A Balcony Visitor From Afar
First to Leave
Thank you for your kind invitation to dine. But be forewarned, when the clock ticks one hour, I will rise, hoist backpack to shoulders, push in the chair, and declare: "Sorry, I have to leave; dog, walk."
This is a lie, of course, and some at the table -- if there is a group -- will lower their heads to stifle a laugh. There will be faces turning to look at one another to confirm they've witnessed this routine before, but are kind enough to play along with my ruse.
Doris, my sweet shelter dog, is perfectly content in our apartment where she has the option of two berths -- the double sized in our bedroom, or the daybed in the living room-- both of which are patterned with dozens of squeaky toys and half chewed sham bones.
And while I'm confessing, I should share that Doris doesn't need a walk now, she shuns the outdoor grass, weeds, and grimy gravel used contently by others of her species. Instead, she prefers to circle indoors in our bedroom to go potty on four clean squares of puppy pads.
So why this subterfuge? Why accuse Doris as the culprit in my vanishing act? Didn't the poor darling suffer enough living in a shelter until I rescued her at one-and-a-half?
And why am I always the first to leave? Is it my attention span, unfinished work calling me home, boredom, or need for a nap?
What ever the cause of my abrupt departures, my attention and enthusiasm begin to fade at 45 minutes. By 60, head begins to lower, yawning commences, and companions show signs of concern, compassion, and finally exasperation. "Go, go," they'll urge, eager to rid the spoiler and continue socializing.
Perhaps, as many studies have found, that my limited attention span shifts back to my smartphone and computer addiction. In fact, I was an early adopter of these electronics; so enamored that I once worked as a specialist (sales clerk) in an Apple Store. But then again, I lack other symptoms of ADHD, so perhaps we can scratch that diagnosis.
It's not that I don't love my friends who issue the invites or treasure the one-hour I have granted them. They are jewels to me, and guardians who would race like firefighters to a blaze if I needed their help. But I'm perfectly content seeing and conversing on Zoom, which gratefully abides by a clock, and sends warning when the time limit nears.
Since we can't hug or touch, what's the point of preferring six feet apart, masked, get-togethers? I look the same in person as I do on your device. Actually, that's incorrect; I do not wear makeup on Zoom and my attire is dull and comfortable.
For face-to-face meetings, I'd have to glam up, hook up undergarments, drape in flattering clothing, and wear open-toe shoes that honor my pedicure. Consider this extra prep time for live get-togethers: throw in transportation back and forth, and before you know it, my dear hour, that is my preference, has swollen to two or three!
I have to admit that my aversion to spending more than one hour engaged in conversation or activities dates back pre-Doris and pre-pandemic. If I were to have my preference, I would ask teachers to limit classes to 30 minutes. For that period of time, I can guarantee alertness and attention. Beyond that, though, my eyes veer from the instructor to the clock, wishing it could magically speed up, as in a time travel film. And if a mat should be involved in a session that stretches beyond my preferred time limit, I can predict a siesta.
And while I'm nixing dining invitations due to my stubborn time constraints, please consider the same "thanks, but no thanks" for your next board or card game. You will likely last until the final token or Ace is played, but I will be ready to call it quits after the first round.
But instead of scolding myself for swift exits, I should praise myself for remaining in situations more significant than the social gatherings just outlined. Consider: my first marriage lasted 30 years and my second 14. In neither case was I first out the door. Number one left to live her true self, and the second departed to his heavenly home.
Of course marriages can't be compared to Monopoly, Bridge, or restaurant meals. And spouses are certainly in a category more meaningful and deep-rooted than friends. But in excusing my rudeness in being first to leave, these decade- long unions certainly show a different side of me.
Unfortunately, I have to end this essay here, dog, walk. Thanks for understanding.
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Six Things I've Learned About Myself While Sheltering in Place
1. Adopting a dog six months ago was one of my cleverest acts.
I admit there were times I wondered if I had been foolish facing Chicago's winter with an energetic pup pulling me along. But I soon realized that Doris' presence lightened my mood; made me feel needed, and provided companionship. Now, with our shelter-in-place directives, I'm congratulating myself for this addition to my life. Along with our four walks a day that hustle us outside, I'm blessed with a warm body attached to my leg at bedtime.
2. I prefer Zoom meetings to those that require me leaving home.
For someone others might consider gregarious, I am at heart a hermit. So this isolating in place requirement boosted, rather than drained, my spirit. Zoom allows frequent love fests with my far-flung children and grandchildren and nearby dear friends. For causes I support, no more carping about a meeting that requires a wardrobe, Lyft ride, and disruption to my routine. Now, I can host or join a gathering that demands only the top half of my body, allows me to occasionally slip away unnoticed, and unmute my mic only when I have something of value to say.
3. I need accountability and deadlines.
Because I've been riled over politics, I had been spending a majority of my time posting political and pandemic articles to my Facebook friends. Sadly, my stack of eBooks fell victim to this aggressive determination. Then, I was asked to participate in a conversation about a book on the Holocaust, and to write a blurb for another written by an artist friend. I had two weeks to complete more than 1,200 pages. The assignment drove me to set aside my mad obsession and devote a few hours a day to a new mission. Not only did I meet my target, but I also decided to charge myself to continue. I organized a Zoom group for a book on racial justice that I had wanted to read. I set the date, invited others, and hosted the conversation. The experience was so successful that we now meet regularly to share insights on our latest choice.
4. I'm enjoying my slovenly appearance.
To keep up my image of a hip old lady, my grey hair sported a spiky look. Now, sans my usual four-week shearing, my crown resembles that of a windswept George Washington. And because the only place I've allowed myself to venture is to the dog park, I've eschewed makeup. An obligatory mask covers my mouth, so not even lipstick is required. Surprisingly, in the two months we've been housebound, I've come to appreciate this untidy image. Groomed by a beautiful mother, I was encouraged to never leave home without being picture perfect. Mom is long gone now, and perhaps would be appalled by my appearance. But then again, she's likely happy I'm staying safe.
5. I still hate to cook.
Many of my friends have been clamoring about how the extra time at home has spurred cooking. Never fond of the activity, I patriotically jumped in and found, alas, that the smoke, preparation, and cleanup did not heighten my love for that bit of domesticity. When newspaper articles highlighted the need to boost survival of restaurants by ordering out, I happily jumped aboard with my own version of waving the flag: fried chicken one day, pizza another, with leftovers to fill the week.
6. Housecleaning isn't so bad.
In the above confession, you learned that I spurn traditional housewifely tasks. Thus, I had assigned the cleaning of my dog hair-patterned apartment twice a month to another. Alas, since no one else has been allowed in, I'm still paying my housecleaner, but I have assumed her responsibilities. Because I'm a lover of gadgets and implements, I purchased an adorable Dyson cleaner and a dozen boxes of Swiffer wet pads. With these two teammates, I've managed to keep Doris' disposing coat, and other debris from turning our one bedroom into a disheveled domicile. Not only does this task help fill the long days, but also I added the workout to my iPhone's Activity list. Now, I no longer get scolded for missing my goal.