The world is racing toward a COVID-19 test that produces results in the shortest period. Utilizing my scientific nature, I devised a test that returns results within seconds. Further, it is available to all interested parties.

A common symptom of COVID-19 is loss of taste. Without much difficulty, I acquired a box of peanut-butter cups and keep them in a convenient kitchen cabinet. With these simple edible/medical devices now available, I can test the functioning of my taste buds throughout the day.

When the chocolate flavor and crunchy peanut texture presents itself, I walk away satisfied that I am free of COVID-19. But, if the taste dissipates, I am free to retest myself to ensure people around me are safe.

In furtherance of this research, I prepared a batch of chocolate chip cookies and found them equally effective. This adds a greater variety of testing materials and expands the audience who may use my method of detecting COVID-19.

An interesting by-product of this procedure is chocolate-coated fingers, which helps the tester meet the CDC recommendation of frequent hand washing.

I suppose I could publish my testing procedure and contribute to the government’s “Operation Warp Speed”, but my politics get in the way. I choose to spread the news of my discovery, free of politics, by writing about the chocolate-of-mouth method (borrowed from the cliché “word-of-mouth”).

I adopted this altruistic behavior to help keep people safe. I remind myself that I am doing my part each time I take the test. Keeping this virus under control includes accepting responsibility. Sometimes, we must step up.

I have a sense of pride when I step up to the cabinet holding the chocolate treats.

As regards masks, I have three types.

• a very safe and rather stylish one so thick it muddles my voice,
• a medical-grade paper mask I can throw away after a few uses,
• and my insurance company-provided mask with the company’s name and ‘Medicare’ printed in bold letters on one side.

When I wear my very safe and stylish mask to a restaurant to pick up a takeout meal, I always come home with something different than what I ordered. While this makes life a little more interesting, it becomes an annoyance when I arrive home with an odd collection of appetizers when I ordered two full meals.

When I wear the mask with its obvious Medicare label, people shout as though I am deaf. My carefully modulated voice should tell them otherwise, but, alas, the mask tells a different story. This notification of my approximate age violates my HIPPA rights and is an annoyance, but I suppose it is to be expected in a capitalistic society. I am sure the insurance company anticipates a little goodwill to go with their free mask.

When I wear my paper mask, I am safe and understood, until there is rain.

With these observations under my belt, I devoted a suitable amount of time developing my own customized mask policy because I will always wear a covering in public. But, I will factor circumstance into which mask I choose.

• In a noisy environment, I wear the Medicare mask. That way, people talk louder, allowing me to hear them.
• When it is not raining and I need to be heard, I wear the paper mask.
• When I do not want to be heard, or I am around young people who hear everything, I wear the stylish one.

Given that most of my time is without public exposure, the masks are seldom used in front of a television. Having said that, I still feel wearing a mask is necessary, and having an acceptable policy about where to wear them is prudent.

Whether one documents those decisions or not is up to them. Given my nature and schedule, I found it proper to commit it to writing. My memory also played its part in my decision to write the policy.

Health authorities recommend we stand six feet apart as a precaution. To help encourage adherence to this policy, I have gone almost a year without a haircut. The fact that I am old, greater than six feet tall, and now with shoulder-length hair, I may appear a little creepy. While I am still in the testing phase of a ‘Creepy’ experiment, it seems to help people keep a respectable distance. If it is what I must do to keep us both safe, I am up to the task.

In summary, with or without an award (or parade), I will continue to do my part in keeping Americans safe while doing my part to support the chocolate industry.

by Glenn Thaxton, Written August 2020

In the seventh month of COVID-19, during the reign of our 45^th Resident of the White House, Dongle T Rump, in the year 2020, I woke up in a small hamlet – Lockdownia. The residents of Lockdownia, of which there are two, pay tribute to three governmental bodies: the nearest township, Dallas, the province of Texas, and the country of the United States of America. Other than the tribute and the incompetence it supports, life is otherwise good within its walls.

Lockdownia is one of the remaining places where science is valued. We watch the stars not to determine our astrological future, but to track satellites, eclipses, and the occasional comet. We believe the earth is round. We do not believe there is a conspiracy by aliens to infect our medicines with their DNA. We do not believe that vaccines are chips read by 5G to know our thoughts. We get vaccinations and tend to our health under the advice of doctors, not witch doctors or politicians but those with the proper credentials.  Further, we prefer ‘farm to table’ food over ‘can to table’.

Views of scientists at the peak of their field and those with current publications carry weight in Lockdownia.  Politicians who were doctors or who have an uncle who was a doctor are lumped together as sources of fake news and treated as irrelevant.

We do believe in witches, the kind that refuse to wear face masks and throw things when asked to do so. Although we have never burned witches in Lockdownia, we have sympathy for anyone who would like to do so.

Lockdownia is composed of several localities. One, known for its cuisine, is called “Isla de Cocina”. A noticeably quiet district is a short walk from Isla De Cocina and is known for its excellent sleeping conditions. It is called “La Chamber de Sommeil”. When I am feeling academic, I visit the Bibliotheca it houses books of every kind. I occasionally walk to the region of “Salle d’Exercise” to work off a day of frustration.

One corner of Lockdownia is where people congregate virtually to meet their minimally required social interactions, and another area is where one can contribute labor hours in support of the community.

Human interaction is not a rarity in Lockdownia’s despite its isolated condition. However, those social interactions lack touch and proximity – two things I failed to value appropriately before moving to Lockdownia.

The entertainment district is the most often visited. This is where governmental information is communicated to the citizens of the hamlet. This neighborhood is responsible for the most rage. It stands as a miracle each day that it continues to exist.

Lockdownia is made of other lessor, yet important, localities. These are not listed in the interest of concision.

There are no beauty parlors or barbershops in Lockdownia. At the beginning of the pandemic, this was an aggravation. However, now that I have hair to my shoulders, I am rethinking hearing aids as they can no longer be seen. Eventually, there will be something to hear.

The entire hamlet of Lockdownia is solar-powered while getting its water and gas from the township of Dallas. The hamlet has attempted its own water supply, but the surrounding municipality would not allow it to do so.

Lockdownia is surrounded on one side with half-tended gardens and a pool of water occasionally used by its citizens to escape the summer heat and to float in its tepid waters while gazing into the canopy of trees above. The gardens have the obligatory number of butterflies and bumblebees and are occasionally graced by lightning bugs. Squirrels, rabbits, and a variety of birds also provide entertainment while eating the garden tomatoes to the aggravation of the residents.

I frequently remind myself how lucky I am to be debt-free and have no financial requirements that force me outside of the hamlet. On occasion, that gratitude carries me through the boredom I experience.

Governance of the hamlet is documented as a shared responsibility, yet evidence is to the contrary. The female member of the hamlet appears to wield the most power due to the blasé mindset of the male.

In Lockdownia, time is irrelevant. There is only pre-now, now, and post-now. Days of the week have lost relevance for one of the residents requiring him to lookup month and day periodically (sometimes to the aggravation of the other village habitant).

Stress of living in Lockdownia comes more from processing news from outside its walls than it does in coping with daily activities.  Broadcasts arrive daily announcing the number of deaths due to the pandemic and Dongle T. Rump’s assurance that it will soon be over, while the science community says otherwise.

Lockdownia is a pleasant and safe hamlet. Yet, for those of a more adventurous spirit, it is often haunted by boredom. Days are much the same, and some have considered tree climbing and shopping in the neighboring community to add an element of risk.

My job in Lockdownia requires me to travel from locality to locality throughout the day, tending the needs of the hamlet. Thankfully, all the districts are within walking distance. As I move from location to location, I pick up mail and distribute it to the appropriate parties. I also pick up the occasional popcorn and renegade chip to ensure they are processed appropriately. When time permits, I handle the logistics, making sure food and other required household products are delivered within a reasonable time frame. There is no pay for this job. It is done as a contribution to the greater good of Lockdownia.

Even with the responsibilities outlined and the harmonious atmosphere found in Lockdownia, I long for the freedom to hop on a plane and fly to a beach in the Caribbean, or a sunny village in Southern France, or maybe just go to a neighborhood restaurant and eat inside.

This week I’ll wash the sheets on Wednesday instead of Thursday. Then I’ll put on my tie-dye t-shirt and stage a protest in the middle of the hamlet. Afterwards, I’ll go to the garden area and run through the sprinkler with chilly water landing on my sweaty body. While there, I’ll catch a butterfly and let it go. I’ll…

RING! RING! RING!

“Hello.”

“Hello, how are you today?”

“Surviving on daydreams.”

“I am a representative of the Senior Life Insurance Company. I’ve tried calling several times with no answer. I just want to take a moment of your time. Can I interest you in life insurance?”

“What life?”

Click.

Why did he hang up? I was just getting started.

Oh yes. I remember, I live on Mars in virtual reality. A place where every day seems the same…

by Glenn Thaxton, Written March 2020

Young people often judge their elders as having a loose attachment to reality. My experience is different. As I grow older, my mental acuity becomes sharper. Things once ignored arrive in sharp focus, escaping my ability to let them go. Prescription labels provide an excellent example.

A few weeks ago, I was taking my medications and happened to read the warning label. Printed in bold letters was a suggestion that I contact a physician if I decide to breastfeed.

Let me tell you something, when a 73-year old man decides to breastfeed, problems are afoot! The drug industry should change the label to “call your psychiatrist” given the high likelihood one is already in the picture (assuming the breastfeeding man scenario).

If some study group wants to identify men interested in breastfeeding, they should be less covert. On the other hand, if they are warning me of a possible side-effect of the drug, they should clarify their messaging.

Either interpretation piques my interest in another medication.

One could argue the utility of a man being capable of breastfeeding, given starvation on the planet. Or one could discuss the obvious physical constraints and how to overcome them. In either case, the concept is disturbing. With higher priority items on my personal agenda, these topics will have to take a backseat.

Bottom line, if you are a physician, don’t put me in the camp interested in breastfeeding. Women’s breasts have many applications and points of interest. There is no need to diminish the role they play. I am sure I am not by myself in expecting this duty to remain with women.

Child rearing roles for men and women continue to blur over time. Having said that, certain elements of the man’s role should be clear and permanent: providing a safe environment, periodic pearls of wisdom, and freedom from responsibility at the earliest opportunity.

Breastfeeding is not on the table!

If loose attachment means ignoring the crazier elements of the new reality we live in, count me as loosely attached.

After stewing on this observation, I had a brief meeting with the pharmacist. She told me that prescription warnings are generic and pertain to both sexes.  Further, it is left to the sex of the prescription taker to interpret what warnings apply in their individual case.

So, when the prescription says it is not to be taken with alcohol you can assume that the warning is targeting the opposite sex, pull out the bourbon, and thank God, they’re not talking about breastfeeding.

 You would think this example would be enough weirdness for any one individual but a week later I found the following message on my phone:

 “This is a reminder from your doctor…Our records indicate you are scheduled for a series of tests. Please arrive 15 minutes early…do not eat before the test and no caffeine the day of the test…Wear comfortable walking shoes and no dresses or one-piece outfits.”

 Here we go again.

 My daughter says that sexuality is more fluid today. I can accept that but, if you think I am going to wear a dress anywhere, I’ve got some fluid for you!

A while back, I was looking for a hotel room in Austin. One with a king-size bed to fit my Texas size frame. Imagine my surprise at finding a room advertising – “king-size bed, sleeps four!”

I know what you’re thinking, “Sounds interesting. Where’s that hotel?”

Well, slow down.

I’ve always felt I was adaptable, but life is beginning to stretch my limits. I decided to stay home.

Let me give you one more example.

This morning my day started off like this:

I say to my wife, “I’m making pancakes. You want anything in them?”

“Mayonnaise”, she replies. 

“Mayonnaise?”

“BANANA’S!!!”

“Jesus! You don’t have to shout!” I’m thinking, ‘It’s OK to change your mind.’

Today is already off to a rocky start. For the most part it’s like any other day, with one notable exception, every channel on the TV is talking about the corona virus and “Vocal Distancing”. I’m not sure how vocal distancing will help, but if it will, I am an expert.

Like the banana pancake banter previously described, I would be deaf from the shouting that accompanies some of my conversations if it were not for my advanced skills in Vocal Distancing.

On the assumption that Vocal Distancing will assist in the control of the virus, I am willing to contribute a few items I’ve picked up over the years. The following list hits the high points:

·   Don’t act on what you hear without verification.

·    Understand that some people don’t make sense no matter how many facts are evident. Ignore them and be patient with everybody else.

·    Stand six feet from anyone you ask a question.

·    Take a meditative moment every now and then to help control your emotions.

·    An abundance of toilet paper doesn’t help (I’m including this point to clear the air after a trip to Walmart).

 Everything changes, a day later, while my wife was out of the room, I turned on the TV and set it to a reasonable volume to discover that this week everyone is talking about “Social Distancing”, the practice of being no closer than six feet from anyone. This approach seems simpler than vocal distancing and simplification has its merits given this new generation.

What a difference a day makes.

I moved my wife’s chair six feet from mine, washed my hands, and am now waiting for further instructions … wondering when the world will start making sense.

***

I have no interest in breastfeeding anybody, nor will I be wearing dresses. Further, I won’t be going to hotels that advertise four people to a bed or dancing with a virus that has control issues.

My Grandpa used to say the world is getting crazier by the day. I now understand. I think I’ll just go back to talking to animals and watching Vladimir Hooten, our nosey, control freak, owl in the backyard.