Posted in Covid Stories, Short Stories

A Day in the C19 Life (Covid Story #3)

Wine Computer Blog

Morning hon! How’s ur day? 

For this 1st nanosecond of the day? A blank slate. I suppose ur n ur office.

Yep! I’ll c u around noon.

 K.  When u come up from downstairs, bring more toilet paper from r stash.

We still have some?

 Yeah, but don’t tell any1.

Kids up yet?

Yes, they’re eating breakfast. They start class conferences soon. Thn I’m going n2 my office and catch up.

K, c u l8r.

—————————————————————————————————-

To: Charlotte Osgood

From: Health and Wellness, Blathers, Inc.

Subject: Covid 19 – New Protocol

Dear Associate,

In order to foster goodwill among our associates, we are requiring a mental wellness check every afternoon. To comply with this check, we ask that you email our corporate Health and Wellness division on a daily basis at 3 pm at this address, completing the following descriptive statements: (all statements involve the current time and date of your response)

  1. Your general health
  2. Your stress level from 0 to 10 – 10 being most stressed
  3. Your cheerfulness level from 0 to 10 – 10 being most cheerful
  4. Your temperature
  5. Number of contacts with other people – both in person and in virtual format
  6. Your current satisfaction involving your capability to cope – from 0 to 10 – 0 being desperation
  7. Your current satisfaction regarding ability to process work from 0 to 10 – 10 being highest satisfaction 

Your Health and Wellness Team at Blathers, Inc. believe in our associates and understand that during these unprecedented times it is even more imperative that we reach out to each of you to let you know that your company cares. We understand that you are facing discomforting situations daily. We believe these daily stress checks will help to alleviate some of your anxiety.

We are there for you!

Your Health and Wellness Family from Blathers, Inc.

—————————————————————————————————-

You have a new instant message!

“Hi! Want to get together 2nite?”

“Sounds gr8! Susan! I’ll have to let u know though. Hubby is teleconferencing w/his buddies. They’re doing some kind of fantasy baseball thing. I knew he would find a way around the sports void going on right now! Anyway, we’re getting pizza for dinner, but not sure what time.

“K. I have my wine ready. It’s going to be nice outside so we can sit on our patios!”

“Yeah, I’m n! And so convenient! U can sit on yours and I can sit on mine!”

—————————————————————————————————

“Charlotte, how are you today?”

“Oh, Roger. Sorry, I didn’t see you pop up.”

“Yeah, that’s the problem with virtual conferencing. Having your company passcode helps. I’m sorry, I thought you were online. I needed to talk to you about our promotion for the new product.”

“I am online. I just have to get use to you popping up on my computer at random times.”

“As you are aware, Charlotte, only between the hours of nine and five. The rest of the day is all yours. Now about that promotion. We need a report asap…”

————————————————————————————————–

Mom, since I can’t come n while ur working, can u tell me where the fig cookies r?”

 They’re n the pantry, 3rd shelf, bk behind the peanut butter.

Thanks, Mom.

Mom, Sam won’t quit burping. I’m replaying pt of  Mrs. Compton’s algebra lesson and he keeps interrupting! It’s annoying!

Sam, stop burping. Ur bothering ur sister.

She 8 all the fig cookies. I’m just paying her bk.

Well, stop.

————————————————————————————————–

Hon, why rnt u n the kitchen? Lunch? Remember?

My boss just gave me a deadline for this report I’m doing. I can’t eat.

I can bring something n 2 u.

No, thanks. I know u mean well, but u would start talking and time would get away. Just b sure the kids rnt killing each other and I’ll b grateful.

————————————————————————————————–

Hey, babe, I think I hear the doorbell. The grocery delivery guy must b here. I’m under the gun right now. Can u get the groceries off the stoop?

Sorry, hon. No can do. I’m n the middle of a conference call w/my team.

K. I’ll ask the kids. They don’t put them up n the right plc so I’ll just ask them 2 leave them on the counter. Ice cream the exception, of course.

Sam, I want u and ur sister to get the groceries off the porch. Put the ice cream n the freezer and refrigerated stuff away. I’ll do the rest l8r.

 K, Mom.

 ————————————————————————————————

Charlotte, do you have that report yet?

Just about done, Roger. It should be heading your way in about 10 minutes.

————————————————————————————————-

Hon, did the kids put the groceries up? U must not have ordered much. I can’t recognize any new stuff n the pantry.

Where r the kids? They were told to put them on the counter, except for the cold stuff.

—————————————————————————————————

That report, Charlotte. I need it now! The teleconference is getting ready to start.

On its way, Roger!

————————————————————————————————–

Kids r confined to their rooms. Don’t ask.

————————————————————————————————-

Here’s your report, Roger. Let me know if you have any questions.

————————————————————————————————

Hey, neighbor! Do you have any tp?

Hi, Edith! I don’t see you, just your empty chair.

Sorry. I forgot I had my phone on. I’m over here at the virtual assistant – Emily. Cecil just had it delivered and I thought I was talking to you from it. Anyway, do you have any toilet paper? If I could only borrow two rolls I promise I will pay you back. Hopefully tomorrow. There’s a rumor on the city’s awareness post saying the general store is expecting a shipment tomorrow.

 Sure. I’ll have the kids set some on the porch.

Thanks! You’re a life saver.

 ————————————————————————————————–

Babe, why can’t the kids lv their rooms? I need them to do something. I told Edith they wld set a couple of toilet paper rolls on the porch for her to pk up.

Crap! I didn’t…

 Just a min. Edith’s txting me.

————————————————————————————————-

Charlotte, there’s a bunch of what looks like melted ice cream…

 Mom,  I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. My video gme went a little lnger than I thought.

Can I come out of my room now? I need to go to the bathroom.

 —————————————————————————————————-

Charlotte, Callaway loved your report . But I need you to take that wellness quiz that Health and Wellness sent out. It was due about twenty minutes ago. Charlotte?

—————————————————————————————————-

Hon?

—————————————————————————————————-

 Neighbor?

 —————————————————————————————————

 Mom?

 —————————————————————————————————

Heyy, Ssusan!!! I decideed to haave that virrtual happpy our a little litttle lots sooner thaen wee planned. Anytm u wanntt join            I’m here.

————————————————————————————————

 911 – what’s your emergency?

I’m not sure. I’m at the park and there’s this lady sitting in the grass. She has a computer and is downing a bottle of wine while mumbling to herself. Something about reports, baseball, and ice cream…

Posted in Covid Stories, Short Stories

Shudder House (Covid Story #2)

 

Shudder House

Audrey Harrison stood at the large picture window. Coffee mug in hand, she focused on the small brick path meandering from the parking lot and stopping right beyond her apartment. Window open, the fresh morning sun escaped in to the bright, cheery room. Only a screen came between her and the fresh air.

“Your visitors come today, don’t they?” Janet asked as she walked in with a tray holding Audrey’s breakfast. “And by the way, may I say that you look smashingly gorgeous!”

“Oh, I know. I do!” Audrey laughed as she tugged at the bottom hem of her graphic tee. The words ‘I’m Unflappable’ spelled out across the front of the shirt in large block lettering spoke volumes about the wearer’s personality.

“I love your skinny jeans, too!” Janet remarked as she sat the tray on the small table in front of Audrey’s wing chair.

“You’re just full of it today.” Audrey grinned. “At eighty-five years old I can spot a load of baloney when I hear it.”

As she sat down she glanced at the photo sitting next to the breakfast tray.  “How is Mavis doing?”

Mavis lived across the hall from Audrey. A few weeks earlier Mavis was admitted into a ‘dedicated unit’ in another area of the complex. Over the last few months dedicated unit had become a popular term bounced around the care center.

Janet glanced down at her blouse as she brushed away an imaginary spot. “She’s… doing okay.” Janet looked up, smiling. “I brought that jam you like. You probably should get busy eating. Your son and granddaughter will be here soon, ya know.”

After Janet left, Audrey munched on her toast spread with strawberry jam as she looked out her window. Her clear blue eyes rested momentarily on the large brick edifice emblazoned with gold letters announcing “Shady Oak Senior Living.” Shady Oak’s vast complex included other apartment buildings identical to Audrey’s; maintenance provided housing, skilled nursing facilities, and a recreational center.  ‘All the comforts of home, without the obligations’ the glossy Shady Oak brochure touted to its prospective residents.

Audrey’s eyes rested on the row of maintenance provided homes located across the street. As part of the complex, these homes were available to those fifty-five and older. She focused on one house in particular; the house directly across from her apartment.  

Audrey often peered over at the house across the street accented with bright orange shutters. Despite having been recently sold, she hardly witnessed any outside movement. She realized that was the norm now. Hardly anyone ventured out, not even to the mailbox. But that house carried a different vibe for Audrey, whose imagination was the brunt of jokes in her senior community and with her small family. Audrey referred to the house as ‘the shudder house.” She also had a sharp sense of humor.

Audrey got up from her chair and once again walked over to the window. At any moment now her visitors would walk up the sidewalk; Dean, her son, laughing as he carried his lawn chair, Charlotte, her granddaughter beside him. Charlotte was tall and reed thin, like her mother, with the distinct difference being her copper-red hair, inherited from her father. Every Sunday—weather permitting—her son and granddaughter made their way to Audrey’s window. They would tell tales, laugh, and enjoy the sun together.

While she waited, her eyes caught sudden movement. Across the street, a figure dressed in black was striding through the lawn of the shudder house making their way to the back. Audrey strained into the screen as she focused her eyes on the house.

“Mom!” a burly, man with a copper-red beard approached carrying a red fabric folded chair under his arm. Charlotte walked beside him with a deliberate stride, her long hair tied into a pony tail. As she came up to the window she exclaimed, “Grams! How are you?”  

Audrey stretched out her arms from the other side of the screen. Charlotte folded out her own blue fabric “Southwest State” embellished chair and plopped into it, then grinned at her grandmother.

Audrey couldn’t help but appreciate Charlotte’s bright mood. Only a few months ago, her granddaughter had been in a much darker place. Her emergence from that place was pivotal for both her and Dean.

Settling in her own chair, she remembered the scene she had just witnessed.

“Did you happen to see a figure dressed in black walking down the street as you drove in?” Audrey asked as she ran her fingers through her short gray hair in an effort to appear nonchalant.

Dean and Charlotte shook their heads, saying ‘no’ in unison.

“He had a mask on.” Audrey said.

Charlotte chuckled. “Grams, everybody has a mask on right now.”

 “He was headed toward the backyard of that house, the shudder house, the one that recently sold.”  Audrey pointed to the house.

“That’s strange.” Dean said as he reached into the fast food sack, retrieving breakfast sandwiches. “Maybe he’s a grass trimmer or something.” He handed a sandwich to Charlotte.

“Dad, I don’t believe lawn care staff usually dress in black.” Charlotte peeled back the fast food paper with only two fingers, avoiding most of the wrapping as she tossed it in the paper bag. She applied hand sanitizer, handed it over to her dad, then asked, “What did you have for breakfast, Grandma?”

“Let’s see,” Audrey tried to forget the image of the man as she described her morning meal.

Over the next several hours the three of them laughed and talked. They discussed the recent events—both the tragic and the absurd. They talked about recent favorite TV shows and virtual concerts they enjoyed. All three followed their closest major league baseball team giving them the additional discussion topic of recent adjustments to the game.

Stories of Charlotte as a child were always a favorite subject. But the task would grow difficult as Dean and Audrey tried to avoid mention of Charlotte’s mother. The stories they picked were safe ones about Dean and Charlotte’s fishing trips or errands they would run to the lumber store. Dean worked in construction, having built most of the new homes in the area under his company’s name, Harrison Construction.

Later that night as Audrey lay in bed, her thoughts centered on her granddaughter. A year prior, Charlotte had been a straight A student attending the state university. She enjoyed school and college life, got along well with her dorm roommates, studied hard, and participated in several campus activities. Her goal was to become an attorney specializing in environmental law.

Six months ago her dad made the trip to the college town Charlotte lived in with the purpose of making her bail. Accused of shoplifting a luxury end handbag by slipping it under her coat, she found herself in the women’s cell of the county jail.

Dean brought her home, and after a week of repressed emotions on both sides, he forced her to accompany him at work. She helped out on one of his building crews; fetching needed supplies, ordering and delivering lunches, carrying scaffolding pieces as required. Once in a while glimpses of the young woman she had been emerged; bubbly, funny, and self-composed. She still had hard days, but they became fewer as time progressed.

A familiar heavy wave came over Audrey as she thought back to the day Charlotte’s life changed forever. Through moist eyes she glanced out the dark window. Sidewalk lights illuminated the darkness allowing her to peer into the outside night. The ability to watch the darkness gave her comfort. The shadowy view allowed feelings of connection to the world, a world she now only knew through a screen.

She suddenly set up as her eyes focused on the side of the house across the street. Again, a dark form came into view. This time, the figure was dragging something across the lawn. The object appeared to be a filled trash bag, evidently heavy. As Audrey watched, headlights came into view, then stopped in front of the house. A different dark figure got out of the vehicle and proceeded to help the form dragging the object. The two figures lugged the object to the car, opened the trunk and lifted it into the opening, then shut the lid. Not losing a beat, they got into the car and sped off.

“Damn!” Audrey said. “License plate!” She squinted, trying to make out the plate, but she was too late. “A red, two-door, late model compact car.” She muttered to herself.

Although difficult, she hurried to her door. When she opened it to run out, she remembered. There were explicit instructions requiring residents stay in their room, not leaving under any circumstances, with the exception of an extreme emergency. Extreme emergencies were then defined in detail. Witnessing a crime was not one of them.

“Damn!” She said again, as she rushed to the phone. She hit favorites, then the center’s number and waited for an answer.

“Shady Oak Senior Living. How can I help you?”

“What are Shady Oak’s new rules for residents reporting a crime?” Audrey asked.

“I’m not sure what you mean?” the voice replied.

“Well, I believe I just witnessed a murder.”

——————-

The young, attentive police officer stood on the other side of her door as he talked to Audrey. Through his face mask he said, “Ma’am, we woke the homeowners out of a sound sleep. With everything going on, they didn’t want us in their house. And even if you did see someone dragging a trash bag in the middle of the night, it isn’t illegal.”

“Just the same, it was very suspicious.” Audrey said. “Did you check the windows for fingerprints, survey the back yard? Are you going to stake-out the place, at least for a few nights? Are you sure the homeowners are okay?” She sensed a grin behind his mask.  She knew she sounded like a wannabe Jessica Fletcher.

Audrey glanced down the hall at the open doors. She was sure everyone was up and enjoying this break from their isolated routine. The center’s director, having been called in, stood with the night manager. The director looked put out by the whole thing, what with having quite a bit on her plate over the last few months.

The officer explained, “We don’t have the manpower for a stake-out. Besides, with no evidence, there is no justification.”

After the police left and the commotion subsided, Audrey went back to bed. It was a long time before she fell asleep.

——————-

“Audrey! It’s not like you to sleep until noon!” Janet had opened the door with her security key and stood at the end of Audrey’s bed, breakfast tray in hand.

“I didn’t get much sleep last night. Besides, it’s only eight o’clock.” Audrey sat up, brushing the hair out of her eyes.

“I guess you caused quite a commotion,” Janet remarked.

“They tell me they couldn’t find any evidence of a crime.” Audrey shook her head. ”But it did happen.”

“Then you need to keep watching,” Janet shrugged. “They say criminals return to the scene.”

Audrey thought about Janet’s remark as she ate her breakfast. I guess I might as well. As I read that new book I got from the library I can keep an eye on the house.

After breakfast she called Dean to tell him about her night. He acted concerned, but behind his voice Audrey could tell that stress was weighing heavily on him. Current construction slowdown forced him into laying off some of his crew. It was a good thing Charlotte wasn’t part of the budget, he wasn’t paying her a dime.

When she glanced up from her book to check the time, she was surprised to see it was past noon. Janet brought grilled ham and cheese accompanied by a small bowl of potato salad. A delectable piece of three layer chocolate cake sat next to her glass of iced tea. As she ate the sandwich, Charlotte appeared in Audrey’s window, her blue chair under her arm.

“Grams. I thought I’d stop by during my lunch break. I hear you had an interesting night.” She said as she sat down and retrieved a peanut butter and jelly sandwich from her brown sack.

“I guess I was seeing things, as far as everyone’s concerned,” Audrey said with a grin.

“I can’t imagine that. You’re sharper than anybody I know. Now… that is.” She gave Audrey a half smile.  “Why can’t Dad talk about Mom?”

Audrey sat straighter in the chair. “I don’t know, dear. I’m sure he misses her. But I believe he thinks that in talking about her to you, it will… well, make you sad.”

“Of course it will make me sad.” Charlotte rolled her eyes. “But it’s better than acting like she never existed at all.”

“I’ll talk to your father.” Audrey wasn’t going to enjoy the conversation, but he needed to know how Charlotte felt.

“Thanks, Gram. Are you going to eat that piece of cake?” Charlotte pointed to the cake through the screen.

Later that evening Audrey kept her promise to Charlotte. She called her son.

“I didn’t realize,” Dean said. “I should have talked to her. It’s just hard. I know it’s been nearly a year, but… It’s still fresh in my mind, Mom.”

“I’m sure it is. Julie had a lot of problems. We’ll never know what was really going on with her.” Audrey picked at her blue robe as she talked to avoid grasping her hands too tightly together.

 “She just took off! Left me, her daughter. Who does that? Only a damn note, if that’s what you call it. Dean’s voice was brittle. “Dean, I’m sorry. I love you and Charlotte. I just need some time away.”

Audrey felt the pain as if it was yesterday. Her mind returned to that night. Sitting in her wing chair, Mavis sitting in the other during those days when people could be together. They planned on watching “Funny Girl” on TV. The news was just about over. Settled in with their bowls of popcorn, they watched as Julie’s face flashed on the screen.

“A hometown woman’s body was found hundreds of miles away in what appears to be a hit and run—-” The bowl of popcorn slid from Audrey’s lap as she stared at the screen. “Detectives at the scene told our reporter evidence of tire tracks and witness statements indicate a four-door gray sedan with an out-of-state license plate may have been involved. Preliminary reports state that Julie Harrison may have been jogging. A suspect is in custody… ”

——————-

A few days later, her work day over, Charlotte visited her grandmother again. While the sun set, they chatted. She sat eating vegetable fried rice takeout. Audrey, in a tee with their baseball team logo imprinted on the front, sat eating her dinner of fried chicken and mashed potatoes. Equal time team ball cap on her head, Charlotte watched her computer screen game. Audrey watched the game on the TV. Dean was working on the construction business budget at home and not in a great mood according to Charlotte.

Not long after the game was over, Charlotte picked up her chair to leave.

“Seems odd, no one in the seats,” she remarked.

“Perhaps it’s better that way, taking into consideration the way they played.” Audrey snarked.

As she got up to wave goodbye to her granddaughter, movement out of the corner of her eye caught her attention. A figure, once again dressed in black, trailed to the back of the shudder house.

“Charlotte!” Audrey couldn’t get the words out of her mouth fast enough. “There!” She pointed. “They’re back! The… whoever that is!”

Before Audrey could react, Charlotte took off running toward the house. “No! Don’t go over there!” Audrey’s mind flashed back in time to the bowl of popcorn, the TV screen, the announcer.

This time instead of calling the desk, Audrey called 911. She screamed into the phone that her granddaughter had taken off running to catch the dark-clad figure. She told the dispatcher to hurry, please hurry!

Desperate to run over to her door, open it, run down the hall, and to the outside, she stood planted in her spot, a helpless feeling overwhelming her. After what seemed like forever, she heard sirens, then came the flashing lights. The officers tore out of their cars with their flashlights aimed toward the back of the house. Then the lights disappeared.

——————-

Epilogue

“At long last our town has the opportunity to come together for this special ceremony.” The town’s police captain stated from the podium to the crowded auditorium.

“This town… this world, has been through devastation not seen for generations. But we’ve come out on the other side. During this unprecedented crisis, there were heroes on every corner, in every situation, and at every juncture.

We are honoring five such heroes tonight. It is my pleasure to announce the recipients of the first award, Charlotte and her grandmother Audrey Harrison. Through their joint efforts, our department apprehended two of the most dangerous criminals our town has ever encountered. Through Audrey Harrison’s persistence and perseverance, the actions of the criminals became known. By bravely following the movements of one of the perpetrators, Charlotte Harrison assisted in their capture. The town would like to show their appreciation by—

Audrey sat next to Charlotte in the front row, Dean beside her. She turned to find Janet sitting with Mavis in the back row. They smiled in her direction.  As the captain detailed out the night’s events to the audience, Audrey ran a film version of her own inside her head:

The night Charlotte disappeared around the corner of the house, she came upon the black-clad figure taking off her knit hat and pulling an elastic hair tie off her blonde ponytail. She pulled the patio door open while she loosened her thick hair. Before Charlotte realized what she was doing, she followed the woman into the house. As Charlotte watched, the blonde figure walked into a bedroom and began speaking to a man sitting on a bed. A lifeless body was lying on the floor, in a puddle of blood, a gun steps away.

Down the hall from the bedroom, Charlotte dialed 911, texted her situation and address, then turned her phone on record.

“We have to be careful. Some nosy old person at that old people’s home across the street must have seen us the other night.” Vern said.

“No. I have to be careful.” The blonde said. “You won’t have to worry about anything.”

The blonde drew out her own gun from her jean pocket and aimed it at the man while she kicked the other gun under the bed.

Panic stricken, Charlotte turned to run toward the kitchen and outside, ready to direct the authorities when they arrived. But, she didn’t see the centerpiece vase of flowers on the table. The vase fell as she accidentally hit the table in her haste.

The man and woman turned toward the noise, looked at each other and ran towards her. The woman got to her first. She brought her gun forward and pointed it at Charlotte.

But she hadn’t noticed the absence of the centerpiece vase, which came crashing down on her head. The gun spilled toward the floor as Charlotte said, “Lady, you should have made better life choices.”

Before the man could react, the back door opened. “This is the police. Each of you raise your hands and stay where you are.”

As the captain narrated the incident, Audrey continued her thoughts about that night. She remembered detectives explaining to her and Charlotte that the blonde assumed the name Tracy; the tall man, Vern. Together they became a ’55-plus’ couple named the Bakersons. Their real names were Chrissy Lowell and Carson Taylor. Chrissy and Carson were wanted in connection with a bogus IRS phone scam. They bilked a few million dollars from hundreds of unsuspecting and vulnerable people. After the FBI began tracing their movements they vanished. The couple’s faces and profiles began appearing in every police station in the area.  They were elusive until they showed up as Tracy and Vern buying the house across the street.

The couple had one goal in mind; to launder their money through a local ex-felon, Lars Compton. In the meantime, they would be under the radar in Audrey’s senior community.

The Bakersons bought the house online. Taking advantage of the occurring crisis, they claimed that their age of 65+ impeded the experience of an in-person transaction. As a result of Audrey’s initial call, the police talked to the couple through semi-closed doors, only seeing a partial headshot of ‘Vern.’ Not in the designated age bracket of 55+, Vern used the present global situation to their advantage. They claimed they were staying in and would prefer not to be in close contact with anyone, as instructed.

On that particular night, the couple had set their plan in motion. The car Audrey saw was a rental. The bag was stuffed with millions of dollars of cash, along with several assault rifles. Lars made the deal with them using his ‘influential connections.’ His connections requested the guns and ammunition as a ‘bonus’ for his trouble. Because it took some convincing by Audrey that she really had witnessed suspicious activity, a lot of time elapsed before the living center staff made the call to the police. By the time the police arrived the couple had transferred the black bag to Lars and returned to the shudder house.

The night of the second call and subsequent capture began with Lars going to the house. The deal secured, it was time for Lars to hand over the laundered cash. However, he kept more than his part. As Carson counted the money, he slowly realized Lars ‘indiscretion.’ Muttering something along the lines of having to piss, Carson walked to the bedroom, opened the bed stand drawer and drew out a gun. Lars followed him, rightfully suspicious. And as things like that go: Lars explained his situation/Carson didn’t buy it/Lars lunged/Carson fired.

Meanwhile, Chrissy had plans of her own. She told Carson she was going for takeout. That he could handle the transaction, she trusted him. But he shouldn’t have trusted her. Once in the car she changed into her black pants, turtleneck, hoodie, and ball cap. Carson wasn’t the only person with a gun. She planned on killing him once Lars left and she was back inside the house, taking the money for herself.

All that changed once Audrey saw her, and Charlotte walk into the house.

——————-

As the captain completed his story, he asked the award recipients to step forward. Audrey and Charlotte accepted their tokens of appreciation; gold bracelets embossed with the police department logo and the inscription, “Together we conquer our enemies.”

Later, as Charlotte, Dean, and Audrey sat with their friends at a table at their favorite local restaurant, Dean held high his stein of beer in a toast to Charlotte and Audrey.

Mavis addressed Charlotte asking, “So, what are your plans, now that the world has opened back up again?”

“I’m going back to school.” Charlotte replied. “I plan on getting that law degree. But I also plan on coming home during the summer to help my dad. And to see Grams. This time from anywhere we damn well feel like going.”

Audrey stood up and hugged her granddaughter, her tee emblazoned with the words ‘Seize the Day! It’s A Crime Not To!’  Raising her glass once again she said, “I’d also like to make a toast. To us. To the world. To being together, again.”

Posted in Covid Stories, Short Stories

A Normal Morning (A Covid Story)

Grocery cart

Zeroing in on the task before her, Ellie drew in her breath, opened her car door and swinging her 80-year-old legs around, planted her feet firmly on the concrete.

“There,” she thought to herself. “The first step.”

At 8:00 a.m. the parking lot spaces closest to the storefront filled quickly as shoppers made their way to the front doors labeled “Seniors Only – 8:00 a.m. to 9:00 a.m”.  Armed with lists, shielded faces set in poker face mode, these proactive beings stood waiting. Battle lines drawn, the doors opened, allowing the shoppers to spring into action. Each grabbed a grocery cart as they followed their plan of attack.

Her cart before her, grocery list in hand, Ellie steered toward the fruits and vegetables, aiming for the green peppers. She spied an opening and checked her perimeter. Seeing only free space in front of her as well as around the peppers, she made her move. As she grabbed the vegetable of choice (having made her selection as she drew near) she discovered another shopper staring at their list and headed in her direction. Swiftly and deftly tossing the vegetables in the cart, she steered away from the shelves, doing a ‘180’ in the middle of the aisle as the other shopper glanced up. A smile creased her mask as she moved toward her next target.

Halfway through, Ellie took a breath while she glanced around at her fellow store patrons. With purposeful stride, most of the masked souls focused solely on their goal, no lingering over the canned goods or yogurt, no requests for the attending staff. Only determined and artful cart maneuvers met her eyes as she looked around.  

A small, rail-thin woman stopped, allowing the appropriate number of feet between her’s and Ellie’s cart, “Excuse me, do you know where I might find pesto?”

Ellie smiled, “I believe pesto is with the pasta. Try two aisles that direction.” She pointed to her left.

“Your hair is beautiful,” the woman said. “It’s so white.”

“Thank you,” Ellie replied as she touched her short bob. “It needs trimmed, but, well… you know.”

The woman laughed, “Boy, do I? Do you see this mess?” She pointed to her head. “The only saving grace is the fact that everybody needs a haircut right now, right?”

Ellie scanned the store then looked back at the woman, “Yep. As it stands, we are all in this together.”

“I venture to say, at our age, that both of us have been through tough times before. We’ll win this war, too.”

“I hope you’re right. If everyone were on the same side, we just might win—this war, as you call it.”

The woman’s mask moved, indicating a smile beneath it, “We’re tough old birds. With us on the right side of this, doing our best to beat it, we have a fighting chance. Well, it was very nice talking with you—mask to mask, that is. Beats Facetime!”

“Same here. Take care and stay safe.”

“Plan on it. I’m going directly home. I only go out every two weeks right now—to do this.” She gestured toward her cart.

As Ellie moved on toward the dairy section, she turned around to wave at her new friend. Focused on her task, the woman didn’t notice. Glad for the opportunity to conduct an actual conversation with a stranger, Ellie had to fight the urge to turn her cart around, find her friend, and suggest that they have coffee sometime in the store. A what-used-to-be normal reasonable request.

Ellie reasoned to herself, “I’m at the grocery store. I’m shopping. When I go outside the sun will be shining and the weather pleasant. I’ll get in my car and drive home with my groceries. A normal day.” Then, for a brief moment, her thoughts darkened, “Only the day isn’t normal. THIS isn’t normal.”

With a shrug, she started moving again, “But this is what is. It just… is.”

Finished with her shopping, Ellie wheeled the cart to her car, unloaded her groceries, and fell into the driver’s seat. After a few moments she pulled away from the lot.

At home, after unloading the groceries and wiping each item down with spray bleach, then putting them away, she wiped the counter and washed her hands as she sang the alphabet song.

Her cell phone rang at the same time a photo popped up on the screen. The picture is of a nice-looking young woman with shiny red hair, blue eyes, a soft smile. “Sophie,” Ellie said into the phone, “Are you already at work?”

“Yep, came in about three hours ago. Did you go to the store yet, Mom?”

“I did. I’ve followed protocol. Wiped everything down, put up the groceries and now I plan on relaxing with a cup of coffee. How has your morning gone?”

“We lost another patient.” Pause.

“But two were discharged yesterday. I’m glad your home. I don’t like you going to the store.”

“I realize that. But it’s nice every once in a while to see people face-to-face, or mask-to-mask I guess I should say. With your dad gone, it can be rather quiet around this place. Besides, I do use delivery services and I limit myself to going out only once or twice a month.”

“I know I can trust you to do what’s best. Hey, I have to get back to work. They’re admitting more patients.”

“Okay.  Be—” Sophie hung up.

As Ellie put her cell phone down on the side table, she glanced at the photo resting there. She smiled as her eyes fell on the women, both suited up in scrubs, arms around each other’s shoulders. The older woman has a stethoscope draped around her neck. She is the taller of the two and sports short platinum white hair. The other woman is smiling brightly, her red hair held back in a ponytail. Inscribed below the photo, etched in gold, are the words: Because you were a doctor, I became a nurse. Love you mom, Sophie.

Posted in Essay

Winter is Coming, and Staying, and Staying…

I am ready for warm weather. I’m ready for fried zucchini and grilled hamburgers. Eating cookie dough ice cream outside and drinking Pinot Grigio (outside or inside, doesn’t matter).

I’m usually one of those crazy people that enjoy the seasons. I like summer and winter. I love fall and spring. For instance, on any given day during winter months when it’s cloudy and dismal for others, I envelop myself in a warm sweater covering up with a blanket if at all possible and either write or I read a good book. I don’t discount the fact that I have the privilege of just reading or working at my computer at home. I used to be one of that larger percent that spent their days at work. I enjoyed dark and cloudy days even then. I know. Crazy.

But when it was time for spring and then summer I was ready for that, too. Spring means renewal. Spring means second chances. How could you not enjoy new growth? Daffodils? Lightweight jackets versus heavy coats? And then, shorts!

But I am convinced that spring has decided to take a leave of absence. Because,  I’ll tell ya, this winter has gone on way too long. It seems as if there is an ever-present weight in the air having nothing and everything to do with sleet and ice. Everyone in the Midwest is experiencing this heaviness. Our friends, family, and anyone we happen to converse with,  be it restaurant servers, cashiers, passers-by, just seem, well, kind of lethargic and non-committal – about anything!

I understand. And I am getting tired of this winter myself. There’s only so many days that even those that enjoy snow and cloudy days can endure. But in the general scheme of things, what can we do? I know the long-range remedies that pertain to climate change. Doing our part is very important. But right now, on gloomy, cloudy, snowy days how do we keep from eating stale, frozen old Christmas cookies while looping “Smilla’s Sense of Snow” on TV over and over again?

Here’s some suggestions:

  1. Watch “Baywatch” instead. Seriously. Not the recent “Baywatch” movie, but the original TV series. You know, with David Hasselhoff? You will wish you were on a beach at the same time you are glad it is winter 2019 and not anytime ever in the 1990’s.
  2. Make ‘Baked Alaska.’ That’s right. For those people born after 1990 that are familiar with “Baywatch,” but not Baked Alaska, this is a dessert that is frozen at the same time it is hot. Google it. It’s ice cream in the oven. Which is like Vin Diesel with a toupee or shooting golf balls through a basketball hoop, inconceivable and wonderful.
  3. Paint a scene like the one we in the Midwest have been looking at all winter. This will require only a canvas. No paint, paint brush or other medium. Believe me, if the canvas is white – that is all you need.  Hang the canvas in an appropriate place while you enjoy watching “Baywatch.”
  4. Follow friends on Facebook that are in sunny, beachy “Baywatch” places. Constantly check their status and then look up the locations. Find a live webcam of the place and put a blanket over you and your computer while watching so there is no way for you to acknowledge that you are not there yourself. If that doesn’t work start commenting on your beachy friends posts telling them that you prefer the cold. Let them know that warm air and sand are no longer trendy. As evidenced by the availability of “Smilla’s Sense of Snow” and “The Revenant.” Smilla or Hugh Glass wouldn’t be caught dead in warm sand and sun. No, they would rather be snuggled in a warm parka or inside a dead horse carcass. They wouldn’t be caught dead in swim trunks and flip flops either. That is so last year!

And last of all, my best suggestion is to sit and read “The Long Winter” by Laura Ingalls Wilder. While drinking a glass of red wine. You will be so glad that you don’t have to use twisted hay for fuel and eat stale wheat cakes that you will make a toast to winter weather with all its snow and cloud-filled days. And then make another toast to the fact that summer is inevitably on its way, believe it or not. Before too long we will all be wishing for cold weather again. And watching another 1990’s treasure, “Northern Exposure.”  

Posted in Essay

The March

 

I come from a long line of independent women. My Grandma Berry had my mom. My mom had me. I had two daughters, most definitely independent. Depending upon that moment in time, all of us were or are strong women.

My Grandma Cherry was also a strong woman. Her husband was an alcoholic and to hear stories, a pretty mean one when he was drinking. I think she put up with a lot. Quite a lot. More than I probably will ever know. Through it all she kept a clean house, cooked many a meal, and yet remained a very kindhearted and quietly courageous woman. And she raised two children that respected her; my dad being one of them. My Grandma Cherry believed in equality, gentleness, and affability. My Grandma Cherry stood for what she believed in.

My Grandma Berry raised her three children alone. That is, she raised them alone after her husband left her to ‘see the world.’ She took in laundry, babysat, and cleaned houses. This was during the depression in a small town in southern Missouri. And she raised three children that respected her. My Grandma Berry believed in hard work, most definitely equal pay, and impartiality. My Grandma Berry stood for what she believed in.

My mom was outspoken and stubborn, sometimes too much so. Or so I believed. I don’t recall her ever complimenting my outward appearance. Instead she would say “pretty is as pretty does.” She valued truth, sincerity, and didn’t suffer fools. She worked outside the home before any of my friends’ mothers did. She worked long hours at a stressful job. Oftentimes, she would come home irritable and annoyed at the least little thing because she was just plain tired. But as a teenager I didn’t really care. We had terrible arguments and harsh disagreements. There were times I even thought I  hated her. But, I always respected her. My mom believed in truth, ability, and candidness.  And most undoubtedly, my mom stood for what she believed in.

I’m not quite sure that I could measure up to those that came before me; my grandmas, my mom. I didn’t have to raise my daughters on my own nor with an abusive, alcoholic husband. I worked outside the home but for the most part really enjoyed the jobs I had. In addition, my husband is a very caring man that worked very hard and helped out a lot around the house while our daughters were small. All that notwithstanding I could still be a tyrant, a dictator, and hardcore. But I am sure of one thing, my daughters respect me. And I immensely respect them.  I believe in equality, honesty, and openness as do my daughters. And we stand for what we believe in.

The Women’s March was a year ago. When my friends and I first started planning on going to the March we planned on going by car. We didn’t know what to expect nor were we certain what we would find when we got there. We weren’t sure how many others there would be, would there be only a couple of hundred or so or would there be thousands?

Not too long after we started planning, we found out that plans were underway in our community to take a bus…then two buses. On the Friday before the March as we traveled through Illinois, then Indiana, then Ohio to D.C. many more buses started appearing. Close in to D.C. as we pulled in to a rest stop to freshen up buses were stacked three deep in the parking lot. In D.C. as we disembarked from the bus we saw throngs of people not only getting off buses but getting out of cars and walking. Bands of people became crowds then as we got closer to the center of the March; the crowds became throngs, then just a sea of pink hats, signs, and people. 

I felt an overpowering sense of unity. My friends and I weren’t alone. My bus full of new friends from my community weren’t alone. We were half a million strong.  We gathered for the same purpose. To march against prejudice, racism, and gender based violence and abuse. To march against oppression, divisiveness, and disrespect for those that deserve our respect.

To march for something we believed in.

Later, during the days after I got home I discussed that day with my husband and my daughters. I packed away my Women’s March I.D. sign, my armband, my ‘be kind’ button, and my bus information pamphlet in a keepsake box. I added duties of calling my legislators and participating in political groups. I went back to my part-time job, my friends, and my committee work.  In other words, including a few additional tasks, I went about my life.

During this last year I have thought about the March quite often. I think about the friendships I have made. The speeches I heard that day. The huge throngs of people. And then sometimes when I think about the March I can’t help but imagine my mom and my grandmas there marching with me. I know they would have been there if they could have. Because they stood for what they believed in. As my daughters and I stand for what we believe in.  As over five millions people, on that day, a year ago, around the world stood for what they believed in. And we will continue to stand for what we believe in. And we will march to prove it.

Posted in Essay

Solar Eclipse – Dancing in the Dark

DSC04150I’m not much on nature. I don’t camp. I don’t float (well, I didn’t float until this year and I’m sixty-two years old), and I’m not crazy about certain vegetables. But I do love the sun. It seems to me that the sun connects us all. It gives us light, creates shadows that you can use to dance in, and in most instances the sun when shining guarantees the absence of rain.

And I love the moon. Probably equal to if not more than the sun. I think it has something to do with the dark, which I am partial to. The dark is where you can make stuff up. Creativity begins in the dark – beginnings come oftentimes during the blackest hours. And besides, the moon is ours. It belongs to our earth. Whereas the sun has to be shared with a lot of others; planets, atmospheres, and fellow stars.

So when our moon takes on such an admirable and respecting move like going for blocking the largest star in our solar system (a star that’s heat can reach 17 million degrees Fahrenheit by the way), you have to agree, our moon has major nerve. Yeah, sure, the sun is basically a gazillion miles away, but just as I wouldn’t go close to one of Daenerys Targaryen’s dragons, I know I wouldn’t take on the sun, no matter how far away I was. Dragon fire or huge burning orbs, take your pick, I choose to stay away.

Far away from both the sun and moon, I stood in my backyard as millions of others did yesterday to witness a showdown of sorts. A miraculous confrontation. The moon did what it does best. It gave us an exhilarating glance into darkness. I stood there watching as every fiber of my being was telling me it wasn’t time for darkness, yet it descended anyway. And it was glorious!

In that minute and forty seconds the moon prevailed proving that darkness can’t be avoided. There are times when it comes as a night sky with a shining orb giving off enough light to give direction. Or as in the eclipse, it comes during the brightest of times, giving us the opportunity to dance in its shadow.

As mentioned earlier, I don’t like a lot of things about nature, but I do like the knowledge that she brings, and along with it sometimes the organized upside-downs. The moon is brave enough to initiate night on a sunlit day allowing us a different perspective. It gives us pause, a fresh outlook and a common cause, if only for a brief minute and forty seconds.

Posted in Halloween

Ghost Stories

fireside-book-of-ghost-stories

I have a ghost story book that is very dear to my heart. It’s called “The Fireside Book of Ghost Stories” and is edited by Edward Wagenknecht and published by Grosset & Dunlap, New York in 1947. I believe this book is the partner book to “The Fireside Book of Christmas Stories.” Most of the stories are based in England and on the habitats therein.

Each October as tradition would have it I take the time to read as many stories as time will allow. I begin the first day of the month and end on Halloween. I then put the book back on my book shelf until next year. There is no possible way I would think of reading it any other time and yet I always hate putting it back up. It’s like I am saying good-bye to a very dear friend knowing I won’t see them again for a very long time.

The stories are written by well-known and established authors such as Daphne Du Maurier, Henry James, Mark Twain, and Edith Wharton. There is also a story by the book’s editor and also a story from the First Book of Samuel in the Bible. The stories are distributed into ten sections. For instance, there is a section called “Missioned Spirits”. According to the text, missioned spirits are those that “may be trying to right a wrong, or “bring some benefit to the living.” The story, The Corner Shop by Cynthia Asquith gives us a story dealing about a man that accidentally comes across a “curiosity shop”, a shop that deals in antiques, collections, and all kinds of used items.

The customer makes a transaction with the shopkeeper only to come back to the store a few days later to find out that the shopkeeper had died several years ago. His son tells the customer that his father, although deceased, has been reported to occasionally come back to sell items or make a deal with those that venture in. The son tells the customer that transactions with the deceased shopkeeper always went well for the customer, financially speaking, as in the case of this particular customer. This was because the shopkeeper was paying pittance for what he considered crimes he had committed many years ago.

“The Green Scarf” by A.M. Barrage is one of my favorites. It has to do with an old country house and it’s past. Apparently a long ago owner of the house was a Royalist after the fact (his side lost). He had to leave his house and stay in hiding most of the time occasionally returning if his servants sent words deeming safety at home.

However, one of his servants betrayed him. This servant through prior words with the now in favor troops waved a green scarf at an upstairs bedroom window indicating his master was home. Consequently, the troops stormed the house, captured the Royalist and executed him.

The present day owner and his visitor found the old worn out green scarf inside a long closed window seat. Upon retrieving the scarf the two began to come down with a serious illness, chills – fever – the gamut. Then they started to hallucinate or so the story goes, seeing men dressed in very old military garb carrying muskets and lanterns lit up all around the property. In their delirious state they crawled up into the attic of the old house staying there all night, scared out of their wits and feverish.

The next day they retrieved the scarf putting it back in its place. They instantly felt better physically and never witnessed those terrifying images of musket fire and ghostly lanterns coming at them again. It’s a story that is fun to read at night sitting in my comfortable present day living room, especially if the fireplace is lit.

I’m not entirely sure what draws me to this book each year. I believe it may have something to do with the fact that most of the stories are about people living in peaceful picturesque villages in the English countryside and what awaits them. Or it is possibly the way that most of the stories are told, slowly building in suspense and yet sharing some type of thought provoking message. Many of the stories seem to question what is real, what is important, and although about the dead, what gives us the strength to face future dilemmas and problems.

So, if you get a chance to find a copy of the book and you enjoy ghost stories, particularly philosophical and whimsical ones, I guarantee you will enjoy this book. Don’t pass it up, buy it. And if it is sold to you by an old kind gentleman with an English accent, don’t question and don’t try to go back to speak with him about the stories. He may not be available.

Posted in Essay

The Myth of Uncle Bill

I had an Uncle Bill. I didn’t really know him that well. I only knew that he scared the crap out of me.

My uncle lived in California. Los Angeles to be exact. Of all the relatives coming from my maternal grandmother’s family tree, Uncle Bill was the most glamourous to those of us back in southern Missouri, at least while I was growing up. In the 1960’s California was still that elusive, mystical place you only knew of from the movies and television. No one went there. It seemed that no one left here at all.

Oh, I guess my parents left for Kansas City. But that was still in the state. A few relatives went to join the Army or Navy, but they came back eventually, to farm or run the family store.

But Bill left. He did join a military branch, the Army. He was stationed in California. And he didn’t come back . Given, he did come back for the bi-yearly visits to see his mother and occasionally my mom and aunt. But he never stayed. He always went back. He had a wife and a daughter. That was home, for him.

He became a California Highway Patrolman. Then later, he achieved the position of a State Highway Patrol Inspector, one of four in the state. When he came back into town my mom, his sister, would always say, “the prodigal son is back.” “Billie.” That was his name to my grandma and to all that knew him back when. After he left for California, my grandma was the only one that still got away with calling him that.

He didn’t say much. But when he spoke he had a deep voice and it seemed as if his conversation was always in a certain tone. He wasn’t much of a talker. If he asked how you were doing you responded truthfully, not by just saying fine.

As a teenager, when we visited my grandma I would be the designated point person to pick up dinner from our favorite hamburger joint. If Uncle Bill was in town and involved in the order, I made sure I got it right. The funny thing now when I think about it is that I’m sure he would have just laughed if I forgot the onions or his burger had mustard not mayonnaise. But at the time I would have been devastated. Huh.

He died at the age of seventy-nine about ten years ago. After he lost both his wife and daughter within months of each other. My mom had passed away a couple of years earlier so I made the trip to the funeral with my husband, to the same small town that he left.

There were several people there and many accompanied us to the graveside ceremony. As an Army veteran, the family requested full military honors. The honor guard ceremonial folding of the flag, the sound of Taps playing as we sat, and the photo depicting him as a family man – wife and daughter in happier days on a small table, all these are deeply felt memories for me of that day. Memories involving a complicated, complex man that I never really did get to know.

I believe in not knowing him I made him into a mythical creature. Something we are all prone to do with those we don’t know but are somehow connected to. I suppose in some sense it brings us closer together.

I’m really sorry I only had the myth. I am pretty sure that if I knew the real Uncle Bill I would have really liked him.

Makes you wonder how many people are out there that we build myths around? How much better off would we be if we just got to know those people? I’m sure most of us, like me, can say we may never know.

Posted in Essay

Teamwork

Dad's Royal's jacket

Teamwork. The online Merriam-Webster dictionary defines teamwork as a group of people working together as a team. Team is defined as a group of people who work together. Sounds a little redundant. I think it bears repeating. So many of us, I am including myself as duly noted, need the word team or teamwork repeated often.

My hometown team, the Kansas City Royals, won the World Series about ten days ago. We are still in a mood of celebration. We watched our guys throughout the regular season as they marched in step toward the postseason. Then we watched as they won and lost their way to the American League championship and then the motherlode.

The thing that got most of us and resounded throughout the coffee shops, bars, restaurants, and other gathering places (like the cash register lines at all sports memorabilia shops) was their amity. They genuinely liked each other. And they played that way.

There was none of that one-upmanship you see sometimes in sports, or any other form of entertainment. No one star athlete winning the day, no leading man, no lead singer – it was all of them. Oh, yeah – there were players that wowed us but they all gave their best. And more important, they put their team ahead of their egos. It wasn’t really a baseball team but Team Baseball.

I think we can all learn from this. We all catch balls every day. And we miss some as well. There are times that man, I really do think I hit a homerun. But, as for most of us, our days can be filled with missed swings, sitting on the bench, and a pitch that doesn’t quite hit the pocket.

 If we let ourselves get caught up in both the good and the bad, if we aim for the stars and fall short and do this alone there is nothing gained or lost. We have to build together. Whether it be a team, an organization, or a nation. Doesn’t matter. No one person can do it all, not in baseball or any endeavor that requires teamwork. My hometown won the World Series. As a team. I’m thinking as a team we can win the world.

Posted in Essay

Mr. G and The Red Carpet

Iphone 077

My daughters and I went to the Henry Doorly Zoo in Omaha last year. We had a really good time. We loved the sea lions, tigers, and really enjoyed the aquarium but my favorite memory of that day has to do with a gorilla.

This particular gorilla was very nonchalant. He didn’t care that hundreds of people were taking his picture and oohing and aahing over him. He didn’t care that little kids were climbing all over the window to get a glimpse. I would like to think that as a huge star (which he is) if he were to walk the red carpet before an awards show he would meet his public with the same wearisome expression that he has in my picture.

Giuliana would ask Mr. G about the beautiful fur coat he had on for the occasion and he would just shrug and say. “Dahling, I have had this old thing forever. Now, can you direct me to the closest appetizers? Do you know if they are serving Bananas Foster tonight? Oh, and who are these people (pointing to his adoring masses) and why are they here?”

Now please don’t get me wrong. I love an awards show along with everyone else but sometimes I get a little tired of all the paparazzi. I don’t care about the Dugans or Caitlin. I really don’t care about who broke up or who gained or lost weight, how Melissa McCarthy drives (or doesn’t – although I do like her). It just seems like that’s all we do anymore. Even the morning network news shows have more fluff than food for thought. Or, I know…news!

I believe I can understand how some celebs just go off the rails. When you are poked and prodded so much and every little sentence you utter or outfit you wear or opinion you state becomes a viral Boeing 787 I’m sure it can dislodge a piece of your brain that you never thought was there. A piece that becomes its own Dr. Jekyll.  More than likely that is why a lot of celebs throw tantrums, say things they never would have said to their worst enemy, and/or take a punch at a demanding or irritating reporter. I’m not condoning that behavior but I can understand it.

I guess I’m a little like everyone else in how I am infatuated with quote – the famous- unquote. I love George Clooney, admire Sally Field, and am in awe of Meryl Streep and Helen Mirren. I faithfully watch the Real Housewives of New York and yes, always try to catch the Red Carpet interviews before any awards show. But I change the channel, turn the page, or change the subject when I feel oversaturated with any star’s personal drama. I have enough of my own. Don’t care about their’s.

I’d like to think that the Doorly Zoo gorilla doesn’t like all that attention. As he looks out at us crazy humans he is probably thinking, “What the hell? Don’t you people have anything better to do?” And we should have something better to do. Because although Mr. G was very interesting and I really enjoyed watching him, I moved on. Just as all the rest of the zoo visitors that day. Too bad we can’t say the same when it comes to our own species. Do we really need to become a part of their personal dramas? We need to know when to separate our lives from their’s. After all we do have our own lives to live. Can we just move on, please?