Someday soon I hope to emerge from my Covid cave and join the bright lights of civilization. As with many people, I may have changed a bit with my cavewoman length hair and fluffier waistline. But I made it through the hibernation and I’m ready to see the light of day.
The last two years was a master class in learning how to live alone and finding ways to fill the silence with more than Netflix and Miss Vickie’s potato chips. I’m happy to say, I accomplished that by diving headfirst into my passion for writing and creating my own imaginary playmates. We didn’t all get along at first, but then we called a truce and became good buds.
First, I took on the really hard stuff and wrote my memoir, immersing myself in 70+ years of the good, the bad and all the stuff in the middle that brought me to where I am now. I called it Arriving Naked and I’m pleased to say I survived the experience, fully clothed and at peace with my life. It will be published next year by Latitude46 Publishing.
I also wrote a picture book for kids about what my life was like before electricity, circa 1955 in a Georgian Bay Metis community. Orca Book Publishers will release Memories on the Magnetewan River in 2024. Now I keep busy in between the ongoing production work for these projects by writing interconnecting monthly short stories for the Oakville News, which I plan to publish in a collection at some point. So all in all, my time of isolation, creativity and personal reflection has produced a big bowl of long-lasting fruit.
Have I developed some lazy habits like everyone else out there? Absolutely! I often stay in my night pyjamas all morning, only to shower and get into my day pyjama pants for the rest of the day. It doesn’t have to be pyjamas, as long as it’s soft and loose with an elastic waistband à la Covid haute couture. Some days are more exciting when I have a Zoom call and I get half-dressed.
My neglected wardrobe is feeling prickly and lashing out. My bras are so pissed they pinch me when I try to put them on. And don’t even get me started on how annoyed my hard shoes have become from being ignored. Last year, I even blew the budget on getting veneers on my front teeth. Of course I would choose to do this at a time when I’m wearing a mask! What a total maroon!
Speaking of toothy maroons – I look at mega-entertainers like Post Malone and can’t help but wonder why his earlobes have large padlocks on them? Is he trying to keep something in or something out? Did you know he has a tooth made from 40 carats of diamonds? Is it just me who finds this totally absurd?
And while I’m on the subject of absurdities – why did Katy Perry make herself look like a toadstool wearing assless chaps on SNL last Saturday? Why can’t singers just sing, without all that nonsense? It’s very difficult to enjoy music when the entertainers are contorting themselves on a stage filled with colourful fungi. To tell you the truth, the dancers on stage with her looked more like jiggling penises than mushrooms! These are the problems that occupy my mind good people of the blogging set. I’m flummoxed by the lot of it.
The world seems to have gotten wilder while we were cave-bound. More and more inhabitants on earth have become full fledged nut jobs, by proudly wearing tinfoil hats, spouting conspiracy nonsense and drinking bleach. And yesterday put me right over the edge when I read about the latest lunatic thing people are taking to escape reality – toad venom. Now that’s completely Bufo! And just plain crazy on a cracker people! Perhaps Katy Perry’s routine was a toadstool tribute to the new kid on the block of psychedelics. Toads and toadstools…get it?
In the end though, I’m probably just suffering from the age-old problem of generational-gapitis. And I accept that with as much grace and ongoing curiosity that my septuagenarian brain will allow.
See you between the lines.