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Archive for the ‘Everyday’ Category

And Then Came Covid

Not long after the Witch cast her spell on me, I was in the car with Charlotte, going to a back-to-back hair appointment with our favorite dresser. Charlotte and I discussed a deadly virus finding its way around the world. It was January, 2020.

In less than three months Corona Virus hit the United States and non-essential activities became a thing of the past. Non-essential. What is that? Haircuts? Shopping at Michael’s? Going to the library or Barnes & Noble? Out to dinner with Husby once in a while? Groceries and medical assistance are “essential,” I decided. Health and safety. So I complied by undertaking my own quarantine, for my good and the good of society in general. I’ve been complying for over a year now.

Back in March, 2020 I knew the pandemic wasn’t going to end any time soon. As a result, the spell cast by the Witch three months prior had been fueled by The Virus, taking the spell into a much deeper dimension, aka, depression. I’m kind of a hermit anyway, but when a deadly pandemic (or anything/anyone else) tells me I can’t do something, I get antsy. Of course I want to keep myself and everyone around me safe, but the restraints became annoying.

I haven’t had a haircut since that day in January, 2020. Haircuts are non-essential. And my cute, curly bob hairdo has turned into a ball of frizz due to my tying my ever-growing hair back with clips and binders. My spirits sank deeper as the months of quarantine wore on. And my hair, well, it’s not boding well to this day.

At least I’m COVID-free…so far.

Stay safe out there, still.

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The Lost Year

Four hundred and sixty-nine days ago I experienced an injury. It was an injury I never would have guessed to be so devastating. It was Christmas time…

I received a figurative a stab in the back. That wouldn’t have been so bad, but the sharp, long blade penetrated through to my heart. My heart. My heart was broken.

I didn’t realize the gravity of my injury at the time, as I was focused on the pettiness, greediness, and disregard that caused this attack upon me. I was more angry than wounded, and I didn’t realize the attack wasn’t about me.

Finally, I felt betrayed. Friends had apparently turned against me at the will (perhaps) of the wicked witch. I heard nothing from those friends throughout my suffering. Did they even know I was suffering? Stabbed in the back, through to the heart?

To those friends I hold no ill will. Saving themselves is about all they could do stay afloat. However, I resent the fact that they were used as pawns to defend the case of the one who attacked me. The stab in the back, thrusting through to my heart.

I didn’t even know how much this witch affected me until much too late. I felt the stab in my back, but not the pierce to my heart. Not for a long while. But other people noticed. Some commented. I tried to make excuses for my behavior, but the depression of a broken heart gave me away. At last…

One day I realized how no one has as much power over me than me. I took a good look at the person who tried to claim power over me and thought about her sad, pathetic behavior. During the epiphany I channeled Glinda, the Good Witch of the North.

“You have no power here. Be gone! Before someone drops a house on you!”

Slowly my wounds are healing. I’m a bit ashamed it took so long, but better late than never. The wicked witch has no more control over me. I’m stronger and better than the bully who contrived lies to crush my spirit.

Don’t let bullies get you down. Don’t believe the lies they tell you. Above all, don’t let anyone or anything get in the way of your path. Kick obstacles away and tread on. Don’t lose a whole year for the likes of a wicked witch.

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And then was the day, a cold, damp, February day where Charlotte and I discovered through texting that we were both embarking on primitive activities.

primitive: adjective:  (prim-i-tiv): early in the history of the world or of humankind.

I was sewing, she was baking.  Do people do those things these days?

I had a project planned to cover the footstool I use every single day of my life.  It belonged to my brother back around 2000 (?), and I inherited it after he died.  I wore the hell out of it.

As I began my project I got a text from Charlotte.  She told me she was going to bake some bread.

Back to the earth we were.  And the competition was on.

With a big bedspread that dates back at almost 50 years (vintage fabric from family is always my first choice) I spent days in my head and minutes on the internet trying to figure out how to make this “slipcover.”

I measured twice seventeen times and cut once.  The rule of carpenters and people who don’t sew more than once every five years.  Plus, I sew less than once every five years.

 

A wrinkly spread of my fabric.

A wrinkly spread of my fabric.

 

Sides and top measured and cut to precision.

 

My bobbin wouldn’t work, so I gave up.  I discovered I had it in backwards.

Charlotte measured her ingredients, watched the science of yeast work, and kept in touch with me.

Charlotte had the power of Paul Hollywood behind her.  I had 7th grade home ec teacher Mrs. Landsverk behind me.

Oh, let’s not make these things a competition.  It’s the experimenting, the effort, the wish to create something out of nothing that counts.  Right?

Here are the results…

My foot stool cover:

 

All right, my measurements weren’t precise because the foot stool was all wonky (aka suffering from uneven ware from my using it forever). Plus, at the time of this publication that icky center crease has disappeared with my feet constantly swiping over it in the meantime.  I didn’t even bother to iron it from the start.

Charlotte’s Italian Parmesan bread:

It doesn’t matter who wins or loses.  It wasn’t even a competition to begin with.  Charlotte and I both took on a fun project and we worked it to the end.  We’re all winners when we do that.

Except, Charlotte won by a landslide.  Congratulations, honey!

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Husby’s “Our Song”

Apparently “our song” is an subjective thing. It could be the song playing at your first kiss. The song playing at the wedding dance. As I stated in my last post it could be the song playing when you first knew you were in love. BUT…

I’m just one part of a couple in love. Husby sort of remembers some of the songs I feel to be important markings of the milestones of our relationship, but he has his own musical milestones. There’s a song he loves and thinks it describes us. While I don’t believe it to be a song describing us in the midst of our courtship, after twenty-three years of marriage and the circumstances in which we got together…hell yeah. This song is SO us!

Listen and read the lyrics below.

She don’t like her eggs all runny
She thinks crossin’ her legs is funny
She looks down her nose at money
She gets it on like the Easter Bunny
She’s my baby, I’m her honey
I’m never gonna let her go
He ain’t got laid in a month of Sundays
Caught him once and he was sniffin’ my undies
He ain’t too sharp but he gets things done
Drinks his beer like it’s oxygen
He’s my baby, I’m his honey
I’m never gonna let him go
In spite of ourselves we’ll end up a-sittin’ on a rainbow
Against all odds, honey we’re the big door-prize
We’re gonna spite our noses right off of our faces
There won’t be nothin’ but big ol’ hearts dancin’ in our eyes
She thinks all my jokes are corny
Convict movies make her horny
She likes ketchup on her scrambled eggs
Swears like a sailor when she shaves her legs
She takes a lickin’ and keeps on tickin’
I’m never gonna let her go
He’s got more balls than a big brass monkey
A whacked-out weirdo and a love bugged junkie
Sly as a fox crazy as a loon
Payday comes and he’s a-howlin’ at the moon
He’s my baby, I don’t mean maybe
I’m never gonna let him go
()
We’ve still got hearts in our eyes.

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