I'll be glad when it's over but I'll miss it when it's gone

I sit at my worktable with my stockinged feet ensconced in a polyester fleece pillowcase containing two socks filled with cheap rice that I heated for two minutes in the microwave. This is the poor man's foot warmer. After ten years, the device I sewed myself sprung a leak and dribbled a trail of rice between the kitchen and my desk before I finally caught on. Tied off socks work pretty well, although as the rice is gradually pulverized by my feet, tiny bits of rice filter through the socks. Even doubling up the socks has not stopped the rice dust from coating the inside of my microwave (and probably my entire apartment).

It's winter at the Love Shack. A strangely warm winter so far, above average temperatures, so why am I so cold? There is something about the damp winter air in the Northwest that makes me want to hibernate. Moisture has clogged the holes in my salt shaker. The cupboard doors no longer close. The cutting board is swollen and jammed in the slot. Anything made of wood has swelled like a ten-day corpse. Moss and lichen grow on my car. I suspect I have mold growing in my personal crevices, although my sinuses are too congested for me to smell it.

Did you catch the super blood wolf moon? I saw the full moon through a hazy fog as I entered the back door of Mom's retirement facility. I hoped to show the old smokers the amazing sight of a lunar eclipse. Unfortunately, the full moon was below the roof line of the building. The old ladies were not impressed by my description of the glorious super blood wolf moon taking place shortly.

The moon had disappeared behind clouds by the time I got home. I watched the eclipse livestreamed by the Griffith Observatory in Los Angeles. Thousands of viewers from around the world were watching. As the Observatory played classical music, viewers commented on the event:

• Where is the red?
• Can it go any faster?
• In Belgium, she is red.
• Gah, it is so exciting!
• Super cloudy in Los Angeles
• The Death Star is fully functional and will be able to fire within five minutes.
• Does this mean we are all Lunatics?
• Everyone is so nice, this is so fun.

Totality came at 8:39 pm Pacific time. The comments continued:

• Can't see anything here in TN.
• Definitely red
• Thank God I am alive to view this.
• It's cold.
• Why am I hungry for cheese?

I listened to the classical music, which was interrupted occasionally by the voices of the scientists explaining how they were recalibrating the telescope to get a better view of the lunar surface and noting the purple crescent of light at the top, the red color or lack of red color as the eclipse progressed. Over twenty thousand people were on the live stream. The comments continued:

• Mike, can you get your flat earth nonsense out of here.
• This is not science.
• This is God.
• 14°F in NYC.
• Grandpa, are you still on?
• No red here in TN.
• Save our beautiful earth!
• No one cares about your stupid president! Look at the moon!!

This week has been hard. Mom's smoking buddy, Jane, got sick first. The next day Mom was coughing, wheezing, and running a temperature. The nurse at the facility called me to take Mom to urgent care. I did. Mom soldiered like a trooper from the parking space toward the front door of the clinic. Mental note to self: Use the valet parking service next time.

As we approached the door, Mom stopped and hunched over. It was happening.

“We'll head straight for the bathroom,” I said.

We did. I won't regale you with the details. Now I understand why parents of toddlers carry giant bags of gear. Note to self: Pack a bag of gear, keep it in the car.

Some minutes later, we emerged from the restroom. Mom seemed okay with going commando while we settled in for the hour-long wait. Fortunately, the line ahead of us moved quickly. Soon Mom was being checked in by a kindly nurse who confessed to me that she was childless and therefore had no clue how to get an old person's arm out of a sleeve. We had a rueful laugh over that. I wasn't laughing later when we had to get Mom's two t-shirts off over her head. Note to self: find her some tops that open in front.

Two hours later, I took Mom back to the facility. I parked, got her walker out of the trunk, and pointed her toward the door. She sideswiped the curb and a couple potted plants with her walker, head down, not seeing hazards in the dark. I steered her as best I could, appalled at her inability to navigate. She was running on fumes, I think. I got her settled onto her couch and covered her with a blanket. Diagnosis: Bronchitis, same as last winter. No treatment, just Tylenol, fluids, and rest. And quarantine.

Three days later, no improvement. The nurse called: antibiotics and a steroid to help her breathe. Note to self: Is this the end? The next day, yesterday, Mom was much improved, eating meals in her room and complaining about the food.  We made a get well card for Jane and delivered it to her door. We didn't knock. Mom was exhausted when we got back to her room. She hasn't had a cigarette in a week.

It's lonely making the trek down the long hall to the back door, getting into my car without seeing her hunched figure in the window, giving me the peace sign as I drive away. Note to self: Enjoy her as long as you can. You'll be glad when it's over but you will miss it when it's gone.