Happy Birthday to Me and Two Others

 We met last weekend at our daughter's house to celebrate our family's August birthdays. We met on the back patio, maintained social distance and wore masks most of the time. We celebrated my 80th birthday, our son-in-law's 51st birthday and our grandson's 18th. I got to wear a sparkly crown with an "80" on it. It was obvious that our six-year-old grand daughter coveted the crown, so she got to take it home.

All of us have been more or less stuck in the house since mid-March because of the pandemic. My husband and I, both at high risk for bad outcomes if we catch the coronavirus, take all kinds of precautions. I would love to have short hair again, but I wouldn't feel safe going   to my salon, so I'm stuck, for now, with witch hair. I would love to go to the grocery store, wander the aisles at my leisure and pick out my own produce. Instead, we order groceries and they are delivered. Most of the time it works out fine, but I wasn't happy when we were charged the "sale price" of $2.50 for a rotting cantaloupe. I complained, but got no response.

I haven't been blogging because (1) our lives are pretty much contained within our four walls, and (2) I have been taking an online course to improve my quality of life despite having a chronic lung disease. The Pulmonary Wellness Foundation (PWF) in New York City offers a challenging 6-week pulmonary rehabilitation  course free of charge. (Donations are accepted.) The daily sessions require a commitment of close to an hour. There are two motivational talks by Noah Greenspan, the  PWF director,  a "breathing, balance, flexibility and strength session" led by a variety of practitioners (instructors in yoga, tai-chi and qigong, physical therapists, and a Bollywood dancer) and finally a daily "walk" which starts out at 4 minutes and gradually increases to 30 minutes by Day 42. I have stuck with it. Tomorrow is the beginning of the sixth week. I can honestly say I feel more energetic since starting the course and plan to maintain the habit of daily exercise once the course is over.  

Our 58th

This is a bouquet our older daughter and family gave us for our 58th wedding anniversary.  We've had 58 years to roam about seeking new adventures as we pleased, but lately our lives--like those of so many--have some to resemble the titles of novels by Gabriel Garcia Marquez--"One Hundred Days of Solitude", "Love in the Time of Coronavirus."  Today Phil asked, "Are we going to be confined to the house for the next two years of our lives?" Thanks to the fumbling efforts of Agent Orange to "control" the virus, it looks like that may be the case.  Both of us have "underlying conditions."  He has high blood pressure, and I have IPF, a chronic lung disease. Nevertheless, it's going to be a happy anniversary.

I see that Dilly-dog managed to get into the photo.  Well, I more or less captured the bouquet. I can concentrate on only one thing at a time.

Poor Lonely Li'l Fishy

You probably can't see the tiny molly in the nursery. He's in there for a reason. The four terrible tetras want to eat him up.

The tetras were the first to move into the new, spacious aquarium. They loved looking at their reflections in the glass walls and hanging out in the weeds and near the bubbling pump. It soon seemed like the aquarium could accommodate a few more fish, so my husband bought two mollies. 

When one of them became pregnant, we realized we had one of each. As soon as the babies were born, the tetras gobbled up all of them, except for one. The Founding Father Fish soon died of a broken heart, but not before impregnating the female once again.  This time, Phil was ready.  As soon as the second batch of babies was born, he sequestered them and their larger sibling in a plastic Dream Whip container, which he anchored precariously to the top of the aquarium. This was a temporary arrangement at best, as the container was always threatening to tip over. 

Then our older daughter saw an ad for a nifty baby-fish nursery--made of course, in China. Phil ordered it, assembled it, and anchored it securely (he thought) to the side of the aquarium, near the top.  Alas, he woke one morning to find the nursery at the bottom of the aquarium and the baby fish at large. What remained of the second batch, that is. About six of the twelve were left, plus Big Brother. 

He corrected his anchoring mistake and this time the nursery stayed put.  However, the near-death experience must have traumatized the babies, which began dying one by one.  The mother fish died too.  "I, alone of my kind, am here to tell the tale," says the survivor from the first batch, swimming about in his netted enclosure. 

St. John's Wort

Our weedy Saint John's Wort blossomed nicely this year, just in time for Saint John's Day, June 24th. From the Wallander crime series on TV, I learned that Saint John's Day is close to the Summer Solstice.  Northern Europeans, such as Swedes,  celebrate the longest day of the year by staying up all night and having picnics, parties, and bonfires.  And, in order to keep Detective Kurt Wallander from beginning his summer vacation, a celebration can get a little out of hand and end up with a murder.  Why bonfires?  Pagans believe that the boundary between the spirit world and our everyday world becomes permeable during the solstice. The bonfires are meant to ward off evil spirits. 

"Healthline," an internet information site, notes that Saint John's Wort has been used for centuries to treat depression. It also notes that the U.S. Food and Drug Administration classifies Saint John's Wort as a nutritional supplement and does not recognize it as a treatment for depression. For those inclined to self-medicate, the writer warns of some unpleasant side effects:  vomiting, dizziness, anxiety, panic attacks, aggression and amnesia.  Whoa!