Day 67

Day 67, self quarantine:

I still can’t wrap my brain around the fact that we are approaching Memorial Day weekend.

See the gaggle of lunatics waiting in line in the photo?  Normally, I’m one of them.  Like every Sunday during the Memorial Day holiday weekend for the last thirty years. Sometimes I stand there waiting for over an hour, but those cinnamon sugar cake donuts are other worldly and so, so worth it.

Oh, well.  Not this Sunday.

Nope, we’re going next Friday!  I have off from work for some heretofore unknown Jewish holiday and Browns Donuts has curbside, no contact donut delivery!

You realize as the designated donut procurer for Casa Slick, Ocean City, by virtue of being the family member up at dawn, curbside delivery of warm cinnamon sugar Brown’s donuts is the culmination of a thirty year fantasy, right?

I once ate a dozen of those babies.

Hey, they’re tiny.

Okay, I’m a glutton.  Whatever.

We’re not going to the beach this Sunday for a bunch of reasons.  It’s still too freaking cold, I’m terrified of possible holiday crowds, and most importantly, we’re working in the yard.

Also we’re filling the window boxes with flowers.  We were ecstatic to realize our local hardware store is super stocked with plants and herbs.

It’s the little things.

Especially during the apocalypse.

Sigh...oh well, this has to be a short post today.  I’m in the weeds at work and need to head upstairs early.  I promised my boss this Memo yesterday and played with it so much I lost all perspective and now I have to start fresh.

Ugh, I do the same with my personal writing, too, but at least with that I can put it away until I’m ready to look at it again.

Not so with a Mediation memo due yesterday.

Oh well.  

This time next week, I’ll be 24 hours away from a Brown’s donut.

And a Manco and Manco pizza.

Oh, and some Tater’s handcut fries.

Probably Rauhauser’s chocolate, too.

Hey, I have to cover all of my top four food groups.

Oh god, okay, I’ll stop.  

Onward.

Day 66

Day 66, self quarantine:

Behold the BEFORE picture of our backyard.

It took us two weeks to get here but the worst is behind us.

We took out 22 huge green trash bags last night but we worried about getting fined if we put out anything else so we stopped even though we could have kept going.

Next week the bikes, broken table, barbecues, and other items in this pic will be gone.

Oy, you should have seen the yard pre this “before” picture. I do have a photo.  Once the garden is finished, maybe I’ll swallow my pride and post it.

“What’s wrong with you?” I muttered under my breath several times, glaring at Gary as I swept up three feet of muck, lumps of charcoal and other discarded barbecue items.

You would not have known that twenty years ago, Gary spent an entire summer laying bricks back there.

Until this past weekend, you couldn’t even see the bricks.

I can’t blame him for all of it.  I’ve been thinking about this a lot.  Twenty years ago is right around when I discovered AOL and their evil little chat rooms.  Once introduced to the internet, I’m afraid I didn’t always feel like doing stuff around the house in my spare time and I hardly had any spare time to begin with.

From there it was a blog, MySpace, Facebook, and the dreaded Twitter...ugh, Twitter, how I hate you yet I still can’t stay away, even though you suspended my account for calling the Imbecile President and his hapless supporters very bad names. 😎

So it’s not all Gary.  I fess up.

And holy hell, I’m talking about Twitter the way tortured women talk about men.  We’re in an abusive relationship!

Okay, that’s enough of that.

Back to the garden - ooh, a Woodstock reference - once I discovered the internet, simultaneous to the kids being totally involved in the School of Rock, we stopped using the space for anything but storage and apparently spare trash for twenty years. But as bad as this pic is, I don’t think I’m being over optimistic that we will have a cool looking yard by July 4.

We planted those trees over twenty years ago.  They were in tiny pots and cost $10.

Gary put up the fence.  I made him use good wood and he admits he fought me on it...he has a weird cheap streak when it comes to home improvement products but has no problem dropping $500 for a meal and you don’t want to know what we spent on booze and dope in our heavy partying days.

But yeah, the fence is in awesome shape, we don’t have to touch it.

And once we really clean them up, the bricks are awesome, too.

I can’t wait to hang fairy lights back there.  I love the name, it’s so magical.  Fairy lights.   I think every home should have them, don’t you?

But I’m sticking to my promise to myself.  I’m not ordering anything for the yard until it‘s finished and we’re ready to decorate. Otherwise the project will be doomed and I will be the one who jinxed it.

Meanwhile, can I just say that Gary and I shlepped 22 trash bags and didn’t yell at each other once?

I’m loving this quarantine way too much.

So I think that’s it for today.  I’m not a fan of Wednesdays but I have a cool writing project going on at work so yesterday flew by and today should be more of the same.

Wait, did I just call the damages section of a Settlement Memo a cool writing project?  Hahaha omg, am I high?

Sadly, no.  Unless you count sugar.

Later, gators.

Day 65

Y

Day 65, self quarantine:

So I had my first office video conference call yesterday and to say it was a Saturday Night Live skit is putting it mildly.  It was so hilarious, so charming, so endearing I was kvelling all over the place.  Gary, who was in the kitchen cooking and overheard everything, was bent over double laughing.

Before the call, because I’m nuts and haven’t been out in months, I washed my hair and omg, even more importantly, I exfoliated my upper lip.  Don’t judge me.

Listen, I did an amazing job.

Though okay, it burned a little and the entire ten minutes I sat with it on, I was worried it was like acid eating through my skin and when I washed it off I would have raw open wounds where my upper lip once was and my video call would be totally fucked.

It was glorious.  I no longer resemble Groucho Marx and/or Tom Selleck.

So yeah, I was bummed we didn’t do zoom, instead we did our call via google.  I wanted to be one of those squares, damn it. The google thing was cool, though.  You’re a little avatar in the margin but every time you speak, you go full screen.  I snapped this pic of myself on the screen after I blurted out something about wanting to see my boss’ new beard and forgetting everyone could hear me.

What the call turned out to be was the founding partner of our firm missing everyone.  He’s eighty years old, he had the young IT guy in our office set up the call, which he took while riding in his car.

He never quite got the hang of it.

Omg, he took attendance the first 20 minutes of the call. There’s only like 15 of us.

I can't even.  

I’m changing the names to protect the innocent.

"Where's Ben?  I don’t see Ben.  There’s Linda.  Hi, Linda. Linda?  Linda?  Who's Linda?" 

"That’s Donna,” sighed his long suffering  assistant.

"Oh, hello, Donna. Wait, where’s Donna, now I can't see her.  I'm in my car.  It's a new car.  I got it right before the virus.  It parks itself.  Hey, at least they’re opening the golf courses.  Does anybody golf?  Ben, is that you?  You have a beard!  There’s Robin.  Hi, Robin.  Wait, where’s Ben?  I don’t see Ben. Oh, there he is.  Ben, I like your beard.”

I’m not even lying.  This went on for twenty minutes.  In between, Gary is walking in and out of the kitchen with stuff for me to taste and I can’t say Mmmm or I’ll appear on the screen with the spoon in my mouth.

“So this virus, we lost a lot of people.  It’s terrible. Terrible.  It‘s the death squad.  I’d like to tell you when we’ll be back in the office...”

...at which point my ears perk up...

“...it could be a week...”

No no no

“...it could be two weeks...”

NO

“... it could be another month...”

Keep talking...keep talking...

“...it could be two months.”

YES

“The virus will dictate.  We have to wait and see.”

So that was wonderful to hear.  We’re not being rushed back too soon, and I had a long heart to heart talk with my boss about my feelings earlier and we even discussed what changes would have to be made in our physical office before I felt confident enough to come back, virus aside.

For one thing, I’m not taking the elevator.  We’re on the second floor, give me a key to the door, I’m taking the stairs.

And the bathrooms...where to begin...

Stuff like that.

So we’ll see.  The main thing is, my boss now knows how I feel and won’t be blindsided in case things don’t end up working out and I decide to extend quarantine forever.

Oh, back to the conference call, it ended with, “This was great!  Maybe we’ll do it again next week!”

Oy.  Okay.  Hey, at least I’ll have another reason to wash my hair.

In other news, I’m unusually excited for a Tuesday. Starting at 7:00 tonight we can put out trash, which will lead to serious progress in the garden.  I can’t wait to have that solid “before“ picture.

This is what my quarantine has come down to.  I’m excited for trash day. 

It could be worse.

Ugh, maybe I better not joke about that.

Onward, fellow apocalypse dudes.

Day 64

Day 64, self quarantine:

Welp, it’s Monday, May 18, 2020, which means it’s the beginning of week ten of the apocalypse.

I know people are fed up.  As for me,  I can’t help it, these are now some of the best days of my life.   If only this was just my retirement and not a deadly virus.

Yesterday, I put my phone down for hours and Gary and I worked side by side out back.  While I do have my “before “ picture now, it’s literally a photo of 25 trash bags.  Once they’re gone Wednesday morning, I’ll post side by side pics.

We didn’t yell at each other once.  We blasted music played in the dirt, and giggled like kids.

We’re in shock how much we got done.  Gary agrees with me that barring any health issues or other emergencies, we’ll have a finished space by July 4.

Though one thing was clearly obvious yesterday - I had to be there to really get things underway even though Gary tentatively started this project two weeks ago.  I never realized I’m the organized, focused person in this duo, God help us.

I probably should have called it a day sooner, though.  My shoulder, neck and back are really feeling it today.  Hopefully the guy sleeping upstairs is okay.

Anyway, for the first time in many years, Gary had a clear path to his barbecue grill and after working in the yard all day, made us some banging grilled mushroom salads for dinner.

In other news, I’m edgy watching the news this morning.  America really is reopening.  I’m going to have to have the return to the office conversation with my boss sooner rather then later.  My sense is he won’t know anymore than I do about our return date, but if he tells me June 1 or even June 15, I’m going to have to break the news to him that I won’t be there.

And since I’m announcing it here, I’m thinking I better tell him today regardless.

Wow.  One thing about life. You can never say it’s predictable.

Okay, I have to prepare what I’m going to say.

Later.

Day 63

Day 63, self quarantine:

Good morning!

Behold my first vine ripened tomato sandwich of the season, made on a fresh loaf of milk bread from Lost Bread Company with basil from Gary’s herb garden, served up with a side order of hand cut fries drizzled with malt vinegar.

Do I know how to live or what?

This was our victory dinner, people.  We are conquering the beast that is our backyard.

The “before” picture will be posted tomorrow.

I actually took a photo last night when we wrapped up but for whatever reason, I only took a pic of the pile of trash bags.

I’m wondering about my thought process behind that one 😎.

Here’s why I didn’t opt for the beach yesterday.   We don’t go to a real beach.  We go to Dog Beach, which not many people know about.  We take Jake, we leave our house at dawn so Jake can enjoy being outside before it gets too hot, and by 1:00 p.m. our pizzas have been ordered and eaten and we’re on the way home.

So I can go any time.

I also have three weeks vacation.  We can drive down any weekday we want.

If I didn’t get Gary really started out back yesterday and we went to the beach, the backyard wouldn’t happen this year.  I know us.  Every weekend from now on would be spent at Dog Beach.

Not that there’s anything wrong with that, but...

Sometimes you gotta be an adult.

We’re gonna love that space once it’s restored.

We used to sit out there every night, all those years ago.

And it was magical to see Gary get excited and talk about his ideas for the space last evening .

I made the right choice yesterday.

We’re going to work out there some more today and I can’t wait.

The only thing I did not do is text my boss regarding the court’s announcement they’re closed until September 8.  In my mind, so am I, and I wasn’t in the mood to have that bubble bursted last night.

I’ll keep you posted.

Happy Sunday!

Day 62

Day 62, self quarantine:

Happy Saturday!  

Okay, first things first.  Last night the Philadelphia Court of Common Pleas announced they will remain closed through September 8, 2020.

So far, my office has followed along with the court.  Though as of yesterday, before I got this Order from the court, I had definite vibes we were reopening June 15.

So we’ll see.  I can’t text my boss yet because it’s still shabbat and I can’t contact him until after sundown.  Omg, this is killing me.

I would be soooo happy with a September 8 return date.  By then we’ll know even more about this virus and I will have more time to decide my immediate future.

As you might imagine, I’m pretty interested what my boss will say.

In other news, I’m so excited, today is the first day I’m working out back with Gary. Stuff is going to get done!

It’s so crazy.  At the beginning of the apocalypse, my wardrobe was all sweaters and corduroy jeans and boots. Since I haven’t gone anywhere since, I haven’t put the winter stuff away and taken my summer clothes out yet and washed them . I went to get dressed yesterday to walk the dog and it was 85 degrees and I  realized I had nothing to wear.

No worries, I wore my pajamas.  With my sneakers and mask I looked like a mental patient but who cares, we all do and if the shoe fits...

I went rummaging in Julie’s room and found a bunch of her cool t-shirts so now I’m going to rock my backyard.

I’ll do the winter to summer wardrobe transition later this weekend.

Oy.  At least in theory.

Meanwhile, how is it possible a week from today is Memorial Day weekend?  I totally didn’t realize that until I just heard it on the news.

I’m doing my typical Robin idiot mind games right now.  I can’t go to the beach Memorial Day weekend - I can see by the imbecile comments on Facebook that Trump people are angry at Governors Wolf and Murphy and want the lockdown ended because they need haircuts...so I’m guessing there’s not going to be much social distancing.

And after next weekend, it’s officially summer, which means increased traffic and crowds at the beach every weekend.

Today is supposed to be 80 and sunny.

Arghhhh...I can’t.  I’ve made Gary promise me all week we’re working out in the yard today and tomorrow.

I even started this post talking about how excited I am about it.

Also, I had pizza twice in the last four days so I’m not craving more.

Okay, I’m lying.

Have I mentioned I hate being an adult?

And on that note, I’m going to sign off and watch Top Chef.

And try not to think too much about the beach.

Day 61

Day 61, self quarantine:

Today is Friday, May 15, 2020, which means it’s Eric Slick’s 33rd birthday.  

Holy hell, how is that possible?

So in honor of that event, as is my tradition every year, I will tell the story of his birth.  And what a coincidence, it was also on a Friday.

May 15, 1987

I'd just entered my ninth month and was still working full-time, at the stage of my pregnancy where I was scheduled to see the obstetrician every week for a status check. I went to work that morning and had a lunchtime appointment with the doctor, whose office was five blocks away.

By now I was an old friend at the doctor's office, having just given birth to Julie the January before -- it seemed like I lived there for almost two years -- so I hopped up on the examining table, cracking jokes, while the doctor snapped on those dreaded rubber gloves and began his probe. I'll never forget the expression on his face -- a shadow passed over it -- he looked really alarmed, and said, "I'll be right back. Don't move."

Err...both of my feet were in the stirrups and moving wasn't an option.  I freaked  after seeing his expression and hearing the anxiety in his voice. Oh my god, what was it? Did he not hear a heartbeat? I searched around the room frantically, hoping he'd left his stethoscope behind so I could listen for myself...like I knew how the hell to do that.

But it was moot because he returned seconds later with his partner, who quickly slid into a pair of gloves and did a probe of his own. The two of them exchanged glances and I would have had to be deaf, dumb, and blind not to realize something major was going on.

"What is it?" I gasped, terrified.

"Robin? Are you in any pain right now?" asked doctor #2.

"No!" I said probably a little too vehemently. But it was true. I wasn't. Terrified, yes, in pain, no.

"No pain at all?" My doctor appeared to be in a state of total disbelief.

"What's wrong? Why won't you tell me what's wrong?" I could feel myself getting hysterical. (Who me? Get hysterical? Impossible!)

"Robin. Listen to us. Nothing is wrong. It's just...it's just..." Doctor #2 looked at my doctor, as if it were his call to make.

"You are over seven centimeters dilated, Rob," my doctor said.

"Huh?"

"You are in active labor right now. You don't even feel a contraction? No cramping? Nothing?"

"No! Wait...are you telling me I'm giving birth now? In your office?"

I was incredulous but not really scared. Hell, I was in no pain whatsoever. If I could have a Hollywood style, contraction free birth right there in the doctors' office within the next few minutes, how lucky would I be?

There was a great sushi restaurant in the lobby.
Wait. There are reasons babies need to be born in hospitals. Arghhh...within seconds fear set in bigtime...and so did the sudden spasms of pain.

My doctor spoke to me in calm, even tones, knowing that I was about to go off the deep end.

"Robin. Listen to me. I need you to get dressed right now, take a cab to the hospital, and I will meet you there. Go in through the emergency room. Give me your husband's telephone number -- I will have my nurse call him so he can leave work now and meet us there as well. Just stay calm, make sure you take a cab -- I know the hospital is only a six blocks away but I don't want you walking. Okay?"

"Okay," I gasped, in a state of shock.

I got dressed, practically doubling over every time a contraction hit, which was like every two minutes, and headed to the lobby to hail a cab.

Except for one problem.

Fuck!  I realized I didn't have any money. In 1987, I didn't have a debit card, I had to get my money the old fashioned way, by cashing a check at the bank. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Oh well. The bank was right down the street. It would only take a minute or two and then I could get in a cab and head to the hospital.

Except there was a line in the bank. A long line.

I hopped from foot to foot. Finally I couldn't take it any more.  

"I'm in labor, I'm in labor," I babbled to the people ahead of me. "I need to cash a check so I can take a cab and go to the hospital." People turned around and stared at me but I was in that desperate mode where I didn't really give a damn...oh dear lord, I did not want to give birth to Eric James Marshall Slick in a bank. Yeah, we'd already picked out his name...my boy is named for both Clapton and James Marshall Hendrix...our favorite guitar players other than Adrian Belew har har...and how insane that he did in fact turn out to be a musician though I guess we should have named him "Keith" or “Ginger.”

Anyway, I made it to the front of the line, managed to cash a check and even made small talk with the teller "Yeah, I'm in labor right now. Ever have a baby born in your bank? Ha ha - isn't this hilarious. Ow...ow...ow..."

This was also before cell phones so I wasn't able to call Gary and even check to see where he was, which I would later learn was running every red light in Philadelphia as he raced to the hospital a good half hour away even if he didn't hit traffic.

Unfortunately, I did. Hit traffic, that is. I hailed a cab and luckily one stopped right away -- a very kind gentleman wearing a turban.

"Jefferson Hospital," I shrieked.

"Jefferson...?"

Oh my god. A rookie driver.

"llth and Walnut. Just take Locust Street five blocks to 11th, make a left up 11th and we'll be right there." Oh shit. That's where the emergency room entrance was, wasn't it? Or was that 10th Street? Never mind, we'd find it.

But as I said, no sooner did I get in that cab when we hit gridlock. I mean, we didn't move. We were in the downtown Philly traffic jam from hell.

"Oh god, we have to get off this street," I moaned. "I'm having a baby..."

The driver turned around and stared as if seeing me for the first time and realizing the enormity of both my belly and the situation.

"A baby? Oh no thank you very much, no baby, no baby," the driver stuttered.  

"Yeah. I need to get to the hospital."

So he turned up 16th Street, which was the worst move he could have made, because there are no right turns until Market Street, which was two blocks above the hospital and took us right into another jam at City Hall, where the traffic patterns are always skewed and messy.

We inched down the street, hitting every fucking red light.

"Oh my god," I moaned as another contraction hit.

The driver turned around again.

"No thank you very much, no thank you very much, no baby, no baby, no baby in the cab."

No shit.

And he kept repeating it. No thank you very much, no baby, no baby. 

I was starting to agree with him.
I looked at my watch and almost had a heart attack. It was now thirty minutes since I left the doctor's office with strict instructions to get into a cab to go to a hospital six blocks away.

"I have to get out," I told the driver. "I'll walk the rest of the way. I'll never make it otherwise."

What was I thinking? All I knew was, I was not giving birth in that cab, and that the doctor was going to be mad at me, and poor Gary was probably having a stroke.

I jumped out land literally ran four blocks to the hospital. I arrived at the emergency room dripping sweat (it was a very hot May 15 in 1987) and barely coherent.

Both my husband and doctor were already there.

I remember the doctor freaking out "Where were you?" and me mumbling something back about having to go to the bank and both the doctor and Gary staring at me like I'd completely lost my mind...anyway...they immediately got me prepped and I swear to God, Eric came into the world an hour later, sweetly and with no difficulty whatsoever...I didn't ask for heroin or a gun like I did when I was in labor with Julie...he just popped right out without even a whimper from me...and that's basically how Eric has been his entire life...the sweetest, nicest, most problem free son a mom could ever want.

So Happy Birthday to Eric!  I would do anything to be able to hug him today though nothing could top the look on his face when he was gifted his first drum set because WE KNEW.

We’ll have pizza tonight in your honor, Er.  We’ll celebrate with the real stuff, at Manco and Manco, Ocean City, NJ, in person this summer.

Or at least by Christmas.

That’s my plan and I’m sticking to it!