Dearest Fellow What-Happenders?
JoAnn’s Mom, Rita, who went to her reward in September, often exclaimed “What a revoltin’ development this is!” a favorite quote from 1940s radio character Chester A. Riley. Truer words could not express our sadness at her passing, as well as our displeasure with many of the year’s other infamous events. To paraphrase a less-befuddled, less-fictional character, the ubiquitous Meat Loaf, we’re “All masked up with no place to go!” Despite these challenges, Rita’s humorous approach to the many obstacles she faced inspires us to follow her example by sharing some seasonal cheer with you, our treasured friends.
The enclosed photograph commemorates our sole social event of the year, a January fête given in honor of the many angels on earth who make up the huge heart of Poudre Valley Hospital. JoAnn’s cheerful expression flows naturally from the well-earned recognition of ten years spent serving the infirm, as well as the opportunity to gather with friends and coworkers. The stunned look from Tom stems from an inability to understand how one hangs onto a job for an entire decade, a feat he has yet to and likely never will accomplish.
Mere weeks following the capture of that photograph, one explanation for Tom’s career insecurity surfaced, when his already-shaky claim of employability began to waver between non-essential and essentially useless, interspersed with ill-defined bursts of semi-essentiality, mostly involving the exchange of mask-muffled aeromantic epithets while observing from afar the occasional tape-measure mêlée. JoAnn’s steadily essential nature took up the slack, as usual, rising gracefully and resolutely at work and home to the often overwhelming challenges faced by those who care for the careless.
Deprived of his paid platform of indolence, Tom took to the election-year airwaves to encourage voting among fellow phone owners. Numerous victims of this campaign summarized the effort as “A waste of time, bro!” thus highlighting yet another infectious pathway for poor habits between home and non-existent workplace. Rooftop squirrel patrol occupied another share of Tom’s time, a poorly chosen pursuit given his lifelong struggle with ambineptitude: the use of both hands with equal unease. JoAnn countered this onslaught of residential “help” with typical artisanship, filling the house with paintings, sculptures, and the sporadic shard of carpet-concealed glass.
Although the increased time at home has rendered us suburba-numbed by the constant din from the surrounding noiser-hood, the past few months have taught us a few lessons in togetherness, such as: there’s no eye-roll in team; be a leader not a leaner; it’s a garbage can as opposed to a garbage cannot; and, finally, if we could offer any advice to thirty- or forty- or even fifty-year-old us, we probably would not bother.
Felines Clem and Nelson profited from Tom’s amplified presence with a doubling of closely supervised outdoor time, resulting in frantic discoveries of fledging blue jays and a warren of rabbit kittens in the back yard. Predator and helpless prey remained separated until fall, when Clem’s constant cat calculations finally resulted in a most un-Christmas-like fate for an overconfident juvenile bunny. As 2020 ends, we look forward to sustaining our good health, the result, we suspect, of an air quality factor that instantaneously browns bananas upon introduction to the household. As for 2021, we resolve to appear thankful for all that we have, and to continue serving mankind in the fashion you all deserve: JoAnn by her presence, Tom by his absence while he tries to figure out if he can survive without Alex Trebek’s valued wisdom.