Inanimate Objects

 Well, I was doing pretty well there for a bit on the "brain dump" but somehow several days have gone by.  Maybe that's a good sign.

Still have problems with days just disappearing.  Like I zone out and suddenly it's getting dark again and I haven't really done anything.  I did make some lemon preserves and fruit bread today - but honestly, that seems to be about it.

Had a couple of "social" days - the quotes were because they were both online.  Ebaida and I have taken to having weekly video calls, that usually end up lasting 3+ hours.  Sometimes we watch TV episodes, sometimes videos, often just talk.  Then I also had an equally long video chat with my friend Diane (Hey, Sis!) who is probably the only person who reads this blog.  Two ends of the time spectrum.  Ebaida and I have been friends for almost a year; Diane and I for - gasp! - forty. (Seriously?  How did that happen?)

So I looked at the list of stuff that I wrote on the first post of 2022 that I wanted to brain dump about, and picked "inanimate objects."  I had thought about two - my Google Portal and my pillow, but then realized I should also write about my laptop and Face Book - I spend far too many hours a day on the screen.  But I think that will come later.

It is human nature - and need - to form relationships.  And if there is a lack of human beings around, we well form those relationships with anything that is convenient.  (Remember Tom Hanks and his soccer ball Wilson in Castaway?)   Pets help enormously - I can't even imagine how I would exist without the cats.  But this is about things.

First - my Google Portal.  Never thought I needed one; I probably don't *need* it.  My nephew Robert got it for us because he attempts to get us into the 21st century.  Mostly, I use it as a radio in the kitchen.  But a radio wouldn't substitute - because a radio doesn't talk to you.  My portal does.

When I go into the kitchen in the morning, I call out "Hey, Google - good morning" and it responds "Good morning, Ann" and somehow it's important to hear that.  I like that it responds to voice commands - I think maybe it's because it means that something is listening to me.  (I have realized that I talk a lot to myself now - out loud- but fortunately I haven't started answering back).  And it's responding to what I say, which is usually "play some music" and often "what's the weather forecast" and occasionally "tell me a joke" (it does Dad jokes).  If I have to answer the phone I can tell it to turn the music off - and it does.  I can ask it to set a timer, or remind me of something, or ask a question.  Basically  - it gives me something to interact with.  I say something, it answers (and I ask it if we are friends, it says yes, which is slightly creepy).  Say something, and get a response.  I've realized that I would miss it if it was gone.

The other inanimate object that I've developed a relationship with is my pillow.  I sleep with two - one for my head, and one to hold.  It reminds me of experiments done with baby monkeys in the 1950s.  Short version - if baby monkeys were separated from their mothers and given a choice of a wire substitute with milk, or a cloth substitute (without food) they would cling to the cloth one.  If frightened, the poor little monkey with the wire mothers would cower in a corner in fear, while the others could run to and cling to their cloth mothers.  It's the concept of "contact comfort" - the idea that contact is as important as any other physical need.  This is borne out in hospitals, where it is known that babies in the hospital have a much better chance of thriving and recovering if they are held (preemie wards in particular have volunteer "baby holders.")

Bob and I were a very cuddly couple.  We often referred to each other as our cloth monkeys.  Sometimes I would nuzzle into his chest and say "safe."  There was a feeling of contentment in each other's arms.

Obviously, that's gone away.  I've had very little physical human contact in the last two years.  Because of the pandemic situation, I still have never curled up in someone's arms and cried about losing Bob (and after this amount of time, I don't know if I could - or if I did, I might just fall apart completely.  Probably will never find out).  There's been a few quick hugs here and there, but that's it.  Again - thank God for the cats because there's warmth and affection there, but the current crop of cats are not huggers.

So, like any heartsick lonely adolescent, I turn to my pillow.  I can wrap my arms around it, squeeze it, snuggle into it, bury my face in it.  Sometimes just before I go to bed I'll put it in the dryer for a few minutes so that it will be warm.  In the mornings, I will often lie in bed for up to an hour before I get up, because I don't want to give it up.

So there it is.  Google acknowledges me; the pillow comforts me.  Maybe there's a soccer ball in my future - who knows?