his diploma.
Instead, I was walking outside on a chilly spring evening, noting a reminder on my phone I'd made at a happier time.
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May 24, 2020
The Plague Diaries: Memorial Day Weekend
In Michigan, the vast majority of COVID 19 cases have stayed in the southern part of the state. We've had far fewer cases up north, and the farther north your go, the fewer cases you get. But in this state, everyone--EVERYONE--goes north to go on vacation. ("Goin' up north this weekend?" "Yep.")
Memorial Day weekend is the start of the season, when everyone opens up their cottages or goes to their favorite vacation town. As it happens, Governor Whitmer announced a small relaxation to the state's strict Stay Home order. The Upper Peninsula and the northwest sections of the Lower Peninsula (the mitten) were released from stay-home, though restaurants and bars and other such places had to operate at 50% capacity, wear masks, and space their tables out to six feet.
On Friday, I75 North--the main artery up the center of the mitten--was at a standstill for over eight miles, according to news reports. Not because of an accident, but because so many cars (and boats and RVs and popups) were flooding the freeway. Many of them, it's certain, are taking COVID 19 with them. They'll go to restaurants, bars, grocery stores, and everywhere else, trailing the virus behind them. A comfortable majority of northern Michiganders are of the "I'm not scared of no virus and want a haircut, dammit!" breed. They love to say, "We don't got corona up here. Why can't we open up?"
Well, they got their wish. And we'll absolutely see a spike in cases up there.
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Memorial Day weekend is the start of the season, when everyone opens up their cottages or goes to their favorite vacation town. As it happens, Governor Whitmer announced a small relaxation to the state's strict Stay Home order. The Upper Peninsula and the northwest sections of the Lower Peninsula (the mitten) were released from stay-home, though restaurants and bars and other such places had to operate at 50% capacity, wear masks, and space their tables out to six feet.
On Friday, I75 North--the main artery up the center of the mitten--was at a standstill for over eight miles, according to news reports. Not because of an accident, but because so many cars (and boats and RVs and popups) were flooding the freeway. Many of them, it's certain, are taking COVID 19 with them. They'll go to restaurants, bars, grocery stores, and everywhere else, trailing the virus behind them. A comfortable majority of northern Michiganders are of the "I'm not scared of no virus and want a haircut, dammit!" breed. They love to say, "We don't got corona up here. Why can't we open up?"
Well, they got their wish. And we'll absolutely see a spike in cases up there.
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