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Catch a cold in winter, and you’re among friends. “Drink green tea. Really. It’s amazing.” “My sister swears by zinc.” “Get some rest.” The corner drugstore is crowded with remedies in colorful boxes. How many tablets do you want? What flavor of cough drops do you like? Even the tissues sympathize and make themselves available with “gentle lotion” and “cooling mint” options. Time it right, and you can catch a sale, which lets you go home and recuperate with a sense of having made the best of it.

Catch a cold in the summer, though, and you are alone. “How did you catch a cold in this heat?” “Listen, stay away from me, I’m going on vacation next week.” The drugstore likewise shows little sympathy. The “cold remedy” aisle is almost dusty, offering only one brand of tablets and limited tissues. Don’t even think about a sale price. I can almost hear it scolding, “Sensible people catch their colds in the winter.”

So I’m home, alternating tea and TV reruns, watching my tissue supply dwindle, wondering how long these sniffles will last.

Maybe I should plan to get some sunburn in December.

Note: I wrote this in June 2018, pre-pandemic, on Facebook. I’m posting it here to archive it.

She dropped the last gallon of milk into her cart and reached eagerly for the receipt. Her reward points were totaled at the bottom. “982?” She was disappointed. “I was hoping to get to 1000 points this month.” She looked at her full cart, trying to figure out where she’d gone wrong. “I bought everything I needed. I guess I didn’t quite make it.” Her shoulders slumped.

The elderly woman behind her in line looked at the cashier. “She needs – what – 18 points? Can you credit my purchases for her points?” The cashier nodded. “Let’s do it.” She turned to the young woman. “Swipe your card.” The older woman was only picking up a couple of items, and the young woman was still two points short.

“Well, thanks,” she said. “I appreciate the thought.”

The woman turned to the people in line behind her. “Can you help her out? She just needs a couple of points to make it to 1000.” The couple shrugged and dropped two jars of spaghetti sauce onto the belt. The clerk scanned them, and the goal was reached.

A small victory, granted. But lots of small victories will get us through the day, the week, the pandemic. Make them happen.

(I wrote this in 2021 and posted to FB. Saving it here for future reference.)

I’m substitute teaching again, this time at the school I retired from 9 years ago. As I introduced myself at the preschool faculty meeting, I realized I was the oldest person in the room. Several of the teachers had once been my students. And where I had once been respected as a senior member of the faculty, I was now just “a sub” who needed to learn the ropes. In 9 years’ time, many things had changed.

My assignment was TV Media, lab classes in which students produce a daily newscast that goes out to the school and community. My background was not as useful as I’d hoped it would be. I could edit video, yes, so I could help with that. Preparing scripts? Preparing graphics? Pushing it out to cable? Not so much.

I felt old, out of step, and unskilled. On the bright side, I knew most of the parents from when I was their teacher, so there was that.

The first day, I walked into the lab to find an old friend: this chair.

This was my old desk chair, almost new at the time I retired. It had disappeared from my classroom within days after my departure, and I always wondered who claimed it.

Now it was here, beat-up but still willing to be of use. I could relate.

A month in, we’ve worked out a rhythm in class. Older students teach younger ones what they need. Our local cable channel provides excellent support for tech issues. The teacher on leave routinely responds to student texts, even though she reminds students she’s on leave. Everyone contributes what they can. I take attendance and try to stay out of the way.

And last Friday I gave my friend a face lift. The duck tape made a satisfying sound as I pulled it off the roll. I reinforced some spots that were showing wear. I replaced a couple of patches that were curling on the corners. And I taped some tears before they could get any worse.

That chair has a few more years of service left.

Maybe I do, too.