ROOTING FOR NICE WEATHER

A huge line of thunderstorms moved through last evening.  The news people (I know, I know -- Why do I keep listening to them if I suspect they are largely a collective group of morons?) mentioned all day, all afternoon, and all through the dinner hour that we were in the possible tornado zone.  Judging from the line of storms, which at its peak stretched five hundred miles in length, I decided to take the warnings seriously and battened the hatches, pretty much relegating myself to the only windowless, inside rooms: the bathroom and the small hallway outside of the bathroom. 

It wasn't a bad hour or so.  I had my headset on, listened to everything from Louis Armstrong to Zappa, rearranged the linen closet (sort of), cleaned the bathroom (needed it), played an online game of whist against the infamous cheater Techno-Bill, and sucked down an ice-cold beer.  I also kept an eye on the radar which, for my area, dwindled to bad lightning and thunder but no tornado activity.  I've been through a couple of mild tornadoes and two nasty micro-bursts.  I am not complaining, nor am I ready to move to Tornado Alley.

There were some impressive winds, though.  When I went outside this morning, someone had nicely returned my porch chair to its place, albeit folded up but no worse for wear.  Sometimes after storms like this, the damage can be localized and impressive.  But, when I went for a walk with my sister (who had kindly delivered a printer and some gardening supplies)), I was pleased to see that the tender spring blossoms had not been dislodged from ground, bushes, nor trees.

In fact, everything looked as if the storms never even happened.  No downed branches, no garbage cans or lawn chairs or patio furniture scattered around, no toppled signage.  The whole world looked just like true and perfect Spring -- except, of course, for our anti Covid masks.

Thank you, Mother Nature, for at least leaving us some semblance of normalcy and beauty in this otherwise perversely twisted reality.  Honestly, though, if I hear "This is the new normal" one more time, I just might climb into one of these lovely trees and never come down.  Until another storm, anyway.  Not, that's not symbolism; I'm serious.  I don't care for storms, and right now my bathroom is spotless and the linen closet is fairly organized, so let's just root for nice weather for a little while.

MASKING MOTHERS' DAY

It's Mothers' Day.  Kind of a suck being stuck in our homes.

We can, however, go out if we are wearing masks and properly socially distancing ourselves from others.  So I have taken it upon myself to sew masks for family members.  Each of my children has received several masks from me, made with clean but excess fabric from my sewing days, and lined with layers of interfacing.  I figure if we are going to go out, we should have some fashion options.

For example, my daughter and her boyfriend got a couple of my early mask models, mostly failures, but they good-heartedly took the masks, anyway.  My youngest got masks made out of his clean leftover shirts and sports towels, so he has a Bud Light mask, among others.  My eldest received some masks, one made from a college lacrosse shirt, plus masks for his family, including for his kiddos.

My daughter is a nurse, so she is also getting headbands with buttons to protect her ears (plus a whole bunch for people with whom she works).  I used up all of the decent buttons in the old family button box (some of those buttons were pure vintage), plus online companies and I have had an interesting button and headband business going.

It's good, though.  I mean, yes, I am still working longer and harder than I have ever worked (or at least since raising kids and going to grad school while working full time), but I have been able to rediscover a semblance of my Mom Duties, which have been a large part of my adult life.

So, here's to being stuck in my home.  But, here's also to Mothers' Day.  May we all find a little meaning in our lives during this awkward, unprecedented, and fractured family time.

ENJOYING THE SCENERY VICARIOUSLY

In the midst of fourteen-hour work days and long working weekends, I have discovered something terrible about my schedule: Now that my classroom is at home, I cannot escape it.  I cannot say, "Oh, I will leave that data spreadsheet for tomorrow during my prep period" because first of all, the data notebook is here at my house waiting for me 24/7, and second, prep periods no longer exist.  There is no set curriculum anymore because materials are at school, and we are back to recreating lessons from memory or, in many cases, from scratch.

I keep my remote teaching schedule taped to the window frame above my school-issued laptop so I can periodically look at it and say, "Oh, crap. I have to stop fielding commentary from my C block class because I was supposed to be in D block eight minutes ago."  I have the state power standards for which I am professionally responsible also taped to the window frame, and I spend my entire day (and often into the wee hours of the morning) jumping from my school laptop to my desktop because the school laptop is not connected to my printer since, of course, I must document everything I do remotely by creating a paper trail, which is coldly ironic in this day and age of "paperless" school.

Mostly, though, I am having trouble with lunch.  Yes, that's right: LUNCH.

For the first time in over two decades, my working lunch isn't a mere twenty-two minutes (minus the hall duty and passing time, so more like seventeen minutes); my working lunch if actually a scheduled forty minutes.  It's amazing.  So, once a week I have been trying to take an errand lunch: I run one or two errands and then I go for a quick drive around town with the windows open, regardless of the weather or the temperature.

One day I went to the liquor store and the grocery store to pick up a small amount of items and still made it back with fifteen minutes to spare before my afternoon webinar started.  Another day I went to the post office to mail a package of homemade masks, and then I went exploring a nearby pond for about ten minutes. Sometimes I go for a walk and occasionally skip eating for the benefit of some fresh air.  I mean, I can actually eat at my desk now because no one in my home classroom is allergic to peanut butter.  It's pretty amazing.

If we are Facebook or Instagram pals, you may see posts chronicling my lunchtime excursions.  I try to incorporate water into my theme drives, too, because I am already missing kayaking and walking on the beach, even though those activities wouldn't have started in earnest just yet.  I feel like a caged animal, unable to fully enjoy my surroundings when I'm inside nor when I'm in the semi-outdoors.  It's "semi" because the government is telling us where we can and cannot go (even though we all own the public open spaces).

So, my friends, if you suddenly see posts about being outside, you will know that yes, I am working on my mental health; yes, I probably had something important that needed to be done -- like a sangria run -- and just took the scenic way.  But most of all, you will know that I am playing just a wee bit of hooky from school because I now have an extra eighteen minutes to my lunch, which is really like getting two entire lunch periods for the price of one..

Fear not; I'll make up any of the "running late" minutes that I may miss.  After all, school is in session  each weekday for five hours and I work double that daily, including weekends.    Just watch out for me in case I come home sopping wet one day: It means I cannot take this anymore, and I threw myself into the pond.  That won't happen, though, with the state police throwing us all out of the pond parking lot. So, for now, just vicariously enjoy the scenery, as do I.

ODE TO COVID-19

Covid 19 breeds such fear:
Don't breathe on me; Don't come near!
Stay inside! Don't go out!
It's your fault (Millenials shout)!

Listen kids, and listen well:
You and your fear can go to HELL.
Here are things that we've lived through
With far more significance than little old you --

Missile Crisis, Vietnam,
Watergate, and on and on,
Woodstock, meltdowns, Commie fear,
Kent State, drugs, and terrorists here.

Insane shit that we've been through,
You think we fear the Covid flu?
The difference between us is a snap:
You fear the flu; we don't give one crap.

WILSON CRASHES MY CYBER MEETINGS

I am not a fan of the movie Castaway.

However, there is a certain sanity to the volleyball named Wilson.  The main character talks to Wilson, and even loses his mind when Wilson floats away during the escape from the island.  Being in voluntary quarantine pretty much by myself, I totally get it now.  I finally understand the significance of Wilson and the importance of having a minor character, perhaps even a foil, readily at hand.

Initially, though, this may not be the case.  When I am first relegated to real life shelter-in-place, I enjoy it.  I don't mind the lack of human contact and even manage to do some organizing around this still semi-organized house.

Then comes the first cyber meeting with live cameras.

After moving myself around the house, I understand that the best Zoom-worthy place in my house is the living room downstairs, but the best work space for me is in my den/office/sewing room.  It isn't until the first camera-live work meeting that I notice the dress form in the sewing area is clearly visible.  I don't have any place to move her, and I am seriously tired of migrating around my home just for a decent camera angle.  I mean, Mr. DeMille certainly isn't looking for me, so camera-ready basically means no pajamas visible on screen.

I decide the best thing to do is to clothe my dress form.  I have a tunic nearby (hanging on a closet door knob).  It works perfectly, except now she looks a bit like the JJill Headless Horseman.  No problem.  I have a beach hat that will match her tunic just fine.  Before I know it, I have a lovely model standing in my cyber landscape when I turn on the computer camera.  And, before long, I start chatting with her (okay, AT her).

Hmmm.  She is my ... WILSON.  Dear lord, I have become a castaway.  It's just me and Wilson, hanging out, sewing, Zooming, and generally enjoying our voluntary quarantine.  So far Wilson is a fabulous minor character.  She hasn't become a foil yet -- she is still quite respectful during my meetings, she patiently listens to my complaints and my jokes, and she doesn't ever change the television channel.

Honestly, though. if Wilson leaves me (floats away, blows away, falls apart, or worse), I might just pull a Castaway and come apart at the seams.  Get it?  Sewing?  Seams?

Whatever.  I don't need outside validation for another few weeks (or months) -- Wilson thought it was funny.  That's all that matters for now.

THE LEGEND OF BAD NANA'S HEADBANDS

My poor sewing machine has been largely ignored over the past decade.  Oh, sure, I take it out occasionally to pretend-quilt (throw together squares without much concern to angles and beauty, sew everything together, then tie it all off with tons of surgical knots), and sometimes I will sew a straight seam or two.  But I really gave it a workout last week trimming down some old curtains to use in my kitchen (in a place where I moved five months ago ... don't judge me).  So, I have been feeling rather crafty lately.

This is what urged me to try making headbands with buttons for mask-wearing essential employees (to spare their ears from elastic) and to sew masks for general use (pretty much epic failure on the masks).  The first headband was a semi-success (meaning I can't really sew worth a hill of beans), so I ordered a bunch of headbands (thanks to the smart recommendation of my sister) and a bunch of buttons because, despite the family button box full of leftover and errant buttons, not too many actually matched.

My daughter had to be my guinea pig and constant model during this initial headband phase:  "Come here.  Try this on.  How does this fit?  Are these buttons in the right place?  Let me measure your head.  Do you need a different width?  What about colors?  Here, try it this way.  Is this better?  Worse?  Do you want to slap me right now...????"

The end result yields thirty-three button-sided headbands for mask-wearers.  I have become intimately familiar with the button foot attachment to my old machine, an attachment that I used maybe three times about twenty years ago (or more).  The good news is that I only snapped two out of sixty-eight buttons into pieces when I wasn't in control of the machine and the needle smashed the buttons to oblivion (but the needle did NOT break .... SCORE!).  Headbands = Done, and done reasonably well, so well that I even name my endeavor:  Bad Nana's Headbands

Now, to master the fine art of mask-making.  Yes, I have watched countless tutorials.  Yes, I have tried four prototypes, the last of which was largely successful.  Either way, my sewing machine will probably either love me or hate me by the end of this.  Poor baby.  Maybe all it really wanted was to be left alone, but, like The Little Engine that Could, or, even better, like Mike Mulligan's steam shovel Mary Anne, this old machine has truly come to my rescue and outdone itself.

WEBINARS, OH, WEBINARS

Webinars, oh, webinars - How fickle you may be!
If I turn on video, my messy house you'll see,
You will see me yawning when I'm in your company
Because these endless webinars will be the death of me.

Everyone complaining that their kids are home from school.
Now it's not so funny when at first they thought it cool,
But now a lot of parents find their kids their homes do rule.
(Welcome to the life of teachers, innocent old fool!)

So now I'm stuck in webinars as this has all unfurled.
(Oh, dear God, I know now why I left the corporate world!)
In these endless cyber-meets my thoughts are blurred and swirled;
I must make sure the mic is off when expletives are hurled.

Now that I've gone incognito, life again is grand!
I can sew, or bake, or pee while in this cyber land.
I post a comment or go live when given the command
To make it seem these webinars are things I understand.

Meanwhile, I participate and I do not begrudge
Presenters who know more than I. (Who am I to judge?)
But if I start to snore you might just send a text to nudge,
And I will trade you with a piece of webinar-made fudge.