Four days before Christmas, I went to pick up Rob at college. Traffic was fabulous: clear and easy. The highway rest-stops all had signs up saying that masks were required regardless of vaccination status. Maybe one-third to one-half of the people inside were wearing masks; this included employees. I used the bathrooms quickly, and ate meals in my car.
The motel I stayed in was one I’ve stayed in before. In the past it has seemed shabby, but in a friendly, homey, comforting, CLEAN sort of way. This time it was actively dirty. I freely admit that I should have gone back to reception and asked for a different room. But this is where I got stuck: NO ONE would have thought this room was acceptably clean—and yet, it was not Uncleaned. That is, this was not a situation where I accidentally got a room that had not yet been turned over by Housekeeping, and the motel would be very embarrassed by the mistake, and I would immediately be given a new room. No: Housekeeping had been there. The accumulated dirt on the phone and TV remote and floor and inside of the door were not from just the last guest, or even the last few guests; the shower was too dirty to use but it was not dirt from just the most recent guest; the upper lock had been ripped off the door, which is a serious security issue and yet no one had replaced it. The hallway was also dirty/unvacuumed. So I felt stuck: NO ONE would think this room was okay, and so they had left it this way knowingly, and so I did not have hope that a different room would be cleaner. It was not a matter of “giving them a chance to make it right”: this room was indicative of a systemic and long-term issue.
Instead I used the disinfecting wipes/spray I now bring with me to motels, and I sprayed/wiped/cleaned anything I would need to touch: switchplates, faucets, toilet seats, TV remote, door handles, locks. I skipped a shower. Afterward I left a detailed, concerned review, mentioning the way the motel used to be and comparing it with the way it was this time. I took notes in the little Motel Notebook I keep in my Travel Purse, so I would not forget which motel this was, because I will not stay there again. (I have had a response to my feedback: they are so sorry about my experience; they hope I will pay to come stay with them again so they can restore their good reputation; they do not give any refund or any reason for me to expect that anything would be different next time—just the hope that I will once again risk it.)
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Two days before Christmas, I had a dentist appointment to fill what I assumed was a tiny starter cavity: I’d had x-rays at my appointment 6 months before that hadn’t caught it, and those developed-since-the-last-appointment cavities are generally little 10-minute fixes that make me grateful for modern dentistry: a tiny quick easy fix because they’ve caught it so early. Sometimes the dentist doesn’t even recommend Novocaine, because the cavity is so tiny and shallow and will be so quick to take care of.
This was the first time I’d seen this particular dentist, and I only saw her because of a mix-up: my check-up was accidentally scheduled for a day my usual dentist wasn’t in, so this dentist saw me instead; since she was the one who spotted the cavity, I was scheduled with her for the filling, too. She gave me the Novacaine shot, then started drilling immediately, which I am not used to: my usual dentist does the shot and then either chats with me for awhile or else leaves to go do an exam on another patient, to give the Novocaine time to work. This was the first time I’ve had to use the “raise your left hand if you need me to stop” gesture; the pain was so bad it made me gag. She gave me a second shot of Novocaine, and then waited a couple of minutes, and then drilled for well over half an hour: Rob was there for a 45-minute cleaning and check-up that began at the same time as my appointment, and I heard him finishing up and leaving and the dentist was still drilling my tooth. Then she said the drilling was done and they were going to take a little break, and she and the assistant left for 5-10 minutes. I am not used to that happening, either. Why did they leave?
Here was what I was thinking, as I lay in the dentist chair by myself, trying not to let my tongue over-investigate the trench in my tooth, which involved two surfaces: what does a dentist do if they make kind of a big mistake on someone’s tiny cavity, so that it turns into a giant filling? Do they say “Oops, I made a mistake, I’m so sorry about accidentally removing way too much of your tooth, please do not sue me!” Or do they carry on as if everything is fine/normal, and do the best they can to patch up the damage, and maybe consult with the assistant midway through? Mistakes MUST happen, and yet I don’t think I have ever heard a story about a dentist volunteering information about a mistake to a patient, so do feel free to share if you have such a story. (I am remembering long ago when a dentist was working on a filling in one of my teeth and the drill bit came flying off into my mouth while he was working, and the dentist swore and the assistant made a startled noise, but no one said anything about anything going wrong. And then, coincidentally and unrelated to that, it turned out that same tooth he was working on was badly cracked, and I had to go back a few days later to have that fresh filling removed and a crown put on. I told that story to my next dentist, and her eyebrows went VERY HIGH.)
My tooth hurt so much that afternoon/evening, I had trouble sleeping and thought I might end up with an emergency Christmas dentist appointment—but by morning it felt okay: tender, but not painful. I felt very grateful for that. While also not wanting to see that particular dentist again.
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The same day as the filling, Rob wanted to go to Target for a couple of last-minute gifts. When we arrived, masked as usual, there was a big sign saying that, due to an emergency order, masks were required for entry. The unmasked older man in front of us turned on his heel, saying “Jesus CHRIST,” and left, even though free masks were being given out next to the sign. Inside the store, more than half of the customers were not wearing masks—meaning that they had put the masks on in order to be allowed to enter, and then had SO CLEVERLY removed them, KNOWING they were not allowed to do so. This made me hate humanity and all its sly smug wily stupidity. I felt the potential in me for violence: I wanted to SMACK people and SHOVE them HARD. Instead I got milk and orange juice and Edward’s prescription, and Rob quickly chose his gifts, and we got out of there.
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That same day, Edward started feeling very ill with Crohn’s-y/intestinal symptoms; he was ill all afternoon and evening, and all day Christmas Eve. I thought this might be our first Christmas in the ER, but it was not. I felt very grateful for that. I also felt so exhausted by bedtime, I told Paul I thought I might die.
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Christmas came up so fast, and left so fast. All my people were well and, if nothing else, this pandemic has taught me to consider that the baseline for full happiness.
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I managed to neither overdo nor underdo the gifts this year, and that was satisfying. But I also feel like we didn’t watch enough Christmas movies, I didn’t read enough Christmas books, we didn’t do the Christmas puzzle I bought on a good price last year. I bought Dutch speculaas cookies like my grandparents had when I was a child, and I just found them in the cupboard because apparently I forgot to bring them out. And JUST NOW, WHILE WRITING, I realized that we forgot to go on the Christmas Light Drive we’ve done EVERY SINGLE YEAR since we had only one baby 22 years ago, and I don’t know how we forgot to do that, except that we are on a totally new Christmas-celebrating schedule now. I am trying not to feel Deep Dismay about it. (…But we ALWAYS…!)
I nearly forgot the tea advent calendar I bought to use AFTER Christmas, but writing this has reminded me to bring it out and put it on my desk so I can do the first day tomorrow. I think a daily tea / mental-health break is a Very Very Good Idea right now.
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If you feel that you are the one who keeps working, exhausted, throughout the holiday season, doing almost all the holiday prep while also continuing the chores that have to be done even though it’s the holidays (litter box, grocery shopping, replenishing toilet paper), and taking photos of all the celebrations while no one takes any photos of you so no one will even know you were there, while your spouse sits back and enjoys himself much the way the children do—may I suggest one of my favorite post-Christmas traditions, if the budget can stretch to it, which is “ordering yourself a few things from your wish list”? I tend towards the things I think will be more difficult to acquire at the next gift occasion, such as books that are currently available at a nice price in hardcover, but maybe not for much longer. It can be a heartening post-holiday ritual, and nice to extend the Fun Mail season into bleak January.
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Recently a friend suggested that perhaps I am not DIRECT with Paul and the children. At first I rejected it outright, and I do think that suggestion represents a common conscience-alleviating concept: that the problem is that women aren’t CLEAR and DIRECT enough, and that if only women would EXPRESS themselves better, if only they would SAY what they MEAN, THEN men/children would LEAP to do their share! Instead, women fail to communicate. And so how can men/children possibly figure anything out by themselves, the way the women did? They simply can’t!
But then I gave it more thought. When I said to Paul that I was so exhausted I might die, it’s true that was not Direct. I FELT it was pretty Direct, but it was not. I could have said something more like: “I am beyond normal levels of busy and tired and stressed, and you are not. You need to do more, WITHOUT me needing to constantly/individually/specifically ask you to do each thing.” But I didn’t say that, for the same reason I didn’t complain about the motel room: there is a level at which it’s worth it to point out an accidental lapse so that someone can fix it; and there is another level at which there is an obvious long-term systemic problem that is not accidental, and at which there is no point anymore saying anything.
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This morning I went to the grocery store, thinking it might be very unbusy: I thought lots of people might still be in the midst of Christmas celebrations/visitors, and maybe still well-stocked from the busy days before Christmas. Instead it was busier than I’ve seen it in awhile—and also, almost no one was masked. The Omicron variant is all over the news, there are stories about how all the Christmas celebrations will let Covid spread like the curtains are on fire, a child recently died of Covid in our area—and meanwhile, the grocery store looked as if I’d accidentally arrived during a special time set aside for Our Maskless Customers. And there were MANY small children, many of them there with TWO adults, so at least theoretically the child(ren) COULD HAVE stayed home with one of the adults, but instead BOTH adults AND the child(ren) were there breathing the unfiltered air, as if in the HOPES of acquiring an illness.
Grocery items are becoming patchy/unavailable again.