Captain's bLog, Quarantine Edition: Week 2.
Remember that riddle about all the kits and cats in sacks that were (not) travelling to St. Ives? First time I heard it I was like, Why are all the cats in sacks?! Which was Not the Point, as things often are when you're a kid with lots of questions, so I never did learn how someone could be so cruel to 2,744 felines - not to mention this whole curious notion of multiple wives.
(And here I find myself again at Not the Point, but I usually make it to St. Ives eventually so just sit tight a while longer.)
I keep seeing family groups out my kitchen window, out doing their daily social distancing walks. It seems like people are huddling together more these days, as if the opposite of staying six feet away from others is never straying more than six feet from your isolation cohort. These tight jumbles of families out for walks - often with multiple kids, dogs, bicycles, wagons, strollers, and the occasional grandparent or two - keep reminding me of that old riddle. Rarely cats, never sacks, and modern society generally seems to frown upon keeping multiple wives, but still something about the little roving huddles of people and wheeled kid-transporters just has a 'kits, cats, sacks and wives' sort of energy to me.
I've been feeling a bit envious of these family huddle-walks I keep seeing. In all likelihood it's just that I haven't left my house for two weeks, but in my mind I've attributed it to wanting a slightly frenetic ball of family of my own to wander the neighbourhood with. It looks like fun, like they're a mild-mannered suburban posse of some sort. I can't wait until we're done quarantining so I can wrangle my family into daily walks. We have no pets, at least not in the typical sense, so to flesh out my own little walking gang I was thinking of bringing my sourdough starter along, and of course my hair, which is even wilder than usual since haircuts are no longer in the realm of the possible, plus washing and styling are, like, so two months ago. Bright side, should be easy enough to keep these pets on a socially-distant leash!
We're a bit of a socially-distant culture in the first place, but I've been thinking about just how weird it is to actively keep so far away from others - even adding physical barriers (masks, gloves, plexiglass dividers at tills, the occasional person sporting a full hazmat suit on the plane) to really drive the point home. I've decided to make a point of eye contact and friendly greetings as I navigate the new world order, just in case anyone is feeling lonely or shunned: It's not you, it's the Covid! (It's also really quite delightful to be able to interact confidently in the local language. How did I not appreciate this before?) Which in turn-in turn got me thinking: how long do you wager it'll be before there's a huge uptick in orgies?
(Don't worry - St. Ives is just up ahead!) What I mean by this is: humans fetishize the forbidden, and right now about the naughtiest thing you can do is be physically proximal to a bunch of other people. I had a prof who said that the first thing people did with photography was invent porn, and I'm sure I don't need to tell you the filthy things people have done with the internet, so I think it's well established that whatever humans think up, there is some immediate lizard brain instinct to try it naked. "Hey, y'know what would be really cool...?" Which I guess makes sense, since lizards are pretty naked.
Yup, I'd bet a shiny nickel that the next big thing is orgies, the pinnacle of naked multi-human close proximity. And because the next-most immediate lizard brain instinct humans have after trying something naked is to try and make money off of it, the only thing left for me to do with my genius insight is sort out how to invest in orgies - my RRSPs have taken a bit of a hit lately, and I want to get on this orgy train while the getting's good.
(Er, without necessarily getting on the orgy train, that is...)
Monday, April 27, 2020
Saturday, April 18, 2020
Lean On
Captain's bLog, Quarantine Edition:Week 1.
Soooo... have days always had this many hours in them?
Not complaining or anything, it just seems they've gone a bit leggy since we started quarantine. The closets are organized, the house is spotless, and I've been cooking up an absolute storm, but if the days keep on being this goddamn long I'm going to have to start facing down the scary household projects that I've been shirking for... well, forever. So far I've been able to fend off the looming guilt-projects by never stopping moving, but as the days stretch out ahead of me it seems I may not be able to keep up my marathon hand-waving busy-dance indefinitely. At some point I'm going to have to put down my spatula and delve into the dark side of things: Updating my will. Facing the fact that I have not had time for art or crafts for years, yet have still somehow been accumulating supplies that are now beckoning me from their Rubbermaid purgatory. Gawd forbid, organizing the basement.
And so much more.
How many times in my life have I wished for more hours in the day? Well, now here they are, all in a big-ass row and staring me down expectantly. You called? Uh, yeah, sortof, but where were you needy bastards when I was attending university with a toddler? When I was working 60+ hours a week with two kids at home? Heck, even during the good times when I would have loved to linger over a conversation or a sunset or a much-needed vacation, but couldn't? It's not fair for you all to show up now that I have my shit (more or less) together and expect to be attended to in a meaningful way!
So, fuck it: I am officially leaning in - to leaning out. Eat that, Sheryl Sandberg. (Or at least eat some of this mountain of goodies I've baked? Please?) I'm going with the flow of board games and backlogged magazine subscriptions that have been defining my days lately. Maybe I'll get dressed, maybe I'll wear pyjamas, but I am damn well not going to work out either way.
If I get around to the basement, that's cool; if not, meh. After all, if the epidemiologists have it right, I'll get another stab at forced free time again sometime in my life.
And the basement will always be there, but this new cake recipe is not gonna bake itself.
Soooo... have days always had this many hours in them?
Not complaining or anything, it just seems they've gone a bit leggy since we started quarantine. The closets are organized, the house is spotless, and I've been cooking up an absolute storm, but if the days keep on being this goddamn long I'm going to have to start facing down the scary household projects that I've been shirking for... well, forever. So far I've been able to fend off the looming guilt-projects by never stopping moving, but as the days stretch out ahead of me it seems I may not be able to keep up my marathon hand-waving busy-dance indefinitely. At some point I'm going to have to put down my spatula and delve into the dark side of things: Updating my will. Facing the fact that I have not had time for art or crafts for years, yet have still somehow been accumulating supplies that are now beckoning me from their Rubbermaid purgatory. Gawd forbid, organizing the basement.
And so much more.
How many times in my life have I wished for more hours in the day? Well, now here they are, all in a big-ass row and staring me down expectantly. You called? Uh, yeah, sortof, but where were you needy bastards when I was attending university with a toddler? When I was working 60+ hours a week with two kids at home? Heck, even during the good times when I would have loved to linger over a conversation or a sunset or a much-needed vacation, but couldn't? It's not fair for you all to show up now that I have my shit (more or less) together and expect to be attended to in a meaningful way!
So, fuck it: I am officially leaning in - to leaning out. Eat that, Sheryl Sandberg. (Or at least eat some of this mountain of goodies I've baked? Please?) I'm going with the flow of board games and backlogged magazine subscriptions that have been defining my days lately. Maybe I'll get dressed, maybe I'll wear pyjamas, but I am damn well not going to work out either way.
If I get around to the basement, that's cool; if not, meh. After all, if the epidemiologists have it right, I'll get another stab at forced free time again sometime in my life.
And the basement will always be there, but this new cake recipe is not gonna bake itself.
Wednesday, April 15, 2020
Olive Wah!
Captain's bLog: 27 & 28 weeks.
(Surely even Picard missed the occasional stardate, right? Don't judge me.)
We decided to come home early to allow time to quarantine, and had a whirlwind last couple of weeks on our grand tour. Unlike many folks as of late, we had no trouble getting home, which I was honestly a bit sad about as I would have been happy to extend our final leg in the Netherlands indefinitely: Whaaaat, flights cancelled again? Welp, guess I'll just have to suffer this beautiful, cheery, cheese-eating and bike-riding country a little longer! Drat!
Small Fry, on the other hand, was thrilled to come home. He immediately ran to hug Medium Fry and reacquaint himself with his stuffed animals, with a brief stop along the way to huff the upstairs bathroom cupboard because he missed its "slightly musty smell." Ah, the comforts (and smells) of home! He has been plotting for months how we would all play board games together, and we have indeed had family games night every night since returning home... and most mornings and afternoons, too. He knows I have a particular weakness for Scrabble and has taken to shaking the tile bag like cat treats to entice me to the kitchen table. He's not all that great at Scrabble yet - it takes real commitment to train your kids into worthwhile opponents - so with all my "help" it's really more like I'm playing against myself, but I don't mind. It's all part of the training. Small Fry is as sore a winner as he is a loser (envision whatever the opposite is of crying onto one's Monopoly money), so I have to be careful not to beat myself at Scrabble or else I'd never hear the end of his gloating. It came dangerously close the other day - 314 to 311 - and even then he was boasting to Medium Fry about how he almost beat me. (Yep, it definitely defies logic, but whatever keeps him shaking the treats bag on the reg, y'know?)
Small Fry has quantified his Happiness to be Home at 90%, and to be honest I suspect he's faking the 10% Sad to be Done Our Trip for DH's and my benefit because we are obviously still in mourning over it. Grieving aside, I do have to admit that it's pretty great to not be wearing my travel wardrobe any longer, and to have access to my full suite of kitchen tools and pantry items again. I haven't huffed the cupboards, but it's been nice to burn my favourite incense and wear my favourite scents. My hair is - well, it's at least behaving in a low-humidity way that I'm familiar with. And when I can go to the store again, I will relish being able to understand what the hell I'm buying; in fact, I'm finding being able to communicate with better fluency than a crazed toddler in day to day life to be a massive relief. In short, everything is easy and familiar here, in so many ways. So I'm not sure that it's quite what I'd call good to be back, but it sure is comfortable, which has an undeniable charm of its own.
DH and I have already started plotting when we can do something like this again, and we're full of grand ideas about how we'll do it even smarter and better next time (Step 1: no pandemics allowed). Until then, we bid a fond farewell - or as Small Fry says, Olive wah! - to the wonderful places we visited. Perhaps we'll meet again one day!
(Surely even Picard missed the occasional stardate, right? Don't judge me.)
We decided to come home early to allow time to quarantine, and had a whirlwind last couple of weeks on our grand tour. Unlike many folks as of late, we had no trouble getting home, which I was honestly a bit sad about as I would have been happy to extend our final leg in the Netherlands indefinitely: Whaaaat, flights cancelled again? Welp, guess I'll just have to suffer this beautiful, cheery, cheese-eating and bike-riding country a little longer! Drat!
Small Fry, on the other hand, was thrilled to come home. He immediately ran to hug Medium Fry and reacquaint himself with his stuffed animals, with a brief stop along the way to huff the upstairs bathroom cupboard because he missed its "slightly musty smell." Ah, the comforts (and smells) of home! He has been plotting for months how we would all play board games together, and we have indeed had family games night every night since returning home... and most mornings and afternoons, too. He knows I have a particular weakness for Scrabble and has taken to shaking the tile bag like cat treats to entice me to the kitchen table. He's not all that great at Scrabble yet - it takes real commitment to train your kids into worthwhile opponents - so with all my "help" it's really more like I'm playing against myself, but I don't mind. It's all part of the training. Small Fry is as sore a winner as he is a loser (envision whatever the opposite is of crying onto one's Monopoly money), so I have to be careful not to beat myself at Scrabble or else I'd never hear the end of his gloating. It came dangerously close the other day - 314 to 311 - and even then he was boasting to Medium Fry about how he almost beat me. (Yep, it definitely defies logic, but whatever keeps him shaking the treats bag on the reg, y'know?)
Small Fry has quantified his Happiness to be Home at 90%, and to be honest I suspect he's faking the 10% Sad to be Done Our Trip for DH's and my benefit because we are obviously still in mourning over it. Grieving aside, I do have to admit that it's pretty great to not be wearing my travel wardrobe any longer, and to have access to my full suite of kitchen tools and pantry items again. I haven't huffed the cupboards, but it's been nice to burn my favourite incense and wear my favourite scents. My hair is - well, it's at least behaving in a low-humidity way that I'm familiar with. And when I can go to the store again, I will relish being able to understand what the hell I'm buying; in fact, I'm finding being able to communicate with better fluency than a crazed toddler in day to day life to be a massive relief. In short, everything is easy and familiar here, in so many ways. So I'm not sure that it's quite what I'd call good to be back, but it sure is comfortable, which has an undeniable charm of its own.
DH and I have already started plotting when we can do something like this again, and we're full of grand ideas about how we'll do it even smarter and better next time (Step 1: no pandemics allowed). Until then, we bid a fond farewell - or as Small Fry says, Olive wah! - to the wonderful places we visited. Perhaps we'll meet again one day!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
