Beachy Memorial Day . . .

Dear you,


Memorial Day, 2020.

A time to memorialize so much, so many.  A time to think about this quotation attributed to an “unknown” author:


“If you want to thank a solider, be the kind of American worth fighting for.”


I sometimes worry about my bourgeoise self in these approaching golden years and want to make sure I am doing more than “enjoying myself”.  Mission:  Make things better every day, in small or big ways.  “Things” covers a lot of ground, but I need space to productively roam.  I want to be fighting for something, always.  But the quotation prompted a head tilt.  Am I worth fighting for?  I suppose everyone is, including the beach sitters I captured on camera today:

I do not know these people.  They do not know me.  They might be here to honor this day or to celebrate nothing but “hey, the beaches and short-term rentals are open”.  In their eyes, I might be a spy documenting beach crowding for the local authorities or just a woman recording the moment for her blog.  We won’t really know one way or the other.  We just agree to share this space. 


Thank you to those who made it possible for us to even occupy this space!  I hope we are all worth fighting for.  May we all live with elegance and grace.  I’ll keep trying.

Love,

Joyce

Big babies on Earth 2

Dear you,


As the U.S. Covid-19 death toll exceeds 80,000 this hot May day, I feel like I live on Earth 2.  Granted, the notes from this zip code are always about strangeness, but during this pandemic, it has gotten stranger:


1. The construction dude working on a condo nearby pooh-poohed the existence of the virus, even now.

2. A real estate professional I chatted with today asserted our need for choice and those who might be in jeopardy should just stay home.  (Forever?)

3. Local TV news “episodes” pretty much mirror a Fox and Friends episode, lots and lots of smiling and spray tans. Everything is just fine kids!

4. Last week, I received a letter that appeared to be signed by a serial killer; upon further investigation, I found the missive was sent by POTUS.  This was a one-page tribute to his greatness, as written by him. (Of course, the letter was delivered by Awesome Alice, the USPS mail carrier that Trump wants to destroy.)

5. A Walton County idiot set the forest on fire last week; he just had to burn garbage during a no-burn, pandemic phase, sending evacuees to a school shelter where they had to sit in their cars and take Covid tests before entering.

6. And on Mother’s Day, I witnessed a group of big baby boys (I’d say around sixteen) trying on every pair of sunglasses at Publix, returning them to the stand covered with lovely hand and face germs.  Oh yes, they did.


Uh huh, this is Earth 2 during a pandemic.  Many locals are still just not connecting to the reality of Earth 1 (New York, etc.)  The immediate evidence they see/hear “proves” that “only old folks die.”  (I just cannot respond to that little bit of barbarity.) So, whatever. And I get it; they rebel against restraints when there seems to be no real danger.  Boy do I get it because I am strolling around here in Seagrove Beach and the sun is shining, the sky is blue, people are on bikes, and the boring postcard atmosphere is the same.  The same!!!!   The same!!!!  


What I don’t get are tantrums thrown by those claiming a loss of freedom due to beach shutdowns (now over) or bar closings or kitchy six-foot distance markers in grocery stores.   Big babies throwing freedom tantrums, exercising their right to make every pair of sunglasses at Publix GO VIRAL.

Babies.


Well, it could be worse.  At least they weren’t carrying assault weapons too, a standard accessory on Earth 2.


Love to you all on Earth 1.  Wish us luck and enlightenment here in this benighted place that seems so AOK.  For the moment.

XO

Joyce

Committment issues . . .

Dear you,

Happy May Day.  Is that appropriate?


Probably not, considering our Covid world.  However, this is the workers’ day.  And I can only echo litanies of praise for those nurses, doctors, mental health folks, food suppliers, cops, firemen/women etc., those committed workers who keep us going.


Committed.  Commitment.  


Where do we all fall on the commitment curve?  Time for self-reflection.

Commitment to some non-specific outcome or future.  Uhm, not something I do well.  Yes, I have committed myself to goals, academic, professional, or even physical.  But those were easy because they seemed so tied to present reality; the pursuits produced immediate pleasure pay-backs. On the other hand, these actions give me a “commitment itch”, apparently promising zero endorphin rushes:

      1.  Stocking up on toilet paper.

2.  Signing up for Medicare.
3. Taking Vivo cat to the Vet.
4.  Maintaining connections with more than four people.
5.  Buying a stupid house.


Don’t be alarmed about Vivo.  She is in fabulous shape and living a fluffy queen life.  And don’t be alarmed for me either.  I will do what I must when life puts a metaphorical gun to my head.  However, that toilet paper thing is a mystery.  Never, ever in my life have I purchased anything larger than a 4-roll pack.  Even during Covid-19 hoarding.  What does this mean?  Am I imagining that in time I will outgrow the need to eliminate waste?  


Maybe I just live for the moment.

Maybe I just live . . .

Maybe I just quote show tune song lyrics:       “Hey, maybe I’ll dye my hair/maybe I’ll move somewhere/maybe I’ll get a car/maybe I’ll drive so far they’ll all lose track/me . . . I’ll bounce right back . . .”  (Best Little Whorehouse in Texas 😊)

Or maybe I’ll simply accept the fact that, in my case, commitment might just be a ball and chain.  


I know what to do.  And I will do it when I am damn well ready.  So, if other survival oriented, pandemic driven shoppers look askance at my little basket of goods with the tiny four-roll pack of Angel Soft, they just need to fall back:

That is just not me.  

Maybe I just live for the moment.  Or for however long those four rolls last.

Love,

Joyce