Season’s Greetings to all people of goodwill

Season’s Greetings to All!

I’d like to offer a Merry Christmas to everyone celebrating today, but also Warm Winter Wishes to the rest.Mom's idea of a restrained Xmas with dozens of gifts piled high under tall tree

I believe we all win when we give others the benefit of the doubt: if I tell you Happy Holidays instead of Merry Christmas, I don’t intend to denigrate your savior. Instead, I hope you recognize that my own beliefs differ, but you have my respect for your Joyeux Noël.

My favorite Christmas lyric is “peace to men of goodwill!” May this message find every reader safe, secure, feeling cozy and full of joy.

A December 23rd article in the New York Times informed me that for many—especially women, people aged 18-44, and independents or Republican voters with modest incomes—2021 might be the source of even more stress over the holidays than 2020.

So many are exhausted and demoralized.

I immediately sent a text to my sister-in-law upon reading that story. I thanked her for all that she does, especially when I’m on the other side of the country, and told her how grateful I am that she married into our family. What a delight to enjoy—and like!—one’s relatives.

It’s easy to overlook kindness when life feels hectic. Extending a hand to someone else is a surprisingly effective way to find one’s own balance.

Let someone know they are appreciated today, and perhaps you can ease some of that holiday stress afflicting a loved one or yourself. If your home is beautifully decorated or you’re dining in relative splendor, make sure whoever provided such bounty to you knows it matters.

And offer to do the tidying up if someone else arranges most of your holiday cheer! A shout out to my kids who washed all the dishes after our festive dinner last night.

For all that I am firmly aware of the rising caseload of the Omicrom variant, and the lingering specter of inflation punishing our pocketbooks, December of 2021 offers good news that I feel compelled to acknowledge. Let’s look at those sunny spots on the horizon.

Without being totally divorced from reality, it is definitive that we are seeing some of the highest daily COVID-19 case rates of the entire pandemic. I agree that this sucks! Omicrom is a rip-roarin’ beast of infection; it’s many times more infectious than Delta, which superseded those original strains of SARS-CoV-2 from early 2020.

In spite of that ugly, hospital-cramming fact, the amazing step forward of mRNA vaccinations means that the novel coronavirus is now, finally, actually only approaching the flu in terms of order of magnitude of lethality.

According to David Leonhardt’s Dec. 23rd article in the New York Times, here’s some hard data on the current degree of risk from COVID-19:

The risks here for older people are frightening: A rate of 0.45 percent, for instance, translates into roughly a 1 in 220 chance of death for a vaccinated 75-year-old woman who contracts Covid.

You’ll want to view the article to see its excellent graphs to get the fullest picture.
That is frightening, but what about when we consider other common ailments? From the same article:

One reassuring comparison is to a normal seasonal flu. The average death rate among Americans over age 65 who contract the flu has ranged between 1 in 75 and 1 in 160 in recent years, according to the C.D.C.

Until I read this story, I wasn’t aware that COVID-19 has become, for a vaccinated senior citizen, less deadly than an average flu. What a powerfully reassuring data point! I find this a reason for great hope.

bandage on upper arm

Before I go on, allow me to make obvious this other point: the unvaccinated are not nearly so safe. COVID-19 is much deadlier for the unvaccinated than flu is.

The last flu outbreak to kill millions, plural, was the “Asian flu” of the mid-1950’s, with a total death count estimated around 2 million souls worldwide.

An otherwise similar unvaccinated elderly woman is 13 times more likely to die of COVID than the vaccinated hypothetical person above. There remains a much, much higher probability of death for that unvaccinated 75 year old woman than she would face in a typical flu season.

COVID-19 leaped onto the charts as the third leading cause of death for Americans in 2020, and the elderly bear the brunt of this burden. We lost 1.8 years of life expectancy last year; that’s the worst decline in over 70 years, since WWII saw so many killed between 1942-43.

It is wonderful that we’re moving toward taming the novel coronavirus from killer of millions to “only” fatal to hundreds of thousands. While not enough, that is good, and it should be appreciated…when it actually happens.

As of November 22, we’d lost more Americans in 2021 than we did in 2020. No one should ever forget that.

Yet savor the positive news as much as you dwell on the negative and your life will be better. If you are fortunate enough to have been vaccinated, your personal risk now pales compared to those who’ve mostly been tricked out of taking a life-saving inoculation

happy face smile
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In addition to the lifesaving wonder of vaccines that measurably reduce deaths amongst our most vulnerable population, we’ve also seen two new drugs approved as treatment options for COVID-19 in the USA this week. Where the latest variant has rendered ineffective some of our most effective earlier therapies, these new treatments arrive just in time.

They could also save us a lot of money.

To have new treatments people can self-administer at home—thus sparing exhausted, overburdened hospital staff while our total case numbers reach record heights—is another blessing. It’s hard for me to quantify how much I would prefer to pick up a prescription from my local pharmacy for a few days’ worth of pills if I had COVID over making repeated visits to a hospital or clinic.

The antiviral COVID pills from Pfizer and Merck will initially cost the federal government around $700 per dose. This represents an enormous savings spread over millions of doses vs. pricier monoclonal antibody treatments all of which cost $1200 or more at the heavily discounted government bulk purchase rate.Pile of money
Patients will also be spared unpredictable fees for visiting those staffed locations necessary to administer IV therapies. In an era of high inflation—and personally facing a mandatory switch to a new health insurance plan from a different provider starting January 1st—I find this a great relief.

I’ve never had a confusing or even shocking bill after visiting a pharmacy, unlike every time I’ve been a patient at a hospital. Reflecting on the fact that I’m so incredibly privileged that I’ve never had a gap* in my insurance coverage, it seems likely that others fear surprise bills far more than I do.

The pandemic isn’t over. Thoughtful individuals should still be wearing masks and making efforts to improve ventilation while meeting with those outside their households. That said, we understand more than ever about how COVID-19 spreads. Many of us are vaccinated, thus protected against the worst outcomes of the disease. Available treatments have expanded from desperate guesses to multiple effective therapeutics.

This ugly, lonely, uncomfortable period in history will end, though those of us who’ve lived through it may well spend the rest of our lives processing the experience. For example, many of us grew up with grandparents whose behavior was permanently affected by surviving the Great Depression.

Right now, on Christmas Day, 2021, I encourage you to look for the positive anywhere you can. Experiencing terrible events isn’t the only predictor of future suffering; so is how one responds to those challenges, and what one makes with the memories.

Things could be better, but, of course, they could also be worse. Having made it to my father’s house and remained in good health in spite of the journey, I find so much to celebrate this year.

May all these little celebrations be less fraught in 2022.

Wishing every reader good health, good cheer, and a large measure of optimism for the year ahead!

It was a painfully frustrating message replete with disinformation from an old friend the other day that prompted me to research and think about these comparisons. For the vaccinated, COVID may now be similar to a “mere” flu; for the unvaccinated elderly, endemic COVID-19 is still a virulent threat to be taken seriously.

Publicly available data makes all of this very clear. In 2020, 3 million people died from COVID-19. In a usual year, flu kills between 290,000 and 650,000 around the world. No math degree is required to calculate that somewhere in the ballpark of four to 10 times as many deaths occurred in 2020 than we would have expected from “mere” influenza.

The two most commonly prescribed antibody treatments, those made by Eli Lilly and Regeneron, don’t work against the Omicrom variant. Only GlaxoSmithKline’s sotrovimab—the most recently approved monoclonal antibody therapy—offers protection from Omicrom. These therapies cost thousands of dollars per dose (retail of ~$3000-5000 according to this news story, though other sources state that the federal government bought in bulk for $2100 per Regeneron dose and $1250 each for Eli Lily’s) and are administered intravenously, requiring a trained health care professional’s presence for every dose.

*Though the Affordable Care Act has led to a major increase in how many Americans have health insurance at any given time, in 2020, 9.5% had some coverage but also experienced a “gap” in continuous care, whereas another 12.5% remained completely uninsured.

Mail a greeting card in 2020 to uplift lonely holidays

Even if you don’t usually send Christmas cards or other holiday greetings, this year might deserve to be an exception. So many people are lonely and missing far-flung families due to the pandemic; getting a hand-written note in the mail may be the most human connection in a person’s day. That is well worth 55 ¢ in postage and a few minutes of your time.

greeting cards on desk blotter with pen and stampsI send cards sometimes; other years, I don’t get around to it.

I have written Hanukkah greetings, Christmas cards, acknowledgements of the Winter Solstice, and best wishes for happy New Years. I send the message I think the recipient would most appreciate; my religion* in no way dictates the blessing I offer a friend of a different persuasion.

My family hung the same red felt banners on the entry hall wall every year of my life. They went up early in December, empty canvasses, ready to receive holiday missives as they arrived. The oldest was made by my mother’s mother and features pockets and a waving Santa at the top; Mom had to craft another when I was little to accommodate the deluge of communiques that her sociability and dedication to friendship and public service inspired. Cards were pinned or stapled to that display.

In 2019, my mother died.

Somehow, that year also saw a huge reduction in the number of Christmas cards my widowed father received. In years past, every inch of these many yards of felt was hidden by the volume of cards and letters; last year, only one banner ended up even partially covered.

Torn black felt heart pinned to garment to signify grief and k'riah

I don’t believe that people were intentionally ignoring my dad in the absence of Mom, though her enthusiasm** for Christmas did put that of other, mere mortals to shame. I received fewer cards last year, too. The dentist and the auto body shop we used only once historically sent pre-printed cards, untouched by even a secretary’s hand. A lot of that has stopped. I suppose it’s a sign of the growing reliance on electronic communication, and I don’t miss impersonal mailings from businesses too much.

Dad’s passing comment about getting so few cards, however, was like a punch in the gut to me. It was already such a hard year for him; I grieved again to see him feeling forgotten. What a dreadful time for the world to decide to save a tree and skip a mailed paper greeting!

I’m going to be sending at least a few cards this year, myself. I’m prioritizing older relatives, and those who live alone. Even if you never send cards, hate to write, or don’t celebrate any of the winter holidays, this may be a year to reach out in the spirit of warmth, light, and joy—just because.

There’s no real deadline, either, in case you’re worried about the already overburdened postal system. Send Warm Winter Wishes in January, if that feels more appropriate. After the happiest of holidays, that month can be a real let-down. After a grim, lonely season you believe should have been festive? January could be gruesome.

Our shared humanity is reason enough. Care for others is the animating gift of all societies. Winter is dark and feels too long in the good years; 2020 has not been a particularly good year for most. Pandemic winter is an enemy to us all, but a terrorizing monster to the isolated and the lonely.

Reach out, if you’ve got a few minutes, an envelope, a stamp. You’ll be making the world just that little bit better for someone else. I’m willing to bet it will brighten your day, too.

I might even argue that the very definition of faith makes the fear of someone else’s difference a rather fundamental failing of it…

** Mom liked to say that Christmas was the reason the rest of the year exists. She called herself Mother Christmas, and Dad had a song commissioned for her about that by a talented musician friend. My parents’ over-the-top outdoor decorations were so spectacular, their house was featured in a television public service announcement in the 1990’s. Mom had a unique holiday outfit for every day between Thanksgiving and Epiphany, reckoning the arrival of the Wise Men was the true end of the Christmas season.

I wouldn’t turn back the clock to more paper spam either. This is not an argument that we return to physical documents for conducting most business.

That said, I do notice, enjoy, and appreciate the personalized greetings sent by some institutions, such as my son’s school and my former personal trainer who takes the time to hand write all of his cards.

Trampoline exercise to ease chronic pain & stiffness

A mini trampoline probably won’t solve your chronic pain issues. My JumpSport 550fi rebounder* has not cured my autoimmune disease, nor did I expect it to. What it has done is offer me is an opportunity to rise up from my seat and move in a way that doesn’t aggravate my sensitive joints.Hardback library book on JumpSport fitness trampoline to show relative size

JumpSport 550fi specs

I ordered my fitness trampoline from Costco.com and received it in mid-July, 2020. I believe the JumpSport 550fi model sold by Costco is simply the manufacturer’s 550f model with the optional Handlebar accessory included.

Here are the specs if you’re interested in the same rebounder I have:JumpSport 550f/fi specs including price, size, weight

My JumpSport 550fi came with two workout DVDs and a one year subscription for additional streaming content. The former was at an intensity too high for someone with my health issues, and I never attempted to access the latter. Watching the instructor led exercises on the disc was helpful for getting ideas about how I might adapt moves to my own level, however.

I wouldn’t go so far as to say I’m “bouncing my way to fitness,” but I am getting up off my backside and moving vigorously more often than I did without the trampoline. When even common, everyday tasks present you with physical challenges, this feels like a big win!

Recent studies suggest that even very sedentary people gain massive improvements in health and longevity from fairly small amounts of exercise. My personal goal is to always—every day, no matter how bad I feel—get my blood pumping on purpose for at least ten minutes. During pandemic lockdown, my fitness trampoline has become a key component in achieving that.

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When is a box really a coffer?

My father-in-law is a gentleman of the Old World whose interest in art often takes him to local auctions. For himself, he attends auctions in search of under-valued original works of art. But, when he finds a good deal on housewares that are antique, delightful, and a bit too fancy for his own table, he often thinks of me.

Yay!Silver box etched with floral ang geometric patterns

He gave me this silver plated box a few years ago.

Maker's mark indicating James Dixon & Sons, Sheffield, EPBM 1155My fairly brief investigation into the hallmark engraved on the bottom gives me the impression that this box is not too fancy, and not so valuable. It is electroplated silver over base metal, made by James Dixon & Sons, of Sheffield, England.

Regardless, I find it quite fetching.

2 lit tapers on wooden table next to open silver chest containing beeswax candlesI immediately put my little silver box to good use. I store my Shabbat candles inside.

There is a notion in Judaism of Hiddur Mitzvah, whereby the act of beautifying a ritual enhances its spiritual significance. I find myself in complete agreement with this idea: to engage all of the senses in worship seems, to me, an obvious acknowledgement of the beneficence of the ultimate Creator.

One day, during the pandemic, I asked my child to fetch the coffer so I could put out the Shabbos candles. This led to the sort of inane conversation with which all parents are likely familiar.

“Please bring the silver coffer out of the cupboard, my darling,” says Mother, “so that I can get the candles for Shabbat.”

“The what?” asks Punk Kid #2.

“There is a shiny silver box inside the Kitchen Queen in the dining room,” replies Mother, still beaming with the sabbath peace. “The candles are inside.”

“What’s a Kitchen Queen?” responds Punk Kid #2.

“The Kitchen Queen is the antique wooden cabinet in the dining room that came from my grandmother, of course,” says Mother, rapidly losing her cool.

“Some people would call it a Hoosier Cabinet,” I offer as the steam billows out of my ears, my dear child looking on, taking no action, drooling, and perhaps going a bit cross-eyed…

Shalom bayit recedes into some future Shabbat during which I fail completely to engage with my own children and therefore achieve inner peace…

We could go on at some length describing how not one, but two, intelligent children failed to find a quite visibly special box containing the ritually important candles used to usher in the day of rest in a Jewish home, but, well, what value is there in teasing my kids?

I found it fascinating how definitely I defined my silver box as a coffer, and how my younger child immediately latched on to his own mental definition when I asked for one.

He was looking for a “box full of gold,” by the way, which is not a ridiculous notion for what a coffer might be.

Dictionary defining coffer as a chest or strongboxMy little box—it is about 6″ tall and 6.5 × 8.5″ at the base—may not be as imposing as a medieval lord’s strongbox. The lion heads at the sides, however, imbue a certain gravitas. Their noble expressions may be my very favorite part of the box!Lion head holding ring handle on side of silver box

Candles were a scarce, valuable resource in the not-so-distant past, needing protection from nibbling* by mice or rats. It’s not ridiculous to guard them with the mightiest of cats. They deserve to reside in a finely decorated coffer.

Though my children had managed, somehow, to not even notice my box’s presence, it has become an integral part of my celebration of the weekly joy that is Shabbat.

The idea of a holiday, every seven days, given to us to break up the monotony of a lifetime of work? I find the very notion miraculous. I’m eternally grateful for it.

During a pandemic, the relief of such a holiday is even more wonderful. Where one day piles up upon the next in a potentially never-ending heap, a simple break is a gift in a web of byzantine complexity!

Jewish menorah and hanukkiah candelabrae

Coming up soon, of course, for some of us, is another very light-specific and candle-involved holiday: Hanukkah. My photo here shows a Hanukkah menorah, or hanukkiah, next to a standard Jewish menorah with only seven branches.

While the pandemic pounds the normalcy out of so many of our experiences in 2020, it has little influence on the celebration of a small band of guerilla fighters against the greatest army in the world during the second century BCE.

When I take a candle from my coffer to kindle against the darkness on 25 Kislev (10 December, 2020), I will commemorate and publicize a miracle. I will battle darkness with my own small light. I am good, and I will defeat that which is wicked.

May humanity deal COVID-19 a similarly devastating blow in 2021, offering us a future of uncovered faces and robust health for the multitudes.

EPBM stands for “Electro-Plated Britannia Metal,” which is a cheaper version of the electroplated nickel silver that was, itself, a cheaper imitation of sterling silver goods.

*Remember that early candles were made of tallow, or beef fat. For a rodent, that stuff is like caviar or manna from heaven.

Real world Valentines, or, “There’s something weird on the toilet”

My husband always remembers to buy me flowers.

I lead with this fact because I’m well aware that not all spouses are as:

  1. generous with their displays of affection, and
  2. organized with their time

as my not-quite-perfect-yet-perfect-for-me husband. In a world where partner-bashing could be a professional sport, I like to clear a space to express my inter-personal gratitude and all the ways that our relationship makes my life better.

Here’s hoping I’m half as well appreciated by him! I’m also quite definitely imperfect, after all.

But this isn’t going to be a post about my “perfect” husband’s grand romantic gestures for Valentine’s Day. Instead, I’m moved to write about the imperfect intersection of family life, daily reality, and romance. Odd bedfellows, indeed!

I’ve told my husband about a million times that he doesn’t have to battle the crowds of beleaguered husbands to buy day-of flowers for me on Valentine’s Day, Mother’s Day, or any other Day When Good Men Buy Gifts. I do emphatically! enjoy being acknowledged, but I’m quite happy to let dates slip by a day or two in order to avoid crowds and gross inconvenience for my partner or myself.

I’d rather eat in on a holiday to avoid dining elbow-to-elbow in a packed room at the “correct” time for celebration. Along the same lines, I’m happy to receive my flowers on another day.

And yet, DH—being a gentleman with old-fashioned manners—showed up last Friday with a large bouquet of red roses for me. Yes: his mother is suitably proud.

I was having a rough day as far as my ongoing health issues go, so I decided to forego a heavy crystal vase in favor of anything I could lift.

Dozen red roses in yellow ceramic pitcher on windowsillMy favorite vessel for cut flowers is actually a little dijon yellow ceramic pitcher. I thought the red roses looked quite fetching in it, and the arrangement matched my outfit, too.

DH’s largess, however, meant I still had quite an array of blooms left for which homes wanted finding. It crossed my mind that a bud vase next to my desk would be a nice reminder of how much I’m loved while I work on the bane of every first quarter of the new year, our income tax returns.

3 red roses in a short, tulip-shaped bus vase of purple glass

A slim glass vase held only a few more stems, though, so I wasn’t done re-homing flora.

In keeping with the lower-center-of-gravity-means-less-knocking-over-by-arthritic-hands philosophy of the day, I remembered my tiniest crystal vase. It’s good and heavy for its size, but also quite stable. I was having that kind of day. Arthritis makes me a klutz.

Half a dozen red roses in a small crystal vase

I placed the final half dozen or so roses and went about my business.

Valentine’s Day fell on a school day this year, and, eventually, my younger son arrived home. Upon entering the powder room after dropping his lunch box in the kitchen, he yelled,

Hey, there’s something weird on the toilet!”

Yes, dear readers, I’d placed the final little vase in one of the few uncluttered spaces in my maximalist home: atop the toilet tank lid in the guest bath.

I suppose “something weird on the toilet” is better than “something rotten in the state of Denmark,” at least as far as home decoration goes.

Small crystal vase of red roses atop white ceramic toilet tank

Here’s what Instagram stories rarely feature: we all live imperfect lives. Many families have messy homes. We certainly do. Yes, even on holidays.

Maybe especially on holidays!

Loving partnerships thrive in cluttered suburban McMansions, Korean banjiha, dilapidated farmhouses, and also I’d expect in zen-like modern interiors kept up by teams of professional cleaners as seen on tv.

Here’s the long view of my other vessels full of horticultural affection.

The kitchen sink is full of dirty dishes, but our hearts are full of love!

I fussed for about five seconds trying to take a “pretty” picture of my Valentine flowers, but if I’d had the energy to get the dishes done and work on the taxes, it already would have happened.

It’s easy for me to get caught up in foolish self-inflicted punishments.

  • I can’t buy that bouquet today because they will look dumb on my cluttered dining table.
  • There’s no point replacing my tattered towels when the kids keep staining the good ones.

Lipstick on a pig!

You can follow that path to all sorts of dreadful places, like not buying flattering clothing that fits for want of losing weight. It’s silly, it’s harmful, and I try not to live like that.

My Valentine flowers are a loving gesture from a person who actually strives to make me happy every single day. That’s well worth celebrating in and of itself! Seen in that light, it would be downright shameful of me not to share my imperfect photos with the world with the celebration and joy that selfless love deserves.

On Valentine’s Day, I didn’t feel in wonderful health and my house was a mess, but I had the good fortune to spend the day with people I love and who love me back. It’s lovely; it’s enough. I wish everyone felt free to bask in such glorious imperfection.

And a skeptic as to my sincerity when I protest obligatory flowers, even 20+ years into our relationship!