Covid Life – Page 10 – Treehouse Writers

Bing Crosby dines solo on Thanksgiving, in *Holiday Inn*.

I’ve got plenty to be thankful for
I haven’t got a great big yacht
To sail from shore to shore
Still I’ve got plenty to be thankful for

I’ve got plenty to be thankful for
No private car, no caviar
No carpet on my floor
Still I’ve got plenty to be thankful for

–Irving Berlin, Holiday Inn.

No, really.

2020 has been an overachiever, starting pretty much right out of the gate. Remember January? According to the Internet, January included the killing of Iranian General Qassem Soleimani by US airstrike; a complete reshuffling of the Russian government; the death of Kobe Bryant and his daughter; locusts in Africa, deadly bushfires in Australia, earthquakes and volcanos and, oh yeah, Donald Trump was impeached.

That’s enough for a reasonably busy year, but no, 2020 was just getting warmed up. Since January Trump has been acquitted by the Senate; George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, and a horrifying number of men and women of color have been killed by the police meant to protect them. There have been bee swarms and murder hornets, many mass shootings, the Boy Scouts filing for bankruptcy… Oh, and the endless run up to the election. If I were this year I’d want to lie down, but 2020 was made of sterner stuff. The hits just kept on coming… with COVID woven like a ribbon through the fabric of the year, and 250,000 dead.

So the CDC, finally eluding the current administration’s guard dogs, has said, in no uncertain terms, Do Not Gather for Thanksgiving This Year. To which I say Amen. But not because there’s not a lot to be grateful for.

Continue reading “I’ve Got Plenty to be Thankful For”…

‘We Are Stardust.”

by Nancy Jane Moore

November 13, 2020November 12, 2020

I mentioned last week that I had signed up for an 18-day virtual meditation retreat that started on Election Day.

It was the smartest thing I’ve done all year.

I was a little stressed as I watched returns on Election Day itself; I remember 2016 all too well. But on Wednesday, when it started to become obvious that the Biden-Harris team was going to win, I got calm.

And I’ve stayed that way.

It’s not that I’m sanguine about all the challenges ahead. I already sent money to Fair Fight Action for the Georgia Senate runoffs.

I’m worried about a lot of things. The Republicans seem to have become a cult. The moderate Democrats seem to be under the illusion that we can just go back to “normal” even though it’s obvious that ship has sailed.

And while our local races here in Oakland went well — we’re going to have a more progressive city council this time around — that just means that we’ve got a better chance of getting our voices heard. It doesn’t mean we don’t have to work to get something meaningful done.

I’m concerned about a lot of things, but I’m not freaking out. And that is truly wonderful. Continue reading “‘We Are Stardust.””…

Got Goat?

by Madeleine Robins

November 11, 2020November 12, 2020

Travel back with me to those long-ago pre-Pandemic days when we went out of the house to do… well, everything. My husband, who has an antic sense of humor, got a screaming goat. This is a toy based on the internet meme. Press on the goat’s back and it screams. It’s a silly object, but one that has become central to our household functioning.

How so?

When California went into lockdown, both my husband and I started working from home. He is a recording engineer and tech engineer for a Major Motion Picture Sound Company, and suddenly he and his teammates were tasked with finding ways that they–and the sound and music editors they support–could work from home. He brought home a slew of equipment (my living room looks like the NASA Control Room) and went at it. The task came with a prodigious learning curve that they scaled fearlessly and quickly, but there were moments of frustration. Fortunately, with all the gear, he had also brought home the goat. When he was frustrated, he’d trigger the goat, which would scream. A useful outlet.

So useful that I decided I needed one too. Now, when I’m working from home and the urge to scream hits, I can hit my toy goat and it screams, and in a moment, from the other room, will come an answering scream. And vice versa.

It is a curiously satisfying way, both of discharging irritation and expressing solidarity. So much so that, when a friend became ill, I sent her a pair of screaming goats for herself and her husband. And when I came down to visit my 94-year-old aunt for the first time in 10 months (having been tested, scrubbed, and proved to be as safe as I could be, COVID-wise) I brought her a goat.

It is her new best friend. It makes her laugh, but more, in those inevitable moments when the indignities that come along with considerable age hit, the goat is a helpful outlet.

Since the goat seems to have a calming effect on my family, I wondered where the expression “got my goat” came from. If you get someone’s goat, you upset them. The true origins of the phrase are not confirmed, but one suggestion: apparently, high-strung race horses are often given a goat to keep them company when they’re at racecourses. So if someone takes the goat and your racehorse becomes distraught and therefore loses the race, you become upset. Because someone got your goat.

I don’t know if it’s true, but I kind of like it anyway. The goat, miraculous soother of racehorses and humans. Who knew?