Tag: masks

Without My Mask, People Will See Me Talking to Myself

The gearshift became my mask hanger.

On Saturday, Oregon lifted its mask mandate. With exceptions for healthcare and public transportation, we don’t have to wear our COVID masks anymore. Of course, they said that before and then Omicron came. 

I took advantage of the break to wash my mask collection. They’re sitting around the laundry room drying like little puffy kites.

It was a joy to sing at church on Sunday sans mask. I joined St. Anthony’s just before the pandemic. There are some people whose lower faces I had never seen. Lips! We have lips. And we get to wear lipstick. Most of the mask era, I just did my eyes, if that. Why put on makeup that won’t show and will get all over your mask? Or dangly earrings that tangle in the elastic that goes over your ears?

How sweet to be able to sip water without moving a mask out of the way. To know people can see your smile. To not have our words muffled by the mask.

People can also see my frowns, my inappropriate laughs, my curses, and my counting madly on certain tricky piano songs. For two years, we have hidden behind our masks. It got to be a habit, and now everybody can see us. That will take some getting used to. 

Meanwhile, what was up with the woman coughing and coughing somewhere toward the back of the church? Considering all those unmasked people–and a few with masks–it was unnerving. In my little piano island, I feel somewhat safe. The Clavinova is so tall people can barely see me. The germs will have to work hard to get to me. But we’re all paranoid. A cough is not just a cough anymore. The paranoia is going to remain long after the virus finally slinks away. Meanwhile, my masks are clean and ready for the next onslaught.

Remember when only bank robbers wore masks? I remember trying to make a mask out of an old bandanna. Then the church ladies got busy making masks, and I acquired a full wardrobe to match my outfits. We even got “singing masks” that pooch out to allow more air in.

We looked down our noses at those who wore their masks under their noses, which defeats the purpose. We got used to masks hanging around people’s necks like a scarf. We got used to the absurdity of wearing a mask into a restaurant, taking it off to eat and drink, and putting it back on to leave, as if we weren’t breathing the whole time we dined. 

Remember when people were afraid to touch their mail, their groceries, or their dogs for fear they had COVID on them? 

Remember when everything was closed? Here on the Oregon coast, sawhorses blocked the entrances to the beaches. You couldn’t get a hotel room or eat in a restaurant. At the doctor’s office, you waited in your car till they called you. At our vet’s, we still wait in the car or near the car because the puppy gets excited and needs to get to the grass to take care of business. Hospitals and nursing homes still limit visitors. When will we feel safe enough to gather around a loved one’s beside?

I remember when I went to buy spa chemicals early in the pandemic. Customers weren’t allowed inside the store. A worker peeking out the half-open door asked what you wanted, passed it out to you, and took your money. Buying bromine tablets was like buying drugs or bootleg liquor. Weird times. There are little children for whom mask-wearing is normal. They have never lived without them. 

I often wonder what my father would think of all this if he hadn’t died just before the pandemic. He was born shortly after the big influenza epidemic. Two cousins lost both their parents to the flu. I wonder if any of their masks were tucked away in the old house on Branham Lane.

A hundred years later, we were wearing masks again. More than three million people worldwide have died of COVID-19. I knew and loved a few of them. People are still getting sick, but officials are playing the numbers game, betting that it will be okay this time if we remove our masks. We’ll see. 

Meanwhile, taking off my mask feels very similar to my dog Annie removing her protective cone. We’re both feeling a little naked these days. 

Are you unmasked, too? How does it feel? 

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COVID plus anger a deadly combination

IMG_20160612_105943801[1]I’m typing this on the lounge on my deck on Sunday afternoon. The old dog insists on sharing my space, her haunch touching mine. She’s breathing so hard the computer is shaking. We adapt to each other’s needs.

If only the rest of the world saw it that way.

The news this weekend frightened me. In big cities all over the U.S., people were rioting, breaking windows, looting, and starting fires. Police and military personnel were lined up to try to stop them, but the rioters were throwing things at them and seemingly unstoppable. The sounds of flash grenades, breaking glass, and angry shouting filled the streets of Minneapolis, Seattle, San Jose, Portland, and so many other cities.

This all started last week when a police officer in Minneapolis knelt on a black man’s neck until he died. George Floyd, who was accused of using counterfeit money at a deli, was pleading for mercy, saying he couldn’t breathe, but the cop didn’t let up. There’s a video of it that keeps showing on social media. I can’t watch.

The three cops involved were fired. The one with the knee has been charged with third-degree murder. Not enough, people say. Outraged by yet another instance of white cop violence against black people, people have gone nuts.

There were some peaceful protests—speeches, signs, singing, prayers. In fact, there’s going to be one today in front of Newport’s city hall at 2 p.m. That makes sense. We need to mark the horror of this and try to stop it from happening again.

But it didn’t stop with peaceful demonstrations. Something broke loose, and people started destroying their cities. I watched on TV as looters smashed store windows, ran in and grabbed stuff and put it in their cars, with no concern for the poor business owners who had nothing to do with George Floyd’s death and are just trying to survive COVID-19. Some are just reopening. Some, like in Portland, are still in lockdown, losing money every day as it is.

Many of those arrested in the melee are reportedly young white men, not brokenhearted black people. There are all kinds of rumors about terrorist groups, white supremacists and people fed up with the COVID restrictions. I don’t know, but I’m appalled. George Floyd’s brother was on TV yesterday pleading for the rioters to stop. His brother wouldn’t want this.

The virus didn’t seem to be on anyone’s minds. The cops and journalists wore masks, but many of the destroyers violated all the rules, their mindset being “nobody can tell us what to do.”

Anarchy frightens me. I get real scared when people are out of control.

Walking with Annie, I noticed how the greenery has grown like crazy in this spring of alternating sun and rain. Ferns, buttercups, berries, salal, wild daisies, and scotch broom are all growing willy-nilly, out of control, one might say, like those people. But plants are not like people because they don’t destroy anything for the sake of destruction. Animals either. They only kill so they can eat. They don’t rip things up for the hell of it. What is wrong with humans? For the first time in my life, I am beginning to believe Satan or at least some evil entity exists.

I know everyone is tired of sheltering in place. I know that masks are uncomfortable. I know people have lost their jobs and their income. Their kids can’t go to school, and we can’t visit each other, even in the hospital, and it sucks. I know that all these coronavirus precautions may seem like overkill, especially if we’re someplace like Newport which so far has only a few confirmed cases, but that’s no reason to start destroying things or fighting with each other.

I enjoyed our long walk. It’s gorgeous out here this time of year. But I’m scared, probably more scared of the anger than I am of the virus. I thank God I live out here in the woods with Annie, who never gets angry and who accepts the rules as necessary for our mutual health and comfort. Can’t leave without a leash? Fine. Have to wait to eat until Sue says grace? Fine. Have to leave the sticks outside? Oh, okay. Why can’t people be the same way?

Why are people rioting when most of us are just trying to stay alive? What will the COVID numbers look like two weeks from now? God help us.

Forgive the sermonette. I’m troubled. Pray if you believe. Whatever you believe, spread peace and love, not hate or coronavirus. Pass it on.

Venturing Out in Oregon’s Phase One

Okay, I did it. I ventured out into the new world of Lincoln County’s Phase One reopening. Parts of my journey were almost normal, parts very much not. Fear of COVID-19 still hovers everywhere.

Post office. Mask on. Rush in, grab my junk mail from the box, rush out.

Out to lunch! First time sitting in a restaurant since March 13. Sitting in my usual section at Off the Hook, just south of the Yaquina Bridge, I could look out the window at the La Quinta hotel across the street and the traffic on 101 and pretend nothing had changed.

I wore my mask in, but of course I couldn’t eat with it on, so I stashed it in my purse. At 11:45, I was the only customer.

The owner, a big guy with curly reddish hair, did all the hosting and serving, no sign of the usual servers. He wore a yellow mask and offered a paper menu that he tore up as soon as I had made my selection. They were still restocking, he explained. Items that he had in stock were highlighted in yellow. No problem. They had my crispy chicken sandwich with fries and iced tea.

He was exceedingly polite. Ma’am this and thank you that. I asked how he was doing in this crazy time. Doing the best we can, he said.

After noon, others arrived. It’s a seat-yourself place, but the owner moved one party, noting the COVID regulations. Have to spread out, he reminded them.

The food was delicious, as was the novel I was reading, Same Sweet Girls by Cassandra King. I drank enough iced tea to keep me awake for days. I ate every bite of French fry, every pickle, and every bit of breading that fell off my chicken.

A nearby TV screen played a Ducks-Beavers baseball game. I thought nothing of it at first, but then thought: wait, the universities are closed, and nobody is playing baseball now. Plus the two Oregon teams only play each other once a year. It’s a big deal and certainly not happening on an ordinary Wednesday in May. This game was a rerun.

It felt great to be out. I admired the neon beer signs on the wall opposite me and the soft country music easing out of the speakers. Maybe it was actually a lot louder; I wasn’t wearing my hearing aids. My hearing aid guy warns that many of his clients have lost hearing aids while putting on or taking off their masks. I wasn’t taking a chance.

I lingered, I read, I sipped tea.

Restroom? I thought about making a pit stop at home, the only facilities guaranteed COVID-free, but doing the math, I could see that all of the restaurant workers were male, and the two female customers had not left their booth, so the restroom was probably clean. I used it, taking my time washing my hands and drying them with the blow dryer.

Next stop, groceries. I’m getting used to the whole thing. The mask, sanitizing my cart, not touching what I don’t intend to buy. Who knew I was such a toucher? J.C. Market is considerably less hectic than Fred Meyer, although more expensive, and prices seem to have gone up. My bill was a shocking $181. I took my time at the store, too, browsing, picking up things I might need and things I definitely needed.

Most of the shoppers and staff were wearing masks. I have noticed the competition for cool masks is ramping up. Just wait till my music mask arrives in the mail. Meanwhile, I didn’t feel like I was suffocating this time.

At the checkstand, my cashier Paula was more relaxed, too. I had brought back the heavy plastic bags they sold me before. You’ll have to load them, she said. Fine. But then a bagger appeared and I let him do it. Soon I was back in the car slathering my hands with sanitizer.

My last stop was Poolside Jan’s, which sells spas and supplies for maintaining them. I needed bromine big-time. The water was starting to smell funky. Were they open? Sort of. A big sign on the door said: STOP. Customers were instructed to telephone and place an order which would be brought out to them. While I was listening to the phone ring, a worker pushed open the heavy door just enough to peek out. A table blocked passage. I told her I needed bromine tablets. Large or small? Large. $61, she said. Ouch. In a minute, she brought me the huge bottle and I passed in my debit card. I waited till she returned with card and receipt, then backed away for me to lean in and grab my bromine, card and receipt. “These are weird times,” she said. “Sure are,” I answered.

Coming out of the parking lot I almost ran head-on into a van coming out of the coffee kiosk across the street. Luckily, the other driver stopped and wound up following me onto southbound 101. At the stoplight, I took off my mask. Done. Whew.

Home. Some blue peeking through the clouds. Trees moving slightly in the breeze. Robin pecking for worms. Annie anxious for her walk as I put everything away.

Now it’s Memorial Day. This weekend, our coastal communities have been deluged with tourists, most of them not wearing masks or keeping their distance. It’s like trying to hold back a tsunami. We are still supposed to social distance, wear masks, and avoid congregating in groups. We are not supposed to travel more than 50 miles from home–all of Oregon’s big cities are more than 50 miles away–but the visitors are here.

The pandemic is not over. We have done so well up to now in Lincoln County. We have only had nine people testing positive for the virus, nobody dying, largely because the locals have stayed home and the tourists have stayed away. I’m afraid that’s going to change now. I enjoyed my foray into the world, but I will continue to limit my travels. I’ve got food, bromine, dog, guitar, Netflix, and Zoom. I’m staying home.

Have you gone back to normal activities at this point? Please share in the comments.

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