2020 the Gift (???) that Keeps on Giving

I think we can all agree that  as years go, 2020 is the worst. Even Donald Trump, who was looking at this being a banner year for  him to grift and screw everyone but white, rich, Christian, men, is finding 2020 problematic.

Sad. Let’s hope that November brings him great misery. (Vote blue and early!)

I digress.

2020. A global pandemic. A worldwide economic crisis. Innocent people are shot simply because they are trying to protect themselves and others from said pandemic. (See: idiots who think mask wearing is akin to being neutered without anesthetic, something that should happen to most of them.)

There have been a few signs of hope amid the horror, and it’s come from unexpected places. I hate people who film EVERYTHING, instead of actually experiencing it. You know the ones, they watch entire concerts through the lens of their phones. As if they will ever look at that video again.

 Yet, we have those ubiquitous camera phones to thank for actually proving to the disbelieving public that police are killing black people willy nilly. Do you think anyone would know George Floyd’s name, or the officers would be charged without the film? If so, look up Brianna Taylor.

We can also thank the selfie generation for publicizing and shaming all the entitled white folks- the Karens and Kens, who I prefer to call Ivankas and Jareds.

Are you pissy because some underpaid, overworked retail worker who daily puts themselves at risk for Covid-19 politely asks you to wear a mask? Start ranting?  Pull a weapon? Fine, go for it. Now you are viral and have lost your job! Buh-bye.

Otherwise, 2020 has seriously blown chunks.

Climate change has flipped the seasons. In the East it barely snowed all winter. Here in California now every month is wildfire season, except when we are having torrential rains and floods.  Tornado alley has moved from the Mid-West to the East Coast, and the North Carolina triangle is having earthquakes.

We’re still having earthquakes in California. Sometimes we even have the trifecta of weather problems: Santa Ana winds, temperatures reaching 110 and wildfires. Now there are these things called fire tornados. Add in the pandemic and whee! Some big fun!

My personal 2020 started out strong: I got to visit some friends and wild horses, and my homebred Faith went to a horse show to hang out. She was perfect in almost every way. (Okay, she had some fear issues with stacks of shavings in the aisle ways, but it was practically her first time away from home. She was scared.) I saw friends and visited Mom in Massachusetts. All looking good.

Two days after I returned to LA, the safer at home order was given.  Not much changed: I work at home (duh), and my barn remained open with mask and social distancing rules in effect.

Then Fiona developed a tumor on her breast. Because vets were closed except for emergencies I kept an eye on it. It got larger. Eventually I had it removed but it was malignant and bad.

Faith had what seemed to be a one-off weird neurological issue. The vet came and on her advice we gave her a month off. She seemed to be getting better.

Until she wasn’t. The day I put Faith on a van to go to the clinic for more tests I had a vet come to the house to put Fiona down. Her cancer metastasized she was failing fast. I couldn’t control her pain.

A week later I had to put Faith down. Her tests all came back with bad news. I drove the two hours to the clinic in to say goodbye.

The clinic is in Santa Ynez, where she and I had so many happy memories. She was started there and showed such incredible possibilities.  Every new challenge she was given by the trainer she met and exceeded. She went to her first young horse show there.

Now she wasn’t coming home.

When I got to her stall, she didn’t recognize me. We had been together since she was 20 minutes old. In her five and a half years, we’d never been apart for more than a week. She always screamed and whinnied when she saw me. Now she didn’t react.

Except she did. My quiet happy girl was spooky. She was head shy, and jumped when I broke a carrot. She too was failing fast.

I’m not a big crier; it’s hard for me. But Lucy, Faith’s mother and my heart horse, lives with me. That night when fed her and Talen I lost it. I threw my arms around Lucy’s neck and ugly cried. For the first time in our 16 years together, Lucy let me hug her without chomping me.

I was numb. Too brain dead to read or watch movies, I started binge-watching really stupid Western soap opera-like television shows. “Yellowstone” is fab but there are only two and a half seasons.  T he one that worked for me, is “Longmire.” On Netflix, it has seven seasons, with plots simple enough to follow with one brain cell.

One problem with the show is that it’s set what is supposed to be a tiny town in Wyoming, and has what I refer to as the Cabot Cove, “Murder She Wrote” problem: a whole lot of murders in a very small town. By series end, the place should be a ghost town.

I’m nitpicking. I’m nearing the end of Longmire’s sixth season and I’m almost able to carry on an occasional conversation. Mostly these discussions center around the pandemic, booting Trump and just how awful 2020 has been.

I miss Fiona and Faith something awful. But I’m looking forward to a fresh start.

With any luck, 2021 will begin on November 3, 2020. It can’t come soon enough.

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