"A Little OCD?"

            Sometimes, I pretend my quirks of organization keep our home running smoothly, but I suspect my husband and son view my penchant for orderliness as tremendously irksome. Right now, the kitchen desk sports hand sanitizer sprays lined in a militarily precise row. Next to them, a black box contains a pair of rubber gloves, three “back-up” face masks, and the four thick masks that we all prefer. Those masks, washed in hot water after every use, get rotated into the box to prevent us from overusing any one mask since they are identical. There’s been tons of joking that having the pandemic gave me a valid excuse for my love affair with bleach!

            This period of pause is the longest I’ve ever gone without working or being a caregiver. It allows me to indulge my need for tidiness. At the beginning of the year, we got rid of our ancient, heavy bedroom furniture and picked up something functional that feeds into my growing need for simple lines. Imagine my delight when I found wonderful fabric bins that fit our drawers perfectly. I Marie Kondo-ed everything! Folding clothes, once a ho-hum chore, now delights me. Everything has its place because there is a place for everything.

            

          I blissfully structure other things in my daily life. Do I hunt for keys? Never! My house keys reside in their own separate pouch that gets tucked into a zipped section of my purse. Naturally, I buy purses with similar features to keep searching for anything in my purse to a minimum. Other women do that, right?

            When I leave the house for the day, my routine never strays. I make certain my tote contains the necessary items for the day. Pens, journal, book, water, lunch. I check the bag twice before zipping it up and heading out the door. Before returning home at the end of each day, I repeat the process twice. I figure a little time with upfront coordination saves me time. If something gets left behind, that means trip backtracking. OCD, or efficient use of time? You decide.

             

Copyright 2020 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman 

I HAVE to have music to listen to as I clean and organize! How about you? Today I'm putting this on repeat!

 

 

             

 

 

"Fear of Flu"

         “Did you get a flu shot this year?” asked one of my friends.

         “Nah,” I laughed. “I’d love the excuse to spend a week in bed!”

        

         My cavalier relationship with receiving flu shots stems from the fact that I haven’t suffered from the flu since a bout back in the late 70s when I was in college. If I get a shot, it’s because my annual physical nestled in the center of flu season, and the PA stuck it on her list of recommendations before she left the room.

         When I took care of Mom, I religiously received a shot since I made certain she did. We also did our mammograms together. Our team approach to healthcare meant I paid a little more attention to the predicted strains of virus “out there” than I do now.

         When reports began to flood the media that this year’s shot missed the mark, I decided not to bother with getting one. I’ve watched friends fall victim to both strains this year—and most of them received the vaccine! A recent report out of Canada states that this year’s vaccine is about 17% effective.

         I made a conscious decision not to get the shot because I don’t want to slip into a cocky attitude about the infections floating around me. An optimist by nature, I know I’d slide into thinking I’d be among the low percentage of people who’d respond well to the shot. My confidence in being safe would make me lazy in my approach to each work day.

         Instead, by not getting vaccinated this year, I’ve turned into a cleaning maniac whenever I enter a classroom. Over the last month, I’ve worked at five different campuses. That means I’ve come into contact with close to 500 students and teachers—just in classrooms. It doesn’t add in hall and cafeteria duty, or all of the hand-to-hand contact when I help load students into their parents’ cars. Usually, I think nothing about using another teacher’s keyboard and mouse. I grab dry erase board markers, use staplers, and may find myself biting onto a pencil so I won’t misplace it.

         Not this year! When I enter a classroom each morning, I find the nearest tub of Clorox wipes. I attack the mouse, keyboard, teacher’s desk until I’m certain the hard surfaces are clean. I move onto the items I know I’ll have to use—even remembering to wipe down the rope that attaches to the screen. Door knobs and broomsticks. Everything gets wiped down. I can’t disinfect everything, but I’ve developed a new habit. When I finish handling all of the students’ folders, I quickly pump sanitizer onto my hands. I make certain that I use my own pens and pencils, and I clean them off with a wipe before putting them back into my tote each day.

         Will all of these preventative measures keep me healthy? Probably not. Some little itty-bitty germ will become airborne and beeline it straight into my respiratory system. I will become a Bernie Mac episode.

Copyright 2018 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman