Yet my inner 14 year old is feeling calmed and cleansed by this latest offering from Little Big…I can’t stop chanting the chorus. I find it absolutely cathartic. I hope it does the same for you. If not…well, please just unclutch those pearls and click away from ye olde blogge.
This continues to be a strange week and I am on pins and needles along with my US friends. My fervent hope is for a peaceful and safe return to decency, kindness, science-based decision making, and love – instead of fear, lies and hatred. And the end of this 4 year nightmare known as the Trump Presidency.
From time to time, I see a post published on either why bloggers are writers or why they are definitely not writers. Why a person cares how someone self-identifies is anyone’s guess, but that they do and of course, now I want to know more about what people think. Because apparently it is a divisive issue and I have been known to court controversy. “Shit disturber” is an epithet that has been thrown at used against said to me, from time to time. 🙂
I couldn’t find an accompanying Blogger’s Tears Irish whiskey. Can I infer from this that there is no distinction between the two groups? Hmmmm….
I’m happy to call myself a blogger – one who writes on her blog. If you think that blogging makes me a writer or most certainly not one, well…that is your prerogative, and your opinion and you are welcome to it. For most of my life – from a young child just learning to wield marks on a page with a chubby pencil to today – I have had to write, have admired published authors, and have wondered if I had what it took to be a writer myself. As a child I loved writing (and illustrating) fictional stories, but as I grew older I found that changed. I didn’t have that essential drive to create a fictional world and characters (damn!). However, I still needed to write. But could I ever be a writer if I didn’t write fiction?
As a young adult, I discovered this thing called creative non-fiction, and took after-work community college courses on the same. I continued to consume books on writers and writing. I even once ventured out to a so-called Writers’ Support Group in my hometown, thinking I could find my tribe and not feel so alone anymore. It was an….um…experience. I was not made welcome, despite their ad in the local paper that said otherwise. I had to listen to the other writers make in-jokes (not explained to me), and gossip about absent members of the group. Eventually the group pulled together to do an exercise – a timed writing from a prompt – and then we each had to read what we wrote. ALOUD. To this group.
It was absolutely terrifying for me.
When it was finally my turn, I read my piece…and got no feedback whatsoever. Yup, the sound of crickets greeted my offering, and the group moved onto the next participant.What did this mean? Was I that bad that nothing could be said to redeem what I wrote? Other people’s readings were commented on. WTF?!?
I left that meeting totally disheartened, and never went back. And thinking if this is what writers are all about (clique-y, petty, vengeful, passive-aggressive, jealous), I no longer want to be known as one. Like Groucho Marx, I had no interest in joining a club that wanted me as a member. Except, apparently they didn’t. Want me as a member. Ouch. I guess I could never call myself a writer.
Then the internet happened.
I discovered so many interesting voices on these things called blogs, which I just loved reading. In the early days, people (dare I call them writers???) wrote about everything, especially their take on their day-to-day lives, often in hilarious and insightful ways. Their voices were fresh and engaging and no one I was reading was trying to make a buck at it or conquer a niche or establish a brand, or land a book deal. They all seemed happy just to have a place to put their words, and I was happy to devour their writing. (Yes. Writing.)
A little over 11 years ago now, I started my own blog. One that has changed names and platforms over the years, and has grown with me. One that I still love today as my vehicle to get my words out there. One that has allowed me to finally (!) find my tribe. Am I now a writer? Have I always been a writer? Will I never be a writer? I don’t know if I even care anymore. All I know is that I write on my blog. I love it and I need to do it.
What makes a person a writer? Are you a writer when:
you support yourself with your words;
you write a book;
you write a short story;
you write an article;
you write ad copy;
you write plays;
you write scripts;
you ghost-write for others;
you write on a blog;
you write fiction;
you write non-fiction;
you write in a journal;
you are published by others; (do letters to the editor count? asking for a friend… 😉 )
you self-publish;
you possess a post-secondary education in writing;
you attend writing workshops and retreats;
others call you a writer;
you call yourself a writer;
you have an internet presence as a writer (published or not);
you have an editor;
you receive grants with which to support yourself as you write;
you have received awards and recognition for your written words;
you feel tortured and misunderstood? 😉
Any, all, or none of the above? What have I missed?
At what point can you call yourself a writer sans dispute?
Personally, I think that anyone who has the desire to write, and whose words can touch another person in a meaningful way as part of our shared human experience is a writer. And by that definition, the majority of bloggers I have read over the years have been and continue to be writers. I continue to aspire to be a writer. And even if the court of popular opinion decides that will never happen, I will always be proud of being a blogger.
Well, Tribe? What do you think? What makes a writer?
Humble apologies to Paul Simon, for riffing on his song title. This (see below) is a great song from a timeless, stellar album that I still listen to, 47 (What?!?! How did that happen?!) years later.
One Man’s Ceiling Is Another Man’s Floor
Lyrics:
There’s been some hard feelings here About some words that were said Been some hard feelings here And what is more There’s been a bloody purple nose And some bloody purple clothes That were messing up the lobby floor It’s just apartment house rules So all you ‘partment house fools Remember: one man’s ceiling Is another man’s floor One man’s ceiling Is another man’s floor
There’s been some strange goin’s-on And some folks have come and gone And the elevator man don’t work no more I heard a racket in the hall And I thought I heard a fall But I never opened up my door It’s just apartment house sense It’s like apartment house rents Remember: one man’s ceiling Is another man’s floor I tell you, one man’s ceiling Is another man’s floor
And there’s an alley In the back of my building Where some people congregate in shame I was walking with my dog And the night was black with smog When I thought I heard somebody Call my name Remember: one man’s ceiling Is another man’s floor
I’ve been living on the island, in my new apartment home, for almost 3 months now. And, although not perfect, it is pretty damn good here. But as you might imagine, coming from my stand-alone aerie dominating the corner of a downtown block back in Ontario to being in the 2nd floor corner unit of 3 story apartment building has taken a bit of getting used to.
I have neighbours on 3 sides of me, and I’ve learned a lot about them in our time “together” so far.
Let me start at the beginning.
The first residents I met were the 2 young men (brothers) who are directly below my unit. They gave me a warm hello, welcoming me to the “community”, and admiring (at subsequent encounters) my shoes (Vans, tie-dyed) and my bag (Desigual) – both being very colourful and hippy-ish – as they are totally their vibe. They have a plaque on their door proclaiming “Far Out” in a 1970’s balloon-type font, for proof.
What can I tell you about these brothers? Well, they are fond of ye olde Wake and Bake ritual apparently, based on the smells wafting from their place. Any time of day, come to think of it. Mostly they have been surprisingly quiet, but occasionally they have friends over and get into the alcohol (as people do) and then the voices and the music rise in volume. I have dubbed them “The Party Bros”.
Directly above me on the top floor resides an older couple, whom I have yet to meet. However I feel like I am privy to their day-to-day lives through the lack of soundproofing between floors. I know which one is walking, where they are walking, and when they have their hyperactive grandchild(ren) over for the day/night. And especially when they are sliding open their balcony doors…it sounds like thunder; like they are moving heavy furniture; and my apartment actually shudders from this activity. I have dubbed them “The Stompy McStompersons”.
As a result of experiencing them in this way, I make sure to walk very lightly myself – on the balls of my feet – lest I inflict the same disturbance upon The Party Bros. I also open and close my balcony door sliders very gently. I am 100% convinced that the McStompersons are completely unaware that their activities can be so damn annoyingloud noticeable, as they have no one living above them.
The next neighbour I met was an English lady who lived (has since moved back to England, with her hubs) on the first floor of my building. Let’s call her Lady Di. Lady Di was walking her dogs (not allowed here, I thought?) and waved up to me while I was sitting on my balcony. We got to chatting and she invited me over to her place for a socially-distant glass of (please bring your own) wine. Over wine, Lady Di proceeded to offer her condolences to me as apparently I live right next door to someone who is “starkers”. Let’s call her M.
M, a slight South Asian woman, has apparently had the police called on her multiple times due to her habit of singing and raging in the middle of the night in her apartment and in the parking lot. Sometimes alone, sometimes with the man she lives with. Can confirm all of the above. More on M, later.
Anyhoodle, back to Lady Di…I was invited back for another socially distant visit – this time a BBQ – and this time with her hubs in attendance as he was now back home for good, having finished with his job in Alberta. Hubs pounded back at least 1/2 a dozen beers during my 90 minute visit. Astonishing.
I felt the need to reciprocate the hospitality so invited them over to my place for an evening, before they left the building (and the country). Lady Di and Hubs arrived – him with a little cooler of beers, her with what was left of a box of wine, as the standard had been set to bring your own drinks – and our evening commenced.
Lady Di asked me what I thought about the legalization of marijuana. Weed and its odour is a common topic of discussion with just about all my neighbours, and all with reference to The Party Bros. I told her bluntly that I would rather be trapped in a room full of stoners than a room full of drunks, ANY DAY. Much less shouting, fighting and disharmony in general! Hubs immediately agreed and then added that he occasionally, inexplicably (really, queen!?!) descends into an uncontrollable rage when drinking. WHILE HE IS SITTING IN MY HOUSE. WITH A DRINK IN HIS HAND.
Gentle reader – remember how I mentioned on ye olde blogge previously how my dad was one of those guys too? Imagine how triggered I was by this confession.
Somehow the evening was got through without my place or self being trashed by the Hubs (who – full disclosure – behaved in an exemplary manner all evening). And now they are gone and I don’t have to ever explain why going forward he will be no longer be welcome in my home when drinking.
After Lady Di, the next neighbour I met was J. J lives on the 3rd floor and has the most amazing balcony garden, that also flies the Pride flag. I was looking forward to meeting J, as who doesn’t need more gay men in their life? My best male friends in the entire world are the most lovely couple, my former tenants, who have enriched my life beyond measure. In my opinion they set the standard for healthy relationship goals for anybody, no matter your orientation.
Back to J. J is unlike any gay man I’ve come across. In observing him around the complex I have to say that J “outheteros” any hetero male I’ve ever met, in terms of (lack of ) attention to dress and displaying uncouth behaviours while outside, on the grounds below my place. Behaviours such as yelling up to Mr. McStomperson details about his…um… “romantic” life, and hawking loogies and blowing snot rockets in the parking lot.
My hetero male readers are of course excluded from this generalization – refined, tasteful beings that you all are.
Next I met the neighbour directly across the hall from me. S is a salt-of-the-earth guy and H, his partner is a lovely young lady. S also had to bring up the weed smell and asked me what I thought of it. I told him truthfully that I enjoy occasionally partaking of the devil’s lettuce and that the smell doesn’t bother me. Truth be told, I like the smell. He also mentioned M and then told me that he was available if I ever needed any “help”. Any time. Day or night, I was just to knock at his door and he would be there for me.
Ummm, thanks, I think? Very nice offer. But WHY DID YOU FEEL THE NEED TO MAKE IT???WHAT KIND OF PLACE HAVE I MOVED INTO?!?!?
S also expressed thanks to his god, upon meeting me, that finally there was another “normal” person living here.Fooled another one! Hehehe…
And finally: While my friend Joanne was visiting, I actually got to meet M, in the hallway outside of our respective doorways. We introduced ourselves, and I didn’t let on that I had already been warned by multiple neighbours about her cute-as-a-button little self. M proceeded to tell me about the former occupant of my place – a retired guy (physicist, I think she said) who was quite the loner, and who died in his (my) apartment. How long before anyone found him, one can’t help but wonder. Thankfully my apartment was completely renovated from top to bottom before I moved in…
With a glint in her eye, M said “That doesn’t bother you, does it?”
M then told me to be sure to let her know if things ever got loud at her place, and we parted. Bitch, they already have and you know it.Yeah, sure. This ain’t my first apartment rodeo and I’ve heard that song before from previous inconsiderate neighbours. It’s always the noisy ones who tell you to let them know if they are bothering you, and then you do, and nothing changes and you end up having to call the police on them anyways.
Different people have opined that I should speak to my neighbours or building management about my noise issues. I’ve thought about it (and I may yet feel compelled to do so), but so far I haven’t felt the need to take it to that level. I also do feel for apartment pariah M who, according to my neighbours, has very real mental health issues. She is apparently on her 3rd strike with the police and will be hauled away to the clink at the next transgression, if what my neighbours are gossiping to confiding in me is accurate. For now, my thinking is that these nuisance behaviours don’t happen all that often and are just a by-product of living in close quarters with others. Also, I’m retired, and can always take a nap if my sleep gets shorted and even if it doesn’t…hehehe!
Besides, then I wouldn’t have these stories to tell. 😉
One of these fine (?) days I am going to sit down and hammer out a post about my trip to my new home on Vancouver Island, and my adventures in moving house. But today is not that day.
Something happened to me this past week. An inner mental shift happened. I think it had to do with our Prime Minister mentioning that THIS (pandemic situation and all its necessary restrictions) could go on until November or beyond. There was a “click’ (and it wasn’t my still-swollen wonky ankle, either), and just like that, I stopped spending hours agonizing over Twitter et al, and started doing THINGS. Positive things, besides spritzing myself with my favourite scents after every shower… no need to worry about running into the scent-sensitive or -averse, after all!
What’s in rotation…I wish you could smell me this. I smell fabulous. Yes, that is a men’s cologne in the upper right corner. It smells good and I like it on me.
This weekend of all weekends so far, I have every right to be depressed and feeling sorry for myself. My BC daughter was supposed to be here, spending a week with her ol’ Mom. And one of my sisters was supposed to come down for a weekend visit as well. And I was supposed to have a house full of family and friends over for supper today. Instead, I am at home alone. Of course. However, I am not depressed OR feeling sorry for myself. I am surprisingly light-hearted and full of creative energy, instead. Whodathunkit?
I am following Joanne’s lead – and heading back into art. So much for all my neatly boxed up stuff. See here for the Before Picture.
Yup. Every damn box opened up. An explosion of the arty things.
I’m inspired to make “happy” paintings, bursting with flowers. This is my first attempt – inspired by British artist, Yvonne Coomber:
No name yet, although I was thinking of the Ralph Waldo Emerson quote, when I painted this: The earth laughs in flowers.
I’ve been gesso-ing up old canvases and already have another painting in progress.
Background done. Going to do some beach grasses and flowers in the foreground.
I’m also excited to report that I tested my ankle out with a yoga session this past week, and it passed the test! Somewhat crankily, and demanding wrapping and other types of baby-ing…but that’s OK. That led me to exploring other types of workouts and I found a new love: Body Groove. I always loved dance-type workouts – a class called DanceFit and belly dancing were some of my favourites, in days past. You’d think then, that Zumba would be right up my alley too, but I never really cottoned to that one.
I’d been seeing the Body Groove “commercials” on Facebook for some time now but just scrolled on by. This week I decided to check it out. And then I signed up for the 30 day trial. I already know I will be getting a year’s subscription.
Usually the ho-hum “muzak” that accompanies most workout videos is my least favourite part, but so far I’ve found all the Body Groove music to be diverse, uplifting, and amazing.
YOU BETTA WERK! If this doesn’t put a smile on your face, check your pulse. You may be dead.
I wish I knew the secret to my change in attitude/behaviour/outlook. My brain probably just got tired of wandering around my place in a lethargic daze, just going through the motions of life. And realizing finally that this is going to be going on for a loooooong time – much longer than any of us want it to – so my brain might as well come up with a more positive, more productive fun, new normal.
Don’t get me wrong. Like everyone else, I still have an undercurrent of stress and worry as my constant companion. But I am now also making it a habit to do stuff that puts a big smile on my face and in my heart every day. Like connecting with friends and family (Virtual happy hour, anyone? I have my favourite cocktail ingredients and wine in good supply, still!). Like daily yoga and dance. Like playing with paint. I even started knitting again.
The start of a sock. Knitting keeps my hands busy so they are not busy bringing snackies to my mouth while watching TV. Win-win!
How about you? Are you managing OK? Have you turned the corner? If so, how and why? Tell all!
Me and my friends watching us some Netflix/Crave/Amazon Prime while staying in, out of trouble, at home. Currently loving Unorthodox on Netflix, a show Jonathan recommended.
Good day, my fellow Social Distancers! I hope this post finds you all hale and hearty, and ready to be entertained at my expense! Yes! That’s what I said. You’d think that being stuck in Chez Badass all by my lonesome (Seashell Jesus, Placeholder the Dog, and Honey Valentine the Bear’s presences notwithstanding), I would have almost no opportunity to bring mortification upon myself.
Well, you would be wrong.
As some of you know, I live upstairs in a building that once housed a Post Office, and I rent the main floor out to a museum – the Fashion History Museum (FHM). The FHM is of course closed currently, but my tenants still come in every day to do the work necessary to maintain this high-calibre museum. Over the years I have become very fond of Kenn and Jonathan (Chair and Curator of the FHM respectively, and a lovely couple as well) and we have developed a friendship far outside the landlord/tenant paradigm.
We’ve talked a lot about the pandemic lately, as you can imagine (from a safe social distance, of course). Last week I joked with Kenn and Jonathan that I was rationing my favourite red wine, just in case it became impossible to keep “in stock” at Chez Badass as things progressed.
Imagine my glee and surprise then, when I ventured downstairs to check the mail and saw 2 bottles of the same placed by the stairs going up to my apartment.
I saw through the frosted glass doors that the lights were on in the museum, so I stuck my head in and excitedly sang out:
“Well, well! Looks like the Wine Fairy has been by and left me something!!!”
Jonathan (he of the quick wit) laughed easily and pretended to be offended, and only then did the full import of what I had just uttered hit me: I HAD JUST USED A WORD ALSO USED AS A GAY SLUR IN FRONT OF – AND IN RELATION TO – A GAY MAN.
Shit, shit, shit! How could I be so thoughtless!?! I immediately apologized while dying a little inside. And spent the rest of the day beating myself up for being such a dumbass.
I can laugh about this NOW – days later – especially since I know my innocent comment was received as just that.
Sigh. Only I could manage to commit such a faux pas – a social gaffe – of this magnitude, while distancing and isolating myself. It’s a gift; what can I say? 😉
How about you? Care to share a faux pas in the Comments section?
Rock on,
The WB
A cute little song parody that Jonathan posted (and I immediately stole), to end this post…I hope you enjoy!
Seashell Jesus is my Wilson in these Trying Times of self-isolation. My steadfast companion as I catch up on the news. Read the Seashell Jesus story, here.Closeup of the SJ. Blue-eyed, blond-haired hipster Jesus. Your typical middle-Eastern man of the period, obvs… 😉 I don’t mean to offend anyone. Seriously, I don’t think of this thing as a religious item. It’s just something I found in my building that makes me laugh because of how kitschy it is.
Greetings, fellow Social Distancers! I hope everyone is doing well in this new world of ours – staying safe, hydrated, and healthy – with enough toilet paper or alternatives on hand? I’ve had a week of mostly ups, with one big down since I last posted. Sunday was a bad day for me, when I became overwhelmed by all the goings on, and the potential impacts of the COVID-19 pandemic. Luckily, I had some dear friends and family to speak with (safely, from a large distance) and that helped immensely.
I am not usually down in the dumps and I am afraid I don’t handle it very well due to lack of practice with this state, at least lately. But when Sunday happened, and after I was brought back to the present (where me and my loved ones are safe, warm, fed, and so far healthy), I remembered a “trick” I used in a very dark period of my life. Behold the Happiness Box:
Filled to bursting such that the lid no longer closes properly, this is my original Happiness Box. I have a second one as well, also filled to bursting. Inside the Happiness Box is a collection of cards with loving inscriptions inside, assorted notes, ticket stubs, etc. To “break open in case of emergency”, and review until the desired effect is achieved! The Happiness Box is a proven performer.
I decided that now more than ever is the time to continue with this Happiness Box tradition of mine. Only I don’t want to collect any more physical representations (since I will be moving AT SOME POINT WHO KNOWS WHEN ANYMORE) so here are some things going into my digital Happiness Box for this week:
Rainbow captured on my chalkboard. This must happen every sunny day at my place but I have never caught it until now. A silver lining to being stuck at home, in self-isolation.Enjoying a cup of tea and recalling the friend who thoughtfully gifted me with this beautiful mug. I had always kept it at work (where I felt I needed to reflect on its messages more…LOL) and now I get to enjoy at home. That’s my “rubber ducky” tea infuser in the background – another item that brings a smile to my face.Finding a battery-powered drill in my closet (from when I gave myself gel manicures at home) and using it to shorten my dip powder nails, since I can’t go to the salon. And it still works!!!! What a relief, to be able to quickly shorten my growing-out nails! I was thrilled I tell you. THRILLED!The most delicious loaf of bread I have ever tasted. Crisp on the outside and delightfully chewy on the inside. A gift from a friend, who is also going to give me the recipe! Wheeeeee!Seeing people social distancing at the drug store while waiting in line to pick up prescriptions. Good job, people! WAY TO GO.
Other “Happiness” moments from this week (no less important, just no photos to share):
daily video/phone chats with friends and family
laughing out loud watching Derry Girls, on Netflix (who knew Northern Ireland in the 90s could be so funny?)
Maintaining social distance via the pointy end of a hiking pole. Photo taken by Joanne via the self-timer function on the camera. When I still had 2 fully functioning ankles…Stay back, woman! Trail selfie in the time of COVID-19
How the hell is everyone doing in this strange time? Part of me is just riveted to the news and finding this pandemic so intensely interesting. And then part of me is horrified at how some people are behaving (badly, very badly). And lastly, a big part of me is so cheered by how some other people are revealing their best, most humorous, most altruistic selves during this crisis.
I’m also chuffed at how our Canadian government is handling COVID-19. Maybe not perfectly, but certainly doing the best they can with this novel virus and situation. Kudos to PM Justin Trudeau and (NEVER thought I would say this) Premier Doug Ford, and their teams for science-based and compassionate leadership and for keeping us well informed. What a time to be living through!
Joanne and I are endeavouring to still meet – safely – for our weekly hiking adventure. Now we don’t hug or even get close. And no lunch out afterwards either (restaurants all closed, anyways). But we are still having fun…or at least we were until I took a tumble right at the end of our hike (thankfully!), and strained my ankle. I have every confidence on being back on the trail with her by next week, barring Ontario being put into total lockdown that is!
I hobbled to the grocery store this morning for some staples and perishables and was faced with an unreal scenario. I mean, of course I have seen pictures of other stores throughout North America, but naively, I thought the people of my little community would keep their heads. Yeah. Right.
Not a single egg to be had. And signs everywhere telling people “We have limited supplies in stock. In an effort to ensure all customers have access products will be a limit of 2 per customer. This includes meat, breads, milk and eggs.” So sad we need these signs.The last, lonely package of arborio rice made it into my cart. I anticipate a comforting risotto in my (near) future. I’d invite you over to join me but well, you know…And of course, the paper products aisle. Sigh!
Grocery store workers must be having their faith in humanity severely challenged at this time. And to add injury to insult, they must come to work, no matter what. Grocery store workers (and those of you in health care), you have my utmost respect.
Up until yesterday when I injured myself, I have been keeping busy at home alone, and only venturing out for a daily walks in nature. I find getting out in the woods essential for walking off stress and for taking care of my mental (and physical) health right now. I had planned on a much needed visit to my local nail salon this week to refresh my dip nails but – as much as I want to support this business in a difficult time – I have to listen to our leadership, whose message is loud and clear: STAY HOME.
I’m calling these my 10 Social Distancing Badges of Honour. It’s going to get worse before it gets better. And imagine the trouble getting an appointment once we can go out again!
I’ll end this post with a song I heard playing over the grocery store’s PA system when I was shopping this morning. Made me laugh out loud…and get some stares.
Rock on safely and healthily, in these Trying Times…
(Apologies to the late Gabriel Garcia Marquez for riffing on his book title…)
My goodness, what a year this week has been, eh? Kudos to whoever came up with this witticism first; it wasn’t me. When I haven’t been glued to my tablet, obsessed with watching responses to the pandemic unfold, I have been keeping myself busy (and away from others – way to social distance, right?) by making more progress towards my relocation later this year, to Vancouver Island.
This past week I have bundled up my art supplies, an action that practically guarantees I will be imbued with the urge to create from here on out. I did this for a couple of reasons. First, no sorting required. It’s all coming with me. Second, I haven’t been doing much “arting” lately, and probably shouldn’t, as I have a household+ to sort through and dispose of/pack.
I already know I will be fishing a sketchbook out of one of these boxes soon. As predicted, I am now flooded with ideas of things I wish to draw and paint.
To elaborate on “household+”, last week I also went through the last remaining boxes of my mom’s stuff – mostly paperwork. In one of the boxes I found a manila envelope containing handmade cards my sisters and I had created and given to our parents over the years. Oh my, what a find and what a trip down memory lane! At least it would be, if I could even remember creating these childhood “masterpieces”. Many are unsigned, and all are undated unfortunately. So it’s hard in some cases to tell which sister did a particular card. And for privacy reasons, I won’t blog about any that aren’t mine. But let me tell you that some of these cards that my sisters made are quite funny. Here are some photos of one that is definitely my creation:
Front of card. So far, so good.Apparently I was a pioneer in the adult colouring book craze! Who knew!?! Based on the clothing I drew I would say early ’70s. I would have been 11-12 years old.I was also clearly a fan of how Archie Comics were drawn at that time, as you can see by the girls’ faces. Well, in the words of Picasso: Good artists borrow; great artists steal. HAH!
Also in terms of “household+”, I have to sort through the items of my late husband that survived The Great Purge Part 1. (I am now fully into Part 2). These things are all deep in the bowels of my building, in the room off of the furnace room affectionately referred to as the “Freddy Krueger Room”. Because it used to be so scary, being dark and dingy and filled to the ceiling with tottering piles of mouldering crap. Come to think of it, just about the whole building was like that a few short years ago. We’ve come a long way, baby! And I am making good progress there too, with weekly trips to Value Village as well as salvaging some old items in good shape to sell at a local antiques market.
Last week I reserved my container – to hold all my wordly goods that need to be sent to my new home. Which I don’t have yet. I also don’t have a firm moving date yet. (I can’t believe that I – the planning machine – am so fine with all this, but I am.) The company I am using – Cubeit – has been wonderful to deal with so far. We have a tentative date for drop-off of the container at my building, which I can move up or down as needed. And I can keep the container at their yard in Nanaimo, for as long as required. Nathan from Cubeit told me they understand how stressful moving can be, and are committed to make their part of the process as easy as possible on their clients. Perfect!
This is how I am keeping out of trouble while I am social distancing these days, doing my part to try to flatten the curve and protect the vulnerable. Truth be told, it is not all that different from my normal day-to-day. I tend to avoid large gatherings of people (live performances of my favourite bands excepted) at any given time. I shop when I know think the stores are least busy. I don’t go out to bars or nightclubs. I exercise at home or out in nature. As a card-carrying introvert, the bulk of my social interaction needs can be happily fulfilled without having to be in the physical presence of another human being. 😉
Thank you, Interwebs!
One thing that kinda worries me in this pandemic time is my cough. Thanks to a medication I take, I have a bit of a dry cough even on my best days. I don’t even notice it anymore, usually. On Friday morning (Early! And it was crowded already!) I was in the grocery store and I must have coughed because all of a sudden it seemed like everybody stopped to look at me. I need to wear a sign, maybe?
As much as I like being home, I do need to get out once in a wee whilefor some perishables.
So, that’s it for me for this week. How are you managing these interesting times we are living in?
All this talk about the coronavirus COVID-19 has led to a lot of talk and memes and blogging…and a lot of us are just now figuring out that many people need to reminded of basic daily hygiene habits like washing your hands. With soap. And suddenly I am faced with a memory from way back in the early days of work life when I was astounded by a home I visited.
A colleague and I had been invited to a bridal shower for another worker and we were happy to attend. Well, OK happy might be too strong a word but we wanted to go and support this other woman at this special time in her life so off we went, together.
The house was in a nice neighbourhood and well kept, inside and out. Clean and tidy looking. Once we were settled in the charming sunroom where the shower was being held, I asked to use the washroom and was directed to it. Hey, it was a bit of a drive to get there, OK? When I finished peeing, I approached the sink and was confused by the lack of a bar or container of hand soap. Then I checked the cabinet under the sink. Nada. I even pulled back the shower curtain to see if there was a bar of soap, shampoo…ANYTHING…to use to wash my hands with. Nope.
This was pre-purse-sized hand sanitizer, too. We’re talking the 1980s.
OK, I said to myself after rinsing the best I could with plain water, they forgot to put back the hand soap after cleaning up. I’ll head to the kitchen – they have to have hand soap there, right? Says she who has hand soap AND hand lotion at every damn sink. Gentle Badassians, I think you know already that there was no hand soap there either. I ran into the hostess in the kitchen and, still naively believing at this point that it was all some crazy oversight, told her I couldn’t find any soap to wash my hands with and where could I find some?
I got a blank look and was then told there is no soap. Not even dish soap, apparently (I asked). Who lives like this?!?!?!?! No apology. No embarrassment at being caught with no soap. Nothing. There was an awkward silence. I kept waiting for her to go “Psych!!! Oh my gawd! You should have seen your face when I told you there was no soap! Here you go – all the soap you need!” I ended the silence finally, by muttering “Oh, OK.” And got the hell out of that kitchen.
I returned to the sun room feeling most uncomfortable (in no small part because I hadn’t washed my hands with soap) and sat again beside my friend, who was also a microbiologist – I knew she would grasp the gravity of the situation immediately. I leaned in to her and sotto voce, explained that there was no soap in this house, meaning at the very least no one washed their hands properly therefore don’t ingest anything and let’s find a way to get out of here ASAP.
I forget how we got out of there or even if we did get out of there early. This was also pre-cell phones so we couldn’t suddenly get a call or text that meant we just HAD TO LEAVE. But I do remember not eating or drinking a damn thing and feeling oh-so-dirty the whole time. It was an experience I will never forget.
I do believe that people should not live sterile, spotless lives, and they should let their kids run barefoot and play in the dirt and snuggle puppies and cute baby farm animals, and so on. Our immune systems need to be challenged and exposed to natural flora and fauna. But I am also a firm believer in proper hygiene and immunization. You may be tough as nails because you aren’t very clean, and expose yourself to human pathogens on the regular. But what about the rest of us, and those of us whose immune systems are not up to snuff, for whatever reason? Just wash your damn hands. With soap. Especially if you are preparing food for a crowd attending an event such as a bridal shower. Really, people!
Have you ever gone to someone’s home and not been able to wash your hands properly? Please reaffirm to me that this was a very isolated experience. I once went to a house where there was no toilet paper to be had (oh, brother – another story!) but at least there was soap in the bathroom.
