Dear Diary – Week 3, 2023

Tags

covid-19 diary, covid-19 humour, dear diary, family, hair, haircuts, humour, midlife crisis, school

Dear Diary – Once again, that awesome job of grocery shopping has come around again. It come around so often that I feel like I’m feeding an army, even though there are only 3 of us in the house!

Occasionally I pick up a few specials at a local store. But generally, even though “everyone” says “Covid is over”, I’m still ordering online and picking them up curbside. It has its downfalls at times. Selection is limited, and I have to trust the shopper choosing my fruit and veggies. Sometimes the expiry dates are a little too close for comfort. But it beats dealing with stupid people and that one shopping cart with the wonky wheel.

This week, I was running late and the store was moving slow. It took me 10 minutes to get a live person on the phone, just to tell them I had arrived. As if they were waiting with bated breath. I feel guilty, as if I’m some sort of entitled princess, too good to shop for her own groceries., so instead of have an underpaid, underappreciated serf roam the aisles and slog through the slush so I can fill my gob with yummies. But, to be honest, with my bum ankle, it’s been a real blessing. And I don’t miss the cold slush sloshing over the top of my sneaks.

I was supposed to meet Youngest Son at the strip mall across from the school. It would save him from walking home in the fog and drizzle, and it would ensure I had help getting all the bags inside the house. It made no sense. Somehow, I defied all known universal laws and I pulled into the lot as he was crossing the road.

I whipped into a parking space and beeped the horn.

He did not appreciate that!

Sometimes grocery items get missed, and I have to call and complain. Usually I just get a refund. This is the first time the store noticed I was missing some items and called me. I don’t know how I missed missing a giant slab of pork ribs and 2 cuts of pork tenderloin. Still, while my freezer is now less pork-less, and I have no idea if I’ll actually get my refund (and what to cook those nights the pork was planned), the store didn’t miss passing on some free samples !

What a creative product name!

I started this blog over 10 years ago to enjoy my mid-life crisis. How? By pushing myself to go new places and try new things. And I did…at least at the start. I got a tattoo with great meaning. I nearly died ran in Mud Hero with Eldest Son – also a BIG deal. I tried axe throwing and shooting firearms. I had no idea I had such good aim in real life; I can’t seem to hit the side of a barn in video games.

Soon the adventures slowed down to dabbling in photography, dusting it up with baking, and learning Italian (in the hopes of an Italian adventure). Covid ruined the Italian adventure. I spent my 25th wedding anniversary eating take-out Italian and sipping wine in front of the t.v. on my burlap sack couch!

And this…[Scroll to view]

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There were no places to go. Even the parks were overrun with people desperate to escape the four walls of their homes and I couldn’t snap any shots without infringing on the 6 feet rule.

All this to say, I threw caution to the wind and I drank my Not Milk.

It was delicious – rich and very chocolaty. And free. It was free!

Dear Diary – It’s been almost 2 weeks since I had my hair cut and I still haven’t decided if I like it or not. But I thought if I attempted to style it and take a selfie, it might help.

I’m still undecided.

I used to be indecisive but now I’m not sure.

Unknown

Dear Diary – It’s Youngest Son’s final 6 days of Semester 1 in Grade 12, and this semester has been nothing short of an uphill battle. He’s smart. He’s articulate. He’s responsible. Or so I’ve mentioned to one of his teacher who has emailed several times. With every email, my PTSD kicks in. Getting Eldest Son through school felt like a full-time job. But we did it! One day. One class. One bloody assignment at a time.

I don’t know how, but despite loving school at home during Covid, Youngest Son has lost his love of school. Actually, “love” might be too strong a word. He loves sloppy joes. School, he tolerated. I don’t doubt that the looming deadline for college applications and just plain being sick of school has done a lot to dampen his motivation.

I can remember “hitting the wall” and having to push myself to get to the end. But I had the perfectionist, “good girl” type of personality on my side, as well as a deep desire to move out of my parents’ home. I had the added responsibility of a precious little guy and I wanted to give him a “good life”. I didn’t want to be stuck on government assistance, barely scraping by and wondering what might have been. So I worked. Hard.

I know we’ll get through this (Grad photos were taken yesterday). Grade 12 is just one of a series of challenges to come. In comparison, though he may not believe me, he’ll look back and Grade 12 will seem like a breeze. I’m not telling him that though. He may decide that if this is a breeze, he’d rather spend the rest of his life in bed. And since his bed is in my basement…my lips are sealed.

Being a parent means spending half your life convincing people to stay in bed and the other half convincing them to get out of it.

Unknown

Dear Diary – Have you ever noticed that when you’re waiting in a cold car, you suddenly and desperately need to pee? I had to see my Dr. last week for an ongoing toe issue, but she was running late and I was asked to wait in the car. She’d call when I could come up.

It was a long 30 minutes.

The more I thought about not peeing, the more I had to pee. Watching the snow melt and slide down the windows didn’t help.

She put me on antibiotics, which thankfully has not caused any dietary distress. My toe, however, seems no better.

I see her again tomorrow. I won’t drink tea beforehand just in case. I’m praying she’s on time!

It’s going to be cold enough to snow and snow…

It’s so cold outside, I just farted a snowflake.

Unknown

Dear Quarantine Diary-Week 51

Tags

baking, Christmas, covid-19 diary, covid-19 humour, dear diary, family, food, holiday, humour, shopping

Dear Diary – We made the mistake of going to the Mall Saturday afternoon. The word “zoo” was fitting in some ways. The parking lot was quite full; cars circled like vultures hoping for a spot. Heaven help anyone who even considered swooping in to steal it. Cars crowded the entrances/exits to the lot from the main road and car horns punctuated like angry geese.

The tension in the air was palpable.

Inside, teenage girls in crop tops meandered in small herds like sheep, each one grasping bubble tea. They blocked entrances and aisles as they huddled around displays discussing the latest gossip. Shopping was a social event. A few shoppers reminded me of bison, as they bullied their way through the crowds, bumping and banging anyone in their path. While still others vacant-eyed with red, rosy cheeks and stooped shoulders from heavy winter clothing, and hands laden with coloured bags. They scanned shelves in desperation for one. more. gift before loping down the hallway, like injured rhinos.

We headed to the shoe department, where a weary grandfather nodded and grimaced like a hyena at his granddaughter as she fawned over little pink sequined shoes. Obviously the hordes were getting to him. Or he was tired of entertaining his granddaughter while Mom or Grandma shopped somewhere else.

Youngest Son needed winter boots. He’d outgrown his during Covid shutdowns, and since he had no need to go out (or even get dressed every day), we didn’t notice.

Youngest Son does not enjoy shopping, or crowds, or trying on boots. His feet are also a common size, so his options were limited. We found a pair. Then he tailed me like a baby duckling to the check out line at the back of the store, while Hubby went to look at winter jackets.

I should have known better.

It was the last Saturday before Christmas Eve day. The line was at least 30 people deep, some with carts piled high. Most only had a couple of items clutched to their chests. The only thing they all had in common were glazed eyes, like koala bears that have sampled too many eucalyptus leaves. We slowly shuffled forward like penguins in a line as the minutes ticked by. Slowly. Though dressed in a Fall jacket I soon too started to overheat.

Eventually Hubby came looking for us. He had been waiting “awhile” and thought maybe we miscommunicated where to meet. He texted me…but I forgot my cell phone at home.

After we purchased the boots, Youngest Son and I went to Indigo while Hubby ventured to the far end of the Mall to look at coats. Brave soul!

I purchased one of Hubby’s gifts when I purchased Youngest Son’s birthday present online. But I couldn’t find the gift. In the house. Anywhere. Online it said it was delivered with Youngest Son’s gift, but I had no recollection whether it had or not. The packaging box was still in the office but it was empty. I checked the bin where I hide gifts…for this very reason! I lose them. I didn’t really want to purchase another one because a) it’s not something you need two of, and b) I knew as soon as I did, I would find it.

I left the store empty-handed. It might have been in there, but my claustrophobia kicked in. Instead, Youngest Son tailed me as I slowly walked up and down the hallway waiting for Hubby. I desperately wanted to look at women’s clothing, but I couldn’t shake my duckling.

Once Hubby returned, after what seemed an eternity, I begged for one minute to pop into a store. My duckling followed me…closely followed by Hubby. I don’t know if you’ve ever shopped with 2 men who would rather be anywhere else, but it is not relaxing. I can flit through a store like a hummingbird when I’m short on time or I’m looking for something specific. Either they do or don’t have something that catches my eye. But with these two in tow, I was in and out of there like a hummingbird high on sugar syrup!

We made it to the car, although the guys had to wait for me. The number of predators circling the lot had doubled. So had the level of impatience. I was amazed we escaped in one piece. I was also thankful we had gone when we did, as hundreds of cars with Iranian flags and effigies, filled the main street in a peaceful protest. It was a good reminder that I live in a city of many cultures, and that we are blessed here in Canada in so many ways. We have much for which to be thankful as we gather with family and friends this season.

Dear Diary – I baked a beautiful pumpkin swiss roll for a Christmas party, which I did not attend.

My guys used the joke, “what’s brown and sticky?” Normally the answer would be: “A stick”. Their answer was “Mom’s log”. To which Hubby added, “and it has a nice swirl”.

After much discussion, I decided last minute that I didn’t want to risk getting Covid. I let the organizers know that I wasn’t coming BUT I would still deliver my dessert (and gift for the game) when I delivered Youngest Son at his party at the church. We were taking a chance there too, but after years of isolation, he needed to be there.

The plate (and my gift from the game) was returned on Sunday and it was empty. I guess it was good! 🙂

Now I have to make a chocolate one for Hubby’s birthday. He was born on Christmas Eve…so double the shopping. Just not this close to Christmas!

Dear Diary – Since Hubby is home all week on vacation, he’s been picking up Youngest Son after class. Yesterday I didn’t go with him because I was making our cranberry sauce (and measuring out the ingredients for the spicy cranberry sauce). I went ahead and made Kraft Dinner for lunch. Hubby surprised me by bringing home Wendy’s fries. Youngest Son piled both in a bowl. His reasoning? They both get topped with ketchup!

Dear Diary – I gave Hubby a deadline: clear the dining room table by 9 a.m. Friday morning. It’s covered in boxes and piles of paper and binders left from the months he worked at home. Post-Covid, his office also moved locations so he has less space for his stuff, which is why it’s still living here. But I need my dining table for Christmas dinner.

So far, he has emptied many binders but most of the paper has to be shredded. We have a shredder, also in the dining room, but it can only handle 1 sheet of paper at a time…and it overheats after about 20. Then it won’t work for an hour. We have enough paper to last all next year. Our home is small, our possessions meager, and at this point, I’m not sure the deadline will be met, but on the plus side, our kids will inherit a lifetime supply of paper clips.

Dear Diary – Hubby took his car to the dealership to get some work done this morning. He texted that the mechanics saw the mouse in his air filter. The mouse moved in during the months and months that Hubby was working from home during Covid. It left evidence of his presence last Spring in shredded napkins on the floor, a gnawed granola bar in the glove box, and poop in the coffee holder. With no new evidence we had assumed he moved out when summer temperatures soared.

I asked him if it was alive. He replied that “apparently there was some yelling in the shop”. Did that mean they got it? He didn’t know. I told him to find out. I might recoil if I encountered a snake, but with a mouse, I scream and flail like an inflatable windsock guy before I run away. I’m so thankful it never ran under my feet when I was driving. I have driven with spiders in the car, even stopping at a stop sign once and evacuating the car, much to the surprise of the driver behind me. I shudder to think what would happen with a mouse.

Apparently the mouse is now living in the car bay at the dealership. It ran away. The mechanics found a huge nest, as well as a dead mouse in the air filter. Perhaps there’d been a game of thrones scenario under the hood and dead mouse was a trophy? We’ll never know. The car’s been sprayed with mouse repellent, but I plan to continue avoiding Hubby’s car as much as possible. One can never be too careful!

The early bird gets the worm, but the second mouse gets the cheese.

Unknown

Dear Diary – This week has been all about food! With Christmas counting down and an edited baking wish list, I baked sour dough muffins with craisins soaked in rum. My father birthed the sour dough starter during the pandemic and he continues to supply bread, muffins and pancakes from it. He shared some with me a few months ago and I have kept it alive despite not using it as regularly as I should or feeding it properly. Between my last bake and this week, it has doubled in size inside the fridge. I’ve nicknamed it Frankenstein.

I baked more shortbread cookies…because we are all the others. Low on time, I opted not to decorate them. I used sprinkles instead. As they cooled, I remembered…I still have earl grey glaze in the fridge.

I made Salvation doughnuts yesterday, something I remember making with my Mom and grandparents, and something I have done with my kids. This recipe was used by Salvation Army volunteers in abandoned buildings near the front lines during World War I. They hoped to improve the morale of the soldiers far from home. In less than ideal conditions, helmets were sometimes used to hold the oil for frying. I used my Mom’s deep fryer instead.

I had to wait until Hubby got home. I couldn’t get the bottle of oil open. The lid just spun and spun. He tried that too…until he noticed…it just popped off.

Some would say love is the key. I say…it’s this:

Nana’s thimble!

Dear Diary – Christmas is only 3 sleeps away, and I hear Santa has the Blues.

Be kind to him and have a Merry Christmas!

Dear Quarantine Diary – Week 49

Tags

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

Dear Diary – I was comfortably settled on the couch Friday morning, happy that I didn’t have to go anywhere, when I heard my cell phone ringing. Upstairs! I thought it was in my purse. I didn’t hustle because I figured it was just a telemarketer. But it wasn’t. It was the grocery store about my order…which I was supposed to be picking up in the next 2 minutes. I had ordered groceries online the day before, but I thought I had reserved a 9 a.m. slot for Monday because I was heading to my folks on Monday and I thought I should feed my family.

As I pulled on my sneakers, listening to my voicemail, I also noticed I had 5 text messages, including one from a friend looking for a ride home from the hospital! I got my groceries; she still hasn’t gotten out. As the shadows of the day grew, so did her list of things I needed to bring her. The only problem was the only person with a key to her apartment wouldn’t be back in town until after 8.

By the time 8 arrived, I was exhausted. It was dark, cold, and drizzling outside (as well as inside my heart) when I walked into her building. I almost didn’t make. One of the senior residents who felt he deserved the entire empty parking lot to circle his wagon before pulling into his parking space, and nearly ran me over. I was okay with visiting my friend, but I didn’t relish being her roommate!

Hospital parking is never straightforward, nor the rates low. After delivering my friend’s bag, pillow and hot coffee, I trudged behind the porter taking her to her room. There were no covid checklists to tick off or hoops to jump through, even though I was entering an overflowing Emergency Room.

It was almost 10 before I headed out into the drizzle again. The ticket machine refused to take my ticket, instead sticking it back at me like it was sticking out its tongue. I maneuvered my car to try the other exit, and after several attempts (and a few punctuated threats), my ticket was accepted and I was permitted to escape leave.

However, the exit didn’t allow a left turn, forcing me to drive west away from home. I pulled into the first street 2 blocks away, and began a tiring suburban drive in a warren of streets that serpentined endlessly. I was beginning to despair that I wouldn’t be crawling under the covers until sunrise when I passed the park and finally knew where I was!

By the time I got home, I wanted a drink…of cranberry gingerale. I vowed that I would not leave the house on Saturday.

It was not meant to be. My friend had another wish list, but this time, I didn’t drive. I asked Hubby to drop me off and spare me another neighbourhood tour. 😉

Dear Diary – Recent stats said my post was shared to 441 email subscribers and 161 social followers. If this is possible, why do I only get, on average, one comment a week? 🙂

Dear Diary – Someone reminded me that I have a beautiful life. And they’re right.

This week the father of Eldest Son’s best friend, S.’ passed away after a long battle with cancer. He lived longer than expected which meant they had one more Easter, one more Thanksgiving, and many more beautiful days. I’m sure they weren’t all weren’t easy. Eldest Son, L. and S. have been like a family since high school, and together these 2 girls have been caring for Dad while Mom is at work. L. lost her father just over a year ago. I admire these brave young women who have already known such deep sorrow and they are on my heart.

The path I’ve taken may not have been the one I dreamed about when I played with Barbie (I still haven’t walked a Red Carpet). Sure, instead of a castle, I live in a semi-detached house. Prince Charming is an engineer who doesn’t ride a white horse, but he’s no frog. I am blessed with princes. I have woken up on Christmas morning under my parents’ roof for almost 50 years (with the exception of 2020 when we celebrated in a service center parking lot), and I will celebrate with them this year too. At my house. But all of these things, and so much more, has given me a life filled with love and laughter (a lot of it with me and at me), and that is what makes it so beautiful.

I sustain myself with the love of my family.

Maya Angelou

Dear Diary – The last two days have been crazy. I headed to my folks where I baked a crunchy mess, stole borrowed a Christmas tree from church, and saved a life. I took my best friends and partners in crime along for the ride!

I arrived Monday afternoon to an empty house. The guy installing my parents’ new carpet got sick and the work’s been postponed, so everything in the living room and hall had shuffled, except 3 chairs lined up in front of the t.v. The couch and dining table are now sharing a space; the table covered in Mom’s good china from the china cabinet. The sideboard and the t.v. stand are in my bedroom, but they created a crooked maze almost as wide as me to get to the bed. And a flashlight.

I lost the flashlight by the second night.

I attended a birthday party with my Mom for a lovely lady I have never met. I was promised cake.

On Tuesday, Mom and I muttered in our separate corners of the kitchen while we baked our own cookies. The couch made an excellent surface for spreading out baking utensils, cookie cutters and when you got tired, a soft place to rest. My sugar cookies kept flaking as I rolled them out and they baked crunchy. It wasn’t until the middle of the night that I realized I had forgotten the milk.

Suddenly, Mom gasped and covered her hand with her mouth. “There’s a squirrel drowning in the pool”.

Normally, this would be a “Dad” job, but Dad wasn’t home. I sprang into action.

In advance of the new carpet, Dad had been pulling up the carpet and adding screws to the floor so there was an assortment of tools in the living room. I was hoping for a bucket, but with none in sight, I grabbed the white plastic bowl on the couch and crawled over the back. I ran to the gate, shoved the bbq out of the way, and scrabbled with the lock. I couldn’t see any movement n the water, not even ripples on the surface.

I grabbed the ladder from the side and shoved it into the black water. The squirrel finally surfaced but on the far side of the pool. It was obvious he was exhausted and we didn’t have much time. I ran up the stairs and across the deck, with the bowl still in my hand. I also grabbed a step stool and hopped down the stairs.

My feet were soaking wet by the time I got to the pool. “Where is he?” I called to Mom watching from above, as I dropped the stoll and climbed up. He was just coming up for air when I reached the bowl out to him and he turned to me. I scooped him out and tried to set the bowl on the ground, but still panicked, the squirrel tipped out. Unhurt but still terrified, he started to crawl under the deck into a pile of debris. Mom threw down a dry towel and I did my best to wrap it around him, but I couldn’t pick him up. Once I knew he was safe, I stepped away so he could calm down. He didn’t know I wasn’t going to hurt him.

I returned a few minutes later to see how he was, and I tucked the towel around his little body again. He purred and closed his eyes to sleep. Sadly, when I went back later, he had died in his sleep. I felt terrible.

On Wednesday morning, we went shopping in some local shops. It feels good to support small businesses. I know how much love and attention to detail I put into each of my creations for my Etsy shop. I could certainly see that love in the candles, soaps, pickles and jams I admired.

With Christmas shopping nearly complete, I turned my attention to cookies again. This time I added the milk. This time, they worked. All they need now is some sparkle and buttons.

Last night, like the 3 bears, we partied with chips and a James Bond movie in our 3 little chairs. Except I was in Mama’s leather Chair because I could have both laptops plugged in and lying at my feet. I’ve started the incredibly boring task of transferring files to my new laptop. We sampled some saskatoon berry jam on Dad’s homemade raisin ‘n spice sourdough bread muffins before toddling off to bed.

That means, dear diary, that I have a car to pack and a long road trip ahead.

Dear Quarantine Diary – Week 48

Tags

baking, covid-19 diary, covid-19 humour, family, gamers, games, gaming, humour, video games

Dear Diary – If you want something done, ask a busy woman!

Friday evening was a ladies’ card-making event at the church and I had overcommitted to baking. Why? Because it was an excuse to bake pretty things…that I wouldn’t be responsible to eat on my own! Eldest Son was also coming for the weekend to celebrate Youngest Son’s 17th birthday, so I was responsible for cleaning and making a birthday cake too. I had made every effort to do things ahead, but as always, the time frittered away and Hour 0 was fast approaching!

So what do I do?

I go furniture shopping. (I should mention I also went Christmas shopping at Home Depot before breakfast!)

In my defence, I have patiently waited years to be able to replace our ugly, stained burlap sack couch, which I hated when we purchased it over 21 years ago. It was the only couch that Hubby and I could both: a) afford and b) agree on. It moved in the day we moved into our starter home…which evidently has become our only home! Life is full of disappointments!

I took a friend with me to keep me focused and mostly to help with the measuring tape. I found 2 at a local Leon’s that I wanted to test in person and both could be delivered well before Christmas. I was very excited by this prospect because I’m hosting this year. One was not on the showroom despite what the website said. The other looked cheap and was as hard as a rock. BUT I fould 2 others that I liked. After a great deal of hemming and hawing, I texted Hubby photos and we headed back to the house to measure. Something I should have done before I left the house the second time.

By this point, the lunch hour was fast approaching and my blood sugar was dropping, as well as my resolve to spend so much money without Hubby’s input. It’s not that I need his approval. It’s just that I don’t want to be blamed when it all falls apart! This couch is likely going to live with us for a long, long time, and I need it to be both hardy and able to cup my supple (and spreading) buttocks. The only sighed groan I should hear for the next 20 years should be uttered from my lips, not the couch!

I opted to grab refreshment at Tim’s and get what I needed from the Bulk Barn before returning to Leon’s. I stocked up on over a dozen spices. I bought edible glitter for shortbread cookies. And I successfully by-passed all the bins with chocolate and candy!

After measuring, sitting and discussing with my friend, I chose a couch!

It’s not available until February…at the earliest.

Rather than invoking Buyer’s Regret, I raced home to finish preparing for the crafting event. There will be other sales.

And I needed to lecture speak to my child about an email I got from a teacher.

I glittered my shortbread cookies and packed fancy dishes and the crockpot for mulled cider. I decorated chocolate brownies, only five of which would make it because I forgot the rest at home.

I glazed blueberry scones, three times because it wasn’t thick enough the first two.

And, because I wasn’t busy enough, I made unicorn poop in between piles of dishes and dinner. I literally sat for 5 minutes while I horked down a meatball and some rice before I raced out the door, already late.

My feet were thankful that Main Street in the village was closed because it meant I wasn’t on them. But they were the only part of me. I don’t know my way around the village. I got caught in the closure last year too, and to make it more stressful, the detour I found last year, was also closed, making me even later.

But the event went well, and ran very late. It was after 11 before I got home. Hubby was already in bed, but my boys were up and I was happy to sag into my burlap couch and groan. I think my feet groaned too.

Dear Diary – I saw my rheumatologist this week and he’s taking away my “happy pills” as I call them, a week early. They make me happy because I can be active. I’m not hobbling like a lamb on it’s new legs and I have more energy than when I was in high school. At least before Eldest Son was born and I got no sleep! I knew going in that it would be short-term and it’s still my hope that they will have knocked down the inflammation enough that I won’t have to take something more serious. I ended up suffering with the Death Flu twice with the last one. In the meantime, I’m being careful. I make every trip up and down the stairs count. And I only dance to the really good songs!

Dear Diary – The local train station set up a drive-thru light display in one of its parking lots this week. They did it for Halloween too. It looks pretty cheesy but I know for small children, it will be a place of magic.

It was 1990-something when one house in our small town decorated with lots of lights. Eldest Son was smitten! Every time we went out, particuarly in the evening, he would ask to “go circus”. It wasn’t quite a Clark Griswald special, but considering most folks only did a single string around the porch or a small tree in the yard, it was pretty spectacular. He cried when the “circus left town”.

Dear Diary – We’ve been invited to a Christmas party and I really want to go. But I don’t want to catch Covid and lose Christmas. I already lost Thanksgiving and have yet to taste turkey in 2022. What to do?

Dear Diary – Once upon a time I considered becoming a fashion designer. I also considered becoming a teacher for the blind (inspired by Little House on the Prairie), a firefighter (inspired by my Dad), a model (but I’m too short), an archaeologist (until my Mom told me I’d have to give oral presentations), or a lawyer (inspired by power suits)! I didn’t pursue any of those.

Over the last couple of weeks, I have wrestled and sighed over a denim tote bag for a friend, made with the legs of her outgrown jeans. She outgrew them in a good way and I’m kinda jealous. Yesterday I sewed the final seam and I’m very pleased. Will I do it again? I’m not sure. I was probably wise not to pursue design!

Dear Diary – Yesterday was a miserable day; it was dark, damp, and drizzly. Eldest Son was off work early and invited me to play Destiny. It’s an online adventure game and I suck at it. It’s why he wanted to play together, so he could show me how to find loot and how to level up. But he had a work meeting so our adventuring was cut short.

I continued to play after he left and had just started off on my quest when a ship arrived and I saw one person fighting a horde along. Even though I suck, I thought it would be rude to abandon this person who was quickly being overwhelmed. So I stayed and we fought the horde together.

There are a number of reasons why I play video games; it’s not just to waste time. Gaming is more than just about the game; it’s also about community.

Eldest Son has talked about the awesome sense of community in the Destiny realm and I was delighted to experience it first hand. When I died, someone else resurrected me. When I stood there, looking lost, he (or she) tried to catch my attention, and then led me to a loot box and some other resources. They beckoned me to join them on their quest, and sent an invite to be friends so we could play another time.

It reminds me of a story Eldest Son passed on. I shared it in 2021, but here it is again:

A mom wrote that her 15 year old son has been hanging out with his friends a lot online during the quarantine. One evening, the friend and 5 of his friends were “hanging out” and they invited a solo player to join their “crew”. This gamer was much younger and had been spending a lot of time alone. In fact, it was the eve of his 11th birthday. So they threw him a virtual birthday party. They took him on quests, shared their loot, helped him win battles he couldn’t do on his own, and stayed with him until after midnight so they could sing him “Happy Birthday”. This random pack of guys could imagine the disappointment and heartache of this kid alone on his 11th birthday because of quarantine, and I’m sure this is now a birthday he will never forget!

I frequently play another online team-based (one that just went a huge overhaul and many of us are unhappy, not only with the changes to the game, but the obvious money-grabbing of the gaming company). But the culture there has developed a reputation for being toxic. I’ve seen that with players obsessed with eliminations or earning Play of the Game instead of working as a team on the objective. Or players obviously snubbing other players in favour of their friends or because they’re annoyed about something. I hate begging for healing from a healer standing right beside me, and they ignore me. If you’re not going to heal, don’t play a healer. I’ve had enemy players on other teams make it their mission to wipe me out over and over because they’re mad that I eliminated them. And I’ve heard some pretty foul language and racial slurs on my headset. Which is why I don’t always use them. (Except when I play with Eldest Son because he’s kind).

All this to say that while I have no idea what I’m doing and I’m not “into” the gamescape yet, it was really nice to enter into the spirit of the gaming community and leave with warm fuzzies. I will persevere and who knows? I might just get better.

If Destiny 2 is the next generation of Destiny games…
does that make it Destiny’s Child?

Dear Quarantine Diary- Week 47

Tags

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

Dear Diary – Christmas is hurdling toward us like a run away Polar Express, and I’m starting to feel snowed under. This year I’m probably hosting the big family Christmas, which means I have to cook and clean, as well as bake, shop, wrap, and decorate. This year, Eldest Son is also bringing his girlfriend. I’m excited. And a lot terrified.

Not of the girlfriend. She’s lovely.

But all the work to be done.

Where will everyone sleep? Where will everyone sit? Where will everyone park?

If Christmas preps create heart palpitations, a recent article I stumbled on has me on the verge of an apocalyptic fit: palm-sized para-trooper spiders.

It’s the next plague! Brightly coloured Joro spiders from Japan and other parts of Asia have infiltrated south of our border and their hatchlings may soon be hitching rides north on the wind. They can parachute up to 160 km, making their time travel terrifying. They are also not adverse to hitchhiking on cars and trucks.

This species is timid and harmless to people…so they say! I predict emergency rooms filled with strained bodies, heart attacks, and car accidents victims. We’ll all be making karate moves every time we leave the house. I’ll also be wearing really big shoes. On my hands and feet.

I will no longer leave my gardening shoes on the back porch. I will no longer blindly stick my hand in the mailbox. And I will no longer leave the laundry out or take out the trash after dark. I can’t imagine the horror of suddenly squeezing a living baseball ball with legs. Eight legs! Nor can I abide the image of palm-sized spiders raining down from above, hugging my face, and getting caught in my hair!

Ginormous spiders: Nature’s way of reminding you that inside, we are all little girls!

Unknown

As if that wasn’t bad enough, Hubby came home with quite a tale from his co-worker. His co-worker’s teenage daughter was followed by a man when she got off the bus. She called her Mom at home to watch for her. When she got home, the man followed her to the door and pushed his way inside.

He didn’t know that Mom and the daughter were black belts.

They beat him pretty good.

A short time after he ran off, the police informed them that a man had just reported being brutally attacked by two women.

They live among us.

Let’s face it. The gene pool needs a little chlorine.

Jimmy Carr

Dear Diary – It seemed like such a great way to clear precious counter space, so when we made a few changes to the kitchen, we moved the microwave. But there’s one little problem…

Dear Diary – With all this extra energy from my temporary medication, I get distracted easily. I call it A.A.A.D.D.: Aging Adult Attention Deficit Disorder. So it was no surprise when I went downstairs to see if we needed bread and I ascended an hour later with a pile of boxes filled with recycling, donations, and items to redistribute throughout the house. Probably to clutter another corner. My freezer was reorganized and delightfully spacious (just in time for Christmas baking), as was the space around the freezer.

I also dug through a bin of Christmas gifts. Sometimes I pick up things on sale to tuck away for someone special. And sometimes I’ve purchased things and forgotten, so they end up waiting for the “next year” and they never get given. Apparently I did just that in 2011. That summer we took Youngest Son for a mini-cation in the city. We drove downtown and did some sightseeing before dinner and a “sleepover” in a hotel. While there, we purchased a t-shirt for Eldest Son…which I found in the bottom of the gift bin.

I don’t think it would even fit him now.

It got me wondering…just how many secrets are hidden in the corners and closets of this house? I’m only on the medication for a few more weeks. Is there a way to channel all this energy productively?

And just where did my faux fur go? I have Christmas gnomes to sew. Maybe I should just eat a blueberry scone and call it a day!

A.A.A.D.D. also makes me hungry.

Dear Diary – Why is it every time I clean the bathroom, someone immediately needs to take a shower, trim their hair, or take a dump? And by someone, I don’t mean me!

Dear Diary – Youngest Son was having a bad morning and I thought I’d time my grocery grab so I could pick him up and save him walking home on a damp, windy day. With list in hand, I rushed out the door to grab my groceries. I raced around the store. I tore to the car and headed to the school. Halfway there, I realized I didn’t get the first and most important thing on the list: cream cheese. There was no time to go back.

I’m making Toblerone Cheesecake for Youngest Son’s birthday.

If I get cream cheese.

I should have checked my texts first.

It wasn’t until I had done a tour of the entire neighbourhood and arrived home, alone, when I did. Youngest Son, who now has a cell phone after a recent “disappearing act“, had been responsible and texted that his co-op class was in-person and he’d be home after school.

What to do when you have no cream cheese and no child? Get distracted until I’m late for the next errand.

Dear Diary – Youngest son and I passed a man in a bucket truck making some kind of repair on the hydro wires. Directly above his head was a tiny bird on the wire.

My first thought was: “oh, poop!”

Whenever a bird craps on my car, I eat a plate of scrambled eggs on my front porch just so they know what I”m capable of.

Unknown

Happy Thanksgiving to my friends south of my border! Enjoy some turkey for me. Covid stole mine this year…

Dear Quarantine Diary – Week 46

Tags

aging, baking, covid-19 diary, covid-19 humour, dear diary, family, humour, midlife crisis, shoes

Dear Diary – I had to laugh! After all the complaints about feeling old as I struggled with technology, which included an epilogue as I lost over an hour’s worth of writing to you last week, dear diary (and my coffee warmer refused to change settings for me), I had to help someone not much older than me log into a website. Probably, if she hadn’t been talking at the same time, she would have heard me say “dot ca” more than once and she wouldn’t have typed “dot com”. But there were questions after that too, and I felt less dumb! I appreciated the reminder that struggling with something new, just because it’s electronic, doesn’t make me stupid. It just makes me new!

I eventually found that photo I mentioned too…the one I think of whenever one of my kids is tempted to roll his eyes or risk life and limb and actually comment on my “inabilities” based on age:

He was so proud of himself because he got dressed all by himself. He wasn’t stupid…it was new! 🙂

Dear Diary – I will be making a third trip to the store to find sweat pants that fit my friend. If I strike out again, I’m going to wrap the legs around her neck!

Dear Diary – I will never be a city gal. Every now and then Hubby likes to make fun of me for my “hickisms”, as he calls it. The most recent one being the word “titch”. It means a dash, a bit, a smidgen, a hair. I don’t think it’s that odd, and usually I’m aware I’m saying it and I’m doing it to have fun. I grew up in a small town in a farming community, and like most small towns, there are colloquialisms unique to the area.

The ironic thing is that he also grew up in a small farming community, before and after he immigrated to Canada at the age of 6. In fact, his village is so small that if you blink twice, you’ll miss it. There’s a large Catholic church, a pizzeria, a gas station, a bank, and not much else! There used to be a fire station but it burned down.

To top it off, it has “creek” in its name! I grew up in a town with a river running through it, and a waterfall, and over a dozen churches. I have never seen the official creek by his childhood home, unless it was the trickle of water that ran through some woods on a barely paved road kind of in the middle of nowhere.

I’m not knocking his “hometown”, I just don’t think the kettle ought to be calling the pot orange (because orange is the new black)!

While you were busy throwing stones, you left your closet open and your skeletons fell out.

Unknown

Dear Diary – No wonder it’s on sale…

Dear Diary – It was the colour that caught my eye. Bright pink and white. Right beside the sink.

When Hubby and I had covid, Youngest Son did everything he could to avoid the upper floor, where we were sequestered in our rooms. That included brushing his teeth at the kitchen sink. I’ve been trying to break him of the habit ever since. Toothbrushes do not belong in the kitchen.

“Sweetie,” I asked. “What colour is this?”

“Pink,” he replied, with a confused look on his face.

I waited.

He stared blankly at me.

We stared at each other. “And what colour is your toothbrush?

“Purple,” he said with a wrinkled furrow.

Yes, my son was using MY toothbrush. Gross!

I would share almost anything with him. I would give up my life for him. But that toothbrush is sacred. I’m going to need a new one!

Dear Diary – The rose waited too long to bloom.

Dear Diary – Sometimes I wonder why I bother baking…and then I remember that I like to eat baking. Sometimes I enjoy the process too. Especially baking bread. I love the calming, tactile experience of making bread from scratch. It brings back happy childhood memories.The aroma encompasses warmly like a hug, and in a house full of men, warm hugs are preferable to smothering farts any day!

I baked bread recently, adding cinnamon, craisins and chopped pecans. But it sat on the counter, uneaten by those I wanted to impress to bless, and grew hard. What to do? Toss my efforts? Waste those pecans? Nope! I made French Toast, and I gotta say, Mmm…

My bread may have been wasted on the guys, but it was not wasted on me!

Dear Diary – Saturday evening marked the monthly “walk of shame” as I tried on several outfits so I would be “decent” leading worship on the platform Sunday morning. The most recent medication I’m trying out has been pretty effective in reducing pain and swelling, and has increased my energy levels to a height I have not seen since I was a teenager. I’m still only enjoying long walks to the fridge, but the house is tidier, I’m more organized and creative, and I’m actually looking forward to the possibility that I’ll be hosting for the holidays (first time!) in my tiny home. So though I was warned the medication would make me fat cause weight gain and puffiness, I’m trying to embrace the changes with grace and just get on with living. Active and round is preferable to inactive and round.

While slightly discouraged but not in despair over the clothing situation, I desperately wanted to embrace my high heels again. It’s been well over a year since they have ventured farther than the closet…only to be held in my hand as I sit on the edge of the bed and sigh. I have mourned high heels, as ridiculous as that may seem, mostly because of how I feel in them. I feel empowered, sexy, tall. I know I should pass them on to a good home where they can live the life they deserve, but I keep hoping that that life will be with me.

I’m slowly accepting that my high-heeled boots will be the first to depart. It’s not just the heel that’s the problem. It’s bending my ankle so I can even slide them on. But with the current healing, I was hoping I could take them for one more parade on the catwalk before I was forced to sell them to cover the cost of heavy, ugly, flat and sensible “old lady” orthopaedic shoes for the remainder of my years.

I didn’t have my rose-coloured glasses on. I knew my black stilettos pushed boundaries when I was still spry. Instead, I tried on my rose-coloured leather Miz Moo boots, only to find that while I can stand in them, I can’t really walk in them. Which is exactly what you’re supposed to do on a cat-walk.

Then I starting trying on other footware: my leopard heels, my velvety red heels, my Italian beige heels, my black and white Jeanne Becker heels, even my blush kitten heels. It was the same story. I apologized to my $10 LouisVuitton heels. I never got to take them anywhere. I apologized to my sassy green boots; they are covered in dust.

I blame covid for stealing my final years.

By the time I was done, my room was a mess of sparkles and clasps and heels. I needed to change from my light-weight sleep shirt to a summer nightie (and not a sexy one lest I give Hubby the wrong impression. “Walk of Shame night” is not the night!) because I had overexerted myself!

I cannot say “this too shall pass”. Heels may well be a part of who I was rather than who I am now. But, like the growing list of health concerns, the joys of the raging inferno of my dying youth, and the regrets of what might have been had I not been so lazy, I need to face this change with grace.

My mother always used to say ‘the older you get, the better you get. Unless you’re a banana!

Betty White

Dear Quarantine Diary – Week 45

Tags

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

/

 

Dear Diary – I don’t know what’s going on and it makes me feel like an “old person”. Technology is getting hard. Part of me doesn’t care. The other part just feels stupid.

I tried to take a photo today of a rosebud with my cell phone, but I couldn’t get it to focus on the rose. The golden, leafy backdrop, however, was in perfect focus. I really wanted to share a photo of this survivor. Not only is it daring to bloom in November (and it better hurry – they’re predicting snow this weekend), but last May I thought the bush was dead. It was planted long before we moved in. Every year it has had new growth and a portion of root has rotted out. It’s been slowing down for years. With no sign of life, I figured it was gone forever, so I dug it out and started planning what to plant next year. A few weeks later, it shot up through the earth. 

But I couldn’t get a photo.

I tried different angles and different settings on the camera. The macro setting was the worst and it’s the one you’re supposed to use for close-ups!

To make matters worse, my phone has developed an extra shutter button. It hangs over the real shutter button like a Venn diagram, and if you don’t hit the right spot, the camera doesn’t fire. It didn’t help that the wind was blowing, which makes everything blurry in a photo, but when it dropped, the camera refused to recognize that I was pushing the shutter. I felt overwhelmed by the same frustration I get when my iPad refuses to take a photo. Only for me. Inevitably, when I ask Hubby or Youngest Son to try, it fires right away and I look like a freaking genius once again!

Tired of bending over this tiny bush in multiple and unflattering angles in front of my neighbours, I came here to whine to you, dear diary.

Yesterday I recorded a video for my Etsy shop, but also not without some trials. I had to set up my cell phone in a trip-pod, and re-arrange the crap stuff in the background. After several starts and stops, I got through my script…but instead of looking at the people to whom I’m talking, my eyes were slightly off. It wasn’t the look I was going for: a fun and sassy lady. Instead, I looked like a doughy, cross-eyed cadaver.

I tried taking still photos to see just where I was supposed to be looking.

I thought I got it.

I did not!

I finally broke down and asked for Hubby’s help. I hate asking for help, especially for something so trivial. I’m a smart lady. I should be able to figure this out. Plus I never want to give him the satisfaction of being “right” or encouraging any feelings of superiority. It’s a matter of principle.

But I had already invested too much time in the venture.

I painted the barn put on some more make-up, fluffed my hair, and started again. It was much more convincing.

I downloaded it from my cell to my laptop and trimmed the excess at the beginning and end. But when I went to email it to myself, so I can download it to my iPad so I can post it on Instagram, the file was too big.

I would have to ask for help again.

This time I went to Youngest Son. We both know he’s smarter than me, and I’m okay with that. He compressed the file in no time, and 6 hours later, my video was posted on Instagram. It’s been almost 24 hours now and I have 0 likes.

I’m aware that the stereotype of older folks struggling with technology is a big hit among the younger crowd. I think we need to make sure we don’t believe the stereotype ourselves, and I strongly advocate that we stick together and find another way to kick their butts. I’m not afraid to pull out old photos to remind others that they didn’t always know how things worked, like the pic that recently showed up in my Facebook memories. One of my boys dressed himself…and his jeans are on backwards!

I would share it, but somehow all the photos before December 2009 disappeared from my laptop ages ago!

 

The best part about being over 40 is that we did most of our stupid stuff before the internet.

Unknown

Dear Diary – Youngest Son was very unhappy Tuesday morning because he was looking forward to a return to online school. Friday and Monday, kids were home due to strike action by education workers, but an agreement was reached, sufficient that Education Assistants and others were back. So instead of firing up his laptop 5 minutes before class, he had to roll out of bed 10 minutes before Mom’s Taxi left.

Of course, Mom wasn’t very happy either. She also had to roll out of bed 15 minutes before the “taxi” left (because she had to make sure Youngest Son rolled out in time)!

Dear Diary – They’re plastered everywhere in construction zones. Posters of people especially kids, reminding us that someone they love “works here”. Slowing down around workers and obeying the flagmen, should seem like a no-brainer. And yet, this week oldest son, who works as an arborist and is often trimming branches around hydro wires, witnessed an accident. His crew had flagmen on other side of a stretch of road because the bucket truck was blocking one lane. A group of young guys blew past the flagman, laughing, even though the flagman was clearly holding a stop sign. The flagman tried to stop them. He tried to warn the other flagman too. But it was too late. Cars from the other side were already streaming through.

There was a crash!

The flagmen followed all their rules to make sure they did their job right to keep people safe.

Fortunately, it wasn’t a serious accident. But it could have been! They could have also seriously injured the guys doing their job. Instead, they were all mildly inconvenienced while they waited for emergency services to come. The crew had a ton of paperwork to record the incident. The other drivers had to find a different way home. Was it worth it?

Slow down….someone I love works here.

Dear Diary – It’s “shopping season”! With my newfound (and likely short-lived) freedom from the wicked arthritic flare-up I’ve experienced this year, I have been hitting the stores.

I’ve forgot how stressful shopping can be!

First, you have to figure out what you need. In my case, pretty much everything. But with a limited budget, “everything” is off the table.

Second, you have to find something you like. I have to say, I am not impressed with the current styles, colour palettes, or fabric selections. I found pretty tops ruined by chunky zippers, giant plastic buttons, and gathering in places that will only accentuate the places I don’t want accentuated! Half the fabrics don’t breathe, which means 5 minutes after I start sweating, I’m going to smell like I haven’t bathed in a week! Crop-tops! Turtlenecks! Sweaters that hung to my knees like a giant wooly sack! And ugly Christmas sweaters that weren’t even fugly enough to make them “cute”.

Third, if by some miracle, you actually find something not cringe-worthy, you have to cross your fingers and toes that they have it in your size. Most likely, they will not.

Fourth, price check! If I’m going to invest myself in this garment by undressing in a tiny, dingy cubicle with mirrors poised in unflattering angles (if there’s even a mirror), to see if it fits, the price had better be right! It seems lately, sales prices are about what I would consider paying at full price, so the options shrink even further…

And finally, if it is deemed “worthy”, try it on. More than half the time, it looks better on the hangar.

But I can’t dash into the drug store naked, so while I can still walk, I made a couple trips to the Mall. (Plus there’s that gift-giving occasion coming up next month)!

I started slow.

On Friday night, I stopped on the way home from dropping Youngest Son at youth, to pick up some track pants for a friend. I thought I’d be in and out in a flash. Instead, I had a hot flash while I traipsed around this tiny store trying to locate the right style, colour and size for her. Texts dingled back and forth before she made a final decision and I was able to leave. 

I will make an exchange/return this coming Friday.

On Tuesday, I went with a friend specifically for jeans. I currently own about 6 pairs of jeans, from size 2-10. Of those jeans, 2 pairs fit. Are they flattering? Not in the least. Do I have a prayer of fitting into them again? Not likely. I’ve only kept the size 2 jeans as a bittersweet reminder that they once fit. I can still remember that day in the change room. The tears of joy. The jumps of jubilation. The screams of delight. The startled face of the salesclerk as I emerged elated! I posted the little purple tag with the number “2” on the refrigerator like it was a trophy! And it was! That “2” represented time, endurance, and self-control.

I knew there might be a “2” in the number on the tag and that it would have a friend next to it. I tried on the size “2” before I went shopping. I got past my knees, but not much farther. Our life together was so short!

I would have to face my fears…and shop!

I tried on over a dozen pairs of jeans, even ones that holes in them. (I actually like “hole-y” jeans even though they cost more simply because they have holes in them. I already know, thanks to past experience, that my toes get stuck in the holes when I’m sliding them on and I make the holes bigger, which totally ruins the “hole-y” look that I just paid extra to have…but they’re cool!).

After more than an hour of sliding denim up and down my body, and mouth-breathing as I strained with buttons and zippers, I was exhausted and very, very thirsty! 

I now own 8 pairs of jeans. But I didn’t leave with that same sense of success and jubilation as before. I doubt I ever will again.

Will I fit into any of them next week? Time will tell. 

I really should just be thankful that I have something to wear outside the house besides leggings thinning at the thighs, or worse, going naked. 

No one wants to see that.

Even me!

I have been shopping my whole life and I still have nothing to wear!
– Every woman

EPILOGUE:

Dear Diary – Apparently technology has feelings, and when you complain about it, it gets revenge!

I just lost an hour of writing. 

And then nearly lost it in frustration trying to explain to Hubby what happened.

And more time as he tried to figure out what happened and attempt to fix it. Frustrated, I might add, because I wasn’t using my new laptop. 

I confess…it scares me!

First, WordPress decided to freeze during an autosave.

Then, I struggled to copy the text, chunk by chunk and paste it into Word, so I could close the tab and start over.

But when I started over, WordPress opened in the old format, and the text I copied went in weirdly.

Then WordPress froze again. And again.

It was as I was fixing the weird formatting, that I noticed I had a duplicate chunk…and I was missing a very large, utterly brilliant chunk of writing. And none of that chunk was in the past revision subheading thingy because…Wordpress had frozen nearly an hour before!

I did what I just said I didn’t want to do…I had to submit to Hubby’s self-confessed brilliance. 

It pained me.

As Hubby left me to scrape together my thoughts and try to recreate my own writing brilliance, we had to laugh. My mug warmer didn’t like me and he had to turn it down…

I won’t be impressed with technology until it can download food. – Unknown

Dear Quarantine Diary – Week 44

Tags

covid-19 diary, covid-19 humour, dear diary, halloween, humour

Dear Diary – What’s a little chaos between friends?

It’s been months since I’ve led worship, between the Death Flu and Covid, so I was a little nervous heading into rehearsal Thursday evening. It went pretty smoothly considering the extra distractions, and I felt like my training as a Mom and the many years of concert band practice (& that brief period of time where I struggled in a Dixieland band) kicked in and saved the night.

For me, at least.

First there was a kid playing guitar and singing loudly behind me, but rarely on time. I had to concentrate on my own timing. BUT I’m NOT complaining because this was a learning experience for him, and a time of worship. It’s so precious to hear young people worshipping and exciting to know that I can have a part in training and encouraging as they grow.

Second, there were a few younger children having a grand time screaming and playing in the sanctuary, and for me, that high-pitched screaming…the kind that sounds like someone is being murdered, is like fingernails on a chalkboard for someone else. BUT I’m NOT complaining…because there was joy in the house of the Lord.

I’ve heard musicians say that if the rehearsal is rough, the service will be smooth. I’m not sure that’s always the case. Sure, I only sang the wrong words 5 times (in one song) during rehearsal, but things can still go wrong. I sang the right words to that song during the service, but I messed up somewhere else.

Our church uses tracks. On the plus side, it helps keep us together and we can add instruments that we don’t have. We can also adjust the volume of each instrument in the mix, which is helpful when there’s a zealous electric guitar playing on the track!

It’s been just over a year since I started using them, and as the leader, I’m responsible to set them up. Which I did for rehearsal. But then our drummer found a replacement so he could play guitar, which was a good move as it created a better sound overall. But it meant I had to adjust the tracks accordingly Sunday morning. And that’s where I messed up.

I hit “play” on the last track at the end of the service, but while it said it was playing, there was no sound. No click to keep time. No cues to tell us when to sing. Nothing. Until suddenly there was a zealous electric guitar. And only electric guitar. But the service had to go on, so I started playing keys and singing when I knew it was time to come in, See, years of playing with no tracks has advantages too…I don’t depend on them.

It wasn’t until we were starting verse 2 that I realized what had happened. In addition to adjusting the volume on the instruments, you can also hit “solo” and only that instrument will play. Guess what I did?

I timed it well…my leaning over and pushing buttons so that the sanctuary was suddenly filled with a fuller sound at a good time. Hubby and Eldest Son, both church audio technicians, said they didn’t notice. But if you watch the service on YouTube, you will see me fiddle with the iPad a few times. I kept a poker face (not my usual grimace). It wasn’t perfect, but it doesn’t have to be. We’re not perfect; we’re worshipping a perfect God.

Dear Diary – Eldest son came for a visit on the weekend. It was short but lovely! And he brought me a pumpkin. Sunday afternoon we all took part in planning and carving a family jack-o-lantern. And when you’re a family of gamers…

Dear Diary – It took hours of my life. I read, and re-read, and re-read the instructions again and again. Then I had Hubby read the instructions. He also read and re-read them again and again. But I finally sewed a tea pot cozy.

I don’t even like them.

Still, I figure if we can tackle a pattern together and succeed, we can tackle almost anything!

Dear Diary – We finally had our new HVAC and water heater installed. Everything was functioning well despite being over 20 years old, but we didn’t want to wait to lose heat in the dead of winter. So we receievd several estimates and finally signed a contract in September. Between part delays, shortage of workers, and getting Covid, the installation kept getting delayed. It’s been a mild Fall so it hasn’t been an issue.

Hubby was on vacation for the 2 days that the guys were here, so he could answer questions and get instructions. And enjoy a good laugh with the boys when they found these blasts from the past hidden on a shelf above the furnace…

They also found these…

It was mostly a pile of covers, a few pages of creepy ads from back pages, and one raunchy European magazine…all mid-1970s. In 1978, I was 4 years old.

We purchased this house in 2001 so I can breathe a sigh of relief that this smut didn’t belong to my beautiful baby boys. And it never will. I shredded all the sultry photos and salacious stories! These pieces of history can easily be thrown away.

Character is what man is in the dark.

D.L. Moody

Dear Diary – It isn’t often that I can think of a smart-aleck response in the spur of the moment, and one that gets back at Youngest Son for all the short jokes. I’m not short…I’m petite!

We were fixing our plates for dinner and Youngest Son asked something and I answered. Shocked, confused, and slightly embarrassed, he replied, “Did I say that out loud?”.

I immediately (I’m proud to say) asked him, “are you OK? Is the air too thin up there?”

On an aside, Hubby doesn’t think “petite” is the right adjective for a short person. I like it because it connotes someone who may be small in stature, but also someone with a small frame, a tiny waist, a dainty demeanour. I realize short doesn’t have to connote someone who is round like a blueberry, but I’d rather view myself as a fairy princess than plump fruit!

And why do we use fruit to describe women? I’ve never heard a man called a watermelon. It seems men’s bodies are described in relation to what they do rather than food, like “swimmer’s body”.

Shouldn’t we be focusing on being in shape rather than a shape?!?

I think the next someone who refers to my body as a fruit, might just get pureed. I’m not a pear or an avocado, or a peach. I’m a woman!

Dear Diary – I didn’t dress up for Halloween this year. It was a wet Halloween too, so we didn’t have many kids come to the door.

More chocolate for me!

The week after Halloween: Don’t act like you didn’t have your kid’s chocolate for breakfast!

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Dear Quarantine Diary – Week 43

Tags

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

Dear Diary – I am happy to say that we are recovering from Covid-19! I was finally free, as of Sunday, to leave my room without a mask. O glorious freedom!

But I feel like I lost most of October, between the reaction to medication which caused the Death Flu and Covid-19. I also had that one terrifying day, and one week to clean in preparation for Eldest Son and his girlfriend’s visit Thanksgiving weekend. The Thanksgiving weekend and celebration that didn’t happen because Hubby tested positive for Covid-19.

Good times!

I say we are recovering, not recovered, because we’re still both barking like a dog, and I still tire more easily than usual. But I’m well enough to tackle the usual tasks: meals, laundry, dishes, and dusting! As you can imagine, I’m thrilled. Not! How is it possible for the living room to be dust-covered when no one has been in it for almost 2 weeks? But it’s only dust…not thick ropes of spider webs or mouse droppings. This “house of horrors” has been purged of covid’s evil spirits, and I pray that we’ll never suffer under it again.

Dear Diary – I talked to my rheumatologist today. I don’t always think he listens. I explained how I developed the Death Flu, again, when I took the sulfasalazine medication. This time, I started to feel like crap after 1 pill. After 2, I had a fever of 102 and it took me days to recover my strength.

He started talking about another medication with equally scary side effects, so I asked about increasing my current medication or trying something like prednisone. I understand, it has nasty things too, but they seem less nasty…He considered a few options out loud, then he asks me what I thought about trying just 1 sulfasalazine pill.

[*crickets*]

To be fair, we were on the phone, it was early, and I think I threw him when I didn’t do my normal thing and just say “ok”. 🙂

We discussed some options and I will be trying a new medication for 3 weeks…after I go for bloodwork early next week. This medication can cause weight gain and I’m not thrilled. I’m hoping if it helps, I can start walking again to counteract it. And, after being trapped in my room with Covid for 10 days, with a box of crackers that I had to ration, I lost a few pounds so I’m not packing more on top of the more that I’ve already packed on.

Does any of this make sense?

Dear Diary – I had a coughing fit the other day, and even as I was gasping for breath between rib-shattering convulsions, my hot from my exertion and tears streaming down my face, I wanted to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. It might have been more hilarious if I wasn’t in such distress that I nearly throwing up a bunch of times! Thank heavens it’s been the only episode!

Dear Diary – I had another near death experience on the way home from the school, thanks to a white mercedes. (Do all mercedes drivers think they own the road? Asking for a friend!) It’s been awhile since I’ve had an encouner with a bad driver…on the way home from school. Other than the Fashionable Fran, a hot Mama (also in a white mercedes) who likes to stop in the middle of the street (preferably blocking the parking lot I pull into to drop Youngest Son) to let her precious darling out of the car. And never without a long conversation before her darling walks away. Ugh!

This shiny white car’s owner obviously strongly objected to me driving 55km in a 50km zone, so in an effort to speed me up, he tailgated me. Being a Monday morning, and having not consumed my morning caffeine yet, I was in not in a “generous” mood so I didn’t budge. I mean, I might have really stirred the pot if I had slowed down, but I didn’t want to get burned! So I continued on my merry way at 55!

Mr. Mercedes drove even closer. In fact, I’m pretty sure I saw steam pouring from his ears. The problem, dear diary, was that I was going to have to slow down to turn soon, and I knew that if I even touched the brake the width of a thread, he’d be kissing my bumper. And based on the colour of his face, his words would not be kind!

So I flicked on my turn signal before I took my foot off the gas to let him know what was coming. Well, of course, he whipped around me into the center turning lane, which I fully expected. What I did not expect was that he’d whip back into the driving lane at such a speed and angle, that had I not cranked the wheel to the right, Hubby’s car would be a crumpled mess from the bumper to my door!

I slammed the horn, once I was certain I wasn’t hearing metal on metal.

Mr. Mercedes only sped up to get away, waving…

I considered following him to get his license plate, but I’ve reported several dismal drivers before, and I doubt a single one suffered the slightest consequence. So I came home for tea…yorkshire tea on a silver platter.

I figured my stellar performance, both in controlling my mouth and keeping my head in the face of danger, deserved only the best!

Have you ever noticed anyone driving slower than you is an idiot, and anyone driving faster than you is a maniac?

George Carlin

Dear Quaratine Diary – Week 42

Tags

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

Dear Diary – Eldest Son ubered beverages and 6 doughnuts the first morning. Three of them were chocolate.

Someone ate all the chocolate ones.

I’m sad.

Dear Diary – I’ve reached a new low. I contemplated the usefulness of adult diapers. If I had some, I wouldn’t necessarily have to get up to pee. I know it’s gross; stop judging me.

I know if I don’t go, I won’t go back to sleep. So I lie there a long time psyching myself up for the trip.

First, it’s cold outside the blankets, even when I’m shivering under them.

Second, I’m pretty sure the floor leans to the right and I have to prop myself up on the wall.

Third, my head starts to feel as light as a feather and threatens to carry my feet away with it. Until I take a step and my sore joints bring me back to earth.

The trip is long and really feels hardly worth the effort, having sweat all the liquid out before I even get there.

Dear Diary – When Hubby quarantined in his room, I fed him tuna sandwiches on toasted bagels, and hot pork roast dinners. I realized after the first morning in my room that I might starve to death before the fever killed me. He doesn’t eat breakfast, so he never thought to offer me any. I could have asked him, but I’m not good at asking for help. Fortunately, I had had the foresight to grab a banana and a box of cheese crackers before I collapsed in bed the previous night. How bad could this get?

Dear Diary – Even though I am immunocompromised, I’m not compromised enough to qualify for the antiviral medication. Of course, once I heard the potential side effects that would make me feel much worse, I realized I dodged a bullet.

Dear Diary – Hubby reheated last of my homemade soup, the one I made as the angel of darkness spread her cloak over me Wednesday evening. I almost ended up peeling carrots and potatoes sitting on the kitchen floor.

He also made me sweet potato fries, and I learned that he doesn’t like sweet potato fries.

Dear Diary – On Day 3, I started to celebrate feeling cold and not because I had chills from a fever.

Then the tylenol wore off.

Dear Diary – I rationed my cheese crackers. I made that box last 6 days!!

I want a Big Mac!

Dear Diary – It’s like having a small child again. Every time I try to nap, someone interrupts.

Dear Diary – I forgot I ordered tea from David’s Tea on Thanksgiving Monday! The package arrived today. Too bad I’m too sick to care.

Dear Diary – On Day 3, Hubby ran a bath for me. I don’t usually take baths because of a bad experience when Youngest Son was small, but I had the energy level of sloth (and I probably smelled like one too).

By this point, I had sweat through nearly every nightgown I owned, at least once. Particularly at night. It was so bad, I had to sleep on the wrong side of the bed to get away from the puddle that had soaked into my mattress topper. On average, 47-60% of the human body is water and I had no idea from where it could possibly all be coming!!

In addition to sweating from the high fever, I spent the night playing the game “on again/off again”. You know the one where you’re too hot, so you toss off the blanket, and then you’re freezing, so you pile it on again…only to toss it 1 minute and 30 seconds later.

I had sweat and shivered so much for days, I was certain I must be a size 0 by now. Imagine my disappointment!

The bath was short, but oh so good! He even put bath salts in it. I have no freaking clue where he found bath salts because I haven’t taken a bath in over a decade, but God bless him!

After my bath, I put on a sexy, silky nightgown. Not to “reward” hubby but because I thought it might feel good. And I discovered something. It was the perfect weight. No sleeves and backless meant no soggy elbows or damp collar in the night. If I got to hot, I just had to stick my leg out of that thigh-high slit and I was good. Chilly, just wrap my feet in the silky folds.

Sure, I’ll never wear it again without remembering the Great Swelter of October 2022, , it helped solve my perspiring predicament. Even though I sleep alone in a queen-sized bed, I don’t like sleeping on the other side. It was uncomfortable spooning the laptop, DVD player, half-eaten bag of chips, phone, thermometer, box of kleenex and bottle of tylenol!

Dear Diary – There’s nothing good on Netflix.

Dear Diary – On Day 5, I ordered groceries with Instacart, to be delivered later in the day. I will never use them again!

Delivery was scheduled between 4:30 and 5. At 5, I received a text saying my shopper was starting…with delivery by 6:10. I received a text soon after that he had checked out.

At 6:43, I texted my shopper to find out what was happening. He informed me that he was shopping for 3 different customers at 2 different stores, and had to wait 20 minutes for my bbq chicken. The new estimate for delivery was 7:40.

I contacted customer service. They were no help!

My groceries finally arrived almost 3 hours after he started shopping. The frozen nuggets were not frozen, the meat was not cold, and the chicken was not hot.

The next day I discovered I was charged $4 for broccoli…I ordered broccoli. I didn’t get broccoli!

Following my review, I will be reimbursed for the missing broccoli. I’m just praying we don’t get food poisoning.

Dear Diary – There are forums on Etsy, so my task today was to post asking for feedback on my shop, because honestly, I don’t know what to do! Others have done the same with very insightful feedback from other shop owners.

One person replied and nothing she said was remotely helpful.

I think this is God’s way of saying, “stop banging on that door”.

I don’t mind, except that I have really been praying He’d open another first.

Dear Diary – It’s Day 8 and I still feel like crap! So does Hubby, who started 5 days before me! My head is still full of thick goop, which threatens to suffocate me. I still have a headache. All I want to do is sleep.

I got ambitious yesterday and changed the sheets on my bed because, you know, even animals deserve clean cages. As soon as I was done, my sweaty body into it and napped.

And then I needed another bath.

I occasionally slip downstairs, masked, to reheat a cup of tea or hunt for snacks. There are none. In my weakened state, I only ordered basics. But I keep hoping I’ll be pleasantly surprised.

Last night, after another short bath and clean nightgown, I curled up on the couch downstairs to watch t.v. with Hubby. He was watching a show on submarines. I was so happy to be out of my prison cell room, I almost didn’t care.

I’ve been staring at the same view for over a week, and I’ve been told that on Day 11, I am free to move about society once again. They also mention being symptom-free and I’m not sure I ever will be again. As for moving, the thought just makes me tired, and then I need another nap.

Only last May, I was marvelling at how the green leaves on the trees grew while I was sleeping with the death flu. Here we are, 5 months later. I survived the Death Flu a second time only 3 weeks ago? And now, the leaves are orange and slowly being stripped from the branches by a cold wind…and I’m still sleeping.

When life knocks you down, stay down and just take a nap!

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