COVID 19: What Startles Me

 You know what makes me sit up and take notice?

The highway that runs past our apartment. It's a four-lane highway. Busy. Traffic night and day.

Years ago, it was the main channel leading to the only bridge across the Mississippi at Memphis. Heavily trafficked by all trucks and cars traveling cross-country through the mid-South.  Now, there are other, better bridges that cross the Mississippi between Tennessee and Arkansas. This highway below our apartment is no longer the conduit across the Mississippi, but it's still a fast way to move from downtown Memphis to the airport and diagonally through the city to the southeast.

Memphis on the Mississippi

I pretend that the whooshing back-and-forth from the highway below our balcony is the sound of the ocean. It's crashing and receding, crashing and receding. Predictable and constant.

When we moved into this apartment, my husband was particularly concerned about traffic noise. Said that it would bug him, a lot. He'd lived near a high traffic highway years ago, and it nearly drove him out of his mind. I, on the other hand, have never had that experience and was willing to deal with the traffic noise to get the best apartment we'd seen. It's bright and we have two balconies, a large one facing south (the busy highway with the airport in the distance) and a smaller one facing west, downtown and the Mississippi.

I figured we'd get used to the noise. We'd block it out...as insignificant white noise. I figured, we're on the fourth floor so it's not right outside our windows. When we're playing music, we can hardly hear it.

Today, there are sometimes gaps between the cars passing below. Sometimes a minute separates them. Maybe that doesn't sound like much, but it is distinctly different. Recently, I awoke in the night because something was wrong. What was it?

Graffiti by the 4-lane highway near us

I didn't hear any traffic! I held my breath and waited and waited to hear a car. Finally! And then I had to remain awake to be sure that the traffic would continue. The world is still turning. People are still going to work at the hospitals, police departments, groceries, pharmacies and Memphis Light, Gas and Water. The basic necessities to run a city are still operating.

Our apartment building's parking lot remains nearly full all during the work week. A few of our building's occupants are policemen and medical workers. The rest of us are apparently nonessential, or working from home, or are retired. That group would include my husband and me and one little white-haired lady.

I actually notice a little blip of optimism that gives me a start when I hear an obnoxiously loud vehicle drive by. It's gotta either be somebody that has been unemployed (and therefore should stay home) but is out doing ordinary things. How wonderful! Or is it?

OR it's a newly employed Amazon worker (the only company that's hiring) that is so busy he or she hasn't yet had the time or paycheck to fix the muffler. Probably nobody is fixing mufflers these days, anyway. Unless it's an emergency.

A muffler emergency? Hardly.

Where are these chickens' eggs?

There are a lot of things that won't happen unless they're an emergency now. Surgeries, dental work, optical exams. If hair braiding/extensions and fingernail artistry do not qualify as emergency services in Memphis, I predict that a lot of people will begin to look a little unkempt in a couple of weeks. I am still cutting Carl's hair and will revert to cutting my own hair again.

If we can't find a source for toilet paper in the next week or so, we will become desperate people.

I would love it if someone could explain to me why people are hoarding toilet paper. And eggs. I haven't heard any scientists say that diarrhea is a symptom of Covid 19. Nor have I heard anyone suggest that all of our chickens are going to die. In fact, aren't we counting on hundreds of thousands of eggs for scientists to make the vaccine for Covid 19? Is that the answer? Hordes of scientists are swooping into the grocery stores at dawn and buying up all the eggs? Highly unlikely, but then a couple of weeks ago, I would have thought a world-wide pandemic unlikely at this particular time, too.

I think about our friends wherever they are in the world. How many of us will become ill with Covid 19 in the next year? How many deaths of people that are important to me?

We realize now that it was fortuitous that we moved away from living on the boat when we did. If we had not, we would be somewhere in the Caribbean now, and unlikely to be able to leave.

Running for Grenada?

We have cruising friends that are stuck wherever they were when the pandemic struck. Antigua, Grenada, Portugal. Cruisers we know that were running hard to make it to Grenada before they closed their borders. No place else to go for a couple thousand miles.

I don't know anyone that is stuck in Italy. I am frightened for all those who are. Sailors are stuck because no other country will admit them now. Borders closed everywhere.

How many people will be cursing themselves for touching a door handle when they went to get groceries. For touching their face afterward. Or for standing too closely to the lady waiting in line for medication at the pharmacy? I think of all the times I have been annoyed at how exceedingly polite Minnesotans are when waiting in lines. Standing so far apart, I couldn't tell if they were in the queue at all. Now, I'm thinking...how smart those Minnesotans have always been. They've been practicing social distancing for generations.

Will I wonder...did a cough come from the homeless man who came up behind me when I was filling my gas tank? I didn't notice him until it was too late. He was asking for a few bucks for the shelter? Damn him. Will I become heartless? Frightened of my own family and friends? 

More than usual, I mean.

The Idiot Attempts to Take a Class

I learned shortly after arriving in Memphis that seniors (with a small “s”) in Tennessee may audit classes at schools of higher education, tuition-free! What an Awesome Deal! (with a capital “A” and “D”). So I jumped right on it.

Now, I am one of those (some may say “nerds”) who likes going to school. I just love the whole concept of sitting and listening while someone else dishes out information like it’s water bubbling up from an underground spring. I am intrigued by classes in Anthropology, Archaeology, Architecture and Art. And I haven’t even gotten into the “B” section of the Departments listed yet. It is also important to the telling of this story that I am notoriously challenged when it comes to navigating problems on the computer. I could confess to the number of times I have cried over my laptop but it would be too embarrassing for both of us. Suffice it to say, I approach computers with a prejudicial view that I cannot possibly succeed.

Spring 1978 -- I had room in my undergraduate schedule for one elective when I was in my Senior year and so I took a Drawing class. The professor thought I had real potential. “Tsk tsk,” he clucked when I told him I was actually majoring in Social Work. So, here I am, 42 years later, trying to register for a Drawing class at the U of Memphis. Take another look at that untapped potential.

In mid-November I applied to the U of Memphis as a non-degree seeking student. I sent in the paperwork and the $45 application fee via the USPS.  In December, I received an email that documentation was missing: a Tennessee D.L. and birth certificate or passport.  I scanned my Florida driver’s license and passport and emailed them to Admissions, plus filling out another whole application for admission. That was December 18^th. I was told that all documentation was received and I should be hearing soon from the Admissions Office.

December 23.  I received another email from Admissions. Documentation Missing, again…the D.L. and passport or birth certificate.  I worried about the fact that my drivers’ license is from Florida, but I couldn’t talk to anyone about that until Jan 2^nd since everything was shut down on campus. A little worried that I may not be admitted.

So over the Christmas break, I rescanned my documents along with a detailed explanation about how my legal address was in Florida because we had just moved here from the sailboat, and I had actually never lived IN Florida anyway. So, Memphis, Tennessee was my true residence.

Come January 2020. Another email from Admissions: Documentation missing…the same d*** D.L and passport or birth certificate. Unbelievable! I was visiting in Minnesota by that time. I called Admissions. Told them the name of the person with whom I had been emailing in December. Explained that I’d already sent this documentation twice. What more could I do? Exasperation in my voice. Undoubtedly. In fact, I can feel my throat tighten up now just thinking about it. The pleasant lady asked me politely to resend the documentation just one more time, please, to her. The FL D.L. was okay, but oddly enough, I do not carry my passport and birth certificate around with me while traveling in the U.S. Imagine that!

Side Note: Before we moved onto the boat, I used an app called Evernote and I scanned hundreds of documents…passports, D.L.s, Carl’s citizenship papers (he’s Canadian, by birth), Health Care Directives, Long-Term Care policies, insurance policies, marriage certificates, boat ownership, etc. including my birth certificate, into it. Yay! ßconsider this a fairly subdued “Yay” since my frustration level was elevated.  So, (groaning) I resubmitted the D.L. and birth certificate. (Current passport was never scanned into the app, Evernote. Admissions sent me another letter within 3 minutes…all was received. I had been accepted, but perhaps I should wait until I received the letter via email to register for the class.

So, it was Jan 8^th by then. Classes start at U. of Memphis on January 20^th.  Heightened anxiety creeping into my otherwise nice visit to Minnesota. Went on to my MacBook to return to the U of Memphis portfolio that I had made for myself when I applied in December and had received a 9 digit U#, otherwise known as an ID#.  My MacBook was not cooperative. I wanted to try to register for the class. I figured that within the U of M system, they would see that I’d been admitted. But, I could no longer get into my  portfolio.

Jan 8. Called the IT Dept. Was told that my problem was, “You don’t have an advisor.” He told me, “When you get an advisor you will be able to register.” I was skeptical about that and I told him so. I had read everything about non-degree students I could find. Nowhere did it say that non-degree students need an advisor. So, I was “helpfully” transferred to the Academic Advisory Office where I remained on hold for ~30 minutes.  Was then advised that I did not need an advisor. *%!&%**

Jan 9^th afternoon. My first available opportunity to resume efforts because, guess what? I do need to do other things while in MN aside from trying to register for just one fr***in class at U. of Memphis). I found the congratulatory admission letter in my email. Immediately tried to register for the Art class.  Nope. My MacBook continually gave me an error message, and it gave me questions to answer about my immunization record, which I had answered in previous paperwork!!? I called IT. The young IT person said “the reason you can’t register is because immunization documentation is missing.” Pffftt!! I told them that couldn’t be the problem. Admissions sent me my acceptance letter. The terribly young IT boy said, “Doesn’t matter. Records still have to be received.” D*** IT Dept! Was told to call back to Registrar’s Office.  Again.  Dutifully and with visions of strangling some young person in the IT Dept., I  followed IT’s direction. Called Registrar’s office…was on hold there~45 minutes!! “No, no immunization records needed. Tell IT it’s is a technical problem.”  Ayyeegggghh! Of course it is! And “it’s not me being an idiot,” I wanted to scream.

Jan 9^th. Called IT again. Explained that the system would not allow me to go where I needed to go, in order to register. A pleasantly unhelpful and technically meaningless phone conversation ensued. Was told to call the Registrar again. A very nice woman at the Registrar’s office took pity on me. Allowed me to walk her through what was happening with my MacBook. So she gave me the numbers for the class and I entered that into the system. The Class is closed.  The kind Registrar woman advised me to email the professor to request permission to get into the class anyhow.

"The Professor works part-time. "*$#@* Of course, she does!  “I hope she checks her email today,” she said. As of this moment, I am not yet registered for a class. Whether I will be registered by Jan 20 is anybody’s guess. Oh, and I discovered when I tried to request a parking permit that I will be sent one after I’ve registered.  This feels like some sort of wretched game using building blocks. Add two blocks, one falls off. Add two more blocks, a different one falls off the other side. Grrrr. But at least it’s not because I’m an idiot this time……

I’m pretty sure.

Weird Memphis

I don't consider a decorated garbage receptacle weird. It's creative.

There are some weird things I have noticed about Memphis. And when I say “weird,” I do not mean it in a pejorative way. I only mean to say, these are things that have surprised me, more than some other things in this new (to me) city.

A yard sign that reads:

“Obituaries by Tony. 

Starting as low as $95.”

This is a profession that I have never considered, but perhaps I should look into it. I’d especially like the challenge of “making a silk purse out of a sow’s ear” if the need arose.

I don't think this is weird either.
Rather, it is very clever.

Drivers that I call “hockey players” abound. Some drivers, while preparing to move into my lane in front of me, first spend time traveling within my lane right alongside me before finally completing the lane change. Perhaps only 8” away from my car door! It is terrifying! These drivers operate a lot like hockey players that swoop and swerve around and in between other skaters, cutting the corners as they zip past. We’ve had three near sideswipes in as many days.

Hattie B's, get yer hot chicken here

All doors on houses and commercial buildings sport the very same door, no matter whether it’s a shack or a mansion, the very same door. A ubiquitous heavy glass door with iron bars. Whatever company manufactures these doors has made a killing in the Memphis market.

Although we are in a city, there are too few options for someone with a penchant for sewing to purchase supplies. And the one, and only one genuine fabric store is 30 minutes away. Unbelievable!

Found parked next to our car. Not weird.
Just creative advertising.

Alternatively, there are lots and lots of restaurants around us. I googled “restaurants within 20 miles.” I stopped counting at 89 restaurants because there was no end in sight. Barbeque is sold at most of them, but only some of them sell take-out barbeque, which is something that is as commonplace as taking a shower. Maybe more so. (I don’t think you’re allowed to live in Memphis if you don’t like barbeque.)

New boots, to blend in.

All women wear black short boots when they go shopping, and apparently wherever else they go, as well. I finally bought some in an effort to blend in. Maybe this is a nation-wide phenomenon and I just don’t know it because I came here from a sailboat.

Many of the young people here wish they lived in a colder climate. You can tell who they are because they wear down coats and Ugg boots as soon as the temperature drops below 60 degrees.

Eating at Stone Soup, Midtown. My husband
loves a nice bowl of greens. I'm eating the
excellent grits in a bowl.

When entering certain grocery stores, I see people coming out with shopping carts filled with greens: mustard greens, turnip greens, collard greens…huge bundles of them. Are they feeding their entire neighborhoods? Can I live there?

Grits are delicious! Especially when made with bacon and butter. I felt compelled to buy some to make at home. If that’s not weird, I don’t know what is.

Our washer and dryer, conveniently
located on our balcony.

It is not unheard of to have a washer and dryer that lives outside. I can say this with confidence because ours are outside in a little room that is built on our balcony. So, yes, I go outside onto the balcony now to wash clothes. Even in the winter. I sure didn’t see that coming.

You can buy anything and I mean anything on Facebook Marketplace. Who knew? Sellers place the item on their front porch and the buyer drives up, slips the money under the Welcome mat or in the mailbox and takes the item away. The buyer and seller never even see each other. Genius!

I accidentally left my wallet lying on a display of Pepsi cans in a gas station in a neighborhood where I am told not to stop after dark. When I realized where I’d left it and returned to the gas station, my wallet had been turned in to the cashier and there was nothing missing! Gasp!

 

Prince Mongo's "Castle"

And lastly, the following is by far, the very weirdest of all. Without our awareness, we have moved next door to a well-known “castle.” Visitors always want to take a look at it from our west balcony. The “castle is owned by the self-named Prince Mongo. He is known citywide, even nation-wide. He has run in nearly every mayoral race in Memphis since 1991. He has lost each time, quite badly in fact. He has had strong disagreements with his neighbors over his front yard “artwork.” His artwork has included coffins, 50 toilets, mannequins, beach umbrellas and Christmas trees in February. He has stated that his Christmas changes “depending on the moon and the energy lines.” He has drawn attention to himself by howling at the moon from his rooftop, walking an invisible dog and always going barefoot, even in the winter. When he hears that somebody thinks he’s crazy, he states that he is, in fact, “misunderstood.”

Prince Mongo made national news when he appeared in court for violations of dumping trash in an enemy’s yard. The reason he made national news was because of his apparel in the courtroom: green body paint, a green cape, green goggles and he was wielding a rubber chicken. (It is unclear to me whether he was wearing anything under the green cape). When the judge ordered him to wear normal clothing in the courtroom he refused, and was jailed for 10 days and fined $13,875.

 

Built in late 1800's to
resemble a castle

The prince states that he is the 333-year-old Ambassador who came to Earth from the planet Zambodia. Prince Mongo’s mother, Mrs. Hodges (no royal title) would likely disagree and say that she named her son Robert. The prince is a former nightclub owner and owns several pieces of real estate here in Memphis. His other homes are in Virginia Beach and a million-dollar mansion in Fort Lauderdale. His stated plans for the future include starting a Zambodian Planetology Church, which he says, “will be a very interesting church.” (I can’t imagine anyone disagreeing with that prediction).

You can’t make this stuff up.

A Spate of Silly Bedclothes

Two people who had become accustomed to
wearing few clothes. And seeing lots of sun.

I am just now coming off a spate of wearing silly clothes to bed. Not tutus and clown suits, nothing like that, but clothing that most people (I am only guessing here) do not wear to bed. I mention this by way of explaining one of the awkward transitions to terrestrial life.

When we left Annapolis in our rearview mirror, our car was packed with as much of our property from the boat as was possible.  Our galley cookware and dishes would serve us in our new land-based kitchen. And we packed all of the cool weather clothing that we’d been carrying around on the boat for some years. There wasn’t much of it. There had been no need for cool weather clothing on the boat since 2015, and so it was stored very sensibly where it would remain out of our way, within vacuum-sealed bags next to the hull. Well, here’s the rub. In spite of that careful storage, apparently clothing that has not seen the light of day for quite some time takes on an aroma that is somehow more unpleasant than the place in which it has been stored. I don’t understand how that can be, but it is true, nonetheless.

 

My husband, Carl snorkeling at Thunderball Grotto, Exumas

Most people would probably just do some laundry, and get on with things, right? Well, I am not most people.  

We moved into our new 4^th floor apartment more than a week ago.  The owner of this building, eager to fill up all the units, provided an added incentive for us to take this apartment. He offered to throw in a free washer and dryer, something that would ordinarily be an additional charge.  I was thrilled! No more schlepping laundry around to a city laundromat or a marina washer and dryer where the process takes an entire morning or afternoon. Smiling broadly, I told my husband I’d hold out until the new washer and dryer was installed in our apartment before doing laundry again.

That might be Northern Star in background

The first days in our apartment saw the usual mild fall weather in Memphis. The washer and dryer had been ordered and would arrive on the following Monday. Meantime, however, Memphis entered into record-setting cold, as did much of the nation. Temperatures did not rise above freezing for several days running. Being from northern Minnesota, we were not overly impressed with the severity of the cold, but I admit to a few sardonic chuckles over the Memphis Weather News reports.

We were advised daily by the Weatherman’s sidekick to “Moisturize your skin in this dangerously cold weather.”  I don’t believe I’ve ever heard that cautionary advice in Minnesota.  Or maybe I wasn’t paying attention at the time. They also offered counsel from people who were working outdoors about how to dress for the bitter cold.  “Layers and layers and layers,” was encouraged. “And gloves.”

Blowholes and the highest elevation for miles, on
a hike around Warderick Wells

And then came the morning of blowing snow…in Memphis! People were astonished. The Weather Man encouraged driving slowly. “Increase the distance between your car and the one ahead of you.” Good advice. My husband was planning to run an errand that morning, and thoughtfully raised the question of whether he should postpone the trip until the snowplows had been out. I admit that I do appreciate my husband’s brand of sarcasm.

Our bedroom is the coolest room of the apartment with two sets of sliding glass doors. We have with us exactly one set of sheets and one lightweight comforter for our bed. My pajamas from our cruising life are one of those little numbers that adds no warmth whatsoever. I put it on out of habit and quickly decided I was cold. I scrounged around, sniffed all of the cold weather clothing once again, and finally put on the long pants that I had been wearing all day. Then I found the one fleece jacket from my cool weather clothing that fortunately did not smell too badly. And a pair of little shorty socks. It was not my finest hour in apparel.

The top of Boo Boo Hill, Warderick Wells, Exumas, Bahamas 2019

 The next night it was much the same. The same pants, but I added an additional T-shirt under the fleece zippered jacket.  I caught sight of myself in the mirror and thought of the Carol Burnett Show; remember that cartoon character of Carol mopping the floor that came out during the credits after the show. I was a cross between that cartoon washerwoman and your blind Great Aunt Edna, “Bless her Heart,” who cannot tell what clothing goes with what. Monday came, but no washer and dryer. I wasn’t about to give in to carrying everything to the open (cold) basement area where there are community washers and dryers. I’d made it that many days. Surely, it would be installed on Tuesday. It was not. At last on Wednesday afternoon the pair were installed. Life was good.

Me

I washed several loads of laundry, including those few odiferous items of cool weather clothing that we had hauled to Memphis with us.  And I did it without leaving our apartment. It felt luxurious.  That night I was able to wear indoor clothing to bed… no warm pajamas, of course, but a long-sleeved knit shirt and a pair of lightweight workout pants. And socks. Maybe only a little less silly looking but at least I didn’t smell like something that had been lying against the hull for years, just below the waterline.