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Build a fort
In my dream the party was in full swing. My neighbour was double-dipping and her partner just coughed all over the cold cuts. Out of the corner of my eye, my already drunk, but affable, cousin is teetering across my brand new carpet holding a tray of crystal tumblers. Each tumbler is full to the brim with my secret stash of Macallan Cask Finish Single Malt. As I toss and turn, I feel the anxiety welling up in my chest. In this wacky dream I don’t know what to deal with first. The snot-sprayed food. The dank dip. My carpet or my cousin. One way or the other, it’s going to get ugly. And then? Well, and then someone lets the cat out of the cellar and now we have a licking, tripping, furball hazard to add to the mix. And then?
And then I woke up sweating and gasping for breath. Is this how I go? Through the sweat and breathlessness I wonder, “Did I somehow contract the coronavirus?” I’m elderly. I’m sweating and I can’t breathe. And then LOML reaches over to let me know I’ll live another day. It’s just a dream. But what a dream. Right now, life is masquerading as a terrible house party. There isn’t any social distancing. People, who should be isolated, are too close. Most of the guests have just returned from their winter soirees in Portugal, Spain, Florida or Italy. Not one of them thinks they could be the problem. As I calm down, I wonder if I should have thrown the “dream party” and keep reminding myself, I hadn’t. It takes a soothing cup of Sleepy time tea to get me back into my slightly isolated world of books, television, painting, music, eating and quiet. I’m back in the world where the reality is as zany as the nightmare. It’s all too much. When I was diagnosed with a brain tumour, or two, I thought things couldn’t possibly get any weirder. Boy, was I wrong. Twenty-nineteen can’t hold a candle to what twenty-twenty is shaping up to become.
While I knew we weren’t living in a perfect world, I didn’t think we’d turn into blithering idiots in the face of this current adversity. What kind of world is this, where we hoard toilet paper and hand sanitizer? We’re living in a world where the wackos are crawling out of the woodwork telling folks they can beat the virus by drinking hot water every 15 minutes, washing the germs down so their stomach acid can kill the virus. Recently, I have seen charts and pictographs about how herbs and spices will kill the virus. The world is awash with people ready to take advantage of the vulnerability of others, where scam artists call upon unsuspecting victims to tell them they can be tested and immunized against the coronavirus and then ask the victim for their credit card information.
I say, let’s stop being “blithering idiots” and do what we have to do to get through this pandemic and try to have some fun. I say you’re never too old for a sofa cushion and blanket fort. Pour yourself a glass of something grown-up, crawl inside the fort and read a good book or do a crossword puzzle or get up to some shenanigans with someone. If your “fort” is accommodating, eat your meals in there. Nothing like a pot of KD, a big spoon, a glass of wine and a bit of music to bring a smile to your face. I’m not sure if KD is a red wine meal or a white wine meal. If you can’t decide, try cider or beer, or both. Not into forts? Clear your dining table, gather up your paints, markers, coloured pencils and make greeting cards. Everyone loves a handmade greeting card, right? I am right. If you aren’t into greeting cards, create a work-of-art to mark this wild and wicked event. If you become a prolific artist, you’ll have Holiday giftgiving covered. When you’re finished with the works of art, harken back to the sixties and give tie-dyeing a whirl. I suggest “tie-dyeing” is a kitchen art project. I’ve done my share of tie-dye, the kitchen works for me. Tie-dye with wild abandon. There is no “right or wrong”. It’s all good. Not crafty? Give your partner a mani-pedi or waxing. Yep, “waxing”. It could be a life-changing couple’s activity. If you’re self-isolating, and some of you should be, you certainly don’t have to start worrying about spilling a glass of wine in your pillow and blanket fort.
When all else fails, clean your kitchen junk drawer. Goodness knows you don’t need the mixed tape from the ’80s (you probably don’t even have a tape player) or that little ziplock baggie of buttons from the sweater you haven’t worn for three years. Be safe. Be smart. Be lighthearted. Check on your family, friends and neighbours.
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