Day 191

Day 191, self quarantine:

Monday, September 21, 2020

Happy autumn.

Cool, cool, we’ve now been in quarantine during all four seasons.

Oy.

So I read this article yesterday and it fascinated me. Musicians are now doing virtual house concerts.

https://www.nbcnews.com/news/us-news/no-tours-or-live-shows-musicians-have-found-ways-bridge-n1240478

I am so here for that.  I told Julie last night we’ll be her first customer.

I think it’s a fabulous idea.

Groups of friends could even chip in for a private show and watch from their own respective homes.

In other news, I’m a little surprised to be writing here this morning. 

I thought I’d be in the shower.

Haha, let me explain.

Before he retired, Gary was in the wholesale plumbing business. His customers were everyone from builders to high end hotels.

He used to drive me nuts with his stories.

“Rob, you should see the cedar wood saunas I sold a condo on Rittenhouse Square.  They’re called therapy lounges.”

“Wait, what?  You sell something called therapy lounges?”

“Yeah.  I just told you that.”

“Would they fit in our house?”

“Well, yeah, I guess.  Why?”

“You sell something called a therapy lounge and we don’t have one?”

I glared at him. Seriously?  How could he possibly think I wouldn’t want a therapy lounge?

It always happened.  I would hear him on the phone all the time telling customers he had top of the line awesome everything.

Meanwhile, we had a forty year old one piece Corian shower and a broken garbage disposal.

“Why would you want a sauna?” Gary asked. “You never want to use them on vacation. You always told me you hate them because they make your hair frizzy.”

This is true.  

I also hate being hot.

But still, Gary sold cool stuff and all I ever got was a new toilet seat.

Until now.

Apparently sometime last year I bitched about the quality of our shower head.

Gary just happened to have a groovy new Kohler model at work.

He brought it home, never told me, and like most home improvements at Casa Slick, it sat in its box unopened in a place only Gary knew about.

Until I recently bitched again.

“Is there something wrong with our water pressure?” I asked.  “My shower was horrible.  The water came out in choppy spurts.”

Ugh, is there anything worse?

“I have to clean the shower head,” Gary said.

I scowled.

“I bet therapy lounges have good showers,” I said.

“What?  Therapy lounges?  Are we back on that again?  There’s no shower in a sauna, knucklehead. Oh never mind, I’ll fix the shower, calm down.”

Grrr...is there anything worse than being told to calm down?

Anyway, I did.  Calm down, that is. 

Quarantine arguing is horrible.  There’s nowhere to go and you really don’t want to piss off your only real human contact.

But woo hoo, it made Gary remember he brought home a new shower head and while I was downstairs sulking, unbeknownst to me he installed it.

I’m a hedonist.  The minute I stepped into my next shower, I felt that new awesome spray.  I looked up, was shocked to see the reason but put two and two together, and then stood under it happily for what felt like an hour.

Hot damn, I think I may have even asked that shower head to marry me.

I came downstairs smiling and happy.

It’s the little things.

Speaking of finding joy in the little things, yesterday it was birdapalooza in our yard.  Georgette and Lou perched in our tree and nuzzled while their babies sang and munched seeds on the ground below and Gary and I kvelled like we were  watching our own real kids.  We clutched each other’s arms and whispered excitedly watching the two lovebirds.

“Gary, take a picture,” I said.

“I’m trying, I’m trying.  If they see us, they’ll leave.”

Haha, we stood at the backdoor a long time.

Gary didn’t even watch football.

I know.  I don’t believe it either.

We were two lunatics, hiding on either side of the screen door, watching birds.

But oh they’re so gorgeous.  I still can’t believe a husband and wife cardinal visit our goofy apocalypse garden every day.

It’s so fitting, isn’t it?

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

Okay, that’s a wrap for today.  I’m trying to stay away from the news, it’s too grotesque right now and my anxiety rises every time I think about the election.

It’s just six weeks away.

Peace out, and if it’s not an oxymoron, happy Monday.

Day 190

Day 190, self quarantine:

Sunday, September 20, 2020

Holy cow, I’m on automatic when I type day numbers but I just realized we’re ten days away from Day 200.

Actually, if I wasn’t a senior, my quarantine would be over tomorrow, at least work wise, as the staff was ordered back this week.

We know where I stand on that so...

Nope, I’m still in quarantine with zero plans to do anything else.

I think it’s a huge mistake.  This is the calm before the storm of the next wave.

But I am not an expert, what the hell do I know, maybe I’m 100% wrong.

I’m just not willing to take that chance with my life or Gary’s.

A day at a time, that’s how we live here at Casa Slick and that’s all I’m saying.

For now.

Boy, if you ever want to know how much you’ve changed during six months of isolation, just keep a quarantine journal.

I had no idea I was that obsessed with facial hair and my ability to get my lip and eyebrows waxed.

I’m seriously cringing at my former value system.

I actually had to stop reading the early days of this journal, I sound like I’m hysterical, and not the good kind.  

I also babbled extensively about hating working from home.

I really can’t believe how much I’ve changed in six months.

Have you noticed changes in the way you view things now?

Here’s an example, maybe not the best one, but I’m struggling putting it into words. 

It’s like, I’m noticing that if I see something like an episode of SNL from last year where everyone is crowding the stage and kissing and hugging at the end, I get a whole range of emotions.  

It’s a mix of sadness and horror.

I literally feel horror at the sight of people close together without masks, even on television.

And that feeling is immediately replaced by sadness that I’m now programmed that way.

Anyone else feeling stuff like that?

“You think too much, Rob,” Gary told me when I ran it by him yesterday.

I know, Gary, I know.

It’s usually both a curse and a blessing but as we’ve already established, in the era of Donald, it’s definitely a curse.

There’s been a cool flip-side here about some things, though.

I blurt out everything that’s bothering me now. I keep nothing inside.

Yesterday, I got Gary to agree to a new living room rug, even though ours isn’t old or damaged, which is Gary’s usual criteria for replacing anything.

Haha, the red area rug I bought online without telling him three years ago was a tragic mistake and too big and hotel lobby looking for our house but once a very angry-at-me Gary unrolled it, moved all our heavy furniture, and laid it in place, much to my horror when I saw the results, I knew I was stuck with it.

And now being home the last six months and staring at it day after day and seeing it in pictures I post of my house has made me miserable and uh oh, I started thinking too much again.

I know that when you’re young, it’s all about acquiring things.

Welp, at least it used to be.

And when you’re a senior, it’s just the opposite.

It’s all about loss.

Family, friends, hair, teeth and other body parts/organs, etc.

And you start shedding possessions, not acquiring more, which is why we now have the Aldi rule at Casa Slick.

But as I look around my house and think of all the improvements we planned to make but never did, I can’t help but now think “and we never will.”

It’s a weird feeling and I know I shouldn’t be thinking it but I can’t help it.

So getting back to my stupid carpet, we’re sitting there watching television yesterday and Gary has no idea I’m having these thoughts when all of a sudden I said, “God, I hate this red carpet.”

But instead of looking at me like I’m nuts, Gary replied, “Yeah, I hate it, too.  What were you thinking?”

“Can we get a new one?” I blurted out before I could stop myself.  

In the old days pre-quarantine, getting Gary to agree to the new purchase and work involved surrounding said purchase would require me to concoct and work on a Lucy/Ricky Ricardo plan for days.

“Sure,” said Gary.  “But please let me measure first and show me the rug before you buy it this time since I live here, too,” he laughed.

Okay, who are you and what have you done with Gary?

I asked no more questions.  I knew the exact rug I wanted.  I’d been stalking it on line for months.  The website even had a feature where you take a picture of your room and you can see how the carpet will look.

I handed my phone to Gary.

He said he loved it without asking the price, and got out his tape measure.

“Do not order anything larger than 8 x 10,” he said.

That’s it?  No argument?  You don’t want to know what this is going to cost you?

Holy hell, have I spent the last fifty years plotting and planning for nothing?

You mean I could have just asked all these years?

People, even as I type this, I’m still digesting it.

I couldn’t have made that grievous an error in judgment.

I’m gonna ask the kids.

I think quarantine and retirement have changed Gary in a huge way, too, and I am so here for that.

The new rugs will be here Friday.

Oh, did I say rug(s)?

While I was ordering, I bought a new runner for the foyer.

Haha, I’ll tell Gary later today.

What can I tell you, old habits die hard.

But I can tell you this. My gratitude list was easy today.

Happy Sunday!