By Margaret Evans, Editor

Typically, I’m not a protest person. I rarely go to marches or demonstrations because I tend to feel awkward and self-conscious, like I’m showing off or angling for brownie points.

I can just get it off my chest. I am a bird lover. I can’t begin at this late age to learn their scientific nomenclature, but I do know a few common names. I get a thrill when a pair of bluebirds bathes at the birdbath outside of my office window. I bought a small concrete one in memory of my mother. Hanging just above it in the crepe myrtle is a suet feeder. It is a challenge sometimes to identify the birds because of back lighting, so sometimes I need to cut off the lights and grab my field glasses.  

      Growing up, everyone in my family was unhealthy, unhappy, AND deranged. Go ahead, laugh. But it’s true. So thanks to our global pandemic, I’m again wrestling with the same issues that plagued me as a kid: loneliness, anxiety, confusion, panic attacks, and eating at 4:30am. Usually, I sneak into the kitchen for yogurt and bananas, instead of Dunkin Donuts. Well, maybe just one little chocolate glazed?

It’s gorgeous outside lately. I just met an interesting duo, Edward and Ronnie. Edward is 65, an alcoholic with a heavy drinker’s bulbous nose. He lives with a roommate in a new local shelter. Their room has its own bath. The shelter serves three meals a day. He draws Social Security for cash. Looks like he spends much of it on liquor. Most of the rest, $370 a month he claims, goes for cigarettes.  About 35 packs.