Post by Jaimie Vandenbergh Post by Dorothy J Heydt
I haven't been out of the house since Clockwork Alchemy was
cancelled, abput a week before it was due to open. (This would
have been about the sixteenth.) But the time is coming when I'm
going to have to go out to the pharmacy to pick up prescription
refills. I wonder whether I could write a letter "The bearer of
this letter is my husband, Wilson H. Heydt Jr., whom I authorize
to pick up my prescription for [$NAME]."
But there's one prescription I have to show up in person for, and
show my ID, because the FDA is understandably persnickety about
letting it go out.
Give them a call and ask what the deal is. I know the US as a political entity
is being remarkably idiotic about all this, but individual pharmacies may have
a process in place to eg deliver to people at risk who are isolating.
I'm currently volunteering for the NHS to do exactly that, including checking
ID and taking payment if necessary.
Yeah, but this is the US and we don't have NHS. We're lucky we
Post by Jaimie Vandenbergh
Honestly, Hal really shouldn't be going out and doing the shopping - each trip
is a risk factor for you as well as for him. Get the kids to do it and drop it
off to you.
It's not that simple. We live in the same house, we in the
basement apartment and they upstairs. But Meg goes out to work
(legal services are designated essential) and Walkyr works via
computer upstairs and can't have Vincent bouncing around or
watching battle games on the TV. So he's downstairs with us, and
(God help us) we're supposed to be teaching him. And he doesn't
want to be taught. Hal is managing to teach him some math, but
as for reading a chapter of a book (Heinlein's _Space Cadet) every
day and writing a summary of it, all he puts out is illegible
gibberish, punctuated with complaints about having to do it. I
stand in awe of the teachers who manage to cope with him.
My father was a teacher (after he had to drop out of pre-med when
the depression of the 30s hit, which is just as well because he
had intended to be a psychiatrist), and -- according to my
mother, because I don't remember this at all -- he continually
told me I ought to be a teacher. (If he'd had a son, he might
have been the target of all this persuasion, but I was the only
child). Anyway, I resisted his hints, and a damn good thing too,
because I would have hated the job. But now I have it anyway.
Anyway, we can't be properly isolated from the rest of the
family. We wash our hands a lot, and Safeway now refuses to
touch our fabric bags, so they give us their supposedly reusable
plastic bags which immediately go into the recycling. So far, so
Dorothy J. Heydt
djheydt at gmail dot com