Short Notice

 

Not always, I hope!

For a woman who touts the practice of present moment mindfulness, I sure miss a lot. I seldom miss the obvious (I hope) and I suspect most of what does escape my notice stems from knowing all is well in my world rather than indifference to my surroundings.

It’s a running joke between Ter and me that I don’t notice things. Buildings, for instance. I distinctly recall walking up Georgia Street in Vancouver and Ter later asking me about some detail or other on one of the plate glass skyscrapers we had passed. For the life of me, I could not picture the building she was talking about, so had to plead the fifth for an answer. That was years ago, but I can cite more recent examples of less glaring omissions.

Take the box of Haagen-Daz bars lodged in the freezer door. Due to sugar sensitivities, Ter has to eat even a mini ice cream bar in two sittings. Sometimes we’ll split one between us, but it’s not unusual for me to spy a cling-wrapped morsel one day awaiting its demise on another. During this past summer, however, we realized we were consuming way too much dairy/sugar/naughty treats and stopped replenishing our stock. After we decided to cut back, I glanced into the box and noted a pair of bars remaining. A few days later, Ter confessed to finishing one of them. “That leaves the other one, then?” I asked.

She actually looked sheepish. “No, they’re both gone.”

The little muncher had stealthily nibbled away until the last of the bars were gone, but I had been in the freezer that morning and was certain the box had still been there. Another box appeared some days later, and I had to ask her when she’d bought it because I was sure the space had been empty that morning. To my relief, the answer was “Today.” Yet I can almost guarantee if the ice cream confession hadn’t occurred, I could not have said when the Haagen Daz bars became dry garlic pork ribs.

These are tiny examples, of course. Dozens more would be listed if I could remember them all, but it seems that my not noticing things has taken root in Ter’s subconscious. One night she dreamed we were stuck on a hill behind traffic at a standstill. I was driving, so Ter got out to see what the holdup was. Whatever the snarl was, it cleared while she was still investigating, and I drove away without her.

At first, dream-Ter couldn’t believe it ... until her little voice said, “I bet she hasn’t noticed I’m not in the car!”

I would like to express my offense and outrage at being so callously perceived by the one I love most, but I can’t. The notion is not as absurd as it is possible. Not likely, I must insist, but possible.

*sigh*

Resistance is Futile

 

BC’s daily numbers have surged during the past week, so it’s time to accept that I live in a COVID-19 universe.

It’s been a luxury to ignore it until now. I work primarily from home, heading into town once a week to visit the new office space and have tea with a couple of friends. It’s mostly a social thing that has helped me adapt to wearing a mask in public. It felt weird and strange and awkward for the first few months, and I still don’t like it, but for the first time ever, it felt almost natural during a weekend trip to the mall.

I have stuck pretty close to home since all this started. Truly, if not for my weekly sojourns—chauffeured by Ter to avoid public transit—I’d probably be a hermit. Ter has adapted more quickly, as she goes out every couple of days to get groceries and some fresh air (she’s always been more restless than me; apparently I can stay home for days on end but she needs to get out and breathe ... even in a mask).

Anyway, this past weekend, our PVR crapped out so to kill some time, we did what we used to do without ever thinking about it. We went to the mall. Ter’s parking karma was in full force, scoring us a spot right near the identified entrance that some folks were still using as an exit (sigh). As I pulled my mask from my purse and fixed it in place before leaving the car, I felt like I was preparing to rob a bank, but other than that, I’m so accustomed to a face covering that I forgot about it within minutes.

And I had a ball! Standing in line to get into the bookstore, spritzing sanitizer on my hands at every shop entrance, conversing with clerks through two layers of cloth and a sheet of plexiglass—all that was different, but in this suddenly oddball existence it felt like a trip to the mall always feels:

Normal.

I was particularly happy to order New York fries—my go-to snack in any food court, though this time it was to go and the clerk had to hand me the condiments on request. It’s been interesting at Blenz and Bucky’s too, having the barista add sugar and cream to my tea rather than me loading it up myself. I’m tapping my debit/credit card instead of forking over the cash—I’ve had the same twenty dollar bill in my wallet since March—and on Saturday I tapped up a storm as I restocked my home supply of Paris Afternoon tea and Purdy’s chocolate, tried cinnamon buns from a new foodie outlet, and couldn’t leave without getting the aforementioned NY fries.

Sure, the bulk of my purchases were comfort carbs ... but with my history, that was normal, too!

Watching a toddler weaving in her mother’s wake, I wondered what she’ll remember of her childhood when she grows up. No one wants COVID to become the norm, but right now, there’s less harm in adapting to the rules than there is in fighting them. So far in my life, I have found that if I give myself three days, I can adapt to anything.

With love (and fries),

Take the Fall

 

It’s pumpkin spice and everything nice. My favourite time of year is the fall. This weekend is especially precious, being Thanksgiving on Monday and me being grateful for nothing. The calendar is clear; I have four whole days to fill with whatever takes my fancy and right now I can’t think of anything I’d rather do than nothing.

Perhaps I sound ungrateful? I’m not. Truly, I’m not. Every day is stuffed with miracles, some too tiny to see and some so blatantly obvious that only a fool could deny them. Granted, the latter seem to appear less frequently, but the little ones, the ones I don’t always see, probably mean the most. They are the ones keeping everything in motion—and after the week I’ve had, I am ever so grateful for the passage of time!

It’s been a busy autumn despite COVID restrictions and working from home. Ter and I both have birthdays in the fall, and last week was particularly busy with appointments. I had some dental work done (more than expected, actually), Ter and I both had chiropractic treatments, and she did chauffeuring duty for a friend who had tests at the hospital on two separate days. And it’s only Friday!

So you see why a weekend of nothing is something for which to be grateful.

I could run my usual list: Ter, of course. My siblings and co-workers, my friends, my job in a pandemic where lots of folks lost theirs, my health (which is pretty good despite the daily bones), living in Canada rather than a few miles south of Canada. I’m even grateful for the petty bickering of politicians during our provincial election in contrast to the catastrophic numbskullery of the American presidential race. I dislike using a negative to promote the positive, but really? Compared to what the US populace is enduring, our troubles are puny indeed.

Yep, the fall is my favourite. We’ve had a good run of sun and high temperatures through the latter half of September into October, but now I’m ready for the rain. I want my hour back from April so it’s a bit lighter in the morning and the candles are lit earlier in the evening. I want fuzzy socks and big mugs of tea, fat winter novels and holidays specials on TV. The house smells of apples and cinnamon and, this Sunday, of stuffing!!

Spring is pretty, summer is lovely, winter is sleepy, but of the four seasons?

I’ll take the fall.