Shoppers waiting outside in line of a department store due to capacity limitations
May 10, 2020 (Photo by Rebecca Osso)
Karen Rippstein, Spring-Summer 2020
Mom is home all the time, only taking me out for a 9 a.m. half-hour exercise walk, a 4 p.m. shorter walk, and a 10 p.m. quick walk before bed. She appears concerned. I’ll sit close to her while she’s reading or watching TV. Maybe I can catch her vibe.
Most mornings after breakfast, Mom opens a notebook, digs through her supplies of cut-out magazine images and words, assembles them on a blank page, and glues them in place. I’ve never seen her this relaxed. Usually, she’s rushing around to go somewhere in the car. What’s going on?
I stay close by for more clues and bask in the sun by the sliding glass door. She thinks I’m dozing, but my eyes remain focused on her. I hear unfamiliar words—Coronavirus, COVID-19, pandemic, quarantine—when she’s on the phone with family and friends. I notice her hands are no longer soft. She washes them constantly and even sings “Happy Birthday” twice each time. Who do we know with that many birthdays?
Another thing is unusual. Mom watches TV during the day. I hear a man’s voice speaking the same unfamiliar words. I like the man when he says, “We’re in this together.” Mom and I are in sync and I like our secure togetherness. With more TV watching, I lean into Mom on our sofa and get frequent belly rubs and pats. The soft massages on my ears are top dog!
When we’re outside Mom stands away from the neighbors. She doesn’t let me sniff or play with my dog buddies. We socialize but Mom keeps my six-foot leash taut. The neighbors do the same thing. They call it social distancing. I don’t like it.
I miss our in-person family visits that Mom now does on her iPad. We have Zoom meetings with all five grandchildren, Nancy and Maurio in Pittsburgh, Ed in White Plains, and me! The Zoom camera is usually focused on me because Mom doesn’t like her hair with gray roots sticking out an inch or more.
Thinking about hair, my fur is getting straggly. Mom trims around my face and the pads of my feet. I’m a pretty black and silver mini schnauzer so it’s important to keep my eyebrows trimmed so I can see. Mom also keeps my beard short. That way, when she washes and brushes it after I eat, it stays clean.
Mom goes out food shopping weekly. She wears gloves and a mask that make her look alien. She claims her eyeglasses fog up so she doesn’t wear the mask while driving. After she comes home and puts away the food, she sprays inside her car and then the doorknobs to the house. Inside she washes her hands several times. How time consuming, but she smiles at me every time.
“We need to stay safe and protected from the spread of COVID-19 germs,” she says.
I wag my tail. I’m just happy she’s home and she bought me some treats because there’s talk of food shortages.
Once a week Ed visits, which makes me happy. He always brings extra treats. He makes Mom happy, too. They order pizza for home delivery. I love the small pieces of crust Ed gives me when I sit like the perfect little girl. Mom saves extra crusts and freezes them. Later she gives them to our friend Karen for her dog, Keri. Mom loves Keri almost as much as she loves me. One day I have to meet this Keri, who is a collie and bigger than me. Hmm.
After three whole months, Mom finally visited Karen. They sat outside, I heard, because the weather warmed up but they wore their masks until they were ready to eat. I didn’t go along but I’m happy when Karen or Mom’s other friends, Carmen, Jacqui, or Carol, come and sit with Mom on our back deck. Often they get food delivered and share a morsel with me.
The man on TV says the number of COVID-19 cases is finally declining in New York. Mom tells me we’re entering another phase of the pandemic with some things reopening and returning to a “modified normal,” whatever that means. She’s hoping Nancy, Maurio, Sam, and Isabella can visit from Pittsburgh this summer and that we can go to Lexie’s high school graduation in Pleasantville. I’m keeping my paws crossed.
Karen Rippstein is a certified poetry therapist and poet. She teaches writing, poetry, and visual journaling workshops at colleges, spirituality centers, libraries, senior centers, and intergenerational programs at schools. Her work has been published in numerous anthologies and magazines. She lives in Cortlandt Manor, New York with her muse, Addy Lynn.
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