slowly she turned

what to do what to do what to do

A little over a week since the beginning of the end of human history, I am emerging from a fog of fever and phlegm: the virus that hit both of us and numbed us both somewhat for over a week. Sandy less so; his coughing has not been as out of control and his anger not as tamped down. With him still under doctor’s orders not to drive and me spending most of my time in bed trying to snatch a few hours of cough-free sleep here and there, except for the loud fits of hacking, it’s been a quiet week at Casa O’Neill. There’s been much consumption of canned soup and hot tea.

I guess I actually had more hope than I thought I had.

Now, as things begin to penetrate a little more, my INTJ brain is searching for all the contingency paths forward, but I see nothing as safe.

I read a little bit of Heather Cox Richardson or Joyce Vance every day or so to keep up. Maybe a little Wonkette. A little bit of the Guardian US. I say to myself that I’m going to let all the political news go. My therapist would suggest this. I haven’t made an appointment with her because 1) what’s the point and 2) I can’t talk without starting a coughing fit.

Big trips abroad are likely out for the foreseeable future as we reassess our finances and wait to see what happens. Sandy has not depended on his Social Security but I have. I had a great year as far as travel this past year, so I am grateful that I got to see the Scottish Highlands and Cornwall at least one more time. It may well be that we will be fine staying here in our little paid-for Craftsman bungalow in blue Greensboro, NC, where the climate is mild compared to most other places. It may well be that we are already in our final destination. Acceptance is going to be an ongoing mission.

In a fit of positivity on Halloween, I signed a three month contract for a small studio space in 205 Collaborative downtown, an artist co-op in a former industrial building. It’s $200 a month and I’m committed through the end of January. I love the funky industrial vibe there and the diversity of artists, and it is a short drive or bus ride or doable walk away. I spent four blissful days cleaning the space, moving stuff upstairs to it, and weaving on my cat tapestry, which I am now thinking of calling “Tangled.” I only spent a few hours each day because I was being careful not to hurt my back and because I am the driver in the family until Sandy gets cleared for take-off.

Then this virus hit on late Monday last week – Sandy already had a milder version of it. Why I got hit with both barrels, I don’t know. A side lesson in acceptance…I finally had to accept that I didn’t have control of this thing and it’s not going to respond how I think it should and it will take it’s own sweet time, thank you very much, until it decides that it is done with me. Humbling me further.

I had to reschedule Pablocito’s vet visit, the first in seven years, from last week to yesterday. I wasn’t totally surprised that he needed dental work, but the extent of it shocked me. He was still eating and he didn’t have bad breath. Dr. Hunt says that all of remaining teeth have to come out except for his fangs. She will sew flaps over his gums. Poor fella’s rejection of every new food after a couple of days was that he would associate the new taste with pain. The good thing is that other than that, he is as healthy as I thought he was. It’s gonna be expensive.

So that’s scheduled just before Thanksgiving. He needs to wait two weeks after his vaccinations, and I have a morphine-based pain medication to give him until then. We’ll be in Greensboro for Thanksgiving and possibly Christmas, I don’t know. Usually we spend Thanksgiving at Lake Waccamaw.

I got a email from John C. Campbell Folk School saying that I didn’t get chosen for a scholarship again. I may stop trying there and concentrate on other opportunities. They probably don’t want retired white women – they have enough of that demographic.

I’m going to have a few pieces in Preston Wiles’ Emerging Artist Show at the Continental Club mid-December through mid-January.

There’s an art retreat in Alexandria in late April that Leighanna Light, one of my favorite artist/teachers, is going to be at. That’s a nice train trip for me and I may try to make that happen. I’ve already paid for classes with Seth Apter and Leighanna’s husband, Thomas Ashman, at Art & Soul in Harrisburg, PA in mid July. That’s is somewhat refundable, if I have to do it, but since it is money spent and I have enough United miles to fly there, I may go ahead and do it and stay in a cheap hotel.

I’ve had to delete all the enticing emails about other art retreats – the bombardment at this time of year is titillating and disheartening at the same time.

Books: I finished reading the excellent “The Weight of Cloth” by my friend Dee Mallon, which told the story of a couple of decades in the life of Eliza Lucas Pinckney and the slave women around her through their voices. A tricky subject for a white writer to tackle, and yet she did it with poetry, grace, and didn’t skimp on the sorrow and brutality. I zipped through “Fourth Wing,” a sexy fast-paced fantasy novel by Rebecca Yarros, the escapist reading I needed during the past week. I’m reading “Rebecca” by Daphne Du Maurier, which I could have sworn that I had read before, but now I don’t think so. My new Libby check-out is “Tom Lake” by Ann Pratchett.

Still watching reruns of “Northern Exposure” but I can’t focus on any other movies or TV. Will I ever get that back?

I don’t think I’ll make it to the studio today. I did manage to go for a couple of hours yesterday afternoon and weave. It was a bit chilly and reminded me that this space is not heated or air conditioned, and I’ll have to lug a heater up there on the next trip. We’ll pick up Pablocito’s pain meds, our meds, and maybe some take-out food and set my sights on tomorrow.