OMG - Denial of the Threat of COVID-19

Oh my goddess, I have now read two posts shared by a former co-worker echoing  the stance that COVID-19 is not serious, but amplified by the media.

One shared post intimated that this will pass – Remember smallpox?

Actually, I am old enough to remember smallpox.  I remember lining up in the school cafeteria to receive a vaccine against smallpox.  And lining up again to suck on the sugar cube containing the polio vaccine.

Although smallpox has been virtually eradicated, its eradication did not happen in a few months & disappear with warm weather.

Smallpox was around a long time before a vaccine eradicated it.

Evidence of smallpox has been found in Egyptian mummies from the 3^rd century BC.

In 18^th century Europe, 400,000 people per year died from smallpox.  Among the survivors, 1/3 were left blind.

In the 20^th century, 300 million people died from smallpox. 

The move to inoculate populations against smallpox can be traced to 10^th century China.

Ironic, since our stable genius leader blames China for COVID-19

.

My point is this:  it took thousands of years to finally develop a

vaccine that would effectively eradicate smallpox.  

We should all remember smallpox.

.

Like smallpox, COVID-19 is not going to go away easily.  The U.S. is behind in recognizing & reacting to its threat. 

The U.S. is lagging behind power house nations like South Korea in testing & working on a vaccine.

So, I have a decision.  I am fond of the former co-worker who shared two insane & dismissive posts about the threat of COVID-19.  

I do not block or unfriend casually.

But there is some shit I cannot dismiss. 

Jaki Jean on my impending breakup with Bank of America

In the digital culture of cyber space, conversations between actual human beings who can hear one another’s voices are rare.  As much as I enjoy my cyber conversations with friends & family, I miss the sound of voices.

I miss the timbre, the cadence, the intonations, the sound of laughter & of concern.

Nowhere is the absence of conversing outside of a screen more frustrating & confusing that in our day to day interactions with businesses & organizations & government agencies.

Accessing a “live agent” is cumbersome.  No doubt to encourage us to respond to canned questions & answers from artificial intelligence & computer programs.

Because I cannot speak with or email an actual breathing being at Bank of America, I am forced to reach out via my personal blog.

BOA did respond to my request to speak with someone – a response I only received by contacting them on their Facebook page via Messenger.

Hi Jaki, thanks for reaching out. We'd like to know more about your concern. Please send additional details along with the location of the financial center. ^Annette

Dear Annette – I cannot possibly use the confining space of Messenger to communicate the details of my experience with the Keegan’s Glen BOA Financial Center in Stafford, Texas.

Because I cannot speak with or email a breathing being, I am writing to you via my blog & will send you a link.

One week ago, on Wednesday, January 8, 2020, I discovered that my checking account had three dubious transactions in the processing status.  A debit & credit for $49.93 from FRG TeamFan Shop & a pending charge for ten cents, supposedly from The Miami Herald.

Knowing that the charges were fraudulent, I went to what used to be my friendly & helpful neighborhood BOA branch to shut down my debit card & obtain a temporary card.

After waiting an unusually long time in the lobby, I explained my situation to the young woman who offered to help me.  

Her response was to ask me if I had an appointment. 

(Seriously?  I was supposed to make an appointment to report fraud & ask for help?)

She then took me to a computer station & told me to wait for someone to sign me in.

A young woman arrived, used my debit card to access my checking account, & discussed my personal business in an open area on the edge of the lobby.

Beyond the discomfort I felt in airing my private life to an audience, I was informed that because the transactions were processing, nothing could be done.   

She suggested that perhaps the ten-cent charge was due to my reading an article in the Miami Herald.  She seemed unaffected by the fraudulent $49.93 charges.  After all, she said, the initial charge was reversed.

I was advised to contact customer service after the processing was complete. 

Frustrated & confused at how easily my problem was dismissed, I went home & researched the $49.93 transactions from FRG*TEAMFANSHOP.

FRG TeamFanShop is a testing ground for identity thieves to try out credit card data they have stolen to establish if the card is still valid. 

The site supposedly went inactive in 2015.

Apparently, it has resurfaced.  This means that my card was compromised & needed to be immediately shut down.  The thieves had my card information.

After discovering the source of the transactions, I did indeed call BOA Customer Service to report the fraud.  After explaining the situation & my dissatisfaction with my experience at the Keegan’s Glen location, to a live being named David, asked:

Were you issued a temporary card?

The failure by Keegan's Glen to issue that temporary card has caused me inconvenience,,frustration & embarrassment.  Without a debit card, I cannot make deposits, withdraw funds, or pay the automatic payments I have set up with various vendors. 

In our current reality, it is impossible to conduct life without a debit card.  At least within the reality I navigate.

My only option was to go into the bank & wait in line to cash a check.  

Rest assured, I know a dismissal when I experience one.  

I am both disappointed & enraged.  While I imagine that in the great scheme of things in the world of BOA, my complaint may be deemed inconsequential, I can assure you that it does matter.

Unfortunately, I was too stunned to make note of the BOA representative’s name.  Apparently, she works the lobby area.  I only recall that she had impossibly long eyelashes of very poor quality.

As soon as I receive my new debit card & make arrangements to satisfy the vendors who debit my account each month, I will research & choose one of the three other banks in the area who will treat me with respect, address my needs & attempt to help me solve a problem with my account.

It is not particularly convenient for me to change banks after a decade.  The Keegan’s Glen location fits perfectly into the demands of my role of caregiver for my eighty-four-year-old bed bound mother.

But I, and my concerns as a customer, will not be dismissed.

All of this could have been avoided if the Financial Center in Keegan’s Glen had taken my concerns seriously & issued a temporary debit card.

Regards, with a handshake,

Jaki Jean Ettinger

Jean on Dictionaries & Silver Sneakers

For several months now, Jean has been obsessed with dictionaries.

It is an obsession I share.  I grieved when my two volumes of the Compact Oxford English Dictionary fell apart.

We still have a lot of books that define words.  An American Sign Language Dictionary, an American Heritage Dictionary, a Roget II Thesaurus, a Webster’s Thesaurus.

And a Funk & Wagnall’s Collegiate Dictionary belonging to my father Jack.  The inscription reads:

Jacky R. Ettinger Xmas ‘44

The binding is worn, the pages are yellow.  But the words remain.

When Jean first asked me the meaning of a word, I went to Dictionary.com & printed out the definition.

That worked for years.  Until the requests for a dictionary of her own grew recently became more vocal, more insistent.

My Dictionary.com research was no longer acceptable.  Jean wanted a hardcover copy of a dictionary.

I understand that tactile need - to hold a book, to touch a text, absorb it.  To engage in the play, the exchange between reader & text.

The fonts in all our books that define words were too small for Jean to read.  The size of a text’s font is always a challenge for her.

Last week, Jean made it clear:

I need to talk to you.  I need a dictionary when I read a book. 

Naturally, I went to Amazon.  Large print dictionaries for adults are rare.  I scrolled through large print editions, almost all designed for children. 

Finally, I found a hardcover, large print volume for high school students.  The Webster’s New Explorer Large Print Dictionary.

It arrived via the magic of Amazon Prime over the weekend.  I gave it to Jean the next morning after church as a surprise.

When Jean reads, the Dictionary is on her tray along with whatever book she has chosen.  Often when I check on her, it is open.

In addition to a dictionary of her own, Jean has been lobbying for silver sneakers. 

At first, I suggested that sneakers would be uncomfortable in bed.  She has a supply of sequined slippers, in a variety of colors, that slip gently onto her feet.

She countered:

I bet if I had silver sneakers, I could get up & walk.

At first, I thought her request was inspired by my glittery silver Toms.  But silver sneakers entered the conversation no matter what shoes I was wearing.

If I had silver sneakers, I bet I could fly.

Recently, the desire for silver sneakers has escalated.  Tonight, we watched a news story about Queen Elizabeth giving up fur in favor of fake fur.

Jean joked:

My goodness, what is the world coming to?

I commented that we would never seen Liz in furs again.

Then Jean said:

Now I really wish I had my silver sneakers.

I asked her what she would do in her silver sneakers.

I would get up & run.  Or better yet, I would get up & walk.

When I asked if silver sneakers were magic, she assured me that they were.

Next, I asked her how she knew about magic silver sneakers.

Well, they talk about them all the time on TV.

I replied:

No doubt we both need magic sneakers.

It hit me then (I am often slow on the uptake) that the magic silver sneakers Jean heard about all the time on TV referred to “Silver Sneakers,” the gym memberships available with many Medicare plans.

Somehow Jean pulled out that thread – silver sneakers - & wove into a narrative of her own.  A magic, life altering tool that would return the mobility taken from her by her Parkinson’s.

I ordered the silver sneakers a few days ago – they arrived this evening.  They are quite fine & exude glittery magic.

Now I am faced with a dilemma. 

Do I save the magic silver sneakers for Christmas, or do I give them to Jean now so that she can begin to get up & soar?

Jaki Jean on the Battle for the BIrd Feeder - J.J. vs. the Furry Tailed Invaders

Sometime in the early 1970s, one of the builders in what is now Meadows Place grew irritated with the number of squirrels occupying the majestic trees in his upscale Memorial area home.  He had his crew set traps, capture as many squirrels as possible & transport the furry tailed rodents to the unincorporated area formerly known as The Meadows.

Or so the local legend goes.

As the trees Jack & Jean planted in the back yard grew, so did the yard’s squirrel population. 

Growing up, I never thought about the squirrels much. Had I known then that Rocky the Flying Squirrel was a rodent, I might have paid more attention.

And stopped watching the cartoon.

In the interest of transparency, I have to disclose that I despise squirrels.  I would despise squirrels even if I had never discovered that they were rodents with a furry tail.

For the past thirty odd years, I have waged open war on the squirrels in our backyard. 

I understand that squirrels are part of our ecosystem.  I just want them to behave or be part of that system anywhere but my back yard.

Squirrels are not cute & fluffy.  Like all rodents, they possess continuously growing incisors on both their upper & lower jaws.

Continuously growing. Ever ready to chomp down, to destroy, to infect.  As fellow mammals, negotiation would appear to be advisable.

Over the years, I have tried to coexist peacefully – but squirrels do not play well with others.

I have fed them, filling a squirrel feeder with squirrel food.  I have given them gobs of yummy corn cobs to feast upon.  I have respected their presence in our shared space.

And still the squirrels constantly attempt a coup to conquer the bird feeder.

No amount of redirecting has resulted in a truce, in a lessening of attacks, in the establishment of a neutral zone.

Recently, I tried oiling the feeder pole.  The squirrels laughed. 

I tried placing a cactus with enormous prickly spine needles at the base of the feeder pole.  The squirrels laughed.

I read that while birds like red pepper flakes mixed in their food, squirrels hate it.

But because my squirrels have lived for generations in Texas, their taste buds are unfazed by hot & spicy. 

So they laughed.

In desperation, I went to where we all go for answers sooner or later – first, Google & then, Amazon.

There I discovered the Audubon Wrap Around Squirrel Baffle.  Available for next day delivery with Prime.

When the Baffle arrived, I was hesitant.  But it was a gamble I was willing to take. 

If the squirrels were unable to penetrate the Baffle, there was hope for tolerable coexistence.

If the Baffle was unable to deter the squirrels, it could be returned, with disappointment.

Initial installation was a challenge, but after attempts, the Baffle remained in place.

And then the squirrels descended from their lairs in the trees.

I watched.

I watched as those furry tailed rodents tried to climb the feeder pole – only to crash into the Baffle’s barrier.

I watched as squirrels circled the area under the Baffle barrier, contemplating their ascent.  I watched as they attempted a flying leap, only to slide down its edge under their own weight.

I watched all of this devoid of sympathy or compassion.  Indeed, I watched with a sadistic satisfaction.

After several days devoid of avian feeding, I told my brother that I thought the birds were intimated by the Baffle.  

He replied:  They will get over it.

One morning, after days of doubting the wisdom of my weapon of choice, the first birds reappeared.

A pair of cardinals.

Not a pair of doves, but still a sign of peace.  Or at least, a sign of peaceful co-existence.

After many weeks, the furry tailed rodents began to reappear.  Especially after the rain.

But still Baffled.

However, unknown to me, the furry tailed rodents had spent their time away plotting – devising a strategy to outwit the Baffle.

Although I have yet to discern the details of their strategy, I have witnessed them hanging from the tray of the bird feeder.  Baffle in place.

The furry tailed rodents have underestimated my commitment to protect the bird feeder from invasion.

Recently, I replaced Chris Stapleton in the CD of my car with Springsteen’s Born in the USA.  Springsteen has a way of renewing my resolve, my confidence.

So I wait & I watch, the same refrain playing in my soul:

No retreat, baby, no surrender.

This battle is not over.

Where were you that July afternoon?

River's getting dirty
The wind in getting bad
War and hate are killing off
The only earth we have
But the whole world stopped to watch it
On that July afternoon
Watched a man named Armstrong
Walk upon the moon

And I wonder if a long time ago
Somewhere in the universe
They watched a man named Adam
Walk upon the earth

“Armstrong” by Lobo

Where were you that July afternoon fifty years ago?

I was in El  Paso with my family, watching & listening as Walter Cronkite chronicled the Apollo 11 mission to put a man on Moon.

Along with 600 million people around the world, we heard Cronkite announce:

“Armstrong is on the moon! Neil Armstrong, a 38-year-old American, is standing on the surface of the moon! On this July twentieth, nineteen hundred and sixty-nine.”

I remember my family & I going into our backyard that evening, the open desert & hills behind us.  It is one those memories that never leaves you.  Gazing up at the moon, the world filled with wonder, joy & possibility. 

Never before have we needed another moment, a light, to remind us of our potential for hope, triumph & marvel.

A moment, a light like the one we experienced that afternoon fifty years ago.

Jaki Jean on Jean & Alternative Realities

It began gradually.  It wasn’t an unfamiliar occurrence but I was still unprepared.  It had been many years & the episodes were always in a hospital setting.  I should have been prepared.  I should have Googled it.  I admit I did not want to face it.

At first it was fleeting & quickly redirected.  Always at night. 
   

There is someone in the bathroom.  There is someone in the room who should not be here.  I see a strange man.  There is a child standing in the corner.  Who is standing next to my bed?

Reassurances were readily accepted in the beginning.

I would get out of my futon bed, turn on the lights, search & announce there was no intruder, no extra person in the house.  No strangers.  No lost child.  No one next to her bed but me.

But Jean’s visits to alternative realities & dimensions have increased & intensified. 

At times, I awaken to her screaming my name.

Call you sister.  She needs to know what is going on. 

I ask her what is going on.

Can’t you see ?!!?!!?!!

I tell her that I don’t see.  I ask her to please tell me what is going on.

They are trying to take away our phone.

I ask why anyone would want our phone.  It is a land line, I tell her.  No one wants a thirty-year-old land line phone.  No one calls us on it – we use it for your pacemaker monitor. 

They don’t want us to have it.  They think we shouldn’t have it.  Call your sister.

For a moment, I try to imagine calling my sister, waking her & her husband up to tell them that someone is trying to take away Jean’s phone.  I try to envision asking my sister to reassure Jean that no one is trying to take the phone away.  No one will take the phone away.

The moment passes & I tell Jean again that the phone on the nightstand next to her bed is safe and sound.

Jean doesn’t believe me & she is angry and frustrated with my ignorance & lack of action.

Sometimes there are things crawling on the wall.  I have tried turning on the lights & asking her where on the wall.  Jean points & I walk over & look.  

But looking is not enough.  She wants me to see it, to validate what she sees.

One morning, just after midnight, Jean wakes up to tell me that it is 12:00.  I ask her why she is waking me up to tell me that it is 12:00 in the morning.

It is 12:00 in the afternoon.  You have been sleeping all day.

I protest that I have not been sleeping all day.  That we watched “Murder She Wrote” & went to bed at 11 pm.  Look out the patio door – it is dark outside.

But one of our neighbors behind us, the one with the Women for Trump sign still displayed in an upstairs window, has turned on their floodlight & there is light out the patio window when I am claiming darkness.

My credibility that early morning took an enormous hit.

Sometimes there are nightmares.  Jean screaming, crying out things like Why are you doing that?  When I awaken her, telling her it was just a dream, she firmly tells me the same thing - that she was NOT dreaming.

There is also the matter of the dancing objects & objects Jean is sure are going to fall.  Doors dance, furniture dances. Sometimes walls dance.  The clock is going to fall – it is too close to the edge.   Books, DVDs, pictures are falling.

Two nights ago, it was the candy bowl in danger of falling. The inexpensive covered bowl, which Jean calls My Candy Bowl in spite of the fact that I bought the candy dish at Walgreen’s for my desk at work to hold Dove chocolates - is going to fall.

I showed Jean that the bowl was nowhere near the edge of the dresser & in no danger of falling.

I wanted her to believe me.  

But the next day, she called for me with her whistle & said:

My candy bowl is in danger of falling.  You need to move it.

A kinder & gentler Jaki Jean would have just moved the bowl. 

Instead, I removed the bowl entirely. 

I wanted to smash it.  I wanted to smash the moment & take it away.  But the moments when Jean’s world is in another reality are not going to go away.

When I asked Jean why she does not believe me when I assure her that no one is there, that nothing is dancing, that there is no danger of falling, why she doesn't trust me, she replied: 

Jaki, I don’t know.  But the candy bowl was dancing around everywhere.

And my heart broke a little more as I left the room. 

Hallucinations are a side affect of Parkinson’s Disease. It is something I should have known from the beginning, something I should have prepared for.  I have yet to find a doctor or nurse that thinks the medicine advertising on TV is effective.

The hallucinations are not going to go away & I cannot smash them. I cannot remove them from the room & make them stop falling or dancing.

So I pray. 

Not that the journeys to other realities will cease.  

I pray I will develop the wisdom & patience to handle them without seeing the look of disbelief & frustration on my mother’s face.

Last night, Jean woke me up at 2:00 am to ask for her book.  I pointed out the time, that it was time to sleep, not time to read.  

Everyone else has a book.

Still believing in my powers of persuasion,  I assure her that no one else is reading their books.  Everyone else is sleeping.  

Unconvinced & displeased, she said O'kay.  

Next time I will give her the book.