Dear Quarantine Diary – Week #8

Tags

covid-19 diary, covid-19 humour, dear diary, faith, friends, humour, loss

Dear Diary -I stood on the bathroom scales this week and it says I”ve gained weight. There goes my theory that my clothes were shrinking in the closet and dresser drawers. Afterall, I haven’t worn most of them for a year. I don’t think the scale is broken, but if it isn’t kinder next time, it will be!

Dear Diary – On Saturday, Hubby and I watched an episode of Home Town, which I PVR when there’s a free preview. I love this young, sweet couple and their devotion to restore a house and build a home. They also salvage, re-purpose and work within a budget! All good stuff!

Hubby started looking at real estate and found the PERFECT place for us, only 10 minutes from my folks. I have always dreamed of living in one of the many limestone or red brick farm houses in and around my small town. So it’s not wonder we fell deeply in love with a gorgeous restored old limestone church. This beautiful home was obviously a labour of love. They retained the beautiful woodwork, the tower, the arches, the stained glass windows. Every detail enhances its natural beauty. I love the soaker tub next to an arched window, and the French door leading from the main floor master bedroom to a 3 season room. I love the fire pit. I love the custom wrought iron gate. I love the country landscape and I could learn to live with the pool. And if we sold our house at the top end in the current market, we could probably afford it, mortgage-free. We’d have a house but no income, and we’d lose it all.

Instead, we’ll just let our hovel house here, be our home.

Home is a comfort and home is a light, a place to leave the darkness outside
Home is a peaceful and ever full feeling, a place where the soul safely hides

Michael Card, Home

Dear Diary – I excused myself to use the “ladies’ room”, then muttered mockingly under my breath, “why are you using it? You’re no lady”. Little Guy burst out laughing. “Good one,” he said, “I was just thinking, we all use it so does that mean you think we’re all ladies?”.

Dear Diary – It’s always wonderful to find out you are memorable! I don’t think that’s happened to me before. I went to my 12 year old eye doctor this week, and he remembered that I play Overwatch. He remembered the D’Va text notication on my cell phone. He also remembered a 30 second conversation we had last year when I accosted him in the parking lot to ask what characters he played. I guess it’s true of gamers –

The bond we have is much deeper than the game we play.

Patrick Willis

Dear Diary – My parents read about the perfect cat for me. I would love, love, love to get a cat who is past the crazy kitten stage and loves to cuddle. But Hubby hates cats. Just to see their reaction, I told the boys about Moustache anyway. I mentioned that he needed a home with no other pets and no small children. Little Guy piped up, “then what are we going to do about you…small child?”

I get it! I’m short!

Dear Diary – Once in awhile I have to waste energy doing housework. I started cleaning out under the bathroom sink and found 5 bottles of men’s body wash. So, for the foreseeable future, I’m going to smell like a man. One day I’ll smell like a forest, the next an Irish spring. And how, exactly, does an icy mist smell? I just hope those Axe commercials aren’t accurate and I get swarmed with hot women every time I leave the house.

It all balances out too. Hubby is starting to smell like a woman. He’s been using my hand lotion, and a cloud of shea butter follows him everywhere!

Dear Diary – My dear friend of almost 30 years died this week. She was diagnosed with cancer barely 3 months ago.

I met Suzanne in college & careers and we instantly bonded. When she moved away 2 years later, we kept in touch, writing looong letters. Those letters allowed us to prayerfully carry each other through some very dark times in our lives.We lost touch a couple of years ago, then out of the blue, she sent me a message asking me to pray. That message was followed by a handwritten letter, scanned and emailed to me. The best way to connect the new and the old! She had drifted from the Lord and He had woken her up. We picked up right where we had left off.

She was the special kind of friend that I could share anything with, without fear or shame. She loved me when I was most vulnerable and I always knew my heart was safe with her. I am so thankful for the assurance that she is safely in the Father’s arms now, and our friendship will never be over. I loved her so much and miss her terribly already.

June 29, 1996

And friends are friends forever if the Lord’s the Lord of them
And a friend will not say never ’cause the welcome will not end
Though it’s hard to let you go in the Father’s hands we know
That a lifetime’s not too long to live as friends

Michael W. Smith, Friends

Dear Quarantine Diary – Week #7

Tags

baking, cooking, covid-19 diary, covid-19 humour, dear diary, humiliation, humour, shopping, Valentine's Day

Dear Diary – I declared last Friday a pajama day! (but just so I wasn’t completely disgusting, I did shower and put on clean pajamas). I was so excited to have family and friends join in or comment on our “Adult Spirit Day”! I think we should plan something for next month. Anyone?

Cheers!

Dear Diary – I am a Valentine’s Day survivor. It’s that one holiday between Christmas chocolate and Easter chocolate, that I tend to despise. Too many bad experiences that make me want to cry out “Bah…humbug!” As always, I wore my traditional black to honour my friend (my little black dress stayed in the closet where it continues to shrink), and we ordered in pizza.

On Sunday morning, I received a cryptic text from Big Guy. I had my suspicions but I played dumb (which I’m really good at doing). Sure enough, within 10 minutes I heard snow crunching outside the front door. I opened to a stranger hightailing it away from my house and a large brown paper bag on my doorstep. Even though it was obviously too small for Big Guy to hide in, I brought it inside gingerly. It contained Tim Horton’s: 1 large coffee, 1 large steeped tea (Mine!), 1 large chocolate milk, and 3 chocolate chip cookies. It was the best breakfast from the sweetest kid!

I miss him.

Hubby also cooked us eggs and hash browns (yum!) and helped with dishes. Little Guy played Halo with me in the evening. 🙂

So it was my turn to treat. I spent the afternoon making pastitio, a layered Greek pasta dish similar to lasagna, with a thick bechamel sauce on top, and loads of gooey cheese. Very low cal. For dessert, homemade shortbread cookies. I experimented with flavouring the icing with tea: purple was earl grey, pink was cherry lucuma, and brown was s’mores chai. If you knew to look for the flavours, I mean really concentate, you could taste them.

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I also made a cardboard template and cut out what were supposed to be tea bag shaped cookies. It took forever. Little Guy thought they were price tags. Obviously the baker on The British Baking Show did a much better job!

Sadly, my kid didn’t get to spend Valentine’s Day with his new sweetheart, who I have yet to meet. Of course, with Covid, they rarely get to meet!! Long distance relationships can be hard at the beginning, however, it also means you have time to get to know each other. That’s how Hubby and I started. Instead of texting, we wrote long letters, and occasionally talked on the phone after 11 p.m. when the long distance rates were lower. There were no phone plans back in the dark ages. Hubby and I also spent our first Valentine’s Day apart and it sucked for other reasons, but we’re still an item, celebrating 25 years in June. Maybe this couple will have quite a story to tell one day: “Love in the Time of Covid”.

Dear Diary – I ordered and picked up groceries on the only day this week that it snowed. Murphy’s law! With the windchill, it was dipping close to -20C, which made for a long, cold wait. I was the only one cued for a pick up and it took forever for them to come. I know why now: I’m feeding an army!

Be thankful for what you have. Your life, no matter how bad you think it is, is someone else’s fairytale.

Wale Ayeni

Dear Diary – Yesterday I supervised Little Guy’s 3 hour Computer Coding Competition. Even though he notified his teachers for the 2 periods he would miss, I still had to notify the school. But where to begin?

I began with the online attendance system used by the school board. It took me 20 minutes of searching and a 5 minute “video for dummy parents” only to discover that the Report Absence Button no longer exists.

So I called local school. She gave me 2 phone numbers for Virtual School. The first number was the correct number to report absences for Virtual School, but the voice mailbox was full, and then it started screaming “error, error” in my ear. So I called the other number and left a detailed voice message. I received a call back almost imediately from a very polite young man, chuckling from his toes. He was a Rogers Communications employee and this was his personal cell phone. Freaking awesome!

Next I sent both schools an email, explaining why I was writing and what number I called to get the “full” mailbox. At least they couldn’t say I didn’t try! There went the first half of my morning.

About 4 p.m., an hour after Little Guy had completed the competition, I received a rather snotty and abrupt email from the local school, giving me the phone number for reporting absences to the Virtual School. Obviously she read my email very carefully. Sigh…

Sheldon: Why are you crying?

Penny: Because I’m stupid!

Sheldon: Well that’s no reason to cry; one cries because one is sad. For example, I cry because others are stupid and it makes me sad.

– Big Bang Theory, Season 3, Episode 10

Dear Quarantine Diary – Week #6

Tags

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

Dear Diary – Last Friday was “Go to work naked day”!

You didn’t honestly think I was going to share THOSE photos, did you? This Friday, a girl friend and I are planning a pj day and we’re posting those pics! Care to join us?

Dear Diary – I’ve been tied up in knots these days, and since I’m tied up anyway, I decided to do some tying of my own…and make pretzels.

I really like The Great British Baking Show, except it makes me want to bake fancy things far beyond my ability or patience. The middle challenge for these bakers is technical, and usually some important information is missing from the recipe, requiring them to use their knowledge and intuition. I lack both. (If I’d had intuition, I would have known that attempting pretzels wasn’t the best thing to tackle in my current emotional state). My recipe also lacked important details like…what the dough should look like when it’s properly kneaded, how to twist the pretzels, and most imporantly, how many pretzels I’m making!

It wasn’t as tricky as I expected, but it was quite the workout. I think my dough was a bit too dry which didn’t help. I had to knead it for 10 minutes.

This is where being short is a disadvantage. Anyone who has baked bread knows that it’s easier to knead when you are standing or leaning over your dough. But in order to do that, I have to stand on a footstool and take care not to push the dough too hard, lest the footstool slide and I take a tumble.

By the end of the first 5 minutes, I had worked up quite a sweat and my eagle eye was glaring at the clock, willing it to jump ahead. After 10 minutes, from my judgment (or lack thereof), the dough was almost there. Ugh!

Once it proved in the warmth of the oven’s light, the next challenge was figuring out how many lumps to cut and how to form it into pretzels. The twisting was easy if you stand on your head just the right way – but moulding a long, serpentine tube was ridiculous! Instead of rolling, the dough slid on the counter. If I stretched it, it started to flake. One end looked like a pencil, the other a sausage. I rolled and rolled it between my hands like I was starting a fire with sticks. My hands tired, the skin stung and reddened like a tomato. All the while, Little Guy was standing in abject fascination at my ministrations. And that was just for the first 2! I don’t how many I made. The first to be formed, started rising into grotesque gnarls so I re-rolled them and divided them into 2. I glazed the finished products with egg and sea salt and baked until brown.

When you reach the end of your rope, tie a knot in it and hang on.

Franklin D. Roosevelt

Dear Diary – I’m ashamed to admit my emotions got the better of me last weekend. I was emotional. I felt sorry for myself. But mostly I was angry. Very angry. I try to avoid them, other people’s posts of life “as normal” – skiing in cottage country, coffee at Starbucks, visits with extended family. It’s not fair. It’s not right. If we all did our part, might this all be over by now?

I’ve been “doing my part” by staying home; we suck up the cost of ordering in groceries. I wear a mask if I go for a walk, but it’s been too chilly to go far. Brr….. I miss my folks and my kid. I miss fast food and shopping malls. I really miss Tim Horton’s. I feel trapped at home with 2 men who eat and fart, and tease me for being short.

God reminded me to look at David. A humble guy in a field, placed in a position of honour with a king, a musician, a warrior, who ends up running for his life through no fault of his own. Surely he wondered how God could have let this happen. David was God’s chosen and anointed. He’d been promised a kingdom and he was living in a cave, “on the lam”. Talk about unfair!

David chose to respond by pouring out his fears and compaints, baring His soul with tears before the Lord. Then he would rehearse his trust in God by pouring out his praise and worship. A man after God’s heart. God didn’t make David’s path easier, but He did make David stronger so that at the right time he could become a great leader of a nation, foreshadowing the coming of the King of kings.

Lord, give me a heart that recognizes that you are all that I need.

Do not fret because of those who are evil or be envious of those who do wrong…be still before the Lord and wait patiently for Him….Refrain from anger and turn from wrath…it only leads to evil….The Lord makes firm the steps of the one who delights in Him; though he may stumble, he will not fall, for the Lord upholds him.

From Psalm 37 (NIV)

Dear Diary – My supplies were gathered, and my fabric washed, ironed and ready to go!

Step 2: Trial and error. Two weeks ago, a pillow slip threatened to push me over the edge, but I refused to be bested by a pillow! I perfected my ripping out skills, dried my tears and humbled myself long enough to watch instructional Youtube videos. I discovered the first problem was the fabric I used was too short, just like me. So I wouldn’t ruin another swatch of fabric, I practiced making 2 types of covers with an old baby sheet covered in blue and yellow paint.

Step 3: I held my breath, crossed every appendage and forged ahead!

Step 4: Do a happy dance! (Bonus: dancing warms me up – it’s freezing up here)

I’m walking on sunshine, woah!
And don’t it feel good!
Hey, alright now, don’t it feel good…

Katrina and the Waves, Walking on Sunshine

Dear Quarantine Diary – Week #4

Tags

covid-19 diary, covid-19 humour, humour, sewing, shopping

Dear Diary – It seems I wasted a whole week fighting with a broken sewing machine. It started being goofy a week ago but I didn’t notice until I had completed at least 5 new masks. I had to rip them all apart. Somehow I managed to complete Big Guy’s birthday present right before it quit completely. I investigated with a screwdriver. Everything seemed to function as it should except a small tug would pull the whole seam apart. And now one tiny screw, smaller than a pepper corn, would just spin and spin inside its hole. I messaged my Dad and headed to the post office. The deadline to get this gift to Big Guy on time was tight. Adding insult to injury, as I stepped out the front door, I nearly tripped on the packages of my new Spring fabric. I had orders to fill and no way of filling them.

I am naive. I thought that seeing as we’re all struggling with something during this season of Covid, that we might be gracious and helpful with one another. Not so!

I went to the post office in a drug store and while I was there, I decided to snag some sale stuff, namely food! With groceries being delivered every other week, I find it a struggle to plan out two weeks worth of meals for 3 people (4 if you count Hubby’s second stomach). It’s not just quantity, it’s the hankerings and cravings, and evening grazings.

I didn’t want to use a basket; I didn’t have gloves with me. Instead, I loaded up my arms. But I had one item too many. Every other step, something else fell off the pile. It meant I had to kneel down and set something on the floor to get a finger free to retrieve the dropped item. Only, inevitably, something else would slide off the pile. Or slide off when I was halfway up, knees screaming, face grimacing, sweat pouring. Countless people stopped to watch this ridiculousness before steering around me in a wide berth. I cussed quietly under my breath: “Son of a motherless goat…Come on you stupid box!”. Sarcastically, I softly asked aloud: “really?” I whined: “why?” I sighed, deeply from the back of my throat like an exasperated old geezer. Still, amused onlookers smirked. Finally, before I either a) burst into tears, or b) burst into a string of expletives that would rival a seasoned sailor, I kicked the last treasonous box the remaining stretch to the self-checkout kiosk, drawing still more stares. I didn’t care.

Obviously, we are not all in this together!

I called Dad when I got home because my Dad can fix anything. Except broken hearts caused by stupid boys, but if he could fix that, he would have. If we were allowed to leave our homes, I could have met my parents halfway and traded sewing machines.

Before I ran my errand, Hubby had surveyed the scene of the crime and noted that whatever the screw screwed into appeared to be MIA. So Dad talked me through disassembling the machine. I felt like I was defusing a bomb. Though calm on the exterior, I was shaking inside. Sweat started to bead on my forehead and I slowly removed a screw so small I could hardly pinch it’s head between my thumb and forefinger. I pulled the pin and lifted out the metal ring. Sure enough, I discovered a tiny arm and a tiny nut loose inside. Then I dropped the tiny arm. “Don’t move”, Hubby commanded. I had to set the phone aside while we searched. Then Hubby helped me put it all together, and reinsert the ring. The situation was defused and we were celebrating.

Though I wasn’t quite back in business. Problems continued to dog me. Thread snarled in a bird nest fashion. Stitches wavered or laddered again. Days later after endless ripping, I repeated the operation. I hadn’t quite put the tiny arm in right after all. NOW I’m back in business!

Dear Diary – It required determination, concentration, and perseverance, but for the first time in almost a year, I put my hair in a regular ponytail! It’s been over a year since my last haircut, excluding trimming my own bangs so I don’t fall down the stairs, and it’s getting rather long. My frozen shoulder has meant it’s also a disaster. It drags in my food, gets caught in my coat zipper, and bunches into a rat’s nest every night. I know everyone is struggling with “hair care” these days.

It’s a Snow Lumberjack! You don’t want to know what he’s hiding under the helmet!

Dear Diary – Isn’t it great when our kids teach us something we didn’t know before?

This week I learned that Chef Boiardi (marketed as Chef Boyardee) was not just an iconic mascot. While known now for his overly salty, squishy pasta in-a-can, he was in fact a renowned Italian chef. He opened his restaurant, Il Giardino d’Italia in 1924. He never forgot what it was like to struggle in a new country. During the depression, pasta could be made and dried at low cost. Chef Boiardi would jar his homemade sauce in milk bottles and provide it, along with dried pasta, to hungry families in his Little Italy neighbourhood in Cleveland, Ohio. during the depression. During the war, his canning factory was commissioned to produce army rations. After the war, Chef Boiardi sold his factory, rather than lay off workers. He remained a consultant and spokesperson until 1978. His likeness continues to smiles from every can.

Every person you meet has a lesson to teach, a story to tell and a dream to share.

Robin S. Sharma

Big Guy is resourceful in the field! Or just very hungry….

Dear Diary – Tuesday it snowed. It wasn’t the volume of snow that was the problem but the way the wind billowed it over banks and swirled it over rooftops, like a swatch of white satin. It clumped on the screen in my sanctuary, obstructing my small view. It was chilly outside (and inside) but my heart was warm. My precious Big Guy was celebrating a birthday and I was happy to tuck in and let the memories billow and swirl. I re-read the post I had written in 2014, My Child, written from the perspective of my heavenly father over that part of my story, and my heart swelled with joy and thankfulness. It has been a strange journey, certainly not the life I had planned so many moons ago, but a good one nonetheless. God is good, even when my small view is obstructed.

Dear Diary – Yesterday I delivered 18 masks to my friend who knows everyone! It’s great to have someone else deal with people. I get to just tuck in at home and create! With my inventory restocked, I turned my attention to pillow covers for my sanctuary. How hard can it be to sew a square cover for a square pillow?

Yes, the bag of chips did make me feel better. I’ve lost an hour and a half of my life, have sprouted 14 new gray hairs, and still have a swatch of fabric and a headache, but my “tearing out” skills are amazing. Practice makes perfect!

Today is a new day. I think I’ll scrapbook.

Bad news don’t ruin my appetite
Don’t let the papers tell me if it’s wrong or right
I just do what I do and I do it, day by day, by day, by day.
I live life, might take it slow
Make mistakes but Oh! that’s the way it goes
I just know what I know and I know it, day by day, by day, by day

Doug and the Slugs, Day by Day

Retail Therapy

Tags

humour, retail therapy, shopping

Does anyone else miss shopping? I don’t just mean the thrill of buying something new. I’m talking about the experience of it. The canned music and dull roar of people talking. The colourful displays. The texture of soft and silky fabric. The aroma when you walk by Cinnabon.

By the end of January, the Christmas crowds are gone and the big sales of leftover crap is over. The “new stuff” is coming out. It’s the perfect time to browse at your leisure, with no particular deadline (or in my case, put in time while I wait to taxi Little Guy home).

Truefact #104: Women who do a lot of shopping may tend to live longer. For women, shopping is a form of therapy and provides stress relief.

The end of January is also Chinese New Year, and our local Mall always has colourful decorations. They might this year too, but I won’t be there to see them. But this is what it looked like in years past…

And now you know one of my favourite places to shop. Thank goodness for online shopping!

I’m not a shopaholic. I’m helping the economy.
Shopping is my cardio!
I could give up shopping but I’m not a quitter!
When I get tired of shopping, I try on shoes.

Happy Wednesday!

Dear Quarantine Diary – Week #3

Tags

covid-19 diary, covid-19 humour, dear diary, faith, humour, sewing, shopping

Dear Diary – I saw the mailman walk by the house this morning. That’s enough social interaction for today.

Dear Diary – A “state of emergency” was declared as of last Thursday but with the exception of school closures, everything pretty much functions as before. We’re supposed to stay home except for “essentials”: medical appointments, grocery and pharmacy pick up, and walks around the block. Arguably, essential means different things to different people. Here was my conundrum: Michael’s, a craft boxstore, is still open, for curbside pick up or delivery, and I’m in need of “spring” fabric. I had planned a trip to Fabricland in January but it is closed. Some would argue that it’s essential I leave home to buy fabric for my business. Others could argue that my business isn’t feeding my family, and therefore isn’t essential. The same argument can apply to furniture stores, home reno stores, etc. In reality, our restrictions are less severe than last March, although Covid is rampant in our province. What do I do?

I’ve ranted before about the disadvantages of online shopping, and fabric is a small market. Thumbnail photos don’t accurately reflect the product. I spent 5 hours on Friday sourcing fabric to stretch my bucks! In addition to colour and print, I had to consider cost, shipping dates, and measurements. There was no standard means of measuring – I had to calculate cost per metre based on inches, yards, centimeters, and feet. Math…no pressure!

Source: trenchcoatsoft.com

I ordered from Michael’s first, swallowing the $15 delivery charge. Then I ordered from Wal-Mart, which had free shipping…but is shipping each fabric swatch… one. at. a. time. Yesterday I received 3 tiny packages of elastic in a large envelope that was so well taped, I got my 20 minute work-out!

The first package arrived 4 days early, sometime after 8 p.m. I picked up the “Your package has been delivered” after 11 p.m. No one had knocked and I was already in bed but I didn’t want it stolen. Anyone who up to no good in my neighbourhood Monday night, I’m sorry I scared you. I had to turn on the porch light to find the package, and I was too lazy to get dressed first. It’s rather chilly outside for a t-shirt and panties.

Normally I’m a flannel-kinda gal. But lately, the dying inferno of my youth has re-ignited, and I’m waking on fire, several times in the night! I would love a smoking hot body, but this is not what I had in mind. I am developing 2 temperature settings – hypothermia and hades! The blankets are on and off, like a cat in the middle of whatever you are doing. Legs in – too hot! Legs out – too cold! One leg out – worried monster under the bed will eat one leg. When will the madness end?

There’s hope, however. The weatherman has predicted an arctic vortex heading our way. He’s afraid for his life, but I’m wondering if it be a life-saver, providing the optimal sleeping temperature.

I don’t think these fellows will mind.

Dear Diary – The sky is gray and it looks like it should be snowing. I know evening will soon be upon us, and I welcome the darkness. It’s like a heavy blanket wrapped around our home, soft and warm, inviting. I should be writing, or sewing, or doing something useful, not just sitting here idly watching the giant pine tree outside the window. The branches are frantically waving at me in the wind. I know it’s a cold wind that bites through winter clothing, and swirls menacingly around the edges. I was outside earlier, and I was happy to be come home.

I feel like those branches, my thoughts constantly moving and my focus swirling about, but I never really get anywhere. I sense frustration creeping in around the edges, and I have to remind myself: patience. Just as I can’t see the wind, I see movement and know it is there. Just as I can’t see Him, I know God is moving and He is there. Not everything is about the destination; it’s also about the journey.

You take a chance every day – getting up in the morning, crossing the street, or sticking your face in a fan.

Lt. Frank Drebin, The Naked Gun

Dear Quarantine Diary – Week #2

Tags

baking, covid-19 humour, dear diary, humour, quarantine life

Dear Diary – After my foray into homemade portuguese egg custard tarts last week, I was left with 7 eggs whites and half a package of phyllo pastry. What to do?

First, I made unicorn poop meringues. And I did something right this time because they absolutely melt in my mouth!

I also made meringue crowns and served them with fresh raspberries.

Soaring on the wings of success, I embarked on the next baking challenge: French macarons.

The first time I made them, they were a bit of a disaster. The second, much improved. What are the chances the third time is the charm? Zero. Zero percent! Hubby and I discussed the advisability of leaving them in the oven longer (oven off) just like one does with meringues. I ended up with dry, cracked, lumpy husks of cookies. In addition, Hubby and I had ended up competing for space in the kitchen when I was making them and I forgot to add food colouring. So they were beige, dry, cracked, lumpy husks. At least the raspberry buttercream was delicious!

I’m scared to touch the phyllo pastry now.

Dear Diary – It’s been almost a month since returning to online Sunday services, (although we elected to to watch the services online even when live gatherings were permitted). After we watch the service, Hubby and sometimes Little Guy, watch Youtube videos. It’s usually math or coding, and I find something else to do. But occasionally it’s something very different. As a result, I now know what a Kerbal is, how to beat Pac-Man, and Who’s on First!

Photo courtesy of The Physics of Kerbal Space Program

Apparently you really are never too old to learn something new!

Dear Diary – As if Covid isn’t enough of a pain in the butt, my friend had to go for a colonoscopy! I dropped off my heating pad and some cookies on my way to buy a calendar. Actually I was picking up a prescription, a day late I might add, because with no calendar, it’s hard to keep track of the days!

Normally we receive a calendar from our 90-something year old real estate agent. You think I’m joking! But none arrived and I’m hoping that means she finally retired and just forgot to tell us!

I view the kitchen wall calendar as the quintessential tool of our household. Without those blocks to track appointments, exams, and out-of-town guests, life would be in total chaos. Without it, fees would be incurred for missed appointments, exams would be failed, and visitors (if any were allowed) would show up to find us still in our pjs, unshaven, unshowered and probably irritable.

The options were few: Horror movies, Dragonball Z, Harry Potter, Minecraft (which I seriously considered) or the one I did buy, Sassy Sayings.

With our province no officially declared in a “state of emergency” and living in one of the epicentres of covid extremisim, page one of the calendar was downright prophetic!

Page one displays the months of September to December 2020, with this sassy saying:

Reality: it probably could be worse

Dear Quarantine Diary – Week 1

Tags

baking, covid-19 diary, covid-19 humour, dear diary, disasters, humour, photography

Dear Diary – Monday arrived despite our attempts to ignore it. Hubby resumed work in the dining room (it’s such a long, difficult commute), and Little Guy resumed school in his batcave. They were So thrilled to be back! Ha!

And me…I felt a little lost! I filled my last facemask order just before Christmas. My “sanctuary” is mostly sorted. And the house is still relatively clean. If I aim for perfection I’ll just end up raising the bar, and why would I want to do that?

After my quiet time, I checked my instagram page. To my delight, I had tagged in a post. Prizmcare (partnered with Henry’s) had featured me as part of “Canada’s creative community”. They shared 5 pics from my unsplash submissions. I’m so humbled and so excited!

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Big Guy is now a national model!

Dear Diary –  I did a crockpot chicken recipe which took almost 45 minutes to put together. I fail to see how that saved me time. It just meant I was busy earlier in the day, with twice as many dishes to wash up! 😉

Dear Diary – Tuesday was by far the most exciting day this week. I even dressed up. I figured, since I was leaving the house for the first in 2 weeks, and wouldn’t be leaving again for 2 weeks, I ought to take my new red plaid dress for a spin!

First I went to the bank. Actually, first I tried to get into the Bell store two doors down from the bank, but it was closed. I was so busy wrestling with keys, my purse, mittens, gloves, facemask and bank card, I didn’t quite look where I was going. Both storefronts are grey and blue, with barred gates just inside the door. Can you blame me?

Then I went to the drug store for nose spray. Next, my darling chiropractor, who was working in a different room because her torture adjustment bench was being reupholstered. And finally, I swung by my friend’s apartment to trade baked goodies!

I couldn’t stay for tea because I had a delivery coming. This week I took the plunge into online grocery shopping! With the terrifying number of Covid cases in our area, we decided better to try it while we are still thinking clearly. Or at least thinking somewhat.

In addition to the nagging concern that I forgot something on my list, throughout this whole scenario, I always have this nagging fear that we’re going to run out of food, (or money in the bank since the price of food has skyrocketed). It’s not like I can just pop in to pick up milk while I’m out painting the town like before Covid! I also dislike the idea of someone else squeezing my melons!

It felt a little like Christmas morning. First, a pleasant young man called to say he would arrive in 10 minutes. I sat on the couch nervously sipping tea, watching for “Santa’s sleigh” to arrive with my “gifts”. He carried two crates to my door and piled the plastic pouches on the doorstep. And with a nod of his and a wink of the eye, he waved at me in the window and drove away.

I unwrapped each precious parcel with care. Soup cans, cereal, cheese and sausages. Milk and cookies, and a box of chocolates. When everything was neatly tucked away and the plastic bags packed, I sunk into the couch (with another cup of caffeine) with a contented sigh. We should be set for another two weeks!

Dear Diary – I made portuguese egg custard tarts on the weekend. Unfortunately the recipe didn’t differentiate between celsius and farenheit, so I baked it too low. I cranked the oven when Hubby realized the error, and while they’re ok, they could have been great. Maybe…

Warning: Images may be yummier than they appear

Now I have 7 egg whites and half a package of phyllo pastry to make…. well…something….

Cooking is like love. It should be entered into with abandon or not at all.

Harriet Van Horne

Dear Quarantine Diary #39

Tags

Christmas, covid-19 diary, covid-19 humour, dear diary, holiday, hope, humour

Dear Diary – As if the world isn’t messy enough, now we could be at risk from rogue, mutant spiders from outer space. NASA just commenced Operation Dragonfly, taking 2 spiders to space to see how they react to zero gravity conditions. Things became messy, figuratively and literally, when the “back up spider” escaped into the sealed chamber. Let that really sink in…

http://www.giphy.com

Apparently, this is not the first time arachnids have travelled in space. Frankly, it all just sounds like the makings of a horror story, and with days to go before we start 2021, it just gives me the hee-bee jeebies! Anyone else?

Dear Diary – On Christmas Eve Day, I set out to bake a lemon blueberry cake with a lemon glaze, a lemon meringue pie, and a pumpin pie. To save myself some grief, I bought the pie shells and a can of pumpkin pie filling. But I had been so efficient (Nana J would be proud), I put away my pie filling, somewhere I would find it. Until I couldn’t.

While Big Guy went searching for my can of pumpkin, in every cupboard and drawer in the kitchen and basement, I started the lemon cake. Did you know that butter explodes in the microwave?

It took Big Guy half an hour to find the pumpkin filling. I read the directions and my heart sank. It needed evaporated milk. I had evaporated milk…which I used to make inedible fudge. Big Guy texted all his friends in the neighbourhood, but none of them had any either.

Pie will be the death of me.

I made a substitution and crossed my fingers. It worked. So did the lemon curd and meringue.

The lemon-blueberry cake was to celebrate Hubby’s birthday that evening. In the spirit of not spreading covid, or any other airborne disease for that matter, we decided to use a sparkler that I had found in the food processor box. (Seems like a reasonable place to store sparklers?)

It seemed like such a clever idea…until the smoke threatened to set off the smoke detector.

Before bed, Little Guy decided to play with the corn pops box. I store cereal in plastic storage containers and for some reason, the corn pops were stuck together in a solid lump inside. Little Guy was shaking the box, upside down (do you see where this is going?) when the flap popped open as the lump broke apart. It was a family game of “pick up the pops”.

Dear Diary – I never thought I hear myself saying these words: “Don’t spit in your brother’s hot chocolate”. My sons are 16 years apart – you’d think they’d know better!

Dear Diary – We only had a couple nights with Big Guy before he headed home, thanks to the provincial lockdown. We watched a lot of great Christmas movies: Die Hard, Mad Max, Lego Movie 2 and Monty Python.

Then the Grinch thought of something he hadn’t before! What if Christmas, he thought, doesn’t come from a store. What if Christmas…perhaps…means a little bit more! Dr. Seuss, The Grinch Who Stole Christmas

While it really sucked, to say good-bye to Big Guy so soon, it was better than the alternative: Not having him come at all. When it looked like that was going to be the case, I had a complete breakdown. I’m not proud of it but Mama’s hearts are fragile things. I felt guilty for not being content with the many blessings we have compared to so many in our hurting world. I knew of other Mamas whose hearts were broken too. I had to choose to hold on to what joy there was, rather than lament what was not.

Christmas is as much about lament as joy.  No one could have imagined, as we gathered around the Christmas tree last year, that everything would look so different. I imagined the Israelite nation once felt the same way. That first Christmas, they were still under the thumb of Caesar. They were waiting and longing for Messiah to bring a new way, a greater kingdom, a beautiful hope. Meanwhile, an innkeeper was collecting his fees. Shepherds were watching their sheep in the fields. Magi were studying their books. And everything changed. God visited His creation as a divine and human baby, bringing light, and hope, and joy, to a weary world.

Our Christmas Day came and went. It was different. It was sad in many ways. But in truth, no one or no thing could ever steal the Hope and Joy that Jesus brought that first Christmas. Our celebration was always meant to go beyond gifts and glitter, or even the hugs and harmony in family gathering. It is deeply fixed in our heart and soul, and sustains us all year long. Even as the years pass, and the world changes.

Lord willing, it will be better next year. Even if it is not, don’t let go of Hope. See you next year!

Remember, I’m pulling for you. We’re all in this together! Red Green (aka Steve Smith)

Dear Quarantine Diary #38 – Part 2

Tags

Christmas, dear diary, humour

Dear Diary – Yesterday I met my parents halfway and we “celebrated Christmas” in a rest centre parking lot. We weren’t the only masked families lining the edges of the parking lot, swapping packages and gift bags between car trunks. Little ones chased each other around on the grass, squealing with delight. It was a beautiful sound (unlike the herd of elephants that live next door)!

Our visit was really short, probably no more than 5 minutes. It was cold. Little Guy took a picture of my folks on his ipad, and my parents took a pic of us. We smiled by instinct, even though our smiles are hidden by our facemasks. 🙂

• 

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We couldn’t hug, but it was SO good to be together! This is the first time in 47 years that I haven’t been home for Christmas. What a blessing to have such a long record!

On the way home, we listened to one of our favourite Christmas cd, The Arrogant Worms: Christmas Turkey. There were a few songs that just seemed appropriate for 2020! Santa struggles with his “huge debt accumulation”. Daddy is sick and contaminates the whole family. Maybe he was sick with Vincent, the “gift that keeps on giving all night long”. Santa Got Arrested, and the turkey is singing the blues.

Dear Diary – Hubby helped me make cranberry salsa. I carefully weighed out 12 oz. of cranberries. When I checked the bag, it was 12 oz. Not an auspicious start….

Spicy!!

Pies and Hubby’s birthday cake are next. Wish me luck!

Dear Diary – Christmas Eve. 1980-something. It was one of the scariest Christmas Eves of my life.

My Dad was a firefighter. He worked shifts – days or nights. When he worked nights, I slept with Mom. I was a kid with an overactive imagination and wicked nightmares so I looked forward to the nights when I slept with Mom because I was “safe”.

Dad was working nights. My grandparents were staying over too, sleeping on the pull-out couch in the living room.

I was a naughty girl. I crept downstairs in the night to check out my stocking. I had to be quiet because my grandparents were sleeping in the next room…

…until they weren’t.

They decided to turn on the light and talk (thankfully only talk – lol). In the middle of the night.

I held my breath cowering in the half-light for what seemed like an eternity. I hugged the wooden bookcase, sweating in terror. My little pink nightgown did nothing to keep me warm. I knew the floor would creak if I moved so I stayed frozen on the spot. I prayed Mom wouldn’t wake up and come looking for me. I was sure I would get caught!

But eventually the light went out and they settled to sleep. I tip-toed back upstairs and crawled into bed, careful to keep my frozen feet from touching Mom. What a way to wake up!

No one ever knew and I’m pretty sure my late-night escapades were not repeated. But I could be wrong! Mwa ha ha!

Dear Diary – A friend posted this on Facebook, and I thought it was great!

Merry Christmas! And God bless us everyone!