On Teenagers and Masks

 Masks became optional at my school on Monday, March 7.

I figured I would walk in and finally see all the dewy young faces that have been partially obscured since September.

Guess what? The masks are all firmly in place! The only kids not wearing them are kids who wouldn't comply with the mandate. Those kids are unmasked. Everyone else didn't skip a beat. It's wall-to-wall masks, about 93 percent of everyone!

I never expected this, but now that I think about it, well. Teenagers. You know? They all want to hide their faces. Or to do what their friends are doing. If the cool kids keep wearing their masks, everyone else will.

Now I'm wondering if the principal will have to decree an end to mask wearing at some point. Until he does, I'm quite content to reside behind a sheath of cloth.

Hubris Run Amok

 I know I'm a bad person. I know I have a wicked side. I know I have the capacity to take others' suffering lightly, if I feel the suffering to be a matter of hubris. I've got a cold streak. I don't suffer fools.

Years and years ago, when Mr. J and I first moved to Haterfield, one of his journalist colleagues dropped by to say hello. At that time dear Decibel the Parrot was just a young stripling, but he had already learned how to shred skin on fingers with his big ol' beak.

Mr. J's colleague asked me, "Does your bird bite?"

"Oh yes," I replied.

Not even lying, the dude walked over to the cage and stuck his finger in. Decibel lived up to his reputation and bit the guy to the quick.

I could not help but laugh at that fellow. Hubris! It's a bitch.

Well, readers, that bitch hubris is having a whopper of a romp these days, and the Internet is a perfect park for a romp.

Here for your perusal is a website, Sorry, Antivaxxer. On this site, an enterprising hubris hunter has compiled a list of names and photos of people who loudly spurned the COVID vaccine and then succumbed to the disease.

My friends, you are entitled to your bodily autonomy, and you have the right to refuse a vaccine. But if you openly ridicule the vaccine and the people who take it, and then you get the illness and die of it, you sadly deserve a heaping helping of derision.

I feel sorry for people who quietly decide not to take the COVID vaccine, and then get the illness. But I have no qualms about "Sorry, Antivaxxer." Some book I might have read somewhere says, "As you sow, so shall you reap." And if you sow disinformation, if you make light of a deadly illness, if you belittle people who don't think the way you do, well then. Your reap may be done by the Grim Reaper.

Again, just to be clear, I do have sympathy for people who contract severe COVID after avoiding the vaccine. But my sympathy ends abruptly for the vocal, sarcastic anti-vaxxers who loudly seek to convince people not to protect themselves.

You've got to wonder, too, about the people who ingest medication used to de-worm horses in an effort to prevent or treat COVID. What are people thinking? I don't use Gamma Cat's flea medicine to treat my earaches.

Okay, it's not very Christian of me to lack sympathy for certain people. But hey! I'm not a Christian! I don't have to feel sorry for those who wallow in hubris and then inherit the wind. What a relief!

Die on the Hill, Just Don't Take Me Along

 Ah, summer is almost over, and a new school year beckons. Even though COVID-19 is almost worse than ever, we are back to full enrollment in our schools.

In the meantime, I know three fully vaccinated adults who caught COVID-19 and were sick for weeks. Granted, they survived. But sick for weeks. All younger than me.

Pandemic does not be over. How silly of me to think so! This is 'Murica, Land of the Idiot and Home of the Moron.

Why are people who have been vaccinated for a half dozen deadly and infectious diseases suddenly unwilling to get a shot? That was a rhetorical question. I know the answer. The answer (no matter what other answer they give) is that Joe Biden encourages everyone to get a shot. If Joe Biden promoted breathing, they would all turn blue and suffocate.

If it was just the anti-shot morons infecting each other, I wouldn't care a bit. Go ahead and die on the hill of your "freedom." But I don't want to go with you. I have done everything -- everything -- the public health experts have told me to do. Everything. A 45-minute visit on Christmas, on the front porch of my daughter's rental? Did it. Quarantine for weeks and weeks? Did it. Wearing a mask everywhere? Did it. Doing it. Will do it. Hand sanitizer? Use it. Avoiding crowded indoor events? Did it. Doing it. Will do it.

I fought to get a date for my vaccination. Now I will need to fight for a booster ... and in the meantime spend my days with a room full of teenagers. There are 100 students on my roster this year. Even if half of them are vaccinated, that'll be a lot of COVID-19 floating in the stagnant classroom air. And I will have to wear a mask all day long, every day. I'll be afraid to take it off any time I'm in the room, including when I'm alone. Shit can hang in the air.

Most of this suffering could have been avoided if we had a citizenry that is less evenly divided between reasonable and ridiculous.

Getting sick from COVID when you've done everything to prevent it is like dying of tobacco-induced lung cancer without ever having smoked a cigarette. I don't want to be that victim!

Yes, I have practiced magic to keep myself safe. But no matter. I'm predicting with confidence that I'll contract this damn plague sometime this fall. Oh, morons. Thank you so much.

Gettin It Done without Amazon

 Howdy again, and welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," where patience is a virtue and the small business rules! I'm Anne Johnson, and I'm not paying for frivolous space travel for billionaires. Period, end of sentence.

This post begins with my fear of Coronavirus as the school year loomed last fall. I was lucky enough to discover a book called Backwoods Witchcraft by Jake Richards. This excellent work has all kinds of spells and conjures and amulets in it, and from the author's expertise I learned that copper items help to guard from illness. So I bought a beautiful copper bracelet with mountains on it, which I received a few weeks before school began. 

I've been wearing the bracelet constantly, and it has protected me from Covid. I know because my supervisor at school caught the virus and got terribly ill. This was before the vaccine.

If you have ever owned anything made of copper, you know it's hard keeping that shiny, minty fresh exterior. It's also such a bendable metal that it can lose its shape. So here I am, 12 months in with this bracelet, and it needed to be adjusted.

I took it to my splendid friend of long standing, Muin, who works with metal in fantastic ways. It was the work, literally, of 20 seconds for him to knock the shape back into my bracelet. And then he gave me tips on how to polish it and keep it minty fresh. Turns out I need Wright's copper polish, which I can pick up at the local hardware store. I also need stuff called Renaissance Wax. (One can also use beeswax, but who can resist a product called "Renaissance Wax?") Muin applied some polish, and then some of this magical Ren Wax, and my bracelet looks better than it did when it arrived in the mail.

You might think that something so esoteric as Renaissance Wax would be hard to find outside the evil Amazon Empire. But no! I clicked into the first web site that wasn't Amazon and found a real he-man's paradise of a small business down in Texas.

If you had asked me four weeks ago, I would have said, "Pandemic be over" (famous words of a friend of The Fair). But it's not, and even if I'm vaccinated, I still see a chance of serious illness. So I am going to continue to wear my amulet bracelet. It's just going to look and fit better.

All the links in this post lead to the products described at web sites that are not Amazon. Full disclosure, I did buy Backwoods Witchcraft from Amazon, but I could have done my due diligence. Honestly I would like to drive to Tennessee and purchase Jake Richards's books right from his hands, but that's not possible.

"Renaissance Wax." What a great product to put through the "Anywhere but Amazon" test! Got it, gettin' it, thanks Texas!

Keep the author of "The Gods Are Bored" in your magic the next few weeks. Big events are on the horizon. I will tell all as things unfold.

First Day of School, April 22, 2021

 What a wacky week! September behavior in April! And I'm not talking about the weather.

This past week marks the first time I have had students physically in my classroom for over a year. I have been trying to teach them over the Internet since last fall, and it's been a challenge.

But I guess I won them over, because they seemed so happy to see me in the flesh! Was I an influencer somehow? And wowsa, did I entertain them when they sat down in their desks! I did Mummers strut. I did happy dances. I squealed. I wiped fake tears. When the wind caused the cheap windows to vibrate, I told them it was a nest of murder hornets, sit very still. Oh I was in rare form!

Only about half of my students have returned, and the rest are still online. So I am teaching in a mask, online and in person simultaneously. It's like having a litter of kittens to foster. Soon as you pay attention to one, another one wanders off to walk in fresh paint.

Perfect time for poetry, don't you think? I compiled 40 poems, mostly by writers of color, to do a poetry unit. I call it "Poetry Playoffs" and use brackets like the NCAA to find the class favorite poem.

When freshmen arrive at high school, we teachers get what we call a "honeymoon." They are timid and well-behaved and eager to please. This phase usually lasts about six weeks.

Well, there are only six weeks left in the school year, and the past two days I got small classes of honeymooning freshmen, sitting quiet and attentive (and laughing at me).

It's wonderful to finally have students back in class. Wonderful. The only reason anyone would do this grueling job is the chance to be around young people. And what terrific students I have! Great kids. Their lives matter.

P.S. - I've been doing an SAT prep class online since September, and I gave those students an "out" by asking them if they think they're good to go. Darn if those lil pups didn't say they want to keep doing SAT prep because they like getting together with me. Four kids, opting to do SAT prep! Give me a damn Oscar.

P.P.S. - I saw a bald eagle fly over the school three times this week. This afternoon it lingered long enough for me to be absolutely positive what I was looking at. I don't see it as an omen, just an incredibly uplifting sight.

Pandemic Anniversary

 Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," looking back on a year of living minimally! I'm the inmate, Anne Johnson, number 031159. Today, on this anniversary of the first lockdowns, I will look back briefly on what my year has been like.

New Jersey locked up on March 15, I think. At least I know that Friday, March 13, 2020 was my last day with students in my classroom.

The quarantine was supposed to stop the spread of Covid-19, so we all thought it would last two weeks, at which time we would all reconvene at school. I gave my students paper assignments. Imagine that!

But between March 13 and March 30, all Hell broke loose in this country, and the Hellhounds have not even been collared even now.

I live with an obese senior citizen with breathing problems. This was terrifying from the get-go. Mr. J had already been hospitalized with pneumonia in the final days of December, 2019. In hindsight this was probably good, because he took the virus very seriously and was happy to comply with the quarantines and mask mandates.

In those first weeks I only ventured from home every 14 days to buy food. I spent $500 at the grocery store more than once, and used two carts more than once. And nothing went to waste. We were preparing and eating three meals a day, seven days a week. And lots of home-baked cookies (when I could get ingredients), because what else was there to do but bake cookies?

So in the spring I sat in online classrooms, fruitlessly waiting for students to turn in assignments. I cooked. I stayed home, home, home. I did not see my daughters, except to briefly drop off lilacs to The Fair on her birthday.

In May The Fair came with her cat and stayed with us 8 weeks. Tensions had gone through the roof in her rental. It was great having her around, and healthier for her to be out of the city. She worked from our house. Her cat is adorable.

In July The Heir came for a long weekend and wound up staying 10 days. During both daughter visits we observed social distancing and masks until a week passed without any symptoms. During the time The Heir spent with us, she purchased the most wonderful car, her first. It's a low mileage 1994 Ford Escort station wagon, refreshingly free of the bewildering computerization found in today's machines.

At the end of August I had the Monkey Man over for a porch supper. He was the last visitor of 2020.

When fall came I returned to school but taught my students online. I have not gazed upon my students' faces even now. Going back to the building meant that I could no longer see my daughters. The fall was long and dreary, and I increasingly felt unsafe at school. When I saw a security guard who I knew to be a Trump supporter wearing his mask wrong right outside my classroom, I got a doctor's note and stayed home.

Thanksgiving, it was just Mr. J and me. The family Christmas celebration consisted of the four of us gathering on The Heir's front porch for a short chat and gift exchange. No Mummer's Parade on New Year's Day.

When the cases started spiking after the holidays, Mr. J and I went into strict lockdown again. More big hauls of groceries, more days spent completely indoors. Working at home, staying home, watching the Capitol attack on t.v. and the briefings from Governor Murphy on Facebook.

It is now March, and we have been in our bubble since December. Shortly I will be returning to the classroom with live students again, but many kids are being kept home by wary parents. I don't blame the parents. My students don't even qualify for the vaccine. They are too young.

Mr. J and I got our first shots on February 24.

2020 was a year where I felt that I wasn't me anymore. My exuberance has faded. I look older. I feel like the social parts of my brain have atrophied. Literally, I feel more stupid than I did when this started. I've gained 10 pounds from cookies and being lazy. No festivals, no parades, no drum circles, no Pagan gatherings, no flowers on my grandmother's grave, no travel. Anywhere.

I have become so concerned about my atrophying brain that I did two things to boost it: I took two courses offered by John Beckett that were very helpful. And then, in desperation, I turned to the Sunday New York Times crossword puzzle, where egos go to die.

If you do something enough, you get good at it.

I hadn't done a cross stitch project in 30 years. I did a whole jacket and a fine display on another. I finished a huge baby quilt.

If you were to ask me what my finest accomplishment was in the whole year of 2020, I might say two things:

*getting a license and registration for The Heir's car -- in New Jersey, in a pandemic, with the notorious DMV.

*This ...

I did this without a chart, only using a photo. I was able to track the artist down and compensate her, which was awesome.

President Biden (long may he reign) says we should all be able to get together with close family and friends by the Fourth of July. So Mr. J and I just plunked down our stimulus on a rental along the Chesapeake Bay for that whole week. Crabs will be consumed. Mosquitoes will be swatted.

Here's to 2021! I can hope for a parade.

Expendable

 In end stage capitalism, the only lives that are important are the owners. The workers matter not. Someone keel over? Replace the slave and move on.

This is driven home by the push to re-open schools fully, before the real end of the pandemic is in sight. Teachers are expendable. Students are expendable. And with no differentiation between a cluster of kindergartners and big, crowded classes of 15-year-olds, there is bound to be a spike in the virus. A big one.

I read the New York Times every day, and for hours on Sunday. I know the works of all the prominent columnists. It was expected to see David Brooks slam teachers for not wanting to be in school. Not surprising. But when Nicholas Kristof offered his slam a week later, well. I thought he cared about low-paid working people.

Teaching is a profession that has a high percentage of women serving in the basic role of classroom instructor. Most men who enter the profession (including the new Secretary of Education) spend, at most, four years in a classroom while completing their principal certification. The men move up. Most of the long-time classroom teachers are women.

And that means that teachers are expected to martyr themselves for their students.

Don't believe me? Who "saves the day" by getting killed during school shootings? Some poor heroic teacher with a family at home.

Now teachers are being sent back into classrooms prematurely, when the end of the pandemic could otherwise be in sight. I teach high school. This will matter greatly to my students. They are 14 through 16. They and their families will be at risk.

To be fair to my district, they are offering parents the option to keep their kids at home. Those students will go to class virtually, as they have been doing since September. The difference is, teachers will now be instructing in-person classes and online classes simultaneously, while wearing a mask.

The teachers who are already doing this report that it is a massive, overwhelming fail.

My classroom has no air conditioning. In the last 4-5 weeks of school, the temperature can climb to 90 degrees and stay that way. It's global warming in miniature, like a car.

So picture me, Anne Johnson, a teacher of a certain age, working in a stifling hot classroom, in a mask for four hours without a bathroom break. Because that's what I'm looking at, comrades. I have a colleague who will have five hours straight. She's older than I am.

If David Brooks and Nicholas Kristof happened to ring my doorbell right now, I would quickly plug in the cattle prod and give them a good what's for. I never had much respect for Brooks, who is sanctimonious on a good day. But Kristof was one of my favorites. No more. The only way he could redeem himself at this point is to swap jobs with me for the next three months. Then we would see who knows what.

A Year Ago

 Welcome aboard, "Gods Are Bored" mateys! All hands on deck! It's another installment in this vast online diary of mine.

March 1, 2020 was on a Saturday. The sky was completely clear -- that color of blue that you get only in the fall and winter. Temperatures hovered in a comfortable 50s, as I recall.

I remember this clearly for two reasons: One, because it's always memorable when I march with the Two Street Stompers, and two because it was the last social event I would attend in 2020. I just didn't know it at the time.

We were all joking that day about how early the Gloucester City St. Patrick's Day was. Sixteen days before the actual holiday? But we figured it was because they invite so many string bands to perform in that parade. The demand for string bands definitely grows the closer you get to any holiday.

Boy, did I have fun that day! The Gloucester City parade is a good one. The street is pretty narrow, and chock-a-block with revelers on either side. The dancing is universal. And the route is just the right length. Not too long, so we run out of gas, but not so short that we say, "Wait. What? It's over already?"

When we were done parading, there was a big party in a crowded pub, everyone quaffing the spirits, and a double dose of bagpiping in the parking lot. A great time was had by all.

I suppose COVID 19 was on the map by then, but I hadn't started to register much alarm. A week later, that had changed, and I was stacking my house to the plimsol line with every conceivable foodstuff, both perishable and nonperishable. Quarantine did not find me unprepared.

Since then I have been home. Home, home, home.

Here's an interesting fact about this pandemic, here at Johnson Penitentiary.

In an ordinary calendar year, I generally cook two turkeys. One at Thanksgiving, of course, and a frozen one in dead winter -- usually on a snow day.

A whole year has rolled along, and in that year I have cooked four turkeys. Yes, four. And those of you who do it know that's a task.

I cooked the first turkey in April of 2020, because when I took my bi-weekly trip to the grocery store there wasn't any other poultry product except frozen turkeys.

I cooked the second one on Thanksgiving. It was only me and Mr. J.

I cooked the third one for Christmas. It was only me and Mr. J. The turkey in question was one that Mr. J picked up at deep discount right after Thanksgiving.

I cooked the fourth one last week. It was a frozen one I got with a coupon prior to Thanksgiving.

That's four turkey dinners, 12 turkey casseroles, 8 large pots of soup, and a dozen sandwiches. All consumed by just me and Mr. J.

In an ordinary year I would have had four parades instead of four turkeys. I vote for a return to that.

My Awesome, Smithsonian-Worthy Pandemic Experience Getting My First Vaccine

Welcome to the blog that was summarily dismissed by the Smithsonian Institute for who knows why? I'm Anne Johnson (really), and today I'm going to walk through my experience getting my first COVID-19 vaccine! I know this process varies from state to state, so your experience might be different. Up to a point. And then your experience will be exactly the same as mine. We'll get to that.

Step One: I signed up online with the state of New Jersey's official COVID website. I put in all the info, like being a teacher, and a lady of a certain age and weight. I got told I was 1C. Then I heard nothing else.

Step Two: My younger, more computer-savvy colleagues found a county registry. It was through Cooper Hospital system, which I don't use. But I registered anyway, and they gave me a date of March 27. I think they were fast-tracking people already in the Cooper system, because all of my younger, more computer-savvy colleagues got earlier appointments.

Caveat: Your experiences of signing up will vary. I had lots of help.

Step Three: On a Saturday afternoon a month ago, a younger colleague sent another link in a text message. This was through the hospital system I do use. And the vaccine site was closer too! I went through the online registration and got a date of February 24 ... more than a month sooner than the first site where I registered.

Step Four: I fretted and fretted that something had gone wrong with the online registry, because I grew up in the 20th century, and we used telephones and paper.

Step Four: On Vaccination Day, Mr. J and I drove to the vaccination site at Moorestown Mall. (I signed him up the same time as myself. Wasn't that smart?) The gig was set up in the empty Lord & Taylor department store. Enter one door, exit another. We parked and went to the entrance.

Step Five: A member of the National Guard met us at the door, made sure we had an appointment, took our temperatures, squeezed a little hand sanitizer in our palms, and directed us to a clearly-marked line.

Step Six: There were about 25 people ahead of us in line, but the line moved quickly. We were in it about ten minutes. Then we came to another member of the National Guard, who asked us if we were able to come back on March 17. When we said yes, he directed us to the numerous and well-run registration kiosks, all of them manned by the National Guard.

Step Seven: We both signed in with an extremely mannerly and cute National Guardsman (cute even through the mask!). Can you believe it? The magical Internet had indeed saved my applications! A few questions, driver's license, insurance card (optional), sign here and here. We were then directed to clearly-marked vaccination bays, where right next to each other, we

Step Eight: answered questions about how we were feeling, whether or not we had COVID, if we were allergic to ingredients in shots, and had we had any shots in the last two weeks? (I'm pretty sure they weren't talking about whiskey.) This was the only place manned by health care workers not in fatigues. My vaccinator's name was Kelly, and she loved my fairy sweater.

Step Nine: Here is the part that you and I will have in common... I got a shot! Little dab of alcohol, little pierce, band-aid, informed that it was the Pfizer item, told to follow the clearly-marked yellow pavers to the waiting area.

Step Ten: We were directed by another courtly National Guardsman to seats that were six feet apart. We were given a sticky note with 4:35 on it -- the time we could leave. We sat there until that time, and then we were dismissed. We were asked if we wanted to make our next appointment online. OH no. So we were directed through another clearly-marked area where a nice National Guardsman made our next appointment, which is on St. Patrick's Day.

Step Eleven: Out the door, with actual paper cards to bring with us to our next appointment!

The entire process, from going in the door to leaving, took about 45 minutes.

Readers, I am used to the Department of Motor Vehicles and the Camden County justice system, where I go way too often for jury duty. Both of these entities are maddening in their inefficiency. People line up at NJDMV at 5:00 in the morning. I kid you not -- I did it with Heir last summer.

This National Guard dodge was completely different. I never saw anything move more smoothly. I felt like my taxpayer dollars were being well-spent. Additionally, there were lovely motivational posters hanging everywhere, but the signs said not to take any photos.

EXHIBIT A: FACSIMILE OF POSTER AT COVID-19 VACCINATION SITE

Mr. J and I emerged into a seasonably warm late winter afternoon, not a cloud in the sky. 

That was yesterday. Today I feel fine. My arm isn't even as sore as it gets with the seasonal flu shot. I don't have much appetite. That's the only change I see.

It does appear that my school district will be hauling the teenagers back to school very soon. I feel like I'm ready, though. I've done my part.

I have no idea how to cancel my March 27 appointment. 

Interview with a Bored Goddess: Queen Brighid the Bright

My goodness, have we ever strayed from our Mission Statement here at The Gods Are Bored! How long has it been since a deity sat for an interview? Can't even recall the last time. Thankfully, Imbolc is upon us, and Queen Brighid the Bright has settled in by the fire with a piping hot cup of Irish breakfast tea. Please give a warm and wonderful "Gods Are Bored" welcome to the Goddess Brighid the Bright!

Anne: How's the tea, great Goddess?

Queen Brighid the Bright: First rate! Your firewood is not well seasoned, though. 

Anne: Our first shipment was so well-seasoned that we burnt through it all. Now we're stuck with this smoky stuff that sizzles and leaves creosote in our chimney.

Queen Brighid the Bright: Well, we can't have that, now can we? (Blows on the fire, and it leaps with purple flame.)

Anne: Snap! Thank you!

Queen Brighid the Bright: Anne. Anne! What's this?

Anne: Emmm .... the Sunday New York Times crossword puzzle? (hides her head)

Queen Brighid the Bright: Well! I'm not inclined to scold you, Anne, but what the hell?

Anne: It's a pandemic, Goddess. I'm basically in quarantine. So I sit around here and cross stitch and do the Sunday crossword puzzle.

Queen Brighid the Bright: Like a geezer.

Anne: Oh, you cut me to the quick! Don't think I don't know that these stodgy hobbies are pathetic. But take it from me, they beat Twitter.

Queen Brighid the Bright: Twitter? You mean the sound birds make?

Anne: Close enough. But fear not, dear Goddess. I have enrolled in an online course called "Navigating Tower Time". I'm going to start it tomorrow.

Queen Brighid the Bright: Well, see that you do! We don't want to get lax in our spiritual path, do we?

Anne: It's hard not to get lax in everything when I'm pent up at home, day after day, week after week, month after month.

Queen Brighid the Bright: Chin up, Anne! Imbolc is here, the lambs are being born, it's halfway to equinox, and my goodness! Your larder is bulging.

Anne: Pandemic supplies.

Queen Brighid the Bright: What are these six bottles of Clorox all in a row?

Anne: Five mistakes based on a shortage.

Queen Brighid the Bright: Four dozen rolls of toilet paper?

Anne: We ordered it in bulk from Amazon.

Queen Brighid the Bright: How are Amazons to work with? I should imagine they drive a hard bargain. I've never met one.

Anne: They're ruthless, and they dominate the landscape. Great Goddess, will you listen to a petition?

Queen Brighid the Bright: Of course! I'm not as bored as I used to be, but I still grant petitions! What can I help you with, Anne?

Anne: Place your gentle hand on my daughters.

Queen Brighid the Bright: Done. Anything else?

Anne: Protect me from COVID-19.

Queen Brighid the Bright: Perhaps The Morrigan would do that better. She is crackerjack with corvids.

Anne: COVID-19 is the name of the disease. It doesn't have anything to do with crows.

Queen Brighid the Bright: What a ridiculous name! What happened to descriptive disease names like smallpox and yellow fever?

Anne: Good question. Maybe people would take it more seriously if it was called "drowning on dry land."

Queen Brighid the Bright: Well, whatever it's called, I'll protect you from it. Looks like you've got all kinds of solid Appalachian magic going on already. But I'm always glad to pitch in.

Anne: I imagine you'll be really busy on Imbolc, but if you have a chance, pop in. I have a wonderful smudge stick that my daughter The Fair gave me for Yule. I'm going to purify the whole house.

Queen Brighid the Bright: As well you should. And keep the faith, Anne. Quarantines don't last forever. It only seems that way.

Anne: And how, Goddess. And how.

Pardon Me While I Wallow in Self Pity and Nostalgia

 Oh, Wretched New Year! This would have been my 10th year marching in the Philadelphia Mummers Parade. Alas, quite sensibly, the 2021 parade was canceled. Here I sit, on yet another day of self-imposed quarantine, dodging COVID and watching Mummers recordings on t.v.

Strutting down memory lane is the best I can do.

EXHIBIT A: 2017 with The Fair

EXHIBIT B: My 3rd Parade, 2013

EXHIBIT C: OUR 1st Place Finish, 2018 (I'm in the rear in the red hat -- it was 6 degrees F at the time.)

EXHIBIT D:  2019 on Broad Street

EXHIBIT E: 2020 St. Patrick's Day, Luckily Held in February, Most Recent Strut

EXHIBIT F: Gritty and I Need Another Assignment ... Maybe Overthrowing the Oligarchy

EXHIBIT G: 2021

I'm crossing my fingers that 2021 will bring us a new, effective president and an end to this pandemic nightmare. COVID is real, it's a killer, and I wouldn't be in the parade this year if I was the only one missing it.

Stay warm, stay safe, Happy New Year!

A Smithsonian-Worthy Yule Navel Gaze

 We stubborn hillbillies never forget a slight. When the Smithsonian said this page wasn't worthy of inclusion in its ranks, it rankled. Take this holiday, for instance. It screams, bleats, shouts, and roars "pandemic diary."

People are getting tired of observing pandemic guidelines, and the case numbers are rising again. I'm not an ordinary person, though. I'm a stubborn hillbilly. So when my school deemed it unsafe for small cohorts of students to walk in the door, I flung them a doctor's note so I didn't have to either. I've been working at home ever since. I don't like it, but it beats getting the virus. I gerry-rigged the home office I used for so long as a writer, which is weird in the extreme. 

The worst part is having virtual teachers' meetings at home. All those administrators you can't stand? Suddenly they're in your living room. Makes my skin crawl.

The pandemic has put a lot of time on my hands with nothing to write about, so I have returned to the teenage hobby of cross stitch and embroidery. Look at this Xmas gift I made for The Fair! 

She says everyone will ask where she got it!

I've never been apart from my daughters during the Xmas holidays, and like everyone else in America, I wanted to observe traditions. But ... stubborn hillbilly. Luckily, both daughters live in Philadelphia, so on Xmas morning early (between the period of driving rain and the period of plunging temperatures) we convened on the porch of The Heir's West Philly rowhouse. Heir lives on the third floor. We used the porch.

Heloooo? Smithsonian????? How many pandemic photos do you have of ordinary families following the goddamn CDC guidelines?

The other thing I have never done without on the holidays is a Yule tree. About two weeks before the winter break, I bought a little tabletop "fresh" tree from a supermarket. By Xmas Eve it looked gray as a ghost. So I got in my old car (which needed a spin) and drove to where I knew there was a vacant lot with some pine saplings, and I ethically sourced an organic, free range tree. Third time I've done this, and although it's mean to maim a tree, it certainly cheers things up here.

These New Jersey pines aren't fragrant, but I like the long needles.

Here I am, another American affected by the pandemic, but not nearly or even remotely as dreadfully as a lot of people. Now it's just a countdown until the day the USA is rid of Donald Trump (cross fingers) forever. He's bent upon ruining the nation the way he tanked all his other businesses. What a train wreck.

The Light returns, we'll get through this mess, and the next time you hear from me it'll be from a bottomless pool of self-pity. But I'll leave that for later.

Frank Talk about Infectious Pathogens

 We all know that Rudy Giuliani is in the hospital (or was), having been infected -- who knows how -- with COVID-19.

I say "who knows how" because just about everybody around him is as daft as he is. Nobody wears a mask.

Rudy is sick, and the entire Arizona legislature is quarantined because he went out there to pull sneaky shit brief them on his unfounded views of election fraud.

So we all know how germs work. They have to be inside us, and then expelled from us, to infect another person.

Can you imagine getting sick from COVID after being around Rudy Giuliani? Something that was inside him and expelled from him got into your body.

EWWWWWWWWWWWW!!!!!!! GROSSSS!!!!! Rudy Cooties!!! Disgusting.

Have I ruined your day? Sorry.

Important Public Health Announcement for the Citizens of Johnsonia

 Hear the words of the Grand Wazoo of Johnsonia, Anne Johnson:

Effective immediately, the borders of the Independent Republic of Johnsonia are closed. No one will be allowed to leave Johnsonia or return to it except for essential travel.

No non-citizens will be allowed to visit or stay in Johnsonia. This includes outdoor gatherings and holidays.

Essential travel is defined as work-related or food-gathering-related or of medical necessity.

The Wazoo would like to take this opportunity to SCOLD the United States of America for IGNORING and SCORNING the advice of SCIENTISTS who WARNED THIS WOULD HAPPEN. May this plague fall upon the shoulders of the U.S. citizens who most resisted considering it important, while passing over good people who heeded the advice of health professionals!

Wazoo probably gonna be working from home beginning next week. Just a hunch.

Artemis Brauronia Reports for Duty

 I've interviewed quite a number of bored deities over the 15 year span of "The Gods Are Bored." I've had chats with my great-great-grandmother and heard stories from Anansi the Spider. But never have I ever needed a Goddess more than at this present time.

Funny thing is, when I need a Goddess to perform a specific task, I often get help from the Graeco-Roman deities. And that is what has happened just now.

Some people have ecstatic religious experiences where a God or Goddess reveal themselves after long periods of preparation, devotion and study.

Me, I open my monthly Patreon mailing from Thalia Took.

For a very modest donation, the talented Ms. Took will send you a Goddess card every month in the mail. I have amassed quite a stack.

Last week I came home from the first day of school, and there sat an envelope that was clearly from Ms. Took. Being a super religious and deeply studied individual, I said to myself, "Whatever Goddess is in this envelope will be my protector in the COVID trenches."

Wouldn't you know, there were three cards in the envelope! I think Thalia missed a few monthly messages.

Thank all the bored deities of all the pantheons I already had Thalia's Hel card! Because there was another Hel card in there -- I would have curled up in a ball and cried. But since I already had a Hel card, I could pass Her along to the stack. Whew!

The second Goddess was Korean. I wasn't feeling Her. Now that I've said that, I'm determined to have Her in for an interview, because I don't want to feel like I'm discriminating against Asian deities.

The third Goddess was Artemis Brauronia.

EXHIBIT A: ARTEMIS BRAURONIA, BY THALIA TOOK

Artemis Brauronia is the Goddess Artemis as She was worshiped in the ancient Greek city of Brauronia. In that city's festivals, young girls would go through stages in a ritual that at times required them to dress like bear cubs and at other times required them to wear saffron-colored robes. It was a coming-of-age thing, so to speak.

The minute I laid eyes on Artemis Brauronia, I knew She was the perfect Goddess for my current needs. I mean, look at that intense gaze, that saffron robe, that gentle cradling of a baby creature! And wowsa, is She ever bored! Her chunk of the Acropolis is all that's left of Her influence. She's keen for an assignment as challenging as keeping an older school teacher safe from a novel plague!

I have taken my image of Artemis Brauronia in to my school and installed her at my right hand, literally. I even went to the thrift store and got a beautiful jeweled frame so She will be protected from the mice and the elements.

In the past I have called on Queen Brighid the Bright in times of need. But there's something so much more intense and fierce about Artemis. Right now I feel like I need a fighter in my corner. Here's another Thalia Took image of Artemis that I just love:

EXHIBIT B: ARTEMIS, BY THALIA TOOK

Nobody's going to mess with this Goddess. Nope.

Now, for those of you who Take Your Religion Seriously Thank You Very Much, don't look askance at me. It's a grand hillbilly tradition to stick your hand into a deck of cards and draw one out as an omen. It's just the way mountain people do things. You get an envelope and you need some help? Might be something in the envelope, if you intend it to be so.

I intended it to be so, and Artemis Brauronia has arrived to help me through these troubled times.

Labor Day 2020

 Dear Pandemic Diary,

Today is Labor Day, and on every other Labor Day since 2008 I have marched in the Philadelphia AFL-CIO Labor Day parade. One year I made the march (about a mile and a half) one week before a total hip replacement. That's where I got this bag.

Last year it was hot as ever loving fuck. I think I got a touch of heat stroke. But even that was better than sitting on my front porch doing yet another virtual holiday on the computer. One can only click the heart button so many times, you know?

And speaking of virtual, my new life as a virtual school teacher begins on Tuesday. I had all last week to prepare ... except not really, because the district scheduled 3 hours of meetings a day, and on Friday they had a 90 minute meeting about taking attendance. Therefore I did not get the kinks ironed out of the dodgy technology they gave me to use. It worked on Thursday, but not on Friday. So I'm not going to trust it on Tuesday.

The district offered us the opportunity to come in on Labor Day to prepare. To which I say

I. Will. Never. Work. On. Labor. Day.

United we bargain, divided we beg.

It Didn't Take Long

 My gut told me not to do it, but it's so hard to leave good money on the table when you're a teacher in the summertime.

So I went to a professional development meeting of 2 days duration in a room with 8 other teachers and a consultant.

I took my own hand sanitizer and never removed my mask while there. I didn't share pens or eat in the room, which was air conditioned to near-freezing.

We had ample room to social distance.

Ten days after the meeting, I got a notice from my district that a teacher who was there tested positive. Ten days. No contact tracing in all that time.

I had no symptoms, so I decided to ride it out.

Wednesday the 26th was the two-week marker for this event. Some of the other teachers got tested, but no one else tested positive.

This was 8 teachers. I can hardly wait for September 1, when I will be reunited with the other 60 teachers at my school. On September 8, students start arriving.

It's easy to be hyper-aware when you're bored and cold and well spaced. What about when you have 10,000 things to do, it's hot and humid, and you haven't seen your pals since March?

Well, at least I know that masks work. But now I have to buy plain-colored ones. I'm so bummed. I had a friend make me some beautiful weird ones. Can't use them.

Please continue to petition the Gods and Goddesses for me and all public school teachers. As far as Covid goes, I think it's when and not if.

Things I Miss

Well, here we are again at "The Gods Are Bored," on May 72nd or some such. The only upside to teaching from home is that I get enough sleep. This is counterbalanced by a million downsides. It's awful.

But pish tosh! Why dwell on the negative? Hmmm. What can I write about that is positive?

Well, the Monkey Man visited on Mother's Day, with his monkeys in tow and an Eagles mask.

EXHIBIT A: MY DEAR OL' MONKEY MAN

He's behind that poster.

The Monkey Man is one person I don't have to miss during quarantine. He and I have been doing the pen pal thing. We help the postal service. And I write to him because I know he'll write back.

What are you missing in these stay-at-home times? I am really staying at home. Every other week I put on my Gritty mask and go to the supermarket. Otherwise the only time I go out is to walk around Haterfield. No one else wears a mask.

There's so much I miss! In no particular order:

1. the thrift store
2. the thrift store
3. the thrift store
4. teaching the ordinary way
5. the farmer's market
6. the beach (not going until I have a vaccine)
7. Mummers meetings, now being done online
8. LARP in the woods
9. daughters coming for dinner
10. hiking
11. festivals
12. road trips
13. petting other people's dogs
14. the gym
15. teacher workshops where they ladle out mountains of pastry and candy
16. senior student events
17. the thrift store
18. restaurants
19. being able to breathe while outside
20. fitting into my clothes

On the upside, my little back yard has never been more tidy. And there's a jenny wren nesting in the bird house I bought on March 9 before this all hit the fan.

What do you miss?

Virtual May Day Faerie Festival

So it was round about April 21, and I was sitting in my barca-lounger feeling sorry for myself. I thought, "Oh yeah, and no festivals this year. Great. Just great."

And then I thought of my online exercise classes, and I thought: "Wait a minute. Why couldn't we have an online Faerie Festival?"

I sent a Facebook message to two people I'm close to who I met at the May Day Fairie Festival at Spoutwood Farm. Basically, with my limited technology abilities, I just imagined a group page where we could all just post some photos of yesteryear. Just so we wouldn't feel totally alone on festival day.

You know, people know people who can work wonders with the Internet.

Within ten days a young Fairie Festival performer had created a whole virtual playground on Facebook, and on Sunday there was a full schedule of live performances! In ten days more than 1,000 people found their way to that page -- and the photos were shared in profusion! Then came the pre-recorded stories. Then the live interviews with the owners of Spoutwood Farm. More photos, more comments, love in abundance.

Even the dreaded Wotan the Fairy-Smasher sent a greeting from Washington State!

What a weekend! I put on my festival clothes and decorated my front door.

EXHIBIT A: FRONT DOOR

The weather was brilliant. I set my machine up on the front porch and went to a splendid place called Cyberwood.

EXHIBIT B: FESTIVAL CLOTHES, FESTIVAL FRIENDS

All my friends were there. And the one festival pal who doesn't have a Facebook page messaged me, and I was able to send him some of the content.

Festivals exist because people want to be in social groups with like-minded people. Many of us go through the world feeling like misfits ... until we find that sweet, sweet festival. Nobody ever said the festival has to be on a particular piece of ground on a particular weekend. It can be any time, in the safety of home.

All of this will make the reunion sweeter when we are able to gather again in the apparent world. For me this will not occur until I've held out my arm for a Covid vaccine.

The moral of this sermon is simple: If you are missing a yearly event because of the virus, find some bright young whippersnapper and make an online version of it!

Another Setback for the Sacred Thunderbirds

I got my hopes up again. It was looking really good. The prospects were, as they say, ripe.

The television started reporting on a Thunderbird flyby two days ago. It seemed that New York City and Philadelphia were the specific locations of a Thunderbird flyby.

Well! says I. About time that the Sacred Thunderbird gets a good push-out!

Of course I shouldn't be driving to Philadelphia, but there is one place near my house where you can kinda sorta see Philadelphia. There's no such thing as a "high point" in my part of New Jersey, but there is one empty parking lot with a vague view.

So I went to that parking lot about 45 minutes before the worship of Sacred Thunderbird was scheduled to begin.

At first it was just me and two other cars in this big, wide parking lot. But slowly the lot began to attract more people. Not "oh my Gods I'm too close, I have to leave" numbers of people, but significant numbers of people. And off in the distance, over the Cooper River, a pair of Sacred Thunderbirds who seemed to be making their lazy way in our direction.

So many people arrived that I put on my mask. Not that anyone was too close, but there was a subdued excitement. Finally! Thunderbird worship on a grander scale! Should I lead? Should I follow? I had to remember to be humble. Not many people have been worshiping Thunderbirds as long as I have.

And then. Wouldn't you know.

EXHIBIT A: WRONG THUNDERBIRDS

I should have known, right? No respect for the real Thunderbird.

So it was this cluster of planes and then another of Blue Angels. Our tax dollars at work, my friends. Can't get a Covid test, but wow ... look at those planes!

They breezed right overhead, and really low too. I guess it was worth the 1 mile drive. Nice way to get out in the sunshine.

If you're jealous that you didn't get to see the Thunderbirds, take heart. There were 4,000 new cases of virus in New Jersey today. At least you aren't in New Jersey.

I guess the membership in the Church of the Sacred Thunderbird is back down to one. Oh well, at least there's one!

Stay safe, my friends.