Gritty's People Are Amazing

Hello from "The Gods Are Bored" on this day that begins with Y! Don't ask me which day it is. There will be time for that in late August.

Every now and then I do something that I know isn't right, but I do it anyway. This makes me human.

A few months ago Mr. J gave me a jean jacket for my birthday. It's not one I would have chosen myself, being kind of heavy and clunky. But pish tosh, I'm not looking a gift horse in the mouth! I decided to make the jacket more appealing by covering it with embroidery and cross stitch and patches and pins.

So I went to Etsy, and I searched "Gritty Cross Stitch," and the most badass Gritty cross stitch came up. Sadly, it was for a finished cross-stitch made by the artist. There was no offer of the stitch chart by itself, which -- if you do cross stitch you know -- is a necessary element of the proceedings.

I loved that Gritty, though. I loved it so much I downloaded the photo and drew my own chart.

"Now Anne," you say. "That's copyright violation!"

EXHIBIT A: HOW COULD I RESIST?

Yes, it is theft of intellectual property, and I felt sorely bad about it. How would I feel if some up-and-coming humorist cribbed this blog for pithy sayings?

Before I mustered enough guilt to message the creator on Etsy, the entry was gone. Gritty had been pulled!

But all was not lost. There's a badass page on Facebook called "Gritty Memes for Philly Teens" which of course features Gritty in all his Anti-fascist glory. Lo and behold, someone posted iron-on patches that use the same Gritty as the cross-stitch.

I left a comment on the post: Are you the artist of this Gritty?

No, the poster was not the artist, but she knew the artist and gave me the artist's name.

I sent a private message to the Gritty artist, to whit: "Hi, I used your Gritty design on my jean jacket, and I feel like I ought to give you $---. Do you have a PayPal account?"

Two days later, I got a reply.

"GRITTY BELONGS TO THE PEOPLE."

Oh, readers. Sometimes the world gives you bliss. Especially if you are a disciple of Gritty.

Now I can proudly wear my Gritty! And if the slogan around him was a bit unnerving to you, well, it was to me too. Here's my jacket:

EXHIBIT B: ALL IS WELL

Best part is, Gritty gave my jacket a theme; namely, monsters. I have since added a Flying Spaghetti Monster patch, a Cthulhu patch, I'm halfway through a Moth Man cross-stitch, and I put a nasty Donald Trump tweet on the side with the hashtag #notmypresident.

Monsters. All monsters. The word of Gritty for the people of Gritty, thanks be to Gritty.

The Magic Boost

My friends, I sit here every day doing more or less the same thing, which is next-to-nothing. My state is open, but I don't go anywhere except the grocery store and the pharmacy.

That will change when September rolls around. I will be expected to report to my classroom. There have been no plans revealed about what that classroom capacity will be and how my students and I will be protected from the novel coronavirus.

Having worked in a school for 15 years, I'm here to tell you it's a swirling miasma of contagion. In January, just before Covid, I had a virus that had me coughing for weeks. My English department colleagues all caught it too.

I listen to the news obsessively, so I know what I can do to protect myself: masks, hand-washing, face shield, hand sanitizer, don't touch face, social distancing. I'm prepared to do all of that.

But one never wants to leave any tool on the table, so I have turned to magic for a boost in my protection. Magic doesn't replace the mundane safety measures, but it can enhance them.

If you're looking for a good place to start learning about a magical practice, I highly recommend John Beckett's new online course Operative Magic. John is a Druid and a very reasonable, approachable person. His course is six sessions, homework optional (mostly to get his very helpful feedback). John gives a nicely-done history of magic, the philosophy of magic, and then concrete information on how to create a spell. The course is $50, which I call money well spent. I only have one session left to complete, so I've gotten a good view of it.

There are also two books I will recommend if you feel any affinity for organic magic stemming from Appalachian traditions. The first is Staubs and Ditchwater by Byron Ballard. Byron is a hedge witch working as a Pagan. The other book is Backwoods Witchcraft by Jake Richards. Jake works through the Christian tradition, which is to be expected -- generations and generations and generations of Appalachians have been Christians. But what's interesting about Backwoods Witchcraft is how ancient and British Isles it feels. Both of these books show you how to do spells using items you have all around you in your house and yard.

Skeptics might say, "Why turn to magic? Isn't that just a bunch of superstition?"

My answer is, "Why not? And what you might call 'superstition' I call 'covering the mystical bases.'"

This pandemic is the most dangerous existential threat to my existence since I was a blithe teenager doing stupid, reckless stuff. I'm not leaving tools on the table. That would be foolish.

When the Battle's Lost and Won

In the freezing cold, in the relentless heat, in the broad daylight and darkest night, people have been protesting new natural gas pipelines all over the place. And after being arrested and tear-gassed and shot at and half-starved, they have won.

On June 5 came news that the infamous Dakota Access Pipeline and the contemptible Dominion Energy's Atlantic Coast Pipeline are both now in no-go mode.

Oh frabjous day, calloo callay!

The Atlantic Coast Pipeline project cancellation is particularly welcome, in that the Supreme Court ruled quite recently that Dominion Energy could put the damn thing under the Appalachian Trail and through two national forests. But the company had already thrown tons and tons of ducats at legal fees and was facing yet more environmental impact statements.

What kind of name is "Dominion Energy" anyway? Sounds like something that would be run by Galactus or Magneto. Fuck domination! You wanna put your pipeline under the Appalachian Trail? I can tell you better places to put it. To shove it, actually.

The Dakota Access pipeline is better known because it runs through Native American lands and is strongly opposed by the Standing Rock Sioux Tribe. This pipeline had been ordered to shut by President Obama in late 2016, but then the Orange Menace got elected and ordered the damn thing back into business.

But much of what the Menace has done to scuttle Obama's legacy has been done so stupidly and shoddily that it doesn't stand up in court. The DAPL is just another of these dumb-ass deals ... same as DACA.

Oil and natural gas are finite resources. Extracting them is costly and damaging to the environment. Wind and solar are infinite resources with much less environmental impact -- and it's not like these industries don't need workers!

Of course some fat cats won't rest until the last drop of oil is potentially sucked from the fossilized ground, but there is some dim hope that gas and oil are becoming as passe as land line phones.

And this hillbilly right here is rejoicing that the Atlantic Coast Pipeline won't wreak its devastation under the Shenandoah National Forest, the Monongahela National Forest, the Appalachian Trail, the Blue Ridge Parkway, and even the Chesapeake Bay. For the love of all the Gods and Goddesses, busy and bored, can we just leave those mountains alone?

How To Build an Outdoor Pagan Shrine

Here's a timely little post for all of you who are basically stuck on your own little plot of land. Which  should be all of us right now. So weep not for your lost freedom! Today I'm going to tell you how to build a backyard shrine!

The dictionary defines a shrine as "any structure or place consecrated or devoted to some saint, holy person, or deity." Any religion qualifies! Or none at all. I've seen shrines to Elvis in Baltimore. Shrines can be very comforting -- places to meditate, commune with the deities, Ancestors, and Nature Spirits. They need not be large. Here is mine:

You can see a conch shell on there that helps for sizing.

Looks so complicated, but trust me. I have no building skills. You can do this, fabulous you!

When I decided to build a shrine in my yard, I did what every sensible modern person would do: I Googled "backyard shrine" in the Images tab. Of course all the photos are of Catholic shrines, but hey. Go ahead and appropriate. The Catholics sure did.

So when I looked for an image, this lil puppy showed up:

My shrine is not this high or wide, but it's built on this principle.

First I put down a sheet of plastic, so that weeds wouldn't grow up through the shrine. This really works, and it doubles as a nursery for mosquitoes. Hey, bats gotta eat! If you don't like mosquitoes, skip this step.

Next I gathered up bricks I already had in my yard, including some of those nice pavers. I laid them in a semi-circle. Then I went to the landscape store and bought a flagstone and two bags of gravel. Put the flagstone in the semi-circle and poured the gravel around it. This is what it looked like at that step:

As you can see, it was Samhain when this photo was snapped. You could easily stop right after this step and have a tidy and wonderful shrine.

Me, I had some extra ambitions.

I grew up on Polish Mountain, as had seven generations of Johnsons. I miss that mountain like a lost lover. So I drove to Polish Mountain and loaded my trunk with rocks from the mountainside. I took one really nice flat stone from behind my great-grandfather's house to use as an Anchor Stone. I also dug out some little pieces of crumbly shale to put over top of the generic gravel. I placed these mountain stones over and around the bricks. No mortar. No cement.

Voila! Done.

Except this is just the beginning. This is where you really begin to personalize your shrine, so that it is pleasing to your Gods and your ancestors and the spirits of your place.

You can see that my shrine looks bright and shiny. That's because I went to the beach and collected white pebbles and sea glass to put on it. (There are sea shells too.) I put marbles on there, and crystals, semi-precious stones, trinkets, Mardi Gras beads from the Mummers Parade, silk flowers from the Fairy Festival, and souvenir rocks from hikes. Please note: If there are signs on your hike that say "Don't take the rocks," don't take the rocks! You don't want a sneaky shrine.

A shrine should be fluid. You put new things on it and take the worn-out things off. You re-arrange the rocks and add seasonal garnishes.

Once a year I gather up all the shiny stuff and give it a good bath. Last year when I was doing it, my phone fell into the bucket of water and was in there for awhile before I noticed it was gone. I pulled it out of the water, and it started right up. Not a single problem. When you seek to honor entities on a shrine, They will appreciate it.

When it's not too windy or too dry, I light a candle on my shrine at night. On the solstices (weather permitting) I let the candles burn overnight or for 24 hours. I use jar candles and hurricane globes that I buy at the thrift store. On Samhain I always put a jack-o-lantern on my shrine.

I tend this shrine gently almost every day and do my devotions there on full and dark moons, on holy days, and when I need to petition the Gods, Ancestors, and Nature Spirits.

You know what's the most brilliant thing about my shrine? It's portable. I can pick it up and move it anywhere. No mortar, no cement.

So ... you've got a little piece of ground and a lot of time on your hands, right? Building a shrine is the perfect way to spend a long afternoon outdoors! Go forth and give it a try! And share your results with me. I would love to see them.

Okay, I'm Prejudiced

One of the pleasures of summer vacation is my ability to sit out on my front porch with my breakfast and the paper edition of the New York Times. Usually I position my chair so that I can't see the monstrous rich-people houses across the street.

But over the weekend The Heir and The Fair both came for Father's Day, and we all sat out on the porch (it's big) at a social distance. So my favorite chair is still turned so it faces sideways, and I can see across the street.

This morning, as I was taking my tea, I saw the 3-year-old across the street shove down his pajama pants, whip out his junk, and piss on the flower bed. Now, I know, kids will be kids. But there were two adults on the porch, and they ignored the kid and just let his actions pass without any comment.

Yeah, kids will be kids. But there are fucking 5 bathrooms in that house. How far from the front door can one of them be?

When I notice at all, I am aware that a certain permissiveness pervades both new households across the street, but especially the one where the kid was watering the flowers.

Again -- little boys (never girls ... need I say more?) sometimes do such things. And adults can be indulgent. But they should have said something. I mean, gently?

But this is symbolic of what this little white boy with 5 bathrooms is going to grow up to be. He won't have to challenge authority, because he will be the authority. What he wants to do, he'll do. He's yet another Future Kavanaugh of America.

And yes, I am deeply prejudiced against his family. I hear the parents work hard. If they do, it's not in a meat-packing plant.

Oh yeah, it was the kid's 3rd birthday last week, and the parents paid to have their whole front porch swathed in balloons, some of which came loose and wound up in my yard. No big deal, right? Except shouldn't they pick up after themselves? Do you let your trash blow across your neighbor's yards?

Eat. The. Rich.

Summer Solstice 2020

The longest day of the year in the Northern Hemisphere means that now the wheel will turn, and we begin our descent into the darkness.

And this time, we need to rage against the dying of the light, because there is important work to do. Work that requires energy.

There's a great evil afoot in the land. It's bigger than Trump. It's the Earth herself crying out against the destruction wrought by thinking apes.

It's time to ward our houses and tend our gardens. As you work on your land, say the following petition:

"I'm doing this for Gaia. I'm doing this to counter the evil afoot in the land."

So now you're saying, "But Anne. I don't have a garden!"

A house plant in a pot counts as a garden. Anything that grows from dirt counts as a garden. Even a sky plant is a garden!

We've got to tend the Land. It's practical and symbolic. The more growing things we cultivate, the more oxygen goes into the sky. Every dandelion counts. Grass counts too -- just ask Walt Whitman.

Go to ground. Go to Gaia.

Solstice energy.

So Done with "Benefit of the Doubt"

I have always wanted to believe the best about people. Give them the benefit of the doubt, so to speak.

So when Donald Trump was elected president, shortly after I emerged from the Well of Despair, I said to myself, "Maybe he'll rise to the occasion and be a dignified chief executive."

BAMP! Wrong.

And then I thought to myself, "Well, maybe he'll stop holding those loathsome, hateful rallies."

BAMP! Wrong.

And then I thought, "Well, he's such an embarrassment, the rest of the Republican Party will not support him."

BAMP! Wrong.

Then the coronavirus began to spread, and I said to myself, "Well, this would be a challenge for any president. You can't blame him for floundering a little."

BAMP! Wrong.

So after he was caught off guard (having disbanded a pandemic task force he inherited from the previous administration), he has not only never caught up, he is now actively promoting further infection.

If I die of this virus, let it always be said of Anne: She was murdered in cold blood by Donald Trump.

My faith in human nature has been torched. Not giving the benefit of the doubt any more.

Mosquito Massacre

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored!" You've tried swatting them, you've tried screening them out, you've cursed and reviled them. I'm talking about the state bird of so many states -- the mosquito.

Who hasn't had a lovely summer evening ruined by these pesky pests?

I went hiking in a salt marsh once and got swarmed. But I was prepared with long sleeves, one of those screen hats, and long pants stuffed into boots. Still it was unnerving.

And now these little winged brutes carry Zika virus. It's really dangerous for pregnant women.

The other day I heard a motorized din. I looked across the street and saw a pest control service spraying the shrubs and lawn of one of those despicable McMansions. The sign on the truck said MOSQUITO/TICK PROTECTION.

This morning at 9:00 the same din sounded again, this time next door: MOSQUITO/TICK PROTECTION. I looked out the window, and there was a guy with no face mask, just showering the shrubs and house with pesticide.

I might have expected this from the pampered one percenters across the street, but I was pretty shocked to see my next-door neighbors, who have always shared my laissez-faire attitude about plant life, doing the same.

Readers, there is such a dearth of insect life in my yard now that I am beyond alarmed. My lawn is all-over speckled with clover flowers. Not a single bee. I have native wildflowers in full bloom in my micro-meadow. Not a single pollinator. No grasshoppers. No beetles. No June bugs and moths beating against the porch light when I sit outside. No little white butterflies.

No mosquitoes.

Are there any benefits to mosquitoes and ticks? Only if you care about the food chain.

Putting aside their gastronomic choices, bats eat mosquitoes. The fewer mosquitoes, the fewer bats. Possums eat ticks. I know, I know, we could all do without possums. Or could we?

Many serious media outlets have written stern warnings about the catastrophic decline in the number of insects on our planet. This is a huge problem, my friends.

In my childhood long, long ago, the world teemed with bugs. I'm not just talking about the wilds of the mountains. I'm talking about ordinary suburban blocks like the one I live on. I can remember a time, even here in Haterfield, when a lawn full of clover had a pleasant number of bees on it.

Want to bet on the End Times? Encourage all your neighbors to get professional pest control companies to come and spray for mosquitoes. The shrubs in my neighbor's yard are now "protected" from mosquitoes, but they are also "protected" from every other kind of winged thing. I wouldn't trust the wild birds around that stuff. I wouldn't want Gamma Cat rubbing against it. And even though the guy spraying it wasn't masked, I don't want to sit outside with that poison so close to me.

A world without bugs is unsustainable. Our whole ecosystem will crash. Yes, the crawly blood-suckers are annoying and dangerous to the health ... but killing them off will be worse.

Please let me know if you still have an abundance of insects where you live. I am so very alarmed by the lack of them in my world. It's mid-June and I haven't even seen a firefly.

Gods ... I'm going to leave standing water on my property. Bats gotta eat.

Black Lives Matter Here at The Gods Are Bored

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," tracking a worsening Disturbance in the Force for quite awhile.

Have you felt it? Like, even before the coronavirus, there's been some deep evil afoot in America. I don't even put it at the feet of Donald Trump. I think he's a symptom. If you were to ask me what's at the root, I would say our cavalier attitude towards climate change is the precipitating factor.

At any rate, I continue to mourn the loss of the champion Black Oak (see below). It has indeed been sawed up and mostly carted away. Friends, I miscalculated its size. It was 6 feet or more in diameter. Standing next to its sawed-off self, it was at least a foot wider than I am tall.

I brought home a box full of sawdust for ritual purposes and a Talking Stick for the Heir, if she wants it. Some of Haterfield's wealthier actually pinned their names to big chunks, "property of" or "save for." Must be nice.

While I've been crying over a tree, my fellow citizens have been marching and protesting about the treatment of African Americans in this country. This is a deep and long-lasting problem, and the advent of cell phones is shining a light on it. Thank the Gods. It's time for a reckoning.

So when the protests began, my daughter The Fair was staying here in Haterfield with me. (The Heir participated in an early march and narrowly missed being tear-gassed.) The Fair feels that white people should financially support the protesters and the Black Lives Matter movement. I don't disagree, but I just see financial support as having a broader scope.

Last summer I asked my readership to help me buy books and school supplies for my classroom. Many of you responded either with money and/or the supplies. I got all the books I needed for the year, paper, and a lavish supply of pencils.

Make no mistake: If you participated in my little fund-raiser, you were saying "Black Lives Matter." You helped young people of color that you never met. This is a holy thing, recognized by the bored Gods and Goddesses of pantheons of color, known and unknown. You are held in the Light by the Orishas. And I am grateful to you for your gesture.

There are many ways, large and small, that we can support our communities of color. Buying books may seem like a small way, but improved literacy -- to my mind at least -- is one way to empower people. Not the only way, but definitely a way.

So again thank you for demonstrating that Black Lives Matter even before any feet hit the street.

Blessed be.

Requiem for My Ancient Black Oak

Please do not think I am a vain, self-centered Karen. I hope y'all know me better than that. Because I know what's going on in the news, and I care. But I've taken an existential shock of a different kind.

On Wednesday, June 3 I went in a bus with three other teachers to deliver gift bags and "Class of 2020" signs to 30 members of the Vo-Tech graduating class. Our bus route was entirely in Camden, and I knew about 20 of the 30 kids we feted. Two of them -- the first and the last -- were my favorite students from that year.

I'll have more to say about this experience at a later date.

While we were in Camden, I noticed an ominous black cloud to the west. It moved faster than any storm I have ever seen. And when it hit, it was like a hurricane. All celestial Hell broke loose.

Let's just say I was glad to be on something as sturdy as a school bus, parked by a field with no trees.

The storm passed as quickly as it came, and we actually went ahead and finished delivering our gifts.

While I was in Camden, the storm ripped through Haterfield. And it toppled the Black Oak where I have done my rituals. The tree was 350 years old. It was six feet in circumference. It demolished the house across the street, but miraculously the family living there had just come outside because a little girl was crying and scared of the storm.

How did I find out about this? Glad you asked. The shitty way. Thursday night I saw an off-hand message on a Facebook thread. It wasn't even directed at me. It said, "Did you see the big tree on Lake Street came down?"

It was dark when I read this, but that didn't matter. I leapt out of my chair and ran to Lake Street. And there, to my sorrow, lay my ritual Black Oak. I'm not ashamed to say I cried out loud.

EXHIBIT A: ANOTHER CASUALTY OF 2020

Well, as you can see, this tree was not as healthy as the borough inspectors claimed. But it's so massive that the borough will need to get a crane to lift it. It can't be sawed up.

I never walked past that tree that I didn't give it a little prayer. Part of that prayer was "may the wind and rain be with thee." Oops.

This morning, early, I went up to the site and did a requiem ritual for the tree. I mean, a whole ritual, not just a prayer.

The Haterfield Shade Tree Commission claimed that this tree was the second oldest Black Oak in New Jersey. It was standing on this spot when William Penn arrived in America. But it can't have been terribly healthy, that hollowed out with no root ball.

The people whose house it hit escaped with their lives. They will get a new house. But there will never be another ritual tree like this one for me. We go way back together. Family.


Oh, tree. Blessed be.

Weaponized Jesus

The evil this man has done is horrendous and will live beyond him. People were harmed yesterday so that he could hold a Bible up in front of a church.

As a Pagan and a U.S. citizen, I can only oppose this evil by upholding my values and helping those who are the victims of this scourge.

So that's what I'm going to do.

The Perils of Distance Learning

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored!" After all these years, my name is still Anne Johnson. Doubt if I'm going to change it now.

Trigger Warning: The following post is depressing. If you're already depressed by this pandemic, give me a pass today and go watch "The Red Green Show" on YouTube.

 Through sheer luck -- bad or good I can't decide -- I became a public school teacher in 2009 and have been doing it ever since.

I think the lucky part of my experience is where I landed in my career pivot to school teacher. I work at a school that serves an inner city population. I don't get much bad attitude in my classes, and when I do, I don't take it personally. It's too easy to imagine the stresses these kids are under at home and at school, where of course some bullying takes place and there are the usual cliques and jocks to contend with.

I've been "teaching" remotely since March 16. That's more than 8 weeks, with 4 more weeks to go. And that part about not taking anything personally has been very difficult to maintain.

Can I speak freely here? Dumb question. Then I'll go ahead and do it.

About a third of my students have either not turned in any work at all, or they have done two or three assignments and disappeared. Some of these kids are students I would somewhat have expected to be off task, but others are kids who had really good grades going into this.

At first I pestered every one of the disappeared students, but lately I have just given up. Who knows what is going on for them right now? And the longer they avoid looking at their classwork, the more it piles up. Right now, 8 weeks in, it would be a herculean task for them to catch up.

I was having a very good year at my school. My students were hard-working and motivated, for the most part. This is fortunate, because the ones who are not performing now had such good grades going in that they are not in danger of failing my class.

But it's really saddening to see what little I can do on the power of my personality.

Oh well, not to be completely demoralized ... the kids who are doing my work right along have high-in-the-sky grades, because the assignments I've been giving are really softball.

 It's hard enough for me to sit here in my quiet house and discipline myself with a good laptop and no other obligations. My students have siblings, they share sub-standard devices, and I'll bet many of them are doing the babysitting while their health care worker parents go into the breach. The virus is still spreading in Camden and Pennsauken, affecting people of all ages. So there's that anxiety too.

Now our administration wants us to do Google Meets where we do Zoom-like meetings with our kids. I set up one of these for each of my classes, gave them plenty of notice and late-day start times, and then I sat with the Meet window open and waited for them. And waited. And waited. Not a single kid signed on. I miss them so much -- clearly they don't feel the same.

Ever had a pair of shoes that don't fit well, but you have to wear them anyway? That's how teaching feels for me. Like, I can walk in it ... but it never fits.

Sorry to vent. Y'all don't need any more whining right now. Just had to get this off my chest.

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.

Dr. Annie's Guide To Beating the Deadly Coronavirus

NOTE TO MORONS: THE FOLLOWING POST IS SATIRE. LOOK UP THE WORD "SATIRE" BEFORE YOU READ ON.

Hello out there! Welcome to The Gods Are Bored Memorial Hospital! I know you are really interested in quick and easy remedies for the coronavirus. If you didn't see his briefing on April 23, our president offered the wisdom that injecting or ingesting disinfectant can cure the bug.

How about that? A splendid idea! Gotta tell you, my friends, I put out some lines of dishwasher detergent last night and snorted them. All of a sudden, I didn't care if I ever got the virus, or got a cure. I didn't even care to live, to be honest.

I was ready to try the ultraviolet light treatment the president recommended, too. I figured if I were to lay out in the bright sunshine for 8 hours nonstop, I would probably sterilize myself thoroughly. Promise you I'll try it on the next sunny day. It's pouring here in the Great Blue Northeast just now.

But President VillageIdiot is overlooking some other tried-and-true remedies for a novel virus the human body has never experienced before. Are you feeling under the weather? Try the following, and you'll live a long and happy life!

1. Dry Cat Food. Little known fact: Cat food cures everything from the heartbreak of psoriasis to ingrown toenails! Eat one bowl each day. Feed your cat the food you would otherwise be eating yourself. Omit salad.

2. Pothole Water. You know how water collects in those pesky potholes? Drink that right down! In addition to curing coronavirus, this will be a great colon cleanser.

3. Vitamins. Forget One-a-Day. Try One-Bottle-a-Day. Yes, take the whole bottle at once. Coronavirus is a dangerous foe! Halfway measures won't work.

4. Crayons. Hey, the box says non-toxic, right? Chow those puppies down! If you've got the big box of 64, you will be protected from coronavirus for 64 days! The magenta is particularly powerful.

5. Electricity. Since you were a little kid, people have been telling you not to stick a knife in an electrical outlet. Of course! You didn't need to, because you didn't have novel coronavirus! But now you should employ this sensible remedy. The searing pain and heart palpitations are unfortunate side effects, but hey ... hydroxychloroquine has pretty much the same effect.

6. Prayer. Petitions should be addressed to Yahweh and should be undertaken at a mega-church. Many of the mega-churches are open, because remember -- Jesus is stronger than the virus. Pay no attention to the people who couldn't get this to work! They were lacking in faith.



So there you have it. I feel fairly confident of all these treatments, because heck ... I took Health in high school and (if memory serves) passed with a solid C.

MORON: THIS IS SATIRE.

Sheesh.

The Joys of Teaching Online

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," banging my head against the wall edition! At the ripe young age of 50 I began a new career as a public school teacher. I've gotten better at it over the years, but it never came naturally. Now I'm in a whole brave new world, "virtual classroom."

Here's what a regular class period looks like for me, in  easy steps:

1. Get students going with a period of silent reading.
2. Get students to write a little something about what they read during silent reading.
3. Entertain the students with hyper-dramatic teaching for 10-15 minutes. In the lingo, this is a "mini lesson."
4. Students do an assignment based on the "mini lesson," while I walk around the room and make sure they are doing it.
5. If time permits, some students share their answers. Sometimes I "check for understanding" by having them tell me on an index card whether they get it or not.

One glance at this list will tell you how little of it can be done online. Basically I post an assignment on Google Classroom. Students can ask questions on their assignment document. There's a chat feature in Classroom. I can post grades on there.

Seemed like enough to me. After -- how many, I can't even count -- four weeks of remote learning, the motivated kids have done their assignments and asked questions as needed. The unmotivated kids (the ones I have to prod individually in the classroom) haven't done anything. It's either all or none.

And of course I have covered my kiester by calling parents and students who didn't do the work.

Now our assistant superintendent (Janie Junebug, I hope you're reading this!) has demanded that we have Meet-ups using audio and video through our computers. Attached to her chirpy email was "directions," consisting of six different documents with about 16 hyperlinks in each document.

It was hard enough already!

Once more I find myself hopelessly adrift in the world of computers. Me! Anne Johnson! The first person at a publishing house to have used a computer to generate encyclopedia entries!

The world has passed me by. I'm obsolete. Jesus, I wonder what it will be like when I'm 70 and still trying to eke a living from teaching? Or will I even make it? That second wave of Covid is going to hit when school is in session. Then maybe it really won't matter if I couldn't master Google Meet.

Okay, self-pity session over. What problems are you experiencing right now?

Sign me,
Clueless Annie

Wartime Shopping

Hello and welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," pandemic edition! The virus is still raging here in New Jersey, and we've got an at-risk household here at Chateau Johnson. May all the Goddesses of all the pantheons known and unknown protect us! (Spreading a wide net as usual!)

I'm trying to stay as far from people as I can in this densely populated state. It's not easy. Go out for a walk, lots of people. Can't go to the park in the next block, it's closed.

Alas, there's no avoiding the grocery store.

In this big and busy county of mine, there are innumerable grocery stores, including Whole (Paycheck) Foods and Wegman's. If you haven't heard of the latter, it's a pinky-in-the-air gigantic place that I wouldn't set foot in even before the pandemic. You couldn't hire me to go in there now. Of course Walmart is out of the question.

The borough of Haterfield has its own Acme supermarket, a very tiny little store in what used to be a Friends meeting house. I have always given this Acme my custom, since its workers are unionized and it's a bearable size. Even though I am now doing two weeks of shopping in one trip, I won't go to the mega stores.

My local Acme instituted senior citizen hours from 7-9 in the morning, which was very kind of them. This morning I arrived there promptly at 7:00, hoping the store wouldn't be crowded. It was crowded. Worse, there were so many things out of stock -- bananas, oranges, salad greens, fresh spinach. The shelves were empty. Forget about toilet paper or paper towels or hand sanitizer. The paper products aisle was emptiest of all.

I was trudging around in my bandanna, thinking about how this is like a war. No fresh tomatoes, but they had the specific brand of apple that Mr. J likes. No fresh poultry products at all. (I think there's an outbreak at a chicken processing plant in PA.) And silly things like Pam spray all sold out.

But the place was crowded, and people weren't following the arrows and footprints the Acme posted on the floor to help with social distancing. Not only that, most of the people in the store were indeed senior citizens, way older than me, and they were buying a little this, a little that. For the love of fruit flies, why?

Then again, I filled two carts with stuff, and it took me over an hour to unpack it all and put it away. I sure wouldn't want to try that at age 80.

But soft! A wee bit of luck! As I was checking out -- a process that took 30 good minutes -- I saw that the green grocer was putting out salad greens and bananas ... eureka! The things I was going to miss the most!

Now it's another two weeks before I'll need any foodstuffs. Still teaching from home, so there won't be any need to biff about.

How do the grocery stores look where you live? I'm not sure my little Acme is typical.

Yours in the trenches,
Anne

PS - I have been writing letters to the Monkey Man and getting some back.

Bittersweet Birthday

I have been blessed that both of my daughters have stayed in the Delaware Valley, where they were born and where Mr. J and I live. Therefore we are always together as a family on or near birthdays.

April 15, 2020 bid fair to be the first exception to the rule.

My daughter The Fair lives in Philadelphia, not far from the Benjamin Franklin Bridge. So close, and yet so far! We're not supposed to engage in non-essential travel, and it would be dangerous to get near her, seeing as how she lives in a house with a Whole Foods worker and a bike deliveryman.

But damn. Her birthday. And the lilac bush is blooming ... her favorite flower.

So it was that I cut a few lilacs, put them in one of the glass bottles I scavenged from the middens on Polish Mountain, and Mr. J and I drove to Philadelphia.

It took us 15 minutes to get to her house. The traffic was about half what it would be for that time of the day.

EXHIBIT A: NON-ESSENTIAL TRAVEL?

We drove to her house. We stopped in the street and turned off the car. There's very little traffic on her tiny street on busy days.

We cried. We kept our social distance. I put the flowers on the sidewalk.

Then we talked for about a half hour, maybe a little more. Mostly about her job situation and pandemic funds and school plans deferred until next year. She looked good and healthy and about as happy as anyone can be in this situation, which is, you know, meh with a heaping dollop of anxiety.

It was the most bizarre birthday ever, and it didn't help when I got home and started going through old photographs just to get them in better order. When do people take photographs? At birthday parties! Those old pictures showed years and years of birthdays, going back to her first, which she celebrated in a bunny ears headband.

The next fraught occasion of this sort will occur on June 1, when the Heir has her birthday. We might have to do the same thing then. I'm really hoping that we will all be able to get together as a family by July 6, Mr. J's birthday. Right now I must say it isn't looking too hopeful.

So, Governor Murphy, if you want to give me a fine, I'll pay it. What price can one attach to missing a birthday when a daughter is a scant 7 miles away?

Yours in the trenches,
Anne

My Perilous Journey through Haterfield

Are you bored? Many Gods are. Seek them out in this time of trial and tribulation. One of them is bound to be available and easy to please. Our operators are standing by to take your call!

I live in Camden County, New Jersey. It's in the southern part of the state, and therefore not nearly as overrun with the killer virus as other areas. Still and all, there are 1400 cases of coronavirus in the county right now, including a reported 20 in Haterfield, where I live. Eighty people have died.

As contrast, on March 13 when I left my classroom and locked the door, there were 3 cases in Camden County.

I'm a woman of a certain age, married to a man who was hospitalized with pneumonia back before any of this got under way. You can best bet I am heeding all the warnings. It helps to read the New York Times every day, because they are pulling no punches in their descriptions of the course of the illness. To call it a blow-by-blow worst case scenario would be hitting the nail on the head.

When one is confined to one's home, surrounded by foodstuffs one amassed prior to any governmental decrees, one tends to wander into the kitchen to whip up a batch of cookies. Every day. This, of course, has led to the COVID 15, meaning weight gain.

Inevitably it becomes necessary to take a stroll outside.

There's a little county park nearby, but it is knee-deep in mud, and I have the ruined pants and shoes to prove it. Therefore, today I decided to walk through the small Haterfield downtown district. What a disaster.

First of all, everybody is saying that there's so much less traffic than usual. Nobody told Haterfield. The traffic is as bad as ever. There are lots of pedestrians, too. Most of them weren't wearing masks.

I had my bandanna on and my hoodie pulled up over my head, and my sunglasses. I know all that stuff won't protect me, but I am courteous.

Pure foolishness led me through the door of the small CVS on Haterfield's main street. There was an employee right inside the door. She was not wearing a mask.

I asked her, "Do you have toilet paper?"

"No!" she barked. Like to take my head off.

I did a 180 and got the hell out of Dodge as quick as I could. Perhaps it was my "thug chic" attire? Perhaps she has had to answer that question 1000 times? Maybe she's just not a nice person.

So I'm walking back toward home, down a street that I hoped wouldn't be crowded. There was a woman walking on the other side of the street, no mask, talking loudly on the phone. To whit:

"YEAH THEY SENT HIM HOME FROM THE HOSPITAL. THEY SAID HIS OXYGEN LEVELS WERE BETTER. AND NOW HIS GIRLFRIEND DOESN'T FEEL GOOD AND HIS DAD, AND I'M REALLY WONDERING..."

I didn't hear the rest because I was holding my breath and sprinting in the other direction as fast as my flabby legs could take me.

Wowsa! The perils of walking in Haterfield!

Stay at home, my friends. I've learned my lesson. Tomorrow and for the unforseeable future I intend to sweep my floors briskly every day. Rake the yard even if it doesn't need it. Make my cookies heavier, so that I'll be working out by lifting them to my mouth.

No more Haterfield for me.