While waiting for a return to normalcy, I’m reminded of when I was young and spent much of my time at home, mainly because there wasn’t much else for a young kid to do in the late 1940s and early 1950s in Humboldt.
I had friends and we often played, but there’s a limit to that when summer temperatures heat up. In the summer of 1954, temperatures often soared past the century mark.
I could give the exact figures if I were at the office. Instead, I’m sequestered at home with wife Beverly, our little dog Angus, and Butterscotch, the cat. Butterscotch spends most of her time curled in various contorted positions asleep until she hears the dinner bell — the refrigerator door opening.
We’ve adjusted quite well, though I’m not reading as much as I anticipated.
Wednesday was a good example of our days. We awoke so late in the morning I’m ashamed to report the time, though maybe a lunch of breakfast cereal gives a clue. We then began to prepare for gardening, including two trips to the farm to fetch “ripe” dirt.
Beverly supervised while I went about helping. By late afternoon we had two eight-by-four boxes ready for planting. What we will plant, is not certain. But Beverly is spending her evenings perusing websites for suggestions.
In this war with the coronavirus, we view it as our Victory Garden.
At least once a day we take a short drive, to make sure the Neosho River is still there and Camp Hunter Park hasn’t been taken over by strange creatures. I’m referring to Register reporter Trevor Hoag’s delightful recollection of a reported sighting of aliens in Woodson County back in the 1890s.
We usually take a scenic route through the neighborhoods and occasionally see a friend outdoors tending a lawn or flower beds.
In coming across Judy Abeiter we stopped to ask how she was getting along.
“Fine,” she reported, cheerful as usual, adding she was adjusting quite well to the stay-at-home order, though she still journeys most days to the sports complex to walk the track. “I like not having any meetings to go to and nothing scheduled.”
Beverly and I have the same outlook. We stay up late to watch reruns of NCIS on Netflix and let Angus be our alarm, only to fall back asleep after he attends to business.
I have found, however, that a preponderance of my dreams have turned dark.
Doing a little self-analysis I wonder if the dreams are spawned by the virus. Sometimes Beverly is the antagonist, which she good-naturedly likes to hear about the next day.
I also miss morning coffee at the H&H Grill. Besides the friendship, I’ve learned a lot about Humboldt at those sessions.
