Sharing the World with the Undead

Online or on paper, I suggest making a version of this not-exactly-gratitude journal.

Gratitude journals have been a common theme in the self-help articles of the recent past. Write down the good stuff when you wake up or go to bed, authors tell us. Some especially optimistic writers even suggest that humans can reset themselves emotionally by focusing on the good and taking time to record the details.

Ummm… maybe, maybe not. Other people with letters behind their names write short pieces documenting that this approach does not solve the problem of depression, for example. We are enamored of simple fixes, one reason why the COVID-19 time has left many of us — although not the President it seems — at a loss. Where are our simple fixes? But this is not a coronavirus post, except in the sense that I wish to offer a possible activity to those sheltering at home.

I created a journal awhile back that I like better than the standard gratitude journal. The picture above shows my approach. I write the good, the bad and the indifferent. In the right circumstances, I might even add the column “ugly.”

I emphasize the good, but I put down the high points of what is not working. I also make a note of those parts of my environment that may be material but that are not doing much to my seratonin levels one way or another. A few examples: One hour flight delay, hair needs roots done, Papers everywhere. Here’s one clearly real time entry: “Don’t have a clue what is going on on Perry Mason. :-)”

Why I am recommending this journal: I never reread gratitude journals. Those scribblings don’t reflect my life. Yes, I liked my trip to the garden and the Leonida’s chocolates, but somehow rereading those facts holds little interest. When I add the bad and the indifferent, though, I get a true slice of life. The left carotid endarterectomy was bad, but the cardiac and ICU nurses were good, and I was indifferent to six days in Glenbrook hospital, only one of which totally sucked. I liked my Indian dinner that week. I loved visiting with Abby and EJ. On another day when I was tired of turkey and had tinnitus, I enjoyed reading “A Porcupine Named Fluffy” to the class I subbed in Lincolnshire.

The texture of my life is captured in the pages of this journal, and my indifference to the sump pump repair during the bad time of the broken toe brings the picture back to me much more vividly than any gratitude journal might do. This journal is fast to write, too. “Parents happy. Nice Costco pizza lunch” says enough.

Throw a Pride and Prejudice and Zombies journal into your next Amazon order, reader? Or whatever journal reflects you? If you want to use a Word or Excel document instead, that works perfectly. I sometimes print those pages and staple them into the physical journal.

Hugs from the Blue Room. J

Boiling water will not work. The backsplash might blister you, but Mr. Zombie will keep on coming. Kitchen tools don’t work unless you are super-coordinated. That cast iron pan? Can you wield it forcefully and actually break a head? Banging Mr. Zombie on the head may not even slow him down much. Zombies already suffer from severe cases of CTE and mostly shrug off concussions. You might consider taking steak knives and going for the eyeballs if you can. There’s brain behind those eyeballs. You could even use a pair of drumsticks and try this eyeball strategy (the ones used with percussion instruments, not the Colonel’s extra crispy) if you are fast, strong and accurate.

The key to killing zombies is always using the right tools. The key to managing COVID-19 may seem less appealing — no drums, no guns, no glory, just a lot of sitting and dog walking, a lot of not getting close to anyone but members of your shelter. Day after day, you duck and cover as much as possible. If you must go into the world, you wear a mask.

Here’s the thing: I begin to read posts from various sources saying that social distancing and masks until 2021 or 2022 is simply too much. I can understand those posts, especially since people can do everything “right” and still somehow pick up this microbe. COVID-19 is remarkably easy to spread, even before symptoms kick in. It floats awhile in the air and rests on hard surfaces for hours or even days. Humans are the real danger, but no one has eliminated that possible vector of hand to surface to face.

This sucker’s a real bastard. It doesn’t cease to be a bastard because you are getting tired of avoiding it. Like a zombie, the coronavirus does not give the rat’s proverbial ass about your feelings. On the simplest of levels, it wants to survive and YOU are food. Nothing more, nothing less, nothing except a tasty breakfast, lunch or dinner. Not everyone gets super sick — many people don’t — but the super sick are leaving ICUs to go to rehab facilities.

A few tools out here kinda sorta work for self-protection. Social distancing is one. When circumstances allow, sheltering in place is another. Washing hands, keeping hands away from the face, and using hand sanitizer help. Those sometimes aggravating masks and gloves can help keep you and others around you safe. You have to avoid touching your exposed face with the gloves, of course.

Hoping to find a handy cast-iron pan in a pinch is no way to survive during the zombie apocalypse. Throwing a big fortieth birthday party because you have been planning that party for a couple of years may be even less smart than the cast-iron pan plan. First and foremost, zombies are incredibly rare. COVID-19 has taken over the world right now. That’s the operational definition of a pandemic.

I sense a weariness in what I am reading, a fierce desire to go back to “normal.” We can’t, guys. We simply can’t. Not yet. Not now. I understand that 2022 sounds absurdly far off in time. But we have to do our best. They don’t have drugs for this microbial zombie yet, nothing with a track record that suggests we are on the other side of the outbreak. A University of Chicago study suggests Resemdivir may be promising, but they are getting less sure about the value of respirators. They don’t quite know what they are doing yet. Research is ongoing and I believe we will get steadily better at COVID-19 management. Some of the many trials and studies will produce useful results. But we can’t give up social distancing now, or put those masks and gloves in the closet or garbage.*

Readers, the latest wave of zombies has been at the gate for months now, but the fact that we are bored with their moans and groans will do nothing to make them go away. Reverting to “normal” will only open the gate.

*And for damn sure we can’t RECYCLE those masks and gloves. Apparently some people have actually thrown their old personal protection equipment in the recycling — speaking of zombies…

P.S. And don’t even think of using Tide Pods, Lysol or bleach — not for zombies. COVID, or anything except cleaning the EXTERIORS of random objects.

Zombie phrase for the day: I should not have eaten the Tide Pods. Ahhhhzzzuhhhhddd dahhhhdah eedehhhhnddd dahhh Dayyyyd Dahhhh.

*

I strongly suspect adult children left those shards of glass. Adult children put the bottles of Creme de Cocoa, vermouth and Benedictine in the basement refrigerator. They are definitely responsible for the Voodoo Ranger Special Release Atomic Pumpkin beer, although I confess I think that beer’s good. Kudos to Voodoo Ranger for thinking outside the basic hops and barley box.

But the glass strikes me as one of those half-finished jobs in life. If I hadn’t taken the drawers out to clean — Now there’s a symptom of Coronavirus life! — I would not have stumbled on the glass. Some careful swabbing later, here’s my life coach advice for this early April day: Don’t quit until all the glass is gone. If I had been cleaning an area outside my view, that attack on the refrigerator could have ended in antiseptic and bandages.

Any hidden glass in your life, reader? Real or metaphorical? This may be the perfect day to do war with sharp spears of melted sand. Call that friend and fix “it” maybe?

Trivia for today: Did you know sand melts at 1700°C — or 3090°F? So don’t bother to nuke a lump of sand in the microwave to see what happens. In my universe, I think I just proved glass to be an impossibility, except the windows must come from somewhere. Today might also be a day to pause to admire your amazing windows.

Zombie phrase for the day: You have to hit the glass door hard. Sometimes you can’t even get in.

Oooh ahhhbbbdooo idddaaaaahhhddoohhhh arrrrhhhh. uhhhdiiid oooh gaaaheeb eehhhd ihddd.

Greetings, fellow Deep-into-COVID-and-Definitely-Not-Loving-House-Arrest types. So are you slouching in your chair, trying to make the remote magically produce a better show? Or even laying propped up on pillows with your phone, iPad or a book in front of you?

The world spiraled out of control awhile ago. You can’t make your own toilet paper. Making your own mask requires that you remember how to use a needle or even the sewing machine in the attic. You might have to take up your first needle while watching a YouTube video. But for all the little frayed snippets of daily life, you can always improve your posture.

Many teachers are trying to manage remote meetings, prepare lessons for students — who may or may not bother to go on Google Classroom — and even create grades inside all this craziness. Other professionals are struggling to learn Zoom and older communication apps. For some, virtual life might as well have Mario fireballs falling down onto us as we try to avoid leaping onto the poisonous mushrooms.

But for all the exploding clouds in the landscape, you can always improve your posture. Readers, how is that chair you are using to connect to the outside world? Do you have a pillow behind you or a footrest in front of you? You don’t want a backache. Those neck twinges can be worse trouble. With urgent care and doctor’s offices only slightly more appealing than the average nuclear waste site, ducking trouble is your best option. I’d even go so far as to say you should avoid unfamiliar yoga postures. One of them once put me on Oxycontin for more than a month.

The clunky piece of gray plastic above is maybe ten years old and was made by Rubbermaid. You can raise and lower the platform to three different settings, and the platform tilts forward and backward, letting me shift my feet up and down while working. I completely love this thing and I strongly recommend it to anyone who sits for much of the day. Try a search under Rubbermaid footrest.

Hugs and love to readers. Couch surfing works to kill the time, but there are sharks in these waters, not all of them swirling around like obvious Sharknados.

Zombie phrase for the day: Don’t say maybe if you want to say no. Duhhhhhdddddayyyy ayyyyeee ihhhbb oo ahhdooo dayy dohhhh.

Zombies, sharks, scarves, cooking, cleaning, puzzles, labeling pictures — so many things to do. How about making a move that actually matters? As I walked past the many happy dog-walkers outside today, I had a brainstorm: PUPPIES!

This is the ideal time to foster a lonely dog. Here we sit, facing weeks and maybe more weeks at home. Do you have a stable dwelling place, preferably with a fenced yard? Especially in colder climates, a yard proves incredibly helpful. But if you enjoy taking multiple walks daily, that yard may be optional. You could even go straight for the jugular and buy yourself a new puppy of your very own.

(Maybe. My brother-in-law just informed there is a shortage of puppies in this area. Apparently his neighbor struggled hard to add a pooch to his family. Such a strange world right now…)

I remember warm summer nights getting up at 2 A.M. to take an eight-pound, red, curly-haired terrier out to the patch of grass in front or back of the house. Dog training doesn’t take long, but it does take steady and persistent. That dog eventually broke fifty pounds, but she could be trusted outside the crate before the end of summer break.

Well, we can sleep in right now, many of us. That middle of the night pee break does not pose the usual challenges. We can put down a blanket and sit or lay down in the yard while tossing sticks. Many of us are walking all over the place, with or without leashes. We have plenty of time to stash the shoes and other chewables.

Some dog needs you right now, if you are in position to add to your family. I’m sure many areas still have surplus puppies and older companions. Those older dogs are hoping desperately for a forever home, and would prefer a foster home to a big cage-filled barn with howls and concrete floors. Feel like being a hero? That dog who wants nothing more than to curl up at your feet and jump with joy when you walk in the door is waiting out there, hoping to be rescued.

Caveat: This choice requires careful thought. Can you give a dog the exercise and care required? What will happen when you go back to work? Are you in the right location and life stage to bring a critter into the house? Will your chewed-up shoes, underwear and couch pillows stress you too greatly? Like human babies, puppies will put the weirdest stuff in their mouths for the first year or two, until they are trained. If you have never had a dog, I recommend a long talk with friends who do. I also recommend researching breeds and spending time with any prospects. Rescue dogs are another category. Not all have been well-trained, although I subscribe to the notion that most older dogs can learn new behaviors. Maybe the greatest thing about dogs is how much they want to make YOU happy.

Book recommendations for today: In the mood for light, zombie fluff? Start with Zombie, Ohio and then read Zombie, Illinois. These titles are available on Hoopla. Zombie, Illinois will be a special treat for those who know Chicago politics. Both books offer unusual twists on the undead story.

Make a note that a Sharknado marathon is coming Sunday on Syfy! These movies make a perfect family event. Cheesy beyond belief, with special effects that only sometimes take advantage of recent advances in CGI, and acting that few sharks or other aquatic creatures could manage, the Sharknado films are far better (or worse) than their Rotten Tomatos rating. For fans of Ed Wood, this series is a must see. Of course, I also liked 2 Lava 2 Lantula.

Zombie phrase for the day;

Arnold Schwarzenegger deserved an Oscar for The Terminator.

Arrrrdooohhh dooordedehdhhhr duhhzerrrb ad othgahhhdor duhhhh dehrrbihhdayydohhhr.

You could do it right now? Or you could go looking for a crochet hook. If you don’t want to teach yourself (more) Russian this month, you might make a scarf instead. Scarves use up a lot of time. Can’t crochet? I’m pretty sure you can find videos to teach you brain surgery out there somewhere — Don’t try this at home! — while tips for doing weird things to yarn are everywhere.

A stranger in Omaha is just waiting to show you how to make your own doilies, the doilies you never even knew you needed. I’ll recommend https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UdLjTVruXvI to get started. I don’t know if this woman lives in Omaha, but she does provide useful tips for placing your online hook and yarn order. My only area of disagreement: skip that recommendation for a light, solid color yarn. I prefer variegated yarns. For one thing, they hide minor flaws in that first scarf extremely well. Solids tend to show where the stitch slipped.

Perhaps you want to try the search “free French books online.” Italian anyone? Free children’s content is especially easy to find.

I’d recommend paying for the right book, though. Do you have a special book you have read and reread in English? Getting its counterpart in a language you want to review gives you a head start at retrieving all those long lost words you buried deep in your gray matter. You probably remember that special book well enough so that the text will give you clues to help you translate as you go along. If you are lucky, your book’s in a popular series. Harry Potter has been translated into more than 70 languages. Stephen King books have strong international popularity as well and can be found in Azerbaijan, Norwegian, Turkish and a long list of other tongues.

Stuck at home? I suggest a nice hot cup of tea and Le Hobbit, Der Kleine Hobbit, or 호빗 (Hobit), possibly with your English copy of The Hobbit alongside you. Maybe slice up some apples and cheese to go with your tea? Or raid the chocolate drawer? Treat yourself anyway.

My friends easily recognize Ginger the Wheaten Terrier, and my kids will still know her decades from now when they enter assisted living facilities or join the urban planning staff on the Mars Colony. Ginger has carved her place in Turnerdom.

The classroom in that remodeled McHenry middle school supply room is trickier. About fifty people might recognize that one, and only a couple of them are part of my social media network. The Parkland School connections are tenuous now.

My brother has been sending me old pictures from our family’s past and various souls in those pics will likely forever remain mysterious.

I recognize my dad on the left, my grandma next to dad, my grandpa next to her, and that might be my Aunt DeLois in front of grandpa. But who are the strangers on the right? They are suspected of being “Galbreaths.”

I have boxes and boxes of pictures. Already, some elementary school names have slipped away from me. I was never good with names.

Readers! Do you have similar picture boxes? This is a great time to open up the boxes and start writing names on the backs of those pictures. It may also be time to cull the boxes. All those pictures of grassy hills and pretty nice mountains? Do you need twenty pictures of a pretty nice mountain that you’re almost sure were taken on that driving trip through Colorado. Unless it was Uncle Lester’s birthday in in West Virginia…

My brother-in-law recently remarked that he had disposed of his scenery pictures. “All that stuff is online if I want to look at it,” he said.

I am not sure I entirely agree. Memory is triggered by pictures and absent those pictures, I might never think of that classroom in McHenry, which I loved despite the fact that it was an interior room with no heating, or cooling, and a shortage of outlets. I remember that white, cinderblock room and those kids with love. But some of my mountain pics can definitely go.

I don’t know about you, reader, but having paid to have those pictures developed, I tended to keep them. They had cost me maybe fifteen cents apiece! Or more! O.K., my picture hoarding may have been irrational, but the fact remains that I have taken a lot of lousy pictures in my life and no one will be the worse for me transferring them to the Underdog waste paper basket beside me. I have demonstrated that I can take dark, fuzzy pictures of strangers beside random, tall buildings in unknown cities. Now maybe it’s time I demonstrate that I can throw those pics away. I mean, honestly, with all the resources of the FBI, I doubt we could identify a number of these shapeless forms.

Biojar suggestion: If you are wondering what to do., maybe it’s a good day to pull down the picture boxes?

Cleaning closets becomes an adventure as we get older. Reading this book, I know it goes back decades. The name on the above page belonged to the mother of my stepmother-in-law, an Irishwoman who shared a love of Manhattans with my late father-in-law. She passed on many years ago now.

I am aggressively recycling, but I kept this book out of the discard pile. How long will I be mostly stuck in this house? I don’t know, but it might be long enough to make a few searches and phone calls. What became of these people, the ones who fell out of my life as I shifted over to electronic devices?

The biojar suggestion for the day: Do you have one of these old books? Or another source of names? Why not cross a few bridges across time ? I suggest we punch in a few numbers and try to track down those good parts of the past that slipped away in the too-busy times that followed writing in our little books.