Odd is Normal

“The New Normal” has become a trite phrase with no true definition, yet it provokes sighs and eye rolls.  It is a term that combines both hope that some day we will crawl our way out of Covid Craziness, and resignation & frustration that our lives will never be the same as they were less than a year ago. 

Besides the big concerns over things like good health, travel, gatherings, face coverings and hugging (I’m a hugger. Trust me, hugs are a big concern).  I’ve been wondering abut the long-lasting ramifications of some of the new behaviors we’ve all adopted which, let’s face it, initially felt pretty darn odd but are now almost second nature.  Studies have shown that doing something for anywhere between 21 days to two months will turn that behavior into an automatic habit.  If that’s true, then the die is cast, and we can all look forward to a few things no longer being odd: 

Following arrows:  Everywhere we go now, we are instructed to look for arrows and walk in certain directions. The hallways at work, the flow of a retail store, the aisles of a grocery store.  Like my dog chasing a squirrel, we are laser focused on those paths.  If we come across someone going the wrong direction, the masked-face death-stare is employed.  How dare you, can’t you see the arrows?!  But really, we’ve all arrow-cheated, haven’t we?  When we JUST want to get to something that is 3 feet away, and walking 20 yards to get to it seems like such a chore and waste of time, we’ve gotten pretty creative with the arrow law breaking.  There’s the ‘look both ways to make sure there’s no one else in the path’ cheat, kind of like hunting for cops hiding along roadways before gunning it to our destination.  Then there’s the backing up effort which takes some balance and coordination, to show that at least we are facing the right direction, even though we are going against the flow like salmon up stream.  My favorite is the park & sprint, where I will leave my cart at the end of the row and literally run to the shelf, grab the item I need and run back. And come on, admit it, we’ve all done the “oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t see the arrows!” excuse.  Some day when we’ve gotten clearance to walk willy-nilly anywhere we want, we’ll still be looking for those blasted arrows and the acceptance that we are headed in the right direction. 

Trained body parts:  Everything we used to do with our hands we have now trained our elbows, arms, feet and hips to do.  Opening and closing doors, pushing buttons, catching sneezes, even scratching… our hands are permanently on vacation.  Our fingers are saying “oh, you want me to touch that?  Sorry, no can do unless you cover me in vinyl or latex.”  I marvel now at the ingenious ways we’ve found to open doors.  Gone, I believe possibly forever, is shaking hands to greet each other.  Fist bumps may come back, because for some reason we feel that germs on the back of our hands are safer than our palms.  But those elbow taps, foot knocks and air-high-fives, yeah, those are with us forever.  Remember the creative handshakes that only the coolest of the cool could manage easily?  I figure soon we’ll see the foot version, which will look a bit like two people playing hacky sack. 

Goldilocks Sanitizing:  We have by now all developed the fine-tuned skills of applying just the right amount of sanitizer. In early pandemic days, it was a common occurrence to dump far too much sanitizer on our hands, thus creating the sloppy drip onto our pants, or our car seats.  We’ve all experienced the shake-your-hands-out-the-window to get rid of excess move.  The opposite extreme for sanitizer neophytes was not enough, thus providing coverage to only about three fingers.  Not enough, too much, now we’ve got it down to juuuuuuust right.  And p.s., most of us R.W.’s now carry our preferred brand and scent in our purses because we know those industrial tubs of sanitizer that greet us at various establishments feature a horrendous smell that lingers unpleasantly. 

Sweet spot waving:  Sure, we’ve all known how to wave at each other and passersbys. But this is the other kind of waving.  That frustrating hand dance under, and in front of, hands-free faucets and towel dispensers.  It starts with a calm swipe-swipe kind of wave.  Then it gets more animated with a faster side to side and up and down motion.  Then more exuberant. WAVEWAVEWAVE.  Soon we look like we are trying to land a plane, not just wash our hands.  It is only when we are nearly ready to give up that the water mysteriously appears.  Don’t move your hands, or else it will shut off again just when you’ve managed to build a good lather.  Then move on to getting towels, and you look like you are saying Hi to a robot.  Only time, skill and practice has led us to more easily find that sweet spot. 

Brady Bunch Syndrome – Thanks to the never-ending deluge of remote on-line meetings, conversations, and family gatherings, we have grown completely used to seeing each other from shoulders up, in little squares like the start of the Brady Bunch show or Hollywood Squares. We are fascinated by backgrounds, but seem totally unphased by the fact that we have basically become Muppets with no legs. Someday we’ll see each other again in person and may be shocked by how tall everyone is.  But for now, we live in little animated boxes and only need to be concerned about being dressed from the waist up. 

I’ve had conversations with other women about how ironically weird and odd things will seem when we eventually start coming out of this mess. We’ve talked about how nervous we will be to let go of our masks, and to be in crowds and groups again.  It will take time before we are trusting enough to head into whatever our new normal will be.  And I’m guessing it will take even longer for us to stop holding doors open with our feet and looking for arrows to tell us where to go. 

I’m just hoping the new arrows point me towards a sunny beach with a margarita bar. 

Posted in behavior, change, communication, family, future, Health, New Normal, preparation, routines, safety, self care, Social situations, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , | Leave a comment

Adapting to The Beast

A couple of months ago, after my husband indicated a concern over my increased snoring and irregular breathing at night, I visited with a couple of doctors and took an at-home sleep test.  A couple of weeks later I was told the test revealed a mild case of apnea, and boom, faster than a speeding bullet, a CPAP machine was delivered to my door. 

I then proceeded to do the truly adult thing and leave it unopened on my dining table, in a full-on state of denial, for at least a month. I dove into research and online ideas about dealing with apnea that would help me avoid accepting The Beast into my life.  I learned that very likely I do not have the kind of apnea that can be eased by weight loss or sinus surgery… more than likely, mine is Central, meaning it is a neurological thing. In basic terms, it is like my brain, in this jukebox I call a body, is for some reason skipping my breathing record at night instead of letting it play through smoothly.  I tried all sorts of things like different pillows, different sleeping positions, different before-bed routines.  

When it was time for my consultation with my doctor, I used my best Pollyanna voice to tell him that I had found a great wedge pillow that I’ve been using to prop myself up and no longer snore, and am sleeping well, so could I just please return The Beast?  He then explained calmly (to his credit, with little sighing although since we were on the phone, he could have been rolling his eyes and shaking his head at me) that the fact I was not snoring did not mean my apnea was magically going away. He also let me know that at-home sleep tests were not 100% precise, and since it picked up some apnea, I could actually have it on any range from mild to severe. He then explained the health implications (some life-threatening) of apnea – which, by the way, I already knew.  Basically his message was: Yes, Virginia, Santa brought you a CPAP and you must use it. 

My reaction has been one of frustration, out-right crankiness, even tears. I understood that The Beast was quite literally the definition of “for my own good.”  I know hundreds of thousands of other people use them successfully.  Yet with every fiber of my irrationally dramatic being, I didn’t want to accept that.  So like every good RW, I went deep on overthinking and analyzing the situation.  I wanted to work through why I was having this reaction to what should be a simple lifestyle change.  I spent a lot of “really, what is your issue” self discussion time during walks and on my bike – because I do my best, clearest thinking with fresh air and exercise. 

I landed on a few reasons or excuses that needed some recognition.  First is a smattering of PTSD-ish response. My oldest brother, among his myriad of health issues, had severe apnea. And during the last phase of his life, he gave up using it, refusing to bother with it. Over time I saw the effects of the lack of oxygen he was getting as he slept, and what it did to his brain, memory, blood pressure, and more, especially in combination with his other issues. You would think if anything that would push me to eagerly jump into my own CPAP use. But those are still freshly disturbing memories, so I think my knee-jerk reaction was avoidance. 

Next, I knew darn well I have a disdain of discomfort. One of my great daily joys after a busy day is to sink into the total comfort of my bed and pillow and drift off to much-needed rest.  The idea of going through the weeks of uncomfortable adaptation with this thing strapped to my face and nose and having a hose connecting me to a machine is just about last on my list of things I want to do. 

On a related note is that it feels like the last vestiges of feeling sexy at bedtime are out the window.  Gone are the days of slinky lingerie and excitement, replaced with an elephant trunk, distilled water and the low hum of air pushing into my nose which is now encased in a rubber cover.  Oooh baby, let’s snuggle. 

Lastly, I realize this Beast is a symbol of my age and my mortality. Yeah, I know, that sounds dramatic, but that’s the frame of mind I’ve been in.  I’ve always been blessed with good health – minus a couple bouts of flu or other illness, and a short (yet thankfully successful thus far) battle with breast cancer.  I’m usually the smug one who gets a happy thumbs up at doctor’s appointments. I’m not on any medications other than vitamins. I generally feel really good and can cope thus far with minor aches and pains like back aches and knee arthritis.  So to have this diagnosis, to have one thing that says “hey, you aren’t indestructible” is hard to accept. 

Really it is that last point that has me begrudgingly welcoming The Beast into my bedroom. I want to be around to enjoy a someday retirement, and I want to be the cool fun active grandma to my son’s future (hopefully) children.  To do that, I have to keep breathing at night.  My husband, who has been witnessing my CPAP-related mood swings, kindly helped me get it set up, has been trying hard to help me see the light side, and has not yet complained about the look or sound of it.  I have only just begun my journey, but am now up to 4 hours of restless sleep while attached, so I’m making progress. 

I realize now of course, that all of my excuses and reasons lead to one word:  change.  Many of us like to believe that we welcome change, we are adaptable, flexible, spontaneous and all those other great positive adjectives about acceptance.  But the very nature of change is that it makes us uncomfortable. It is challenging and difficult and at times we really don’t like it.  It doesn’t matter what it is, whether it is a move, a job change, the loss of a loved one, a lifestyle alteration, or a health issue – it can make us sad, angry, anxious and can cause us to lose sleep. 

This year we have been on a roller coaster of never-ending change and uncertainty, of fear and anxiety. We have come to just assume every day will bring something else to try to cope with “because, you know, 2020.”   So much so that every new moment or new issue to address feels daunting. Even simple things that in the past would have been met with  “ok, no problem, I’ve got this” now feel like another chink in our armor – one more thing that might bring us to our knees.  This little beast now sitting on my bedside table, that elephant trunk I will now wear each night, is just a symbol of another one of those lifestyle changes, another one of those adaptations to deal with even when we feel like we can’t take on anything else. 

We have to allow ourselves time to be angry. To cry. To feel a wee bit fed up. Then, we get back up off our knees, we give ourselves pep talks as we pedal into the wind, and we know we will adapt and keep going. 

Because it is for our own good. 

Posted in adults, age, change, Health, life phases, routines, safety, self care, stress, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , | Leave a comment

Zooma Zooma Zoom

When I was about 7 years old, there was a popular kid’s show on PBS called Zoom.  The theme song went something like this:  Come on and zoom zoom zooma zoom, Everybody’s doin’ it, Everybody’s movin’ it, everyone’s having a ball YEAH.  

Who knew that nearly 50 years later, everyone really WOULD be Zooming it. Or Skyping it, Microsoft Teaming it, WebExing it, you name it.  Yet I’m pretty sure no one is having a ball. 

It was bad enough that pre-pandemic many of us in the business world had grown pretty accustomed to the challenges of group conference calls.  But now due to the necessity of virtual connections, we’ve taken a step further and have all hopped on the video conferencing bus.  In many ways this technology has been a blessing.  It has been the only way family, friends and various loved ones have been able to see each other in months. The learning curve has been a steep one for those who are not technology savvy, but in a remarkably short amount of time, we’ve all figured it out at least to some extent.  And like the old theme song says, as long as you have a way to make a digital connection, “everybody’s doin’ it.”   Beyond family and friends, we are video conferencing with doctors, teachers, students, financial advisors, vets… even people we would normally just call on the phone, we suddenly feel the need to SEE them when we talk. 

It didn’t take long before we all were enjoying the humor of the fact we can only see the top half of our fellow video callers, leaving the bottom half to our imagination – and sometimes our clear view if the person got up from their seat. There are even TV commercials now making use of this 2020 faux paus.  Check that off the “another weird phenomenon of this year” list. 

At my place of employment, we are all back together in the office – practicing all the appropriate distancing requirements, along with several folks who are still remote due to geographic location or family situations.  Which means that even though most of us are together under one roof, we often still hold video calls and meetings.  And by often, I mean daily. Multiple times daily.   Combine those with my own personal video sessions with friends and family off hours, and I have come to expect certain, shall we say, challenges of this new mode of communication. I’m sure you’ll recognize many: 

  • In and Out.  Living in this modern world does not mean we all have extremely strong wifi connections at all times. Especially with hundreds of thousands, if not millions, of people connecting all at once. Add in interruptions like natural disasters and weird weather patterns, and we can count on any one of us bouncing in and out of connectivity. So meetings include productive conversations like this: “Hey, there she is!  Ooops, wait. Did we lose her?  I think we lost her. Well, we can keep going – oh, she’s back! Nope. Nope, she’s not.” 
  • To mute or not to mute.  It’s a handy little button, that.  Great for blocking out things like external office noise or when you need to sneeze.  It’s very simple: Click: mute. Click: Unmute.  Yet there is no button that is harder to find and click when the dog starts barking or a family member comes in to ask you what’s for dinner. Conversely, trying to find it and click to unmute yourself when someone else in the meeting has asked you a question for some reason takes upwards of 30 seconds. Even better is when you THINK you have unmuted but you haven’t. There you are, the voiceless talking head like an old silent movie.  Thus creating more riveting meeting dialog: “You are on mute. We can’t here you. You need to unmute.” 
  • We can still see you.  Just as handy as the mute button is the video on/off button. You can still participate in the meeting without being seen live, and instead pop up a lovely posed still photo of yourself. Perfect to use when you are eating or blowing your nose or adjusting your bra strap. Because no one needs to see any of that happening up close. Especially effective is going Double-Dark, by clicking both video off and mute. This is most commonly used, honestly, when we are all trying to multi-task and are only partially paying attention.  Oh, come on, don’t act like you haven’t done this. D-D is perfect for getting up to let out the barking dog, turning around to chat with a co-worker or answer your child’s question about dinner, or respond to emails. Just like talking when muted, however, we have all fallen victim to thinking our video is off when it is not. That’s when others have seen our empty chairs, watched us empty our trash,  totally divert our attention elsewhere, play with a pet, or in some well-documented cases on social media, get up to pour some coffee wearing pajama bottoms. I’m going to be honest here and say I live for these moments. After way too many hours in Video Sessions, these are the humorous real life bits I need.
  • Freeze Frame.  Remember that Wifi issue?  Yeahhhhhh, even better than getting totally kicked off the call is when your video feed freezes.  This never happens when you are looking lovely and peaceful with a pretty smile on your face.  Oh no.  Your video will freeze when your eyes are closed, your mouth open, and your head at an awkward angle because you’ve just flipped your hair back.  And you look like some sort of deranged muppet.  
  • Great Forehead.  We are all using any variety of desktop or mobile devices during our video calls, and we could be anywhere from our desk to our backyard to the kitchen table to the car to propping the laptop up on a chair.  So the angle of view is often not a piece of perfection. We don’t look like a well-staged Hoda Kotb.  I’ve had numerous conversations with people’s foreheads, people who look like Kilroy peering over a counter top, someone who is tilted downhill, or – sometimes briefly, someone’s boobs. There’s a reason Video chats provide your own image mirrored back to you.  We don’t need to look like Hoda, but talking to a body part or piece of a face is kinda spooky. 
  • Good Fakes.  Since all this video craziness began, there has been a big emphasis and fascination on backgrounds. Often more attention is given to someone’s background than to the person themselves.  Any of you who follow RoomRater on Twitter understand the importance of a bowl of fruit or well-placed plant. Now many of the Video formats allow the user to pick a PB – Pretend Background.  I’m a fan of the slightly blurry background because it makes the person look sharp and more 3-D-ish.  Some backgrounds are more realistic than others.  I have been momentarily duped into believing that one of the other meeting participants is calling in from a swanky penthouse apartment, an ornate library, or a tropical rainforest.  Until they move and lose an arm or their hair because it uses the same technology as a green screen.  “HA!  So you really AREN’T at a café in Paris!” 

Good or bad, video conferencing I’m afraid is here to stay, here for the long haul. With time, it will probably continue to improve, and hopefully at some point we won’t all have 5 different services we use (because p.s. the audio connection requires different set ups on each, thus creating my awkward and panicked button pushing to get my headset connected).  

As frustrating as it may be to be interrupted by road noise, or kids crying, or lose that important piece of information thanks to a disconnect, or deal with the embarrassment of an ill-timed yawn or food spill, we need to cut each other some slack. If there’s one thing that video conferencing has reinforced for me is that we are all human.  In this crazy world, we are all doing the best we can to stay connected and to keep our sh-t together.  It’s not easy.  But the next time you see a cat walk across someone’s keyboard or their screen falls and you get a crooked view of their knees, just pause and smile.  It’s the universe’s way of saying we are all in this together. 

Posted in communication, convenience, digital, discussions, family, online, photos, skills, social media, Technology, Uncategorized, Vidoe conferencing, work | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

No, Really, I’m Smiling

We are an adaptive bunch. When the proverbial sh-t hit the fan 5 months ago and we learned that mask wearing was going to be a thing, there was an initial, very brief, concern about being able to find any.  But unlike the great toilet paper apocalypse, masks seemed to appear out of thin air.  Pleas went out to reserve the medical-grade masks for essential workers, so virtually within moments there were paper-ish disposables available and Facebook videos about how to fold bandanas into masks.  People like my sister, a crafty person and skilled seamstress, jumped in right away and started cranking out fabric masks with filter inserts. And since those early days, masks have become a daily wardrobe accessory – dare I say it – even a fashion statement. 

I am well aware that there are those of you out there who have decided, for various reasons, to not wear a protective mask. Those who feel that way can stop reading this now.  And NO, I do not need to hear from you.  On the opposite end of the spectrum are all of the essential workers who I have been in awe of from the very beginning of this scariness, who have been wearing masks for 12+ hours every day or night.  There are no words for the respect I have for those who have had to become pro’s at wearing protective gear with no break. 

My focus here however is on the rest of us who are still kind of new to this whole thing. We are the ones who in the early days only put on a mask on the rare occasions we stepped out of our homes. It was a learning experience that went along with swimming in hand sanitizer, disinfecting everything around us, learning how to recognize a 6’ distance in a glance, and figuring out new songs to sing instead of Happy Birthday while washing our hands. 

These days, depending on where you live, and your comfort level, some are venturing out more. Some are returning to work. That means that a lot of us are wearing masks a whole lot more.  Instead of putting one on for a 15 minute trip to the pharmacy, we are learning what it is like to wear them for several hours. And if you are like me, that means that just a handful of dull and boring blue and white disposables won’t do. Oh, no, I gotta have a plethora to choose from to match my outfit, or my mood, or the heat and humidity level.  I have installed a basket on the kitchen counter that holds sanitizer and masks.  Who knew that would be a home décor item. 

I worked at home for many weeks, and have now returned to the office, with all of those swell new routines and guidelines to be followed – including, of course, mask wearing.  And I’ve learned a number of things.  First, I always have a couple spare disposable masks in my car, along with my hand sanitizer.  Because it only takes one time of going somewhere and realizing you have to turn around and go home because you forgot your face covering, to no longer be unprepared.  Yet every morning, without fail, I will go out to my car, put my work stuff in, get ready to get in to drive, and have to get back out and go back inside to get my preferred mask du jour.  I think my dog has learned she’ll see me again 10 seconds after I leave the first time. 

There are other things I’ve learned that until now I could have happily lived without ever knowing.  Like the fact that I apparently have a small face.  If a mask doesn’t have one of those nifty wire grippy things to pinch around my nose, I will continually have to re-adjust and pull it up into place. And where others have masks that fit snugly, mine is always droopy and covers the entire lower half of my face.  Yeah, I know, I could try a kid’s mask.  But I just don’t necessarily think Hello Kitty or a Disney Princess looks good on this over 50 puss.

I have also learned that it’s not bad enough to already have combination skin and deal with menopausal blemishes.  Because nose acne is a thing now.  Great.  Speaking of menopause, hot flashes have reached a whole new level of fun with cloth wrapped around one’s face. 

Wearing this new wardrobe accessory has also meant I now say things I never dreamt I would utter.  Things like “oooh, I love your mask, where did you get it?”   “Ugh, I need a breath mint for myself.”  “Is the leopard print too much?”  “I’ve been practicing smizing, is it working?”  “We should totally bedazzle these things.”  And to my son: “ok, be careful, do you have your mask?”   Of course there are also the now common discussions around ye ol’ 6-foot water cooler about how to keep eye glasses from fogging up, and how to take a drink of water during a meeting. 

I do appreciate the creativity we are seeing, and the styles that are emerging.  While I understand the frustration of not being able to see people’s mouths to be able to read lips or see smiles, some of the new designs I’ve seen sporting a clear panel are just a wee bit too creepy – although masks with funny sayings can give us chuckles we all need.  I enjoy the creativity of the overall formats too.  There’s the wild-west-outlaw look of the scarf/bandana that I see on some men… they look like they just got off their horse and are looking for the nearest saloon, or want to go rob a bank.  Then there are the new moisture-wicking stretchy materials that loop around the neck and up over the face that make you look like you are about to go downhill skiing.   If you have a larger head apparently than I do, there are knit mask extenders so you don’t have to suffer from sore ears.  And I recently saw some masks for sale that were full of sequins.  I suppose you just may have a formal event where a paisley cotton wouldn’t be sufficient. 

Yes, masks are part of our wacky lives now.  No one enjoys wearing them, but like it or not, they are a required necessity if we ever have a prayer of one day being able to emerge from our cocoons comfortably able to go free-faced.  Until then, I will be one of the RW’s who continue to develop a collection of  “pretty” masks.  The past few months have given us all a lack of variety in so many aspects of our lives, we may as well try to add some color and fun and put our best face forward.  Sorry, I couldn’t resist.

You can’t tell, but I’m smirking. 

Posted in beauty, clothing, decor, fashion, Health, innovation, medical, preparation, routines, safety, self care, Social situations, Style | Tagged , , , , , | Leave a comment

The Once Upon a Time in our Closets

Most men own clothing for four basic reasons: 1.They aren’t allowed to walk around naked, 2. They want to be comfortable, 3. They wear stuff that makes them look good, and 4. Their significant other bought it for them.  Except for perhaps a ratty old concert Tshirt, they don’t make emotional connections with their wearables. 

For most R.W.’s however, clothing is more than all that.  Clothing is even more than a sign of our style.  Our clothes tell stories.   Our closets and drawers are like a library with a selection of everything from short stories to long biographies. Sure, some things like the T-shirt you bought at Old Navy for $5 to use for workouts doesn’t have much in the way of an exciting plot.  It’s like a boring and poorly written sonnet.  But there are plenty of others that have tales to tell. 

Some stories are a bit sad. Like that section of “someday I’ll lose enough weight to wear them” outfits that live next to the “someday I’ll have an occasion for it”s.  I still have one dress that I bought years ago hanging in a spare closet. When I bought it, I was younger, thinner and my body was in much better shape, and this English muffin dress (shows every nook and cranny) looked really hot on me, but I had no reason or excuse to wear it.  Now, there’s no way in hell I could wear it. Yet there it hangs, tags still affixed, keeping my “vacation in the tropics” dresses company.  All very sad and dramatic like the Sylvia Plath of clothing. I don’t like to dawdle there. 

Moving on, there are the short stories that tell a fun memory around the purchase. The funky skirt and matching shoes you bought as a treat when you got a promotion, or the bright fun shirt your girlfriend talked you into buying, or the cool trendy denim jacket you bought to wear to a concert. Putting any of these items on transports you right back to those moments, and they make you smile. 

If you wear some form of uniform for work, those clothes could tell enough stories to fill a lengthy based-on-reality novel or great movie. Perhaps it is a good thing that those articles can’t talk. 

My favorites are in the historical biography section.  The other day, one of my BFFs was over for some social distancing time by the pool, and she complimented me on my swimsuit cover up.  I said “thanks, it’s from our honeymoon.”  She looked really confused and said “Honeymoon?  Like YOUR honeymoon?”  Yes, the vacation that was 22 years ago.  My ever practical husband said “well, really, it only gets worn a few times every year in the summer.”  He was being kind, when the reality is that I have a hard time letting go of items that tell longer and older stories.  Every time I put that cover up on, besides remembering time with my new hubby in Antigua, I think of the local woman on the beach selling her wares who came back every day to talk us into buying something from her. And when we finally did (that coverup), she had to go get change for us and my hubby made her leave her goods with us so we knew she’d come back. 

Similar in age is my 26 year old Tshirt from a fitness conference I attended.  Way back then my side job was an aerobics instructor (that was a thing then), and the conference was my first ever experience visiting Las Vegas.  Yes, I still have the oversized sleeveless T.  It is kind of yellowed and old, but it is baggy and loose and comfortable to put on when I’m doing yardwork or going for a bike ride, and I think about meeting some of my then role models at the conference, and traveling with my coworker instructors and eating rice cakes pretending we liked them. 

The most heartwarming stories are wrapped up in those items that either were given by a loved one, or were once owned by a loved one. I still have a blue lightweight bathrobe my mother made for me when I was in my late teens.  It is threadbare and doesn’t really reach around me anymore (in those days I was built like a toothpick).  She passed away when I was in my late 20’s, so keeping this loving-hands-at-home piece of material hanging in my closet makes me still feel connected to her all these years later.  And yes, sometimes I still put it on… as long as I’m sure no one will see me in it. It’s not a pretty sight. 

Then there is my dad’s college sweater from when he was on the ski team.  Thick wool, with the  year, 1953, big and bold across the front.  None of us kids have ever worn that sweater.  I have kept it carefully stored, and every now and then get it out to look at it and consider all that was going on when that sweater came to be.  The Korean war was over, my dad was back home. He went back to college, married my mom, and somewhere along the way did ski jumping on a team. Bits and pieces of stories he used to tell us float through my head, and I wish I had been better about writing them down.  Instead, there are stories secretly woven into that wool, just waiting for my imagination to make them come alive. 

From time to time, most of us with go through our closets and drawers and get rid of things we no longer need.  The clothes we purge are usually those with less appeal, or just no longer fit well.  Sometimes we can’t bear to get rid of things, even if we no longer wear them – because, well, stories.   What I like to believe is that some of the items I donate will go on to tell the stories of their new owners.  Maybe one of my donated shirts is now hanging in someone’s closet, carrying the happy memory of a couple of women shopping in Goodwill together and finding great deals… or even better, becoming a gift for someone, or helping someone land a new job.  The possibilities are endless. 

What stories are in your library? 


Posted in beauty, books, clothing, family, fashion, friends, Helping others, love, real style, real women, shopping, storage, Style, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , | Leave a comment


We are all in one big inclusive club.  You, browsing through this blog right now, are in it.  The club of readers. Be it articles, blogs, poetry, memoirs, instruction manuals, cookbooks or 700 page novels – there is some reason, something about words strung together, that draws us in. 

On the high end of the passionate readers scale are the people in our lives who read books like they breathe air.  I have a few women in my life who are voracious readers. One has several books going at a time, stored everywhere – her purse, her bedside, her living room, her car…. Another has an “upstairs book” and a “downstairs book”.  And yet another reads so quickly her husband has said he can feel the breeze as she flips pages.  These are the kind of readers who will recommend a great book to me, and by the time I’ve been able to start it, they have consumed 5 more.  

When I was younger, I could read a few books at the same time, but now I read one novel (my preferred genre) at a time. But I do have other materials at the ready, like a collection of poems, and short stories, and motivational quotes and magazines – for those in between times.  Do I whiz through them?  No, I lack the available time to read as much as I’d like.  But I’m never at a loss for something to read. 

Most of us land in various other places on the passion to read scale, anywhere between ‘once in a while short things only’ and ‘don’t bother me, I’m tackling War and Peace’.  My husband, for example, who would be one of those who would say “I don’t really read much”, will generally have a biography of a favorite musician on his night stand.  He will pick it up once in a while, and it can take months for him to complete a book. But I often catch him reading technical manuals, or the newspaper, or flipping through a car magazine.  

I don’t know if women really are more avid readers then men.  I know there are you guys out there who love to read.  But women are more apt to join a book discussion group, or to start a conversation with “what are you reading now?” or have long discussions about favorite characters and plots.   A BFF and I each recently read Delia Owens’ Where the Crawdads Sing. I finished it just shortly before she did, so we held off on discussing until she was done.  One day we met to take a walk and after covering our usual catch up topics, my friend stopped in her tracks and said “Kya!”  After which we happily commenced a thorough discussion of this amazing book, the key character, and how it resonated with both of us.  Funny, I just don’t see guys having the same sort of reaction and discussion.  

There is absolutely nothing like holding a physical book, glossy magazine, thick journal or folded newspaper in our hands. Yes, we have a zillion digital and electronic formats for reading now, and they each have their efficiencies. I am happy to have my kindle especially for travel, and to not keep my husband awake when I read in bed at night. And certainly, having a mobile device – phone, tablet, what have you – is ideal for catching up on news stories, articles and blogs.  That’s likely how you are reading these words right now.  But the texture, the weight – and yes, even the scent – of the printed word is something special, and opening that book or magazine for the first time is like opening an exciting gift, where the thrill of suspense awaits.

There is magic that happens when reading. There is something about how words come together to evoke emotion and imagination, how they can teach us new things, introduce us to the unknown, force us to see things differently, and take adventures that are deeper and more satisfying then sitting and watching tv or scrolling through yet another kitten video on Facebook. 

Reading means escaping to other worlds. When I was a little girl, reading meant meeting animals that could talk, believing princesses were real, and joining other kids on grand journeys.  Now as adults, from the comfort of our cozy chair in our homes, we can solve mysteries, have love affairs, get to know people we admire on a personal level, climb mountains, explore foreign lands, learn how to bake souffles or how to build furniture.  For that period of time, we are somewhere else, maybe even someone else. We meet new people, and the characters and places become part of our lives outside of our day to day regular world. 

It is no wonder than that during the past few months of quarantining and staying home, so many of us are reading more than ever. It’s not just because many of us suddenly have more time on our hands than we have before. It’s not just because we feel like we are going numb watching TV, or because we want to be a good example for our children.  We are reading more because we need that magic, that escape, we need to explore worlds where COVID doesn’t exist and where people are talking about and doing different things.  We need the stress reduction, and our brains and hearts need something else to focus on.  

Those who have followed me here for awhile know why I started this blog originally.  I was frustrated because there were no magazines or articles that resonated about real life for real women. They all seemed so ridiculously out of touch with what we all really deal with every day.  But now I’m starting to believe that is the whole point.  Maybe we don’t always want to see more reality.  Perhaps magazines are serving the same purpose as a novel or poem or even a biography or historic recollection.  They are providing escapes from reality. One RW in my life loves to browse home magazines. She often asks me “Who’s house actually looks like this?  Like where is the messy laundry hamper?”  I tell her those are not homes anyone really lives in. They are fantasy castles.   

I could probably afford one of those fantasy castles if I received a dollar for every time I’ve rolled my eyes and groaned when looking through women’s magazines, with the air brushed beauty and outrageous accomplishments and the “perfect” lives.  The other day I was catching up on some back issues of a few magazines I still receive. Most are cooking magazines, but a couple are the same women’s magazines I’ve always complained about and yet keep getting.  In the May issue of Women’s Health there is a short feature about a woman who founded a cool sleepwear company (of course she did) and her completely unrealistic morning routine.  She wakes up at 4:30am without an alarm (I do too, but it is because of a hot flash, then I go try to go back to sleep). She gets her two children up, dressed and fed at 7am.  (There is no mention of temper tantrums, lost teddy bears or refused breakfast food.)  She only takes 5 minutes to get herself ready because she showers at night and her hair ends up being “just the right amount of messy.”  Who says that??  She packs a gym bag because she works out at lunch (naturally she has matching bras and leggings. If I’m lucky, I pack something that fits and isn’t torn or stained.)  She eats yogurt and drinks spiced tea on the way to work (because clearly that’s all she needs to subsist on) and listens to upbeat music so she can “show up to work full of energy” by 8am. 

And there we are. A fairy tale. A fanciful story of a woman who is nothing like the rest of us. I’m thinking now rather than get disgusted or frustrated about these magazines setting us up for unattainable life goals, I will just consider them to be like the stories I read as a child.  I will imagine that the characters like this woman ride unicorns and wear flowing sparkly ball gowns while chipmunks and birds fold their laundry for them. 

Because that is what we need more of right now.  We need words to entertain us, transport us to places that make us smile, laugh, thrill us, surprise us, or take our breath away with hope and wonder.  

So go ahead.. find your next escape.  And join the club. 



Posted in books, communication, digital, discussions, Entertainment, friends, innovation, moods, reading, real women, routines, self care, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Braving the Mundane

I’m weary.  Not just the usual 50-something woman coping with work, home, kids, chores, menopause and lack of sleep kind of weary.  But like nearly everyone else, I’m weary of not seeing family and friends in person. Weary of not hugging. Weary of worrying about illness and death. Weary of anger, injustice, politics, racism and most of all, weary of hate.  I want to feel positive. I want to feel hopeful about turning the corner with the economy, of less joblessness for so many, of better heath.  I want to sustain my hopeful feelings every time I see a peaceful protest, hear a motivational speech, and start to believe that maybe good change is finally happening. But then I see or hear something ugly, scary or evil again and the weariness seeps into my bones.

At this very moment, I’m weary of not writing and posting.  Weary of being afraid I’ll say the wrong thing without meaning to.  The only social posts I’ve made in weeks are photos of flowers from my gardens, scenic nature shots taken during hikes, or goofy photos of my dog.  But even with those, I worry that at some point someone is going to say “How dare you.  How dare you post about being able to go for walks, to plant flowers, to feel at peace, when others are afraid to leave their homes or are fighting for their lives on a ventilator in a hospital?” It seems that anything uttered or shared at this point will inflame someone.

Just this morning I was scrolling through my twitter feed, and saw that some angry or spiteful person tweeted about how much they hate the @Thoughts of Dog account.  For those not familiar, that account is simply a sweet, funny, positive (and I think fairly brilliant) account literally sharing the potential thoughts of a dog.  That’s all. And yet this person, rather than just simply stop following the account if they disliked it, had to post using the word hate. If they were trying to be funny, they failed. If they are bored, they need a new hobby. If they were trying to get people riled up – well, really, isn’t everyone already riled up and on edge enough?  And.. I felt weary.  And frustrated. And sad.  Again.

But, it also reminded me that it is impossible to make everyone happy all the time.  We are all unique individuals with our own thoughts and beliefs, and we all have (or should have) the right of free speech. I would personally like to abolish any free speech that is hateful or hurtful, but I guess if we did that, most of our political leaders would be rendered mute.

I also considered this morning – yes, during a nature walk – that even in times of crisis and tremendous challenge, the mundane parts of life don’t go away.  I’ve been struck by that thought in the past during the grief process after the death of a loved one, or a natural disaster, or during any major life event personally or worldly – we all have to keep going with our day to day “stuff.”  Bills still need to be paid, at least to the best of our abilities. We still need to buy and make food and eat. We need to get up and shower and get dressed every day. We have to change diapers or worry about our teenager’s safety, or feed and walk the dog.  Whatever it is, the mundane in life doesn’t stop just because we are in some form of crisis.

Truly, the point of my blog is the celebration of the mundane, and how we keep plugging along maintaining our worlds no matter what else is going on.  So it is with that thought in mind, that I’ve decided to come back and put my fingers back on my keyboard after over a month since my last post. If I offend anyone by focusing on something other than the crises surrounding us, my apologies.  Feel free to click that unfollow button.  For the rest of you, thanks for staying.

Today I will share one short story on one of our favorite topics, the difference between men and women.  A couple of weeks ago, my husband decided to bravely take a short weekend trip.  Mask, sanitizer, and disposable gloves in hand, he drove to visit two of his brothers and one best friend.  He made no stops on the way, he stayed at one house, he practiced social distancing (after all, he’s a guy, this whole no-hugging and snuggling thing tends to be easier for them), and he promised me to visit no one else (even though I know he really wanted to).  After telling him to be careful for the 34th time, I headed out to walk the dog while he finished getting ready to head out.   Hours later, I happened to go upstairs to our bedroom, and there was his weekend bag.  I thought perhaps it was an empty one that he decided to not use, but nope.  It was full of his change of clothes, toiletries, etc.  Upon his arrival at his destination, he popped me a quick text to check in.  I responded with “did you get my text about your bag?”  His response “My bag?  Why?   Oh crap.  I forgot it, didn’t I.”  

The fact that he’d been at his destination for a while and still had not noticed he left his belongings at home was pretty amusing.  A woman would have realized it within an hour after departure, and would have turned around to get it. 

Later that night, when I talked with him, I suggested he mask up and go visit whatever store he could find that was open, like a Walmart, and pick up at least a change of underwear and a couple Tshirts to get him through the weekend, plus a toothbrush, etc.  He begrudgingly said he might go in the morning.

Ok, ladies, let’s think about this.  Let’s say you arrived at your destination to discover you’d left everything at home. (yeah, ha ha ha, pretty funny, would never happen).  What would you do?  Possibly before even greeting those you went to visit, wouldn’t you go on a shopping expedition?  I mean, besides clothing, we need our hair care products, our skin care products, our make up, our dental care items, and for goodness sakes, new clean underwear!   Our weekend without luggage would instantly become more expensive.  I believe that even one of my BFF’s who has been known to spend a week in Europe with only a backpack would feel the need to stop and purchase necessities.

But not my husband. And probably not most guys.  One of his brothers gave him a spare Tshirt.  His friend’s wife gave him an extra toothbrush and toothpaste and shampoo and soap.  And that’s really all he needed.  I suppose guys can survive comfortably by turning underwear and socks inside out, although my hope is he borrowed his friend’s laundry facilities. I was afraid to ask. 

Upon his return he said “See? Without you home when I left to make sure I had everything, I forgot my bag.   I’m bummed too, I had brand new underwear packed that I was looking forward to wearing.”

While they can seemingly get by with less, no matter what age guys are, they need us.  They need us to find things for them (“honey, have you seen my keys?”). They need us to help them pack. They apparently need us to remind them to take their belongings with them. They need us to buy them new underwear.  If we aren’t there to do all those things?  Well, apparently they just go without.

At least we can say we feel needed. Besides, men can be a good source of humor when we need it most.

Embrace the mundane, ladies. It may ease our weariness.

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Simply Excited

painted rock1I woke up cranky and emotional yesterday.  I have no license to be that way.  I’m healthy (minus a recent ugly bout with food poisoning).  None of my immediate family members, friends or associates have been stricken ill by Covid.  I am employed and working from home, so we have been able to keep up with our bills.  I am not working on the front lines. I have no young children at home whom I am trying to home school or keep entertained. I have a solid roof over my head and am still getting along well with the other house inhabitants.  Compared to the constant news stream of illness, death and unemployment, I’m lucky. I have it easy.

Yet there it was. The alarm went off, it was grey, cool and foggy out, and it matched my mood.  The fog was especially apropos since we all feel fuzzy, stuck in some weird version of Bill Murray’s Groundhog Day where the date or day of the week no longer matters.  Every time that alarm goes off, we are faced with the same day, same routines, over and over again.  That was my issue. Here I am, drifting somewhere between week 7 and week 8 of quarantine-shelter-in-place-bizarro world with everyone else, and my patience for my routine has run out.  We all have our daily grind which at this point has pushed us to numbness.  For me, my daily routine involves walking the dog, sitting in front of the computer for 8 – 9 hours, fitting in a basement workout, food prep and tv watching.  Rinse and repeat.   The biggest issue is that there is nothing to look forward to. No planned outings and activities with friends, no travel, no parties, no shopping excursions, nothin’.   For those of us who are social, active and huggy people, that’s about the same as a prison sentence.  (Hey, come on, I’m allowed a bit of drama here, let me wallow would ya?)

Weekends are marginally better, because there is time for house projects, yard work, hikes, zoom sessions and calls, and occasionally the true excitement of masked trips to the grocery store, pharmacy or hardware store.  Any form of change in scenery is grounds for giddiness.  One RW told me that she and her family members are having disagreements over who gets to go out and pick up the trash can and recycling bin.  Yes, our level of excitement and fascination has reached new levels.

I have a weekly zoom call with my core group of BFFs.  This is an attempt for us all to preserve our sanity and check in on each other. Once upon a time, our conversations were filled with tales of adventure and fashion.  Our discussions now center around topics like what we cooked for dinner, how to make face masks, whether or not our grocery store has rice or flour, what we are watching on Netflix, and what books we are reading. We’ve started a show and tell, to share any new and exciting thing we have made or purchased in the past week.  These moments of sharing have ranged from the exciting:  home-crafted greeting cards and online orders of a new book or pair of sandals,  to the mundanely appreciated: hair dye, a unique flavor of tic tacs, and a new butter dish.   Yes. This is what has become of us. These are the topics we now find fascinating.

I have discovered that my view of the outside world, and what I find thrilling and exciting, has also changed.  With so many people staying home with time on their hands, I look forward to checking out the updates to yards and gardens during my walks. One family built a lovely wood fence all around their backyard, complete with arbor.  Another family has had a very large back deck with gazebo installed – I was waving good morning to the work crew while it was under construction.  Flowers are popping up in gardens. The garden centers are bursting with plants.  Children’s art work appears on windows and front doors.  And I’m thrilled every time I come across a painted rock someone has artfully placed in a random location to illicit smiles.  Bird watching is now a communal sport, with friends posting sightings on Facebook.  One dear RW in my life is ecstatic that a pair of mourning doves have made a nest and laid two eggs in her herb pot on her patio.  She says it is more riveting to watch than Netflix.   I get it.

The most exciting thing of all at this point is seeing other people, outside of our house-dwellers. Even at a 6+ foot distance, even hiding behind masks, having any form of in-person interaction is like bringing water to someone sitting in the desert.  (I didn’t say I was done with my drama).  We are starved for personal contact, and in the absence of physical contact, just seeing other humans at a distance and sharing kind words makes a huge difference.  Today I stopped into the grocery store, and as I was turning a corner to follow the one-way arrows down the next aisle, a beautiful young girl with smiley eyes looked at me from about 10 feet away and said “I love your mask!”   Although it struck me that her generation will be the one that grew up during the pandemic, where mask style drove fashion trends, she made my day and made me smile.  I wanted to hug her but of course could not. Besides, being hugged by a strange woman in the grocery aisle would have probably terrified her and sent her mom chasing me away brandishing a pack of bagels.

Today that grey foggy cloud lifted, even if for a little while.  I looked for excitement and joy wherever I could find it, like deciding that tonight’s dinner will be a variety of fun not-so-healthy appetizers. Because why not.  And because I’m weary of meal prep.

We may not have much to look forward to now, but at some point, somehow, some way, there will be a break in our new routines, and we will learn again how to find new levels of excitement.  There will be new adventures, and dare I say it – perhaps even gatherings, activities, and travel in some form or another.  We may even, someday, be able to hug each other again.  When those days come, I hope we won’t forget how we learned to be fascinated by simple things like birds, flowers, butter dishes and painted stones.


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Lost Skills

ostrichI’ve been hesitant to do any blog writing recently, because it seems there is only one topic any of us are able discuss.  It begins with P and ends in -ic.  It has consumed us in more ways than one, and every one of us, everywhere, is somehow affected by and attempting to deal with the -ic. To be honest, I’m completely weary of thinking about, talking about, and coping with the -ic.  So I’ve been avoiding writing. Which is not the right answer.

I will also admit that for the past two days I have willingly been the proverbial ostrich with her head in the sand. I have not read, listened to, or watched any news.  It’s not that I don’t care, or that I don’t feel the importance of what is going on around us.  But for my own sanity, I needed a break. I think we all need to take breaks from time to time to be able to recharge our coping mechanisms.

As part of this break, the only social media content and information I’ve read are positive posts.  I have scrolled past anything sad, frightening or worrisome. And guess what, the longer we go in this -ic situation, the more positive bits I’m finding. There are so many people out there sewing masks, delivering groceries, raising donations, and showing up at appropriate distances to show support for those on the front lines, it warms the soul and gives hope.

I am one of the very fortunate ones who is not only healthy (knock on wood), but still employed (please knock again), working from home. I am beyond thankful for both of those key points.  However, because I am still working 9+ hours a day, I feel limited in how much I can do to help others.  This is why I jumped at the chance to do one tiny simple thing for a friend. She asked if I could hem her scrubs.  You see she is a pretty amazing Doctor who is still going every day to a medical facility.  She is one of many other essential and incredible humans out there who risk facing the -ic up close every day while I stay safe and albeit stir crazy in my home.

The funny thing is my sewing skills are rusty. But I uncovered ye ol’ sewing machine, was all proud of myself when I remembered not only how to thread the machine but wind a bobbin, and got the scrubs hemmed so my BFF hero can avoid tripping and falling on the job. Did the hems look great? No. Luckily, they are scrubs.  If my sister, who is still a fabulous seamstress, saw my project, she would give me the one-lifted brow that says “really?  You learned better than that.” Then would giggle at me.

As I did my measuring, pinning, cutting, stitching and ironing, I thought about the ways we are all resurrecting lost skills in this time of the -ic.  One trip to a grocery store (with disposable gloves and masks in place) will lead us to believe that a lot of us are cooking and baking far more than usual. We are picking up actual pens and hand-writing letters and cards to those who need a boost. There are young mothers re-learning how to use cloth diapers. We are cleaning with washable rags to save paper towels. We are tackling home projects like painting and carpentry. We are having family game nights and going for hikes. We are playing music to lift spirits. We are making gifts, and calling people to actually talk vs. texting. Lost talents and skills, newly found.  And it’s kinda wonderful.

There is no denying that the -ic is overwhelming and we can easily let it get all-consuming. When we don’t take occasional moments to let ourselves regroup and breathe, everything feels huge and impossible to conquer.  Yet when we let ourselves think about something else – even for a few hours –  we remember that we have skills that have laid a bit dormant during the rush of “normal” life.  Perhaps we can find small little things to help each other fight back against the -ic beast. And feel better in the process.

By the way, did you know that the myth of the ostrich hiding her head in the sand came about because she’s actually tending to her eggs in her ground nest?  So she’s not really hiding and avoiding the world. She’s doing one very skilled, tiny little thing to make her world better.




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Chaos Through Z Eyes

gen zWe are women. Many of us are also moms, grandmas, aunts, guardians, and caregivers.  It is in our DNA to protect and to worry, while at least attempting to show outwardly that we are calm and in control at all times.  In other words, we are well-trained for this current global crisis.

Absorbing loved ones into our home nests to try to keep them healthy and safe comes completely naturally to us.  I was just texting with another R.W. yesterday who asked me if I thought she was crazy to drive 6 hours each way today to bring her daughter home to work remotely from her house instead of knowing she was alone and on her own.  Although I was concerned for her exhaustion level in doing that trip, not one iota of me thought she was crazy.  It is natural instinct.  It’s what we do.  Worry. Protect. Control.

Yesterday our office temporarily closed and each of us were sent home to work remotely. I am thankful that I still have a job, and have the ability to work from home. So many are not that lucky.  Up until yesterday, while I was not making light of the situation we are all in, I was calm and holding onto a shred of “this will pass soon” hope.  But when my 8-5 life was suddenly adjusted, my safe, normal social work environment changed, my awareness that any investments we have are taking hard falls, and my son got official word that he will not be returning to campus for the rest of this semester,  I felt like “shit just got real.”  For the rest of the day yesterday I battled to stay calm, to push down any rising feelings of panic (because my mantra from the start of this has been “panic solves nothing”), and I was near tears a few times.  And we are some of the lucky healthy ones.

Over the weekend, my son and I had done a round trip back to his campus to get some of his belongings.  Yesterday afternoon, he went with me on some errands.  A “last” trip to the grocery store to see bare shelves, a “last” trip to the pet store to get our dog’s food, and a trip to Kohls where social distancing was not a problem because it was deserted.  During my time with him, I was able to get a glimpse of this turmoil through his eyes, not just my Mom eyes.

I know he’s disappointed, even sad, that he won’t be returning to campus until Fall.  I know he misses some of the activities there and his new independence. The good news is he is a Freshman, so God willing will still have three more years for a college experience. My heart goes out to students who are seniors in high school and college and have been robbed of their senior experiences and I’m sure are filled with worry about next steps.

My son asked me the other day if he could have a couple of friends over to the house.  He has also asked what I thought of him potentially going this weekend to visit a friend who lives a bit of a distance away, as a day trip.  I wasn’t sure how to answer. Do I slip into protective warrior control mode and say no, we all have to hunker in place?  He will be by himself in the car, then visiting one friend while they stay in the friend’s house and watch a movie. Do I allow some limited freedom with the thought that perhaps the potential of cultivating new friendships he has only just begun to make at school is a more “healthy” option?  The truth is he’s legally old enough to make his own decisions.  I appreciate that he’s looking to me for guidance.  But the bad news is that pandemics aren’t in the Mom Rule Book.  I’m just winging it here.

What struck me in our recent outings is his calm and practical view of what we are experiencing. He was fascinated by empty shelves at the stores.  He helped me find a few things and helped me with creative ideas on how we can do without.  When I told him I was wondering if I should go get cash out of the bank to hoard at home he said “Mom, why?  Even if you have it, where would you spend it, everything will be closed.  If you shop online, you’ll use your credit card.”  The new process of excessive hand washing and sanitizing does not bother him.  He lives in the mode of virtual communications already, so if any thing he will teach us how to stay in touch with others. At his very core, he seems to easily focus on now.  We are healthy and safe now.  He does not slip into hyper panic mode. He can find humor in his observations.

Every generation of human has had to deal with unique and challenging circumstances.  From World Wars to Depressions and Recessions, to Watergate and assassinations, to earthquakes and tsunami’s, we have all had our share of life-changing historic events.  Yet it seems to me that this Generation Z has grown up in the most ongoing never-ending bizarre and scary life altering process.  My son was a year old during 9-11.  Since then his generation has coped daily with terrorism, natural disasters, mass shootings, peculiar and ineffective politics, environmental crises, and now… a world-wide viral outbreak and quarantines. As he’s become more mature, and as I’ve watched him roll through the development of coping mechanisms, I wonder….  Is this generation fraught with higher levels of anxiety and depression than ever seen before like the news leads us to believe, or are we raising young adults with more skills of adaptation, resilience, individuality and sensibility than the generations before them?

In all honesty, our world is in a heap of mess right now.  We moms spend sleepless nights worrying about our kids and how they will manage, constantly concerned about their safety, and what their future holds.  Perhaps we should instead spend more time having faith in them.  In feeling reassured that they are our future leaders, and by growing up through turmoil, perhaps they will have the foresight and strength to make things better.  To hope and believe that they, the anti-bullying generation, will inherently know how to take care of each other, and the world we inhabit.

No, we won’t ever stop worrying or trying to protect and control.  But I think the next few weeks or months can be a bit easier and less stressful if we take a page from our Gen Z’s playbooks and take a day at a time, watch out for each other, and be resilient.  This too shall pass, so let’s all be in a good place together when it’s over.

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