When I am not writing about surfing…

…or trying to make “Swamis” perfect-er, or -ish, I write about other stuff. This is my submission for the Quilcene Community Center newsletter for April. I wrote it in between getting really small surf among really big rocks, and riding blown out surf, and getting skunked. If I did manage to ride some quality waves, I certainly wouldn’t share that with the non-surfing folks over here on the near side of the Olympics. So, okay, let’s see:

Oh, yeah; I wrote about getting my second Covid shot, but, somehow, I didn’t set this up correctly to actually include the piece. Let me see if I can…

                                Anticipation of Inoculation and Other Things…

…things like the latest topic of conversation: Vaccinations. You get yours yet? Scheduled? Fully inoculated? Half? Pfizer, Moderna, J&J? Side effects? Jump in anywhere.

“Oh, I don’t think I will get one; you know, because of the…” “See you… (from a reasonable social distance) later.”

It just so happens I am getting my second dose this afternoon; heading back to Manresa Castle’s back lot, hoping I don’t have to fill out the form again, and fully prepared to not cry. It’s not that I’m all that worried; not like I cried when I got the first dose of Pfizer cold gold, the first needle stab. It’s more like I whined beforehand.

I can’t help but remind myself of another experience, back when I was eleven or so and started crying while only lining up for some shot or another, a tetanus booster, perhaps. This was quite embarrassing for my mom, me being the second oldest of seven children, and the oldest male- back when this gender bias, wrongly of course, seemed to make a difference.

“Fine example, Junior.” “Waaaah!” “I thought you might act more, well, grown up… Junior.”

Saying, “Wow, it didn’t even hurt” didn’t help after the fact. No way any of my siblings would even consider crying after my mature display.

To be clear, I did, two weeks ago, warn several of the many, many folks of the remote possibility of tears, if not full tantrum mode. Many of the many checkers and re-checkers and line monitors are actual volunteers, making themselves available for the processing and administration and delivery of a shot to individuals proceeding, ever so slowly, in our vehicles, single file.

When I finally got to the last temporary carport, sleeve rolled up, I told one of the several people there, “Yeah, I get cut and gouged and hurt all the time; it’s the knowing it’s going to happen; that’s what’s scary. You know, like, just do it; don’t tell me you’re about to.”

“Done.”

“Really?”

“No. Joking. Wait for it… wait… wait…”

One person on the inoculation squad, possibly because she believed I was making it up about my fear of needles and all, did point to another member who might be willing to slap me so I wouldn’t be concentrating on the long, sharp needle. He did look willing.

“Most of the crying, so far,” another shot squad member told me, “has been out of gratitude. You know, older people.”

I do. Older is my demographic. 65 to infinity. I have lived long enough to have had measles and mumps and chicken pox (no rubella, whatever that is) before they had vaccines (I might have to fact check that- maybe my family just didn’t get them). I am old enough to have had both runs of polio vaccines; the one with the needles, the one with the little cups. No problem with the cups; stand in line, take a swig, get a sticker. Or was it a sucker? Maybe.

Maybe it only seems like everyone I speak with is around my age. Saying I am over 65, as I did, above, is easier on the ego than saying I will be 70 in August; and no, I never answer the question of how old I am with the question, “How old do I look?” Not any longer.  So, how we survived the pandemic, so far, seems like a likely topic for lively discussion, much better than “did you hear about good old so and so?”

Whatever it is about good old so and so, it’s probably not great news; even if it’s “She’s 89 years old and just won a lifetime supply of (merely an example) Rice Krispies.” Oh, you heard that joke.  

Now, I do have a lot to say about getting older and the benefits of aging.

Benefits? Maybe next time.

So, closer to topic: Vaccinations. To tie life-saving vaccinations to Spring, we are all looking forward to actually being free of this pandemic. Like Spring (or each season) full victory over this pandemic won’t come all at once. Still, there are signs, reason for hope.

People who are way younger are now getting inoculated. I’m not talking about the Spring Breakers and the anti-vaccers and the scofflaws (scoff-mandates might be more accurate). Our son Sean, 38 and a front-line worker, is getting the Johnson & Johnson this afternoon. One of my surfing friends, somewhere around 43, just got one yesterday. J&J, one shot and done.

Since I ask pretty much everyone I come into nowhere-near-contact with about their status, I am surprised to hear how many folks have already been fully immunized. Without getting into the variants and mutants and strains of the virus, each one named after some spot; I am imagining the Miami Beach strain, the patient’s head throbbing to a sort of techno/disco beat.

So, a couple more hours and, barring any unforeseen consequences, I will be ready to (always responsibly) PARTY!

You can imagine tears of gratitude if you want. I’m a grownup, and I’m in anticipation mode.  

OH, SHIT, I JUST ‘CUT’ THE PIECE OUT OF MY FILES. DAMN IT, when Ken Burns does the 9 hour documentary on me, they won’t have it. WAIT, MAYBE, IF I… see you out on the trail.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.