My husband usually has great ideas. He is a man of exceptional vision and a talent for creating and building things, like springhouse roofs and fences. Sometimes, I don’t get the picture as easily.

For example, years ago we remodeled our kitchen. He wanted to recess the refrigerator into what – at the time – was a wall between the kitchen and a hallway. I didn’t understand what he was describing and insisted that this would not look good at all. He showed me diagrams and I still shook my head and was pretty adamant that this would not work. But since typically Matt has good ideas, I told him I would trust his judgment.

               When the project was done, the recessed refrigerator created more floor area for our kitchen table and made the kitchen a lot more user-friendly. It really was a good idea and I always credit him for yet another inspiration.

               Every once in a while, though, he has an idea that’s not so great.  One year, Matt wanted me to accompany him to California on a business trip. I have been to California and I knew two things: first, I hate to fly and secondly, I didn’t much care for California. There were a variety of reasons for this that I will not go into at this time, but it didn’t leave me with a lot of good memories.

               He listed all the wonderful things we would do, and eventually I succumbed and flew to San Francisco with him and he was absolutely right. I loved almost every minute of our stay there, even when he had to attend work functions. I was thrilled with the food, the shopping, the coffee, the wharf, the trolley cars, and our mini-trips to Sausalito and Alcatraz. And the wine!  That was amazing, too.

               Once again, he was right in dragging me into his idea. What he didn’t mention until the last minute was that the trip included a 5K charity event for which he had signed both of us up. Both of us. Meaning, me, too. Okay, maybe that doesn’t sound like a bad idea to you, but if you know me, you know that for me, running a 5K ranks right up there with things like root canals and gall bladder attacks.  In other words, I hate and avoid them.  While I have supported many 5K events, I have never actually participated in one.

               Including this one in beautiful San Fransicso. I went to the event, dressed in my best running gear (or at least, the best I could find in a whirlwind shopping trip) and got my number pinned to my clothing. We started off and I was walking, naturally. I tried to walk at a quick pace, but I was soon losing many of the group as they jogged away. Matt gamely walked with me and we got about a half K (whatever that is, it felt like ten miles) when he said he had to use a bathroom.

               In San Francisco, there are lots of public toilets, but they are all pay-toilets.  It was a Sunday morning, so very little was open, but there was (of course) a Starbucks. I had wisely tucked a twenty into the pocket of the new running shorts, so I went in to ask for change. Naturally, you had to purchase something, so I bought a latte, gave him two quarters from the change and found a bench to wait.

               While I sat, sipping coffee and contemplating the beautiful city scape, runners and walkers were passing me by – going both ways. Apparently some of them had finished the first half and were on their way back. I was rather conspicuous, sitting with the large number on my chest and back, sipping from a Starbucks cup. A few (who still had breath to speak) yelled encouraging words, like “way to go!”

               Matt emerged from the public toilet and we decided it was too late to walk the entire 5K (just how long is that, anyway?), so we turned and walked back to the start/finish line.

               When we approached, me clutching my now-empty coffee cup, a small group began applauding and I heard “there’s the coffee lady” several times.  My one and only 5K run was actually a half-K coffee walk. And, believe it or not, I actually got a blister on my heel from the morning’s stroll.

               Matt admitted that signing me up for the run had been a not-so-good idea. But he’s quick to point out that without that event, I wouldn’t have gained notoriety as a coffee-swilling non-runner.

Last week, I had an incident at home, and one to which I was very, very happy had no witnesses. I had found these dark chocolate wafers at the grocery a few months back. You melt them in the microwave, and they are perfect for dipping fruit. They actually harden on the fruit – like a dipped cone – and taste wonderful. Best of all, they are very low in carbs, so they fit my 2020 diet plan really nicely.

               I had a little box of blueberries in the fridge. So that morning after my hubby went off to work, I melted those wafers, got out the blueberries and enjoyed a breakfast that was not only healthy, but also very tasty.

               Then I went out to weed and water the vegetable and flower gardens. This tasks takes about an  hour, especially if the weeding is prolonged. I was hot and tired and came in after my workout to take a shower. Standing in the bathroom, at first I thought I had smeared garden dirt all over my chin. Closer inspection in the mirror revealed that it was not dirt…it was drops of hardened chocolate creating a goatee of color on my pale face. How absolutely appalling!  I was certainly grateful that no one had seen me, but honestly, have I now reached an age at which I don’t feel food on my chin?  Even hardened drips of chocolate?  

               So, there’s a bit of a controversy lately over the wearing of masks to prevent the spread of a nasty virus that’s killing a lot of us, and making a lot more of us ill.  Okay, I’m not wild about controversy. But my story of the chocolate chin has nothing – and everything – to do with wearing a mask.

               Because it occurred to me that wearing a mask has several advantages, even beyond the obvious one of protecting people from deadly disease. 

               First of all, I’ve been wearing a mask in public since early March.  This means I have not worn lipstick, blush, or foundation for over four months. Do you know how much money that has saved me? These make-up items are pretty expensive and you have to replace them when they run out. I’ve had no make-up, save a little mascara, on my face for months!  Hooray!  I’m estimating a savings of close to sixty bucks, just from wearing a mask. Also, the mask helps keep that double chin tucked up. The creams and lotions that supposedly tighten your skin, especially under the chin area, are really exorbitant!  I’ve saved another sixty bucks on those things, too.

               Second benefit?  No gum or breath mints needed. I always dreaded meeting people for lunch and then walking around wondering if my breath smelled like coffee, or onions, or something worse.  Same for dinner dates.  Now?  Just pop on that mask and don’t worry. I like to wash my masks with a little scented oil, too. That means that the aroma emanating from me after onion rings and garlic mashed potatoes is a little light lavender.

               There’s a fourth benefit, too.  People drive through the intersection right before you’re about to step out?  People litter in front of you on the sidewalk?  People use foul language in front of children in public?  Now you can whisper some sarcastic comment or tell them off, but they won’t see your lips move or know you’re zinging them!  It’s a great way to keep animosity at a low level, and honestly, we really could profit from less animosity these days!

               Finally, the best reason of all.  If you drip chocolate, or anything else (salsa comes to mind) on your chin, you are not going to embarrass yourself when you go outside.  Just put that little mask on your face and roll on with your day.

               Honestly, there are just no reasons not to wear a mask. And many, many reasons it will help us all stay safe, feel better, and look better.

Those who know me well are aware that I have an ongoing war with technology; one in which I often lose battles. I frequently have to call our son for help with what appear to be very minor issues. As times goes by, you’d think I’d get better at solving my own problems in this area, but sadly, I’m not.

For example, earlier this winter I had a scuffle with my car and though I prevailed, I did so only with the assistance of my husband. It all started when I wanted to go into town to put a teddy bear or two in the Hospice gift shop window. Not to worry — I was following all the social distancing guidelines! The store was not open at the time, but was participating in the “go find a bear hunt” activity that happened in some neighborhoods and downtown. I went into the deserted town, wiped down the door handle, grabbed a few teddy bears from our storeroom, and placed them in the window. Then I locked up and posted a picture on Instragram, planning to go straight home.

Except when I got in the car and pressed the keyless ignition button, the car did not start. I heard clicking noises and lights all over began to flash. Messages appeared on my dashboard saying things like “open and close passenger window” and “theft deterrent system error.” I got out of the car to look at the battery, which did not help explain if it was a digital or mechanical issue. I tried to get back in the car, but it had locked. My remote would not unlock it. It wouldn’t open the trunk. Pushing it repeatedly made the lights inside the car blink frenziedly, but the door wouldn’t open.

I did the sensible thing and called my husband who drove in to rescue me. I had time to ponder my predicament. Was the battery dead? Was the digital system broken? Was God telling me to stay home? I dreaded the idea that my husband would arrive and the car would start immediately because I was inept. I tried to read the owner’s manual, but discovered it was written by the same people who write instructions for assembling furniture, rendering this task useless.

Matt arrived, charged up the battery with this truck, and saved the day.

A second battle with technology happened during the stay-at-home, while I was cleaning out our junkroom. This long overdue task resulted in the creation of piles of boxes and bags filled with (a) items for donation, (b) items for the trash, and (c) items I thought other family members might want. I was going to take a picture of those last items to send to various nieces and nephews when the camera function on my phone froze.

               Having had some training from afore-mentioned son, I went to the internet and searched what to do. It was fairly easy – just reset my settings. After a few trials, I was able to do that and – voila! – my phone camera once again functioned well.

               I snapped several pictures of stuffed animals and sent them to loved ones. Slipping my phone into my pocket, I continued sorting stacks of items. I heard the front door bell. Our front door is very old and the doorbell itself is dated in the 1860’s. It’s a metal half dome with a crank on it. When you rotate the crank, a lovely little sequence of peals ding throughout the house.

               Our front door isn’t used much, typically only by delivery people. I heard the dinging and jogged down the stairs to the door. Looking out, I saw no one and no packages on the stoop. I jogged back upstairs and resumed work.

               A few minutes later, the bell chimed again. I walked down the stairs and looked out – nothing. I prowled around the house to each of the other doors to peer out. The dog was snoozing quietly and no one appeared to be around.

               I trudged up the stairs and resumed my sorting. The tingle of the bell sounded a third time. This time, I picked up my baseball bat and stomped down the stairs. Something was afoot!

               While I was staring out the door window, the chime sounded again, but not from the door. It was my phone!  The pre-set text notification sound is the same little chime as our antique door bell.

               And that’s when I realized that I had lost all my preset notifications.  I had to stop my sorting and boxing and reset every one of them. Of course, first I had to go the internet and look up how to do that.

               Technology – 2, Sue – 0. I’m already prepping for my next scuffle with technology.

My husband, Matt, and I enjoy going to Ohio State football games (and basketball, volleyball, and baseball, for that matter). He goes to football games once or twice a season and each time it is an event in our house.  Whether the game is home or away, we get to the designated stadium early enough to watch the band make its entry.  We check our seat numbers, double check them and then wait for the big squeeze of all the people in our row.

          Sports arena builders allocate 12 full inches for each individual butt. This means sitting sideways, sitting forward or backward depending on what the person next to you is doing, and sometimes having someone’s leg rest on your own for several hours. We always hope that there’s so much scoring and defense from our team that we spend most of the event standing and cheering. It’s better emotionally and physically!

          Last year my husband and his brother went to a home game. They got there early and within a few minutes were safely ensconced in their double-checked, 12-inch seats. Both of these men are well over six feet tall and while they can fit into those 12 inches, there’s not much room to spare.

          After a little while, a couple came in and, after looking down at their ticket stubs and back up several times, politely inquired of the boys if they were in the right seats. This required them to get up, check their tickets, look at the seat numbers again (for the third time) and verify that yes, they were. Turns out this couple was in the wrong section.

          Meanwhile, seats were filling up and the band was about to enter the stadium. At this time, four large men – according to my husband, they were each the size of a sumo wrestler – came in and sat adjacent to Matt. They were so large and the row was so crowded, that Matt had nowhere to put his right arm. He could hold it straight up in the air or put his arm around the very big man next to him.

          As it turns out, the large man was quite friendly and didn’t mind this at all. It wasn’t his first time at an Ohio State game, and he understood.  Matt took to calling him “Bubba.”

          The game started!  Although this is an outdoor event, watching games is serious business. Just as people don’t clamber in to a play late and climb all over you to get to their seats, common courtesy dictates that if you are late to a game, you wait until there’s a break in the action to crawl over people to get to your seat.

          Right in the middle of a down – not at a time out, or even a squad change – a foursome came in and began to scramble over people. In so doing, they were blocking the view of the game action. This was enough to annoy Matt, but then one of the women turned to him and said, “Are you in the right seats?”  Before he could respond, his brother snarled, “Yes, we are,” and stood up to his full 6 foot, 3 inches to peer at the game over her head.  She continued to stand around, bobbling while she checked her ticket (she was in the row two ahead), and blocking the view.  Finally, Matt could stand it no longer and said, “People, get here on time.”

          She looked aghast and her husband asked her what Matt had said. She responded, “He said we should get here on time.”  Her husband glanced back and saw Matt, with his arm around his new friend Bubba, and decided it wasn’t an issue.  He sat down, the girl sat down, and there were no further problems for Matt watching the game.

          So now, whenever anything annoys either of us, we simply sigh and say, “People, get here on time!” It seems to cover any eventuality, time-related or otherwise, at least for us.