My whiny list

As far as I know, I'm not a whiner by nature. I'm mostly an optimist. But now I think I'm joining many millions of people who feel the same way I do. Maybe we should call ourselves the Worldwide Whiners Society.

Whine #1: I want to go to an air conditioned restaurant full of people and complain about how noisy it is.

#2: I want to throw all of my masks in the trash. Or at least the recycle bin.

#3: I want to have six friends to my house for dinner. Inside, and closer than six feet.

#4: It is summer in the Tucson desert. I want to be able to walk or ride my bike any time of the day instead of very early in the morning. I am not a morning person.

#5: I want to go to a real life church service. And a real live continuing education class. And a real live AA meeting. Zoom helps, but not really.

#6: I want to greet every friend I have with a long hug.

#7: I want to swim in a pool in the evening. The one in our retirement community closes at 4 because there aren't staff on duty after that to do the every-two-hour sanitizing thing.

#8: I want to see at play at the Arizona Theatre Company sitting between my husband Art and my good friend Ellen. We have season tickets we probably won't be able to use.

#9: I want to participate in the march on Washington instead of staying home because flights are too crowded and I'm an "elderly".

#10: I want to fly to Greece just one more time to volunteer with refugees.


On the other hand, my optimist side is grateful:

Grateful #1: We have A/C in our little Tucson place.

#2: I've got about eight masks, and I like them all.

#3: I have way more than six friends in my life - in Tucson and in Seattle and in other places in the country and around the world.

#4: I have an e-bike and there is a great bicycling loop in Tucson and my bike will get me around in the hills of Washington State.

#5: I have a church that feels like home, and continuing education classes available in both Tucson and Seattle, and AA meetings in both places that I love.

#6: I am a good hugger.

#7: There are multiple swimming pools nearby and I can use them just about any time of day except in the evening.

#8: I love the theatre, and there are excellent venues in both Tucson and Seattle. And I can afford season tickets.

#9: Even though I'm an "elderly" I've found joy in volunteering with refugees and asylum seekers and people in conflict with each other.

#10: I have a bunch of destinations still on my travel bucket list, and as long as I keep myself safe and healthy I'm likely to get to them all.


It's about perspective, you know. And this too shall pass.

How I'm spending my stimulus money

I got my stimulus money early on - $1,200 - and I am one of the lucky people who didn't need it. I spent some time thinking about how I could best use it. First I checked with our eight grown children. I told them to let me know if they needed help, but none of them did.

I got several recommendations to contribute to a food bank, and I considered it, but I knew many other people would be doing that. Instead, I wanted to help an individual or a family. So I left the money in my bank account and waited.

*****

In 2016 and 2017, I volunteered four times at Oinofyta, a refugee camp in Greece. During my days there, I came to know, or at least recognize, many of the 400 refugees who lived at the camp. The Oinofyta experience changed how I look at the world.

Here is some of what I learned in Greece: http://bagladyinwaiting.blogspot.com/2016/09/what-did-i-learn-in-greece.html

And here is one of the refugees' stories: http://bagladyinwaiting.blogspot.com/2016/11/abdul-tells-me-his-story.html

And then there was Mukhtar.

When I first saw him, he was playing chess on the dock of the warehouse. I'd been told he was 17 - an unaccompanied minor - and that both of his parents were dead and he was traveling to France to be with his older brother. He was one of many refugees who had intended to pass through Greece on their way to other European destinations, but had remained in camps in Greece when the borders to the other European countries had been closed.

I didn't have a conversation with Mukhtar until my fourth trip to Oinofyta, in August of 2017. I was filling in as camp manager while Lisa Campbell, the feisty and gifted creator of the Oinofyta community, returned to the US for a two-week speaking tour. At Oinofyta, the families lived in rooms downstairs, and the single men lived upstairs in four dormitories. The families needed to sleep and to feel safe, and separating them from the 82 single men was a good way to do that. As a single man - though still a minor - Mukhtar lived upstairs.

One day he came into the camp office. He was angry. I knew a conversation was needed, but I don't speak Farsi, and my two regular translators were not around. Who was available was Karolina, an aid worker who spoke English and Greek, and Abed, who spoke Greek and Farsi. And Mukhtar spoke Farsi. So we had our conversation via two translators. I spoke to Karolina in English, she spoke to Abed in Greek, and he spoke to Mukhtar in Farsi.

Mukhtar said he wanted to be moved downstairs because it was too noisy in the upstairs dormitories. But Lisa had requested that no room changes be made until she returned. When I told him that, his eyes flashed with anger. Seventeen years old, remember? Then he added that he was in pain because he had a hernia, and he'd seen three doctors, and none of them would help him because there were other people with hernias that needed attention sooner. I suspected that could have been true, or it might have been doctors frustrated and overwhelmed by the flood of refugees needing medical attention.

One of the camp doctors had walked in during the conversation. When he heard Mukhtar's story, he said, "I have a doctor friend who can help you. I will set you up for an appointment on Tuesday." Mukhtar said, "No one will help me so I won't go." Seventeen!

I said, "Mukhtar, if you will go to the doctor and tell me about it when you get back, I will give you chocolate." I kept candy in one of my desk drawers just for the volunteers, but I would make an exception in this case for a 17-year-old. Mukhtar's eyes flashed again, this time with humor, and his face lit up with a smile.

He went to the doctor on Tuesday, got scheduled for surgery, told me about it, and got his candy.

After that, when I'd see Mukhtar, I'd say "chocolate" and he would grin. And when I left the camp I gave him a hug.

Three months later, before I could return to Oinofyta again, the camp was closed down by the Greek government. The residents were dispersed to other camps or apartments in Athens.

After my time in Greece, I kept in touch via Facebook with a few of the residents: Samim, Baloo, Mahdi, and Nasar. But I lost touch with Mukhtar, and I didn't know his last name. So I asked one of the men if he knew where Mukhtar was, and I got his full name so I could find him on Facebook and friend him.

Here is how the first conversation went:

Me: Hello! How are you?
Mukhtar: Hello I'm good and you?
Me: Good! Where are you now?
Mukhtar: I'm now at the camp isishsto
Me: I think you are the person I am looking for. Did you live at Oinofyta?
Mukhtar: Yes I was at oinofyta camp.
Me: Did you ever talk to me in Lisa's office?
Mukhtar: Mom shokolat
Me: Ah! You write very good English! Do you also understand it?
Mukhtar: Yes now is good my English
Me: I think you understood it when you got chocolate!

!!!

Several months later, I decided to sent Mukhtar some chocolate, though I knew he could buy it in Greece. It would be a gesture of connection, I thought. Mukhtar gave me the Athens address of an aid worker I knew, Jess, who would deliver the candy to him. I asked him what his favorite kind was and he said Snickers. So I went to Costco and bought two bags of miniature Snickers bars. I put them in a sturdy mailing envelope and sent them off. The postage cost $23 and the package took three weeks to arrive in Athens, and the candy was undoubtedly smashed and melted. Jess could have bought it in Athens for far less. But when it arrived Mukhtar said, "You are the first person to get me this gift."

I do not know the story of why Mukhtar left Afghanistan, or about his journey. A person will tell that story when they feel comfortable, but it's not something to ask about. Lisa (the Oinofyta camp manager) and Jess (the aid worker) know his story. If I'm supposed to hear it, Mukhtar will tell me. Otherwise, it is his business, and I will maintain a connection with him simply because he is a 20-year-old refugee on his own - about the age of four of my grandchildren.

Since that time, Mukhtar left Greece and moved to France to live with his older brother. He went to high school where, he told me, he was treated the same as all the other students. He enjoyed all his classes: French, English, computers, math, and drawing.

I checked in with Mukhtar in mid-March this year. He needed to find a place to live - his older brother had returned to Afghanistan - and he couldn't work because of the virus. He was a mechanic by now. He asked if I could help him. He had found a room he could rent for a month for 250 euros (about $280). He said if I could help him for two months, he would be able to get a job after that, when the country opened back up.

I said yes. And now, in June, I have sent him rent money for three months. He is now sending out resumes all over the city, actively looking for work.

That is how I am spending my stimulus money.

I know there is a small chance I am being taken advantage of by a clever young refugee. But I doubt it. And even if that were the case, the money I am sending to him is worth it to me. It is something I can do for a person who needs it more than I do. I believe we are all in this together, and we are all the same.

I asked Mukhtar today if I could include his picture in this post, or if he would prefer I didn't. He said no. So I'll simply describe him as a young Afghan man, rather tall, with dark hair and eyes, and eyes that flash with anger or humor, and a beautiful smile.

Observant in Seattle

Two mornings ago my husband Art and I flew from Tucson to Seattle. I will be here for ten days and Art will be here for 32. We are beginning the remodel of the daylight basement in our home in Brier. We are creating a light and bright studio living area for ourselves, and we plan to live there during the summer months. One of our sons, Jason, has relinquished the basement and now lives only on the main floor upstairs with his family. It will be a win-win, as we will have no stairs to aggravate my arthritic back and they will have a reasonable rent where our grandson Kaleb can continue to go to school with his friends.

It was a big deal for me to get on the airplane. I know that, though Tucson has opened up somewhat, Seattle has not. Washington has a four-phase opening process for counties based on multiple criteria. About half of the counties - mostly rural - are opening up.

But not King County, where our Seattle airbnb is located. And not Snohomish County, where our family home is. One of the required criteria to move to Phase 2 is that a county have fewer than 10 new confirmed coronavirus cases per 100,000 residents across a 14-day span. Right now King County has about 39 and Snohomish County has about 31. So it will be a while before people can emerge from their homes for other than essential business.

The flight itself felt very safe. We were required to wear masks from the time we entered the airport in Tucson to the time we emerged from the terminal in Seattle. We had acquired N95 masks some time ago from a friend. On the plane, everyone had a window seat and an empty aisle seat. Everyone wore masks - both passengers and crew. Only bottled water and a small packaged snack was served. The crew wore gloves and collected trash several times during the three-hour flight. Social distancing was observed by everyone on the shuttle bus and at the car rental checkout. I read that this week marked an uptick in the number of people flying in the US, so I guess we're part of the trendsetting travelers.

We've rented an airbnb in Ravenna, a Seattle neighborhood just north of downtown. It's an older place currently being renovated, with creaking hardwood floors and a steep interior stairway. We're sleeping in the smallest bedroom because it's on the ground floor. It's about a 20-minute drive to Brier.

I'm normally a law-abiding, compliant person. So coming up here for the beginning of the remodel, when all around me people are staying home or wearing masks when they venture out, made me hesitate. I really thought Phase 2 would have begun by now. But we've hired the worker for the remodel - my son James - and Art will be doing the electrical work. So we are being as compliant as we can.

In Tucson, on Thursday, people were out and about, some wearing masks and some not, in the 90-something degree sunshine. In Seattle, on Friday, traffic was light and it was 60 degrees and, in the grocery store, everyone wore a mask. So we are adjusting for our time in Seattle.

It feels odd to not give my sons, daughter-in-law and grandson a hug, and to keep my distance. But Art and I are among the vulnerable "elderlies". I suspect that when I return to Tucson next week I'll quarantine myself to keep my Arizona friends safe.

Our Brier garage is full of our stuff - everything from the upstairs has been put in boxes and stored there, along with miscellaneous things like vacuum cleaners and fans. I'll be selling or giving away most of it. Just this morning someone bought our Bowflex, office desk and office chair. They pick it up tomorrow. I'm more inclined to get the job done than to make a lot of money, so the buyer - she took all three items - got an excellent deal and I cleared a bunch of space. When the remodel is complete - hopefully by the last half of July - we'll drive back up here for a few months, and I'll spend more time clearing the contents of the garage. The goal, as always, will be to have enough space in there to park my car. But maybe not.

Stay safe!

Lockdown gratitudes

This is an unprecedented and weird time. Still, good things do happen.

1. The heat has arrived early in Tucson; it was over 100 degrees twice last week, and the upcoming week has more of the same. But the A/C in our little place works fine. We set the thermostat at 78 and we are fine. I'm grateful we've agreed on 78 rather than 84.

2. I go for an eight-mile e-bike ride every morning and another one most evenings in our retirement community. I ride with my friend Ellen. We maintain social distance while chatting about the news and whatever else comes up. I'm grateful for the constancy of a good friend.

3. Ellen and I started riding at 10 a.m. until a couple of weeks ago, then changed the start time to 9, then 8:30, then 8:15, then 8:00. We want to be back before it gets hot. I am not a morning person, but I am willing to become one for the next few months so we can take our morning ride.  I'm grateful for the motivation to get out in the cooler morning air.

4. We ride at about 6 in the evening and some days we witness the most magnificent Arizona sunsets. Really, the sky here stretches from horizon to horizon, with few trees or hills to interrupt. Sometimes I have to stop and just watch the sunset. I'm grateful for red and orange fire in the sky.

5. This week Larisa's vet agreed to give her a haircut. Larisa is a Siberian forest cat with a triple coat, and she was moping around, looking like a hedgehog and lying on the laundry room floor to keep cool. Since she got home from the vet, her body shorn and looking more like a rodent, she has spent a lot of time curled up on my lap. Adjusting to these changes in body temperature takes time, I guess. I'm grateful that the vet deemed Larisa's comfort an essential service.

6. My husband Art does the grocery shopping and he always brings me about five pounds of grapes. I take them off their stems and put them in baggies to freeze. They make a wonderful popsicle-like snack. I'm grateful for something I like almost as much as ice cream.

7. No one in my retirement community has gotten the virus, as far as I know - and I'm pretty sure I would, the way "news" travels - and I'd say about 80 percent of us are observing social distancing and about 50 percent of us are wearing masks. We wish the pools were open, and the restaurant, and the pickleball courts, and all the other facilities, but the management decided to keep us safe instead. I can live with that, and I'm grateful that it's fairly easy for me to be a good sport.

8. Last week Ellen and I got in her car and went to a drive-through place for a Sonoran hot dog, which we were both craving. She was in the front seat on the driver's side with her mask on, and I was in the back passenger seat with my mask on. We got our food and found a shady place to eat it, still sitting in the car. Then we went to a take-out place for two scoops of ice cream (she says $17.50 was way to much to pay and we should never go there again, and maybe we won't, but BOY was that ice cream good!). Ellen said she felt like my driver and I said I'd give her a big tip, and she laughed. Ellen is the only person I have been in a car with, except for Art, since this all started. Even when she and I ride our bikes on the Tucson Loop, we take two cars with our bikes on separate racks, and meet at the trailhead. I'm grateful to have a friend who shares my thoughts about keeping safe.

9. I had an MRI last week to look at my lower back. I'm grateful that the experience is much less harrowing than the ones I had nine years ago. The tube was twice as large, I got to choose the music that came through my headphones, the technician told me what was going on the whole time. And I'd worn my mask into the facility. Once I was lying down I just moved it up from my nose and mouth to cover my eyes so I didn't have to look. It was almost - not quite, but almost - a meditative experience! 

10. I don't have the virus, and neither does anyone else I know. I am grateful!

Lessons in sheltering

It's been over a month and both of us are still healthy in our little place in Tucson. Here's what I'm learning:

1. I'm content indoors most of the time, since I spend a lot of time reading and on the computer. I have to have Alexa set the timer for half an hour or I would remain in my recliner for hours. I've set up a daily plan alternating "in the recliner" and "not in the recliner" activities.

2. I mostly like not having places to go. Usually I'm out and about, with activities and meetings, driving for half an hour to gathering places. Since we began sheltering in place, we've only needed one of our two cars.

3. I haven't volunteered at a shelter in over six weeks. The combination of a locked-up border and the risk of gathering during the time of coronavirus has shut down the shelter. I thought I would miss it, but I don't.

4. The idea of contact tracing sounds interesting, so I've filled out an application to help with that - either paid or as a volunteer - for Pima County, where Tucson is located. I would help at the food bank, but my age makes me part of the vulnerable population. I would help make masks, but I lent my sewing machine to a friend nearly 20 years ago and have not missed it once. I remember a line from a sonnet by John Milton, "They also serve who only stand and wait." Mostly I'm sitting and waiting, but I am willing.

5. There is no way I can persuade people in my community to do social distancing if they're not doing it now. I can just keep them off my porch. I have heard people say, "Well, this whole thing of sheltering in place is overkill. There isn't any virus in our little community." I want to say, "That's because MOST OF US ARE DOING IT." It doesn't seem to be related to a person's politics. They just want to be able to use the pools, or the pickleball courts, or the golf course, and they don't think it should be such a big deal.

6. On Friday I rode 30 miles on my e-bike. The bike rides are exercise but they are also a relief from the current restrictions. I don't mind wearing a mask. I ride with my good friend Ellen. Neither of us have been around anyone else for the last six weeks, and we observe social distancing with each other.

7. It's nice to have distractions: cancellation and rebooking of our bike-and-barge trip in the Netherlands and Belgium from May 2020 to June 2021; planning for a May trip to Washington to begin the basement remodel of our Brier house, set to be done this summer but dependent on the limitations of the virus.

8. My right hip would be bothering me whether I were sheltering in place or not. But it, too, sometimes keeps my mind off the limitations of sheltering.

9. I'm surprised at how normal it feels already to wear a mask, to stay six feet apart from people I meet on the street, to run Clorox wipes over surfaces anyone else has touched.

10. I'm grateful we have the resources to get through this without hardship.

One day at a time. This too shall pass. And all the other things we say.

Sheltered

So, here we are, staying home in our 620-square-foot park model trailer in Tucson. Not returning to our place in Seattle for some undetermined number of weeks or months. Going nowhere except for acquiring food or medication. And riding bikes for exercise.

I have been in a couple of 12-step programs for over 20 years. I know I am powerless over the current situation, and that what we're going through now is truly one day at a time.

Very fortunately, I have a laptop. So I can

• Connect with friends and family
• Make purchases online
• Keep up with the news
• Work on the taxes when I get motivated enough

I have a six-inch stack of magazines to read. And half a dozen books.

I am getting reacquainted with my inner introvert.

I know that we are all in this together, and that we are all the same. I actually knew it four years ago, when I first started volunteering with refugees and asylum seekers. I suspect that many millions of people are learning it now, and I think that is a good thing.

I hope with all my heart that we learn from this global tragedy and that, once we're up and running again, we leave behind some of our useless or destructive ways and institute new practices for the good of all of us.

Viral thoughts

Three weeks ago I had planned a three-day trip to visit grandkids in Spokane. Looking at the news coming from China a week later, I canceled my airbnb and my Southwestern flight. Good thing, too. The grandkids and their family are working long, long days in the Grocery Outlet they own. I told the grandkids' mom I'd be glad to come and help in their store, but I was an "elderly".

It seems very weird to be an elderly in these times. I feel some gratitude that the whole world is shutting down for the sake of keeping us older people alive. Like we're all in this together. Finally. I hear some younger people are protesting. I might have felt the same way when I was their age.

I see signs of a crisis bringing out the best in us. Young people volunteering to run errands for older people. Churches going online for their services. Facebook connections revitalized as we check in on each other. Donations and grants from the large and small. 

I have a sister and two sons who are nurses in the Pacific Northwest. I know they signed up for this kind of crisis when they graduated from nursing school. They are the heroes right now. My sister told me this morning that she will flog me if I touch anything when I go for my walk. I believe her!

Other heroes? All the people who are still working but not from home. All the people working from home, surrounded by their out-of-school kids.

Today I offered a squirt of hand sanitizer to the Amazon delivery driver, and he thanked me.

I live in Tucson right now, and so far there are relatively few cases. Give it a few more days, I'm thinking. My husband has always been a quantity shopper, and right now I'm profoundly grateful for that. 

Our Washington house is about eight miles for the nursing home in Kirkland that's been in the news. I was there a couple of years ago visiting a friend. Five of our kids live in the area. So far they are all okay.

We have a European bike-and-barge trip paid for in May. Guess what? Right now that seems pretty unimportant. 

My calendar is almost completely empty and I am okay with that.

In a way, this time feels like when we were volunteering in a refugee camp. Everyone there was living with unknowns, trying to stay safe, trying to keep their children safe. So much uncertainty. So dependent on the generosity of others. 

So here we are, living with unknowns. Let us be community.