September 18th

I've been sad all day, as evidenced by my earlier post, where I described the Rosh Hashana night that should have--but could not have --happened this year.

I miss the beautiful table, the wonderful smells of freshly prepared Jewish comfort foods wafting from my stove top, the company.

I forced myself as I typed my earlier post  to make jokes like:  "As God as my witness, we'll never go hungry again..unless I forget the brisket recipe in 2021."

But even as I typed that, I was scared..scared that due to Corona, I will NEVER have a family gathering again...I'll never make that brisket again. 

 It's just not safe, and that vaccine may never come.

I tried to count my blessings, I really did.  The three of us still have  each other, still have our health, which I didn't think was so just two days ago.

Long story short:  (and I wasn't even going to share this on Facebook, because physically, I'm FINE)

As I looked in the mirror while brushing my teeth the other day, I noticed something I never noticed before..it looked like someone had implanted a lemon under my skin, on my neck above the shoulder blade.

And yes, I was very resistant to see any kind of specialist..I didn't want to be kept in a waiting room, masked  for two hours, see a professional for a visit that would last for three minutes, and then have someone shrug their shoulders, bill me thousands of dollars, and then tell me to go on a diet.

But Jim and I both became concerned, so I had a virtual appointment on Wednesday afternoon, where my wonderful(no, I'm not being sarcastic..she has always treated me with respect) doctor  was reactive and told me it did not look like a bug bite to her because of its size and sudden appearance.

 (I curiously kept hearing Roy Scheider saying "we're going to need a bigger boat.")

Anyway, she writes up a script for an ultra sound which was scheduled at the local hospital, which Jim drove me to first thing Thursday morning.  A pandemic hospital looks much different than hospitals usually look, but after temperature was taken(for both of us) and questions were answered about travel("I've been to my dentist..three miles from my home") I was seen.

The tech rubbed some gunk on this lemon and told me she'd be right back, and everything should be OK if she came back without the radiologist.

She comes back a few minutes later..with the radiologist.

But he scanned the films very thoroughly and found absolutely nothing to worry about..just some fatty tissue.  (And no, this was NOT fattism to describe a tumor as fatty..it was)

He called it a limpoma, which made me want to laugh, because I just read "Calypso" where David Sedaris hilariously describes having his limpoma removed sort of illegally so he could feed it to turtles.  (Long story in a short, hilarious book which you need to buy as soon as possible)

So I'm fine. 

 Here I am, preaching confidence at any size for all women, saying every women deserves to go in the pool or that lake or that ocean, no matter what size the label of her bathing suits says, and now, I wonder if I want to be seen with a lemon on my shoulder.

Jim says you can hardly see it.

If I'm lucky enough to ever get to the Caribbean again, I will wear that bathing suit.

  If you don't like my lemon you can suck it.

NOW I'll get back on track.

So we're having a very compromised dinner, no kugel, no matzoh balls, and we're all talking about how horrible this year has been, how horrible it is to acknowledge the Jewish New Year.

I suddenly realize the date..it is Friday, September 18th.  

And it dawned on my that September 18th fell on a Friday night at least two times in my life, and both had life changing consequences.

Jim didn't believe me at first, but then he looked it up:  Yes,  it was on a  Friday night, September 18th, 2009,  when we got our little psycho poodle Luke, who has given us a so many memories of 

 both horror and joy.  He'd change our lives and our linens forever, and yet, when you're greeted with the rapidly wagging tail after a horrible day, every misguided bite is worth it.

Then I say to Jim, September 18th, 1987, was also a Friday night.  He confirms this , that September 18th fell on a Friday night in 1987,  on his phone and asked me the significance, and if I had that soup, I might have tossed it in his lap.

It was September 18th, 1987, on a Friday night where I sat down to dinner with Pamela M. Bond-Contractor at Club Getaway in Connecticut and whispered to her that the bearded guy sitting across from us  was kind of cute.

And here we are, thirty three years later, and he still is. And he's still bearded.

So my mood is lifted. 

 I'm making peace with the fact that I'm not having my  traditional Rosh Hashana gathering, but most people I know weren't  having theirs either.

Social distancing.  

It's what we have to do.

Ride this out until we're safe.

We're talking about September 18th, and getting Luke, and meeting each other, when Evan looks up from his phone, murmuring "oh my God, oh my God" over and over again, scaring me, like he scared me when he used the same tone after learning about the sudden death of Kobe Bryant the day before my 64th birthday.

I said, "oh my God..is it Biden?"

He answered quickly, "no..RBG died"

Our hearts sank.

It couldn't be,

It can't be.

I've been on the verge of tears all night.

September 18th will fall on a Friday night again in my life time, although now the event will be marked with great sadness and heartbreak.

I am terrified to face tomorrow, but I will.

We all will.

Because we have to.

Bye bye Avalon

My last vacation blog in 2020!

Or..ever...??

(I'm trying to be optimistic.  It's not easy)

I'll still post updates on Facebook.

Like:

"I went to the laundry room today!"

"Wanna see a photo of Jim's dinner?"

"Why aren't you watching "Schitt's Creek" yet?"

Blogging makes me realize how much I miss traveling, and over-eating, and sleeping without an over-sexed poodle,

It really was the best day yet, despite the current downpour that made us seek shelter in the hotel room we'll probably be in until check-out time tomorrow.

My nerves were calmer.

The waves were calmer.

The kids in the pool??  Not so much.

Jim and I were following the signs placed all over the pool area to "stay with your pod", which we were doing, seated on a ledge in the deep end having a heated political discussion.

An eight year old swims right up to us, shouting to her friend in the  adjacent hot tub:  "Julia! Julia! Julia!"

Jim tried to swat her away, like I swat cigarette smokers, and I yell:  "Yo!  Julia's friend!  What's so important that we had to be exposed to these droplets?  Answer please..I have all day"

Julia squints at me and says:  "Is your name Karen?"

The day started off so sweet too, with Jim picking me up a bite-sized donut called a Robert Brulee.

He like these trips into town, but they make me sad.  I see  obviously popular "Family Restaurants" that should have lines snaking around the corner on this night before the last hurrah, Labor Day weekend.

  Instead we see "take out only."

I don't know the owners and never will, but that doesn't mean I don't feel their pain.

Last night's blog mentioned something I usually mention on December 31st, which is the five highlights of the year.

Call me a masochist as I list the five lowlights(so far) in the year 2020:

1)  Covid-19.  There's not much more to say about that..except..EVERYTHING, which I don't have the energy to do just now.

2) Derrick Chauvin.  He caused damage that may never be undone.

3) Superstorm Isaiah, or whatever the hell it was called.  As much as I've been complaining about this(mostly enjoyable) getaway, it is a lot better than when Jim took off that first week in August, where all we did the entire week was try to find a way to watch the last seventeen minutes and forty-two seconds of the Emmy-deserving "Unbelievable." Damn you, Optimum!

4) My dear next door neighbor's relocation.  Yes, she moved only a mile or so away, but I'll miss her wisdom and goodness; her ability to trim my bangs and set my tables like Martha Stewart would.  She left some pretty big (designer) shoes to fill.

5) The fifth lowlight of this awful year was being stuck in a crowded audience to see one of the last live offerings at Count Basie Theater.  I couldn't help but wonder why they chose to stage this dreadful drag show, which was designed to be a salute to "Sex and the City" but in reality was something that a theater aficionado might blame as the REAL reason for all theaters going dark since March.

I 'll end my last blog entry  like I usually do, with a Broadway song, and since I associate this town of Avalon with "Camelot", that's the melody I'll use--even 'though I JUST used it when Kamala Harris became Joe Biden's veep.

Ready?

A law was made a distance June ago here/some towns would open up past dusk to dawn/but now it's time to sing a different tune here: In Avalon! 

Stay six feet distance from a fellow guest here/you must resist that urge to party on/'though masking's often taxing, ("do your best, dear!") in Avalon!

Avalon! Avalon!

With its blue waves and its blue skies!

In Avalon! Avalon! Be sure to sanitize!

And hope the virus dies!

It's nice to get a break from Covid-stressing

to dress in something other then..P.J'S...

It's not too long a drive..

(I hope we're still alive)

in two weeks..!!!!

let's survive

these days we've spent..in..Avalon!

Top 5 from the year of corona

On the second to last night of our Covid Getaway, I have to admit that it has turned into something more..somewhere in between our trip to Hawaii last October, and how we spent Jim's first week off this summer, in August, with no phone or Internet, with the lone goal of trying to watch the last seventeen minutes and forty two seconds of "Unbelievable" while trying to pronounce the name of the storm, Hurricane Isaias.

It's just a world I'm not used to.  We've been dining out locally a few times since late June, and I've  only needed face protection(a bulky plastic shield) to walk from the car to a safely distanced table.  It hasn't been an issue, but now I have to wear a mask..a lot..and avoid people..a lot..and sanitize everything..a lot.

Something everyone has been happily doing since the pandemic hit, and I have not, since I've never ventured out this far or for this long.

People are giving us all kinds of suggestions--the must dos, the must sees,  It reminds me of when we went to Paris, and everyone implored us not to miss the Louvre and the Eiffel  Tower.

But I'm perfectly OK missing the night life here because it's basically non-existent, unless you're the type of person who loves a casual stroll, which I am not.

Having said that, this mini-getaway will absolutely make one of the five highlights of this vile, awful terrible year we're now in.  It comes in a solid number four, behind the number one bright spot of 2020, "Schitt's Creek." (Nothing save a world-wide vaccine that comes out before I finish typing this blog entry will top that.  It dethroned both "Gilmore Girls" and "Parenthood" and there will never be a show of this caliber.  Not in my lifetime.)

Highlight number two would have taken place pre-covid, the January weekend at Rich and Robin's where we caught up and ate well and watched the Golden Globes, the most important award show of the season because no winner has been predicted yet. And even without the viewing and our snarky commentary, they are much missed friends that we love deeply.

The third best thing about the year that should not exist was our trip to Sandals in early March.  We hadn't been to a Sandals resort  since our Jamaican honeymoon thirty years older, and the resort in Antigua was just as lovely.  (Had I only known THEN that there'd be worse things to come than excess seaweed--like being named Karen and you know, the pandemic and all--I would have counted my blessings)

This trip will slide nicely into fourth place as I'm finally getting my groove on.  The pool was terrific but the beach was nicer.  The waves were still rough, but Jim taught me a trick that if you position yourself sideways, the breaking of the waves is less forceful.  Of course by doing that, my entire profile is in full view to beachgoers, so I had to weigh a lot of pros and cons.

Napping in a comfy chaise lounge on a gorgeous beach really does chase away those blues,  It really does remind me that 2019 is not behind us but in our future.

Oh, and in case you're wondering, the fifth highlight of 2020 would be the wit and wisdom of David Sedaris and Randy Rainbow. I could live on nothing but their snark and biting writing for the rest of my life if I had to.

Oh, and if you're also wondering, the entire list above will be erased on November 4th and replaced with one and only one event that saved 2020. My number one highlight.

See if you can guess..

The only tough part today was walking up the ramp that led to the beach.  It's too taxing for someone like me when shoes are worn, but the sand is too hot if they're not worn.

That will be the first and last example of a first world problem  for the remainder of the trip--I was fine, and grateful to take it all in.

Great book, great nap, great company...life as it should be, even in a year like this.

I did get a mouthful of sand, which had to be rinsed out with a mouthful of saltwater, and 'though neither were a pleasant sensation, liked a freshly brewed iced tea, neither were as bad as a colonoscopy prep.

There was a comedic moment when we came back to use the pool before dinner, when a two year old screamed out:  "My Mommy just peed in the pool!"

The Mom was aghast and filled with very quick denials and apologies, but I don't know, if someone accused me of doing that I wouldn't be mortified.  (It would have to be in an ocean)

Jim scoped out a great place for dinner, overlooking the water that made us feel like we were vacationing in  Ogunquit, Maine ,in the summer of 1988, the summer we knew we were going to be sharing that  California king-sized bed and the future bidet for life.

It was  a picturesque place and I got something called "Airline Chicken" that very much interested  a bird the size of a miniature poodle until I scared it away.

I expected a TV dinner tray with maybe a piece of boiled chicken, a scoop of hard rice, and two canned cling peaches, but it was really good.  I could have done without the vegetable that accompanied it--a "type" of broccoli that Jim agreed looked "exactly like  green coronavirus"

It was better than the spinach from last night that smelled like it was squirted with Chanel Number 5,  I know, I know, I was tired last night when I blogged and wrote "Channel Five" and was asked what that smells like. 

 Where I live, Channel Five is the Fox affiliate, so you can describe what that may smell like however you'd like.

We went back to Springers Since Prohibition tonight and I realized I was here before, in the early 80's, when my friend's sister graciously invited us to her rental home in Avalon.

Do you recall this, Linda Stellenberg?

We had a very incompetent teenager scooping out our ice cream orders in front of a big poster that read, "Ask Us About Our Big Dip" and I pointed right to the flustered scooper and said to everyone at our table, "do you think the poster means HER?"

In summary, I am glad we made the decision to spend a few days here, even this late in the summer, this late in the year.

You only live once.

Unless some little kids exposed you to something unwanted in the pool, then..maybe not.

But hopefully, the only toxicity we were exposed to today was what the two year old claimed her Mommy did.

More tomorrow

The blue one

Now I'm second guessing myself like crazy.

Should I have just settled for insanity, like most of my Covid-fearing friends are doing?

Between the rough waves, the flies, the sunburn, the hot tub filled with neglected kids, the bath towels that could double as face masks, the bathroom that not only doesn't have a bidet, it has no drinking glasses, is it really worth exposing ourselves to all of this?

Probably??? I guess so??

We decided to venture out to North Wildwood tonight, as the menu  at our chosen restaurant looked so good.  Jim dropped me off and sought parking, but I walked and walked and walked and walked until my sciatica practically screamed at me, "stop walking, you masochist!" and then I realized that Jim dropped me off right in front of the restaurant in the first place.

We were craving what we saw on the on-line menu, knowing the twenty minute drive would be worth it.

It was a sandwich shop.

Jim practically begged me not to go all Karen on him.  He made a good choice based on the info he had at the time..but it was a sandwich shop that faced an enormous kiosk that sold nothing but Trump banners, sweatshirts, hats, and propaganda.

I did NOT want Jim to think I was mad.  I wasn't.  I was too worried about the diseases I got in the hot tub to be mad.

I asked for specials, and yet another constantly smiling waitress said, "well..technically..Happy Hour IS over, but because your husband was seated before you found your way, I guess we can still offer the Happy Hour discounts and knock off a buck or two from your order..what kind of beer are we having?"

"We are not having beer..we just want to know what kind of specials you have as far as ENTREES."

She finally got it and didn't even know what my name is.  I got the mediocre skirt steak that was accompanied by spinach that tasted like it was spritzed with Channel #5, but Jim curiously liked it.

We then drove into "town"..to Stone Harbor, to check out the number one ice cream shop in the county, Springers, around since "Prohibition"

(Does that mean nobody could order the rum raisin?)

Talk about pressure! 

The line was very long, but most people wore masks and were distanced.  You could not see the list of flavors.  Not until about five seconds before you were summoned by a guy with a clipboard who obviously assumed everyone had been there before, and knew how to scan the list of flavors on their phone apps, and had no patience for Springer virgins.

So I panicked and ordered a color, "Blue."  Not a flavor, but a color--something called "The Blue One."

It  was actually quite good, it  tasted like a Smurf with broken Oreos, but it would have been nice to make a decision based on research.

Again, I am lucky that I'm a gambler in the first place, be it on an unknown ice cream color or a decision to come to a sleepy seaside town, where even under normal circumstances the night scene might mean  little more than  taking a walk into town for a slice of pizza.  Or driving for some mini golf.

If I stay healthy(assuming I was EVER  healthy) then I guess this little lark was worth it. 

 It got me out of my Covid-prison and gave me some relief from the crippling feeling of isolation that this virus has caused so many of us to feel.

COVID beach day

Time to decipher some notes that look like they've been written by a baboon with a wet ballpoint pen:

It's Day One of our Corona Getaway.  I simply cannot call it a vacation, because one does not vacation in the same state they live in.  

Vacations don't require masks that trigger memories of a panicked nine-year old me getting teeth removed under a local anesthetic, vacations don't have hand sanitizing stations where burly men in sombreros and sunglasses usually stand, vacations don't mean social distancing.

But being a Karen, I will attempt to seek out the bright side as I make these notes.

Bright side..bright side..where the hell are you on this chilly, overcast morning?

Oh, I know!

I had my first breakfast in six months!

My first diner-quality iced coffee! My first bacon strip!  My first slice of rye toast!

My first experience with a bunch of pigeons giving me the eagle eye(s) atop their perches on the high hedges that surrounded the atrium garden.

It was just Jim and I, a plate of share breakfast potatoes, and the flies.

So many flies.

I think our house pet/insect, the fly that took up residence in our room, died peacefully in his sleep, but his extended family showed up in droves this morning.

Now I feel like I'm at a real resort!

A tropical resort!

But there, the unwanted guests would be colorful birds, not annoying flies.

Flies bring me back to the new normal, the new reality where our vacation destination is lined with cars instead of palm trees. Where we smell exhaust fumes where we normally smell freshly fallen coconuts.

Last night in the rain, as Mary Poppins described the specials, Jim became very pre-occupied with what looked like a bell-shaped tattoo on his left forearm, something he wouldn't allow me to blog about last night because he was convinced it was a melanoma. I told him to google "unanticipated bell shapes on a forearm" but that was probably too specific.

But today, the bell faded, making us both believe it was probably an insect bite.

From an angry fly.

We're having bidet issues, as the spray is too gentle. We are homesick for the bidet we left behind. Our actual behinds miss it as well.

I know, I KNOW I write way too much about bidets, but do YOU still have sixty unused rolls of toilet paper under YOUR vanity sinks??  Well??  Do you??

(asking for a friend)

Jim encouraged me to use the hot tub as long as I didn't say a word to anyone, so I made him wait for my reply a good two or three minutes when I answered:  "it's hot and lovely, but you told me not to talk to ANYONE."

He seemed peeved but admitted he likes having a witty wife.

I ask:  "Would you rather have a witty wife or a pretty wife?" and he was supposed to answer, "why, you are BOTH of those things, sweetheart", but he did not.

Once the sun crept out, the pool experience was nice.  Reggae music, screaming children who were apparently orphans, and my light lunch.  

The light lunch had 22 plain tortilla chips and one tablespoon of guac with some chopped veggies and cost $12.00.

You'd think for that kind of money I'd be asked if I wanted flies with that.

We head out for the beach, and I'm THINKING we should just leave without paying, but that's exactly what we inadvertently wound up doing.  (We thought leaving our room number with the order would suffice)

Our server who looked like Gugu Mbath Raw(don't bother googling because if you don't know her name, you ignored my request that you watch "The Morning Show" and it hurts my feelings to be ignored) breathlessly chased us down and said, "you guys didn't pay!" and I replied:  "I'm not paying twelve dollars for twenty-two chips.  I'd like to speak to the manager."

(Okay..I did not)

As we walked toward the beach ramp, we noticed a dog squatting an awfully long time on a lawn in front of a beautiful house that faced our hotel, but upon closer inspection, we saw there were two dogs--two dogs made of medal in squatting positions with the word "no!" angrily embalmed on their bellies.

I say to Jim:  "I bet that "no!" is referring to the "Trump 2020" flag hanging from the second floor balcony."

We notice a beach boy pulling a stack of 300 lounge chairs as easily as they were a stack of three silver dollar pancakes.  He looked like someone Becki Falwell would openly covet, and he escorted us to a socially distanced beach area, whipping out his power drill from his bathing suit(yes, I mean that literally) and drilled a hole sufficient enough to securely hold an umbrella.

Finally!!

It's the first day  of freaking SEPTEMBER and I was getting my beach fix.

I'm not counting that one day we spent at local Union Beach because I'm a Karen, or the week we spent last March pre-Covid in Antigua because I'm a KAREN..

Becki's Boy Toy warned us the water was rough, but that's an understatement.

Rough is a description of the toilet paper in your average hotel that doesn't have a bidet, these waves were tsunamis.

I just needed to be in there long enough to cool off, Karenspeak for "use the ocean's facilities" when I got a scary image of me winding up under a boogey board or some old man's legs, neither which would be recommended in the age of Covid-19.

But you know something??

I eventually did cool off, in more ways than one, and I enjoyed the shade of the umbrella and the bursts of sunshine and the roar of the ocean and I finally felt settled and happy, like I do on the first day of a real vacation.

I then felt a raindrop.  And another.  And then another, but Jim claimed not to feel a single one. We had a tiff about it, and I promised to let my blog readers know the outcome of the tiff as soon as we could agree upon what, if not raindrops, was that wetness pouring from above.

Spolier alert:  It was raindrops.

Because the rain stopped but the roughness of the waves did not, I suggested we go back and use the hot tub, 'though Jim was skeptical.  I was seated and he dangled his legs and I was relived that most resorts don't allow children under fourteen to be in the hot tubs.

Rules that don't apply to mask wear don't apply here, because two minutes into our talk, Jim asked me if there was a kid in the hot tub.  I told him that it wasn't possible, but the kid sprung up.  He was NOT over fourteen but he WAS under water and came out totally unscathed.

He then invited all the other eight-ten year olds to join him and as we fled, we both agreed we'd need Covid tests more than skins tests to see if melanomas ever look like bells that fade the next day.

I am glad some of you still enjoy my tales of woe.  Not sure I'd have the patience for a Karen like me, but I nevertheless thank you for reading