Hard Questions

We have been more careful since the emergence of the delta variant. Masks that we so blithely tossed aside in June are back in all our bags and pockets. And as I make my way about in the world (because I haven't returned to deliveries, yet) I notice who is wearing a mask, who is not, and where they are required again. 

Despite the governor's mandate for universal masking in schools, it seems like a foregone conclusion that most of us will be exposed and infected. Just tonight, a close friend and neighbor told us that she had been exposed through a co-worker. Her rapid test came back negative, but her experience reinforced the cold truth that unless we are willing to go back to hardcore social-distancing, how can we possibly expect to avoid infection?

Mighty Mites

Many reports of worse than usual mosquito bites have prompted some investigative journalism in these parts. A hyper-local web-based news outlet broke the theory that we are being plagued (YES! Another plague!) by oak mites, tiny, invisible insects who feed on cicada eggs and whose population is booming due to the emergence of Brood X.

When they fall, or are blown about in the hot, summer breeze, they bite! And those bites can trigger a vicious reaction-- welts and even bruises in some. I couldn't tell you the last time I had a mosquito bite; it's hard to say if I/m not bitten, or I don't have a reaction, but the same cannot be said about these oak mites. I have a bunch of itchy spots on my stomach and legs.

Our neighbor has had it much worse, though. Before the story broke, she went to urgent care at the end of July because of the bruises and itching she was suffering. "I'm not even walking around the neighborhood until snows!" she told us the other day.

"You'll miss the Halloween and Christmas lights," I reminded her, knowing how much she loves those.

"Okay!" she recanted, "until the first frost!"

That *mite* do it.

Things as they Are

Things seemed to be looking up back in June, when school was ending and summer was starting. Oh sure, there were warnings about the Delta variant and the delay in the vaccine for kids younger than 12, but still... there were also blue skies and a couple of months to get it all sorted out. I crossed my fingers for a full, maskless reopening. 

One of our big summer plans was to return to seeing movies on the big screen, but at first we were traveling, and then there wasn't much to see, and then most recently, theaters didn't seem quite as safe or fun as they did a couple of months ago. So last night, we paid to watch Black Widow on TV (which compared to the screens we had growing up, is pretty big), and it was a really good summer movie: fun and funny with lots of action and girl power. 

But, spoiler alert: Natasha Romanoff is still dead, and recent guidance from the school system has made it clear that masks are still required, and we won't be going to the movies anytime soon.

Boomers

Unspeakably hot and humid daytime weather subsides to high winds, drenching rain, and thunder and lightning each early evening.

Hello August.

Starbells

Heidi has been teaching a free water aerobics course every Tuesday and Thursday evening up at our community pool this summer for the neighbors. Never one to half-ass anything, her days have been filled with making playlists, finding exercises, trying them out, and organizing them into routines. My role has been supportive spouse, making suggestions for 70s songs, driving to find pool noodles, and trying out a few of the more confusing moves in the pool to see if and where they fit in the workout. 

Today I stepped up my support: when Heidi wanted water dumb bells for some variety in the arm work, I came up with a design that was cheap and easy. A quick trip to the big box home improvement store for a couple more noodles (of the star-shaped variety), 20 feet of 3/4 inch PVC piping, and a little pipe-cutter, and 15 bucks later, we had all the makings for 20 little starbells. 

I assembled 4 to audition at the pool, but on the way up a couple of rumbles of thunder put the kibosh on that part of the plan. They are super cute, though, if I do say so myself.

Signs, Signs, Everywhere Are Signs

"I haven't driven since we've been here," Heidi said as she slid into the driver's seat for the first leg of our trip home yesterday. "You'll have to tell me how to go."

"You know the way," I reassured her. "It's left at the end of the driveway,  around the bend by the beach, past the F*ck Biden flag, over the railroad tracks, and a left again at the chicken coop."

She nodded, and we waved good-bye to northwestern Vermont.

Pit Stop

It's a ways from Vermont to Virginia, a couple of stops to stretch and pee at least. Usually we play it by ear, stopping when the stopping seems good, but today? A day in August when the most direct route was through New Jersey? Our last stop was planned. Before we left Vermont, I found a farm stand not far off the Turnpike and close to our childhood home in Burlington County, that promised Jersey peaches. 

And I felt more than a little thrill when at last we reached Exit 5 and we headed off into the farmlands of the Garden State. Arriving at our destination 20 minutes later, I was genuinely surprised to find a very commercialized operation, complete with petting zoo and hay rides. The farm stand was more of a gift shop with produce, but they did have softball-sized peaches from their own orchard, just like the ones we used to pick with my mom, and local corn and blueberries, too.

The place was run by teenagers, most of them updated versions of the kids I knew when I lived here. A surly-sassy-spacy girl, who was almost a ringer for my best friend Nicci, waved me toward the restroom with exasperated (and totally wrong) directions, and a friendly blond girl was my cashier.

"Have you had a good day so far?" she asked while packing my produce in cheerful yellow plastic bags.

Feeling a little road-weary, I hesitated. It had been seven hours since we rolled away from Lake Champlain, and we still had three hours to go. "Yes," I answered, and then uncharacteristically elaborated. "I just drove here from Vermont," I said. "I was on vacation there," I explained, "but I'm on the way to Virginia."

Her eyes widened a bit as I continued. "I grew up in New Jersey," I shrugged, "and I had to stop for peaches."

"Wow," she said. "Where did you grow up?" I told her, and she nodded. 

"But you couldn't resist the peaches? You just had to stop?" She smiled, but I could tell she didn't get it.

Eh? Give it 40 years.