Covid-19 hit the United States hard in 2020. It shut down businesses, made toilet paper a prized and hoarded item, and killed a lot of people. Many of my near and dear contracted it; a few didn’t survive. It was devastating.
The vaccine became available in 2021 for us, and as I was most grateful to have escaped the virus, I happily was inoculated. I continued my shots and boosters through 2023 and in fact, was due for my next poke in November.
You know what happens when you skate around disaster for a long time – like four years? You get just a little cocky. People I knew still got Covid and I felt for them, but I hadn’t gotten it! Despite going to weddings, church services, parties, and restaurants, I never got the virus.
Even being exposed to people who had it, I escaped. I grew complacent. I assumed it wouldn’t happen to me. It had been four years, I was healthy, and this just wasn’t going to be in my garden.
Until it was.
Both my husband and I contracted Covid – who knows where? Could have been that high school reunion (so many people came in on airplanes, hugging and squeezing…). Could have been church (communion and sharing of the peace simply do not mix, and that’s a rant for another day). Could have been going to the grocery store (people coughing all over the place there). Could have been me going back to work for a week (was supposed to be longer, but, you know…Covid). We’ll never know how we got it, but got it we did.
I was about a day behind my husband, and even then I thought I would escape, but that was not in the cards.
It hit me later, and unfortunately, a bit harder than my husband. I am now on day 13 of congestion and coughing, which is better than day 2’s fever, headache, and coughing. Most of my symptoms are gone; I’m just left with the terrible sinus congestion. Hubby seems to be on the mend and nearly well!
So while I’m pretty ticked off that I did not, in fact, escape the virus, I am grateful for many things.
I’m grateful that my husband and I are going to survive. That’s pretty huge, because we lost several dear ones to this disease and I did not want to be in that group!
I’m grateful for family and friends who dropped food off on our porch (yummy food and much of it!).
I’m grateful that while I can’t breathe easily through my nose, I can still taste and smell, so that food is even more appreciated!
I’m grateful that while I have to sleep sitting upright, I can sleep.
I’m grateful my husband is getting better and doesn’t seem to mind taking care of me – including watching Hallmark movies!
I’m grateful the headache left after two days and I can read and do jigsaw puzzles.
I’m grateful to be alive and recovering and hope that this makes me more empathetic to folks who are ill when I have the chance.
Yep, it stinks to be sick, but there’s still a lot of room for thanks and praise! Amen.

Most of us who watch television for any length of time have become aware of the annoying trend of advertising of medications. I can’t watch even an old re-run of Andy Griffith without being assaulted by some commercial for skin medication, or asthma medication, or hemorrhoid medication, each of which carries side effects which are scarier than the diseases they treat.
I’ve become used to hearing these commercials – or, to be more accurate – watching the happy people dance, or bathe, or play tennis while I quickly press “mute” on my remote. I’m so immune to them that I rarely give them a second thought.
That changed today. I heard from an old friend. We hadn’t spoken in a while, and our phone connection was a little static-y, but we caught up on family, movies, and books we’ve read this summer. I asked about her health and she told me that her doctor had put her on a new medication which she had just started and hoped it would be helpful.
It was likely the bad connection, but I swear she told me the name of this new medication was “blimp-aside.”
After we ended our call, I stewed about this a little. I mean, the names of all these medications are often ridiculous, but “blimp-aside” seems to be a direct dig at people who struggle with their weight. Although, if this medicine works and the blimpishness goes away, I might give it a try. Of course, it has to have limited side effects. I don’t want headaches, nausea, dizziness, boils, locusts, or suicidal thoughts. I’ll just be fat, thank you.
By the way, I checked, and I totally misheard the name of this drug. I won’t say what it is – HIPPA and all that – but it definitely is not blimp-aside.
The more I pondered this whole conversation, though, the more I think that “blimp-aside” is a more meaningful name, and gives more insight into what the drug might do, than most of what I hear on television.
Usually, there’s some drug name that has seemingly omitted consonants (or vowels) and based on the dining, golfing, or dancing people, it’s hard to tell what the drug treats. So they want you to ask your doctor about, for example, “TONOXQ” but I don’t know what it’s for. So what do I say? “Hey, doc, do you think Tonoxq would help me?” “Help you with what?” he’ll say. “I dunno, but I sure would love to dive off a pier like the people in that commercial do.”
He’ll be calling the men in white coats. So I think “blimp-aside” gives you real insight into what the drug does. It’s my new calling, I think. I have other ideas!
How about a drug to help minimize arthritis pain? We can call that “limp-aside.” People who struggle with acne? We can name the new medicine for them “pimp-aside.” And if folks need meds to enhance their cosmetic surgery, we’ll just call that “frump-aside.”
What would you say “rump-aside” would treat? See? It’s much easier. And people can sing, dance, or eat BBQ. That’s still fun. We’ll just know what the medicine we’re asking our doctor about is really supposed to treat.
By the way, I made “TONOXQ” up. It’s not real. But I’m sure it will be developed to treat boils and the side effects will include….

When I was first retired, I noted a trend in various places would send me a number of “reminders” of upcoming appointments. This was a relatively new trend and I was not a big fan.
Primarily I was not a big fan because it (a) implied I was ignorant and couldn’t keep a calendar and (b) it was redundant. Redunancy that, I might add, was irritating.
For example, I would go to the dentist and at the end of my appointment, they would make another appointment and hand me a card with the information on it. I would dutifully record this information in my calendar and all was finished (in my opinion).
On the way home, I would get a text message telling me about that appointment – sometimes it was a year away, but there it was on the very day the appointment had been made.
Then, about three weeks prior to that next appointment, I would get an email asking me to confirm the appointment via email. Two days later, I would get a card in the mail asking me to call to confirm the appointment. Two days prior to the appointment, I would get a text (often asking me to respond “Y”) indicating I was coming to the appointment.
Redundant. Annoying. Overkill! This wasn’t limited to the dentist. Doctors of all types, nail salons, hair stylists, massage therapists, and even church meetings had these programs set up to send reminders.
So initially, I was annoyed with all this media traffic. Over the next few years, I simply deleted or responded quickly to them and forgot about it. Occasionally, a place would indicate they could change me to “one notification only.” That was good. But that was only one or two places.
More than a decade has passed, and if you asked me if I depended on these notifications and reminders, I would laugh! Of course not! I’m totally organized.
Last week, I went to my haircut appointment – it was in my calendar – and my first question was, “Am I here on the right day?” I had not received any type of reminder and I felt honestly worried that I had recorded the date incorrectly.
My stylist assured me that I was there on the correct day, and explained that the automated program was “down” and folks were not getting reminders. I was relieved to be right, and didn’t even notice that I had been worried about not getting a reminder.
This week, I realized I hadn’t seen my ob-gyn for a while and called to make my annual check up appointment. I was informed by the nice woman that I actually hadn’t been there for four years and therefore would be considered a “new patient” (despite the fact that I had gone annually for 40 years prior to 2020). Four years? That didn’t seem possible.
I have to wait extra-long to get in; I have to see a different doctor; and worst of all – I NEVER GOT A REMINDER! Shouldn’t they have noticed I hadn’t been in during that time?
So it took ten years but I changed from hating reminders to being incensed to not get one. Who says you can’t teach an old dog new tricks?

For years, we had a gray patterned comforter on our bed. The recent heat dome made that weight just uncomfortable, so we moved it to the quilt rack in our bedroom and began to use a lightweight blanket instead. This is important because the comforter was on the quilt rack nearly all summer.
Then the heat wave broke and an “incident” occurred about which my husband and I agree on only two aspects of the story.
It was the middle of the first night in which the temperatures fell below 80 degrees. They fell into the 50s and the little blanket wasn’t keeping us warm. Both of us wanted another blanket but neither wanted to get up.
The first thing we agree upon is that my hubby got up first – to use the bathroom. Since he was up, I groggily assumed he could also get a blanket.
According to HIM, the rest of the incident went like this:
As he was walking to the bathroom, still in a deep sleep state, I barked at him (like a drill sergeant), “Get a blanket.” He looked at the rocking chair – which used to have a couple of blankets in it, but didn’t, and asked, “Where are the blankets, dear?” (again, this is HIS version).
Then, according to him, I snarled out, “in the nursery.” So he stumbled into the nursery, in the dark so as to not awaken me with any lights, grabbed a few blankets, and thoughtfully brought them back to me before using the bathroom.
Now, this is what ACTUALLY happened (my version).
When I heard him get up, I roused myself from a deep sleep and tried to look at the quilt rack. It was dark and I couldn’t see but I asked, sweetly, “Isn’t there a blanket over there?”
He grunted a response and I woke up enough to realize that the comforter was no longer there – we had moved it to our guest room a couple of weeks prior.
At that point, he growled at me, “Where are the blankets?”
I replied, “There’s a stack in the nursery, honey.”
He went to the nursery, making an incredible amount of noise because he wouldn’t turn a light on, and returned a few minutes later. Tossing me two blankets, he went to the bathroom.
Here’s the second point on which we agree. The two blankets he threw in my general direction were both BABY blankets. One for my feet and one for my knees, I guessed.
He swears he couldn’t tell they were baby blankets in the dark. I put them over the bed and added my robe, while he used the third (full-sized) blanket he had gotten.
The next morning, we bickered about which of these versions was accurate. We didn’t really agree on a conclusion, because honestly we were too busy laughing at each other to decide.
But mine is the accurate one, just for the record.