Put a Lid on It

a sampler of my orphaned lids

Our corner of the planet has been under a “Heat Dome,” with high humidity and temps in the 90s. At this rate, we should all be roasted and ready to eat in 20 minutes! This image of a giant lid on top of us makes me very uncomfortable, on the one hand. Sweaty! Stifling! On the other, I think, “Well, at least our cover fits securely!” Because I am the owner of a vast and colorful array of Tupperware halves without their significant others (you know, the small square lids with no corresponding bottoms, the rectangular red lid that comes thisclose to matching the rectangular container, but not quite.) 

 

Until fairly recently, I was unaware of the Iron Dome concept, but of course it is well known to my Israeli son-in-law. There are ten countries currently using Iron Domes, mobile air defense systems that can intercept short-range rockets and artillery which threaten populated areas. I don’t understand the technology, and assume it’s only workable in a smallish country, but I could be wrong. Could we even HAVE an Iron Dome in the vast USA? If it didn’t quite stretch (a la my Tupperware), where would we be unprotected? Would Biloxi, Baltimore, or Billings be left exposed? Would we require several iron domes to be sure we were all safe? And just how big would an all-Europe or all-Asia Iron Dome need to be? I’m a literalist, and am picturing the whole world resembling the covered leftovers from a huge international potluck.

 

As for other domes, there are the various domed stadiums that dot the landscape—the Superdome (New Orleans), Ford Field in Detroit, the mellifluous Alamodome in San Antonio. These are designed to be weatherproofed, pumped full of AC in summer, and heated toastily in winter. Lately, though, the trend is to go back to open air arenas, because of course we miss being pelted with ice pellets during January football games, and sizzling in the inferno of August heat during baseball matches. We’ve been entirely too comfortable!! We need to suffer for our sports and music!!

 

Over the years, I have learned a few things about covers. It is possible to be TOO covered up, swaddled and coddled. Spoiled children tend to have a pretty rude awakening later on. A little exposure to the elements of reality is a good, healthy thing. And political cover-ups definitely have their perils, when the truth is (temporarily) hidden from view, and the falsehoods fester, until the inevitable explosion. 

 

So maybe it’s good that I’m forced to be intentional when matching up my Tupperware and lids. Perhaps I need to think about what I’m concealing. Sometimes those salad greens will turn limp and slimy, or that tomato paste moldy, without any air. Sometimes we all need to stand, honest and uncovered, and show the world just who we are. 

 

For now, though, I’ll keep searching for the matching round blue lid for that plastic bowl. 

 

It’s probably in the dryer with the odd socks. 

these socks are truly matchless

Shadowloss

photo by Tiana on Pexels

I’ve reached the age when the deaths of dear ones are increasingly common events. I remember that my Nana always turned to the obituaries first when she read her New York Times. She would joke that as long as she didn’t appear in print as one of the deceased, it was bound to be a good day. That chipper remark aside, I think Nana scanned the ages and causes of death, for reassurance that she herself most likely still had some time left. We have a tendency to rank death as quite the worst thing that can ever happen. 

But there are many other kinds of losses. I recently read that these non-fatal, but still very sad, events are called “shadowlosses.” Examples could include being fired from a job, a bitter divorce, the end of a friendship, a cancer diagnosis, moving from a long-time home. These occurrences are usually ranked as much less important than death, but I think some of them are almost as painful. And what adds to the pain is the way they are so often brushed off with “well, it could be worse.” Perhaps, but the empty spaces in our lives that used to be filled with good health, a rewarding career, a beloved neighborhood, can nevertheless cause tremendous sorrow. 

 

I mourn the demise of certain relationships. Even decades later, the thoughts of these lost friendships continue to sting—especially when I dwell on what I did to contribute to the final rifts. I totally understand the folks who mourn a major move from a house they’d loved, those who feel really adrift after retirement, those who greatly regret the dissolution of a marriage.

 

We tend to divide our lives into “before” and “after” certain pivotal events.  I agree with John Greenleaf Whittier that “what might have been” are the saddest words. For me personally, while the deaths of family members and close friends have been wrenching, my “before” and “after” event is the year before I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder. That is my biggest shadowloss. I became a nasty, out-of-control stranger to myself. I caused many people pain. I completely lost what I’d always understood to be my personality. That horrible year changed me then, and I remain a changed person. Luckily, I got the help I needed, and I have a good life now. But I’ll never go back to being the Elise of my first 49 years—and I’ll always wonder what might have been, if I never had a mental illness.

 

I’m glad that we’re starting to talk about shadowlosses. I’m hopeful that we’ll stop minimizing other people’s sadness, stop encouraging them to “just cheer up.” Time will pass. They/we will, someday, feel better. But in the meantime, it’s OK to cry. It’s OK to feel genuine sadness, and not have to justify it on some sliding scale. Life is tough. Period. Recognizing the validity of these different losses is a great gift we can give to others—and to ourselves. 

Joro's Web

  

Picture this....ONLY MANY TIMES BIGGER
(image by Albrecht Fietz on Pixabay)

The other night we were eating dinner out on our deck, and my eyes wandered to a weathered blue flyswatter hanging on a hook by the sliding glass door. I instantly recalled the jolly (if a bit macabre) sport that Aiden and Peter played a few summers back: Kill (ALL) The Spotted Lanternflies!! The weird, gaudy insects were clustering on, and damaging, our black walnut tree, and in general behaving dreadfully. We actually encouraged the boys to dispatch as many as possible, whacking away with the swatter.

 

Haven’t seen a single lanternfly this year, so I guess my grandsons are solely responsible for their extinction. Good work, gentlemen!

 

But wait! There’s more bug trouble on the horizon! Have you heard? The gigantic Joro spiders are coming!!!

 

These bizarre creepy crawlies, originally from Asia, coming to an American backyard near you, are, it is reported, as big as a human hand. They spin webs of up to 10 feet in diameter. Oh, and they are “mildly” poisonous as well. I haven’t slept since reading about them, and I fully expect the Joros to be just as horrifying as described. Oh, the press has since walked it back a tad: the mega-spiders will mostly be found in heavily wooded areas. They spin their webs high up in trees, not in a corner of your living room. They are “afraid of people” (but don’t they say that about EVERY terrifying creature, from grizzly bears to sharks? I find this notion preposterous. Why in heck would THEY fear US? I mean, there is the gun thing, I guess, but aside from that…) Let’s face it, though--even if the reports are exaggerating, even if a Joro’s only as big as half a human hand, that’s still too darned big for a spider. 

 

On the plus side, this alarming news item temporarily pushed other major nightmares (climate crisis, war, long COVID, politics, Ye) to the sidelines of my brain. But it’s a stretch to call the arrival of giant spiders a “welcome diversion.” A welcome diversion would be the announcement of a million butterflies heading this way (wouldn’t that be beautiful? Sigh.) This is just one more Terrible Thing we’ll have to face, in a world that seems to have more than its fair share these days.

 

At any rate, I am thinking of prepping for a real-life remake of Arachnophobia, by dusting off my copy of Charlotte’s Web. The gentle E.B. White tale of a wise and lovable spider is, of course, a great classic of children’s literature. I remember finding Charlotte indeed both wise and lovable, and I wept when she died at the end of the book. But alas, I don’t remember my affection for a fictional character changing my mind about real spiders. Hated them then, hate them now. 

 

It seems every time I decide to start loving nature, there’s something that gets in the way. I don’t WANT to despise the Great Outdoors! It’s all the Joros’ fault! 

I even fear cartoon spiders.

There's an App for That

 

my iPhone, all apped up

I remember back when “app” meant Sour Cream Onion Dip. It was a “mobile app” if you took it to a potluck. 

 

I’m no inventor.  If I were George Washington Carver, I would have stared at the humble peanut forever, without finding a single use for it. If I were Thomas Edison, I’d still be in the dark. While I may have a bit of ability as a wordsmith, I will never come up with a clever way to make coffee using a hamster-on-a-wheel for energy. I am in awe of anything resembling a fabulous life hack, though I stop short of sending my hard-earned $49.99 (in four easy payments) to the manufacturers of the Incredible Instant Ice Cream Calorie Remover/Lawn Mulcher.

 

So naturally, when I decided to come up with a few whimsical ideas for mobile apps for this blog post, I struggled. For one thing, there are (as of Summer 2023) NINE MILLION apps available, with something like 1200 new ones cropping up daily. That’s some high-powered imagination, folks!

 

And every time I thought of something really outlandish, I discovered there was already an actual app for it. “Fake-an-Excuse” exists, my friends (this app offers realistic sounds to play during an unwanted phone call—burst water pipe, crying baby, swarm of bees- to give you an excuse to hang up.) So does “Run Pee” (tells you exactly when, as a movie viewer, it’s a good time for a bathroom break without missing important plot developments). “Carrr Matey” helps you find where you parked your vehicle--using a pirate voice. For reals. Arrr.

 

But there is one area where I feel there’s still room for innovation, app-wise. It’s the field of personal development and relationships. Here are a few random thoughts (patents pending, so don’t try pulling anything!)

 

“UnAltared!” Ditch that loser fiancé in church, right before you say, “I do!” During the Wedding March, your phone emits a piercing nuclear attack warning siren. As the petrified guests scramble for the exits, you can calmly take off your veil and disappear into the wilds of the Amazon (jungle, not shopping site). 

 

“Is My Child a Cereal Killer?” This app secretly records late night forays into your pantry, exposing four-year-old Bobby as the unprincipled Cocoa Puffs binge-eater that he is. 

 

“Am I Becoming My Mother?” This is a super-simple app. Whatever you ask it, the answer is always, “Yes. You are becoming your mother. Just stop.” In the paid version, an electric shock is added.

 

And then there’s “Tok-Tik-Chat-Snap”, where you can spend hours recording your own little video masterpieces, and just as you're about to share, they disappear forever. Great for reminding you of the depressing futility of life!

 

Finally, “Heading to Heaven” charts your every thought, word and deed, day and night (dreams included), so you always know what progress you are (or are NOT) making on the road to the Pearly Gates. Think of it as a Confessional in Your Pocket!

 

Go ahead. "Apply" yourselves, gang! Time’s a wasting!

Baking Communion bread with Sunday School--in the plus column for "Heading to Heaven"? Maybe?