Part 3: Irene In Charge

The story so far: Miss Irene, Julie's 90-year-old landlord, is using her shelter-at-home time to organize relief efforts for Pleasant Glen, Iowa,  residents hardest hit by the virus outbreak.

Miss Irene was the perfect Pleasant Glen Virus Relief Czarina. Big George said she had moxie. J.J. said she was bossy. She had money, she had brains, and most importantly, she had connections.

A lifelong resident of Pleasant Glen herself, Miss Irene's family had been among the first settlers and were instrumental in the establishment of Farmers’ Bank of Pleasant Glen (later Pleasant Glen Savings & Loan). Under her father's tutelage she had risen through the ranks from teller to vice president (while completing college and raising six children on her own) and was still a member of the bank's board of directors.

Rumors of her personal wealth, in addition to her association with the bank, put her at the top of the potential-member wish list of every philanthropic organization in town. Once she agreed to become a member, her work ethic and unparalleled accomplishments kept her there. She had years of experience working on both the fundraising and distribution sides of community charities.

Miss Irene was also a savvy business woman. She had gone on to earn an M.B.A., backed up with practical experience from working at the bank and her role as the (not very) silent partner in Pleasant Glen Cycles and Motors.

Perhaps most importantly, she was a key member of the Pleasant Glen gossip grapevine.

In addition to her previously mentioned sources of contact, each of her six children (seven, if you included J.J. – and everyone did), had been outgoing, with legions of friends (and parents) who were fond of (and occasionally cowed or indebted to) her. Although Miss Irene's children had all left Pleasant Glen, she still stayed in contact with those friends (and their parents), and by extension, their children (and sometimes grandchildren) who made up the current crop of PG's business owners, employees, and the town's movers and shakers.

Miss Irene and the cadre of other mothers along the grapevine knew how to apply just the right amount of diplomatic arm-twisting, guilt, or fawning to extract vital information from the youngsters who spent every day working on the front lines. With just a few well placed phone calls, Miss Irene was able to find out where and when shipments of much needed goods – like toilet paper – would be delivered . . . and more.

The manager of the local discount grocery store – who had once had a crush on Miss Irene’s eldest son – was more than happy to share with her mother (who shared with Miss Irene) the names of the people who had bought up cartloads of toilet paper when the first wave of panic buying hit.

The hoarders themselves were less enthusiastic about sharing their stash. Eventually Miss Irene was able to wheedle enough donations to include a couple rolls in each of the care packages delivered to the town's elderly shut-ins. And, after reminding the mayor that it was an election year and (mis)quoting the Lash proverb: "Give (ill-gotten toilet paper) cheerfully with one hand you will gather (votes) well with two," the food pantry was restocked with TP as well.

But for every #toiletPaperGate Miss Irene sidestepped, other problems arose. Take, for example, the near mutiny amongst the mask making volunteers . . . .

To be continued.

For more stories about Julie and the gang, check out my novel "Scout's Honor" and the soon to be released "Scout's Redemption." 

Part 2: Dinner at Miss Irene's

The story thus far: The virus has hit Pleasant Glen. Julie, worried about the health of 90-year-old love birds Miss Irene and Big George, plots with J.J. to convince them to stay safely at home. Miss Irene and Big George plot to make Julie and J.J. think they've convinced them to stay at home. A family dinner has been called ….

Before the pandemic (B.P.), it had been a challenge for everyone to clear their schedule for Miss Irene’s once-a-week, mandatory family dinners. (Julie became an honorary family member the moment she moved into the apartment above Miss Irene’s garage.) Everyone – particularly Trey, who was a senior at Pleasant Glen High School – had been busy with meetings, classes, concerts, sporting events and work (Pleasant Glen Cycles and Motors was open until 8 p.m. on Thursdays). When they did gather together, the dinner table was abuzz with gossip and stories about their daily adventures.

After social distancing and stay-at-home recommendations, they found their social calendars empty. “The boys” all moved to Miss Irene's sprawling Victorian home, making it easier for her to fret and cluck over them. The once-a-week, mandatory family dinners became nightly, by-necessity family dinners. Between the lack of outside contact and Miss Irene's “no virus talk at the table” rule, conversation dwindled.

Even so, it was quieter than usual around the table that night. Each person was lost in their own thoughts, weighed down by secrets and schemes none of them were used to keeping from the others.

Julie wondered how angry Miss Irene and Big George would be when she and J.J. asked them to curtail their already limited outside contact even more.

Big George wondered if Miss Irene, who he affectionately called “my little bull in a china shop,” knew the meaning of the word “subtle.”

J.J. wondered how he could keep the “new” used car he was buying Trey for graduation a secret if they were together all the time.

Trey wondered how he could avoid letting his father know he knew about the “new” used car he was getting for graduation if they were together all the time.

Miss Irene wondered if Big George would think her “Naughty Nurse” costume was in bad taste given the current circumstances. What about the “Frisky Firefighter” costume? 

Unable to bear the silence any longer, Julie cleared her throat and gave J.J. “A Look of Some Importance,” complete with eyebrow wiggles and head nods, telepathically urging him to start the conversation.

J.J., who had been a single father for nearly 16 years, was unused to reading female nonverbal cues and mistook this for the “please pass the salt” look. A swift kick to the shin and some more emphatic head nodding from Julie brought him up to speed.

“Uh, Dad? Miss Irene? . . . Julie has something she wants to tell you.”

Julie gave in to the inevitable. “Well, you see . . . the thing is . . . .”

“You are absolutely right,” Miss Irene interrupted, her need to control the situation trumping her desire to let Julie think she was in charge. “The support system in Pleasant Glen is in a shambles. I've already been in contact with the food pantry, hospital and Meals-On-Wheels. We have our work cut out for us.

“Big George and I will set up a command center here in my home office. I'm sorry, but that will leave all the outside work to you kids. Julie, since your party planning business is on hold, you will be our pickup and delivery girl. J.J., you can provide backup when things are slow at the shop. And Trey, you're going to help your granddad with remote repairs by phone. Think of it as an experiment in  telemechanics.”

Trey, J.J. and Julie stared at Miss Irene in stunned silence.

“Very subtle, dear,” Big George said with a wink.

Miss Irene colored slightly. “That is, if it's ok with you kids.” They nodded slowly, still trying to process their marching orders.

“Alright then, let's get to work! J.J., I need you to set up a card table in my office for your dad. He can be my receptionist when he's not working on repairs.”

Big George helped Julie and Trey clear the dishes from the table, but hung back as they slipped through the kitchen door, whispering furiously. As he passed Miss Irene, Big George stopped and planted a kiss on the top of her fluffy cloud of white hair.

“Does this mean I get to wear the sexy secretary costume?” he asked.

Miss Irene grinned. Maybe there was an up-side to this pandemic after all, she thought.

To be continued...

Part 1: The best laid pandemic plans

The virus hit Pleasant Glen like an Iowa summer thunderstorm.

At first, the angry red blob hopscotching across the radar on the other side of the globe was dismissed with a healthy dose of Midwestern skepticism. “Those forecasters aren't right even half the time,” they said.

As black clouds roiled on the horizon, people gathered on porches and in parking lots and cast a doubtful eye. “Can't be as bad as the winter of 19--,” they said. “Can't be as bad as the Spanish Flu.”

They smelled rain in the air – cases confirmed on either coast – and buried the metallic taste of fear under a veneer of Iowa stubborn. Plans were made to make plans . . . eventually.

When at last the storm hit, it brought the thunderous rumble of businesses shuttering their doors, and lightning strikes of homeschooling frustration. The winds howled with the fury of middle-aged women forced to miss hair color appointments. A tidal surge of panic swept shelves clear of toilet paper, hand sanitizer and Busch Light.

Julie's first concern was keeping Miss Irene safe. Julie realized that her 90-year-old friend and landlord was more healthy than most 45-year-olds, but she was also more social than most 21-year-olds and more headstrong and harder to restrain than a two-year-old.

Miss Irene had a kind heart and a strong sense of civic responsibility. There was rarely a charity or relief project that took place in Pleasant Glen that she didn't endorse or – more likely – organize. And where Miss Irene volunteered, Big George, her beau of 50 years, was sure to be dragooned. (Not that he was any less benevolent.)

But with older adults being at higher risk for complications from the virus, Julie thought this was one battle Miss Irene and Big George should sit out – or at least observe from the (relative) safety of their home.

After yet another unsuccessful attempt to buy toilet paper, Julie stopped at Pleasant Glen Cycles and Motors to talk to J.J., Big George's son.

“Whatever we do,” J.J. said, “it has to seem like it was their idea. You know how hard my dad will dig in his heels if we try to tell him what to do.”

Julie nodded in agreement. “The trick is to keep them busy, so they don't have time to think about being stuck at home.”

“Remember how Dad griped when I cut him back to 40 hours a week at the shop?” J.J. had taken over all managerial duties at PGCM long ago, but Big George remained the shop's top mechanic.

“You know he still works more than 40 hours, right?” Julie asked.

“And that's why he's back on salary. The overtime was killing me!”

Across town at Miss Irene's house, a similar discussion was taking place.

“Whatever we do,” Miss Irene said, “we have to make the kids believe it was their idea.”

Big George nodded in agreement. “The trick is to keep them busy, so they don't have time to worry about us.”

“Do you remember how pleased with herself Julie was when she thought she had convinced me to quit Taekwondo class?”

“I take it she didn’t find about your little agreement with the instructor?”

“I didn’t tell her, and you can sure as heck bet that Mister Ricardo didn’t tell anyone. Pffft," Miss Irene scoffed, "best four out of five.”

“It was nice of you to let him win that last match, dear. Good thing Chuck Norris threw in a few acting lessons when he taught you Chun Kuk Do.”

“Isn't it, though?” Miss Irene said, ignoring Big George's sarcasm. “Those skills will come in handy when we tell the kids we're self-isolating. Although it's going to require something a little more subtle than taking a dive.”

All four of them quietly contemplated the situation. Or rather, three of them contemplated quietly while Miss Irene, who found movement helped her thinking process, reviewed her taekwondo forms. After much consideration and a near miss with a floor lamp, schemes were hatched and a family dinner with mandatory attendance organized for that night.

“If all else fails . . . .” J.J. said.

“. . . we’ll tell them it was Trey’s idea,” Big George said.

Julie grinned. She knew that Big George couldn’t resist his grandson’s charm, and neither could Miss Irene.

Miss Irene kihaped loudly. She knew that J.J. was a pushover when it came to his son, and Julie was nearly as fond of the boy as the rest of them.

To be continued...

To learn more about Julie and the gang, check out my novel, "Scout's Honor." Coming soon: "Scout's Redemption."