Dear Quarantine Diary – Week 37

Tags

back to school, chocolate, cooking, covid-19 diary, covid-19 humour, dear diary, family, first day of school, food, humour, school, shopping, Toblerone

Dear Diary –
What I said: I passed a dead possum on the side of the road today.
What Youngest Son said: Did it hurt?
If you don’t get it, think bathroom jokes….

This is what I live with…

Dear Diary – The first day of school passed more like a whimper than a bang, which I suppose is a good thing. This was the year that Youngest Son was going to be responsible to get himself up and to school, on time, by himself. It’s looong overdue.

But I’m a sucker.

And it’s a looong walk.

Especially in the rain.

So, while I’ve bit my tongue and paced internally instead of hollering to get a move on, I’ve still provided transportation in the mornings.

Even today when he was running late and my blood pressure was high.

Baby steps!

Less than impressed, Youngest Son’s schedule slots lunchtime at 10:10, which means by the time he walks home, he’s ready to eat the whole box of cheerios and it’s cousin, corn pops. Which also means that he’s not really eating dinner. One night he ate his veggies but not his meat. The next night he ate his meat but not his veggies. I suppose I should be happy because at least he’s getting a balanced diet.

I shudder to think what’s coming next. With co-op in periods 4 & 5, he’ll have 10 minutes to get to his work placement, wherever that may be. I’m hoping it’s online and he can steal into a corner in the library. Then I’ll only have to make one trip to the school per day…or eventually stick to the plan and not drive him at all.

Baby steps!

Dear Diary – I’m not sure why, but someone left a message on the wipe board on the fridge where I keep my grocery list. I’m not sure if it was intended for me…. “You’re not useless. You can still be used as a bad example”.

Another example of what I live with…

Dear Diary – With Youngest Son poised to leave for Uni next year, I think it’s important that Hubby and I start keep working on our relationship, so I suggested we start dating. We never really “dated” because we were poor students, and the first year of our relationship was long distance. We got to know each other slowly with in-person visits every 6 weeks or so, and snail mail. We labeled our return addresses with a nickname and the name of where we lived…I was Neurotic and he was Twit.

I probably started that.

Since Hubby is on vacation this week and even he can stand only so much t.v., he wanted to do something together. And since I have a Honey-Do list longer than both my arms, I suggested something we could do outside of our home: couch shopping!

Apparently couch shopping was more appealing than yet another episode of Forged in Fire or Engineering Dimensions. Or the rest of the Honey-Do list. Or perhaps, he’s sick of the ongoing conversation realized this is important to me.

We bought our current burlap sack couch when we bought our home 21 years ago. Neither of us liked it particularly, but we thought it would wear well…and mostly we could afford it. It was delivered the day we mvoed in. But I’m beyond ready for a change and I desperately want something comfortable where I can sit with my legs up! My ankle is perpetually swollen and the edge of the coffee table digs into the backs of my legs. We might even splurge on another chair or two so that when both kids are home, we’re not lined up, 4 on a couch, elbowing each other as we have a t.v. dinner. Especially when one of them is left-handed!

Shockingly, Hubby and I shared a lot of common likes and dislikes amongst the massive options. Neither of us wanted leather, corduroy, or royal blue velvet. We found a couple of options to sleep on and we can do it without declaring bankruptcy. It’s close though.

We celebrated with lunch at Cora’s and yes, I gave him credit for this to be a date. I even let him play his game on his phone (but only because I knew he’d probably need my help)! 🙂

Dear Diary – It’s been a few years since I made fresh pasta. I don’t know why I didn’t during covid, but that may have been because I was hoarding flour to bake brownies bread and later on, I stopped caring. Whatever the reason, Hubby asked and I like making him happy. I made the pasta; he made the sauce. It was a match made in Heaven. The sauce and the pasta. Us? There have been days…

Dear Diary – I’m not kidding. I won a 4.5kg Toblerone bar at the church’s Sunday Funday event!

As I filled out the form and stuffed my ticket in my pocket, I told Hubby I wasn’t worried because I never win anything. Later, someone asked me if I’d share it with Hubby if I won. I hestitated. I said “yes” of course, but scoffed internally because I wouldn’t win it. And I was ok with that.

On Day 1, I asked for suggestions on just what to do with a 4.5 kg chocolate bar. Only Hubby was truly helpful; He sent me a link to 10 recipes. The one that caught my eye was sour dough brioche babka with toblerone and caramelized white chocolate. My Dad just shared some of his sour dough starter. 

I smell a disaster in the making!

On Day 2, we started to confer on the best way of breaking into it.

Throwing Ax #1 or Throwing Ax #2

Holding 2 throwing axes, and knowing how good my aim actually is (I’ve won 2 of the 2 tournaments I’ve played in…and having only tried axe throwing twice, I think my aim is pretty good!), Hubby suggested the meat cleaver.

Like I couldn’t throw that if I wanted…

So on Day 3 –

Aim and GO!

Don’t worry, there is a cutting board under that. It required some muscle but I wasn’t going to let anything keep me from sweet success!

We devoured 1/12th in less than 24 hours. In fact, Youngest Son became the “parent” and took the container away from me…having failed the first when he just moved it out of reach.

Nice try, buddy. I’m very adaptable and I can use my feet to shift the box closer.

I’m not sure what the next step will be, but I’ll keep you posted!

To victory: it looks unfamiliar but it tastes like chicken.

Jeff Winger, Community

Dear Quarantine Diary – Week 35

Tags

aging, covid-19 diary, covid-19 humour, dear diary, family, humour, midlife crisis, shopping

Dear Diary – The house felt completely empty after Eldest Son left last Thursday. We had one final quiet swim before he left and Mama Cardinal in her nest, though watching us warily, was content. We also gave her space. I puttered with sewing. Even though haven’t made any more sales, it makes me happy…and I got Christmas presents covered for the next 10 years!

Eldest son enjoyed camping trip, even if the mat he borrowed from his grandparents turned out to be the one with the hole!

Youngest Son and I continue to silently count down the final days, making every effort not to think about all the changes coming once the “s-word” starts.

I had already had my first back-to-sch*%l nightmare. We didn’t know where we were going, we were running late, and then, I didn’t know if Youngest Son had even arrived. I woke up soaked in my own sweat, my heart pounding! My own education overlapped with Eldest Son’s, and then his overlapped with Youngest Son’s, so bear in mind that between me and my sons, I have had more “First days of…” than most parents! With only a few more years to go, we think, I’ll be ready for retirement, though I suspect my stomach will still be in knots in the early days of September.

Dear Diary – On Monday Mom and I had a coffee date. We met a friend of hers, for many years, after not seeing each other for many more years. We tucked up in the back corner and alked fast and furiously. This special lady had supported and prayed for me and my family for many years, and once upon a time, her daughter and I had joked ceaslessly about how clueless boys were, mostly to cover up our teenaged insecurities. That daughter now lives on the other side of the world. I bet the boys are clueless there too! Time slipped away too quickly and she had to run, but it was so good to catch up. It’s certainly an advantage when you visit for more than a couple of days…there’s time for fun things like this!

Dear Diary – This morning our house was buzzed by the paparazzi! I don’t know how they knew I was here, unless you’ve been sharing secrets. Just before noon, we heard the thumping of a big helicopter. Mom and Dad live next to a pipeline station, so it’s not unusal to hear a helicopter or two in a week as it surveys the line from the sky. But this yellow fellow wasn’t so mellow – he was circling the house! I went out with my cell phone to snap some pics. He was close enough, the pilot waved at me. After a few more passes in a large circle, he flew off.

I wonder if he was snapping my pic too?

“Hey Buddy…check out this crazy old lady taking my picture…”

Dear Diary – It’s a simple pattern, they said. Suitable for beginners. A one hour project.

They lied.

It took me nearly 7 hours to complete 4 bowl warmers…including the cutting, sewing, ripping apart, crying, pinning and sewing, ripping apart, throwing things, pinning and sewing, ripping apart, aggravated primal growl, ripping apart, and sewing again.

They are practical and cute…

…but I’d be crazy to try again.

Maybe next week….

Dear Diary – I had to do the inevitable. Back to Sch&%l shopping. Otherwise, Youngest Son would be heading out in highwater pants. He has grown so much, and since he’s been living in his pajamas for the last 2 years, there was no urgency to update his wardrobe. I actually managed to find jeans with a 28″ waist. And they are still too big. I’ll have to see if I can exchange them.

I remember when I had a 24″ waist.

Mem’ries, light the corners of my mind
Misty water-colored memories of the way we were

Marvin Hamlisch, Alan Bergman, Marilyn Bergman, The Way We Were

I also remember when I could wear heels without the very thought of them making my body ache from the waist down. It was only a year ago that I donned my $1100 shoes (which I bought at a yard sale for $10 with the original price tag still on). I wore them for our 25th wedding anniversary, which we celebrated, not in Rome as planned, but in our backyard with goofy photos. And then I wore them to pick up our take-out Italian food. It was the closest we could get to Rome.

I couldn’t walk the streets of Rome this year, not because of covid but a literal inability to walk much farther than around the block. So instead of caressing shiny satin stilettos, I’m in search of “comfortable shoes”. It’s code for stable, ugly, old lady shoes…and every part of my being objects.

It reminds me of shopping for bras when I was a teenager. I wanted the pretty lacy ones…but needed the sturdy body armour of my elders.

I still do.

It’s why I bought that bra online several months ago. The one I break into a sweat trying to put on. The one I need to start doing a daily upper body workout so I can actually use it. It’s like trying to squeeze toothpaste back into the tube, but instead things are oozing everywhere. I’ve tried, worrying that the sounds being squeezed from my mouth will arouse the interest of the inhabitants in my house, and they will come wandering up to see where the livestock in the bedroom. If they ever did walk in on me, they would be forever scarred. It’s not pretty. It doesn’t feel good. It’s impossible.

So is finding “comfortable” shoes. I figure I have at least another month in sandals before I have to cover my tender tootsies. My sneakers will last another year. And I haven’t given up hope yet.

But it’s getting thin…

They’ve starting designing pretty bras for pretty plump princesses, so hopefully shoes will be next?

Give a girl the right shoes and she can conquer the world!

Marilyn Monroe

Dear Diary – We caught up with Auntie M last night after her recent big trip. She survived all the walking, including the one to get to her hotel. After a long train ride and since there were no taxis, she decided to walk to her hotel. It was only 5 blocks away. But it turned out that though the blocks were not particularly lengthy, they were uphill. The engineers who built them were kind enough to add stairs in places. She was very hot and tired after her uphill battle, with the summer sun beating down, when she arrived at her hotel. Imagine her delight when she entered the premises only to be met with a towering set of stairs and no elevator in sight.

My old nemesis…
Stairs!!

Po, Kung-Fu Panda

We remarked that at least her departure would be swift. Just set her suitcase on the edge and give it a good boot. She agreed, but unless it was raining or she was too sore to make the trek back to the station, she would be walking, not taking a taxi there. She’d need her suitcase wheels to work. Mom piped up, “ no you don’t…just ride your case down the hill”.

This is one of those times when I wish could draw a cartoon…Auntie M with arms and legs akimbo sitting on her case, mouth wide screaming and hair flying, as her suitcase rolls haphazardly over the crest of the stairs on the sidewalk. The big question is…suppose she made it to the bottom, how does she stop?

Dear Diary – Sometimes when it rains, God paints the sky with colour.

Last night was going to be our last meal together, so we went out with Auntie M. The day had been a mixture of blue skies and sun one minute, and dark clouds with heavy rain the next. I spent a portion of the day packing our belongings. I even took Youngest Son for his back to sch*%l haircut. But then Hubby texted that sch*@l’s start was a day later than tradition, and then Grade 9 only on the first, so Youngest Son wouldn’t be starting as early and we could stay longer if we wanted.

We wanted.

Rainbows were a sign of a promise and I felt like this one was for me. I may not ever walk the streets of Rome, or if I do, it might be in old lady shoes. My body will wrinkle and sag. My children will go off to make their own way. My business may fail. My hair will gray. Promise is a big word. It either makes something or it breaks everything. But I serve a big God. Whatever happens this year or next, I am not alone. It will be ok.

Hello September. Thank you for the reminder that change can be beautiful.

Unknown

The Thought That Counts

Tags

#whatsinmycup, food, shopping, tea, tea addict, tea lover, tea time, whatsinmycup

December has officially arrived, but even before Halloween, store fronts were starting to display their “holiday wares” to entice us to spend, spend, spend! Some of those stores include yummy looking food and drink options in pretty packages. But before you purchase that tea gift box or basket with the sparkly cellophane and the big, gold bow, there are 3 things to consider:

Just what IS in that tea.

In Canada, ingredients do have to be declared in descending order in relation to their weight before they are packaged, with the exception of herbs & spices, natural & artificial flavours, and flavour enhancers. Salt is the exception to the exception and does have to be listed.

Often gift tea sets are flavoured black teas. There’s nothing wrong with that…but if the only ingredients listed are black tea and flavouring, you may not be getting the best tasting tea. Put it this way: sno-cones only have 2 ingredients too: water and flavoured syrup. It may be tasty and satisfying…or is it just a weak version of slightly flavoured, coloured water?

Where is it Made

I don’t mean to sound like a snob, but if you’ve tried a few teas, you’ll recognize the truth when I say: not all tea is equal. The quality of tea depends on so many variants: the quality of the plant, when it was harvested, the process it undergoes, etc.

In 2020, the top 5 countries for tea production were China, India, Kenya, Sri Lanka, and Vietnam. China is the leading producer and exporter of tea. They produce various types of tea, including green, black and oolong. China’s history is “steeped” in a culture of tea. As a result, the taste and environment for growing and harvesting tea leaves is greatly considered. India was at the center of tea’s migration across the globe, and is still best known for assam and darjeeling tea. Tea is also a huge part of India’s culture, and more than half of the tea produced annually remains in the country. Kenya is third, and is the world’s largest exporter of black tea. It only began tea production in the early 1900’s. Sri Lanka rates fourth and is best known for ceylon tea. Vietnam is also a country with tea “steeped” into the culture. Tea is viewed as a contemplative activity, or something to be consumed while engaged in scholarly pursuits, rather than part of a social engagement. They produce mostly green tea, but are also known for their lotus tea.

It’s just something to consider when considering your purchase if you haven’t heard of the country (or the brand).

Value for the Package

Sometimes you get what you pay for, and sometimes you don’t. Marketers know how to manipulate your senses to get your attention, especially when it comes to eating and drinking. With our mouths watering over candy pink boxes and red velvet ribbons, we don’t always consider just how much tea we’re getting for the price we’re paying. I clued in when I started purchasing more loose leaf tea and realized just how much 50g really is, and the range for what I’m paying for that tiny 50g.

Did you know…Monkey Chief Tea, grown in Huangshan City in China earned the title of “King of Green Tea” at the International Tea Expo in 2004. In 2009 its price reached about $284 USD per gram.

https://www.yourbestdigs.com/tea-consumption-industry-statistics/

It might be more work but also more cost effective to purchase tea that you know is good, or a brand that hasn’t disappointed in the past. You can always put together your own gift basket. Add some curling ribbon or a personal note to let that person know you chose it with them in mind. It won’t remind marketers that sometimes personal is better than flashy, but you will remind the person receiving the gift that they mean something to you.

Photo by Michelle on Unsplash

It’s easy to get distracted by ribbon and sparkle, but it’s also important as a consumer, to consider what we’re supporting. And by all means, yes! Bless your loved ones. Because in the end, it IS the thought that counts!

Happy shopping! Happy Monday!

Dear Quarantine Diary – Week #46

Tags

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

Dear Diary – I just walked by Hubby’s desk (aka our dining room table) and I heard him say, “32 45 56”. He better be talking about airplane parts and not my measurements.

Dear Diary – If insecurity or feelings of inadequacy were a lipstick colour, mine would have been harlot red Thursday evening. I headed to worship team rehearsal with an oppressive sense of impending disaster. This would be my second time using tracks and we had a new team member. I was afraid I’d look unprepared despite having spent a large amount of time trying to figure out why the music and the tracks, and the bells and the whistles, didn’t quite add up! I thought I had it all figured out along with copious notes, but as I pondered, panic set in. I couldn’t remember a thing. What was my name? Who thought I should do this?

I arrived on time, with head held high and a plastic smile on my face. I hate plastic smiles. I’ve wished I had taken drama in high school because it’s fun to pretend to be other people. But it’s not fun when you’re you pretending to be you.

If rehearsal were a plated dish, it would be described as “rustic”. It was a little rough around the edges. But the great thing about working with a team is that I have others to rely on. I may be “leading” but the burden isn’t entirely mine. Yes, they rely on me to do my part, but I still had time work it out. I also had time to ask God to help me work on that harlot red insecurity. It’s really not my best shade!

You deserve the greater glory, Overcome I sing
By Your love I am accepted, You’re a good and gracious King

CityAlight, Good and Gracious King

Dear Diary – On Saturday I met with a group of women at the church at the ridiculous hour of 8:30. I know, not so ridiculous if you’re a morning person, which I am not. I’m not a night person either. More of a 20 minute gal in middle of the day, but I digress. We watched some videos (in a darkened room – very dangerous) and then broke into smaller discussion groups. Even though we don’t know each other well, it was an opportunity to be honest and vulnerable. On the way home, I realized I have missed that.

For an assignment in college, I had to ask a few people who knew me, to list 10 words to describe me. More than one person wrote “naive” and it made me angry. I didn’t want to be seen as a sheltered little girl. I was, by this time, a Mom training hard so we could have a good life. Or maybe I was confusing naivety with vulnerability. I lacked armour. It’s probably why the arguments and words cut so deeply in the early years of our marriage (the first 15 were the hardest). I’ve since developed armour, and I hate it! I hate feeling fake. I hate feeling brittle and hard. I hate being guarded all the time, because I want to be open and honest with others, and with myself.

It was always my prayer whenever I spoke at Ladies’ Morning Break, to be genuine, and when I was, I felt peace. That opportunity, along with so many others, was stripped away by the pandemic and the empty space it left behind echoes loudly at times. It felt so good to share my heart. It felt so good to be trusted with another’s heart. Perhaps that’s the thing that the pandemic stole the most…not just time with family and happy memories, but a part of our soul that connects honestly and openly with others. Every time we left the house, our bodies were vulnerable. But every day we stayed home, we became vulnerable too.

This Saturday, I’ve been asked to speak at a ladies’ morning at my new church. I’ll be honest – I’m nervous. There will be some ladies there who know me, who know just how far off the beaten path I can go! They’ve already learned to accept that. But there will be new ladies too, and I’m not sure what they’ll think of me. Will I make them laugh? Will I scare them? Will I get called into the pastor’s office?

I guess….wait and see!

Dear Diary – You know how I feel about online shopping. It sucks. Imagine my surprise when 2 packages arrived, intact and early this week. But the happy feeling couldn’t last. Yesterday I checked the status of the next package to arrive. It said it was delivered. Hmm…nothing on the porch. So I went to purolator’s site, It said delivered, but when I dug deeper, one page said it’s on a truck and another showed a map and that truck hasn’t been anywhere near my town. I called and entered my tracking number. That number wasn’t recognized. I thought I’d be on hold for the next week, and they’d answer in the middle of the night. I’d be asleep and have to start again. I did finally get an answer but Tim wasn’t much help. They swear it was delivered, even though there’s no photo record like before, and the GPS on the truck is “unclear”. I will have to wait to talk to a “trace specialist” and go from there. I don’t know which I hate more: stupid people in the mall or online shopping!

Dear Diary – I learned a long time ago that if you feel you look good, it will bolster your confidence. Saturday I subjected Hubby to the monthly “what do I wear to lead worship “ parade, which is really just my version of a walk of shame. It’s not really that I’m vain; it’s that I’ve seen the unflattering angle of the cameras and with the added covid poundage (which I still say really started piling on and bringing friends when my doctor changed my medication. But what do I know?). Everything shrunk in my closet; nothing fits well. Including things that fit 2 weeks ago. Even my little black dress is too little, and I’m not talking about the little one. I’m talking about the one labelled XL!. The only items that haven’t completely betrayed me are my high heels, but my body screams when I contemplate wearing them.

After nearly an hour, with my closet in complete disarray, I had it narrowed down to one pair of pants, 2 tops, and one plaid mumu. I reluctantly paraded for Hubby. I say reluctantly because there have been misunderstandings before that led to meltdowns and chocolate, and chocolate can’t help me now. I’d probably worry less if the other musicians were less pretty and I was less neurotic. I don’t wish them ill, and for all I know, despite their calm, polished exterior, they may be as neurotic as me and spend an hour in their closet trying to stuff sausage into manicotti tubes too.

Dear Diary – Mom and I have commented lately, that there seem to be a lot of ads for pad and leak-proof undies for women of a certain age. Do all women leak? And do these leaky women all run around their houses in their bras and panties, admiring themselves in full-length mirrors? I avoid mirrors like a vampire avoids the sunshine.

One day, an ad for leak-proof undies came on, and Hubby commented, “do they have to zero in on old lady’s butts and cottage cheese cellulite”? To which I replied, “yeah! If you wanted to see old lady’s butt, all you have to do is ask me to bend over”!

Dear Diary – I will never learn. Watching baking shows is dangerous because it inspires me to try new things, and the results are not always a raging success. Once I’ve even messed up rice krispy squares! So, in my delusions of grandiose praise from my guys, I set out to make hand pies.

I made my pastry Tuesday evening. The hardest part was trying to get the grated butter off my fingers, and deciding how much ice water to add. The pastry wasn’t as smooth as I wanted, but I didn’t want to overwork it and make it tough.

Wednesday afternoon, I made my filling. The recipe was for a louisiana hand pie and used lots of spices, including a creole spice. I don’t like spicy food, nor do I have any concept of what might be in a creole spice mix, so I improvised. I threw in a bit of this and that, and smidgen of something else, until it smelled good to me, and I tossed the whole mince to cool in the fridge.

I was dreading rolling the pastry. Afterall, that’s what separates a pie from a pile of seasoned ground beef and the plate! So I gave myself plenty of time to play Minecraft before I started so I’d be very zen.

I didn’t play long enough.

The pastry was more like pizza dough, even after resting in the fridge overnight. The more I tried to roll it, the more gluten it produced, and the more spring-back it had. Still, I managed to wrestle 9 meat pies from it. They were ugly, but they were delicious!

True love is like butter. There are no substitutes for the real thing!

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.

• 

• 

• 

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 #5

Tags

covid-19 diary, covid-19 humour, dear diary, gamers, games, home, quarantine life, shopping, video games, winter

Dear Diary – Semester 1 of Grade 10 ended on Friday. Little Guy was so relieved to be done. In fact, he was downright pleasant to be around. Sunday afternoon we played a game of Carcassone. The difficulty, however, is that with the dining table now a home office, there’s no surface large enough for all the tiles. We sat side-by-side in lawn chairs in front of my small desk upstairs. Even though we shortened the river pieces to eliminate a few tiles, as the game neared, we were in trouble. So we added a windowsill and a mat on top of an open drawer. It’s a 3D board!

There’s a thin line between thinking outside the box and a caffeine-induced psychotic idea

Dear Diary – I ordered groceries for 2 weeks again online. It took me 4 hours to plan meals and compare prices between stores. When it arrived 3 days later, it felt like Christmas. I waved excitedly to the driver. He waved back, probably wondering what kind of nut lived here. Hubby helped me bring the bags inside and put things away.

It wasn’t until the job was complete that I realized, there was no bread! Was it their error, or mine?

It was mine. I ordered 8 loaves of bread for curbside pick-up the next day. There may only be 3 of us in the house, but we go through 5-6 loaves of bread in 2 weeks! Man cannot live on bread alone, but my men can’t seem to live without it!

Dear Diary – I’ve noticed a pattern lately with my instagram account and middle-aged guys. They follow my instagram account for a few weeks, liking most of my posts, especially the selfies. Some of them try to send me a direct message. When I don’t respond, they unfollow. Most of them have no description about who they are, what they like, etc. Some boldly share that they are looking for a relationship. I’m not sure this is the platform I would choose were I single and looking, but who am I to judge? The last guy to follow really made me chuckle. For his description, he wrote: “I’m here looking for a serious relationship that can take good care of me”. Well, as long as the relationship is all about you…who could resist?

Dear Diary – Big Guy gets hot under the collar when people dismiss video games as having no value. We know that gaming is more than just about the game; it’s also about community and so much more.

He passed on a positive story this week. 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!

Courtesy of http://www.9gag.com

Dear Diary – Semester 2 started this week. The first day was a half day so students could connect with their teachers. It took some sleuthing but I tracked down the missing teacher.

“No, please. Please don’t make me get up and go to school!”

“Honey, you have to go to school. You’re the teacher!”

Dear Diary – I was halfway down the stairs, counting all my steps, when I decided it would be less work to retrieve my fitbit from the charger, than to run around the house counting. With it being so cold outside, every step counts! As I charged up the stairs, Hubby asked me where I was going. I told him I was going to get my fitbit.

“What’s a pitbit?” he shouted after me. “Is that some kind of tool that measures how much you’re perspiring?”

When it is warm enough to go out, I feel like this snowman – a round pig squeezed into restrictive, poufy outwear that is slowly coming apart around the edges. On the days when I don’t get out, I kind of feel like I’m coming apart anyway. The bulky coat, sloppy boots, moulding mittens and hat that is just plain too big, make walking feel more like waddling, and then I do start to sweat. Maybe I need a pitbit after all!

My favourite winter activity is going back inside and putting my pajamas on!

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 #31

Tags

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

Dear Diary – When was the last time I played in the leaves? Last Saturday!

With exceptionally beautiful weather and all my guys home, it was the perfect time to tackle the annual Autumnal Yard Clean-Up! While Hubby cleaned up the last of the tools from his carport project, the boys & I raked and bagged leaves.

I should have been more alert when I heard conspiratorial whispering, because Big Guy grabbed me and dumped me in a huge pile of leaves. They were dry and crispy, and sunny yellow as they closed over my face. I lay there for a moment, laughing and letting their earthy smell bring back memories of running and tumbling into piles of leaves, first with school mates, and later with my own little boys. Both boys tower over me now. We ran around tossing bunches of leaves in each others’ faces. I couldn’t fend them off as they shoved leaves down the back of my shirt. I was picking leaves and sticks out of my hair for the remainder of the day.

Once we had dealt with the leaves in the front yard, Hubby and Big Guy worked on trimming the hedge. It had received a haircut a few weeks earlier, but a “mohawk” ran down the centre, waving mockingly at me when I relaxed on the couch. The haircut required a ladder and climbing into the top of the hedge, but the job is done! My father also needs a hair cut in the beardal area, but he won’t let us get near him. I bet our hedge clippers could do the job!

Dear Diary – After a beautiful warm Saturday, we were hit with brutal winds and snow Sunday evening. By Monday morning, the trees were stripped bare, the yard was covered in snow, and the roads were covered in ice. My friend was frozen solid.

On Monday, I ran away from home. Why? Because…

Girls just wanna have fun, oh girls just wanna have fun

Dad was away hunting (again) this week so I spent some time with my Mama. This was the first year that Dad has hunted for two weeks, for moose and deer. He rarely even sees any deer. One year, when he called Mom mid-week from a pay phone, he asked us to “stop praying for the deer”.

Mom usually visits me and we’d go Christmas shopping, but with my tiny home housing a school and office, and my spare room in a mess, it wasn’t practical. And even I don’t want to shop in my area!

Despite sliding my luggage (and business supplies) to the car, my trip was uneventful for a change. It wasn’t uneventful for the folks whose RV was on fire on the other side of the highway.

How do 2 ladies pass the time during a pandemic? First, we went grocery shopping, and we binged on HGTV!

I also picked up some much needed socks!

On Tuesday morning, we shared one screen for our online Bible study. I had to keep us muted because we sometimes got a little rowdy! Who said studying the kings and prophets would be boring? We hit the “city” for the afternoon: Fabricland (nothing says adventure like 100% cotton Christmas prints), Michael’s (to look at shiny things) and then….we really threw caution to the wind…we went to the Mall. We barely ventured in the door, but still, I bought a dress and we people-watched in the food court with a cup of Tim’s. We even shared a doughnut! We spent the evening cutting patterns and flipping between the American election and a Jane Austen movie.

Wednesday morning, I made crostoli della nonna, and I didn’t burn the house down! Dad showed up unexpectedly at dinnertime and joined us for our “girls’ dinner in” which included my aunt, and we played card games.

He never saw a creature bigger than a breadbox, unless you count the hunter who asked for directions. Half an hour after that, he had 2 more hunters wander by…looking for their lost friend! Oh dear! Dad also tracked a deer to the edge of a cliff… I’m pretty that deer was a decoy. They’re smarter than the hunters!

This morning, the plan is to make salvation doughnuts, and I’m seriously considering going AWOL today and not heading home until Friday. I have to restock the fridge; I don’t want my guys to starve!

Keep calm and be crazy, laugh, love and live it up because this is the oldest you’ve been and the youngest you will ever be again. American Hippie