Covid Summer

We’re approaching the end of summer now, as the fall season officially begins on September 22. The end of one season or the start of another always represent nice break points in the year. Most people just ignore those artificial landmarks and plow on with their lives, satisfied with surviving another season. Others change their smoke-alarm batteries or their heating-system filters on those days each year. The anal-retentive side of me applauds those people, but I usually forget to take such responsible actions. Instead, I like to pause on those milestone days and take stock of the previous season. So, how will I remember the summer of 2020?

Certainly, this has been the strangest year of our lives. When spring officially began back in March, Kathleen and I were returning home from Florida under surreal conditions. The Covid emergency was just beginning, and no one was quite sure what was going to happen next. Most businesses were closing up and we weren’t even sure we would be able to find food, gas, and lodging on our return trip. Despite the fact that numbers of infected were skyrocketing and people around the world were dying by the thousands, our president assured us that, if we just did nothing and removed all restrictions, the virus would magically disappear. Nearly 190,000 American lives later, he is still saying the same thing and continues to provide zero leadership during this national emergency. People often refer to September 11, 2001 as “the day the world changed.” This virus, however, has been much more traumatic and will produce many more life-altering changes than that terrible day at the start of the new century. Still, as they say, life goes on, and everyone has tried to cope with this bizarre situation in their own manner.

Many people have embraced their families as a haven against the storm. Others, forced to work from home while simultaneously teaching school lessons to their children, would probably prefer a little less family. One of the highlights of the summer for me occurred on a night in which the grandchildren were staying overnight with us. Luke (7) and Abigail (10) were sitting at the counter in the kitchen, starting their dinner, and Kathleen went to the refrigerator to get them something to drink. Since we are the grandparents, and our job is to spoil the kids, she agreed to give them a soft drink. She pulled out a two-liter bottle of Sierra Mist and, for some inexplicable reason, began shaking it. I’m not sure if she thought it was some sort of “shake-before-using” fluid made from concentrate, or if she was so engrossed with her conversation with the kids that she forgot what she was doing. But there she was, one of the smartest women I know, moving the bottle of carbonated liquid up and down vigorously. Of course, the predictable happened: when she opened the top, the clear, sugary juice exploded in a volcanic eruption. We’ve all seen this scenario in cartoons or bad sitcoms, where a hapless character just stands there as liquid from a broken faucet or some other source blasts them in the face for an extended period of time. They don’t move away, they are simply immobilized while the dousing goes on and on. A real person would never do that, you might think. Any normal person would quickly move away. Not so, my friends. The kids roared with laughter as the sticky soda shot into Kathleen’s face until its energy was spent and the carbonation subsided. Not only did she not duck away, I swear she actually leaned into it. I must admit that I was laughing right along with the kids. That is, up until I realized who was going to have to clean that viscous mess from the cabinets, floor, and the various items we had on the counter-tops. It took two days and multiple cleanings on my hands and knees before we stopped sticking to the floor. On the bright side, though, the kids have an indelible memory of Nana Henderson from the Covid Summer.

We also remodeled our master bathroom in July. We had planned to tackle the project next year, but moved it up when the shower grout and tile began to crumble, creating water stains on the ceiling below. The room was gutted and everything either re-built or replaced in a 2 ½-week project. Our contractor had already done several things for us in our first months in the duplex/condo, and this, too was excellent work. It cost considerably more than we originally planned to spend, but the end result is a master bath you might find in a high-end hotel, complete with a state-of-the art bidet. As you might guess, the bidet was not my idea. I have to admit, though, that the heated seat is pretty nice. Also, whenever you walk into the room, a light goes on and the outer lid opens up automatically. It’s a nice demonstration of respect. I feel like a Four-Star General walking into a room full of Privates. Also, when I need to . . . do what men do in a bathroom . . . I just reach to the left and press a button, mechanically lifting the seat. No more bending over to raise the lid like some sort of a cave man. Another press of the button lowers it when I’m done. Very civilized.

As the world ground to a halt this summer, the slower pace actually created one of those “stop-and-smell-the roses” moments for me. During my many ambulatory explorations of River Falls, I finally noticed that this town is a hotbed of Little Free Libraries. If you are not familiar with this phenomenon, it is an informal program that began about ten miles from here, in Hudson, Wisconsin, in 2009. Using scrap lumber, a man named Todd Bol built a box in the shape of a schoolhouse on a post, put a few used books in it, and installed it at the end of his driveway. The idea was that anyone who happened by could take book or leave a book in the box in order to encourage recreational reading in an inexpensive way. This simple concept took off, and today there are more than 100,000 of these little boxes registered around the world, with thousands of other, unregistered libraries springing up every day. This summer, I have discovered at least a dozen of these around town. There is a whimsical, serendipitous quality to opening the door and seeing what treasures might be hidden inside. In a regular library, you tend to know what you’re looking for and go to that section of the building. With the LFLs, however, you never know what you’ll find. This summer, I’ve read several books that I stumbled onto in this way. So, if you’re seeking something new to read, look for a little box shaped like a house and take a peek inside. Or drop off one of those books that are just gathering dust in your basement. You might be starting that book on a journey that will take it far from home.

The other thing that has happened recently is that I have started a new job. I have tried golfing this summer with terrible results. I enjoy playing, and I hit just enough good shots to give me hope and bring me back for another round. I finally came to the realization that, if I want to improve, I have to play more often. Golf is an expensive hobby, however, and I can only afford to go out once every other week or so. I also go to the park to hit fairly regularly, but I spend more time looking for my balls in the tall grass than I do hitting them. So, when I saw a pop-up, “now Hiring” ad on the website of the Kilkarney Hills Golf Club a few minutes from my house, I thought it must be fate. During my interview, I was asked why I wanted that particular job. At that moment, I realized that there is a wonderful freedom that accompanies applying for a job that you don’t really need. So I just waxed poetic about how, since my days as an 11-year-old caddy, I have loved the sight of a golf course in the morning, with the silver dew glistening on the green grass. He hired me on the spot. It probably had less to do with the poetry and more to do with the fact that all of his summer employees were returning to high school or college, but I am now gainfully employed once again. I will be working the pro shop, the kitchen, and the bar simultaneously, but it’s a small operation and it should be fun. I even offered to mow the fairways, should my services be required. The best part is that I get to play golf and use the driving range for free as often as I want. Actually, it just dawned on me as I was typing this: I have no idea how much I will be paid. I probably should have asked that during the tense salary negotiations that accompanied my interview. The phrase “minimum wage” springs to mind, but the free golf is the perk I was after.

Okay, so the past three months haven’t been, in the words of an old Nat King Cole song, “Those lazy, hazy, crazy days of summer,” and you may not want to “dust off the sun and moon and sing a song of cheer.” (If you want some campy fun, check out the film clip below of Nat entertaining a bunch of really, really white people.) Most Americans have not been able to take their usual vacations, cruises, or trips to exotic lands. Instead, it has been a summer of simple pleasures, and, for me, the season had its moments. Take a minute to stop and think about what you will remember most from the Covid Summer of 2020.