A euchre up-rising

Just like you, there are a LOT of things that I miss. Going to work. Hugging my students (and pretending to hate it). Finding toilet tissue with ease. Not flinching whenever I think about leaving the house. Paper and pencil assignments.

Getting into some semblance of a routine is necessary for my sanity. I make my bed EVERY DAY...just for that reason. Routine. Structure. A feeling of accomplishment. For good or for bad, being relegated to "non-essential" (what an utterly STUPID and degrading term, by the way)...if you are bringing in a paycheck to support your family, guess what? YOU are essential. You ARE essential. You are ESSENTIAL. Certainly MORE essential than the politician stalwartly self-distancing, wearing a mask and sacrificing his/her own paycheck while making back-and-forth, wishy-washy decisions effecting your life, liberty, and livelihood (insert DRIPPING sarcasm here)!

Oops...sorry...rage is starting to rear its ugly head in the Mosiman household. Let me return to what I was going to say before I veered off to grab my storm-Frankenstein's-castle torch and pitchfork. Deep breath. Back to being positive, folks!

Anyhoo...As I was saying before the seeds of rebellion bubbling in my brain took over...I am seeking

a semblance of "normal." Some vestige of my former life. Every other day, my friends and 4th grade colleagues "meet" via video conference call...staring hopelessly at one another like those droopy-tailed bettas in their separate tiny little fish bowls. Where once we communicated effortlessly~~ineffectually but effortlessly ;)~~now we flail...missing subtle nuances (like my constant eye-rolls). We stutter, stammer, and then steam...on a continual, endless loop. Don't get me wrong...we've hammered out a plan to, as best as humanly possible, meet the needs of our students and families. We are on-line from as early as 6:30 in the morning and are still communicating with students, adults, and each other until well past 10:00 at night. Our constant, tired lament is "If I could only access my classroom, we could..." In our diligent building of this house-of-cards virtual classroom that we've been dealt, we lost ourselves...walled up in separate rooms of straw and sticks.

And then there was euchre. For the last six years, my grade level team has played euchre EVERY Tuesday at lunch. Sometimes we manage to actually play an entire game, but, more often then not, conversation stalls us to a single hand where someone inevitable asks, "What's trump again?" at least a dozen times. There is trash-talking, laughter, frustration, fighting, and fun. EVERY Tuesday. And then...the "Pause." I refer to call it the "Punch." It definitely took us awhile to even BEGIN thinking about the logistics of playing again. But it was always there...lurking in the back of our minds.

One quarter of us entered this pandemic with passable technological skills. Now we can all, more or less, stumble our way through the interwoven maze that is on-line learning. Learning to virtually play cards together was a bit of a challenge. There is a wonderful video component that can work if your county's internet hasn't recently been flooded with an over-load of panicked users. When necessary, we  improvised audio by holding one of our phones up to the laptop speaker. We were desperate to make it work. "Don't hit START," I warned as we test-tried it. Geri, thinking I had some sort of Napoleon-complex going on, repeatedly hit START anyway. Inevitably, we'd have to leave the game, re-link up, and try again until we got everyone situated. And then we were playing again. And we were US again. Trash-talking. Asking what trump was (EVEN though it was clearly pictured on the screen). Accusations of cheating flew. And spirits soared.

Suddenly my narrow world widened a little. Excited, I called my girls in California. My friend, Joan dusted off her trusty laptop (You know those old jalopies with the crank start? Now picture her laptop.). My dining room was filled with friends, family, and laughter. The next day, we played again and instead of Joan's picture popping up, Savannah and I screamed when we spotted our dear friend Durwin instead. You know the guy that spits on his hands before he turns the crank on the old jalopy and then curses this new-fangled piece of useless technology? That's Durwin...who somehow managed to turn all of our screens a solid green color before bellowing, "Joannie!"

Joan expanded our world to her card-shark mother who may or may not have taken all my money and one kidney in a tournament years ago. Brad and I reached out to our friends, the 'burgs, and spent a lovely hour listening to Jeanne crow victoriously as she took practically every trick. As the dealer, Todd triumphantly called up hearts and then his own sank as I asked what the procedure for my going alone was in this particular circumstance. Like castaways on a deserted island who use pebbles and shells to play checkers, we improvised. And for a moment, we weren't under a government-imposed house arrest deemed necessary for the public health. We were TOGETHER...laying all our cards on the table for our mental health.

I'm watching scared people wear masks as they ride their bikes down an other-wise empty street. I am enraged that my local Greenway Trail is closed and some government employee was paid to post specially-made signs directing me to stay six feet away from fellow hikers on a trial in the middle of NO WHERE while my shaggy bangs grow as long as a Shetland pony's and my friends, Sarah and Meghan, are unable to conscientiously wear a mask to earn a living to support their families with dignity and, more importantly, save me from hair homicide. I am tired of having elected officials (who are getting paid a LOT of money and are not making the same sacrifices that they are sanctimoniously imposing on the sheep of this county..."Ba-aa! Ba-aa!" said Amy Mosiman) assume that I am too stupid and selfish not to jeopardize the health of my parents and other's vulnerable to this virus. I keep getting posts wondering what the Greatest Generation would think of our whining about "staying home." I think they would be alarmed that the liberties that they fought so hard to defend were being jeopardized while I sat and watched re-runs. They would be appalled by aged, married couples separated and one having to be lifted up in a cherry-picker to wish his wife a happy anniversary outside her second story window. They would be dismayed that some, so overwhelmed by fear, would rather face an empty fridge and no tp than risk leaving the house. The Greatest Generation was called to action. I think they might be insulted and disgusted by our lack of reaction. But...for now...as we remain on Pause...as the world holds its breath in between calling one another selfish or complacent...we wait for the next hand to be dealt. Until then, who wants to play on-line euchre with me?