I Robot

 

Summer is here. It is hot. Chores have moved ahead to the morning hours. After daybreak wander out for my trip to the Tummy Temple and feeding the breakfast crew. Not sure they will let me leave without their blueberry time. I’m out numbered.

Trying to await the trucks with ladders find their way, I find my familiar path through the quiet neighborhood with little traffic. Smile at a few joggers and mothers pushing babies trying not thinking about what I’m doing and getting wobbly.

The temperature hasn’t gotten hot yet, but when I return will be different.

The usual place to lock up is available and the routine of removing my helmet, locking up my u-lock, pulling out my bag and putting on a mask. I luckily find a zip cart outside and go through the automatic parting doors, but something is different.

There is a uniformed security guard wearing a mask in the entrance? I didn’t see any emergency vehicles or yellow tape outside, but there she was guarding the watermelons. When I asked her if I should be wary in entering, she replied she was just here for the day.

Upon entering the produce section there is a pack of white people in suits with balloons that were not there yesterday. I turned right to avoid the hubbub and asked one of my peeps what was going on? She informed me there were a to-do with the mayor and Kroger executives and television cameras.

Hummm?

Move on to get the blueberries, veggie tray, peanuts, seed, popcorn and hydration without hearing any trumpets or announcements of royalty in the Tummy Temple.

There was another difference.

Other than the call of ‘Clean Up on Aisle 12’ or some guy with a broom, there is a zamboni wandering around.

So now with the bumper cars and the pick-up wagons and the huge wire carts being pulled, pushed or parked; there is now an automated floor sweeper filling up the aisles.

It would make sense when the store is closed and no elderly folks are wandering the aisles but when the store is full of parishioners searching for their olives and spaghetti sauce?

This ‘thing’ is an automated machine with no one to run it. The ‘thing’ seems to depend on flashing lights and scanners to go around corners without running into anyone or knocking over a display of wine bottles.

I got to my checkout spot without a confrontation with suits, security or roaming machinery. I gave my code to another machine who always ask who I am though I’m here everyday and escape.

I did tell the security guard that I felt safe with here being there.

What have you learned from this Pandemic time?

 

As the past year has been anything but ‘normal’, what have you learned?

Have you learned a new language?

Have you learned how to play an instrument?

Have you learned from reading books?

Have you learned from binge watching television?

Have you learned the people in your house are fun to be with?

Have you learned how to cook?

Have you learned walking the dog can be called exercise?

Have you learned to wear a mask?

Have you learned to order online?

Have you learned history and mathematics with your kids?

Have you learned to work on your car when there is no place to go?

Have you learned how to wear the same clothing day after day after day?

Have you learned how to grow a tomato?

Have you learned patience?

Have you learned following the recipe does not taste the same as going out to dinner?

Have you learned that talking to people on a screen is not the same as face-to-face?

Have you learned mortality?

Have you learned online teaching is a video game?

Have you learned what all the buttons on the remote mean?

Have you learned sex gets boring?

Have you learned to laugh at stupid jokes to keep your sanity?

Have you learned to keep the toilet seat up?

Have you learned washing the dishes can be fun?

Have you learned your clothes are shrinking in the closet from lack of wear?

Have you learned that no matter how many times you hang up, Amy will call back about your car’s warranty expiring?

Have you learned how to count money?

Have you learned that person in the mirror is getting old?

Have you learned you are being monitored?

Have you learned you are not an essential worker?

Have you learned the checks in the mail?

Have you learned to turn off the news?

Have you learned to appreciate silence?

Have you learned to get frustrated with puzzles?

Have you learned it doesn’t matter?

Have you learned there are many answers to questions?

Have you learned that Black Lives Matter?

Have you learned that making up a bed is futile?

Have you learned that shaving is overrated?

Have you learned that every breath is precious?

Have you learned that the person across the table may not be the one?

Have you learned to ride a bicycle?

Have you learned that the pandemic is NOT over and rages on around the globe while mutating into deadlier variances?

OR

All the panic was created by the pharmaceutical companies to get governments to purchase million of vials of water and all the doctors and charts and pictures of body bags are all fake?

Post-Pandemic Panic?

 

One-eye open. It is dark. Is it 1am dark or 3am dark or 5am dark? It is not in a box underground dark so I get another day. Is it time to go down the hall and empty yesterday’s bile or is it time to leave dreamland for reality? Prop up on the elbow and swing the legs over the side. The legs dangle deciding whether to jump down to the floor hoping everything works and not crumble in a heap or step lightly testing the waters of a new day.

Mix a conglomeration of hot water, fake sugar, and powdered cream and instant coffee before putting on my eyes and turning on the world. What has happened while I was unconscious in another life or what do I have to look forward to?

The voice on the radio says, “We are in a post pandemic”.

Pause

 It has been over a year since we first starting hearing about this corona that was spreading around the globe. You can’t see it. You can’t hear it. You can breathe it and it can kill you.

Even with all the confusion reporting, people are dying all over the world. There is no cure or even a vaccine so what do you do?

I was in the hospital.

Probably not the best place to be when there is a plague spreading or maybe it is the best place to be?

I’d hobbled in past the covid-19 testing tables in my cowboy mask and told the receptionist that the doc-in-the-box referred me to the hospital for what I got she couldn’t handle.

What I got was a swollen leg. It didn’t hurt but was just uncomfortable.

The medical professionals did their evaluations and provided me with a private room for the next week.

So there is this ‘pandemic’ raging around the world and I’m sequestered in a clinical building strapped to machines that beep and tubes that pump liquids into my body without my request. Now and then a nice person who changes rubber gloves comes in to check my blood pressure, mark some numbers on a white board for the next shift to relate numbers to a face.

What is your birthday?

The whole idea of a pandemic avoidance was to wear a mask, wash your hands and stay away from others. This didn’t seem like any problem because I already do two out of three.

Here I was in isolation, quarantine, and lockdown with jailers who drain my blood and bring me trays of food three times a day. After being disconnected from the liquid machines I could stand and walk to the window and watch the storms roll by. I could walk down the hallways with my special slippers and walk back to my room without getting lost.

What is my birthday?

Upon release I could hobble home with a story to tell the neighbors but no one knows unless you’ve been there.

The pandemic changed many people’s lives. I don’t know all the stories but from the reports show this is not over yet.

Back in a routine of sleeping, riding, reading, writing, eating and sleeping hopefully this flu will avoid me.

What have we learned from the pandemic?

I can only imagine what working people have gone through with kids being out of school and offices closed and no restaurants or churches to attend. Looking in your closet a year later and wondering why all your clothing has shrunk?

For the first weeks the roads were empty which was a joy for a two-wheeler. A few brave souls would venture out to let their dogs poop or give their babies some air. Mostly all the cars were parked and everyone stayed inside with their shades drawn. Other than the constant parade of delivery trucks, the world was silent.

Now there are more folks out jogging. The traffic has picked up. There are more unmasked faces and the pandemic rolls on. There is toilet paper at the store and a line at the pharmacy to get their shots.

Other than that seems vacant building fronts, some still boarded before the generals came down.

It has been an interesting year.

Realities have awoken to those who would rather avoid the facts. New voices resounding what those before them have said. Self-evaluations presented revelations between the raving worst president and bitter social media.

This was before the election. This was before the insurrection. This is while the city burned.

A year later I’m still standing. The doctor I never had before has given some prescriptions that were taken with little results. Probably time for another look, but whatever it was is still there in my body. You can’t heal old age.

I’ve been a good soldier and gotten my shots. I wear my mask, wash my hands and stay away from people. I still ride my 5-miles to the store and rock on the porch at night.

The realization of the past year has been mortality.

Being in a hospital is a prison. There are two ways out and one is not very good. Seeing people laid out on gurneys with kind people in scrubs trying to decide which one lives and which one calls the mortician is where we all are going.  

Family singing songs or a niece waving through a window may surround you or a stranger in green unplugging there is a time to end this life.

One-eye open. It is dark. Is it 1am dark or 3am dark or 5am dark? It is not in a box underground dark so I get another day. Is it time to go down the hall and empty yesterday’s bile or is it time to leave dreamland for reality? Prop up on the elbow and swing the legs over the side. The legs dangle deciding whether to jump down to the floor hoping everything works and not crumble in a heap or step lightly testing the waters of a new day.

Conventions

 

Everyone has one.

A convention is a large formal meeting of people who do a particular job or have a similar interest.

They can be trade shows hawking their wares or political parties selecting their leaders. They can be seated ballrooms with speakers or giant auditoriums with booths and a sea of people wandering the aisles.

Cities love conventions. The attendees fill the hotels and restaurants but are pretty much confined in the area with the flags and banners and signs.

There are teacher’s conventions. There are lawyer conventions. There are auto shows and farm tool shows and even conventions for the religious. There are comic book conventions and food conventions and movie conventions with red carpets. There are alumni conventions and technology conventions and weapon conventions.

Conventions have speeches and presentations. Conventions have lots of food and drinks. Conventions are the weekend rock festival for the common worker.

Conventioneers can wear funny hats and blow horns. They can pick up lots of trinkets and pamphlets and cups that won’t fit in the suitcase going home. They can wear big badges to identify themselves or wear brightly color polo shirts with the identity of their company on it.

Convention attendees are the audience for a commercial show full of cheerleaders trying to get their attention. Attending a convention is a working vacation.

Some conventions hand out prizes and awards while others are an occupational necessity for a lost weekend.

I’ve gone to my share of conventions. Some I was required to work and others I could just watch the circus around me. Met some interesting people at conventions. Ate and drank too much at conventions. Did some things I shouldn’t have done, but it was OK. I was at a convention.

 

 

A convention is a usual or accepted way of behaving, especially in social situations, often following an old way of thinking or a custom in one particular society.

Stealing From The Temple

 

I call them ‘zip’ carts. Some people call them ‘baby’ carts. Either way, they are the smallest wire basket on wheels and a joy to drive through the aisles of the Tummy Temple.

Yet recently, there are fewer to be found in the rolling cart corral. Where are the zip carts?

The rolling wire shopping cart was invented in the mid-30s by grocers who want to help shoppers carry more items. The typical shopping cart is made with a stainless steel wire basket (not changing to plastic) with four wheels and a handle for pushing. The baskets have gotten deeper and longer to provide space for the 10-roll toilet paper bundle or the cases of soft drinks and water.

My first use of a wire-shopping cart was that little two wheel-folding wagon you see the old folks us. It held one paper bag of groceries, but was awkward to use. Pulling it would hit your heels and pushing it required bending over. It was better than carrying the paper bag of heavy groceries, but not by much. If you had two bags of groceries, you could attempt to stack them on top of each other or make two trips to the grocery.

Entering the grocery store, pull one of the stables of carts jammed together, then try and find a place to put the two-wheeler for the trip home. Did I mention I didn’t have a car?

The aisles of the grocery are just wide enough for two carts to pass each other. As the carts got bigger it was difficult to pass without sideswiping one another. Some aisles were small enough for only a single file parade.

The congregation to the Tummy Temple found new ways to make the adventure of wandering the aisles a bit more frustrating. Some would start pulling the carts (with total disregard for the handle designed for pushing) taking up both sides of the street. Others would double-park their cart while standing in the other lane comparing two boxes of spaghetti for price and ingredients.

Then there are the children. There is a fold down restraining seat in most carts, but if there are two or more of them, they are placed in the basket between the eggs and the loaves of bread. While mom checks her email, the dear little bundles of joy are pulling boxes of Cho-Cho Pops or Tasty Treats off the shelves. If making faces at other contestants for breakfast cereal is not enough, they scream. Sneezing children are also a fan favorite.

For a long time there was one option for a shopping cart. If you were piling in a ton of foodstuffs or just getting a bottle of milk, you had to use the same cart. Then the traffic jam as parishioners would line up at the checkout, blocking thoroughfare while all the items were removed, charged and bagged before being placed back into the cart. Then there was the wait to find just the correct change for tithing. That is why those candy bars are next to the moving belt so you can have a snack while you wait.

Getting back to the ‘zip’ carts.

After several days of searching for them and having to settle for the behemoth battleship carts, I asked one of the blue apron deacons. “Where are all the little carts?”

“They are being stolen” was the reply.

I’ve seen the homeless pushing a grocery cart carrying all their worldly processions but I haven’t seen any homeless at the Temple when I’m shopping. There have been a few vagrants hanging around begging but they are soon shoed away under the security cameras. I’ve seen carts piled up at the bus stop for the hungry that travel public transportation.

Then there is the 5100. Across the parking lot, next door to the Tummy Temple is a tall apartment/condo structure housing elderly. It is called the 5100. There is a steady stream of blue haired grandmas crossing the barren wasteland of asphalt, sometimes assisted with an assistant or nurse, carrying their water bottles and sometimes oxygen mask headed for the welcoming doors of the Tummy Temple. Most, if not all, are pushing a ‘zip’ cart as a walker.

I understand, as I’m approaching that same age, the bulky carts are too much to handle, but these folks from the 5100 take the carts out of the store and wheel them back to their lobby to park until next use. They even put their names on them.

Since the Tummy Temple has adopted all sorts of methods for storing carts with apron youth to grab stray carts and put them back in the stable, but no one has an automated system for these $100 four-wheel carriers of grub to roll back home.

Maybe they are being stolen for the cost of metal (like catalytic convertors and copper piping)? Maybe they are being melted down to created new statues on Monument Avenue?

Since I travel to the Tummy Temple everyday (except Christmas) I only get a few items and those ‘zip’ carts are perfect for weaving around roadblocks, stopping on a dime (leaving a nickel change) and (perhaps?) using as a walker for my two-mile hike down the aisles of abundance. These little carts are just the right size to carry what will fill my two saddlebags. These carts are so popular, some will ask if they can use the cart next as I empty my purchases. “Help yourself” I reply. “I’ll keep the motor running.” It always gets a chuckle.

So if you see any of these little wire carts in your neighborhood, please send them home. I’m not ready for the bumper cars yet.

Immigrant or Refugee?

 

Seems since we were able to mobile ourselves on two legs our species wander. We are not happy at where we are and must go on adventures to see what is over that hill or around that tree.

If we weren’t so curious we wouldn’t figure out how to make gunpowder, liquor, atomic energy or opioid.

We wander around this blue marble in search for something different.

On good days we interact with each other and come up with productive ideas. On bad days we kill each other.

When the neighbor moves in next-door do you wonder who they are and why are they there? You hide behind the blinds and see what sort of furniture is being moved in as a sign of their personal taste. Check out their car and count their children. Do they have pets?

The best of us will extend a hand and welcome someone who could afford to purchase or rent one of these buildings.

Small talk over a fence can discover where they work, where they worship, a brief family background but most important…. why are they here?

All the self-righteous biases will judge the new neighbor without fully knowing the whole background.

Do they want to know why you are here? Do they ask your ancestry? 

Are these people just migrating and will leave soon or are they here to stay? Will they take over the land and ‘colonize’ the neighborhood?

If they are refugees, what are they running from? Are they running from family? Are they running from oppression? Are they running away from money problems? Are they running from the law?

If you see the same faces there is the assumption that they live nearby or they are casing the neighborhood. The changes of parked cars are usually a sign of new neighbors. Landscape changes or fence installations indicate new neighbors.

When a shop on the street changes the name with a different awning and window display, the proprietor has migrated. The bus driver or plumber or barista doesn’t look like former neighbors who went to school, but are they migrants or refugees? Does it matter?

When you meet a stranger do you ask “Where did you come from and why are you here?” Do you ask about the political affiliation or religious beliefs? Do you ask what their favorite sexual position is or if they own a gun?

When you take a vacation, do they ask your name? Do they smile as you babble about why you are here and where you came from while they process your credit card?

When our forefathers landed on this shore, did we exchange business cards? 

Living in the same location, rather than wandering off to find romance or financial opportunities or hopes that the grass is greener on the other side, there have been many who have come and gone. Some were invisible. Some were obnoxious. Some were just passing through. Some of them stayed.

“Hello neighbor”