World Turned Upside Down: My! What Big Ears You Have!

The original title I had planned for this post was "What I Did During the Pandemic." It would be useful, I thought, to remember what occupied my time during these days of sudden stay-apart. No meetings, no coffee with friends, no work schedule...what in the world did I do?

Well, as we all have discovered, it is quite possible to have meetings, coffee with friends, and work schedule even as we observe the social distancing guidelines. Hello, Zoom! My calendar has proceeded to fill up with appointments that do not require me to comb the back of my hair or worry about a pedicure.

But there also is time for other activities that have fallen off the priorities list for years. One of those activities is puttering around in the yard.

When we moved to Small Town three decades ago, a friend who lived here gave us outstanding real estate advice. "You'll find all kinds of houses, and there's a house there you're going to love," he told us. "Just be aware that there's a slum on every block." We weren't exactly sure what he meant until we began looking in earnest and discovered he was right--the pristine lawn of a a gorgeous Victorian could exist cheek-by-jowl with a lawn overflowing with car carcasses on blocks.

The House on the Corner was somewhere between those two extremes: certainly not pristine, but we did try to keep the cars off the lawn, at least until the Boys were in high school. At that point we had seven cars for six people and every inch of curb space was occupied when everyone was home. The lawn was showing the effects of being on the corner of two drainage streets that spilled across the corner in heavy rains, so nothing was growing except weeds.

We had become the slum on our block.

But then the tide began to turn as the nest emptied and the fledglings took their cars with them. With the help of our genius landscaping guy we've started to push back, one year building up the corner landscaping to divert the floods, last year improving the soil and re-sodding the back yard. The front yard is next on the list, but this year it's still been a riot of dandelions and chickweed.

"But this year I have time to spend in the yard every day!" I crowed to Husband. "I'm going to get rid of all those weeds without getting within six feet of anyone! Plus, it's too early for mosquitoes so I won't even need to use the Off."

That last statement is known as foreshadowing.

Last Thursday, after a refreshing rain the previous night, I happily spent the morning stooped over a dandelion digger, filling a full-sized garbage can with the leafy results. I was tired but happy as I looked at the lawn, still raggedy but less appalling than before.

That's when I came back into the house and looked at my bare forearms and shins.

They were covered with tiny blood spots--what I had thought were harmless clouds of gnats were actually swarms of tiny biting flies, and they had jumped on me like, well, like flies on poop.

Within hours I was a seething mass of itch. Originally I was determined to not scratch, but the gods laughed. Every place that had been touched turned into a hot, torturous welt. My already-substantial ears swelled until they were solid masses, as hard and plastic as Mr. Potato Head's. (Today's illustration is frighteningly true to life, except that I was wearing a shirt, and my mustache hasn't quite reached that stage. Yet.)

It's been three days now since I lost half of my total blood capacity to the gnats. I've learned that while itch creams and Benadryl claim to be effective, cold washcloths are the only remedy that even approach relief. Time also helps; after three days, I'm still covered with welts but I am hopeful I will not actually go insane from the itch.

I may go out and work on the weeds again in a couple of days, but I will be slathered with bug repellent and wearing long sleeves and jeans.

My ears may not be able to survive a beautiful lawn.