When Shit Gets Real

 In all major crisis’ everyone has their moment.. For most of us it was helplessly watching the Covid-19 tragedy unfold in Italy, Spain and China. For Mr. Trump it was the idea of losing the election and watching the stock market crater.

For me, it was John Prine, and Marianne Faithfull were reportedly in the ICU with the virus. (Not together, but both would probably find that a hilarious image.)

That Prine is a genius singer/songwriter/composer/influence is a given. After beating cancer in the 90s, it seemed that there was nothing he couldn’t do. Hell until a few months ago, that old geezer could still probably knock out a mail route if he wanted to. Singing while he did it.

Last week it came out that he was in critical condition and on a ventilator from Covid-19. The latest update from his wife Fiona, is that he is now stable. But that doesn’t actually mean much.

There is even less information about Faithfull. This is not good. If she was doing well, we’d hear about it.

Both Prine’s self-titled debut album, and Faithfull’s “Broken English” are absolute musical touchstones to me. (If you know those records, not only should you it will explain a whole lot about me. Probably more than you need to know.)

Anyway, now it’s personal.

I already was following the safety at home order. I mean, realistically, that is my normal life. I LIKE being at home and alone, but the shopping for a couple of weeks at a time thing was new to me.  

I barely cook and I hate to shop. Which means I usually go to the market every couple of days to rush in and out as fast as possible, with little or no thought. The only thing I do know is that I have to pick up a 25 pound bag of carrots.. I also go through about 75 pounds of carrots a week. So I average three swift trips to the store a week.

These days like everyone else, I’m a homebody. I leave the house only to walk the dogs, ride and occasionally to go to the store to pick up carrots. Those big bags don’t fit in my fridge if I put anything else in it and carrots go bad.

I went to Smart & Final today. It was the first time I’d been in over a week. (See! I really am trying!) I was pleased to notice that some of the craziness has settled and there were a lot fewer shortages.

The shelves were stocked with lots of fruits and vegetables (of course they were!), and all kinds of meat which I don’t eat. For the first time in three weeks there was ground turkey which I use to make the dogs’ turkey loaf.  (The ONLY time I cook regularly is for the dogs. But you knew that.) Score! And a giant jar of peanut butter which I use to give the dogs pills. Double score!!

There were the usual empty spaces where the paper towels, disinfectants and toilet paper used to be.

 I expected that. What I didn’t expect were the vacant shelves where the carrots and apples should be.

There were none. Nada. Not even a single crummy one pound bag of carrots or any nasty Red Delicious apples that no one eats willingly. Come to think of it, my horses don’t even like Red Delicious apples.

I suspect this is a temporary glitch, one that has hit my neighborhood grocery stores harder than others in less equine infested areas.

But still.  

While I did raise my eyebrows at the cranky man screaming about how we were now living in a communist society where you can’t even get the basics, a part of me nodded. I’m not proud of this.

I think I’m dealing with the quarantine (after the gut punch about Prine and Faithful) pretty well. Or at least like most people.

Somedays I am fine. I know life goes on, most of us will make it through, and move on with our lives.

I do smile when see all the young families in my neighborhood out for walks with both Mom and Dad, I hope that the kids will remember the closeness they had during this time. (Hint: they won’t. But The Great Toliet Paper Shortage of 2020 will certainly become a part of their family lore.)

I am hopeful that all of us on the financial bubble will survive. I worry a lot about the people I see hanging at the U-Haul place looking for work as day laborers. They have no safety net.

Somehow this will pass. Right?

I also swing wildly the other direction, right smack into complete terror. (If I survive this, the economy is going to tank and how am I going to feed my quadrupeds and keep my house?)
But that isn’t a sustainable way to live.

I can only deal with one disaster at a time, and right now my focus is that my friends and family stay healthy.

I know a bunch of people who are, well , catastrophizers.  They can’t think past the worst possible outcome.

I can. In fact, for years I made my living doing just that, as a publicist. When things go according to plan, any duffus can handle it. I got paid to be prepared for the cataclysmic disasters. For better or worse, my nature and profession, lend itself to being a problem solver.

It’s working for me so far.

I mean really, If you can’t go to the store or are concerned about it, hey, thankfully you have enough money to use Instacart. (Tip WELL and say thank you!) If it takes a couple of days to get there, well, there’s probably nothing you can’t survive without for a bit.

No paper towels? Use dish towels and wash them! Worst comes to worse you can do the same for toilet paper, at least if you have easy access to a washing machine.

Deal the fuck with it. It’s not like you don’t have a ventilator and the federal government is hoarding them. (That’s a whole other issue and for Congressional inquiry to decide. (I’ve got your back Rep.Schiff!).

I find myself becoming a new cliché. I have learned how to use Zoom and done hangs with some of my dear friends. It’s not the same as being there, but it’s okay.

Since I can’t go to the gym, I’ve trying online exercise classes. Some are good. Some not so much.

I’m a hard pass on future Dog Yoga classes. They sound like a blast, but are designed for people with short dogs. But Fiona and I did laugh a lot. Okay, I laughed. She snored.

None of this is fun, except maybe me trying to do a downward fold over Fiona. But I’ve learned a little about myself and the world. Including that my internet is not as reliable as I previously believed. (It’s awesome to have the yoga video freeze in chair pose! Feel the burn!) And that toilet paper is a bankable commodity.

 Thus far I haven’t lost any loved ones.  That’s a huge win. So, with a big nod to several of my former therapists, this is my mantra and I’m sharing it with you: “You can’t control most situations. You can only control your reactions.”

Nice to know I learned something from the zillions of hours I spent in their offices.

Stay safe friends. And listen to John Prine and Marianne Faithful.