Hope

That one brave bud, waiting to open...

Well.

March took an ugly turn, didn’t it…

A little disclaimer – I generally try to keep this blog on the light side. I don’t like to talk about the fact that I am a registered nurse. My nurse life is very separate from my home life.

Until now.

Welcome to the World of Covid-19.

(Don’t give up. This is not a depressing post. Remember the title – HOPE!)

For most of us, this is the first, and hopefully only Worldwide Pandemic we will ever see.  There have been other World Health Risks – AIDS, SARS, Ebola, N1H1. But none of these have reached this level. Nothing since the Spanish Flu of 1918.

I have been thinking about what to post for several weeks now. My first love has always been journalism, although I am a terrible ‘journal-er’. But, after seeing a post on Facebook regarding the importance of keeping a personal journal through the coming days from the perspective of a historian, I have returned to the dreaded Journal. (Mr. Pillman, my junior high English/comp teacher would be so proud.)

So, here it is.

We are on Day 7 of a Shelter At Home order by the State of Illinois. Prior to that everyone had been asked to Social Distance due to the high probability of spread of the Coronovirus.

But this started long before March 20, 2020.

The following is a personal timeline –

December 2019 – we begin hearing of a virus coming from WuHan China.

Life through January is the usual on the Coast of Illinois. Work, appointments, birthdays. Planning for Mardi Gras. There is talk at work of this epidemic possibility. But mostly I am obsessed with the arrival and subsequent torture that is the new exercise bike. (see the previous post…)

January 31, 2020 – President Trump bans foreign nationals from entering the US if they were in China during the prior two weeks.

                We celebrate our 35^th anniversary at the Four Seasons Hotel in St. Louis. As always, it is  lovely, dinner is delicious.

At Cinder House, Four Seasons St Louis

February 7, 2020 – Dr. Li Wenlaing dies of Coronovirus. (He was one of the first to warn the Chinese government of this dangerous virus.

                I am driving home from work and hear the report on NPR. We continue to live our lives. We have family dinner on Sunday night. I take a trauma re-certification class the following week. We have our bi-annual Mardi Gras party on February 15. Serious talk of the epidemic is more common.

February 29, 2020 – A nursing home in Seattle is announced to have numerous patients and staff infected and the United States reports its first COVID-19 death.

                My husband and I spend the afternoon at the St. Louis Art Museum. We see the special exhibit – Millet and Modern Art. I spend most of my time studying Starry Night by Van Gogh. Seeing such a piece of art in person literally takes my breath away.

This doesn't do justice to the art. The lights seemed to radiate outward from the painting

We wander the Grand Basin and take note of people ‘social distancing’. There are conversations overheard regarding the ridiculousness of how much hype the virus is getting. That evening we have an impromptu dinner at Mineo’s – one of our favorite restaurants – and listen to Brian Clarke perform – one of our favorites. We hear the news of the Seattle nursing home and I know, deep down, that life will change. Suddenly this day, this evening is just that much more meaningful.

Brian, the performer and Bridget, the owner of Mineo's

March comes in with its usual schizophrenic weather. Work is ridiculously busy, and everyone is a little edgy whenever a respiratory isolation patient makes it into our unit.

March 6, 2020

                My husband and two friends pick me up after work. We attend the Dean Christopher show at the Blue Strawberry. Dean is a fantastic Dean Martin impersonator and the Blue Strawberry is a unique, intimate supper club style venue in St. Louis. 

We laugh about this being the last time we all get together for a very long time.And after my tirade about how stupid work was our friend shuts me down with - And how was the rest of the play, Mrs. Lincoln....best comeback ever!

March 8, 2020 – Italy locks down.

                Somewhere in here people in the United States begin hoarding toilet paper. Toilet paper doesn't come from Italy. Why aren't we hoarding spaghetti sauce and Chianti?

                The comedic possibilities are endless…

                Rob and I take a trip to Grafton Winery, along the Great River Road. Another of our favorite places. Another ‘last’ for a while.

March 13, 2020 – all Illinois schools close and parents everywhere regret that decision. 

                I get a haircut, after checking to be sure my stylist is still working. After that I do a grocery shopping. I am amazed that the shelves are stocked full of toilet paper, although things like lunch meat and frozen pizzas and fresh meat are gone. There are plenty of fresh fruits and veggies. I thank heaven that we tend to ‘eat the perimeter’ of the store. I will eventually regret my decision NOT to buy a 6 pack of Charmin.

March 16, 2020 – Illinois Governor Pritzker closes ALL bars and restaurants except for carry-out or delivery.

                                Rob attempts to pick up Chinese carry-out but our little restaurant is not open, even though the sign in the window is on. This leads to much yelling in the back, and no black pepper chicken. Which turns out to be okay as we had hoped to make this a dinner and a movie night and watch the old move China Town while eating our delicious food. No one told me there was very little actual CHINA TOWN in the move CHINA TOWN.

He picks up Lilly’s gyros instead.

If nothing else, we are supportive of our local establishments.

Our work schedule is beginning to dwindle. I work at a 1000+bed hospital in St. Louis. We see an average of 60-80 surgeries a day. There is talk of stopping all elective procedures and in preparation we begin to see the decline. Our numbers decrease slowly to 40, then 30. I am on-call as back up one day and don’t get called in – a rare event.

March 20, 2020 - Illinois Governor Pritzker declares a Shelter in Place order for the state of Illinois. Beginning at 5pm on Saturday, March 21.

                I am at work. I ask if this means I am exempt from returning. This is met with a resounding Facial Expression that answers any other questions. We have a family lunch on Saturday, which allows our kids to come over and then go home before the lockdown starts. I have not been in contact with any obvious COVID patients at this point, but I know that this will be changing. I don’t want to admit that this will be our last family dinner for a while. Once I am in the general population of patient care – removed from surgical recovery – I am at a much higher risk of bringing the virus home.

This was not a good weekend. My emotions ran the gamut. I power cleaned the house. I set up a ‘quarantine’ area downstairs in case I need to keep myself away from my husband. I pack a bag to take to work with a few essentials should I be required to ‘quarantine’ there.

I realize I am way to good at spelling ‘quarantine’.

So, here we are. Day 7 of Shelter in Place. Our toilet paper supply is dwindling. Rob took advantage of the 60 and older shopping hours earlier this week but to no avail. The bathroom tissue aisle is still a wasteland. Even the Great and Powerful Amazon can not guarantee  delivery next day...

Our work schedule has diminished to an average of 20 patients. This means a lot of displaced staff. I spent a day screening people as they entered the hospital. We are no longer allowing visitors in. Try telling the family of a brain surgery patient they can’t wait nearby…

I spent several hours cleaning one of the shut down areas of our recovery unit. We are all studying up on inpatient charting as our computer charting is much different in the peri-op area. People are shadowing in the ED and ICUs as preparation for the patient surge that is likely. We are all shell-shocked.

I was lucky enough to get an extra day off yesterday. It’s a good thing. I spent the day before fighting back what promised to be a World Class Nervous Breakdown. The sun peeked out a bit. JoeyKatt and I sat on the couch yesterday morning and watched a robin begin to build a nest right outside our living room window. and I spent the afternoon cleaning up some flower beds.

Plants are beginning to peak out of the ground, leaves are beginning to green up.

Spring is slowly arriving and with it the HOPE of a new start.

Life is different now.

We all are experiencing this in our own ways.

While we may not have toilet paper, we can always have Hope.

Look for it in little things – a flower trying to open, a beautiful sunset, a simple text from a friend, that last bag of Cheetos. 

This is a Pandemic. It is also an opportunity for our scientists to develop even better ways to fight disease. It is an opportunity for the healthcare industry to truly take note of what is lacking, and develop ways to improve our practice in much more essential ways. It is a chance for all of human kind to hit the reset button and prioritize what makes life livable on a global scope.

The cliché quote by Emily Dickinson  - Hope is that thing with feathers that perches in the soul – and sings the tunes without the words-and never stops at all – may bring you comfort.

For me, I must go with Woody Allen’s version – Hope is not that thing with feathers. That thing with feathers has turned out to be my nephew. I must take him to a specialist in Zurich…

Live is weird right now.

Embrace it. Write it down. Share your fears and your laughs. And yes, it is okay to laugh and joke. No one really wants to end up wearing feathers in a Zurich clinic....

Yes, this is serious. No one ever said life wasn’t.

Keep sight of what is special to you, while also doing what is best for the world.

Look for the things that give you Hope.

And in the process, maybe we will come out of this on the other side with a better understanding of life on this big wonderful planet.

That brave little bud. I brought him in to shelter him from the storms promised today.

Thank you, as always, for stopping by. I hope to update Coast Of Illinois soon. The tale of the 40 Year Old Sailboat has a final chapter to tell...

Almonds for Breakfast

Sitting here, late on Saturday morning, regretting the peanut butter graham crackers I ate at 2am when I couldn't sleep but really needing a little something to accompany the acidic, delicious coffee I am drinking.

It has been a funk inducing week. Family stuff – everyone okay, but still worrisome. Work stuff – superbly annoying to the point of resume searching.

But, the weekend is beginning and I will not let the week win.

Nectarine, Parmesan, Marcona Almonds. Would never have eaten this for breakfast 40 years ago.
But reading Provence 1970, and remembering our trip to Switzerland...

My go to weapon against this funk...

Food.

Now settle down. I know 'eating your emotions' is not healthy.

But, eating good food is a totally different treatment.

And good food doesn't mean fancy. Or expensive.

'Good food' triggers a sense of well being – safety and love from tomato soup and grilled cheese as a kid watching Saturday morning cartoons; excitement and laughter shared over a ridiculously large bag of whip cream served with key lime pie, closeness only good friends have shared over a glass of wine....

The second question to the family, after 'are you feeling okay' has been, what can I bring for lunch, dinner, snacks....

The powers that be at Work have fed us daily with lunches, snacks, even candy in areas where we aren't suppose to have candy...

There is nothing I love more than to cook a wonderful dinner for family and friends. Yes, it's a lot of work. But it's also therapy, creativity and ultimately an opportunity to create a shared experience.

And it's those memories of shared experience, triggered years later by that spicy salsa or that gooey breakfast biscuit which remind us of good times and provide hope for the future.

Food can't solve everything. But, sharing food, even the most modest meal, can sometimes be the most powerful medicine.

~Context and memory play powerful roles in all the truly great meals in one's life.~

Anthony Bourdain

1956-2018

(I don't like 'jumping on a bandwagon' but I also feel an obligation to use this medium for good. Suicide is a devastating act. It's effects reach much farther than just the victim. If you feel alone and need help, don't be ashamed. If you have a friend or family member you are worried about, don't hesitate. Call the National Suicide Prevention Hotline – 1-800-273-TALK (8255). We all need a little help every once in a while.)

To Reef....

R is for Reef.

In Sailing – to Reef is to shorten a sail to maintain better control so that the boat is not overpowered by excessive wind.

The sail in the fore-ground is reefed. Not well, as there is some pretty flappy fabric but still reefed.
This was on the Nautos, at Key Lime Sailing, Key Largo.

In Life – to Reef is to shorten a task in order to gain enough time to do the on-line french lesson that the app keeps reminding you it is time for as the cat takes his evening nap on your lap.

This is a 16 year old cat who won't hesitate to remove your arm if you try to move him. 

Come back tomorrow for a much better post on Sail Bags. Made from real Sails!

This is part of the A to Z Challenge. For more entries click here: a-to-zchallenge.com

A-Ahoy

B-Bells

C-Catamaran

D-Dramamine

E-Escape

F-Flags

G-Galley

H-Head to Heel

I-IC24

J-Jib/Jibe

K-Keys

L-Lakes

M-Motors

N-Navigation

O-Ocean

P-Point of Sail

Q-Quote

Paleo What???

I just finished a workout.

I'll let that sink in for a minute...

Okay?

As I tapped the 'Congratulations! You did it!' button on the app I noticed an actual description of the workout I just completed.

This is not quite verbatim, but close:

Paleo Run

A series of targeted moves interspersed with one minute bursts of cardio, just like our Paleo ancestors use to do.

Really?

Our stone aged, paleolithic ancestors did thirty second rounds of squats, glute bridges and wall planks followed by one minute bursts of running?

I don't ever recall Wilma Flintstone or Betty Ruble doing a single triceps dip.

And the only burst of running I recall from that Paleo time capsule was Fred's tiny feet running towards that huge side of ribs.

But, trendy is trendy.

Thank goodness Wilma and Betty didn't try Brontosaurus Yoga...

I am guessing those creatures had even less respect for personal hygeine than do goats...

(As silly as this workout sounds, must admit, I really did like it. Plus it is only 10 minutes and there is a lot of research out there to support High Intensity Interval Training (HIIT). And because of that I will name the app – 8-Fit. It is free on the AppStore. Of course you can pay extra for the full features which include meal plans, shopping list and specific training plans. This is an unpaid endorsement. However, 8-fit did manage to make a few bucks off of me.)

According to JoeySaber-Tooth-TigerKatt, this is really how our Paleo ancestors made it through the winter.

No Plan

2018.

A New Year.

I have been pondering today for a while. Trying to come up with a clever 'word' for my new year. Attempting to find a new way to write that first post of the new year.

But I have been unable to devise a plan.

And in looking ahead at the blank Island calendar hanging on the fridge No Plan seems to be the phrase for 2018.

Ordinarily we have at least one trip in the works for the new year.

We have ZERO.

There is a very big maybe hovering over a possible California Wine Country train ride, but so far it is only a random google search for ridiculously overpriced hotels in San Francisco where I am pretty sure everything is coated in chocolate...

I find this lack of travel itineraries unacceptable.

Although I must admit, I am looking forward to many weekends on the fixer-upper boat with a new emergency motor and non-leaking port-a-potty which will allow us to venture past MM4.

I have no real fitness plan. Except to eat more fruits and veggies and avoid any more angioedema episodes which were plagueing me this time last year.

I have no writing plan. Except to really, really, really utilize the wonderful notebook my son gave me for Christmas. And post more routinely here. And post daily at the BRAND NEW Coast of Illinois Facebook page!

(please 'Like' me! https://www.facebook.com/CoastofIllinois/ )

I have no dates marked on the new calendar, save for a dentist and hair appointment on the same day in late January.

There are no landmark events, outside of a 60^th birthday for a dear friend in 4 short days....and Dad's 80^th birthday...and my niece's high school graduation...and Mardi Gras Party day..

But no real plans on how to celebrate any of these things.

Except for Mardi Gras.

That just plans itself...

We entered into this new year with no real plan to celebrate New Year's Eve. The intended movie was sold out. There was no music playing at our favorite local place. It was too dang cold to drive up the coast to a favorite winery. So in an impromptu moment we drove across the rather thick – but not quite frozen – Mississippi to the Broadway Oyster Bar for a snack.

one of those rare days when the Muddy looks more Oceany

It was noted that Rob has been hanging out here for 37 of the 38 years in business claimed on the back of the menu. I am a more modest 35 years.

And in all that time BOB has not been a disappointment.

We wandered in, found a spot at the bar, discovered some interesting 'mountain' music played real strong by a woman on a ukelele and a guy on a drum, and dined on the best BBQ shrimp in the world.

food served on tin plates. has to be good. 

On the way home we both noted that when we don't have a plan we still manage to have the best time.

And it has now occurred to me that my word for 2018 is

IMPROMPTU: Living a life open and ready for anything.

That is exactly the sort of year I wish for each and everyone of you.

Happy New Year 

from the 

Coast of Illinois

When a Spouse Retires

It's here.

Finally.

My husband works his last day of 'real' work this week.

That's right.

He is retiring...

And I have never been more stressed.

I thought this was an exaggeration, until I did a little research.

According to the Holmes and Rahe Stress Scale, developed in 1967 as a way to predict a person's likely hood of becoming ill, Retirement hits about in the center with a score of 45, above such events as vacation, change of personal habits and outranked only by multiple deaths and major imprisonment.

I scored a 289:

Vacation -13- we are just a few weeks away from a first time trip to Las Vegas.

Change in Sleep Habits – 15- I am no longer going to be able to rely on my husband's alarm to get me out of bed. Instead, I am now required to actually GET UP when my stupid alarm goes off. The alarm which is set to get me out of bed in time to work out...

Change in Recreation – 19- I am envisioning multiple days where my plan is going to work but my spouse's plan is sailing, or hiking, or lounging.

Change in Work Hours – 20 – see above.

Change in Personal Habits – 24 - again, see above.

Change in Living Conditions – 25 – I am envisioning a loss of days home alone. Don't get me wrong, I love spending time with my spouse, but we both noted long ago that time in the house without anyone else around is a luxury of Tag Heuer Watch, Mercedes Benz, Four Seasons Hotel quality. No longer will I have a weekday alone in my Pjs with my pot of coffee, the Today show, my home design game and a texting round robin with family. Oh, I will still do these things, I will just feel guilty about them as my spouse showers, eats a healthy breakfast and begins doing productive things or worse, makes me watch some ridiculous crab fishing show or King of Queens reruns.

Spouse Stops Working – 26 – Helloooo....

Change in Financial State – 38 – Der. We have run the numbers, It will work. Pretty sure...

Retirement – 45 – Okay. I am not the one retiring. But you know what? I feel that being the one NOT retiring in the relationship is actually way more stressful. I have now begun to wonder about my own retirement date. And I have to tell you SIX years is a depressing number right now.

Now all you math wizzes have probably added this up in your head and realized that my number only reaches 226. However, if you figure in the POTENTIAL for Major Imprisonment – 63- from Murder Death of a Spouse – 100-

I actually hit 389 which is OFF THE CHART.

(Oh sure, Rob is the one retiring and planning to start a new career as a substitute teacher in the high school districts around us which places his actual stress level at a 247 but he can start his own blog. Which I bet he does. And he will post way more often than I do and I will feel like a failure and now my stress has shot up another 57 points...)

I digress.

In an effort to cope with the impending life changes I searched my previous education and fell upon the Kubler-Ross Stages of Grief. Which feels right as I have noticed that I have a whole lot of grief going on here.

The Stages of Grief were developed in 1969 as a way of coping with death but was later expanded to many other life events such as children working through a divorce. Overindulgent spouses of retiring spouses seems to have been overlooked. Never fear, I am here to walk us through it.

Denial – Denying the inevitable retirement has not been an issue. I have been looking forward to Rob's retirement ever since that morning I was awakened by him clicking the magazine into his side arm.

Anger – No anger here....okay, maybe that 'denial' thing is a little real...Although I can't say I am 'angry' its more of a jealous thing. But then I remember all those years I was home with the kids and Rob was going to school and working a job and a part time job...

Bargaining – I am not a very good bargainer. I prefer concrete numbers. And I ran the numbers multiple times, usually around two in the morning when I should have been asleep. As I recall there were a whole lot of 'dear God, make this work' and 'Lord, can I just have one night of decent sleep' and 'Come on Baby Jesus! Make this the winning lottery ticket'....

(What? You say this isn't true bargaining? You do remember you are dealing with a highly stressed woman here. Do you want me to revisit that Anger phase?)

Depression – It is anticipated that this phase will be entered on Friday September 1 at 0530 when I am required to roll out of bed and go to work while SOMEONE sleeps in and begins what promises to be a fantastic new phase of his life, working prn thus allowing us more days off together in which to travel.

Acceptance – This change is inevitable. Rob has put in way too many years in an underpaid, at times, extremely dangerous job. I am lucky to still have him here, healthy and willing to indulge me in my craziness. Although he is really going to have to get on board with this whole cooking dinner plan. That is inevitable too...

A Retiree in his natural habitat

 Congratulations Rob! 

I am so happy for you and truly looking forward to what this next stage of our life has in store!

Well...it's like this...

Here I am. Saturday morning.
I am sitting on the deck with the cat, who is not happy and is shooting me ever increasingly dagger eyes which translate into 'FEED ME SOON OR I EAT YOUR FACE!'.
But I can't because the cat is NPO. (That's medical terminology for No! Put that food and/or beverage down! Or else!). You know, that whole, no eating before anesthesia rule.
And the cat is under the most evil of rules at the present as we are waiting for the first AM appointment at the vet to get the fur knots shaved from his hindquarters. He has medium fur with a wooly undercoat and try as I might, when the weather hits 1000 degrees around here I can't keep up with the de-thatching.
Oh, I try. But it isn't pretty.

So...we wait on the deck to help muffle his incessant meowing.
It doesn't help that I went ahead and fed the birds, while his food bowl remains empty.
Oh! The Humanity!

But trying to stay positive, I am enjoying the sudden shift in temperature and humidity - it's around 77 degrees right now with a gentle breeze. Much more suited to sailing than cat consoling and hummingbird dodging.
(It should be noted that I have nearly been headbutted SIX times in the past twenty minutes as the three couples zoom back and forth from their freshly filled feeder. Another slight that JoeyKatt will never forgive.)

And as I haven't updated in a while, it suddenly felt right to dig out the computer, dust off the excess cat hair and send out an entry.
Creativity has been in short supply for me lately.
I am not sure if its the pace at work, the oppressive weather, the crap ton of anti-histamines I am taking or possibly the upcoming life event of retirement for my husband....
Whatever the cause, I have had not a thought worth expressing nor the desire to try.
But I have to admit, sitting here in the lovely morning with my famished companion feels rather nice as does tapping out these past few paragraphs.
So maybe there is hope...

Please bear with me. I do plan to return to weekly installments. There is much to discuss...previous trips to the Keys require eventual conversation. I feel it is safe to say that Rob's retirement will provide at least a little fodder for hilarity. (Don't  tell him, but he will be getting assigned dinner duty a couple nights a week...beyond his fantastic grilling skill that is.)
And while I don't like to present super serious stuff around here, I am planning to do a post or two on this ridiculous malady that has ascended on me. (Not a lethal issue but one requiring a very annoying change in diet, yet not causing any discernible weight loss).

So until the next time, enjoy the following photograph and let your mind wander to seas yet uncharted....

Peace

This is an old picture from a long ago trip to Destin, Florida. Rob and I were sitting on the deck at AJ's-our favorite Destin hangout, enjoying tuna dip and mojitos when I happened to notice, across the bay, this spontaneous rock formation and soaring seagull. I return to this photo frequently.
The message is undeniable.

Holy Goodbye Batman, now what do we do...

As most who read this know, I am not generally very topical.

But the news of Adam West's death is not a story I can miss.

I was only five when the television show Batman debuted. I have very distinct memories of my mom calling me in to watch. I don't recall what night of the week it was on. I feel as though it were in the summer, maybe early autumn.

Five year olds in 1966 didn't really pay much attention to the season, except for how it interfered with outside time.

Some may dispute my memory, but I promise you – more than once, when Mom called me in, I would jump off the play set, where I was desperately trying to swing ALL THE WAY OVER THE TOP, and forget to remove my pinkie finger from the chain which held the swing thus ripping my baby finger to shreds.

It hurt like crazy, this I also vividly remember, and as my poor mom tried to bandage my bloody pinkie, my only concern was getting to the living room so I wouldn't miss a minute of Batman.

I don't know what about Batman appealed to me, a five year old girl obsessed with Barbie.

My husband, also an original Batman fan and at that time a seven year old, the appeal was the adventure and the fight against EEE-ville. But being a boy, his entire life has been about adventure.

There was the silliness.

Those brightly colored characters.

The textually enhanced fist fights...

BAM!

KA-POW!

The ridiculous saying uttered by Robin:

Holy Davy Jones

(BatBoat Episode???)

Holy Wernher von Braun

(my husband assured me that last one most likely had rockets in it.

Holy Unrefillable Prescriptions

(I fear this may have planted the seed for my ER days....)

Yet, as I consider this show and its appeal, I think it really was the adventure that kept me coming back. As a girl in the late 1960's, there was very little adventure focused on girls. Sure, Ginger and MaryAnn were pretty adventuresome and that Lucy? Come on!

Boys always seemed to have the most fun. There was secrecy, plots, sneaking around and spying.

So, while the other girls were swooning over Robin, I was planning his...disappearance thus allowing me to fill in as his replacement. 

Here I am, talking with Commissioner Gordon. Undoubtedly trying to frame Robin for some bogus trumped up charge. Note the yellow book in the lower left corner...

Never did I dress up as Batman, or Robin. I did have a 45 with the Batman song on one side and Here Comes the Batmobile on the other. I think there may have been a Batmobile Matchbox car.

My husband had a lunchbox. 

Not the original but a gift to Rob from our son the year he worked his first real job which allowed him to buy cool gifts for everyone.

Yet Batman infiltrated my very being.

When a situation is difficult its hard not to say 'Holy... Batman!' If mention of the real Batmobile is made there is immediate discussion over how COOL it would be to drive it. And when the odds are insurmountable the phrase 'some days you just can't get rid of a bomb' flows through my head, if not out of my mouth where in my mind it is accompanied by a giant cartoon BAM!

Adam West will always be My Batman.

His Batman didn't have the gravely voice of Micheal Keaton, or the sexy good looks of George Clooney or even the chiseled, slightly psycho physique of Christian Bale. What he did have was humor and sweetness and a desire to only do good. (As mentioned early, remember in the Batman movie when Batman must dispose of a bomb but everywhere he turns there are babies. Or puppies. Or nuns....)

That original television Batman wasn't haunted by demons. Or if he was he kept it too himself. Never did he question the Gotham City Criminal Justice System or ask why the Penguin kept getting out of jail. He relied on his tact belt of tools and his sidekick Robin – not a slew of fantastical super powers.

Even when he apprehended those pesky villains, he was polite and would always ponder what sent them down a path of crime.

We couldn't binge watch, or DVR the show.

Every week, we had to be there, at that moment.

We then relived the show on the playground, in the backyard, improving and adding to the adventure until the next episode.

Maybe that was the real appeal after all...

Zenith

Well, here it is.

April 30.

I made it through exactly 9 days of the A to Z writing challenge. Okay, technically it was only 8 as I did a combo day...but I am talking linear here. Which brings me to my final letter.

'Z'

ZENITH

The zenith is an imaginary point directly "above" a particular location, on the imaginary celestial sphere. "Above" means in the vertical direction opposite to the apparent gravitational force at that location. Not the television set. ~ Wikipedia ~ okay, I added the part about the television set...

The word Zenith is used to describe the sun's highest point during the day in a given place. Or a person's or group's peak.

Put in non-astrophysical terms, it is the highest point above your head.

Straight up.

The Zenith of a tennis ball thrown upwards indoors is the ceiling. Marked by that black spot in the paint.

The Zenith of a stick carried by a 7 year old while climbing under an electric fence in Grandpa's pasture is approximately 11 feet after touching said fence before arcing back to earth.

The Zenith of a helium balloon escaping a 3 year old's wrist, assuming no wind and propelled by the vacuum of toddler shrieking is un-measurable.

Sky High.

That's pretty darn high.

I am left wondering, today, if I have reached my writing zenith.

I am not sure what happened with this writing challenge. By posting this I feel a little bit like that marathon runner who jumps on the subway, lounges for 13 miles then runs across the finish line.

I had the notes, I had the alarm clock...

I also had a million excuses.

Deer spraying the hostas.

Vacation planning.

A writing app which no longer works on my phone.

Trying to figure out how that Roku stick works.

That Home Design game.

Just to name a few...

But excuses don't really work. Many people manage to make it through with who knows what sorts of adversity. This makes me wonder about my place in the writing world.

But looking back via Facebook I have noticed that April is not a strong writing month for me. There are numerous references to attempting to finish various projects, staring at blank pages.

Considering today's post ~ Zenith ~ reading that definition, it occurred to me that if I allow myself to believe that I have peaked, reached that astrophysical, mental Zenith is something akin to giving up. I have absolutely no idea how high above my head I can reach. I won't know until I am at it looking downward.

And current situation?

I like looking up.

Which is a huge part of the philosophy of a Landlocked Beach Bum.

Always look up.

This moment, this day might suck like a black hole.

But, you never know what great moment will happen next.

If the sun gets a Zenith daily, then so should you. 

One of my favorite looking up photos. the possibilities are endless...

(Don't start with me, scientists. I know that you all feel that the sun doesn't really have a Zenith, it is more of a spatial, location thing. But I marched for you so just give me a break here.)

Looking up at the St. Louis United States Courts building during the March for Science. One of my favorite pics from the day.

And of course, I can't possibly write the word Zenith without pointing out that the ultimate home entertainment system back in the olden days of the 60's and 70's was the Zenith television. Complete with tubes which could be damaged by all the magnets we played with and a dial which made an awesome clicking sound when zipped from channel 3 to channel 47.

???

Did we own a lot of magnets?

Why was there a channel 47? There were only three stations and occasionally that weird UHF channel.

It was this exact discussion, about old time television, that brought me back to my love of writing and the permeating quality of entertainment.

So onward and upward.

'Keep Looking Up' as Neil DeGrasse Tyson says.*

Let's keep moving toward our own personal Zeniths.

Just avoid those magnets.

You never know....

*Take that people of science. Oh, and a few more pics from the March for Science, a non-partisan effort to raise awareness. This was my first March. About time, considering I began my social awareness career as a 10 year old in the secret room of the chicken coop....

Gathering

Waving Flags

It was a well behaved crowd, except for that T-Rex.

One of the oldest marchers

Marching down Market Street. St Louis

Science and Modern culture do mix

Science is clever.

Two of my personal favorite marchers.

Coast of Illinois's SECRETS to a Landlocked Beach Life***

Z - Zenith, the sky's the limit. Never stop reaching

I - Ingenious, find a solution...

G and H - Life Happens...and keeps on happening...

F- F-Flip Flops. Love them, wear them, don't call them Thongs. 
E - Extravagance, everyday should be so

D - Drinks, may all your responsibly enjoyed drinks be boat/beach drinks*

C - Coppertone,or any other sunscreen. Use IT!

B - Books. Read Them!

 A - Attitude is everything!

This post is part of the A to Z Challenge. Click on the link, page down to the comments and check out some of the other posts from participants!  (So, I was a little late this time, Friday became my day off, rather than this coming Sunday. It took awhile to dig the Flip flops out of the closet...)

http://www.a-to-zchallenge.com/