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Dear Diary – I thought I had COVID this week because my bedtime cereal tasted “funny”. I couldn’t decide if it was the milk or the cereal, or me. I had just opened a brand new box of mini wheats and the milk carton said it wasn’t going to expire for another 2 weeks. It smelled ok and there were no blobby chunks. I went to bed disappointed and hungry.

I made Kraft dinner the next day and I usually use my lactose free milk in it. I’m aware of the irony of using lactose free milk in Mac ‘n cheese. I decided to investigate this milk again. It smelled fine and it was blob-free. So I tasted it with a big gulp. I have never been fond of milk, unless it had chocolate in it. But I’ve always loved cheese. Apparently an aversion to cheese may be genetic, which means a love of cheese might be genetic too. My grandfather loved cheese, the stinkier the better. I can remember him cutting himself a piece of cheese and eating it with a twinkle in his eye, while I looked up at him with my big brown eyes imploring him to share. I was too shy to ask. Nana usually interceded for me by scolding him. He’d chuckle and cut me a thick slice too. I wasn’t lactose-intolerant then. I know they make lactose free cheese, but it’s just not the same.

I don’t have COVID. Even the world’s finest chocolate could not save this milk. Blech!

I had toast before I went to bed.

Dear Diary – This weekend I found someone in my family brave enough to cut my hair. I haven’t had it cut since November 2019. It hasn’t been manageable for my entire life, but a frozen shoulder has made it even more difficult. I’m seriously considering just shaving it all off in the hopes something better would grow back in, but I’m not that brave.

In fact, I’m not brave at all! I only had an inch removed, but I’m certainly feeling much lighter. Now if I could just find someone to help me colour it. It’s starting to look green…

I could be Lady Godiva for Halloween…really scare the children!

Dear Diary – Covid numbers are out of control again so the province has issued a “stay at home” order. The day before it came into effect, Hubby counted 9 cars in our new neighbours’ driveways. Way to go! The order doesn’t affect us greatly. Little Guy is still in school online in his batcave and Hubby continues to work at home, although he does have to go to the lab from time to time. The grocery store that I was ordering and picking up groceries is closing so I have to travel further to pick up overpriced groceries. Vaccination cut-offs are getting closer to Hubby’s decade and my parents have survived their first shots. It’s one step forward, two steps back.

Easter came and went. I didn’t get a chocolate bunny, but Easter is not about bunnies or eggs anyway (though I do love me a good bunny)! It’s about the greatest love story in history. It’s about Jesus dying and rising again, so I could have hope. Not just in this life, but in the one to come.

Hope is one of those things that our soul holds on to tenaciously in tough times. Emily Dickinson wrote:

Hope is the thing with feathers –
That perches in the soul –
And sings the tune without the words –
And never stops – at all –

Despite the lockdown, I feel hope. As I walked the other day, laughing at the squirrels and enjoying the sun on my face, the song “I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day” came on. I didn’t click “next”, but listened instead. Sure, it’s a Christmas song but without Christmas, there would be no Easter. And without Easter, there would be no hope. The lines “Then pealed the bells more loud and deep: ‘God is not dead, nor doth He sleep'” stopped my heart. It was just the reminder I needed. I wrote once before about straining the hear the bells. It was a special season then too and so many were broken by the actions of one person and wondering where God had gone. We may still be wondering but we know God is still in control. And yes, one day, there will be peace on earth. No more sadness. No more sickness. No more separation. For those who belong to Him…keep listening. Keep watching. Keep holding on to hope.

Dear Diary – I’m beginning to believe in miracles. Hubby asked me to help him go through his wardrobe. I’ve been suggesting he tackle this job on garbage week for awhile now. I’ve also been compiling a load to take to Value Village. We pitched the stained, threadbare tees and packed up a pile of good stuff that he doesn’t wear because he doesn’t like it or, like me, his closet shrunk them. We discovered nearly 14 pairs of pants, most of which still fit (jealous).

I dragged took Little Guy with me to help unload. Did you know that Value Village doesn’t accept encyclopedias? I’ve started purging my closet, again. If I tossed out everything I disliked, I’d be down to one drawer of clothing. Right now, I fear my drawer of pants the most.

As for Hubby, he has one drawer left to tackle – socks and underwear, and that, my friend, is a place where even the valiant fear to tread.

Dear Diary – I couldn’t believe my eyes! I popped into the drug store to buy yeast (now isn’t that a weird sentence?), and all the Easter chocolate was reduced. Before Sunday, the large crispy chocolate bunny was almost $6.00. On Wednesday, it was $0.49. What a rip off!

So I bought one. Who can pass up a bargain like that?

Like the majority of bunny consumers, I started with the ears. I figure that with no ears, the bunny can’t hear me sneaking up on it (Sally Forth didn’t want it to hear her lying that she didn’t to eat it!) Some websites on the psychology behind bunny biting say that those who nibble from the ears down are logical, determined, not overly sentimental and complete things quickly. But digesting a bunny feet-first means you hold things dear, wear your heart on your sleeve, and possess a wonderful, child-like sense of curiosity. Tail-eaters are either competitive and seek power, or are kind-hearted and unrestricted. Way to waffle…chocolate bunny on waffles sounds good too.

Q: What do you call a dumb bunny?
A: A hare brain!