Diary of Not a Wimpy Widow

Author: kcmoyer65

  • Mothers’ Day

    May 8, 2020

    This morning ShutterFly—the photo site where I have many of my photographs stored—delivered to my computer screen a reminder of photographs taken ten years ago, on Mother’s Day weekend May 2010. It is like stepping back in time, and it brings a smile to my face.

    There is a photo of my daughter Melinda and me in this living room, looking into the camera, with slight smiles. I smile back at them. I am wearing a favorite necklace that Bill bought for me on our trip to Peru; it is a blue spiral set into a silver background, the symbol of infinity. I think Bill probably took this photo. He is still alive that May, but frail and pale from the cancer that will take him in July. 

    But the next photo I am sure I took. It is of Melinda and her daughter Emma Rose—my granddaughter. They are sitting on the black leather couch, and Emma is draped on her mother’s shoulder. She is smiling at the camera warmly and so is Melinda. Emma is eight years old, untouched by time and not too much by grief, though she already has lost a grandparent, her grandmother Nancy. But the warm comfortable love between the two is evident. 

    I am very happy that my daughter has a daughter. I love my son, my first-born, but there is something special about the love between a mother and a daughter. I know that is not true for everyone. I have heard the sad stories. But I am fortunate, and so is my daughter. Even now at 18 Emma has a close relationship with her mother. 

    I think of that sunlit Mother’s Day weekend ten years ago, captured forever in these photographs, and I smile again. I will not be with my children and grandchildren this Mother’s Day weekend, sequestered as I am by this pandemic, but I can take comfort in these memories and know that I am loved, as is my daughter. The spiral continues. Happy Mother’s Day, my darling daughter. 

  • Journal of the Coronavirus Year, Part Four

    April 27, 2020

    It has been three weeks since I last wrote. The United States now has over 54,000 deaths from Covid-19; we are leading the world. We are number one. In Virginia there have been 453 deaths. The first death in Virginia was just over six weeks ago. 

    The rules for staying at home, the closing of businesses, and social distancing vary by states, but in most cases we are restricted to groups of ten or fewer, must stay six feet apart, and wear face masks when in public. However, resistance to regulations by a small but very vocal minority now has emerged. In Wisconsin, for example, about 1000 people assembled in Madison, shoulder to shoulder without face masks, carrying signs. Some signs said “I Want a Haircut.” 

    Governors are working on plans to reopen businesses, with regions collaborating. Georgia, one of the last states to close businesses, now is one of the first to reopen, including nail salons, tattoo parlors, and bowling alleys. 

    The economic hardships are very real. 26.5 million new claims have been filed for unemployment benefits. It is predicted that many retailers will never reopen. The states are struggling, too, and are revising budgets. 

    At last Thursday’s White House briefing, the President suggested that perhaps injecting Covid-19 patients with disinfectant might help. This suggestion later was withdrawn.

    Gradually many of us have begun to realize that this is not going to be over in a few weeks or a few months. Or a year. This virus does terrible things to the human body— blood clots and strokes. It is terrifying. Even once the states reopen their economies, I wonder who will feel safe in going back to shopping malls? to hair salons? to movie theaters? baseball stadiums? church services? to movie theaters?

    I have been thinking about how once upon a time, we went to movie theaters to watch scary movies. One of the best of these movies in my opinion was Aliens starring Sigourney Weaver playing the lead role of Ripley combating aliens who looked like our worst nightmares. But Ripley was courageous and she acted out of love to save a little girl—a stranger’s child. She entered that elevator and strapped on her gear as she descended to meet the alien monster.

    We can do that, too. And many of us can do that just by staying home. 

  • And She Stepped Out the Door

    April 18th, 2020

    Today is the wedding anniversary of my parents Serena Leveau and Joseph Robert Crocker. They married on this day in 1936 in Wheaton, Illinois, at the home of my mother’s half-sister Edna Lindstrom. They were both 27 years old. 

    They were living in Chicago at the time they met. My father was going to the University of Chicago, working on his doctorate degree. My mother was working as a dietician for the Bell Telephone Company employee cafeterias; she had graduated from the University of Minnesota, and what had brought her to Chicago I do not know. 

    My mother said they met at a party at a student’s apartment close to the University campus and were married three months later. I doubt they had friends in common for that party. His friend probably said, come on, let’s go to this party, you need a break. And her friend maybe said, hey, I know someone having a party, let’s go. 

    And so they met and three months later they married.

    They had four children, two sons and two daughters. 

    And six grandchildren.

    And ten great-grandchildren. 

    Think of all the lives and all the histories and all the jumble of wonderful, sad, and amazing things that happened because of that meeting. 

    Four.

    Six.

    Ten. 

    It must have been a cold and perhaps snowy February night of that party. Perhaps my mother hesitated at the door of her apartment. Maybe put on her coat and then took it off again. And then slid her coat on one more time.

    And she stepped out the door. 

    Four.

    Six.

    Ten. 

  • April

    April 15, 2020

    The sun is dropping lower
    And I am here by the barn
    About to enter the pasture
    To collect the windfall of sticks

    But then I see the young red fox
    Intent on his hunting
    Meadow vole for dinner
    Eyes focused on the ground
    Paws plucking at the grass

    And I step back quietly
    Drop my hand from the latch
    on the pasture gate

    The sticks can wait.

  • The Journal of the Coronavirus Year, Part Three

    March 30, 2020

    Today the governors of Maryland and Virginia and the mayor of Washington DC all declared lock-downs of their jurisdictions. A week ago all three officials had called for citizens to stay at home except for essential business. Today’s declarations are not much different, except they have the weight of reinforcement—imprisonment and/or fines for offenders. The numbers of confirmed cases are rising dramatically here—-over 1,000 confirmed cases in Virginia. 

    Basically citizens are restricted to their homes except for required work and essential errands meaning buying food and medicines. 

    The man in the White House withdrew his aspirational idea that everything would be back to normal by Easter and the churches packed, and called for social distancing to the end of April. He also said if the fatality rate was not more than 100,000 in the United States then he would have done a good job. 

    April 8, 2020

    We are approaching Easter. We now have 3,340 known cases of Covid-19 in Virginia with 63 deaths. 

    CDC and the White House now recommend that we wear home-made masks when we go out in public, but not the N95 masks because those are in very short supply and are needed by medical personnel. At first we were told that masks would not protect us, they would only protect others, and that we would need training in how to put the masks on, so no one needed to wear masks. Now people are sewing masks and demonstrating how to sew them on YouTube. 

    Going to the grocery store has become a fearful expedition for many, and for those who work in the stores it is frightening, too. Many grocery stores have begun limiting the number of customers in the store at one time, have set up one-way aisle systems, marked the floor with tape for six foot distances at the check-out lines, and installed plexiglass shields to protect the cashiers. My last trip to the store was March 11th, but my son brought me food from Costco on April 1. I have a good supply of frozen and pantry foods, it is the fresh items I will run out of. There are food shopping services, but they are swamped with customers. One friend said it took her several days to get an order through—she was successful at 1:35 AM—and it will be delivered in five days. For we Americans accustomed to instant gratification, this is an adjustment. 

    A tiger in a zoo was diagnosed with Covid-19, apparently contracted from a keeper. 

    Meanwhile, it is spring. On my hilltop the pear tree has finished blooming, and the crabapple and forsythia blossoms are fading, but the red bud trees and Alleghany serviceberry tree are blooming. The serviceberry was so named because it was the one of the first trees to bloom when the ground was soft enough to dig graves after the winter, and hold funeral services. 

    Last night through my open window I heard the spring peepers. 

  • Prayer of Gratitude In the Time of the Pandemic

    April 1, 2020

    And on my doorstep in the twilight were these jewels—
    Lettuce
    Asparagus
    Avocados
    Cherry tomatoes

    And blueberries

    Left by my son

  • Journal of the Coronavirus Year, Part Two

    March 20, 2020

    In two days the number of confirmed cases in the United States of Covid-19 has doubled, to over 13,000…and that is with limited testing.

     In Virginia we now have 94 confirmed cases. Public schools in Maryland are closed through March 27th, the day of my beloved granddaughter Emma Rose’s 18th birthday…and I will not be there to celebrate with her. 

    Two of the Metro stops are closed, to discourage people from gathering under the cherry trees now in full bloom along the Tidal Basin and always a spring-time draw to tourists and to locals alike.

    I stand under my pear tree, a foam of white against the blue sky.

    March 22, 2020

    Yesterday a man in his 60s died from Covid-19—the first death from the virus in Fairfax County where I live. 

    One expert called the novel coronavirus “the scythe of death” for those over seventy. I am reminded of Foucault’s pendulum that used to hang in the Smithsonian’s Museum of American History; it inexorably swung back and forth, knocking over the pegs on the floor. Sweep, sweep, sweep. But younger people are dying, too.

    March 26, 2020

    On Tuesday the governor of Virginia closed schools to the end of the school year and closed non-essential businesses. Restaurants and kindred businesses can sell carry-out food, but otherwise are closed. All indoor recreation sites are closed. Gatherings over ten people are banned, and we must keep six feet away from one another when we are out. Not everyone is heeding these rules.

     Across the country many states are taking the same actions. The man in the White House a week ago encouraged us to stay home, but now he says he thinks we should all go back to work and resume our normal lives very soon, that it would be wonderful to see all the churches packed on Easter Sunday.

    My own church is taking hold of Zoom technology to hold meetings and on-line worship. Last night over fifty of us used computers, iPads, and smart phones to join together in singing favorite hymns. Because of the time delay all of our mics were muted, only the music director could be heard singing, but at the end she unmuted our mics for a chorus of “good-bye, good-night, I love you.”  Good-bye, good-night, I love you.

    It has been eight days since I left my hilltop or seen anyone.

     In Italy my friend Heather has been confined to her small apartment for the past 19 days. Over 7,500 Italians have died of Covid-19, now surpassing the death toll in China where the virus first appeared. In the United States over 1,000 have died, and the U.S. Surgeon General warned this week that it is going to get much worse. 

    There now are over 61,000 confirmed cases in the US, with limited testing. 

    March 27, 2020

    This evening there are over 101,000 confirmed Covid-19 cases in the US. The Army is building field hospitals in convention centers in New York City and Chicago. 

    This evening via Zoom I wished my granddaughter Emma Rose a happy 18th birthday.  Good-night, I love you.

  • Daily Plan, Life in the Pandemic

    March 22, 2020

    I began sheltering in place last week, and after a few days of totally unstructured time without the framework of water aerobics classes and other activities to give shape to my days, I decided I needed a daily schedule or I would waste this gift of time. I had seen on Facebook schedules that parents were drawing up for their children, suddenly home with the closing of schools, and used those as my guide.

    So here is the Daily Plan I put together for myself:

    8 to 9 coffee and news

    9 to 10 shower and dress. blow dry hair

    10 to 12 morning project

    12 to 1 lunch, walk

    1 to 3 afternoon project

    3 to 4 nap

    4 to 4:30 dinner prep

    4:30 to 5 glass of wine outside, weather permitting

    5 to 7 dinner, swim (when pool opened)

    7 to 9 evening project, weekdays

    Netflix, etc (Sat-Sun)

    9 to 10 Bedtime prep, play dulcimer

    10 Bedtime

    After about three days, here is the Revised Daily Plan:

    7 am wake up, stagger to kitchen, give cats kibble

    7:15 to 8 read terrible news on iPhone in bed

    8 to 9 or 10  sleep with cat purring ecstatically on tummy

    10 am stagger to kitchen, make coffee

    10:15 to 11 drink coffee and read more terrible news, try to remember

                      when last showered

    Maybe shower

    11 to noon  Do something productive

    Noon Maybe get dressed…or maybe not

    12:30 Eat something

    1 to 3 Do something productive and/or read more terrible news

    3 to 5 Sit outside, watch birds, drink wine, read terrible news

    5 to 6 Eat something not requiring much cooking

    6 to whenever Binge watch Netflix

    ??? brush teeth, wash face, go to bed

  • Journal of the Coronavirus Year, Part One

    March 19, 2020

    Ever since my brilliant nephew Trevor sent an email on January 25th warning family and friends about the dangers of the novel coronavirus, I have been worried and anxious. I took Trevor’s warning to heart and shopped at Costco on January 31st, for shelf staples and freezer foods, and made sure that I had enough prescription meds to last a month. 

    I kept up with the news of the virus sweeping through China. Gradually the red dots on the Hopkins global map of the outbreak grew larger in China and cases started emerging in other parts of the world, including Italy and Iran.

    In the United States, the virus reached the states of Washington and California first. Trevor had predicted that the virus would reach the East Coast in mid-February to early March. It was as though a sword of Damocles was hanging over our heads, and we were waiting for it to fall. Very few friends took my warnings seriously. One told me that we had to stay sane. 

    I made no attempts to cut down my busy schedule in February and my  calendar was very full, with a long list of activities—a ballet at the Kennedy Center, Cherish the Ladies concert, a play, potlucks, and open mics for me to read my poetry and tell stories.

    On March 1st, I made a short trip to North Carolina with a friend, where I told stories to six classes in an elementary school. On the way home the first case of Covid-19 in North Carolina was announced. The next day March 5th I took the Metro into DC with a friend to see the special Jane Goodall exhibit at the National Geographic. The first confirmed case in nearby Maryland was announced that day. 

    Two days later on March 7th the first case in Virginia was announced; the patient had returned from a cruise on the Nile.

     Exponential growth was predicted, and with not enough testing kits in the United States, we did not have a count of the true numbers. But like listening to the sounds of popcorn kernels popping in the microwave bag first slowly and then faster and faster, the numbers in my area were starting to explode.

    Our annual church auction—always great fun and jam-packed with people— was held on March 7th, but I didn’t go. I didn’t go to church the next morning either, but I did go to a memorial service for a friend that afternoon and tried to sit well away from others. Some friends sat down next to me, and one reached over and patted my hand. 

    On Monday I asked my lit group chair to cancel the meeting that I was supposed to lead the following week. 

    Then in a week that saw a full moon and Friday the 13th came the wave of cancellations of events including my AAUW branch meeting and the Friday evening worship service I was leading at my church.

    On Saturday March 14th the first person died from Covid-19 in Virginia.

    Social distancing measures now are increasing to try to slow down the spread of the virus—first limiting events to 250, then 150, 100. Now ten. More and more Americans realize the need to flatten the peak of the Covid-19 outbreak so that our health system is not overwhelmed, but it may be too late. One danger is that the virus can be spread by the asymptomatic. The other problem is the continued lack of testing kits.

    The mortality rate is highest for the elderly or those with compromised immune systems so we are being told to stay at home. I tick both those boxes. I ran three short errands on Tuesday, March 17, and received a scolding from both my two adult children who have begged me to stay home.

    One estimate from UK experts is 2.2 million deaths in the United States if we do not take drastic measures.  

    I am here on my hilltop alone, with spring unfolding.

  • Constitutional Amendment

    January 15, 2020

    You have been driving for what seems like years. You have endured three flat tires out of the four on your car. You have driven through rain storms. And sand storms. And snow storms. Your kids have thrown up in the back seat so many times you have lost count.

    And finally you have reached your destination and you just sit in your driver’s seat and stare. 

    That is a bit the way I felt today sitting in the back row of the gallery while hearing the speeches and watching the vote to ratify the ERA in the House of the General Assembly of Virginia, the 38th and the final state needed to ratify the amendment and make it part of the Constitution of the United States of America (except for some technical problems we have to deal with.) The ERA had never reached the floor of the Virginia House for a vote, because the majority party had never let it come out of committee—or even sub-committee. The ERA had passed several times with bi-partisan approval in the Virginia Senate but never in the House of the Virginia General Assembly. But the 2019 state election had pushed the power levers. 

    And thus the gallery of the House today was packed with people of all ages and colors jubilant to see history made. Many were wearing the gold-white-purple sashes such as I had worn in the ERA marches down Pennsylvania Avenue in Washington DC in August of 1977 and July of 1978. I was 35 years old in 1978, wearing white in the blistering heat and confident that together we could make the world a better place. It would take much longer than we thought. Forty-two years have passed since that march. There were women who made it their life purpose to see the ERA pass, and at least one of them is sitting in the gallery today. 

    A black woman delegate, a graduate of the former all-male Virginia Military Institute, introduces the resolution and speaks about being on the right side of history. 

    A transgender delegate speaks about her mother and what the ERA means to her. 

    An older woman delegate speaks about marching in 1978 with her daughter. She is wearing the same sash that she wore then. 

    Delegates from the other side speak in opposition. 

    It is time for the vote. The resolution passes, 59-41. The gallery erupts with cheers, applause, hugs. I stand quietly, my eyes filled with tears. 

    Such a simple statement: “Equality of rights under the law shall not be denied or abridged by the United States or any State on account of sex.”