Spoiler alert: pretty photos do not necessarily make for an exciting blog post; however I work with what I’ve got, adding some attitude with my words.
THE BEGINNING
Saturday the weather was unusually clear and sunny and cool. It was a perfect day to do something, if there’d have been something social to do, which there wasn’t. So instead of having a nutty at home, we went for a car ride. Like old people.
Here is a park bench with no one sitting on it. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen this particular bench without someone sitting on it. It kind of unnerved me, but ’tis a different world now, hey what?
This is a photo of a charming gazebo that suggests a refined gracious lifestyle and the patience to, or the bank account for hiring other people to, maintain such a folly in your yard. Cute, huh?
Here is a field as seen from the car window. To me, a non-farmer, it looks about the same as it usual does. I include it here because it is something I saw and the sky was a snazzy shade of blue, don’t you know? Pretty.
This is a photo of a horse doing her best to ignore me. I wanted to get a picture of her face, but she was having none of that. Not that I blame her, I don’t like having my picture taken either. Too personal.
Here is a soccer field without one person on it, near it, around it on a Saturday afternoon in the suburbs. If the first photo is one of amazement, this photo is a one of disbelief. In over 20 years of living around here I’ve never seen this field empty like this at this time of year. Just weird.
As a longtime blogger and a person who attempts to arrive pre-amused to life, I’ve come to realize that I’m at my blogging best when I ramble a bit about whatever is bouncing around in my mind then write about it here.
I tend to naturally process my life in a way that allows me to be entertained… inspired… often educated… sometimes baffled… by what I see going on around me and within me. Once I’ve done that I babble about it.
No pre-planned editorial calendar for me.
That being said, here is a blog post written today, the 972 gazillionth day of staying at home. I am, of course, not alone in my home because my Sweet Babboo, who will continue to work from home all this month, is in the next room.
[Pretty pink tulip to any commenter who knows that reference… without Googling it.]
I’ve got big plans for the day, NOT.
Oh sure I may crochet a little bit, I have a wacko project in mind. I’m not good at crocheting, but I am good at dreaming up pointless projects for snorts and giggles. More on that as it takes shape. [Pun intended.]
Who knows, I may attempt to read a novel, something I’ve been unable to do since we all started to stay at home. Apparently when I’m frazzled by a world gone topsy-turvy I’m unable to focus on reading a book. This makes me sad, but self-awareness is good, so now I know.
Finally I’ll be fussing around with the annual flowers that I bought last week when I went inside a store, my one adventure in the world during the month of April. Stay-at-home-ness, I gots it 99% of the time, but pretty posies for the month of May are a siren song to me.
Thus having shared with you how I’ll be fiddle-farting my day away, I’ll ask you:
WHAT’S NEW WITH YOU?
Tell me your plans for the day. Or the week. Or the month.
Tell me how you’re feeling about your life as we continue to struggle with COVID-19.
Tell me anything, anything at all. Entertain me. Amaze me. Inform me.
Think of me as your agony aunt and ask me your question.
I am still here at home getting a bit stir crazy silly.
April is my second least favorite month of the year*. This is the last day of April 2020, the longest April on record. Ever.
We do not need to go in depth into why this particular April has been endless, ridiculous, depressing, frightening, annoying, overwhelming, underwhelming, disruptive, insane, inane, et cetera, et cetera.
To my credit, I do believe, early on I set my intentions for this month and have accomplished those three intentions to the best of my ability.
• + • 💜 • + •
FIRST, I made a point to not complain about our personal small inconveniences during this dreadful month and I give myself an A- on this point.
SECOND, I made a point to have no opinions about how other people handled their time at home this month. I give myself a B on this point, having mostly not said a word about some of your more dubious behaviors, oh my friends and family + neighbors and numbskulls.
LASTLY, I made a point to be gentle and forgiving with myself, allowing my moods to swing, my thoughts to roam, and my sense of purpose to be redefined within the context of the times. On this I give myself an A+ because, not to put too fine of a point on it, I’m still here, sane, and relatively happy.
And with that I will turn the page in my calendar, putting April behind me and gazing into the glorious month of May, my second most favorite month of the year**. I’ve nothing scheduled to do in the month of May, but certainly it’ll be better than miserable old April, right?
One can only hope.
*August is my least favorite month of the year. **October is my most favorite month of the year.
[May 2, 2020: I’ve reworked the look of this post to do an experiment with images, fonts, and the way in which Twitter tweets a link to it. The content remains the same.]
Husband and Wife at home, quarantined like many other couples.
Husband, working from home with his trusty laptop computer, having commandeered the kitchen table that is in the middle of everything at the back of the house.
Wife, writing in study at front of house.
Doorbell rings.
Wife sees FedEx guy leave small box on the stoop.
Wife goes to kitchen in back of house to get her gloves so that she may pick up the box, safely.
As one does now.
Wife tells Husband, who is sitting at the kitchen table that is smack dab in the middle of everything at the back of the house, what she is doing.
Husband who is staring at computer screen appears to understand, nodding head in an affirmative manner.
Wife collects small box from front stoop, walks to kitchen at back of house, and wipes down small box with Clorox wipe.
As one does now.
Husband sees Wife bring box into kitchen and seems to understand that she’s applied the proper ablutions to it, leaving it in plain sight on the kitchen counter because she’ll open the box later.
Wife returns to writing project in study in front of house.
One half hour later…
Husband strides purposefully from kitchen in back of house to front door, opens it, then expresses dismay that the box delivered by FedEx is not there.
Husband is flummoxed and queries Wife as to where said box is.
Wife explains all that transpired within Husband’s purview while sitting at the kitchen table that is smack dab in the middle of every stinking thing in the back of the house.
Husband looks baffled.
Wife says didn’t you notice what I was doing, hear what I was saying. Weren’t you interested?
Husband says: “Of course I was interested, but I wasn’t watching what you were doing or listening to what you were saying at all.”
Wife *sighs* LOUDLY, *rolls her eyes* DRAMATICALLY, and returns to her writing project, refusing to respond to Husband’s absurd, somewhat disparaging, comment.
Last fall I decided that I’d attempt to force some daffodil bulbs to bloom inside the house this winter. I thought the yellow flowers would be a spot of cheerfulness in February, the grayest of months.
I found THIS ARTICLE that told me how to create the perfect environment for my daffodils so that when it was time to take them out of the dark basement, they’d not get leggy. Instead, they’d use their energy to make the flowers bloom bigger, better, more colorful.
Bloom being the operative word here.
I did as instructed, rescuing the bulbs from basement darkness a few weeks ago. At first it seemed like I was going to have, as they used to say, a success experience because the bulbs were getting jiggy, pushing healthy green leaves upward.
I was jazzed.
In fact, in anticipation of the yellow flowers I put the pots with the bulbs in a sunny spot on the kitchen table, where I’d see the beauty from many rooms.
As per the article in order to stunt their growth, I watered the bulbs with a carefully measured concoction of water and alcohol. I mean when you task me with the responsibility of getting some daffodils drunk, I take it seriously. Do my best. Or so I thought.
However as the days have gone by, the daffodils have grown leggy and there’s no indication that they’ll ever bloom. I agree that they’re a lovely shade of green, but as for the yellow flowers?
There are none and I am sad.
Thinking this through all I can figure is that despite what the article said, in order to stunt their growth the bulbs needed more alcohol than I gave them. This means I failed them, not getting them liquored up enough to bloom where they were planted.
But if nothing else at least I tried, getting a good blog story out of it. 🍸
These daffodils appear to be sober and aren’t blooming, with no indication that they will. Let that be a lesson to you.
You’re with a group of people and one woman, Queen Bee, starts to talk about her moral dilemma “blah blah blah” problem. She wants everyone in the group to tell her what to do, that’s how distraught she claims to be.
You remain politely reserved saying nothing, thinking to yourself this isn’t a problem you crowdsource for a solution,while everyone else [oh. my. to. the. goodness. gracious.] tells Queen Bee what is wrong with her. And what she should do. And how she should do it.
Eventually all eyes fall on you so you go all Glinda the Good Witch. You say something like you don’t need any help because you’ve always had the power within you to solve this problem. Just put on your magic slippers, click your heels together, Dorothy Queen Bee, and you’ll find your way home solution.
Well a short time later you run into Queen Bee who tells you that she has no intention of following any of the advice from the group. In fact she says that she only talked about her moral dilemma “blah blah blah” problem because she was testing everyone to see who was on her side.
Oh dear.
In a nanosecond you realize that Queen Bee now considers you a supportive friend. You find yourself wondering how it is that being polite got you into this situation? And how in the future you’ll be politely distancing yourself from Queen Bee?
I NEVER INTENDED TO write about this person, she’s someone I knew a long time ago. I’d guess that I haven’t been in touch with her for over a decade, maybe longer.
I got thinking of her because I found one of her business cards wedged in the back of my desk drawer. I’m surprised I kept it, to be honest– but there it was and memories of her flooded into my brain.
So here’s a story, a character study if you will, of a pleasant someone who had her own unique way of rationalizing that which she said and felt no shame about telling, what were ostensibly, falsehoods.
• • •
ONCE UPON A TIME I knew a lovely woman who introduced me to a college acquaintance of hers; I shall call this acquaintance Nedra. The lovely women moved away but out of respect for her, Nedra and I still got together for coffee every few months.
Our relationship was superficial, but delightful at first. Nedra and I had interests in common, reading and healthy eating. She was dating at the time and had funny stories about her experiences. I was remodeling the kitchen and had ridiculous stories about my experiences.
All would’ve been well IF I hadn’t come to realize that Nedra was making up stories about her love life. And her career. Stories that she told me, doing what I’d describe as, a tango with the truth.
• • •
I STUMBLED OVER THIS dance with reality while we were having coffee one day. I hadn’t seen her in a while and I asked her about a guy she’d been on a date with, a date that she’d described in detail months before.
Well, she looked confused, baffled by my question– and told me I must be wrong about her, that she’d never been on a date like that. Clearly I was mistaken.
Except I wasn’t. I’m not that addled-brained. I remembered quite specifically her conversation and joyfulness vis-à-vis this date. That hadn’t happened, but she said it had. Uh huh.
• • •
AS YOU CAN IMAGINE after that conversation I became more disinclined to believe what Nedra said to me, but I was intrigued because I’m a curious person who pays attention to people– and here was a character for me to watch.
Up close and in action, so to speak.
Time passed, like a year or so, and I was to a point where I didn’t want to meet Nedra for coffee anymore. Beyond her propensity to make up stories, I no longer needed to be in her part of town on a regular basis so getting together with her was a chore. On many levels.
Still, I wanted to know more about her reasoning for making up stories: why she did it and, you know, if she experienced any remorse about deviating from the truth. So I asked her, politely, tactfully, why she made up stories about her life and this is where it got really interesting.
• • •
NEDRA BELIEVED THAT BY making up stories about her life she was showing people how to make themselves whole. She was, she felt, merely using her fictional tales to guide people to make better decisions about themselves.
She justified this by saying that when you think about it, scripted TV shows and movies were often fabricated stories that we accept as having a real impact on our minds, hearts, psyches. We believe the stories and accept the messages contained within.
Therefore she was doing the same thing with her stories on a smaller, more personal, scale so that she could help people become more self-aware and feel empowered to do better. And as such she felt no guilt for what some of us might call lying.
• • •
Have you met anyone like Nedra who does a tango with the truth?
Do you think she has a point about scripted TV & movies being basically lies so why not do it too?
Was she naive or manipulative?
Have you found a business card from someone you lost touch with and got thinking about them, for better or for worse?
