Dear Quarantine Diary #8

Tags

covid-19 humour, dear diary, humour

Dear Diary – I dreamed last night that I was starting a new dance class and I was really excited about it. I was wearing a pretty red dress and I felt great. My greatest concern though: that people would notice I haven’t shaved my legs in awhile and I look like a grizzly.

I shaved my legs in the morning.

Dear Diary – Since my aunt can’t travel as planned, we decided to bring a little Spain to her for her birthday,  including tapas.

For dessert, I baked a Brooklyn Blackout chocolate cake, a 4 layer filled with chocolate pudding. It was invented during WWII by a Brooklyn bakery chain in recognition of the mandatory blackouts to protect the Brooklyn Navy Yard. As always, it was not without difficulty. First, I tried to soften a brown sugar lump by pounding it with a wrench. Little Guy managed to break off the 1/2 cup I needed. Second, I “overwhelmed the solids” as my mother put it. Basically I ended up with goopy lumps of cocoa at the bottom of a pot of warm milk. The cake was tasty but it had tiny flour pebbles which spoiled the look.

We surprised my aunt, and by the time we were done eating, we all needed a siesta.

Dear Diary – I had another recording adventure for Sunday service this week. It started with getting up at 2 a.m. to download the guitar/vocals. The following afternoon, I tried on most of my mother’s wardrobe since it’s too hot for flannel and I haven’t been home since the middle of March and have no cool clothes of my own. I brushed my hair and put on make-up, and piled boxes and DVD cases on the coffee table to set up phone.

As I started to record, something started to rustle outside the window. It sounded big and my first thought was raccoon, having been woken by one two nights earlier.  It turns out it was just Mom. I closed the window and tried again.

It’s harder than you think, to listen to the music with one ear and sing along, knowing everyone in the house can hear you…only you. After several false starts, I got through the first song. I smiled sweetly waiting for the second song to begin, only to realize, with horror, that I couldn’t remember a single word. I tried to fudge it but failed, and I broke down laughing instead.

I was up again at 2 a.m. to upload the finished product.

Not the most complimentary angle but it sounded nice!

Dear Diary – For weeks, my Mom has been gently suggesting that we drive to the city and go to Danini’s for chocolate. Today, Dad went to the city to pick up an item at Home Depot and came home, not only with Danini chocolate, but with Tim Horton’s steeped tea black for the ladies, and chocolate milk for the guys. I love my Dad (and not just because he brought me Tim’s).

Dear Diary – How did I miss Spring? One day I was comfy in flannel; the next I wanted to strip naked and lie on the concrete basement floor? My snow tires are still on my car and I tripped over Little Guy’s winter boots. Having left home in March, the only clothes in my suitcase are flannel shirts and wool socks. So I raided my mother’s closet for a skirt to go with her baggy t-shirt. It hung below my hips like 1990’s Britney Spears, which was sexy on Britney Spears…in 1990. Especially since she shaved her legs!

Dear Diary – I will always be a home body but once in awhile, I like to go places. Today I went home…to the city. This evening Hubby asked me which kind of chips I’d like. I said “surprise me”. I should have known better. He started to unzip his shorts. Yes, I was surprised!

I shouldn’t have left him on his own for so many weeks. It may take months to socialize him again. I’m glad I brought wine.

 

 

 

 

Dear Quarantine Diary #7

Tags

covid-19 humour, humour

Dear diary – Another looong day waiting  to see if UPS lied to me about my package.  Paul had called my cell around 9 a.m. promising it would arrive. By  4 p.m., I couldn’t sit by the window any longer, so I went for a walk down the road to the bridge.

A watched pot never boils.  Apparently the UPS truck can’t come when you’re watching either.

As I crested the hill on my afternoon plod, the scene before me evolved into slow motion:  a man in brown shorts, jogging across the road to a white van idling on the side of the road…across from my folks’. My Dad stands on the front sidewalk, and my Mom, ravishing in red plaid flannel, is smiling and walking across the lawn in the direction toward the bridge.  I started to run, the music swelling – “the hills are alive…with the sound of music…”. Mom waved the white envelope over her head, the sun catching the light behind her head in a halo. I waved back, both arms in the air, while the music continued to swell.

O glorious day! My faith in humanity is restored! And I got my package!

Dear diary- I finally couldn’t stand the wisps of yellow at my temple so I touched up my hair. It took an exorbitant amount of time and a small amount of crying. Mostly because I’m still trying to unfreeze my shoulder. I managed the hair, but lately, I can’t always quite wrangle the bra. It’s a daily exercise in contortion-ism. So is shaving my armpits. Also, I missed half the yellow wisp.  I would try again, but since I can’t get my arm up high enough to brush and/or put up my hair, maybe nobody will notice.

Dear diary – I decided to give the whole “improving myself” during this season of quarantine,  another shot! My aunt passed on a book teaching drawing using the right-brain. After reading the science behind the theory, in order to have a baseline for progress, I was supposed to draw 4 things: a person, a face, a chair, and my own hand. I was to copy everything except the drawing of a person. I ended up with a hand holding a pencil without a pencil, a dangerous-looking chair, a face that is half-dad and half-David Suzuki, and Cinderella in drag.

I have such a long way to go…

Dear diary – Mom and I decided to take a chance, and “shop” at Wal-Mart. She needed vitamins and I needed to work on overcoming my ever-increasing agoraphobia. So we scraped the mud off our boots because we were going to town! I even brushed my hair and put on real pants (as opposed to leggings)!

As Mom pulled into a parking space, the woman in the car next to us shrugged her shoulders at us with her arms raised. We didn’t know her. We hadn’t cut her off. Mom immediately wondered what her problem was. There was only a short line for the garden centre, but the front of the store was barricaded. We were standing there, trying to figure out what was going on when a lady yelled over, “the garden centre is open but the store is closed”. Of course it was closed – it was a holiday!

What to do when you’re all gussied up with nowhere to go? Walk the perimeter of the plaza parking lot and laugh at the steady stream of cars circling the parking lot as they try to figure out if the store is open. Sit in the car and laugh at the other stupid people who parked their cars, wandered to the store entrance, and stared stupidly, before wandering back to their car, and leaving. Drive through town and admire people’s front lawns. And finally, amble down the walkway by the river.

By the time we got home, we were tuckered out and ready for ice cream.

Life is like an ice cream cone, you have to lick it one day at a time. – Charles Shultz

Dear diary – I played a game of Monopoly with Little Guy and for the first time, I was the race car! After the first few turns, Little Guy had landed on Free Parking once and he owned most of the board, including Boardwalk, Park Place and ALL the railroads. Meanwhile, I was almost bankrupt and had gone to prison twice.

In a row.

It went downhill from there.

I hate Monopoly.

 

Dear Quarantine Diary #6 –

Tags

covid-19 humour, dear diary, humour

Dear diary – On Friday, the Canadian Snowbirds passed by. My aunt called from the city to let us know they were on the way. I was getting dressed, so I rushed from my room while throwing on some leggings (realizing too late that the front window curtains were open). I threw on my winter coat too, so I could watch them fly by from the back porch. Dad, who works at a flying club, had his radio with him so we heard when they had passed the airport.  Between their more southerly route and the cloud cover, only Dad caught a glimpse of their trail disappearing behind our neighbours’ roof. But we heard them! Meanwhile Little Guy had stumbled from his bedroom to an empty house and he thought he’d been missed in the rapture.

That afternoon we went for a nature walk with my aunt. It started to snow. Mom denied it. She kept calling it pollen.  By dinner time, the deck and chairs were covered thickly with styrofoam snow pollen balls. The snow pollen was so thick by bedtime, we couldn’t see across the fields.

Dear diary – Everything was still covered with snow pollen so I put on my day jammies and settled on the couch for the day! It was the safest place to be. Dad is feeding his own sourdough starter and he baked bread and buns today. Sometimes there’s a territorial clash in the kitchen with Mom.

Dear diary – The bodies are piling up and I’m tired of disposing of the corpses. Sometimes I’ve found the living hiding among the dead in a desperate attempt to survive the massacre. They crouch among the garbage, among the shadows, hiding in cracks and crevices. I feel like a sniper, this kind of hunting requiring patience and stamina, body tense as I wait… Mom wintered her plants in the dining room and the ants appeared as soon as the sun grew warmer. Some might call me “heartless”. What can I say? War is hell! And I don’t share chocolate cake with anyone. You want a piece of me, punk?!

Dear diary – Little Guy brought me toaster strudel and tea “in bed” for Mother’s Day. Why the ” “? Because he crashed through the bedroom door with a chip on his shoulder the size of a dump truck, dropped the meal on the night stand and cleared out like he was being chased by a mom looking for a big hug! It’s the thought that counts! Breakfast in bed is nice in theory, but sitting in a dark room, alone, isn’t much fun. So Mom brought her tea and cheerios in and sat at the other end. Much better! We watched my home church service online (and the Brady Bunch worship team I was in). I made homemade lasagna, and spent the evening watching Alfred Hitchcock movies. Happy Mother’s Day!

Dear Diary – I humiliated myself publicly again, on Youtube, but it was for the kids! And really, who am I trying to impress? Different members of our church have been recording stories for kids, and it was my turn. I revived an old character, my nerdy girl, Ima Victor! It would have been better with Captain Gary!

 I recorded in the bathtub and Little Guy provided the special effects. I wonder if this story will make a big splash…

Dear diary – They lied. And then they lied again and again, and again. First, they said my first package would arrive Tuesday, then Monday, then Tuesday, then Wednesday…by Wednesday afternoon, the online tracker just said “delivery delayed”.  Meanwhile, my second package, which shipped 2 days after the first, was scheduled to arrive Wednesday. I have been sitting in the front window, staring at the road, watching for that brown delivery van. Thank goodness for my emergency chocolate bar!

After multiple attempts, I finally joined the cue on the UPS “hotline”. They told me it would be a 20-25 minutes wait. They lied. At minute 35, the phone started to die and I had to sprint to the bedroom for another. At minute 51, my Dad’s birthday dinner started and I was still tied to the phone listening to obnoxiously perky muzak with no definable tune and no end. I’m sure they were hoping I’d give up but I’m tenacious.

I waited 65 minutes before I got a live person. I explained my situation and my frustration carefully and calmly, recognizing that the poor girl on the other end really had no means with which to remedy  situation. I didn’t rip into her when she suggested I look up my delivery details online, which was one of the reasons I called in the first place. But when I said the packages were my birthday presents, her tone changed. I could tell she felt bad that my delivery had been changed 5 times, so she sent an email to the “powers that be” with my cell #. It’s supposed to arrive today.

I’m not holding my breath.

Every day that … truck comes through here delivering important things to important people. Someday it’s going to stop here, and when that day comes, then we – and by we, I mean me – will be important. – Robert K. Bowfinger

Dear Quarantine Diary – #5

Tags

covid-19 humour, dear diary, family, humour

Dear Diary – Today my parents made me laugh. They each have their own chair on either side of the coffee table.  While one is looking at the computer, the other is looking at the tablet, and after awhile, they switch. Frequently, they share Facebook stories, video clips, etc. across the table. Sometimes their timing is off, or there’s glare on the screen, or the clip won’t start…and it irritates the other. This morning, they were each playing away on their own devices, and this weird music started playing. After a few minutes, Mom asked Dad dryly, “is there a reason we’re being subjected to this?” Dad looked at her, slightly confused. She stared back. Tension grew. An eagle whistled, like in an old cowboy movie. Dad broke down first. “It’s not me…it’s you!” We have no idea what she did, but at least it was a catchy tune. They are still speaking to each other.

Dear Diary – We’re doing the Brady Bunch Thing and people can see up my nose…last week I was sent a recording of his vocals and guitar for Sunday’s worship set. It was a bit of a challenge. Do I own a device that will record? Where do I record so Little Guy doesn’t wander through in his pjs? And where is my hairbrush?

The night before I was going to record, I got a text that a second recording was coming. Since it was going to take a couple hours to download, and it doesn’t cost to download in the middle of the night, I got up 2 a.m. to download. I was up again at 5 to turn my laptop off.

After a pot of tea, I spent the morning learning a new song and practicing with the recording. I wrestled down fixed my hair and applied war paint make-up. In order to add my layer of vocals, I balanced my butt on the back of the basement couch, with my laptop beside me.  I stole borrowed a pair of Dad’s earbuds and started recording with my cell phone.

After a few false starts and overcoming my anxiety about everyone listening to me caterwauling singing with no music, I got into a rhythm. Four minutes into a thirteen minute set, my cell phone rang. Then…eight minutes into a thirteen minute set, my earbud fell out, for the fourth time and I hollered in frustration. I could discreetly stick it back in 3 times, but 4 was too much!

Once recorded, it took 2 hours to send back to him for the onerous task of putting it altogether. It airs Sunday. I will be available for autographs.

Dear Diary – I was supposed to return Pastor Ann’s cake pans, and I promised her hubby a piece of birthday cake. The cake is still sitting by the front door. The buttercream icing melted. So I baked him banana bread. It’s sitting by the front door…

Dear Diary – I asked my Mom what we did last weekend to finish my “dear diary” post. We can’t remember and my bottle of wine is still unopened. Neither of us is responsible for this…

Baa…humbug!

Don’t get all weird about getting older. Our age is merely the number of years the world has been enjoying us! – Maxine

Dear Quarantine Diary – #4

Tags

birthday, covid-19 humour, dear diary, humour

Dear Diary – I sent out an SOS on Facebook for 2 round cake pans. One of the friends who responded even offered to have her husband deliver. But I didn’t think he’d want to deliver 2.5 hours away. One way. But I appreciated her offer. I took Pastor Ann up on her offer because she lives closer. I’m baking my birthday cake!

Dear Diary – Mom and I went for a walk in town today. I brought my camera. After walking and snapping shots for 30 minutes I realized…the camera was set on manual so most of my photos were going to be blurry. On the way home, we decided to swing by Pastor Ann’s for the cake pans…we thought we should call ahead, but neither of us knew how to work Mom’s phone. 10 minutes later, with tears streaming down our face, we got it to work. After we got home, I struggled to close the trunk on my car because my shoulder has been trying to freeze up. Normally, I have to stand on my toes and stretch to reach anyway, but now? More laughter ensued. It feels good to laugh. It didn’t feel so good to laugh when I got stuck in my t-shirt getting ready for bed…

Dear Diary – I remember what it’s like to drive in a small town. There are slow drivers everywhere. The closer I get to them, the slower they get. And they scowl at me in their side mirror.  I went to the gas station first. There was a line up. There’s room for 6 cars but everyone has to huddle on the 2 ends like passengers on a bus. The guy in front of me looked like a mountain man. That’s not unusual in the best of times. The bed of his red pick-up truck was full of boxes of 24s and he was filling 5 red gas cannisters. That is unusual. I felt like I was in an apocalyptic movie, just hours before the panic really starts to set in and the zombies show up!

After the gas station, I went to the LCBO and there was no line up! I needed pink champagne for my birthday cake! I had a pair of latex gloves with me and I started to put them on as I walked to the store. But the fingers were stuck together. What followed can only be described as an apoplectic display of sheer lunacy as I struggled to put on, not one, but 2 gloves. People entering the adjoining pharmacy, walked around me with a wider berth than the prescribed 6′ and stared at me, horrified. Red-faced and sweating profusely, I turned to enter the LCBO, only to discover it is closed on Mondays.

Dear Diary, I breezed out the door around 10 this morning, shouting over my shoulder, “Mom, I’m going to stand in line with the degenerates outside the liquor store”.  There was a line up of scrawny, tattooed mountain men outside…

When I went back later, there was no line. I wish I had a photo of the door clerk’s face when I asked him where I could find pink champagne: utter deer-in-the-headlights shock! He didn’t know if they still made pink champagne, so he enlisted the help of another clerk. This clerk had a goatee, that he had braided into an 8″ braid. I just wanted to snip it off. No pink champagne. “Regular” champagne was $70/bottle. Really? So I bought some sparkling pink wine instead. We’ll see how this goes. If it fails, I already have some wine.

While I was out I popped into the pharmacy next door to buy some Manic Panic blue hair dye. Love the product name. Desperate times, you know.

Dear Diary – Dad and Little Guy took some brush to the woods today. They stopped at a local bakery on the way home for nanaimo bars. Instead of a bikini this year, I’ll be wearing Mrs. Roper’s mu-mu.

Dear Diary – it’s been 1 day since I had Tim Horton’s. Dad and Little Guy picked up tea and muffins for my birthday lunch yesterday. It wasn’t steeped tea because the gal at the store refused to sell my Dad 2 cups of steeped tea. He was only allowed to have 1. Apparently there was some discussion…I don’t know all the details, but I had tea (bagged) from Tim’s. And it tasted slightly like town water which is… a unique flavour. But it counts! So happy!

Dear Diary – I baked and decorated a pink sparkling wine birthday cake. As always – big excitement, bit expectations…multiple difficulties and tears. It didn’t turn out pink. I wondered when it seemed orange before I baked it. It was yellowish instead, but very moist. I was very disappointed. The icing looked spectacular but it came at a price too. First, made a half recipe because I didn’t want icing left over. Images of Mrs. Roper’s mu-mu haunted my dreams. Even though I spread it thinly in the middle, and even though I didn’t ice the outside, it wasn’t enough. I had to make another batch. Second, I didn’t realize it was too thick until I had it in my piping bag, and it didn’t want to stick to the cake…So I had to scrape it out and thin it out again. By this time I was greasy up to my elbows. The counter and floor were getting slick too…

If it’s not going to matter in 5 years, don’t spend more than 5 minutes worrying about it!

But it’s a cake fit for a princess. Happy birthday to me!

Friday’s Tune: Canadian Girl

Tags

arrogant worms, Friday's Tune, humour, music

It’s finally the weekend (and I know I wished you a happy weekend yesterday) but I firmly believe that even though every day seems the same, it’s still a good reason to get excited.

This Friday’s Tune is just for fun – because sometimes we just need to pop on the radio, dance around the living room and enjoy being alive! So throw on some flannel and live in the moment!

The Arrogant Worms are a group of university pals who began recording in 1991. The best way to describe their genre is as a group that paradies all genres. Many of their songs pokes fun at various aspects of daily life in Canada. Their on-stage banter and interaction with the audience makes watching them in person a real delight. We went as a family to see their First Farewell Tour last November for Little Guy’s birthday, but without Little Guy. He was sick! 😦

 

She’ll drink you under the table
And steal your booster cables
Canadian girl!

Whether you’re working hard or hardly working, Happy Weekend!

 

 

Dear Quarantine Diary – #3

Tags

covid-19 humour, dear diary, humour

Dear Diary – It’s been 41 days since my last Tim Horton’s. It’s been even longer since my last affair with Henry (O Henry)! How long do I have to leave Little Guy’s Easter candy alone before I can safely eat it? I’ve offered to help. I’ve hinted. I’ve cajoled. So far, no it’s still sitting on his dresser calling my name, mocking me in the middle of the night… It’s not Henry (O Henry!) but it will do!

Mom and I learned how to make flowers out of coffee filters this week. I watched a video on learning to play drums. And I’m considering tackling that icing thing again. I also talked Mom into posing for a photo for a future blog post…I looked at the photos later and I look like I have an ax stuck in my head. I need a nap!

Dear Diary – Today I made the big trade with Hubby. I traded him food and t.p. for a few necessary supplies. While he was unable to find my throwing ax and my donut stamps, he did find my cookie cutters, chocolate chips, yeast, blue hair dye (what’s left) and Hunger Games book. Most importantly he brought the Xbox 360 and every game that will work on that system. Some I didn’t even know we had! He was able to tuck in a few others things, like a couple of t-shirts in case it ever stops snowing, a few DVDs, several cans of spray paint… and nail polish, black to match my mood.

On Friday, I dragged myself to the grocery store early (i.e., sometime after 9 am) and I was lucky 13 in the line up. Here in a small town, the line-ups are relatively new. Being Lucky 13 meant I was #1 in the line up…outside. At least it wasn’t snowing…

Once I got home, I washed all the groceries. All the bags. All the boxes. Then I dried all the groceries. All the bags. All the boxes. Then I packed all the groceries…you get the picture. By the time I was done (2 1/2 hours later), my trunk was full and I was exhausted!

On Saturday, Little Guy and I headed west on the highway to meet Hubby at the service center half-way home. The sun was shining and the traffic was light. So was my heart. I was going to see my sweetie after nearly a month!

We parked in the middle of the virtually empty parking, with a space between our cars. Gotta practice social distancing. Little Guy and I watched from a distance while Hubby unloaded 2 bins of our crap (and a bag of my prescriptions – thank you honey) and swapped it for several boxes of groceries. It was pretty windy and the chill didn’t help my need to pee. But only the drive-thrus at the service center and the Tim Hortons were open. We were in a wide open space, not a bush to be seen, and plenty of drivers lined up for snacks both north and south of where we’d parked. It was at least an hour’s drive home. What’s a girl to do?

This is one time that being petite has its advantages. I can’t reach the top shelf in the grocery store but I can fold myself into the floor space behind the driver’s seat. While I was practicing yoga so I could pee, sight unseen, into an old Tim Horton’s coffee cup, Hubby and Little Guy were chatting outside in the frosty wind, pretending they were stretching their legs and in no way connected to this crazy person in the car. I’m quite certain everyone in the drive-thru knew what was going on, but again…what’s a girl to do? Getting undressed was the easy part. The hard part was not being able to see anything but my knees. Did I actually pee in my car? Yes, I did. Did I make a mess? No, I did not. I didn’t spill a drop! Strange thing to be proud of, but there it is. Full confession.

Hubby and Little Guy were totally grossed out, but I ask you once more…what’s a girl to do?

Our whole visit lasted 10 minutes. Our drive time – just over 2 hours. It was worth it though, to blow my honey a kiss (from 6′ away). Even though we haven’t been anywhere, we still practiced social distancing.  It’s probably the biggest “adventure” I’ve been on in a long time.

Dear Diary – does marching on the spot while eating pumpkin pie, with my hands, count as exercise? I know the answer but I thought I’d ask. Happy Weekend!

 

 

 

Dear Quarantine Diary – #2

Tags

covid-19 humour, dear diary, humour, neighbours

Dear Diary – Somebody posed the question “what are you doing during this confinement to better yourself?” and my answer was a guilty, “nothing”. So I tried to self-improve on the weekend by learning to pipe icing flowers on cupcakes. Note to self: add piping petals to my list things not to do. My pretty petals were appalling; my patience, particularly poor. The first 2 dozen or so mostly resembled pasty piles of poo. White poo. I tried to freeze 12 of my poopy peonies, but they wouldn’t freeze. I ended up transferring them to cupcakes, one petal at a time. Self-improvement made me want to cry and throw things. I think I’ll stick to napping.

Dear Diary, the neighbour decided to rearrange the vehicles in his driveway at 7:30 yesterday morning. It took him over an hour, and required him to rev and baby his engine as he jostled his large trailer up and down the driveway 500 times to get it in the “perfect” spot. I measured the time by the btzz-brtzz on my Fitbit. It btzzes every hour if I don’t reach 250 steps. I’m telling it off much more frequently these days.

I contemplated committing battery today. The neighbour started his giant white pickup at 6:30! The sound of the motor grumbling to life less than 20′ from my bed, woke me from a deep sleep. While I struggled to free myself from the twisted blankets, he proceeded to slam his door 3 times. I had to remind myself that if he just left it running for a few hours, which has happened before, I could sleep through the roar. It has the steady drone of a WWII bomber. BUT…if he started revving the engine, like he has done on multiple occasions before, he was in for a berating from a blue-haired, bare-legged little woman! Thank goodness I shaved! He must have heard my thoughts because he left 20 minutes later. He didn’t leave quickly…oh no! But he left.

The men and the digger arrived around 8:30…

Dear Diary – We went for another walk today. We had to bundle up again – winter coat, wool mitts…even a stupid toque with a giant fur pom-pom. I look stupid in hats. The neighbour’s stupid dog missed us on our first pass, so made up for it on our way home. I could still hear him even though I couldn’t see him.

I’m saying stupid a lot. If it keeps snowing every day, I will say it more.

I identify with the neighbour’s cows (and I’m not just talking about my middle). Even though they are normally content to wander their barnyard aimlessly, as are we, they are starting to get that same slightly crazed look in their eyes. Desperate to see something beside their own humans and their feedbags, they stare at us on our daily walk like we were trolls. I’m so desperate for a new change of scenery that I considered lining up the deck chairs to watch the guys dig a hole around the neighbours’ foundation. That made me feel like a troll. Actually I was more interested in watching them drink their morning coffee. It was from Tim’s. It’s been 34 days since I have had Tim’s. 34 days!!

Dear Diary, Ah yes! In stereotypical small town vogue, the workmen wear plaid, drive big pickup trucks and listen to country music. [shudder]. I can hear it through the walls…

I covet their Tim’s.

I was the first one up today. It was 9:30! Hubby called. He was too perky, and he hadn’t even had coffee yet. I miss him but I also got my wish: I get to sleep in and slip from the sumptuous bonds of bedding when I’m ready.

After I talked to Hubby, the car alarm on my neighbour’s van went off. After more than 3 minutes of honking, I got up to investigate. The workers were busy in their hole, trying to ignore it. It was then that I noticed a big, burly, bald-headed man in a red tee shirt with a matching red face. If he was a cartoon, there’d be steam shooting from his ears. He was marching across the neighbour’s lawn. I guess someone else was woken from a deep sleep. The van, sensing death nearing, quit squawking and the man marched home without making merry with someone’s face. I can’t lie. I was a little disappointed.

Compliments of Pinterest.com

 

Dear Quarantine Diary…#1

Tags

covid-19 humour, humour

Dear Diary,

When we changed the time on the clocks, I didn’t realize we were entering the twilight zone.

It’s been 27 days since my last Tim Horton’s steeped tea, black. To say I’m experiencing severe withdrawal would be the understatement of the century.  The yearning, the nagging headache, the yearning. I have a clean, empty Tim’s cup in my car and I have to fight the urge just to sneak out in the night and hug it. It’s a perpetual  problem.

There are so many perpetual problems.

The nagging tension between what you should do and what you want to do. Or worse, the lack of motivation to do anything at all.

Little Guy is living in his pajamas. Every few days, I make him change his shirt, but all the battles with my children to get them to bathe regularly have been rendered moot! In his defense, while I make an effort to get dressed every morning (because that’s what I’ve heard civilized people do), I’ve been schlepping about the house in leggings and flannel shirts. They’re basically the equivalent of pajamas, so I’m no role model. I’m thinking seriously of giving up and just living in my pjs too…

In an effort to do better, I shaved my legs this week, since they rivaled Big Guy and he’s a lumberjack. He’s supposed to be hairy. It’s how he keeps warm in the winter months. But I’m not a lumberjack and I shouldn’t look like one. I moisturized too because my skin resembles the walking dead. It didn’t help. The day may come when I have no choice but to bare my white, yeti thighs under a frilly, feminine sundress. But today is not that day!

One bad hair day merges with the next bad hair day, in one long series of bad hair days. I don’t have enough blue hair dye left to “touch up” so in a few weeks’ time, I’m going to be sporting a whole weird rainbow. I can hardly wait.

I had to document the one good hair day I have had in weeks!

There’s an edge of panic that clings tightly, like a snail on a rotten tomato, that we might run out of food, or worse, toilet paper. We “spin the wheel” like we’re cracking open a safe…one notch at a time. I went shopping with Mom to restock supplies for the week. The experience was sobering. Fellow shoppers glared at each other with predatory instincts, and swerved their grocery carts in wide berths around each other. We could get ice cream bars but not butter, and most of the good cookies were gone. I admit the experience of being slowly herded through checkout like stupid sheep wasn’t too dehumanizing. And watching my mother try to put on a pair of latex gloves was hilarious.

Laughing or crying, I’m struggling to survive this one day at a time…

 

Wilderness Wednesday: Hunker Down

Tags

birds, humour, nature, photography, Wilderness Wednesday

The word, hunker,  first emerged in the Scots language in the 18th century. It originally referred to squatting down on the balls of one’s feet, keeping low to the ground but still ready to move if necessary. Lyndon  Johnson used it to mean “get down to  work”.

This is a proper hunker. Notice the balanced stance, the hunched shoulders and the absent neck.  All that is missing is chocolate or Doritos – Nacho cheese flavour- and the t.v. remote.

Take my feathered friends’ advice: Keep Calm and Hunker Down. [Notice that I said ‘take my feathered friends’ advice’, and not mine. That’s because if we’re ever in a situation where I am the voice of reason, we are in serious trouble].

Keep your stick on the ice. We’ll get through this together. – Red Green

Happy Monday!

The Origin of Hunker Down: https://www.wsj.com/articles/the-stormy-origins-of-hunker-down-1505490652