Especially the social norm in your own home.
My sweet, beautiful wife is a bit OCD during normal times. Now, she vacuums the house twice a day. There's only the two of us. And, the dogs.
Oh, we have our own dog. Bullitt. A greyhound rescue. 65 pounds of muscle and bladder. Don't know how he does it. But, when I take him on his twice a day walks, he'll whiz enough that would make Secretariat proud.
And then, there's the second dog. Roscoe. Perfectly named for a Chihuahua and Lord knows whatever mix. Rescued from the pound for Lea's dad.
If Covid-19 wasn't enough fun, both Lea and I have fathers still alive at ages 93 and 94. And, their daily adventures are especially fun in a time of social distancing.
Since the quarantine in Texas, we've had Joe (Lea's dad) at our house for dinner every night.
On a normal week, he goes to a casual seafood restaurant about a mile from his house six nights a week. It's an order at the counter and wait for your name to be called kind of joint. Except for Joe. He's met at the door with a frozen margarita, escorted to a table and then brought his Joe's Special: two fried shrimp, three pieces of sausage and two skin-on new potatoes. It can take him an hour to get thru this. The peeling of the potatoes is especially deliberate so that he can pour enough salt on those little white mealy balls of starch. We think the pound of salt he consumes daily is what's preserved him and keeps him so healthy.
Last Friday, Joe arrived at our house and I had his margarita ready for him. Within minutes he was cold and shivering. Then uncontrollably shivering. Then disoriented. Couldn't stand up. But, no fever. We called 911 and the heroes were here in seconds. We were all scared to death it was the Covid. Ambulance ride to the hospital. Of course, he's as confused as all get out and we can't be with him. Luckily, it wasn't the Covid. It was a UTI, otherwise known as a urinary tract infection. He's been in the hospital since and we think getting sent home today.
Which brings me back to Roscoe. As Joe has been in the hospital, we've had Roscoe. He's cute and sweet and fun until he pees or poops in the house or escapes and goes on a neighborhood jaunt. Which happens almost daily. We're gonna get animal control called on us soon. Did I mention he likes to sleep in the bed with us? And snuggle your head? And then get completely under the covers?
Which shifts my thoughts to my dad. If you ever met him, you know he's not hot-headed at all. Mr. Calm. Until last Saturday. He'd been confined to his room in his assisted living facility. Family not allowed to visit. So, on Saturday he plans the great escape. And he sort of did it. Except that when he went out the side door he tripped and fell and that's where the staff found him. Thankfully, after another ambulance trip to the ER, it was determined that no bones were broken. Sore, but no serious injuries. Then, great minds went to work. It seemed like such an odd thing for dad to do. So, we all began to wonder, could he have a UTI as well?
Well bust my buttons and call me Biscuits. He did have a UTI. The UTI story has us all amazed and more than a bit confused. How on earth does that happen? But then, how on earth is the whole world shut down by a microscopic thing that has killed less people than the flu?
So during this Groundhog Day existence, one runs out of things to do. Unless you're my wife. Spring Cleaning Olympics has been going on here. The office. Files. Bathroom. And, oh yes, the carpets.
Did I mention that we were just starting a bathroom remodel when the bug hit? Three weeks of living in the guest bedroom and bath. And, every friggin thing that has been stuffed in bathroom drawers and chest and cabinets for the last umpteen years sitting in boxes and bags on the grandkids playroom floor.
One of my tasks was to sort thru and discard what wasn't wanted or needed in the crap that came out of my side of the bath. I sort of thought we'd just stuff that crap back in where it was and no one would be hurt or any the wiser. But, no.
Some of the stuff I found was useful. Some pretty cool. Some I had no idea where it came from.
Like a bottle of Dolce & Gabbana Sport spray cologne. I haven't worn cologne for years. And I know I never used this stuff.
But, curiosity got the best of me, and I spritzed some on my neck. Oh. My. Goodness.
It was like I was caught in an invisible bubble of funky smelling, strong like bull vapor. Coughing, sneezing. And, it lasted. And lasted. And . . .
I was thinking about throwing the bottle away. But then it hit me. This could be our new home defense program. If the zombies or the G men try to enter the house during this long running Home Alone sequel, they'll be repelled by Dolce and pummelled by Gabbana.
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