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Waves
It is Mother’s Day. It’s raining and more than a little bit chilly. The meteorologist mentioned snow, and snow it did. It seems we’re living in the middle of a pandemic whilst looking forward to the invasion of Murder Hornets and, now, we’re enjoying a polar vortex. To me, it seems like a very long time ago I last spent a warm, sunny Mother’s Day picking up plants at a garden centre, then enjoying a glass of bubbly with my family and watching as the menfolk blackened dinner on the barbecue. In that moment, I didn’t think anything could change the routine that was Mother’s Day, to me. But those were the old days! Remember those days? Right now, I can hardly imagine being so close to someone I could reach out and touch their hand as they passed the salad, pickles and mustard. Sometime in the not-too-distant-future we’ll be reminiscing about the good old days, and it won’t be a memory of bouncing around in the open back of grandpappy’s pickup truck, or drinking straight from the garden hose. It’ll be about the days we weren’t afraid to hug someone, or to have family or friends over for a drink or a meal, or (horrors) touch your face. One day we’ll wax on about a time when we went to the grocery store, on a whim, the shelves were fully stocked and we came home with a carton of ice cream and a box of berries, just because we had a yen for a treat. We’ll pine for the days we could hug a friend, then go out for a coffee just because we felt like sitting in a noisy, steamy, crowded cafe to chat about anything and say nothing of COVID-19.
Most of the people I know are just plain old tired of isolating, of distancing, and of face masks. I’m almost over the challenge of getting to the grocery store just before the shelves are stripped bare. I’m not ready to let go of the security blanket of distancing, but I am tired of all of it. The thing is, I’m not even what you’d call a sociable person. If I had my way, most of the time I’d be painting or reading, poking around in the yard, hiking or cycling. That being said, I sure would enjoy visiting with my family and my friends, in person, up close and personal. I really miss my grandkids. I miss sitting with them. I miss teasing the girls about how tall they are and how big their feet are. I miss watching Teen Titans with the older girls and I miss playing with our youngest grandson. I really, really miss my grown-up children. They make me proud. They make me happy. I miss having a houseful of family. I miss the noise and the bustle. I miss the the heat in the kitchen while three strong-willed females try to cook together. I miss the wine being poured, maybe too often, maybe not often enough. I miss the littles saying “Grandma I’m BORED” or hearing the distinctive sound of the Lego and Duplo being spilled onto the floor. I miss grandchildren generally being “underfoot”. I want all of my family back. I want all of my friends back. I don’t want to stand on my porch for shout-chats with my pals and sure as H E Double Hockey Sticks don’t want to shout-chat with my family.
I know I’m not the only who’s had enough of the coronavirus and of DJTurnip being an ass. And, I’ve had it up to here with Premier Ford being a good guy right now and wondering how long that will last. I’ve had enough of COVID-19, enough of face masks, enough of disinfecting, worrying about a second wave and distancing. I also know it isn’t quitting time. The long weekend is almost upon us. The County will be inundated with a wave of tourists. Maybe there won’t be as many tourists as we usually see, but there will be people from away clogging the streets looking for something to do. People who may think they can leave their caution behind because they’re on vacation. There will be a wave of away-people who will shop in our grocery stores. People who will crowd the trails and the beaches. People who will be here to get away from their own tired, isolated, disinfected, masked lives elsewhere.
This week, I think I’ll stock up before the long holiday weekend wave of uncertainty. Just to be on the safe side, as regards the weekend, I think I’ll stay home and isolate from the unknown and the potentially dangerous. I’m not ready for summer and, as I dig out my winter hiking jacket, I don’t think summer is ready for us.
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