My Personal 2020. Shitshows and Silver Linings

The Good, the Bad, the Ugly, and the Merely Annoying in the Worst Year Ever

This is the Snarky Sunday edition of Snarky Senior — the newsletter from Erica Manfred, which you can read about here. If you like it and don’t want to miss an issue, you can get it in your inbox by subscribing.

---

2020 was my kind of year.  Whatever the opposite of a Pollyanna is, that would be me.  I’m a glass half empty person all the way.  I never even look for the silver lining.  

 2020 suited me—kvetching with a soupcon of snark.   Positive thinking was out, predictions of doom and gloom were in.  Between a pandemic and a Trump, it was OK to be anxious, depressed, outraged-- to complain, to whine, to rend one’s garments (including sweatpants).  My personal style was aligned with the zeitgeist for the first--and probably the last—time in history.  Maybe I’m the kind of curmudgeonly personality who is suited to hard times.  

Despite my bad attitude I’ve actually made a few drops of lemonade out of a shitload of lemons this year.  So be it.  Call me a cockeyed optimist.  Just don’t call me late for dinner (outside, and socially distant, of course).

Here’s my Personal list of the Good, the Bad, the Ugly, and the Merely Annoying in the Worst Year Ever.

THE VERY BAD.   When the lockdown hit, they closed the pools in my community.   Why was this such a disaster?  Why didn’t I just take a walk you might ask?  Well, I can’t walk worth a damn—bad back, arthritis, don’t ask.  I swim.  For exercise, for sanity, for life itself.   The beginning of the pandemic was catastrophic to me as well as to the rest of humanity.   I expected no sympathy from my New York City brethren who were trapped in apartments, so I just drowned in self-pity instead of chlorine.

THE MERELY ANNOYING.   After a few months, they opened the main pool, the one at the clubhouse, but you had to make reservations to swim.   I, who hate swimming in a crowded pool much less chatting with other pool denizens, was stuck paddling around many stationery bodies in order to get a swim.   I was so desperate for human contact I found myself chatting inanely with other “swimmers” who actually weren’t moving.  They were standing in the water in groups schmoozing, social distance be damned, which negated the whole purpose of making appointments to swim in the first place.  

THE GOOD.  In response to a pitiful plea on Facebook about being swim-deprived, I got an invitation to swim in a Facebook friend’s pool.  It was postage stamp sized so I got a rather dizzying experience of swimming in circles, but she introduced me to Kir, the best liqueur ever, and educated me about epidemiology and public health (she’s a scientist) becoming my personal go-to expert about the pandemic. 

THE UGLY.  I got bashed on Facebook when I posted a couple of op-eds about my unwillingness to stay completely locked down, alone, for the duration.  My first, in the Sun Sentinel, got me drawn and quartered on my own page and on a couple of Facebook writers’ groups.  The second, in USA Today, actually got me thrown out of a couple of the same writers groups.  I learned a very hard lesson about social media: no one will love you for being honest.   So shut the fuck up or grow a thick skin.   Or start your own newsletter.  

THE REALLY GOOD.  They finally opened the pools again in Century Village. I thought I’d died and gone to heaven.    Like food after long starvation, there’s nothing that makes you appreciate something like being deprived of it.   At first we were only allowed to stay till 5, which was frustrating because I was in the habit of swimming late during the summer, but after much fussing and emailed complaints, closing was delayed until 7pm.   I could live with that.   Unexpected bonus:   A quiet pool. Initially, social distance mandated no tables and chairs, so no gaggles of yentas playing cards.  Blessed peace ruled.   At least for a while.  Until they returned the pool furniture.

THE MERELY GOOD:   I ate a gyro at a restaurant.   Only in 2020 would eating gyro on a sidewalk table in the middle of parking lot across from a Publix supermarket be such a thrill.  When Broward County went into stage 2, allowing restaurants to open, a moment that otherwise might be truly forgettable became memorable.   I was really sick of takeout.

 THE REALLY GOOD.  I made a new friend.  I’d been trying make friends with this lady for a long time but she was always busy with her family.  Then the pandemic came along and she couldn’t see her family and voila, I was in like Flynn.  She and I were only ones we knew brave enough to actually get together in person.  We started having dinner one night a week—at first a brown bag event in a park, and eventually a restaurant event outside.   Despite our very different life experiences and backgrounds, I found a kindred spirit.   Our weekly dinners are now institutionalized.

THE WHOLE KAHUNA. GOOD, BAD, UGLY, and MERELY ANNOYING:   Zoom, Zoom, Zoom and more Zoom.  Zoom was my and everyone else’s bete noir this year.  It gave and it took away. It gave me my longtime wish for a professional writing group of my own by allowing me to start a weekly op ed writers group on with incredibly accomplished writers from all over the world.  And it took away. I was guilted into many deadly boring Zoom workshops, meetings and political events with total strangers, including “happy hours” and “parties,” which are a Zoom hell all their own.   Zoom gave me a precious sense of connection every Sunday when I met virtually with a couple of local writer friends with whom I used to do actual happy hours. They refused my entreaties to meet in person during Covid, probably because they actually value their lives more than I do, but we Zoomed every Sunday night to assuage our pandemic and Trump induced anxiety-- hanging on reports about what the internet psychics were predicting from Angela, our psychic obsessed member. (They all said Trump would be defeated BTW)  I have now Zoomed enough for a lifetime, but I’m probably stuck with it for the foreseeable future. 

THE BEST.  I did not get Covid-19 despite my lack of caution.  I’m scheduled for the vaccine in a week.  As Lemony Snicket would say, I’m at the finish line of a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad, year.   Hooray!  I made it.  And you have too.

---

Spread the snark!

If you know someone who doesn’t take themselves too seriously and might enjoy some snark in their inbox once or twice a week, forward this newsletter their way. You can subscribe (and link to it) here. You can follow me on Twitter here (Don’t expect much. I hate Twitter), and friend me on Facebook here (I love Facebook. It’s where we older folks hang out). Email me anytime at Askerica@gmail.com. Suggestions and feedback welcome.