I’m in it for the Enchiladas

 

“What do you want, Covid-face?”

Dave is groggy and rumpled, sharing space in the narrow bed with Dolby, a circular pool of gray fur.

“A stack of pancakes and some crispy bacon at a beachside resort, but I’ll settle for some coffee.” I stroke the kitty, who stretches a sleepy paw which comes to rest on Dave’s bare arm, briefly imprinting his skin with a crescent of claws. Pet me, servant. 

Dave is sleeping in his office rather than our bedroom because after stopping by my satellite office for a required computer software upgrade a few days ago, I was flooded with emails that I had been exposed to someone who had tested positive for COVID 19. I hadn’t set foot in that building in more than a year, working quite comfortably from my basement office at home, but my role is changing and I wanted to clear my desk while the IT team did whatever tech voodoo necessary to keep us all on the rails. There were only a handful of us there on a random Wednesday morning, and none for very long, so the exposure emails and the following announcement that ALL the offices were closing for the remainder of the week and the full following week came as a shock.

I was angry. I would now have to isolate at home for five days before testing to see if I’d contracted the illness myself. If I’m honest, I’m pretty comfortable at home, but I’d hoped to venture out for Kenneth Branagh’s Death on the Nile over the long holiday weekend and now that wouldn’t be possible. 

The first of the troublesome emails came the same Wednesday I’d had my morning office visit. Had someone had time to fall ill and then test and then notify HR who the tracked us down? That seems like some Dustin Hoffman Outbreak-level speed.  Had someone carelessly exposed us or is this truly just an unfortunate circumstance of this contagious age? 

On Thursday, my anger still held, but it was competing with creeping fear. I took the Friday off, no doubt sparking some gossip as to the state of my health, but it was my mind that needed the break. My Friday schedule was light anyway, and when combined with Monday’s holiday, I’d have four whole days free of struggling to constrain my annoyance.

I spent the first free day in my comfiest pajamas with my space heater and my Hallmark Channel movies. Dave let me wallow, bringing me a Starbucks iced coffee and carryout snacks between work obligations of his own, his home office being two sound-muffling flights upstairs from mine.

By Saturday morning, I’d retrieved a home test from the stash I’d bought months before and used it, even though it was two days earlier than the five days the CDC recommends. Dave was not yet up and I was enjoying my quiet morning coffee, but knowing that I would enjoy it more if I knew that the occasional throat-clearing and paranoia-cough was just the dry winter air and my anxiety fucking with me. I felt fine and God knows, there was no loss of taste. I was essentially trapped in a house with a well-stocked refrigerator and two years of practice ordering groceries and take out food with phone apps.

The Saturday morning test was negative. I let Dave sleep in before going upstairs for his unconventional greeting shared above. He was telling me not to worry, but in a way that I would have to laugh in spite of myself. That’s just how he is. He followed up by procuring delicious breakfast (my favorite meal) from our local coffee roastery. 

On Sunday, I tried to reciprocate by ordering delicious items from a nearby favorite brunch spot, but due to brisk business or short staffing or bad luck, my order was delayed. Dave and I passed the time watching The Tinder Swindler on Netflix until hunger overtook him and he ordered a completely different meal from a Mexican restaurant. More like four meals actually – we’d been hungry before and now it was going on two hours since I’d ordered our missing breakfast and we were starving.

My phone chimes and I see that Dave has texted me from the other chair in our living room: 

There was no breakfast. There was never any breakfast. This is all about your free enchilada.

He’s giving me the side eye and I can’t help but laugh again. He will continue to sleep in the other room until I take my Day 5 test, but I know it’s to make me feel better, to remove another stressor, and to allow me space to rest and think. After all, if Omicron is as transmissible as it appears to be, there’s little chance that we could keep it from each other in the same confined household. He knows that I worry, and his support is camouflaged by outrageous zingers to make me laugh while he cooks meatballs and pasta or pops in another mystery movie, since I can’t yet go to the theater for Poirot. I feel healthy, but whatever happens, I’m grateful for this man and I know that we are in this together. For the long haul. And, of course, for the enchiladas.

PS. Negative test! We ventured out to walk in the wilderness today, or at least the park by the Loch Raven reservoir. After a half hour or so of traversing muddy trails, hopping small streams, and admiring the view, Dave announces "We Blair Witched this motherfucker!" before taking me to lunch. He's a keeper.

Tap, Tap - Is this Thing On?

 So, I did a thing. I recorded an audiobook version of Ten Dysfunctions of My Teams. Long ago, I used to say that if you worked at Disney long enough, you'd know people in all parks, resorts, and disciplines all across the world. Turns out, if you just live long enough, you can build a friend list across all sorts of industries - people who have channeled their talents and passions in directions that spread out like a creative circulatory system of the planet. 

It turns out that one of them is now a professional voice actor with his own studio.

A normal person would have stopped there, I suppose, turning the words over to the pro, but that's not how it plays out. After some encouragement, I agreed to narrated the stories myself. Who knows them better than I do? Of course, I was gripped with anxiety about this, but Paul talked me through the process, helped me to select a decent microphone, and set up our sessions so that I could record from my own office while connected to his studio over the internet.

It took a while. Turns out I can read two stories out loud before I get crackly and fuzzy-headed. I made plenty of errors. Each time, Paul stopped me, took out the bad section and told me where to pick it up again. We worked in blocks of an hour to 90 minutes or so, either recording two stories or three, until all ten were done. I learned a few things:

1. Don't drink cold (especially iced) drinks. Turns out this is bad for the vocal cords.

2. Don't drink hot liquids, like coffee, which honestly would have been my inclination. A nice hot cup o' joe feels like it clears my throat and my head. And the caffeine...well, yeah. Also bad. 

3. Carbonated drinks are not good either - burping. Back in my Disney days, when the energy flagged and I needed to push through gangster or bandit shifts at The Great Movie Ride (#onceamovierider) I went for an icy cold Vanilla Coke - full sugar. The combination got me through many a ten hour day of theatrical tour vehicle hijacking and forbidden jewel stealing.

4. Room temperature water. Boring, but it's what's for dinner.

I also learned that I am not a good talker/breather when those two things have to happen together. I was out of breath a lot. It seems that I was taking in a big breath and talking for as longs as I had air. Like a freediver, only for no good reason. I still don't really get how to balance my breath with a "natural speaking voice" when I'm the only one talking. 

So, obviously, I decided to try podcasting.

What do I know about this? Not a thing, but I did get myself a new book, Audio for Authors, by Joanna Penn. It arrived today, so I'm hopeful that I will pick up a few things.

Stay tuned! I think my first podcast will be about the journey of recording my first audiobook. You'll be able to hear what I mean, and I hope to ask some people who know all about this to provide some guidance in case any of you decide to dabble with recording your stories.

Because of the whole living a long time thing, I have many in my network who have plenty of performance experience, theater, music, public speaking, and so on. If you have advice, please share!

New year, same four walls - but a cool, new breeze blows through

 I, like much of America, watched the Inauguration with part of my psyche clenched in anticipation of something terrible that might happen in spite of the precautions, the extra security, the relentless press coverage. In spite of this ball of anxiety, I enjoyed Lady Gaga, JLo, even the fashionable outfits - all the beautiful trappings of ceremony conducted with grace. I teared up at Kamala Harris's oath and Senator Klobuchar's words, and I chuckled at Bernie's now infamous mittens. I started to breathe easier when President Biden made his first address as #46. But is was when a small woman, shining in yellow and red stepped up and began to speak, accentuating her words with flowing hands like a dancer, that the clouds parted and the sun shone brightly to burn away the last four years.

Her name - Amanda Gorman. Her words - magic. 

You can see her read The Hills We Climb here.

From the New York Times:

22-year-old National Youth Poet Laureate Amanda Gorman recites poem at President Biden's inauguration, "the new dawn blooms as we free it for there is always light if only we're brave enough to see it, if only we're brave enough to be it."Jan. 20, 2021

 

Not since Maya Angelou have I been so moved by poetry, spoken so eloquently after such a long and parched year defined by its isolation, division, fear, and defiance of reason and civility. I begin to hope that we will be all right after all.

2021 seems a cautiously optimistic time. A few updates:

I have a new website: https://www.carolyneichhorn.com/  

Here you can find latest publications and other news. I'm taking a short pause with my fiction to work on a nonfiction project with talented colleagues - stay tuned for more soon on that project.

I'm taking a three day virtual course with Alison Gaylin on thriller writing soon with the Center for Fiction- I'll be sure to share about that, too.

Stay safe, all - until the vaccine comes and we can gather again. Until then, I virtually toast in the new year with you.

Making Room for Gratitude - Pandemic Edition

 

I love Thanksgiving. I especially love Thanksgiving at home because I have full control over the family recipes I grew up enjoying - even the weird ones. But this year is complicated. I'm not comfortable gathering with others while we have no protection from the coronavirus aside from masks one can't wear while eating or drinking and social distancing which is difficult if not impossible inside.

Part of me wants to embrace the desire to burrow in blankets on the sofa, drawing the curtains closed against the world and nap-watching Netflix and Hallmark. But for most, Thanksgiving is an occasion to gather friends and family, especially when those loved ones are not usually close by. My heart goes out to those who are craving that companionship though my body will not follow this year. It hurts.

My BF had to travel last week to check on his father and while I know that it was necessary, I worry about the safety of moving through airports, especially on the way to older relatives. So now that he has returned, we are in isolation here until we can be sure that we cannot share any unintended consequences with others. I have learned to appreciate the silver linings of quarantine living:

Grocery Delivery 

I used to really enjoy grocery shopping, winding my way through the aisles, finding exactly what I need while saving as much as I can with savvy choices. Now, 90% of my shopping is done online via Instacart or Whole Foods by way of Amazon. My items are bagged and left at my door - no contact style, usually within two hours or so. The plusses here are obvious, but I also like that I have the opportunity to tip my delivery driver - a real person who is out in the dangerous world, making it possible for me to stay mostly home. Occasionally, item scarcity or particularity will required me to mask up and venture out, such as my hunt for a smaller turkey. I dug through the freezer bin for my prize 12 pounder hidden among the 25 pound giant Butterballs myself, suppressing the desire to hold it above my head and crow of my success and instead just hustling to the self checkout. But all of the bird's accompaniments were brought to my door.

Meal Delivery/Curbside

Of course, I've always enjoyed a pizza delivery, but now our choices are much wider. And delivery and curbside pick up allow opportunities to support favorite small establishments that I love but can't visit in person in the usual way.  I'll drive a little out of the way once a week to get coffee from the local roaster/cafe who struggles now that the dining room is not available to local writers, students, or families accustomed to lingering over an iced coffee and an indulgent weekend breakfast. Another chance to tip generously so these craftspeople who don't have the option of working from home as I do can stay afloat until normal activities resume, hopefully in the new year.

Nesting

Followers of this blog will know that I spent years fixing up my 1927 bungalow home only to sell it and move in with my boyfriend. Though I definitely appreciate having modern conveniences like central air and heat, it didn't take long for me to start tinkering with my new space. My BF is a good sport, stifling any objections as I chipped away at each room, repainting, replacing furniture and flooring, adding plants, paintings, and a fantastic coffee bar. It's a slow process, but it allows for mini-reveals that make us really appreciate our home together. It started with a powder room overhaul and progressed to a suite of new kitchen appliances which make me sing with joy.  We still have plenty to go, but we are grateful to have a comfortable home that increasingly reflects an inviting warmth that our post-pandemic guests/visitors should feel.  For now, the cats like it and Bella has claimed the new sofa.

Triage

I decorated for Christmas ridiculously early this year, like right after Halloween. I was stressed out about work, about Dave's upcoming trip, about not accepting Thanksgiving invitations, rising COVID deaths, etc. I had already started with some online Christmas shopping here and there and packages started to arrive. I could hide them or wrap them. Once wrapped, it seemed foolish to stack them downstairs in my office, so I put up the tree. Then the stockings. Then the outside lights. Four weeks later, another neighbor on our cul de sac also installed exterior lights and I expect that Thanksgiving weekend will usher in more festive displays. Even so, I felt better when I needed it. Our cats definitely enjoy it too.

Here's the thing - I can only focus on what I can control. Aside from trying not to contribute to it, I can't do much about the pandemic, BUT I can busy myself with removing clutter, thinking about how to improve our living space, how I can help a neighbor, and taking good care of the pets.

I try not to beat myself up too much about all the reading I'm not doing or all of the writing which isn't happening. I'm getting by and for now, that's enough. The priorities are different and that's okay for now. Also, I know how lucky I am to be able to continue working even though I don't go into an office. Many of my friends and former colleagues are dealing with lay offs, scaled back hours, and furloughs. Let's use this holiday time to support any side hustles they may have. Make sure to reach out and check on them. Help out where you can. Even if you can't help, give them an ear (over the phone of course) and make sure they feel seen and heard. Having been through a reduction myself, I can't imagine how much harder it must be during a pandemic.

In fact, try cutting everyone a break this year. Even the surly ones. They may be worried about sick loved ones, or they may have conditions which make getting the virus particularly dangerous. They may be feeling guilt about declining invitations or turning away guests who normally visit over the holidays. They may be worried about what Christmas is going to look like. Or Hanukkah. Or they may have lost someone this year without being able to mourn or support or any of the otherwise normal parts of living in this world. There's plenty of time to be an asshole later. Maybe put it off until next year. And don't be too hard on those of us who have discovered the quarantine fifteen (or more). We are eating and watching television and trying to stay safe in our stretchiest pants. Chubby happens.

Take care of you! And if you want to help take care of others, look around your neighborhood. Here are a few places I like:

Zeke's Coffee - I've written plenty of stories here, and all while drinking some of the best iced coffee around. They'll do curbside pick up or you can get cofee beans shipped to your home.

Jamie's Color Street page - How are those pandemic nails looking? Want something you can do at home? Check it out. 

Browseabout Books - You can pick up a copy of Beach Mysteries here (I have a story inside) or any other book you might like. They make great gifts! They will ship if you aren't close by. If you have a favorite local independent bookstore, make sure you think of them when shopping for the holidays or yourself.

Any of your favorite local restaurants - I'm not really ready for "going out" especially when that means "eating inside" but I'm all about take out. Get the ravioli, you deserve it.

Towson Hot Bagel - Yum. They have the "order through the app" thing down. Pickup is easy and contact free. I'm pretty serious about my breakfast, especially my coffee and breakfast. So there's one more:

Miss Shirley's - get the shrimp and grits, or the pancakes or anything that comes with the cheesy bacon grits. They are magical.

As we prepare for Thanksgiving, I am grateful for the quiet time with my BF and the pets. I try not to let my impatience for all the activities that just aren't safe now get too much in the way of being a good human. I wish you all a happy and safe holiday season! Keep yourselves and your families healthy and we will gather again in the new year.

Bias

2020 has certainly been an awful year. We aren't even halfway through yet, and I already want to return it like that impulse jacket bought from a late night pop up ad. The pandemic rages on, though it now competes with other awful things for our attention, some by-products of the quarantine like job loss, small businesses struggling, tensions building from continued close confinement with others, and the shit show that is an American election year. And then there is the seemingly endless stream of race-based murders arrogantly captured on video and somehow, still a subject for debate.

I understand that as a middle-aged (that hurt a bit), white woman, I am no expert here, but I have been thinking a lot about bias lately and how I came by my own.

Of course I have bias - we all do, though perhaps not about the same things. I have no idea how people get to the headspace that empowers them to call police on others for "birding while black" or exercising/barbecuing/birthday partying/driving/jogging, etc. with melanin. I don't understand it. I don't.

When I was young, my mom, sister, and I were poor and "country" AF. Meaning, we lived in the middle of rural Florida, surrounded by sandy orange groves, cattle pastures, and uneducated people. (see, my bias is peeking out already) My Florida, as a child, included people of different races, but nearly all acts of aggression toward me or my family came from other people who looked like us. The people who stole from us following my stepfather's death were related (by marriage) or neighbors. The mean girls at school were white girls from Windermere, an affluent enclave in West Orange County, who exploited my self-consciousness regarding my horrific lack of personal style. (I'd love to say that I had Molly Ringwald's "poor, but fabulous" fashion sense, but no. I was awkward, badly dressed, and without the benefit/curse of being raised in town. I was not blessed with natural social skills or the good looks of a John Hughes film.

The summer between my junior and senior year in high school, my mom moved our little family to Gainesville in north Florida, which was all kinds of a learning experience. We lived in a middle class house in a middle class neighborhood. I went away to college, choosing an art school in Brooklyn, NY. Eventually, I settled back in central Florida, working at Disney and taking college classes here and there on the ten-year plan.

Say what you want about growing up here or there, but few places are going to expose one to more diversity than the vacation capital of the world. And while I probably wouldn't hold Disney up as any kind of example for inclusion really, one thing that shaped my twenty-something self was that from day one, they indoctrinate their cast to treat all guests with the cheery, welcoming "get lost in this experience" way.  It's funny now, that I don't think of this so much as prep for us to avoid discriminating against people from other cultures, but not going ape shit when celebrities came through. And they did - all the time. Disney cast members come from all over, but are largely college-aged kids (many who stay through their adulthood, even to retirement) who may have less developed impulse control, so training/indoctrination is laid on pretty thick so when one has to give a show at the Great Movie Ride to Michael J. Fox whom one might have crushed on as a kid, one does not completely come to pieces. Part of Disney's secret sauce is being able to replicate the experience consistently over and over and over so that the guests can lose themselves in the moment - leaving the rest of the world and whatever that might entail, outside the gates.

As young cast members, we hardly made much money, so picking up extra hours for special events (conventions that buy out a park, the Disney Marathon, holidays like the 4th of July and New Year's Eve), productions (films, television game show tapings, wrestling, pilots), and the wide variation of "other" (Super Soap Weekends, Star Wars Weekends, visits by presidents, major park anniversaries, and so on) meant that I could be assigned to drive a Disney Channel exec around for a week or provide a tour for Alex Trebek, or transport Susan Lucci by golf cart without embarrassing myself or the company.

But this training spills over, as I imagine all learned behavior does. I was giving a backstage tour to a celebrity chef from California before he gave a presentation to the Florida Imagineers on food as entertainment in the late 90s or so when he asked me about Disney's newish policy providing benefits for same-sex life partners. (This was before he invited me to visit his house in LA where he promised the best margarita of my life. Thanks, but no. ) I remember telling him with some surprise at his question, that I had essentially grown up with the training to provide the same excellent experience to everyone without regard to the details that might only matter to people outside of the parks. I'd not honestly given the announcement much thought. It certainly didn't strike me as controversial.

Decades later, I frame this approach differently in my head. I haven't been in the theme park business for a long time, but I've taught college students from of a wide range of geographies, socio-economic status, professional experience, education, ages, and so on how to not fear writing. As an instructor coaxing out the creative freedom allowing students to share thoughts they know that others will read, I have to lead with kindness. I have to recognize the individual. I have to see the person in order to support them.

So this is where I usually land. Seeing the individual and leading with kindness as much as I can. It's hard sometimes. Bias is real, and while mine may not look the same as yours or your wildly politically incorrect uncle, it's there and I try to be conscious of it. And my approach isn't rosy altruism entirely - this is what works for me. It's a learned behavior like any other. I've had a few jobs in more traditionally male areas and many of the dudes I worked with were assholes at first. Come to think of it - even at Disney tensions existed by "class" all over the place. Attractions vs maintenance. Creatives vs operations. Entertainment vs everybody. Success meant finding ways to interact with people as people, not job titles, not departments, not the mythologies surrounding their group. So defaulting to any kind of approach that assigns characteristics as a whole to a group is not effective.

But, like I said before, it's hard sometimes.

All men are not assholes who will publicly mock a young woman, new to the job in order to shame her into verifying a bias that she can't possibly be a valuable resource to the team. Even if they initially are, sometimes they eventually come around and become allies and good working partners.

All guys don't grope, assault, attempt to shame, frighten or hurt women because they are stronger or older or have an advantage that gives them power. Not all men are rapists.

Criminals might not look like they do in the movies or books of our childhoods.

Church attendance does not guarantee kindness toward one's fellow being.

College education is not the same as intelligence. Having worked in higher education, with plenty of PhDs, I know that a degree doesn't make anyone immune to the same human frailties we all share. I hope though, that the effort in learning how to learn, can make us more aware of how much there is that we could do better. The process of learning is uncomfortable in the best way, as we risk mistakes in order to build understanding.

All bosses aren't going to make you perform your job in an environment of fear . Some are lovely people, genuinely interested in helping staff grow and succeed.

Not all people of means are entitled pricks. Not all people without have hearts of gold.

Compassion and political correctness are not the same thing. Nearly all the cringey moments I've had interacting with others who decry "being PC" are because of a casual mean-spiritedness and absurd blanket attributions that show a laziness of thought.

So here we are, quarantined with family who may hold different opinions, world views, or political affiliations watching the daily shit show that is the news in an election year, during a pandemic with a side of economic crisis and mourning for the thousands of fatalities trying to get through.

Try to lead with kindness. Try to listen as much as you speak. Try to see the individual. Try to do the right thing by others, and by doing that - by your self. Let some of your biases float away a bit before you respond to the cringey uncle or the political neighbor or the person who needs your support right now. Take a breath. Check yourself if you find that you are labeling, just in case. When in doubt, be a nice human.

Going Viral

My mother texted me this afternoon.

Are you busy

Not really. I've been working from home for a week and a half now, practicing social distancing in the age of the coronavirus pandemic. I called her back.

"I have a special insurance policy to cover the cost of my cremation," she said. "They will mail the check straight to you at Dave's house."

 This is where we are now.  I had insomnia a few nights ago, and besides the late hour shoe shopping, I googled DIY will preparation. I may need a will. I fretted over it, but made no progress until my mother's frank discussion about where the documents were located in her house and who she'd chosen to manage her affairs should I predecease her. That gives one pause.

I moved in with my boyfriend about five months ago. My house is on the market, but it's hardly home shopping season, so it sits there. Uselessly.

I feel pretty useless too these days. I don't sew, so I can't crank out homemade facemasks. I can't concentrate, so I'm not writing any fiction. I can sit at home, though. I can not go places. I walk my dog around the neighborhood, within the fences of course and away from other humans and I will sit outside, weather permitting, on the deck. Last week, I posted this on my Facebook page:

First of all, I've been super anxious the last week or so about this COVID 19 situation and the resulting social distancing, etc., but it makes me feel better to try and make the best of things. Here's what I've been doing:
Monday, I ordered food from Giovanna's Italian Kitchen and picked it up. As a carry out (mostly) place, I hope Mike and the team will be okay while we are homebound, but I want to support where I can. Also, he makes the best meatballs and a special sandwich that I'm not sure anyone orders but me (chicken cheesesteak with hotsauce, provolone, and ranch)

Taharka Brothers - a local ice cream company that normally supplies local restaurants with their deliciousness is stuck now that restaurants have been closed, but they will sell a case of pints so I ordered one which should be delivered very soon. There's a key lime pie flavor people! They do good work in Baltimore, so check it out. https://deliver.taharkabrothers.com/
This morning, I placed an online order at Zeke's Coffee - Baltimore for iced coffees (seriously the best I've had anywhere) and some breakfast sandwiches as they are offering curbside pick up. This is normally a weekend hangout for me, but since I'm home, this seems an easy way to help them keep the lights on while I get delicious coffee.
Tonight might be Toss pizza or we might cook in, but while we are still free and able to get out even in a limited capacity, I want to support my neighbors who can't really work remotely. I hope you all find ways to do the same - the food/drink is more than worth the effort.
Feel free to share other recommendations with me!

I'm down to the last pint and a half of that case now. I had Zeke's again this morning, though I've slowed down a bit. The anxiety hasn't. This was the following weekend:

One week in:
I'm so grateful that my friends and family are healthy and I'm anxious about what the next two weeks will bring.
I've organized my books. I'm still working through boxes that need unpacking. I'm not trying to get anything done too quickly, taking breaks to watch some Hallmark channel or work on a mystery jigsaw puzzle. I'm eating. A lot. I'm not feeling too bad about it.

I get outside with Bella on walks or sitting on the deck for some fresh air. I rarely drive anywhere, though I did go by my other house to make sure everything is okay there and to pick up a few things from the basement. No one is house shopping obviously, so it's just sitting there.
I made a quick stop at the store for a few supplies - keeping my distance, wiping down surfaces with the antibac towels provided at the entrance, but we are mostly self-sufficient here. I bought tulips to keep the house cheery. The neighborhood put out grab and go bags of fresh fruit the other day, so we have apples, oranges, pears, and a plum.
So far, only one real argument with the SO. It blew over. The anxiety is real and manifests in different ways.
Bella is being a very good girl.
Dolby the cat is sleeping ON ME most nights.
I have cinnamon rolls in the oven now and a good supply of coffee and creamer.
Need something that I can provide? Let me know and we will work something out. Need a call or video chat? Ping me.
Be well everyone and be smart. Love you.

And now we are talking cremation funds. As of today. the US has passed all other countries in number of COVID-19 cases. Stories coming from NYC ERs are sounding like the worst kind of science fiction. I huddle in my basement office/lair with MSNBC on in bursts between Hallmark movies I've already seen many, many times. I talk to my mom nearly every day. I videochat my friends instead of shopping with them or having brunch. My work peeps and I send funny chats in a group string that keeps me laughing.

Do I think I'm going to die? I have no idea. It's also allergy season, so every cough is over analyzed. The tightness in my chest might only be crushing stress and not disease. My aches may be exhaustion from weeks of poor sleep and constant worry. I am terrified that those I love will get sick and die and nothing can be done. No one will be able to be with them or me or you if that happens. It feels inevitable. The only weapon we have is to stay home. To self-isolate.

Yesterday, I presented my boyfriend with a #choppedchallenge basket of four ingredients to integrate into a single dish just like the Food Network show. I will be his Alex Guarneschelli, tasting thoughtfully with a dead-eye stare before pronouncing my evaluation of the creation he prepared from thinly sliced chicken, instant lemon pudding, corn bread stuffing, and mild red enchilada sauce. I think he can pull it off.

After talking with my mom today, I discovered that my workplace EAP includes online will preparation. I now have a will.  There are other legal documents available to complete such as advanced directives, funeral preferences, and other such things, but I think they can wait a day or two. I have some food to taste.

Language Barriers

Image from The Cooper Review
 Not long ago, as I sat in an unremarkable conference room surrounded by other professionals, I realized that the meeting facilitator had been talking for nearly the entire hour without saying anything.

I recently changed day jobs, leaving higher education for a project management role as a government contractor. A different world. As such, they speak a different language. My first three weeks, I understood next to nothing said in meetings between the specialized content and endless acronyms. As part of my onboarding, I was provided two separate lists of the pesky things with associated definitions. Of course, I first suspected that my lack of substantive comprehension was due to being new. New jobs are emotionally exhausting.  Trying to remember names and roles, the policies and procedures for my new company, the policies and security protocols for the client agency, while not looking like a complete idiot makes for an uncomfortable time. Add a new commute route, different expectations for dress, and daily security screenings complete with x-ray machine and placing one's laptop in the plastic bin just like the TSA line and I'm eating my feelings with my buddies Ben and Jerry.

So, was it me? Did I zone out and miss important points hidden among the buzzwords? Nope. After two more of these time-wasters, I recognized the strategy of sacrificing content for the sake of appearing smart.

These phenomena are not exclusive to government agencies. I spent a year or so writing and editing academic proposals and requests for capital funding at a university. PhDs are not necessarily fantastic writers. A completed dissertation doesn't mean that coherent sentences flow like the chocolate fountain at the Sizzler. My boss routinely had me wrestle nonsensical passages into clear descriptions, justifications, or calls to action in order to get the desired result. At the end of the day, that's what matters, right? Getting the approval, securing the funding, scoring the job, whatever the goal is. Once, when my boss was out the office, the president of the university tracked me down, a bundle of pages from a funding proposal clutched in his hand. "What's missing here," he said, "is that the current version SUCKS."

At some point, we just have to cut the bullshit.

The desire to sound smart, to clutter up our writing or our meetings with useless phrases or obscure terms is natural, but immature.  Smart people don't have to appear intelligent - they are intelligent.  Saying "low hanging fruit" or "let's move the needle" regularly does not make someone more professional than really talking to others like human beings.

When I teach creative writing students, either fiction or nonfiction, it takes a few weeks to get them comfortable enough to edit out all the extraneous crap cluttering up their stories and essays. Again, it's the result that matters. What does your reader feel? Are you connecting? Are you getting the punch you want? If not, step one is to break out the red pen and start trimming out the fluff, the cliche, the fat.

It's hard to get out of our own way, though. Our voices tend to creep into our work and if we are accustomed to patterns of speech that don't fit the needs of the moment, it can feel unnatural to adapt. Years ago, during my Disney attraction days, I was training to be a bandit in The Great Movie Ride. Imagine "Kate Durango" busting through the bank doors, six shooter in one hand, dynamite in the other, shrieking YEEEEHAW! before exchanging banter and gunfire and blowing up the bank. If you've ever done any theater, you know that's a complicated process - learning blocking (where to stand, where and when to move) while delivering lines in a way that immerses the audience in the story. Not getting blown up is a priority, too.

No one would confuse me for an actor, but I made a go of it during my training, running through my lines, "Well, lookee here," not dropping the gun or tripping on the fake rocks or losing my cowboy hat. I looked over to see my trainer Rob doubled over in spasms of laughter, almost incapacitated. I had unconsciously been correcting my character's grammar and destroying the performance.

We have to tailor our communication for the audience - for the desired result. Hopefully, that isn't to show off your vocabulary for a conference room of tired, busy professionals. Give your colleagues the gift of thoughtful, clear communication. Don't waste their time. Trust that clarity is a positive thing.

Unless you are a grifter, or a spy, or a press secretary. Or an actual bandit bank robber. The rest of us don't need to hear "low hanging fruit" again. Ever. Just stop.