Dear Quarantine Diary – Week #42

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covid-19 diary, covid-19 humour, dear diary, Fall, family, home, humour

‘The Answer to the Great Question… Of Life, the Universe and Everything… Is… Forty-two,’ said Deep Thought, with infinite majesty and calm.

Douglas Adams, The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy

Dear Diary -It’s week 42. Did you learn the “Answer to the Great Question… Of Life, the Universe and Everything…”? No? Me neither! I know the pandemic has made me lazier less energetic and this year I’ve noticed a lower level of laziness energy in our local squirrels too. Or is it ingenuity?

It’s that time of year again when the squirrels dine on the fence and leave their half-eaten apples behind. Squirrels don’t eat apples, you say?

I’d say he’s horking that down like it’s his last meal! Where’s the ingenuity in leaving a mess for someone else to clean up? It’s not there – it’s here! Why scrounge apples off the ground when you can eat them IN the tree?

It’s making me rethink the whole shopping/cooking/clean up experience. Why go through all that bother if can just dine right there in the grocery store?

Dear Diary – My clock is still pyscho. It still indiscriminately starts counting the hours and bipping every time it hits midnight, regardless of what tropical paradise I was sunbathing in, in my perfect bikini body! On Sunday, it was dancing between 7:51 and 5:38. The correct time was 7:51 but at 5:38, I was flirting with Dwayne Johnson. I wanted to switch it with the clock in the office (they are the same model) but it got weirder. Thinking it might be the battery, I yoinked it out and plugged it in, but it remained frozen at midnight. So I put the battery back in. It’s still frozen at midnight and now the radio won’t turn on either. Take me away, Dwayne.

Dear Diary – It’s not outside, but inside! Believe me, I checked. There is a definite new single spider thread in the front window of my car. I’m not sure which is more terrifying. The thought that there’s a spider in my car or a mouse in Hubby’s. We don’t know if there’s any new evidence of our mousey friend since I avoid his car like the plague.

We had the shingles of our carport and back porch replaced this week. I voted for a new couch! The roofers were supposed to come Tuesday morning so I got up early. They showed up Wednesday morning while I was still in bed. They were done in a few hours and told us the bin guys would be by later to get their bin. It’s Thursday morning and there’s no sign of them. Hubby’s car is trapped in the carport and he has to go in to the office tomorrow so if he’s not home before I have to drive Little Guy to youth, I don’t have a car. Even if I did, I’m not keen on taking that mouse for a car ride. If it ran under my feet, there would be an accident. If not my car in the ditch, then I’ll be struck on the road fleeing the vehicle. Unless the bin people come.

I’m trying to work on my fear of spiders. A couple weeks ago, Little Guy came up from the basement and stood in front of me, blankfaced. “Yes?” I asked suspiciously. While he admitted he hated asking for help, he needed help. Spider! So I grabbed a shoe and the fly-swat and followed him down. It was a big one. A big black one. On the wall. Next to his pillow. [shudder]. I whacked that sucker so hard I’m surprised I didn’t crack the wall, AND I made sure there was a body. Or what was left of a body, before I went left the scene of the crime.

During our Thanksgiving dinner, I noticed a white spider creeping ever so slowly through my Mom’s flower arrangement. It took every ounce of energy to not just grab my plate and leaves. I couldn’t take my eyes off it. Eventually Auntie M came to the rescue. She coerced it onto a leaf and put it outside. The leaf was so tiny. I’m so impressed. White spiders are no less horrifying than than black ones.

But I think I’m getting braver. Instead of hollering for my Dad Thanksgiving weekend, I did this…

Sure, I did the heebie jeebie dance right before I yelled for my Dad! But see? Getting better.

Dear Diary – What new fresh nightmare is this? I’ve been scheduled to lead worship on Sunday, which is a pleasure. The nightmare is that at my new church, there’s an app for that. Specifically, an app for the background tracks used along with live instrumentation. It means I have to set up the playlist with all the settings for instrumentation and arrangement in advance. It means in addition to speaking, playing and singing, I have to click the correct buttons at the right time from the platform, or risk an incredibly awkward silence during the live service. I escaped the nightmare last month by begging asking my friend to work it for me. And he worked it, baby! But this time, the responsibility is all mine.

Learning a new app shouldn’t be a big deal, unless you’re getting to be an old dog who is prone to panic attacks while learning new tricks! This app has colours and buttons, symbols and squiggly lines that all mean something important. I know they do! And even if I knew what they all did, at the same time no less, I have cold hands. My iPad doesn’t recognize the almost undead, so when I tap the screen, it doesn’t respond. On several occasions now, I have had to bellow for Little Guy to come “make my stupid iPad work”. Inevitably, his one tap sends my iPad into “yes master” mode and it jumps into action. I confess that sometimes I want to take that happy iPad and use it to wipe the smirk off Little Guy’s face. It’s just not fair!

I watched the tutorial after another worship leader talked me off the ledge and showed me how to use it. I’ve procrastinated a large portion of the week and I fiddled with it the rest. I have no idea if I’m even close, but I’m sure 5 minutes into rehearsal tonight, I’ll have my answer. I will have either done it all correctly or I will have blacked out from the stress. Either way, I’ll know.

Dear Diary – The bin guy came so Hubby’s car is released and I can drive my own car Friday night. Too bad I wasn’t dressed when he arrived…and Hubby was in an important meeting. I think he was more embarassed than me when I slipped out to move my car out of his way, in my nightie and robe. It was less embarrassing when that cop drove me home and I was wearing my glow-in-the-dark piggy jammies. Is everyone dressed by 10 a.m.? Normally I would be but I have a very important blog to get out.

We recently experienced a FaceBook Blackout. I didn’t even know about it until long after the fact. Immediately following it, my blog had a 306% spike the next day. I’d like to think I was wildly popular for that one day, but I think it was a panicked reaction to sudden social media withdrawal, and we all need to find something better to do with our time.

I should probably shower and get dressed…

Dear Quarantine Diary – Week #41

Tags

covid-19 diary, covid-19 humour, dear diary, family, humour, nature, photography, thanksgiving, trees

Dear Diary – It’s Day 6 of turkey leftovers, and while I’m enjoying being lazy pulling out a nightly leftover buffet and telling the guys to “heat what you want”, I’m pretty sure their enthusiasm for turkey is waning. I’m sure they’ll perk up when I tell them there’s more…in the freezer!

This year only Little Guy and I made the trip to my folks, but I shopped ahead to leave a turkey and all the trimmings for Hubby to cook on the weekend. I even baked him a spice cake. From a mix and a can. This “Martha Stewart” needed to save her energy for the holiday traffic, and we encountered some.

But like every good baker, I had to taste-test it. Now Little Guy thinks it’s amusing to move or hide my food when I’m not looking. It’s frustrating because I can’t always remember if I finished what I was eating, or I dropped it, and I’m worried that I’m going to find perfectly good chocolate melted into the couch. I worry more about the chocolate than our burlap sack couch.

Thursday night, he made a serious error in judgement. He left his piece of cake on the coffee table and wandered into the kitchen. I grabbed his plate and tried shoving the whole thing under the coffee table, but the cake was too tall. Don’t worry…I cleaned the icing with my sock. So I tucked the plate on the shelf underneath the coffee table, and crossed my feet in front of it.

Little Guy came back, paused, looked around a bit, and finally reached for Hubby’s plate. Without moving my eyes from the tv, I said, “ that’s dad’s cake”. So he returns to the kitchen and I hear intermittent movement and pausing before he strolls back to the living room, looks at table, and goes back to the kitchen. I’m trying so hard to pretend I’m watching tv and not smirk. I hear more movement and pauses, cupboard doors, even drawers, opening and closing, followed by the fridge door opening and closing, twice!! Hubby was struggling not to giggle but a snicker leaked out and that tipped him off. It was probably the best 5 minutes of the year!

The next night, we split town as soon as school was over. Traffic was heavy but moving. I took a rest stop and filled up with gas before waiting in the drive-thu for 30 minutes for 2 boxes of french fries. The fast food restaurant was severly understaffed, and the wait inside would have been longer.

While most of the birds who frequented my parents’ diner have flown the coop, Hoover the chipmunk is still around and still living up to his name. Not only is he covering every square inch for every crumb, but his tail stands straight up like the handle of upright vacuum (except in every photo I took), and, like a water divining stick, it never ceases twitching.

He’s putting on a little pre-winter, post-covid weight

Dad mowed the lawn Saturday afternoon, and very carefully mowed around giant mushrooms growing in the yard so I could take some pics. I went out the next morning, but the grass clippings had dried on the white tops. These things seriously looked like flattened coconuts!

This kind won’t take you to Wonderland!

We had our turkey dinner Saturday evening. I don’t know if it was a boy or a girl; apparently we sacrifice both. Dessert, of course, included 2 kinds of pie for dessert: pumpkin and green tomato. A slice of each, please; I must follow tradition!

I was still blissfully snoozing in bed Sunday morning when my dad brought me my phone. He said it was chiming. It turns out it wasn’t my phone but an alarm on my iPad. Which the settings said was turned off. I had set it for Saturday morning so I could go grocery shopping (yes, on my holiday), but it had failed to go off. That was my fault – I set it for 9 p.m.

It was a good weekend, filled with good food, a few games, and a lot of doing nothing! But all good things must come to an end, and we hit the road again Monday morning. We were only 20 minutes into our two and a half hour journey when traffic started to slow. By 40 minutes, we were parked and not thinking happy thoughts, when a fire truck screamed by us on the shoulder. We had just passed an exit, which was lined up all the way to the highway. Now we knew why. We crawled along patiently for another thirty minutes, trying not to think about peeing, and seeing no sign of an accident or an exit. Normally, we would have passed the next exit in 5 minutes. Then, as if someone flipped a switch, we were cruising over 100 km/hr again. It slowed in places again but never that bad. I had a guy in a truck pulling a trailer cut me off, twice. Just so I didn’t feel bad, I saw him cut other people off too. He never shoulder-checked!

Hubby is on vacation this week, which makes little difference to me. He occupies the same space whether he’s at work or not! We got a text last night from his brother saying that his father would be at our house around noon. He had asked Hubby to go with him to a neighbouring city to pick up a tool and I hope the 6 hour drive is worth it! While they’re out, I’m going to sneak in some video games. I hope it’s worth it!

We missed Big Guy, who was serving in his church on Sunday. I’m proud of him, but also warning him. He needs to book off Christmas! He’s promised to visit soon.

Big Guy recently sent me some photos from his work site… Most people laugh when I say he climbs trees for a living, but his kind of work makes me both proud of him and terrified for him.

It’s not just the height…it’s the hydro lines. And the sharp power tools. I’ve watched CSI. I know what a chainsaw can do! At times, it’s the height, the tools AND the hydro lines during a heat wave, a tornado, or an ice storm. He may be a grown, skilled worker, but he’s also my baby…with ADD, hanging from a rotting tree branch. I love him.

“Ok, now just pull back and let’s see if I can slingshot over to catch that Ol’ Roadrunner”

Dear Quarantine Diary – Week #40

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covid-19 diary, covid-19 humour, dear diary, friends, humour, memories

Dear Diary – It’s the month for ghost and goblins, and last night I had a terrible fright. I caught my reflection in the microwave with a ghostly creature hovering behind me. It was nearly a full head higher and it was smiling menacingly with gleamy white pearly teeth. It was my youngest son still delighting in being taller than me. The scariest part – he’s not done growing!

Dear Diary – I always thought I wasn’t vegetarian because I was too lazy. Or because I was raised on good country beef. Turns out, it’s both plus vegetarian cooking requires way more skill and planning that I possess. I baked a red lentil pie this week. It was a marginal success. This time, it wasn’t my fault. I followed the directions, even though I questioned the ratio of water to lentils. I ended up with slop, which Hubby patiently drained in my baking sieve. The pie turned out okay but my family was underwhelmed. The best part really was the pastry, and it came out of a box. I think I should stick to steak. 😉

How low as people do we dare to stoop, making young broccolis bleed in the soup?
Untie your beans, uncage your tomatoes, let potted plants free, don’t mash that potato!

Arrogant Worms, Carrot Juice is Murder

Dear Diary – After investing what felt like our life savings into repairing the sewer line (I could not stand another 27 hour day), we still have toilet troubles. It continues to be a fickle fiend that doesn’t always like to flush. The other morning Hubby woke me gently to ask me to “work my magic”. He had tried but he doesn’t have “the touch”. Most women want to be praised for their fantastic food or their breathtaking baking, not their pure plunging skills. But since I can neither cook nor bake without procuring disaster it seems, I’ll take it. I will be his queen of the latrine.

Dear Diary – It was supposed to be a quick trip to the fabric store, not a 3 hour tour. In the rain. But that’s what happened. My friend was like a kid in a candy store, running from display to display choosing fabric she would love to have as a mask. I understand. I get giddy in the store too. It’s why I own pounds of printed paper for papercrafting, which sit in a drawer, unused. They’re too pretty to just give away! But I’m also holding purse strings that are worn terribly thin and I have to be restrained. Somehow, I ended up also going to 2 drug stores, a convenience store, a grocery store, and Tim Horton’s. I sat in the car for most of those, slightly soggy and confused as to why I wasn’t home by now! I wonder if the people on Gilligan’s Island ever felt this way?

Dear Diary – I was blessed this week to re-connect with a couple friends in person and it made me realize how much I almost miss human contact. I spent a pleasant afternoon in a neighbour’s garden, being sassed by a squirrel while we caught up. I brought my own tea, because tea and conversation go so nicely together, and I left there feeling refreshed.

Another afternoon, I visited with an old friend (old as in known a long time) and it felt like no time had passed since our last meeting (which was several years ago). We were hesitant at first, until she passed me a gift…

I simply couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled inside and gushed out like a geyser.

We grew up together. My parents and grandparents were friends with her parents so there were monthly rotating dinner gatherings. While the adults played cards, my friend, my brother and I made our own fun. Our families sometimes camped together. We served in church together. My mom taught her piano and after her lesson, she’d join us to watch Star Trek or Little House on the Prairie (depending on if it was my night or my brother’s).

Where do the lips come in? One summer we worked together as guides in a historic house, a living museum. I had grown up in this house too, volunteering from a young age alongside my Mom. It was my dream summer job!! On Wednesdays, we baked bread in the brick oven. On Thursdays we served Scottish Cream Tea, hustling as cooks, servers and dish washers. Sunday afternoons, if it was quiet, we were prepare out own tea time with thick dollops of leftover whipped cream.

It was a tough summer. Some new patrons with big plans and narrow hearts alienated and hurt all of the faithful volunteers who had served in the house for decades. The director and assistant director resigned. They were replaced by snobs who knew nothing and cared nothing for the “home”. For them it was a place to host wine tastings for the “important people”, and we were caught in the middle.

We made up a song that summer, mostly to help us laugh, to the tune of the 12 days of Christmas, starting with the new director, “an over-anxious, up-tight, red-lipped broad”. “Lips” as we called her – because she always wore a thick smear of glossy, red lipstick painted “outside the lines”, liked to float around in costume and tell us what to do. She was completely incompetent and we had to hold her hand for everything! By the end of the summer, my heart was so broken, I never went back. My friend went away to college, and while we’ve kept in touch, we’ve lived apart.

So we sat on my back porch in the autumn chill, draped in lap blankets, drinking tea and savouring scones. We talked about the challeges of the last year. We talked about emptying nests and new beginnings. And we talked about getting together again. Soon.

It was kind of nice to talk to someone who knew me when I was young and stupid, and who recognizes that young, stupid person still inside of me, and doesn’t judge me when inner stupid shows her face. (Like when I lost the butter knife through the cracks of the porch. I will not be crawling under the porch to retrieve it. I’ll use my finger from now on).

Growing apart doesn’t change the fact that for a long time we grew side by side; our roots will always be tangled. I’m glad for that!

Ally Condie, Matched

Dear Quarantine Diary – Week #39

Tags

covid-19 diary, covid-19 humour, dear diary, faith, family, humour, worship

Dear Diary – My alarm clock went psycho this week. It started beeping a single bip at 6:30 one morning, every 20 seconds. I counted. It woke me up and in my fog-induced mind, it took awhile to deduce that the clock was the infernal source of noise. At first I was genuinely confused – did I actually hear a beep – and I froze under the blankets and waited for the intruder. When the high-pitched bip went again, my mind started mentally checking off the list of devices and their known “sounds” but none of them sounded the same. My next thought was the carbon monoxide detector in the basement, and fearing for Little Guy, I roared from bed and stubbed my toe. The pain reminded me that if it were the detector, everyone in a 10 mile radius would be pain, serious ear pain. It didn’t sound like a smoke detector, having been rudely awakened and tormented at various hours of the night in the past. So I stood there in the dark and willed the source to bip at me again.

What I found happening with the clock was truly confusing because the red digital numbers were counting the hours and minutes, all 24 of them, and singing a bip every time it hit 12 a.m. Nothing was pressed up against the buttons on the back. Neither sliding the alarm on and off, or turning on the radio, stopped it’s manic countdown and infuriating bip. I felt like I was in the midst of a cheesy Twilight Zone episode. Chills ran down my spine; the hair on the back of my neck stood up. It was probably because it was cool in the room and the fan was blowing cold air on me, so I unplugged it and crawled back in bed. Hubby woke me around 9, worried I was ill. “No,” I said, rolling over, “my clock went psycho”.

Speaking of psycho, I nearly ended up in a padded room, weaving baskets and singing kumbaya on the weekend. When I mentioned last week that unless you’ve done it, it’s hard to comprehend what’s involved in handmade goods. I forgot to mention time. When I cut out my pieces, they are identical and should fit together like a jigsaw puzzle. Instead, they fit together more like a store-bought car model. It all fits together except one or two pieces inevitably don’t! I was working on a buffalo plaid bag for a friend (one for which I won’t get paid) and I got stuck on 1 seam for 2 hours. I was so hot, and frustrated…and hot. I ripped and sewed, and ripped again. I shortened the strap multiple times. I ended up with 3 raw edges, and there should only ever have been 2. I knew I should just walk away and start fresh in the morning, but I stubbornly forged ahead. I refused to be bested (yet again) by a piece of fabric. By the time I pinned it at the end of those 2 hours, I was exhausted but elated. They stitched together effortlessly the next day and the stupid bag has been delivered. Every member in my household rejoiced.

Dear Diary – Hubby was off last week and I asked him to tackle one of the jobs on the expanding “to-do” list for our home. I’d be happy to tackle some of the projects if I had a clue how to do so. I don’t mind heights but would probably struggle to lift shingles on the roof. And I’m scared to clean his room. He chose to regrout around our 1959 seafoam green bathroom. The grout was textured and mildew adhered to it as if it were velcro. I couldn’t scrub it away. It took him a few days, which meant we were without a tub and fighting for a position upwind. By the third day, I had to take action. At some point, sponge baths aren’t enough. So I took matters into my own hands and I bribed my friend with Tim Horton’s. I used her shower and in my defence, I had to attend worship team practice that evening and I’m having a hard time making friends. Showing up smelling anything less than like roses was not going to help. I left her place imagining this is how it feels after time in a spa.

A friend loves at all times, and a brother is born to help in time of need.

Proverbs 17:17a

Dear Diary – Yesterday was National Son Day. I couldn’t post any photos because Little Guy refuses to have his photo taken. I managed to talk him into the obligatory first day of school pic, but it’s literally his hand waving behind a closing door. I’ve been told it’s just a phase but I’m beginning to wonder

Dear Diary – I was explaining to Little Guy, again, why I would like to get a cat. Both Hubby and Little Guy are anti-cat. Actually, they’re both kind of anti-pet. Anyway, as I was explaining, Hubby leaned over and licked me. A wet, sloppy full-cheeked lick. He thought it was hilarious. I thought I was going to throw up. I have serious spit issues. I will not use anyone else’s toothbrush. I will not share my toothbrush. Only when I am feeling brave will I wipe the edge before sipping from someone else’s glass. I did not share ice cream cones with my kids. If it melted and ran down the sides, they got sticky. No child has ever died from being sticky. It’s just the way I am. Were the licks from a cat, however, I would be fine. I want a cat that much! 🙂

Dear Diary – I received the initial paperwork for jury duty selection. It’s not that I object to performing my civic duty, it’s the thought of rising early in the morning and traipsing into the city in the dead of winter, which takes over an hour, to sit all day knowing I can only use the restroom when they tell me I can use the restroom. And that’s not taking covid into account. I’ve sat in court numerous times, taking notes of testimony as part of my job. Unlike television, there are no dramatic courtroom reveals, surprise witnesses, or last minute additions of evidence. It’s very dry and detailed. I’ve been part of the jury selection process too, and it’s dry and detailed too. Thankfully, I was rejected on the grounds that I worked in the legal field. I’m not sure my new job title, “keeper of the home fires” is going to make me ineligible.

Plus, they’ve changed the system.

I wish they’d pick on someone else. I’ve filled out the initial forms for jury duty at least 3 times in my life. Hubby has never been asked, and he’d like to be. Maybe we should trade names.

Dear Diary – A serious search ensued this morning. I woke up around 8 and popped out my malicious mouthguard, and shoved it under my pillow. I was going to enjoy my final 20 minutes in peace. It’s been 6 months since I started wearing it and some nights it keeps me awake fearing that I will die in my sleep…by drowning in my own spit. All’s well until I pop that plastic in and I become Pavolov’s dog without the bell. Or the yummy reward. But I digress. When I got up, I stuck my hand under the pillow to grab the guard and put it in its case. But it wasn’t there. I lifted the pillow and started smoothing the sheets with my sheets. Still no stinky plastic. I moved the bedraggled pile of bedding. I reached into the pillowcase, both sides. But no guard. I checked the floor, under the bed, even the case, just in case I was dreaming it had been in my mouth all night. It had vanished. Frustrated to be so frustrated so early, and severely decaffeinated, I went on with my day.

Later that morning, another serious search ensued. It had glued itself to the underside of my pillowcase.

Dear Diary – My clock is still weird. Today, the alarm came on and it had changed the radio station. I like classical music but not as much as my 80’s tunes. It took several attempts to find my station again. It was really in the mood for country. This clock may have to die!!!

Dear Diary – The excitement was short-lived. The scales said I’d lost 10lbs, but I knew better. I have 6 pairs of jeans in 6 different sizes that say it isn’t so. I also know that moving the scales by 2″ can change the number that much. I put it in the usual spot and I’m down 3 lbs. Finally things are looking up, by moving down.

Dear Diary – I lead worship with a team on Sunday for the first time at our new church. It was an incredibly difficult and heartbreaking decision to leave. It’s also been incredibly difficult to start over in a new place. I’ve been disappointed with the lack of friendliness, but I know that covid has made us all wary of people in general, not just new people. It takes times and I’m not always very patient.

It’s been a long time since I’ve had to select the songs for a Sunday, and I’ve missed it. I’ve missed the long conversation with God to select the songs that He most wants to hear. And, as always, I am blessed as He shows me threads between the songs that connect them. Sometimes He even whispers something I need to hear. This week it was simply the reminder that I belong to Him. That even though we are struggling to connect in a new church family, we are still part of His family.

Bonus: I could actually be heard. My short stature has meant my voice has a short range, and often my mouth is moving in the recording, but there’s no sound. And while I didn’t get any likes or comments when I posted the link (except for my friend who sang with me), I wasn’t leading for the likes or the comments. I was singing for my Father.

Who am I that the highest King
Would welcome me
I was lost but He brought me in
Oh His love for me

Ben Fielding, Rueben Morgan, Who You Say I Am

Dear Quarantine Diary – Week #38

Tags

covid-19 diary, covid-19 humour, dear diary, family, humour

Dear Diary – Do you know that awesome moment when you wake up in the morning and you are full of energy? Me neither!

School has recommenced and with September comes the promise of cooler days in which to accomplish great things. One would think one would be invigorated, like the frantic squirrels in the yard, working to prepare for long, sleepy days indoors once the snow flies. Not so!

I am still on summer time and getting my butt in gear has been painful. My alarm sings just 8:30 weekday mornings and I stumble out, zombie-like, just in case Little Guy hasn’t gotten himself up for school. After having kids in school for the last 27 years, I have developed a form of school-related PTSD and I panic just thinking about an email or a call from the school! We’re into the second full week of school, and I’ve already had 1 phone call and 2 emails, but the school messed up, not us! Chocolate got me through!

I’m trying to re-establish a routine with my blog, sewing, Bible study, and housework. So far, I’ve accomplished a lot in my Minecraft world. I did remove a layer of dust in the living room and evicted several dust bunnies in various rooms. Most of the stuff I transported between home and my parents’ place has been put away. And my basil plant on steriods has been stripped. I think it finally wore itself out and is getting ready for winter too.

One afternoon I tackled the extra basket of tomatoes that weren’t needed for chili sauce. I peeled, chopped, and roasted them with garlic, onions, celery, and fresh herbs, and froze them in 2 baggies. It took me 2 hours and the savings are in the negative.

I completed another japanese knot bag and it’s my new favourite.

I showed it to my friend who has been my facemask saleswoman. She thought it was cute and that absolutely no one would buy it because “you can buy shopping bags at Dollerama”. I think mine are prettier! She also suggested $25 was too much. I know it seems like a lot from the perspective of someone who isn’t a crafter. If you haven’t done it, you don’t realize the cost of materials or just what all is involved. I’ve done my market research and mine are $30-40 less, plus I’m not getting paid. I’m basically just getting reimbursed for the materials. I’m new at this, without reputation or connections. My sewing machine is older than I am, but I’m having fun making plans! I would rather try and fail, than watch my neighbour walk her dog…or clean the bathtub! 🙂

It seems we’ve spent a lot of money in recent weeks. We had to replace a sewer pipe and run a liner to the street. I would mind less if it meant my toilet flushed reliably, but it’s still fickle. At least I probably won’t have to deal with poo water in laundry room again. We’ll see what happens with the next chili night! We have a roofer coming to finalize paperwork for some new shingles next week. And this week, I replaced the tires on my car. Apparently at least one was diamond-shaped. I was grateful to hear that it wasn’t a result of my driving, but an internal flaw in the tire.

If being an awesome driver was a crime, I’d be serving a life sentence.

Unknown

On pleasant days, Hubby and I try to go for a long walk. He’s off this week, so we even went twice in one day! It nearly killed me and my thighs almost started a fire.

Over the summer, Hubby lost 10lbs. Maybe it was his cooking. He won’t have to look far for them…they migrated over to me, and brought friends. So I’m trying to implement my old weight watcher regime and get active. In the real world, not my Minecraft world, where I am lean and spry. It’s hard! Grocery shopping online two weeks at a time means my options are limited when I want to nibble. I splurged on a basket of peaches for my evening snack, only to have them start to mould the first night. I salvaged what I could, but they were hard with a weird texture, like they’d frozen in the back of the fridge. I’ve been mourning my peaches every evening. Despite my efforts, the waistband of my jeans still hasn’t started to become the least bit agreeable.

I also splurged on a new dress in a mini shopping spree with Mom in August. I feel “pretty, oh so pretty” in it, and I was hoping to wear it this Sunday when I lead worship for the first time in my new church. (I’m really nervous). Having worn it on a previous Sunday, I hand-washed it on the weekend and hung it out to dry. Last night I noticed the colour ran and the white stripes are not so white any more. As disappointing as that was, it also didn’t run evenly, so there were uneven splotches of colour in the white stripes. I put in an emergency call to my Mom. I soaked it in cold, salty water. I scrubbed. It’s slightly better but it’s still not the crisp contrast it once was. I contacted the company but I’m not holding my breath.

I was worried I’d be out of breath when I saw the physio torturer therapist after not seeing her for a few weeks. My rheumatologist suggested I try acupuncture and my therapist seemed too eager for my liking. I don’t know if it helped, but I enjoyed the 15 minute rest with the heating pad, while it did whatever magic it was supposed to do.

This post is my 1,750th. I’ve been writing for 10 years. I know writers who have been blogging for less time and have three times more followers. Some have gone on to greater writing opportunities, and when I began, I certainly thought I might as well. I hope it’s been a blessing for them too.

I realize I’ve rambled on with not much to say today, dear diary, but not every week is an exciting week, filled with adventures or stories. Still…

There’s a roof up above me, I’ve a good place to sleep
There’s food on my table and shoes on my feet
You gave me your love, Lord, and a fine family
Thank you Lord, for Your blessings on me.

Jeff & Sheri Easter

Dear Quarantine Diary -Week #37

Tags

back to school, covid-19 diary, covid-19 humour, dear diary, family, first day of school, humour, school

Dear Diary – Driving home from my parents at the end of the summer break, I seriously thought my car was falling apart. I heard a loud growling noise, like metal being torn from a building, and the car began to shimmy. In a moment of panic, I feared that it was coming from the semi in front of me, and any second, sheared metal was going to fly at me. Then I had a flashback to my childhood and I recognized the sound. “That’s a jet!” I exclaimed to Little Guy, who rolled his eyes nonchalantly at me (because turning his head was too much work). I knew the Snow Birds were in the neighbourhood, plus my Dad really likes planes and trains, so air shows and rail yards were often part of our summer experience. Sure enough, a fighter jet emerged from the clouds beside my window. A few minutes later, another one passed by. Not the Snow Birds, but still pretty cool!

What isn’t cool is that the shimmy was actually from my car, and I found out today I need new tires. Urgently.

Dear Diary – So once again a cloud hangs over our household. School started for Little Guy last Friday. This year, there’s a whole new stupid format: Classes 1&2 for one week, then Classes 3 & 4 the next week, and alternating like so! It’s a format that would have ruined my academic career. If I had been forced to endure math class for an entire morning or afternoon, I would have been a depleted, discouraged wet dishrag for the remainder of the day.

How to Do Math

1. Write down the problem.

2. Cry.

Little Guy did not get all the courses he requested, and when I saw the schedule I was nervous, especially as he elected to continue school online. Functions, Chemistry, and Drawing are doable, but how does one participate in Drama online?

We were very pleased when his request to change a course was accepted and after a quick phone call and email to confirm with me, the drama dilemma was deleted. At least, until it was time to log in for his new class but he didn’t have the necessary information to log in. He waited until after school to tell me. The school’s auto-dialer called us at dinnertime. Both terribly helpful! He’ll be marked as absent, which hardly seems fair, and worse, I had to call the school! I nearly have a panic attack every time I had contact with the school! I’ve left 2 voicemails and sent 2 email to explain why he had missed class. I should know by now that nothing is simple but crap doodle, I keep hoping!

Dear Diary – There’s obviously a new motorbiker in the neighbourhood. We can hear him practicing as he fumbles with the throttle and motors around the block to the south of us. It’s tolerable during daylight but once the sun is set and my jammies are on, I’m tempted to stick a banana in his pipe. Speaking of tolerable, Thunder Nugget next door is back in school so our days are much sweeter quieter. Even the squirrels have returned to play in the yard and birds sing again…between the hours of 8 and 3. Because there’s a whole lot of thundering and screaming the rest of the time.

Dear Diary – A “Weekend Warrior” is usually applied to a person who participates in an activity full-tilt on weekends. Those guys dressed in skin-tight spandex and pointy helmets on bicycles spring to my mind. But this weekend, I felt like a “weekend warrior” pushing through the pain as I made…chili sauce. It required endurance…to stand for hours chopping cups of onions and peppers. It required dedication… to peel and dice 8 cups of tomatoes. It required courage…to work with chili peppers (from the plant I mistook for a bell pepper but was company for Hubby when I was away during quarantine), not to mention bubbling, boiling water and slippery glass jars. Actually, Hubby braved the hot water for me as I lack the proper equipment and finger strength.

It was a lot of work for 8 jars of sauce I can’t even eat! (by the time I snapped a pic, Hubby had already eaten jar 8. I didn’t even bother canning it).

But I have still have a problem? I bought two 4-quart baskets of tomatoes…and I only used one. What do I do with these tomatoes?

Dear Diary – I recently had a friend betray my trust and I had to step back from the relationship completely. Which sucked! This week, we were finally able to reconnect and I’m hoping that the time apart will change some of the unhealthy dynamics that have been developing over time. I wasn’t sure how to speak up without creating an emotional hullabaloo. Neither of us has the emotional energy for it. Hopefully this is a new beginning, and I am certainly more prepared to set boundaries and stick with them.

A friend loves at all times.

Proverbs 17:17a

Dear Diary – I saw my rheumatologist today, for less than 5 minutes. With the exception of face masks, it felt normal – he was still running late (I really don’t understand how he can always be running late when he only sees patients for 5 minutes, and his office is never full). With covid restrictions, only 3 are allowed in the waiting room and I was #4. I had to wait outside and watch for someone to leave. I found a clean bench in the sun and watched the door. After 10 minutes, one person went in but no one came out. Apparently I was the only one asked to wait outside! Anyway, in those 5 minutes he toyed with the idea of sending me for an MRI on my frozen shoulder. I told him I’m claustrophobic…

So I won’t be going for an MRI and we’ll reassess next March when I meet him again, for another riveting 5 minutes of my life! 🙂

Dear Diary – I was in a store recently when the need to use the restroom arose. I was already feeling uneasy and way too warm, but I made my way to the tiny room at the back of the store. Trying my best not to touch anything, I caught myself actually holding my breath. How lovely would it be if I passed out in the stall, panties around my ankles, skirt around my ears, and my face pressed up against the grungy floor?!?!

I talked myself through my ministrations and stepped up to the sink. It was one of those sensor types but apparently, the sensor couldn’t sense me. I commenced the gentle fingertip wave while giving it my best “I’m not impressed” face. But nothing happened. I sighed and waited for the lady at the other sink to stop playing finish up. At least I don’t have to wait for her to fix her lipstick! I moved to the other sink and commenced the gentle fingertip wave. This time it worked and I nodded “good job” to the tap.

It wasn’t the first time I felt invisible!!

Next I moved on the hand dryer, also a sensor, which worked satisfactorily for the lady ahead of me. I wiggled my fingers under the sensor. Nothing happened. I wiggled harder. Still, nothing happened. I swiped right. I swiped left. I growled, “come on” and waved my hands like I was cooling a loaf of bread. Still nothing happened. I started waving and jabbing like a bad disco dancer, engaging not just my hands but both arms, and my legs…my whole body.

It was then that I noticed a small, birdlike woman standing at the sinks, staring at me with frightened eyes. I never heard her come in. I smiled under my mask, shrugged my shoulders, and wiping my fingers on my skirt, exited the tiny room.

I was barely 2 feet out the door when I heard the gentle purr of the hand dryer.

Dear Diary – I was joking when I threw down the gauntlet. I posted a Facebook memory of my Mud Hero run and asked “who’s with me for next year?”. I had 2 people say “I’m in”! Big Guy is also keen; I’m sure, like mothers after childbirth, he’s forgotten the intense pain and suffering. Little Guy has also been very keen for a number of years. I suggested that we train together this year, knowing full well that I could back out at the last minute and who would blame me? I’m keen too, but while the spirit is willing, the flesh is telling me I’m certifiably insane. Actually, the spirit just piped up in agreement with the flesh. I might just be in a heap of trouble.

But I have heard that mud is good for the skin.

Dear Quarantine Diary – Week #36

Tags

covid-19 diary, covid-19 humour, dear diary, family, holiday, humour, summer

Dear Diary – I watched Big Guy folding a fitted sheet with horror. I know I taught him how to do it without stretching it across the floor, mainly because I don’t trust what’s on the floor of his apartment. In fact, it’s been less than 12 months since I gave both of my boys a demonstration! When I pointed this out to him, he gave me the lamest excuse: “I’m too short”. I’m way shorter! At only 5′ 1-1/2″ (and the 1/2″ is important), I can still figure out how to make miracles happen!

It’s an appropriate excuse when you’re 12 and your father’s co-worker said you could have ice cream cone if you could reach it (or if you’re caught climbing the bottom shelf at the grocery store because the item you need is at the pinnacle). But folding a sheet?

Can I use this excuse too?

Hubby: Why did the potatoes boil dry?
Me: Because I’m too short.

Hubby: There are enough cracker crumbs on this rug to bread chicken. Someone should vaccuum it.
Me: Not me! I’m too short!

Bed sheets should not be folded on the floor. Ever. But is it the lamest excuse ever, or pure genius? It’s starting to grow on me!

Dear Diary – Walking the last mile to September means thinking ahead to my responsabilities at home. Ugh! I still planned meals and procured produce for Hubby for those weeks I was away this summer. It’s time to boost my self-esteem by fattening him up again. Not really, but we do have to eat, so I made a trip to the local frozen food store. With grocery costs creeping ever higher, any steps to stay in budget are worth it.

While I thought ahead about what to pick up, I didn’t think ahead when I parked at a distance. It meant I had to wrestle my full cart down a steep curb and trail it, wonky wheel wobbling, across the parched parking lot. The lot sloped toward my car, so I needed one hand to hold it while I scrabbled with the other to grab my keys. My keys, however, were firmly lodged between the metal bars. It took two hands, a foot and a lot of straining and straddling to set them free.

With the car door finally open, I had to face the next challenge. The lovely cashier tried to make my job easier, by packing my entire cartload into one box. One large cardboard box that I had slid into the cart at a rakish angle, because it was too large to fit in the cart! Praying I didn’t break the leg that was now a post through the bottom of the cart to keep it from running away, I heaved the box up the side of the cart until it was balanced precariously along the top bars. That’s when I realized I was on the wrong side of the cart to ease the box into the car and the cart was blocking the door from opening. There could only be one winner, so a sexy tango ensued to right the wrongs.

As I was spinning oh SO not elegantly, I noticed a graying biker dude in a big, black pick-up truck enjoying my dilemma. “I hope he’s enjoying the show”, I thought, as I hooked my toe around the cart’s undercarriage and lifted the box.

My load was exactly halfway into the backseat when the wind caught my skirt and tossed it unceremoniosly over my head. If that biker dude was still watching, he got quite the eye-full…of my sad, white granny panties. You know the ones I’m talking about – with the stretched out elastic and the “not so white” hue, and you only keep them because you need something to wear when the laundry pile has grown too large? There was nothing to do but to keep bending forward until I could drop the box and run.

But I couldn’t run. It would be rude to abandon my cart in the middle of the parking lot, even if my face was burning brighter than the sun. So, with what dignity I could muster, I proudly marched my cart with the wonky wheel across that parched parking lot and hauled ‘er up the curb again. I walked back to my car with my head held high, and my hands cupping my buttocks. A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do!

Dear Diary – September started and it felt like the thermostat was suddenly turned down. On Sunday, it was damp and rainy. It was as if weather could sense our spirits as the end of our week-long family holiday neared. It was such a change in weather that when I got home from church, I changed out of my sundress into a hoodie and leggings. I even asked Mom if I could warm my hands in the soup?

She said “no”.

It had been a great week. We stayed up too late and rolled out late. We enjoyed rousing games in the evening, and quiet conversation over coffee or tea in the mornings. We went swimming a few times, and took time to read quietly in the shade. We treated Mom and Dad to A&W one night for dinner, and made the long drive back to the restaurant when they failed to give us all the food we ordered. And we went on a ghost walk followed by late night fancy doughnuts from Tim’s.

One afternoon Big Guy and Little Guy headed into the backyard for a climbing lesson. I watched from as distance as the youngest, now taller than his older brother, strapped on equipment that looked like it weighed more than he did. I took lots of photos and cheered as he slowly ascended the oak. He didn’t get very far because it’s far more difficult than one can imagine. Not only is it a serious workout, but it requires a lot of coordination and skill. I thoroughly enjoyed watching my guys, 16 years apart, hanging out!

A sibling is part blood, part rival, part coach, and forever friend.

Unknown

Dear Diary – You know you’re getting old when your sons have to help you get undressed. Sort of. I got stuck in my wet t-shirt after I got out of the pool. It had rolled up behind my head, and while I’m regaining the use of my shoulder, the edge of the shirt was just out of reach. Still, it bodes well for the future that they’ll jump to my aid when I need it.

Dear Diary – It was a gift and rare delight that transported me back to childhood. My Mom’s neighbour arrived on our doorstep one morning with potatoes, carrots and watermelon from his garden. The watermelon was not only deliciously sweet, but it had real watermelon seeds! What’s so terrible about watermelon seeds any way? All the watermelons from grocery stores are “seedless”, robbing children of the joy of spitting seeds in the lawn (or at each other). I relished the pleasure of spitting seeds this week, but not at anyone…even though I was sorely tempted. 😉

Dear Diary – Every now and then, Hubby and I will look at houses online in different communities. We currently live hours between our oldest to the west, and our folks to the east, so even if we could move, which way do we go? One evening, Hubby sent a few links to houses in my hometown. On a whim and even though it was getting late, my parents, Little Guy and I piled into the car and drove around town to look at them. Dad drove into neighbourhoods that I used to walk through on my way to school, and the trip turned into a walk down memory lane. We ended it at Dairy Queen before heading home for a card game. Which I lost.

One of the houses was right around the corner from where my grandparents lived. My brother and I would take our little lunches to their house and we’d watch The Flintstones, Rocket Robinhood. or Spiderman. Sometimes Nana made KD or hot dogs. I’m not sure I could live that close to memories. I miss them.

As a teenager, I longed for life outside of my small town, and after very few years in the big city, I desperately wanted to come home again. I know even if I was able to move back, I can never go “home” again. Everything is so very different and so much is still the same.

Chase our dreams but always know the road that will lead you home again.

Tim McGraw

Dear Diary – A dark shadow was on the horizon last night: school starts today. Unless you’re in grade 11 or 12. Then it begins tomorrow!

I”m not ready for this…

Dear Quarantine Diary: Week #35

Tags

covid-19 diary, covid-19 humour, dear diary, family, holiday, humour, summer, vaccination

Dear Diary – This week I’m vacationing at the cottage with the boys. Sort of. Thanks to covid, we haven’t been able to rent “our place” (which we’ve only been to twice. Ever), so we’re hanging at my folks’ and doing all the cottagey things. We stay up to late and sleep late. We snack. We read on the deck and snooze in the shade. We watch M*A*S*H* with dinner and I have a coconut cream pie stashed away for the end of the week. We skipped the annual Risk game and I banned Monopoly so we’d still be speaking at the end of the week, but we’ve still enjoyed several family games of Uno, Carcassone, Play 9, Five Crowns and Ticket to Ride: America and Europe. We also took a stab at the game, Unstable Unicorns. Of course, I had to get Pumpkin Spice because I’m oh so in to pumpkin spice…

We went swimming in the pool and had a massive water fight. Mistakes were made. My life flashed before me when I inhaled half the pool (inhaled, not swallowed) and fought to catch my breath. I spent the remainder of the day hacking up a lung, and half the night too. On the plus side, when we went shopping the next morning, I was still discreetly coughing and everyone gave me a wide berth. It gave me unfettered access to the sales racks! Also something to remember the next time someone invades my personal space.

Nothing says vacation like vaccination! As well as relaxing this week, it’s a good opportunity for Big Guy to tackle some of those jobs that he simply doesn’t have the time or energy to get done.

We started with his car! Papa booked his car for major servicing (yet again) and dropped him off very early Monday morning. Sunday afternoon I evicted more than a laundry basket full of empty coffee cups and fast food packages from front passenger seat and floorwell. I didn’t have the strength to tackle the rest. My deepest sympathy to the mechanics. Sunday night I went to bed with my cell phone so Big Guy could call me if he needed a ride home. Hubby woke me early with a morning message or five. I could hear that someone was up but I assumed it was my Mom. Eventually I gave up and stumbled out of bed. Big Guy was already home and Mom was still in bed, so we made a Tim’s run to surprise her. The traffic was particularly heavy on their country road which could mean only one thing: an accident on the highway.

Oh look….a reminder of home on a normal day!

Having spent countless hours in such a position on a hot day, sometimes with a hangry kid and stinky guine pigs, all these folks had my sympathy too.

My Dad took care of the first item on Big Guy’s To-Do list so I took on the second: booking an appointment for his second covid vaccination. Now that the initial panic had died down, I thought it was be easy. Instead I once again found myself searching for a mystical unicorn on a wonky trail in a dark enchanted forest. I ended up calling 6 apothecaries in town. Some were was waiting on shipments of serum; others never had any. One store had appointments…the day after Big Guy went home. And finally, one had what I sought, but would only schedule appointments once they had enough “customers” to warrant opening the vial. My quest required me to journey farther afield. Again, most places were booking for the following week, but after much wailing and gnashing, and grumbling like an angry troll, I found my unicorn. I can now safely say, my immediate family has all been stabbed…twice. Take that Covid-10!

Big Guy didn’t arrive at my folks without a special gift for his Mom – a garbage bag full of dirty laundry. And not just any laundry: works laundry. Big Guy is a utility arborist who has the misfortune pleasure of working outdoors all year long. Like a postal worker, the weather never stops him from doing his job, no matter how many stars he wishes on! This time of year can be particularly “pleasant” because temperatures have sailed into the 40s (celsius) with high humidity following. Pile on hard hats, work boots, long-sleeved shirts and heavy kevlar-lined chainsaw pants and you’ll find a recipe for mephitic sweat that will make you go blind. Imagine all that tightly packed and sealed in a black garbage. In a hot car. For a day.

I should have known better. Afterall, the bag was still quite warm when he dropped it at my feet, by the washer. The brightly coloured orange and yellow work shirts contrasted with the noxious stench. The toxic, malodorous cloud swirled around my feet in an ominous mustard pool for only an instant before it began to assault my senses. Even Little Guy, who has virtually no sense of smell or taste on an ordinary day, could taste it and I yelled at him to flee, lest the poisonous vapour melt his fair skin from his frame.

This….this is love. This is the sacrifice that Moms make for their children. Even their adult children. I washed those polluted tunics, the crumpled undies, the stiffened socks. I bore the burden for his bedsheets and bathtowels. I rid the world of this ethereal evil and when he returns home next week, his co-workers will call me their champion. For a week or two.

Then it’s his turn to purge the evil.

Speaking of evil, we went on a ghost walk in the city. As the sun disappeared on the horizon, we were regaled with spooky ghost stories and interesting historical anecdotes about the city. We wandered down darkened streets past quaint limestone cottages and a few grand houses. I enjoyed the architecture and peeking in people’s windows more than the stories.

Afterward, we picked up some fancy doughnuts at Tim Horton’s. I imagine the calorie count on those doughnuts was the most frightening of all…next to the bathroom scales.

I slept with a night light.

If you really want to be afraid, weigh yourselves again in grams…

Jason Love

Dear Quarantine Diary – Week #34

Tags

bathing suit, covid-19 diary, covid-19 humour, dear diary, faith, family, food, humour

Dear Diary – Every day Pinterest emails me posts they’ve chosen for me ‘cuz they think I”d be interested. They’re usually completely wrong. However, the chart of yoga poses did catch my attention, not because I do yoga, but because I live with men and have been conditioned me to zero in on certain things. It was actually one pose in particular: wind relieving.

I had to laugh out loud because all I could picture was a sign on the studio bulletin board for a community ChiliFest, and a room full of doughy, mature ladies in spandex suits, tights, headbands and ’80s leg warmers… with cartoon toots.

Dear Diary – My basil plants, the only seeds that grew from the 7 packages of seeds I purchased from a local flower farm, are on steriods. It’s been about 2 weeks since I last harvested a big bunch. This weekend, I plucked and dried 8 cookie sheets of herbs. Three days later, I harvested another half sheet, and could have plucked more. Guess what everyone’s getting in their stocking this Christmas!

Dear Diary – I got to eat dinner out…sort of! It was a catered meal in a church parking lot. I had to bring my own chair, but I didn’t have to cook and it was a big step up from McDonald’s, so it counts as “out”.

Dear Diary – I was blessed to be part of a worship team on Sunday morning, but the expression “early to bed, early to rise, makes a man healthy, wealthy and wise” did not apply. Instead, it was more like “late to slumber, early to tumble, makes a tired, overworked woman grumble”. Except everyone was still abed when I got up, and comfortably snoozing when I left. There was no one to complain to and no amount of caffeine in the world to perk these old bones. My eyelids felt like sandpaper except for a brief period between 12 and 12:05. It was a pretty gritty day.

The trip to the church is about half an hour, and in a pitiful effort to be joyful, I put on perky music. Obviously I wasn’t thinking clearly. It could have been a mistake had the sun not been shining. The bright rays caused my eyes to tear up, and as I blinked away the dewiness, I noticed a rainbow to the left and right of the sun.

A sun dog or sun bow can appear when light passes through ice crystals in the atmosphere at an angle of 22 degrees, creating a halo effect. Usually it’s just a bright spot that mimics the sun, but occasionally, it is an actual rainbow. And this rainbow was bright and colourful.

As the beauty of this strange phenomenon infused my fatigued brain, lines from the song boucing through the speakers also seeped into my consciousness:

Your resurrection power burns like fire in my heart…

You are the fire that cannot be tamed…

You are stronger than our hearts, You are greater than the dark, with You, we are victorious.

Rend Collective, “More Than Conquerors”

Rainbows have long been a symbol of hope and promise. Remember Noah? There have been a few times in my life, when things seemed bleak or blah, that God painted a rainbow for me, and I couldn’t help but marvel at His faithfulness and creativity.

This past year has certainly had some bleak and blah moments. I have mourned losses of people, places and positions. I have often felt lonely and lost. I’ve kept busy but deep down there’s been a longing for a place and a crying out for a purpose. Breathing and taking up space just isn’t enough. And here’s God, painting rainbows and singing reminders that He is the Light in dark places, early in the morning to someone He didn’t create to be a morning person. Hallelujah!

God has a sense of humour. If you don’t believe me, tomorrow go to Wal-mart and just look at people.

Carlos Mencia

Dear Diary – As much as I hate bathing suit shopping…the wrestling, the sweating, the loss of dignity and the complete breakdown – even before I’ve even tried one on, but I may have to take the plunge into that Little Shop of Horrors again. When I purchased my black bathing suit, I was looking for something a little sexy but my options were limited by my shape. I ended up with the one that I didn’t get so tangled in, that I ended up laughing hysterically in the dressing room, frightening the waifer-thin, doe-eyed adolescent sales clerk who was new and hadn’t experienced the trauma of serving middle-aged sausages women in spandex!

It was incredibly hot this week, and since we’re about to undergo major (and incredibly expensive) plumbing surgery at home, I ran away from home. To cool off, Mom and I decided to go for an evening swim. Auntie M was joining us.

I was thankful I had had the foresight to use the bathroom before I put I attempted to put my suit on. When I purchased this sexy suit, I had less fat to stuff in weighed less and was slightly more bendy than I am now. This suit had very thin straps, which has to support very hefty weight. These tiny straps are also part of an elaborate corset-style back on my suit. The longer I wear the suit, the longer all those strings become as they try to hold everything in place. The suit itself, fits snugger than it used to, so pulling it on is kind of like stuffing meat in a sausage casing. You just kind of have to squeeze your eyes shut and keep wiggling and stuffing until everything is contained. So I stuffed and squeezed and succeeded, only to realize, the suit was inside out. To add insult to injury, the padding in the bust, which serves no purpose, was wrinkled and folded in on itself, giving me the appearance of a tween who has stuffed her top with tissue. I know this because I tried it once in Grade 5 and I got caught. At school. In front of boys. It’s not really a story worth sharing.

I wasn’t sure which problem to fix first – the whole “it’s inside out” or the “stuffed with tissue” texture. I opted for the whole suit, which meant more wriggling and squeezing. Dry or wet, this suit does not come off easily. Instead, the strings roll together into a jumbled mess, that creates a roll, that tightens around the waist, making it even more difficult to roll down. And once off, I have to repeat the whole nightmare to get it on again. Having successfully done so and now sweating profusely, I have to spend an inordinate amount of time um….unfurling the bust pads.

I could have worn my bikini but it was still sunny and no one needed to be blinded by the Pillsbury dough babe. I’ve tried wearing a t-shirt over it but when you get out of the water, unlike plastic wrap, it clings like a toddler to whatever Mama wants to take away. It also rolls up the back and becomes a giant knot that threatens to squeeze the air from your lungs. And it’s humiliating, at 48, to have your parents undress you.

I enjoyed my swim, but not what came next.

It may be time to visit the Little Shop of Horrors again.

“Men have an easier time buying bathing suits. Women have two types: depressing and more depressing.
Men have two types: nerdy and not nerdy.”

Rita Rudner

Dear Quarantine Diary – Week #33

Tags

covid-19 diary, covid-19 humour, dear diary, family, humour, sewing

Dear Diary – Oh, the joys of country living. At night, the bugs gather around the lights and when anyone opens the door, they rush in like teenage girls at a BTS concert. The most bothersome are big black beetle with exoskeletons that rival cockroaches. They couldn’t simply be smacked with the fly swat. In fact I watched Little Guy beat one until he was red in the face, and the bug just crawled away, laughing. They also liked to ping along the ceiling and drop behind the chair by my bedroom door, lying in wait.

Earlier this week, I captured 2 by covering them with a glass and leaving them until morning. But Friday night, as I settled into bed with a book, I kept hearing rattling by my door. I thought it was Little Guy playing a prank, but when I opened the door, the living room was dark and quiet. I soon discovered one of these big black beetles in the room. It pinged off the ceiling and hurtled to the floor, so I went on the hunt. I didn’t need it pinging off my face in the night or laying eggs in ears.

I found it hiding under a pile of quilts, so I ran to the kitchen and grabbed a cup. But just like spiders, once you take your eyes off it, it disappears. I hunted in desperation for another 20 minutes until I realized how ridiculous it was and went to sleep…on the couch. It was a rough night. Something kept setting off the porch light outside, and the kitchen ceiling fan ticked lazily. Little Guy wandered out at around 4 a.m. The pop of his door startled me awake and I gasped, which startled him.

It’s very hard to sleep with someone standing over you, watching you sleep. I did my best to ignore him and eventually he padded off silently like a cat. I think he went back to his own room.

I woke stiff and sore in the morning…and I still have a bug in my room.

Dear Diary – I finally got my hair cut. It’s been 21 months since my last hair cut. My hair was so long that the hairstylist made me stand for the initial snips. While I feel like a million bucks (and at least 10 lbs lighter), I am still broke and my clothes don’t fit.

Dear Diary – I started the week with high aspirations and ended it exhausted and defeated. I think I should stick with sewing face masks and nothing else. Or give up entirely and sing kumbaya in the corner while gently rocking.

Since I STILL don’t know what I want to do when I grow up, I thought it would be cool to expand my sewing repertoire. I would love to have an Etsy business, to be able to work at something I enjoy doing in the comfort of my bathrobe home. I have tried papercrafts before, but most people don’t understand or appreciate the effort or cost of supplies in crafts, and therefore were unwilling to pay $3.00 for a handmade card when they could buy one at the dollar store for a buck! Once upon a time, I sewed old-fashioned pillow-case dolls, and it was the same story. And I certainly know better than to try sewing clothing. I have successfully sewn dresses, but if you looked closely, I had to fudge a bit here and there, and my patient father repaired tear-stained seams more than once.

I decided to try sewing specialicized hand bags. I chose 2 “easy” patterns from the internet to start. I made the hard one first, a circular bag that lies flat, and pulls together with a drawstring to make a little sack for your makeup, prescriptions or jewelry. For a first attempt, it went pretty smoothly. The prototype has more pinholes in it that a strainer, but it still…

Next up was a Japanese Knot bag. Instead of a few hours, it took days. I spent more time ripping it out than sewing. Even my father spent time ripping it out while I wept in the corner in the fetal position. Whoever said this was an easy pattern, lied! While the toiletries bag also involved some ripping, it never resembled…whatever this is!

It looks Sponge Bob’s friend, Patrick, had an unfortunate encounter with a steamroller

If insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result, then I am not insane. Because I didn’t do the same thing over and over again…just the result was the same, over and over again! Still, determined to make my dreams come true, I took a day off to go shopping, for more fabric.

That action alone either shows I’m a resilient and hopeful woman, or bat crap crazy!

On the fifth day, a Saturday, I started the day fresh. Dad had ripped out the latest catastrophe the night before and pinned it together for me…again. All my new fabric was washed and pressed. Surely I could get 2 done today.

Somehow we still got it wrong. I was so upset, I was wailing, and I was no longer wailing words. As I neared hysteria, my mother shoved a piece of dark chocolate in my mouth like a pacifier. And once I calmed down, we looked at the website for the 43rd time. It turns out the step-by-step instructions missed an entire step, thereby setting me up for certain failure. OK, it wasn’t entirely the instructions but after ripping, tugging, stabbing, freaking out all week, I finally produced this:

Now I have beautiful fabric, but lack the heart for mass production. Or anything, really.

Dear Diary – It was nice to have company this year. Little Guy and I stayed up too late to watch the meteor shower. I saw more falling stars than ever before, and they were longer and brighter. They were worthy of “oohs” and “aahs”, and I was so stoked to get to share this with him.

I made a few wishes too..but I still haven’t woken up a younger, blonde bombshell!

Dear Diary – Mom and I picked up a few things at the frozen food place in town. As we were leaving, Mom commented: “it was busy, but then there are people camping… and it’s nearly the weekend”.

“Mom”, I said, “it’s Tuesday”!

This is what Covid has done to us.

Dear Diary – The conversation took a dark turn during our card game, when my Mom asked, “do you know what I seem to be doing more as I get older?”. As is often the case, every family member’s mind turned to gas. This prompted me to share this story…

I had an older friend who, as she aged, started passing wind on a regular basis, usually in short staccato bursts. One time, we were in a tiny elevator and she let one go. She tried to talk loudly over it, but how could I not notice a rump trumpet that blasted like a semi? Not only that, but the room filled with a transparent green haze that made my eyes water and my throat constrict. I squeezed my eyes shut and started fanning my face for air, willing the elevator to rise faster. She continued to play dumb and asked me what was wrong. I mumbled, “you farted” as quickly as possible because I didn’t want to taste what I was smelling. “oh,” she said, “I didn’t think you’d notice”.

I’m pretty sure elevator patrons an hour later, noticed!

By the way, gaseous expessions were in no way related to Mom’s answer.

Dear Diary – I can understand cats and dogs, a wallet or bicycle, but this is crazy. I saw this ad in the classsified of a local small town paper.

It listed the two towns where it could be roaming free and wild. How wild? I can just imagine.

Apparently, losing a bull isn’t such a rare thing. When googled, I discovered police were looking for the owners of a lost bull in another area in the province only a few hours away, less than 2 months ago! They described it as “Found: one Highland bull, no tag or collar, not co-operative, well fed, horns very pointy.” You think?!?!

So the moral of the story is…the next time you go for a wander in the woods, keep your eyes open for livestock. And that’s no bull!

“Never approach a bull from the front, a horse from the rear or a fool from any direction.”

Cowboy Proverb