The jab and yellow hand towels
I continue to look for my glass to be half full when it comes to life during a pandemic. It’s evolved into mind over matter as the Corona has emptied my glass, and I’m not talking about the beer.
I received the first shot and will get the second one on Monday. Sounds like most folks have had the worst side-effects on the second round, so that’s something to look forward to. At the first appointment, while waiting my turn, I read over the pamphlet of information, which isn’t encouraging for those who aren’t fully invested. I couldn’t help but stare at the words “not FDA approved” and “could cause serious side effects” until they called my name.
They ask everyone to wait around for 15 minutes after getting the vaccine, just to be on the safe side, so a dozen of us sat around and stared at each other. Strangers, with masks, sitting in silence, waiting for someone to break out in a sweat, pass out or keel over. Fun times.
Rumor has it there’s another variant showing up, which the vaccine may or may not protect us from. Next thing you know we’ll be listening to long-winded info commercials, from money-hungry attorneys. “If you’ve recently taken the COVID vaccine and have developed a (third eye, tail, pointy ears) you may be entitled to (your choice of either a gallon of hand sanitizer or a dozen N95 face masks)." Clorox wipes aren’t such a hot ticket item since (a year later) they’ve decided the race for plastic gloves/sanitizer wipes wasn’t as much of a game changer as once thought.
Even though I sound like a critic, of those trying to help us survive this germ, I’m really not. Being cooped up in a bubble for over a year has nearly stolen my ability to find humor when times get tough. Just when I thought I couldn’t take it anymore, my sister showed up.
Apparently her house couldn’t be rearranged/redecorated/revamped anymore so she was looking for new territory. In normal times, I probably would have tried to buck her system of being the big sister and her sassy attitude of,“just do what I say,” but I just didn’t have it in me, thank goodness.
Over the past months she has come over at least twice a week and has re-organized everything from my underwear drawer to the entire second floor. I’ve just left her to it, to decorate as she wishes and, although my first instinct was to scrunch my nose at her ideas, I didn’t, and to my delight, the house has never looked better.
She brought life back into the house with bright colors to mix in with my never-ending earth-tone woodsy feel. Amazing how yellow hand towels can change the entire feel of a bathroom and a brighter bedspread encourages me to make the bed.
There’s nothing that can take the place of time spent with a sister. I love that she knows me the best and still wants to hang out.
In the cookies of life, sisters are the chocolate chips.
Sandy Turner lives in Independence. Email her at firstname.lastname@example.org.