SquarePeg Books

Note: This is kinda long and not very positive.

There was a Momma Blue Jay with her juveniles in my backyard the other day. I’m guessing their nest was in one of the yews nearby. Three juvies, only half blue; they could kinda fly, but not really yet (we discovered that when the dog started to chase one – the juvies got away, but flying was clearly a new thing for them).

I watched them on and off, perched in the shade under my deck, staying very quiet and very still until Momma comes with food barf–then there’s all manner of squawking and flapping to get Mom’s attention. (I’m assuming its Mom. It could be Dad, for all I know).

The juvies flailing and panicking when the dog interrupts their peaceful squat. Parent Bird loosing its mind because, how, exactly, are they supposed to defend Juvie #1 from a dog that weighs in at 70lbs – over over ten times the weight of an adult blue jay.

I can relate to that Parent Bird. My hatchlings are equally dependant on me at this point in their lives, and I am equally helpless when something massive and unstoppable roars towards them. A large dog. A truck. A murky future.

***

How do you plan for 8 somethings that might happen, or might not? Will it be safe to send the kids to school? What’s the plan? Hoping things will magically get better is nice, but a bad way to make a plan.

Everyone I know admits they think the Fall and Winter will be bad. Forced Closings. Layoffs. Short supplies. Online only schooling will enter the picture, we believe. Most of us think before Halloween. Most teachers aren’t hopeful for more.

Which schools aren’t resuming in-person learning this year and which ones aren’t? Are those choices based on science or convenience? What will the school’s plan look like for those kids who haven’t a mask, for whatever reason? Are the kids supposed to stash spares in their lockers? Are the teachers going to ask for donations to hand out as replacements? Are they legally allowed to do so if it’s a homemade mask, or is that assuming too much liability on the part of the teacher and the school? I should get a job, but how can I know how much work it took just to get the kids to finish their anti-brain-drain activities? I can’t homeschool and work at the same time, and I know it’s going to be at least a hybrid learning at some point. I can’t even register for a class at a community college because I don’t know how things are going to be for their schooling.

“Just be prepared and stay nimble,” I heard someone say. “Hope for the best but prepare for the worst.”

***

That heavy stillness before a storm. Not just the audible silence, but the weight of the clouds that seem like they’re only being held up by the trees themselves. Will the storm be that bad? Will it drop baseball sized hail or twist into a tornado?

Another Storm Warning, followed by a Flashflood Warning.

Like so many other storms, this drops some rain, some pea-sized hail. Power goes out on a few streets, other streets are slightly unnavigable for a while as the overburdened drains try to do their jobs of clearing out the street.

But no floods. No serious injuries. No damage to the house requiring professional repair.

Not this time. But it did happen once before. It’s foolish to assume it won’t again.

***

Everyone I know looks at the news, day after day, trolling all the sites for the latest kernel of information. Who? What? Where? When? How?

We almost never ask “why”, anymore. It’s an impossible question to answer. It’s impossible to get the facts of anything without getting a heavily biased media slant one way or the other. I know people who’ve just stopped reading the news altogether. It’s too much. Their brains threaten to collapse against the overload of how everything sucks and you can’t be a voice of reason anymore – you’re either militantly for or violently against. Both sides are eager for the death of the moderate.

Politicians rant during an election year. It’s now a dull noise, like bad speaker static roaring in the background. I don’t have the bandwidth to process half of what their saying, because we’re consumed with how to protect own for the next year. Who will win the elections? No doubt another asshole who hasn’t been in a regular middle class neighborhood struggling with a regular middle class paycheck and a crappy health plan that he keeps because “it’s better than nothing” in at least twenty years. Chances are the ever-looming threat of poverty that circles most of us like a silent spectre, just waiting for a hospital bill or a layoff to pounce isn’t a fear that has bothered most politician families in generations.

But everyone I know secretly hopes the government will find a solution, develop a plan that will lead us through, while very few actually believe it could happen. It’s little more than a fantasy, a way to pretend that some else will fix it.

The reality is we’re on our own, no matter what the suits promise us.

***

I take my dog for a walk early in the morning so the temperature is decent for both of us. Despite his size, my dog is afraid of sprinklers, and tries to pull me off the sidewalk every time we pass a yard being watered. Crickets chirrupp everywhere. He inspects every interesting scent thoroughly, and I give him his time while I clock my surroundings – is there a large dog loose and coming? Is that car going to turn at this intersection or keep going straight? Someone’s coming this way – should I pull my dog off to the side and let them pass or will they turn away from us?

I wish I could say I’m being overly paranoid, but since taking Flame on his daily walks, I’ve been attacked three times by large dogs, almost run over by several cars, and screamed at by other pedestrians who feel their unleashed psycho chihuahua has the right of way over my large, leashed and somewhat cowardly dog.

Nothing approaches us today, but as we walk I notice more large dumpsters in front of houses taking in furniture. The house change weekly, but I can’t help but wonder if Granny moved, died or someone defaulted on their mortgage. It feels like a lot more dumpsters this summer than last.

My dog almost runs into a fence post because he stares longingly at squirrels in the yard we just passed. Mom won’t let him chase in other people’s yards.

He doesn’t realize I’m trying to keep him safe. I’m not sure my kids do, either.

***

New mask restrictions instituted state-wide again.

People gripe and complain while waiting in line to get into the store. I hear conspiracy theories and media blaming and those who hate to wear masks because it doesn’t go with “their look” all around me. I make jokes about hoarding toilet paper and chocolate so I don’t get caught flat-footed when everything shuts down again. People laugh. Some roll their eyes. It’s camoflage for me – I don’t want to talk about how he thinks COVID is a political conspiracy. I don’t want to get into an argument with another man about how wearing masks is a violation of his constitutional rights.

I just want to get the supplies I need for my family and get the hell out before something happens.

Is it worth it to go to the store, after reading yet another article about yet another fatality that started with an argument over the required mask policy? With the prices climbing ever higher, can I even afford to prep for a rough 9 to 12 months?

What do I need to stock up on? What’s worth the time and space and money to hoard and what isn’t? I could shut down my little office nook and fill it with shelving, but that’s realistically the only dry goods storage place I have. There’s enough space on the side of the fridge I could build a slide-out canned goods pantry. I have most of the scrap pieces I need to build it.

I build it, and now have no excuse to not stock it.

I realize I have to take a Xanax to go shopping, now. Without it, I panic in the stores, but not in an obvious way. I can’t understand my list, and I race around the store, desperate to fill my cart and get out. Do I need it? I don’t care. In the cart it goes.

It’s not until the next day that I really look at my purchases and think – “That maybe wasn’t the best choice, and I totally missed the things I did need for the house.”

I feel weak for having to drug myself to take errands, but my husband won’t go and things have to get done.

***

It’s been unusually muggy here this summer. We do have cicadas in Colorado, but they’re a smaller variety, and not nearly as plentiful as other states. I think that’s what I’m hearing at night. Its a peaceful, rhythmic, droning buzz while a chorus of crickets chirrupp faster at a higher pitch.

Sometimes I see a bat flying by, right before the sun retreats behind the mountains. Seeing the bat makes me happy for a moment.

Despite the moisture in the air and the more frequent rains this season, the echoing pop-bang-sizzle-whistle of a firework set off somewhere in the neighborhood is worrisome. Colorado is almost always under fire watch year-round, though most people don’t want to accept that. There are a lot of dead trees and tinder-dry grass in my area, so hearing a firework of any kind makes me worry and consider checking our grab-and-go-bags with a few days worth of clothes.

No fires leap up tonight.

***

Protests do happen here, but they aren’t nearly as prevalent or as violent as on the coasts.

Will that change?

I have to be mindful of the clothes I wear. My father-in-law and brother-in-law are cops, and they’ve given me shirts emblazoned with “El Paso County Sherriff’s Department”. Almost every shirt I own that has writing–political or not–has to go to the back of the closet as well. While I don’t have employment, my family can’t afford me getting jumped by someone who’s just looking to beat down a person for no other reason than words on a shirt.

Not just in terms of money, but also in terms of labor. Me being down and unable to function even a few days causes a huge backlog in the household chores. And if there’s a hospital bill associated with that, it will be even worse. Now I’m worried about walking the dog and shopping for groceries because I don’t know what will happen.

Statistically, I know that nothing will probably happen. But to the one percent that things do happen to, statistics don’t matter.