Well Dammit, Part 2

So two weeks ago (November 11), dad had a rapid-results COVID test that came back positive. He has been a good boy and isolated himself.  I had a test the next day (November 12), and it came back negative. WHEW, right?

In the words of Lee Corso, "Not so fast, my friend."

On Sunday the 15th, I had a sudden nausea attack, leading to sweating profusely (lying in the bathroom floor between upchucks because it was nice and cold).... and being so tired that I went to bed. I woke up four hours later, then went back to bed. I slept off and on for a few hours (with snippets of the football game playing on my SiriusXM app). I assumed it was an awful migraine because of head and neck pain, and the lethargy. I luckily had taken the week off work so I didn't have to worry about that, at least. 

On Monday the 16th, I more or less slept all day again -- or at least I lay in bed all day. Zero energy, still some residual head and neck pain. Finally around 1:00 PM I got up on Tuesday, shaky and hungry to a small degree. I ate a half-sleeve of saltines. It was all I wanted. And back to bed for a while. By the afternoon I felt I had had enough of this and forced myself to at least sit up in bed while I watched old episodes of The Addams Family (don't ask how many times now I've seen pretty much the entire 2 seasons). 

On Wednesday, I finally started feeling human again -- a diminished appetite, but human.

By the weekend I was feeling much better. Until yesterday afternoon. Around 2:30, I noticed that the candle I'd been burning all morning -- about 3 feet from my office chair -- was not as potent as it normally would be. So I lit another candle. It too lacked a certain potency. So did the Watermelon candle. And so did the Bath & Body Works hand cream. 

I told my dad, "I think I've lost my sense of smell....." He asked me to smell some various essential oils. Peppermint? Didn't register. Breathe Easy Blend? Nothing. Another blend I had at my desk? Nothing. Then he brought out the ultimate test: an old bottle of Brut left in the bathroom by my brother. Brut, the stankiest ...... stank there is available for sale. Brut, which makes me gag because it just reeks.

Nothing. Not even a hint. 

I went to the bathroom. Lavender hand soap? Nope. Lemon hand soap? Well, at least my hands got extra clean. Bath & Body Works Raspberry Sugar shower gel? Nothing. 

This morning it was only minimally better. If I leaned deeply into my cup of coffee, I could pick up a very faint hint of coffee. Same with the lavender soap - but I almost had to put my hand on my nostrils to even get a tiny aroma. It's like a volume knob that goes zero to 100 -- mine is at 5, at best. I still have to breathe super deeply to even get minor hints of scent. I have a pack of cinnamon-scented wax melts on the desk as well...... barely moves the needle. 

So I talked to my doctor this morning, and she had me go to the hospital for a re-swabbing and re-testing. It's drive-through testing and I got there at 11:15. I left at 12:30. I felt awful for the occupant of a car a couple up from me. It was a small child getting tested and he or she did not like having their nasal passages probed in the least. I wasn't crazy about it either kid. But on a positive note, it did make my left eye water..... 

I'll find out within 24-48 hours. But I'm already pretty sure I am COVID-positive and that what I had last week was probably the manifestation of it. Different, to be certain, than what others have experienced, but definitely in line with it. And I'm betting if they tested the city's wastewater, they'd find a much higher occurrence in the general population.

Our county has the distinction of the fastest growing positive rates in the state in the last 2 weeks. FORTY percent jump in cases. And while we are home to a large university, our county administrator (a high school classmate of mine) advised us today that student positives are not counted in the county totals, but go to the student's home area -- whether across the state, or in another state. I'm not exactly sure how all that works (since chances are they contracted it here) but it's not my say. 

At any rate, I'm staying put for another two weeks. 

Well dammit....

After months and months of taking every precaution and doing everything we could to keep ourselves safe, someone else’s carelessness has resulted in a positive COVID-19 test for Daddy. Mine -miraculously- was negative. Maybe being in another room facing a computer screen all day has its advantages.

I am feeling a complete rollercoaster of feelings — gratitude that dad’s case so far has been fairly mild: just a low-grade fever, a horrid cough (along the lines of a really bad case of bronchitis) and tiredness.... I have had a scratchy throat (a la post-nasal drip) but that’s it. 

But I’m also feeling a huge amount of anger and frustration. People are treating this virus so cavalierly and after months and watching figures jump exponentially.... how? How do people justify acting so nonchalantly? I’m angry at people who’ve put their own selfishness ahead of others. All it has taken is someone somewhere not caring.....

I can’t say it enough: WEAR THE DAMN MASK! Wash your freakin’ hands. Cover your mouth when you have to cough or sneeze. And be a responsible human being.  

29 Years Ago....

Fall 1991, College of Charleston, Charleston SC.

His name was Carlos X — or at least that was how he signed the op-ed piece in The Cougar Pause, our biweekly student newspaper. He told his story of how he’d experienced racism on our fair campus.

People lost their damn minds.

There were multiple pages of letters to the editor in response. One was mine. And mine was one of two written by white students that didn’t automatically discount his experience. The other was J.J. Biondi, who if I recall correctly was a resident assistant at one of the dorms (or had been). We offered our apologies as they were, and offers of reconciliation and conversation. Funny the details we can recall. There was also a letter from Larry, a guy who was known for being somewhat militant around campus. Our very own Huey Newton or Stokely Carmichael.

I worked with two young African-American men in the computer labs. One was Trey, who was an absolute Mac whiz and who taught me what little I knew about Macs back in the day. We were working one morning and he suggested we go to lunch to continue a conversation we’d begin about the Carlos X situation. He personally knew Carlos. He told me things Carlos had left out of the op-ed piece, details which I knew were closer to accurate than not: how one of the frat boys (from a certain fraternity known to glorify the past) repeatedly called him boy when he worked the dorm check-in desk. I remember being dumbfounded. Trey opened my eyes that day to how he was seen as a black man on campus. I mentioned that I’d had classes with one person in the minority student council who was perceived as very militant.... he laughed and said, “yeah, that dude’s a bit extreme, and he’s just as wrong in some ways.” These many years later, I can begin to see why Nate’s views had been shaped that way.

A couple of days later, I was working with Troy, a sweet young African-American man in the computer lab. He always called me ma’am, no matter how much I tried to have him stop. He was polite to a fault. We were sitting there also having our conversation. He shrugged off the whole thing, and I really wanted him to take it more seriously, especially after my talk with Trey. In walked Larry and I asked how I could help him....

“You’re Annette McClellan, aren’t you?”

Oh shit. What had I done? I barely knew Larry, pretty much by name only, and his letter.

I squeaked our, “I’m Annette, and you’re....?”

“I’m Larry (last name), do you know me?”

“I know the name.....”

He held out his hand, “I came here to shake your hand. For being one of two people on this campus who doesn’t think Carlos is crazy.”

I exhaled, Larry smiled, and we shook hands. I told him I appreciated his kindness and he said the same. Troy eventually exhaled too. Larry went off to find J.J. to shake his hand as well.

And here we are, 29 years later. We’re still trying to figure it out. But things are different at C of C.  Just a week or so ago, it was announced that the college had revoked their acceptance of at least one student who had been shown in the past to make racially charged remarks, or other displays of racial insensitivity. We’ve made great strides.

And we have a long way to continue to go.

Bronze Thoughts on Golden Throats 3 (Sweethearts of Rodeo Drive)

It only took thirteen years after posting Silver Thoughts about Golden Throats 2, but I *finally* got Golden Throats 3 (Sweethearts of Rodeo Drive). One, back then, trying to find a copy was hard enough but if you could, it was in the $50 range. I was patient, kept it on the Amazon wishlist, and only 13 years later, it finally came in at a reasonable rate (under $15).

Was it worth it? For pure kitsch factor, absolutely. Let's face it, none of these folks will ever be known or remembered for being beautiful singers. Okay, maybe one, but......

Let's do a rundown, shall we?

• I Walk the Line (Leonard Nimoy) -- nothing out of the ordinary from all the other Nimoy covers I've heard. He has a serviceable basso-baritone that with some additional vocal coaching would have been just fine on the airwaves. But the delivery? Oh, the delivery. It's never as hammy as his Star Trek costar William Shatner, but always slightly stilted, as if he were still in Spock character. 

• I'll Be Your Baby Tonight (Goldie Hawn) -- it's not horrible. It's not great, but not horrible. Again, a little vocal coaching could go a long way. Or a couple of extra practice sessions.

• Hey Good Lookin' (John Davidson) -- Those thumps you hear? Hank spinning in his grave. This is a total lounge act rendition. Even Nick The Lounge Singer is going, "Okay, that's a bit much, dude."

• Green Green Grass of Home (Jack Palance) -- again, not horrible, but not great. Truth be told, it barely leans into the okay category. I'm waiting for him to say "I don't need (wheeze) some fancy cologne (wheeze)....." before launching into the virtues of Skin Bracer...... 

• Back Street Affair (Carol Channing and Webb Pierce) -- both well-known, both stars of their varied genres. Together, this is just a mess. Think an older, twangier version of Andy Gibb and Victoria Principal doing "All I Have To Do Is Dream" ..... or for the youngsters, imagine Bieber singing with one of the Kardashians. Moral: just because you can doesn't mean you should.

• San Antonio Rose (Michael Parks) -- no. Just no. If your name ain't Ray Benson or George Strait, then stay the hell away from Bob Wills' music.

• Almost Persuaded (Louis Armstrong) -- I love Satchmo, but no. Was he HIGH when he recorded this? I mean, I really have to ask. 

• Ringo (Lorne Greene) - this is all in French, and it's more a recitation over music as opposed to actual singing. Kind of like he drew inspiration from Sebastian Cabot. But oddly, it's probably the best offering so far (so what does that tell you?) And in his recitation, it's very similar (and I mean very) to the cadence used by Debbie Harry in Rapture. I'm waiting for Fab Five Freddy to tell me everybody's fly.....

• Tumblin' Tumbleweeds (Merv Griffin) -- and now for the WORST rendition on the record. God better have already had a word with ol' Merv for the murder of this song. Backup singers going, "Tumblin', tumblin' tumbleweeds." And sadly, Merv isn't a bad singer. He had a career prior to TV with the Freddy Martin Orchestra. But this.... in. ex. cus. a. ble. 

• Your Cheatin' Heart (Buddy Ebsen) -- weeeeee doggie, Jed sings. Well, kinda. It's very meh. The backup singers are a huge distraction, especially the ones doing the Kathy Najimy as Sister Mary Highnotes impression.

• Mule Train (Rod McKuen) - very meh. Nothing will ever make me forget the Frankie Laine original. 

• Cool Water (Walter Brennan) -- this one almost makes me wish for Merv Griffin's Tumblin' Tumbleweeds. It's everything you'd expect from a Walter Brennan tune. I was hoping Richard Crenna would show up and save Grandpa McCoy, but alas, no. I was also waiting for Forest Whitaker to offer to take some pictures for a friend of his in 'Nam, but........

• Folsom Prison Blues (Living Marimbas + Voices) -- this rendition would have fit in beautifully in the wunnerful wunnerful world of Warwence, umm.... Lawrence Welk. I can see the champagne bubbles now.......

• Desperados Waiting For a Train (Slim Pickens) -- Golldurn, Mr. Taggart, you use your voice purrtier than a ....... Actually, it's not bad. He doesn't sing as much as recite over music. I'm waiting for a sh...load of dimes for the jukebox on this one.

• I Walk The Line (Telly Savalas) -- surprisingly, not as bad as you might think. Telly actually had a decent singing voice. But I kinda would have enjoyed hearing "Who loves ya, baby?" at the end.....

• Peace In The Valley (Wink Martindale) -- Wink needs to stick to his Deck of Cards (both on record and on TV). I often laugh about the hoopla over Elvis, but Elvis had THE definitive version of this song and nothing else will ever compare.

• Games People Play (Jim Nabors) -- you might imagine, bombastic as hell. This is the Joe South song of "Games People Play," not The Spinners or Alan Parsons Project. Although I can imagine those would be just as bad. You know, him doing Nessun Dorma, sure. But him doing covers is just as wretched as you might guess. 

If you have never had the pleasure of listening to the Golden Throats series, and love kitsch as much as I do...... treat yo'self!!!

Purpose In The Time of Corona

Years ago, the big thing was The Purpose-Driven Life by Rick Warren. It seemed that every church group or book discussion group was reading it. I probably have a copy from when mom's church ladies' group was reading it.

I never got into it. For one thing, I'd pretty well established my mission statement early in life thanks to another book -- What Color Is Your Parachute, which was big in the early 90s HR circles. Since I was a "permanent temp" myself back then (yes, that was a real thing) and we usually gave that book to recently displaced former employees, I figured it would behoove me to read it. It was a good read.... and I figured that my MISSION (big lights, capital letters, etc.) was more or less "to help people, no matter what job I found myself doing." And more or less that's ended up being the trajectory of my career. I kind of gravitated to those positions and shied away from anything that would force me to directly manage people. And over time, I've come to see I'm far better at managing data and the like than I am managing people. People are messy and I like my work to be neat.

But my purpose -- the WHY AM I HERE -- oh my. Different altogether. Answering "what am I supposed to do" is far easier than "why am I even here." The first, you can figure out in a few years with a lot of trial and error. But why am I here, why do I exist, what is the meaning if any of my very being?  That's something altogether different.

That takes nearly a lifetime of living. Of making error after error, of wrong paths and misdirected efforts. Of trusting people who weren't worthy, of eventually finding your tribe and loving them hard, of having your sweet fragile heart broken over and over again and deciding whether you're going to let it shrink you or expand you. It's learning who you are and whose you are. It's the process not so much of reinvention than peeling another layer to say, "Oh yeah, I'd forgotten that part was even in there!"

So here I am at 50 and a half (thank you very much). Corona-quarantine has given me much time to think (and I just took out an entire paragraph that I'll use for another post shortly)...... And tonight I was thinking about my purpose -- not my mission, but my purpose.

I want you to tell me how I'm doing. Honestly. 

I believe my purpose is to be court jester/fool in this life.

I didn't say to be stupid. Who was one of the wisest characters in King Lear? The fool. Lear's jester. He saw things others didn't see, especially Lear who was so caught up in his own importance that he failed to see what was real and what was not. Throughout literature, the concept of fools to convey a greater message has been used as a counterpoint to conventional wisdom.

If I'm not there yet, I'm on my way.

But you tell me.......

A Look Back at the 2010s

I think about the last decade — all that transpired in my life — and I’m grateful to still be here.

WORK: I was working in HR in 2010 and questioning and second-guessing EVERYTHING I did. To a couple of people there, nothing ever seemed to be to their liking, because I actually wanted to follow little things like correct hiring practices. By 2013, I was out of active HR (doing payroll support and some other things) but crying at my desk at some point almost every day. I kept thinking where had I gone wrong, where had this path diverted to this? I was technically let go that fall from that position and in the company, but given the opportunity to stay on in a different department. I felt like I had no choice -- I needed the benefits and the salary. So I made the move but I felt so defeated. Again, I questioned for months if I’d done the right thing — it ended up being one of the best things I ever did. I found my niche and I love what I do and the team I work with. That's not to say we haven't had our share of swerves, curves, and craziness. In the 2010s, I filled at least 8 different roles, worked on 5 different systems (and 3 different payroll systems too), had more bosses than I can count (5 this year alone) and one physical move to a new location. Most of the changes happened without me ever leaving my cubicle. (Reminds me of an ex-boyfriend who has never left his office and worked for 5 different companies thanks to acquisitions and mergers). Underwent a few of those as well …..

HEALTH: the 2010s were a case of "what else could POSSIBLY go wrong?" In 2010, I was at my lowest weight but finding lots wrong with my overall health. I passed out cold twice in the next two years, to be sent to cardiology referrals to figure out why an otherwise healthy person was passing out, and having pulse rates in the 50s. What I learned after a year of monitoring was that I had just a naturally low heart resting rate and strong vasovagal reactions, especially under extreme stress. Even now, at the highest weight I've been in a very long time, my resting heart rate still barely registers above 60 -- most of the time, the high 50s. In the midst of all that, in 2012, I got the call no woman ever wants: “hey, we found something odd on your last mammo, can you come back in?” Long story short, it took 7 weeks and an MRI to determine that “oh, it may have just been a bad area of film, you’re clear....” Starting that summer, the migraine disorder kicked into high gear. The old OTC remedies weren’t working. I begged my doctor for a neurology referral.... but instead I got sent to an ENT. I learned after almost a year of migraines and sinus/respiratory infections, that I have chronic rhinitis — meaning that there pretty much isn’t a damn thing they can do. My baseline is another person’s raging infection. Thanks for nothing, doc.  In 2014, the stress had gotten to me from all  this, and I broke out in a horrid case of shingles. I would not wish that upon my worst enemy.  I struggled with weight again — and after a foot injury in late 2014 which would worsen, my weight went up. In 2015, I had foot surgery to correct a bunion that was getting worse and straighten out the two adjoining toes which were almost in hammertoe shape. I was off my feet for months, so yeah.... you see where this is going. With other things (see later) that happened, I turned to food again for solace. And now on the entrance threshold of a new decade (even though technically, the decade does not end until 1/1/21 but WHATEVER)…… I find myself trying to figure out where to get back on track. 

MENTAL HEALTH: In 2014, after all the stress and the shingles outbreak, I also decided that I needed to get my ass into therapy. That for me was a MASSIVE step. My last experience with counseling had been a couple of quick trips to the counseling center on campus when I was in college, and I had stopped going once my crisis was over. Not this time.... I knew I would need some additional help. Some friends I lucked into a really good and caring therapist who diagnosed me with generalized anxiety disorder and thought there may also be some depression at play. She was a great therapist, and the only reason I stopped was because I couldn't make appointments while recuperating from foot surgery. But there was one more twist...... in the last part of 2015, although I didn’t see it at the time, I was spiraling into an awful place. I was snarly and snappy and just plain mean, and having the closest thing to a manic episode ever the last few weeks of 2015. I suddenly had a crapton of ideas and yet I felt like my skin was going to peel itself off me from sheer energy. Example: one night, driving home, I got the bizarre idea that I needed to pull in somewhere and buy a pack of cigarettes just to have something to do with my hands and the odd idea that in the rhythmic inhale and exhale of smoking, I might find a crazy peace. Now that is messed up (especially knowing that prolonged exposure to cigarette smoke will trigger a migraine). Finally, after my boss sat me down and asked me if the workload was too much -- because all my coworkers were going to her to ask what had happened to me..... the very next week, I sat with my doctor and got on an antidepressant. Best. Thing. Ever. Ever. Ever. Seriously - because without those meds I could not have made it through the next portion of my life.....

LOSS: 6 weeks after going on antidepressants, I was planning my mother's funeral. I had gone to the doctor near the end of January 2016. In late February, my mother had some sort of cardiac event and we had her taken to the hospital. She never came home. We know she had a heart attack, but we think either she also had a stroke of some sort because she pretty much became non-responsive -- or she just mentally checked out and it took the body a while to catch up. She ended up going into organ failure, primarily in the kidneys. In her weakened condition, dialysis was not a viable option. We did all we could do - so we had her transferred to Hospice House, where she held on for another 42 hours. Here I am almost 4 years removed from things, and I am forever analyzing and revisiting my relationship with her, what I could have done better, and yet knowing I did all I could. I was the last of us three to be with her at the Hospice facility. I sat beside her and talked and sang, and I did my best. I helped plan a beautiful send off for her.  8 weeks later, I lost one of my aunts by marriage. My cousin Lori and I were suddenly bound by a same pain. We had to suddenly navigate seas we weren't quite ready to sail on.  On the 9-month anniversary of mom's funeral, I had to say goodbye to my beloved Maddox. I thought saying goodbye to Mom hurt, but this one killed me. I held him as he began breathing his last deep slumbering breaths, and I still cry at the memory. Not even 2 months later, I said goodbye to one of daddy's sisters. My childhood was dropping around me and I was powerless to do anything. Then in May, I lost my favorite musician -- in 2016, some of the ones I loved most were all dying at a staggering rate, but losing Chris Cornell only 2 weeks after I'd stood 10 feet from him on stage (me in the pit) was heartbreaking. And of all the losses I would suffer, his is still the one that has no reasonable explanation, no rhyme or reason or anything which would make sense. But the worst was yet to come.....

RICHARD: Four months later, I was at work on a Friday, getting ready to work a weekend shift because we were so far behind after a system changeover. I was almost out the door when I remembered I'd left my phone at the desk being charged. I turned it over face up, and there was a string of messages from daddy, "Come home as soon as you can, I think your brother's having a heart attack." I lost the color from my face (so they said), and leaned against the wall. One of my bosses offered to drive me home, but I declined -- because by God, I was going to break whatever laws I had to in order to get home. I was going to say some decidedly unladylike things to the other drivers (and I did, be sure of that). I drove up right at 7:00 to see Daddy and his pastor on the porch. There was no news yet. Daddy and I started calling family members to tell them to pray and pray hard. Lori's response was unlike all the others -- while all my cousins and aunts and uncles were shocked and going, "Oh my gosh, what do you need, what can we do?" Lori gave me a quick, "Okay. Okay. Okay. I'm on it. Okay." The same type of response I give in crisis mode - no time to panic, just do. Daddy and I left for the hospital - Lori met us there, saying, "There is no way that I'm letting y'all be alone in whatever you need at this moment." They took us in a room and a lady came in. I knew who she was by her name badge: the coroner. They don't send the coroner in when they're telling you that he's still in ICU, etc. So I knew he was gone. But to hear her say it...… My cousin held me as I cried. She helped call the family to tell them the bad news. It's been 2-plus years, and I am still not over my brother's death. I don't know that I ever will be. There are times I look up to the skies and scream, "You ought to be here, you asshole! You left me here to do all this shit myself and I need you here, you little turd!" (These are my moments of anxiety when I'm scared to death at the thought of being a caregiver for my dad when those days come and having no one to count on - not that I'm sure I could have really counted on my brother, but that's another story).

And lest we forget: POLITICS: if the last three years haven't given me a breakdown yet, nothing will. But it has damn sure galvanized me and that is ALL I have to say.

So today I looked at an article that said, "If you have dealt with mental health issues in the past decade and feel like you haven't accomplished anything, WRONG! You survived....." I started thinking about the 10 years past and HOLY SHIT, I have survived. I haven't always thrived like I wanted to, but I have by God survived. And I've become more open about my struggles because I am not ashamed of them -- There are days when I throw my arms open and think, "you haven't taken me down yet, motherfuckers!" (But then I don't because I do not want to invite any bad juju, you know....)

So what do the 2020s hold? I don't even want to think about it. Literally. I spent a little time doing so the last few weeks and honestly, some of the options overwhelmed me so much that I had to take breaks to go breathe. I'm still holding out for a safe time and space when I can book the meltdown I so richly deserve.

But I have survived things that I never imagined I would. Pure grace and stubbornness and overwhelming kindness and the refusal to give in for even one minute. That's my odd mix of coping mechanisms. Oh, and concerts and plenty of dank humor that no one else would even begin to understand.

Oh, I, oh, I'm still alive...….