Unseen guests at the table

The Schaefers just made the decision to cancel Thanksgiving. Not to say that the holiday itself is canceled, but our formal dinner – with family from outside our immediate home – is canceled. It makes sense. With the television news, medical experts and most of our country’s leadership, all but screaming at us to stay home, don’t travel, Zoom with family, etc., and events publicized one day only to be canceled the next, it made sense. And although it would have been just me, John and Ben, my sister Diane (a member of the medical community who has been super careful), Charlie (unemployed, staying home and taking all precautions), her partner Jamie and her son Brodie, it still gave us all pause. For two weeks, we all fretted and talked about it off and on and finally made the decision to alleviate worry and stress and stay home. And we talked about last Thanksgiving. I talked with Charlie last night, during a long drive back from Chicago after delivering the first load of furniture and belongings to ‘the new place,’ and I talked with my sister this morning. Last Thanksgiving was our last Thanksgiving with my brother Daniel and Mom. Daniel was sick; he had just gone into hospice. We were talking about going to a restaurant so that Mom, who wasn’t in that great of shape herself, wouldn’t have to cook a meal. Then, it occurred to us that Daniel wouldn’t be able to go with us to a restaurant. Duh. So much uncharted territory… So, as averse as I am to just about anything that takes place in a kitchen, we – John and me -- agreed to go up to Fort Wayne on Wednesday and work together with Mom and Diane to prepare a dinner. I told Diane this morning on the phone: “We had to make a lot of decisions, and most of them were good ones.” From here, a year later, I cannot imagine even considering going out to a restaurant and leaving Daniel alone in his hospital bed – even for a couple of hours. Dinner was good. We had Christmas music on and we decorated Mom’s tree. And that was the Last Thanksgiving. This year – 2020 – is the first year in 61 years, where I will sit down to a turkey dinner fixed in my own home. Before this year, it was Grandma Finley (my mother’s mom) in Lafayette, and then it was my mom’s house in Fort Wayne. For 60 years. For the first time in 60 years, I will get to see Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade on TV. In past years, we were always on the road to Grandma’s or Mom’s. It will be my Christmas dishes, my tablecloth and just us – John, Ben and me. And COVID-19, of course. The unseen guest at everyone’s table this year. But we won’t be setting a place for him. We will carry on, remembering Thanksgivings past and making new memories. And hopefully, this time next year -- with my sister and BOTH of my children with their significant others – we will push back from the table and move into the living room with our pumpkin pie, chocolate cake and coffee. And we will say, “Remember last Thanksgiving? It was COVID and our first Thanksgiving without Mom and Daniel. And Charlie was moving to Chicago. And the news was screaming at us and we finally decided to cancel? It was a hard decision, but it was a good one. Remember that?” And we will sigh.

The Coronavirus Diaries: Breaking News

I’m way late with this second entry. I really wanted to look back and reflect on what it was like when this all came rolling in, but I no longer remember exact dates, but I still want to capture the moments. This entry is mostly for me, so I can remember the sequence of events when and if everything gets back to normal.

Some advice from the television, still early on, suggested that those over 60 should stock up on things they needed for being sick. I suggested to John that each time he went to the store, he should get a couple extra cans of soup, tissues, Sprite, cold medicine, etc. I remember being concerned about my friends’ spring break plans.

The last place my husband and I went was on a weekend trip to Clifty Falls State Park. The KidsPlayers had given us state park gift cards, and we had a bucket list of staying at each of the state park inns over the next few years. We’d been to the Abe Martin Lodge in Brown County; Clifty Inn was next.

We actually started the day at Charlestown State Park. I had heard about an abandoned amusement park – Rose Island – from the 1920s and 30s that had been flooded out (since it was on the Ohio River). A hiking trail ran through its ruins. I thought it would be a great place to explore.

We were practically the only ones there. We saw others on the trail, but at a far distance from us. I had the wherewithal to take photos and notes to write a story – one of the last I would write before things tightened up – to fill the Just 4 Fun pages for the newspaper I worked for.

From there, we went on to Clifty Inn. We ate our meals at the lodge and read in front of the fire, and we watched the news. The NBA shut down; the NCAA basketball tournament first said they’d play without crowds, then canceled altogether; schools began to close; baseball shut down. Breaking news came every few minutes with another alarming change to our society. We learned that Tom Hanks and his wife had tested positive for the coronavirus, and our sense of concern heightened. If Tom Hanks, with all of celebrity and money couldn't stay safe, what hope was there for us? We listened for medical advice on how to stay safe, how to recognize the signs of the virus and what to do if we felt sick. We swallowed and took deep breaths, felt each others' heads for fevers. We were nervous.

Saturday was cold and rainy, so, with some relief, we scrapped our plan to wander around in Madison. Instead, stayed in, read more books in front of the fire; we taught ourselves a new game:  Horrified, a game we bought at GenCon. And we watched the news. We kept to ourselves. We felt wide-eyed at the rapid pace of changes that were going on. We ate in the dining area, where there were a surprising lot of people still. But there was hand sanitizer at the hostess station, our waiter for gloves and wiped everything down before we sat at the table.

It was such a strange and surreal weekend, normal, and yet not normal. Sunday, we slept in and watched still more news. My friend’s cruise was canceled; my other friend came home early from Florida. We left the inn around noon and drove home -- all at a heightened sense of awareness, on edge, uncertain about the changes, uncertain about everything.

The Coronavirus Diaries: what a difference a year makes

I woke up slowly, as I have for past week or so, and got dressed, putting on a long-sleeved t-shirt extolling the accomplishments of the Wright Brothers – First in Flight. I bought this shirt approximately one year ago while my husband and I traveled Ohio and North Carolina in the footsteps of the illustrious Wright Brothers on a spring break trip.

What a difference a year makes. A year later, and we are sheltering at home, because of world-wide pandemic. Is that redundant? World-wide and pandemic? Probably.

A year ago, my dad was still with us. My brother was still with us. My mother’s aging Schnauzer, Hansi, was still grumping around her condominium; my sister’s Westie, Wylie, would still let you pet him, as long as you didn’t step on his toes.

And now, here we are, self-quarranting or whatever we’re supposed to call it, trying to stay healthy, trying not to attract the attention of germs they say can hang in the air for three hours and live on surfaces for up to eight hours.

Last week was incredibly hectic. I spent Monday and Tuesday frantically trying to get ready for KidsPlay’s Tuesday night Photo Night. Wednesday and Thursday, I visited my mom up in Fort Wayne. Good thing, huh? Friday, Saturday and Sunday, John and I went off on a strange and secluded weekend trip to the Clifty Falls State Park Inn courtesy of the KidsPlayers. And in between all that, I wrote up my last Just 4 Fun pages for the paper for awhile, although I didn’t know it at the time.

I said to my mom, as I was frantically packing up to get back to Greenfield in time for a 6 p.m. rehearsal: “You know, what I want is time. Just time. To take care of myself, to read, relax, watch a movie, sew for myself.” I was thinking of the dozens of things I wanted to do – to write in my journal, to finally find the quiet to make a decent website for KidsPlay, to clean my house.

And now, curiously, it seems I’ve gotten my wish. Our front room is cleaned up. The costumes that have been hanging in the hallway for weeks are sorted and put away. And I’m embarking on some creative projects that I’ll write about later. Time. Time to blog about what is happening around all of us. Time to remember what boredom is like. Time to cherish my husband and pet my doggies. To write responses to 10 years worth of Christmas letters. Lol. I’m not going to end this with some sappy quote about time, but, nerd that I am, I DO love this exchange between Frodo and Gandalf….

“I wish it need not have happened in my time,” said Frodo.

“So do I,” said Gandalf, “and so do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us.”

"Where Would You Hide?"--a game for the 21st century

In the last couple of weeks, my oldest son and I have taken to playing a game we call "Where Would You Hide?"  We take in our surroundings at the restaurant, the movie theatre, in the department store and devise a plan for a tuck-and-roll under a table, a belly-crawl behind the counter, and a dash for the exit.  In case of an active shooter, you know.

So.  It’s come to this.  We discuss it with an air of humor, and often our playful debate goes off the deep end with wild plans for kicking down doors and super-human feats of athleticism and gymnastics over and around any obstructions between us and safety.  We banter back and forth in much the same way we used to devise our fantastical plans to survive the coming zombie apocalypse.  It’s fun and funny, but with a grim hint of seriousness.  We have given thought, however briefly, to an escape plan.  A matter of 21^st century practicality, like marking the location of the exits at a movie theater.

Movie theaters, where we used to feel safe.  Shopping malls, the most ubiquitous of locations.  College campuses.  Elementary schools.  Prayer meetings, for crissake.

Another 14 today, more or less as the numbers finalize, were surprised by violence in a social service agency.  On top of the 12 in the navy yard, the 12 killed and 58 injured at the movie theater, the 27 at the elementary school, the 32 in Virginia, the 13 at Columbine, a news woman murdered on live TV.  Each ripped from life by a gun in a terror-filled, bloody, violent end.  And from each of these deaths—not all listed here—screams of horror, grief and agony from those who remain echo out into the stratosphere like ripples on a pond—never silenced.

“A voice is heard in Ramah, mourning and great weeping, Rachel weeping for her children and refusing to be comforted, because they are no more.”—Jeremiah 31:15.

What is happening in our country is more than any of us can bear, should HAVE to bear, more than any of us should bow to accept.  Our voices must join the agonized howling heard in Ramah and Aurora and Columbine and Sandy Hook, with the wives of husbands, brothers of sisters, mothers and fathers of the children left behind in the wake of violent and murderous death.  And we must not let up, we must not fall silent until something gives. 

And all of you who would argue with me the finer points of background checks and waiting periods, assault rifles and armor piercing bullets, don’t bother.  I will not give you the satisfaction of a response.  Your arguments are invalid to the last word.

I do not profess to have the answers or any words of wisdom.   I have no great knowledge or ideas of how to change our frighteningly and increasingly violent society.  I only know that something, SOMETHING has to give.  It has to.  It must.  Enough is enough.

"You start from nothing and learn as you go...."--EL Doctorow

In the next week or so, I will start a new job.

I have been hired as a newsroom assistant for the Daily Reporter.  It's part-time, 25 hours a week.  My initial duties, after training, will be to 'direct traffic' in the newsroom (that is, channel people to the person who can solve their problem), type up and submit the real estate transfers, restaurant report card, and arrest records, and perhaps type up and edit copy that crosses my desk.

I wasn't really looking for a job, but this, a kind of second career opportunity, just fell into my lap.

With a new editor at the paper, things are being shifted around a bit, departments being combined or moved to the parent newspaper in Columbus (IN); thus, they were hiring.

I interviewed last week, on New Year's Eve, to be exact, where my soon-to-be new boss, elaborated on the basic duties and what the position could grow into with 'just the right person' in place--a person who lived in Greenfield, who was creative, with some writing skills, who knew about the arts and what was going on in Greenfield.  I teared up a bit during the interview.  I had just told John that morning, that if I had to do it over again (and of course, knowing what I know now), I would not choose education, but would go into journalism.  I love to write.  I've been a journal-keeper, a letter-writer, a publicist for my theatre groups, and a blogger when inspired to do so, so I think I'm fairly decent at it.  And now, here it was, a chance to work in a newspaper office.  I was offered the job and 'sworn in' on the AP Stylebook.  I left smiling, and giggled all the way home.

I know what you're thinking, and believe me, I'm thinking it, too.  It will be interesting to measure the effect of  25 hours a week of real employment on the life I lead now.  I've been on a schedule of my own making for...what...six years now?   Yes, some things may have to change, will most definitely have to change.  I truly believe that everything works out the way it's supposed to, and how could I turn down this opportunity, this second chance to do something I think I will be good at AND enjoy?

I lead the luckiest life on the planet.

The Best of Days....

Yesterday was a busy day.  We're in rehearsal for a show, of course, so there's an endless list of big things, details things, and ephemera that need completing.  I've been leaping out of bed and hitting the ground running for so many days in a row now, I've lost count.  Yesterday was also my 55th birthday.


55.  Where did the time go?  Technically, now, a senior citizen.  I can now buy my way through life at 10% off.  How?  How did I get here?

Yes, there was a mere momentary sense of the fleetingness of time, but life is so good and wonderful, there's no time to mourn lost years.

Lost years?  What am I talking about???  It's been the richest of lives, and yesterday, another ordinary day, one of the 20, 075 days that I've been alive, was truly one of the best.

Yesterday, there was no time for reflection and introspection, but today, having leapt out of bed AGAIN (at 5:30), there IS some time.  Time to walk the dog; time to check Facebook in between bites of Cap'n Crunch (the ONLY cereal whose sog-level allows for checking and posting on Facebook), and time to write my gratitude and thanks for this life I live.

I had breakfast at the First Church of Cracker Barrel with my husband and good buddy, Corey.  Smiles, shop talk, friendly banter with the waitress, sharing pancakes with my husband.

Shopped at Restore.  Have wanted to stop there for quite some time and yesterday, on my birthday, I made the time.  Amazing place for a dumpster-diving, garage-sale fanatic, thrift store frequenter that I am.  We might end up buying a refrigerator there!

Checked Facebook.  So many birthday posts that made me smile.  I tried to 'Like' all of them, but there were so many!  More than 100!  Hope I got them all!

Watched soccer.  My oldest boy came home.  Good buddy Corey over.  A loss, but fun to share World Cup Soccer with them and the rest of the country.

Went to rehearsal and was surprised by a cake and gifts (!!).  What a delightful surprise!  Rehearsal went fairly smoothly, and really, where else would I rather be than with my theatre family?  Like the card said:

"In a way, we choose our families.  Of course, we have the family we're given, but if we're really lucky, we also have people in our lives who care about us so genuinely and personally, that we come to think of them as family, too...."

That's exactly right.  And at 55, my family is huge and ever-growing.  I am the luckiest of people, leading the most blessed of lives.  It's a fine line between living life to the fullest and finding time to stop and smell the roses, watch the sunrise, and sit on the swing with a good book and I work up a sweat trying to find the balance for both.  I know that in my chosen avocation, I have touched many lives, but equally, I have been touched by many more, so that my only concern from here on out is that I give back as much as I've gotten.

At 55, it may be early for this, but I've started thinking about what I will leave behind. Earlier this week, I commented to one of my theatre family, that I just wanted to be remembered.  He laughed and said, "Chris, I'll forget my own name before I forget you."  Lol.  I doubt that, but if that's the legacy I'll leave behind, who could ask for more?

The Aftermath: a Follow-Up to Ben's Issues at School

When we last spoke, I was terribly sad and angry over Ben's most recent patch of rocky ground, but I feel as if I left you hanging and I want to share with you what happened in the aftermath.

First of all, thank you everyone for the words (and photographs) of support and comfort and hope.  I was moved to tears by some and to loud laughter by others.  And there were so MANY comments, even some from strangers, as the blogpost circulated.  I began to wonder if it would go viral, but we were overshadowed, I think, by the kid who ate his pop-tart into the shape of a gun and began waving around the cafeteria.  Eek.

Some of you suggested I should contact the press.  I thought about it, but by the time the Indianapolis Star called, I had thought better of it.  I truly don't want Ben to think of himself as a martyr, a victim, OR a hero, and I thought it best to just let it die down.

The first day of the suspension was a day of sitting home and recovering.  He and I were both so shaken and upset over the confrontation in the office, and the shame of being suspended.  The second day, however, Ben asked when he would be able to return to school.  I was happy to hear that question as I thought I would never get him through the doors of the school again.

++++++++++++

In sharing Ben's story with others, I talked with a friend about Ben's lack of friends, and lack of interest in any of the school extra-curricular activities.  She suggested 4-H, which Ben jumped on.  He is now enrolled and signed up for projects in Legos, Collections, Model-Making and...Photography.  

Time passed.  We worked on some of his take-home work and watched a lot of TV.  Ben agreed to come and take photos at my theatre rehearsals, for which I paid him.  He did some chores around the house and accompanied me on errands.

On Tuesday this week, Ben returned to school where he is, yes, far behind now, but I have grudgingly given up the idea that Ben will leave Mt. Vernon with a high school diploma.  In just six weeks, Ben will be 17, and still a freshman in high school.  Next year this time, he will be just about to turn 18, and at that point, eligible to take the GED.  I believe now that our goal is to simply keep him IN school as long as we can, then take the GED and move on to the next phase of his life, whatever that is.

On Friday of this week, we had a case conference at school for Ben where we worked at making school a friendlier place for Ben.  We came to an agreement that Ben would be able to scan his homework at home and email it in.  He is also allowed to take time-outs from stressful situations in the classroom and go to the nurse's office for--a snack (I firmly believe Ben's temperament is often tied to his diet).  From now on, he will be able to keep a small drawing pad by on his desk during lessons, because I (and his psychologist) firmly believe that being able to doodle helps Ben concentrate.  Among other decisions made were for Ben to be pulled out of the Algebra class and be tutored on his own time towards taking the end-of-the-year Algebra exam.  He also will able to use a device called a Smart Pen.  

In any case, things are better. We are still working to get him caught up at school, and looking ahead, like everyone, to the relief of Spring Break.

Thank you again, everyone, for your support, encouragement and advice.  It's good to know that we have friends out there.