COVID19 personal experience of having the virus.
I wash my hands, COVID precaution, even though I already have it. Have to be responsible. I step out of the bathroom on to my squishy carpet. Funny I didn’t notice that when I waddled in here. I walk upstairs and am standing in flood. I walk into the kitchen and see water cascading out from under our kitchen sink.
“Are we suppose to go to the emergency room?” I weakly ask, knowing we can only guess. Barricades are everywhere. It looks like an international border station. I have seen a few of those—all posting information in bold letters. The words are easy to read but challenging to understand. EXIT ONLY.
It sounds all Leave It To Beaver. It wasn’t. We are as dysfunctional as everyone else. Maybe more so. But it still is my happy place. I like to be there alone, with my memories, thoughts, and dreams. Or with my family for nights of food and games. It’s all good to me.
What do you think has been accomplished now that the FBI has reopened the background investigation on Judge Kavanaugh? Really. It appears that the Democrats seem validated. The Republicans, who fought so hard against the investigation seem…. indifferent. The FBI will interview Kavanaugh and Ford collaborators. These interviews will focus only on the current allegations …
“Mom, Tyler asked if you were old yet. He said he can’t imagine you ever getting old.” My 32-year-old son was visiting an old neighborhood friend on a recent out of state trip. This was part of their conversation. At first I was amused because, well, girls just want to have fun. But I haven’t …
Choices. It isn’t always about the lesser of two evils, but right now it sure feels that way. We all, hopefully, have a wide range of friends with an equally wide range of political views. Perhaps some civilly discuss their differing views, but that has not been my experience. Some may invest the time and …
Chapter 1 Song and Dance “Papa, is Zia Lita a witch?”Angelina asks quietly, but not quiet enough. The afternoon meal eaten out back at the summer table is a noisy family affair. Angelina’s question stops the chatter. Next to Papa, Mama’s tiny hands stop in mid air along with the forks and spoons of …
I write. I have not been published in a traditional way. So, I am going to do something. It requires vulnerability. Vulnerability. Even the word is big and trips on my tongue. I am sure there will be many who will scoff and scorn, but I have finally reached that moment in life where I …