It’s a challenge my 106-year-old Uncle Mort hasn’t faced – not ever – and the same is true for the rest of us.
An enormous box arrives at our house. It is filled with food and cleaning supplies and, yes, toilet paper. I feel guilty. But the truth is, these supplies were ordered months ago. My husband, Peter, was a hoarder long before hoarding was in fashion.
Where do you stand? I hope alone.
Texas is more invested every day in promoting increased and thorough hand washing, disinfecting surfaces and social distancing to reduce cases of the rapidly spreading novel coronavirus, COVID-19.
My dad left school after the eighth grade to help out on the family farm. I don’t know for sure but I’m guessing all of his five brothers did the same. His seven sisters as well. Graduating from high school wasn’t a given in those days – especially if your dad needed help on the farm.
Sunday, March 14, is when the corona virus pandemic flipped the religious world upside down. Tens of thousands of churches suddenly closed their doors to worship services and moved to online platforms. Many pastors began addressing their congregations on subjects like fear and worry.
My Uncle Mort, who lives so far out in the country that nobody passes his house going to town, called the other day. “I’m going to shock you, nephew,” he said. “’Cause I’m planning a ‘give-away’ that folks won’t be able to refuse.”
It’s a very gray day. Today is exactly the sort of day I am most grateful for dogs.
My eldest sister Mary Delle was affectionately called “Myrt” by friends and family. We all had nicknames. Older brother, George had the moniker “Buzz.” Mine was “Yogi,” because I had an amazing resemblance to New York Yankee catcher Yogi Berra. I also looked a lot like the guy on Mad Magazine, Alfred E. Newman.