Masked Meaning

June - Observations in the time of COVID-19

I bought a set of masks in early April. It was long before I realized they might become political statements and it was more of a whim than anything else.

Some time ago, I bought a top from Majestic Clothing. As it happens in our world of constant contact, I continue to receive email promotions for their expensive line of tops and cashmere sweaters. This email advertised a set of 5 masks for $25. I didn't think that they would ever have such a great deal again, so I clicked. My two semi-adult children had come home for quarantine, and it looked like we were all going need masks.

The Majestic masks arrived in my mailbox on April 7th. They were soft and thick cotton masks with a camouflage design. More militant looking than you might imagine. I put them in the nook in the living room and informed my family members that they were there. I put one in my car for me. I was the designated shopper.

About the same time, one of my more crafty friends had sewn masks and had made one for me. It also looked like camouflage but with images of turtles on the material and a pocket to insert a coffee filter or extra padding to improve its effectiveness.

I believe it is my responsibility to wear a mask because I don't want to be the one unknowingly spreading the disease. I'm not exactly in the risk group, but close. I turned sixty last year. I know, it's hard for me to believe too. Also, I don't consider myself to be a conformist, but I was raised in the south. I don't want to be rude. Wasn't not wearing a mask rude?

The thing is, it's also a pain in the ass. On steamy days (we are in South Carolina), it is especially steamy behind that mask.

But there are also unexpected complications. I am sixty. Did I mention that? It's hard for me to get my head around, but there it is. I am losing my hearing. Half of my hearing was long gone. In my twenties, I had an infection or virus in my right ear that resulted in complete deafness. The doctors said it was an infection. However, I was pretty sure I lost my hearing in one ear because my grandfather had been deaf in one ear. He was my favorite grandfather, and he spoiled me. Or he was my favorite grandfather because he spoiled me. I was spoiled and could never remember which ear he couldn't hear in.

Opa claimed that he lost his hearing in the war due to the loud artillery. I had a few theories about my own hearing loss. I lost my hearing as a constant reminder of his kindness. Or it was karma, I had returned his constant generosity and kindness with genuine bratty entitlement. I had no idea that I should treasure his nonjudgemental love. My other, less superstitious, idea was that there was some sort of genetic tendency toward deafness. As my mother aged, she also became deaf. She was stubbornly convinced that she was not losing her hearing and everyone else simply lacked the proper enunciation and had a tendency to mumble.

It was my mother's unwillingness to address and correct her hearing loss that prompted me to have my hearing checked. I knew I was deaf in one ear. It only made sense to make sure that the other ear was working properly. It wasn't. What we always referred to as "my good ear" wasn't actually that good. I thought I was going for a hearing check to establish a baseline for that ear. Instead, I came home with hearing aids. Just like my mother.

I'm getting back to the masks now. If you think these masks are a pain in the ass for you. Please join me in my poor hearing world.

When you can't hear well, the first thing you do to compensate is to look at the person who is talking. Watching their lips move is the next best thing to closed caption. At the grocery store, I often answer, "Paper or plastic?" with "Yes, thank you." Because I assumed they asked if I had found everything I was looking for. If one of my children happened to be in line with me, they would just answer the question appropriately on my behalf.

Now, since nearly everyone is wearing masks. I have no opportunity to look up and read their lips, so I remain baffled by what they may or may not be asking me. Though annoying, it is not a great tragedy. We get by with some pointing or the heroic grocery store cashier simply decides that they did not actually want to talk to me. As for me, and maybe this is not about my hearing loss, my voice seems extremely muffled. I can't decide if I am shouting unnecessarily or if people can't understand me in the same way that I can not understand them.

The next problem occurs when I go to remove my mask. When I take the loops from my ears that hold the mask in place, my hearing aids also come off. No matter how carefully I attempt to take off my mask, I risk flinging my hearing aids into unknown territory. I usually wait until I am in my car so that at least there are limits to how far they can go.

Even with all of these issues, I wear my mask in the grocery store, or pharmacy, or other public places. My mother, the one I inherited my deafness from, is 91 years old. She enjoys an occasional outing. I want people to wear a mask for her. I know she's old and has lived a long life. But still, I don't want her to die and I don't want her to die alone. I don't want her to be quarantined for the sake of containing the spread of the virus. If she must go, I want to be there. I want my brother to be there with me and our spouses and her grandchildren. I want her to have the support of people who love her.

I get it. It's a pain in the ass to wear a mask. I see you out there not wearing one. I can read your lips, but I still can’t understand you.

DAISY JONES & The Six

May - Daisy Jones & The Six by Taylor Jenkins Reed

I could almost smell the smoke and stale beer in the club while reading, Daisy Jones & The Six. This tale of a fictional rock band out of the seventies is written as excerpts from a series of interviews. Band members and agents, and occasionally a friend or relative or someone else connected to the band. The characters reminisce about their experiences of first getting together, signing with a record label and touring. The love, the hate, the resentment, the talent. The era of fame and parties and their youth. For some, it is the highlight of their lives. For others, just a sense of residual bitterness. Reed's unique approach to storytelling works well and is one factor that makes the story so engaging. She created an immediacy and intimacy with the voices in these interviews that keeps the reader turning pages. Will Billy keep it together? Will Daisy? The sexual and artistic tension between Daisy and Billy keeps you intrigued. You are aware that each individual's versions are skewed. Whether by their point of view, the faults of memory, and the drugs and alcohol abuse of the day.

You might experience something close to recollection when you read about that concert when Daisy and Billy sang the hit song "Aurora." You might have been there. You can almost see their iconic album cover as you recall flipping through your collection of LPs in that red plastic milk crate by your stereo.

Especially for those of us that grew up during that era of rock and roll, Daisy Jones & The Six feels like a walk back in time. It is a rewarding nostalgia trip that leaves you longing for the revival tour.

Quarantine Reading

APRIL - A Few of My Favorite Books

With nothing to do but read and write in our weird, weird dystopian world of 2020, I decided to take a detour for April. Instead of reviewing a recent read, I decided to create a list of favorite books. Of course, I can’t even pick a favorite color. The challenge was real. I gave myself permission to create a quick list. I wrote down the first books that occurred to me. And noticed a pattern. There seemed to be three primary categories: my recent favorites from book club, lifetime favorites that stuck with me, and my favorite books about the construct of race in society. I grew up in the American south. The culture of race, segregation, and bias are big social issues, and I continually struggle to figure out ways that I can be a catalyst for change. My interest may have been sparked by one of my lifetime favorites, To Kill a Mockingbird. A host of books have increased my understanding of racial issues, only a few are included here. Similarly, Jitterbug Perfume, along with a few more Tom Robbins novels, spurred my love of quirky and outrageous characters, bizarre stories, and an irreverent attitude toward the establishment. If you enjoy reading books that root for the underdog, address injustice, deliver something magical or are a little subversive, you will probably find something you like here. It was hard to keep the list short! I am already thinking of all the books that should be added. Lifetime loves: 1 Jitterbug Perfume by Tom Robbins 2 Bone People by Keri Hulme. 3 To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee 4 Poisonwood Bible by Barbara Kingsolver 5 We Were the Mulvaneys by Joyce Carol Oates Race: 6 The Human Stain by Philip Roth 7 Just Mercy by Bryan Stevenson (Notably my only non-fiction listed!) 8 Americanah by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie 9 An American Marriage by Tayari Jones 10 The Hate U Give by Angie Thomas Favorites from Book Club: 11 A Man Called Ove by Fredrik Backman 12 Eleanor Oliphant is Completely Fine by Gail Honeyman 13 Euphoria by Lily King 14 We Are All Completely Beside Ourselves by Karen Joy Fowler 15 The Tea Girl of Hummingbird Lane by Lisa See