And Then I Jumped……

How did the 1993 movie Groundhog Day go from “iconic movie” to modern day reality? I used to think that movie was hilarious. I now think the plot line sucks.

Every day is the same. “Get up, make coffee, have a shower and get dressed”. This is “success” for 2020. For the super achievers, they put on pants. The rest of us are still in leggings.

The new monotony of Groundhog Day is sucking the life out of me. Yesterday I sat in the car and turned it on just to see if it still works. Today I might take it for a spin around the driveway.

“Be still my beating heart” is not just love reflection, it is also one of the first signs of panic.

In the past three weeks, due to C19, I have joined millions in losing an income, likely losing a business and certainly losing my mind. I used to feel productive, useful and engaged. Now I get dressed and call it a day.

Part of my panic is wondering what I am going to do PC19 (Post Covid19). What is life going to look like? What skills do I have that will be relevant? What if I take a chance and “follow my heart” only to find out that it’s a bust? What am I going to do for work?

A friend sent me a text saying she was thinking of becoming a Phone Sex Operator. Likely a good idea. Can you imagine? No one would even have to know. You could be in the bathroom, screaming loudly “OH GOD!!” and everyone else in the house would listen and say “I’ve got to remember to put the lid down”.

Will I have what it takes for the next step? I’m from Generation X. We have been reinventing ourselves for 3 decades and I don’t know if I have another costume change in me. Gen X has survived three recessions; early 1990’s, early 2000 and let’s not forget 2008 when everything went to shit which gave us just enough time to recover for COVID19. Anyone else want to start drinking at 10am?

Yesterday I was feeling the pain of having to work up the energy to face that mountain and climb it once again. I hate that mountain. It is mean. It has steep slopes, jagged edges and quite frankly, I’m not sure that there is even a view from the top. I feel sad, angry, overwhelmed and somewhat distraught. It is uncomfortable living in the “unknowing” of what comes next.

When facing the peril of panic, I turn to podcasts and cleaning my floors. Podcasts inspire me and cleaning the floors reminds me that I will always have a job.

The podcast I chose was from Brene Brown (BB) and she talked about how people “show up” in times of anxiety. That got my attention. I learned that I am an “over-functioner”. I am not sure that is a word but I love it and it describes me. When there is a “situation”, I whip open the closet door, throw on my cape, grab my broom and fly into action. Forest fire that we have to evacuate for? Not a problem. Pack, label, organize and create a spreadsheet database. Community economic meltdown? Easy. Throw together dinner for 200 and done. Manage through a worldwide pandemic? Nope. I’m stuck.

For an “over-functioner” who is having to “stay home”, I have way too many hours of doing nothing but watching my hair get long and grey. I don’t feel I am contributing in ways that feel useful. I don’t actually “do” anything these days. What BB pointed out is that my need for “doing” was actually my way of avoiding “feeling. Oh f@ck. Now I need serious therapy.

Doing “nothing” is causing me to think and feel in ways that are uncomfortable. Instead of reveling in a life that has slowed down, I am projecting worse case scenarios.

I wondered if I should start breathing and practicing calm. Could it be that a world wide pandemic is the perfect time to figure out what I really want to do with the rest of my life? Maybe, a pandemic is a peek in the door to see what I might like instead. Maybe, tomorrow is a second chance and that fresh start I thought I might never have.

There are parts of my life that I don’t love but I typically stuff them in the drawer of “let’s not think about that” or shove them in the closet called “no, it’s not that bad”. What if post pandemic, I emptied the drawer and cleaned out the closet?

I’m not 100% sure where this thought might take me but while I dust the lightbulbs I will think about it. How bold could I be with my answers if I honestly asked “what if…..” and let my imagination run free? The possibilities suddenly seem more exciting than my panic.

I promised this blog would be about admitting to my stumbles, my awkwardness, my fears and much more. If you have moments like me, I want you to know, that you are not alone. I am scared and I am going to try and overcome that. I am also going to try wearing pants. Small steps.

With love and care,

Shelley

“….and by cleaning, I mean drinking wine and spraying the house with Febreeze….”

~ Somee Cards

Today I thought I would clean the fridge. I’m not sure what inspired me to clean the fridge. I think it was because I needed room for more milk. I don’t normally pay attention to the fridge. It’s like the laundry basket, a safe spot to store things until I have time. I rarely have time but COVID 19 has given me an abundance of time. Typically I would put the milk in and if space was skinny, I would just jiggle things around until everything forcibly fits. Denial is powerful and effective.

However, I now have time and as such, I made a mistake. I looked to see what the problem was. It was the jar of antipasto from Christmas. Dammit. Now I have to clean the fridge.

I am not going to lie, it was easy to tuck that jar of antipasto to the back of the fridge where it had sat quietly for months. Sometimes I would notice it and think, “I should do something about that” but quickly moved on to more serious things like “where is that bottle of white“?

Why bother with things that are quiet? Just let them be because somehow making room for the milk, led to “I should clean the fridge” which led to “I wonder why the back of the fridge is leaking”….. You know this doesn’t end well.

It’s an older fridge and I accept the imperfections, just like I do with my husband. My fridge could be a metaphor for my life. Sometimes I would like a new one; something shiny and makes ice. Oh wait, that’s the new pool boy I want.

So there I was looking at my older fridge and contemplating ignoring the leak (and the jar of antipasto) but I decided to use my new found wealth of time to once again make use of Dr. Google. Worldwide pandemics really do cause chaos.

If you are asking yourself if you should try this at home, don’t. Save yourself. Leave the antipasto to visit quietly with the weird homemade jam.

I wasn’t so wise. I opened Pandora’s box.

I had often wondered where dust went when the broom comes out. It turns out that it runs under the fridge, flies up the back to hide on the coils. It was a shock to move the fridge and find an entire Dust City, the equivalent size of Vegas. Residents have now been relocated and coils are now free to cool.

While I was pleased with my problem solving prowess, I still had a leak. The second suggestion from Dr. Google was to locate my fridge drain which might be clogged or frozen. A fridge drain? Don’t things just “work”? Apparently not. “Adulting” just got real.

I defrosted the freezer. I couldn’t find the drain. Our fridge drain is behind the plastic cover. I will share that frozen plastic is brittle. I am sure that if I keep the bags of peas and carrots strategically stacked, my husband won’t notice a thing.

I hear you. It’s reasonable to ask “why don’t you just call a repair person?“. The problem is that we live in a small town of 2200 people and the nearest city centre is almost two hours away. The only repair guy in town is the same guy who sells moonshine out of the back of his truck. I kid you not. I’m on my own with this one.

Move forward about two hours. I will note that I still haven’t cleaned my fridge but I have become very familiar with parts of a fridge that I had never expected to meet. I was trying to rally a feeling of accomplishment but I likely needed a swig of moonshine to illicit a false sense of success. I persevered and slowly, I found the problem. I also found that there was no way in hell I was going to fix this. This was way above my non-existent pay grade.

I looked at the time, I looked at the fridge and then put a bowl in the back to catch the drips. I decided that the antipasto and the weird jam needed a pool to sit beside. I then put the milk outside. Problem solved. And since I found the bottle of white, I can now move to happy hour which is a more effective use of time!

There are some things we shouldn’t try during a pandemic. Fixing the fridge is one, cutting our own bangs is the other.

Here’s to new things that are fun and outdoors and shared with friends and family! In the meantime, be well and be safe.

With care for all,

Shelley

It’s COVID 19 and the world is staying home.  Yesterday I was washing the windows and my husband said “you know, when you do windows you normally do the inside AND the outside…..”.  I looked at him, rolled my eyes and said “we could be isolated for months, I am pacing myself”.  Idiot.  Only an overachiever would try and get everything done in the first week.  At least I know at day 45, I will still have things to do.  One drawer, one window, one day at a time…..

Each day is now new.  I applaud those who are leaning in and taking this time as a personal challenge to do things that they haven’t done before.  For me, I thought I would give up wine.  I’ve never done that before.  I then thought about it and decided that maybe the drapes should be washed instead.   I could even try to properly fold fitted sheets.

Nothing seems the same and each day brings a new experience, new way of doing things and a new way of “being”.   Some things I am coping with but other things aren’t so easy.

Copying all my photos from my phone is proving to be a challenge.  So is panicking that I have COVID 19…..

Is anyone else doing this?  I have these inner dialogues that are like a bad movie with a terrible script.  This was my self-talk yesterday.  “OMG, my chest feels like it is being crushed by an elephant.  It’s here, I have “IT”, I just know it.”

I quickly checked with Dr. Google and spent an hour researching my symptoms while taking my temperature every 10 minutes to chart the “spike” that never came.  Wayne, my husband, walks by the computer and asks “why do you have a thermometer sticking out of your mouth?”.  Not wanting to admit that I am quietly planning how I can get myself to the hospital, I seamlessly say “I’m just checking to see if its working”.

John Hopkins University:  “If you have chest pressure but no sign of a fever, you likely have another condition”.  Great.  Now I have cancer.

This is why I have to wash my drapes and not give up wine.  A world pandemic is new for me.  I’m not sure of proper protocol and appropriate levels of worry.  I have to push back all the panic and stop asking myself questions like “how long before we starve”?  “If they take the house, will they take my husband AND the chickens or just the house?”  

The new daily routines are important.  It gives me structure to build walls against losing my sanity and falling into the pit of panic, alarm and psychosomatic symptoms.  I need  a book.  Something like “What to Expect When You’re Expecting”, except that it would be called “What to Expect During a World Pandemic”.  And no, the books on the Spanish Flu don’t count.  I am not reading that.  I’m also not watching  the Titanic.

We all have questions about this damn virus.   How long will this last?  What’s going to happen?  Will Trump get re-elected?  When does the curve flatten?  Should I renew my passport?  Will I get “IT“?  If I get “IT“, will I live through “IT”?  Will someone I love get “IT“?  Will we survive?  Should I put myself on a waiting list for a hair appointment now now or wait?  Big questions that can’t be answered.  Well, except I do think I should put myself on a waiting list….

I wanted to write this morning because the wave of panic washed over me and I wondered if I was alone.  By writing down the thoughts that have seized me, I could maybe normalize the darkness.  I need to stop hearing the song “What If” play in my head and build a new playlist to give things perspective and find a new groove.

One drawer and one window give me structure to get through each day.  It’s one day at a time.  OK, maybe that’s a bit deep.  One drawer, one window, one glass and one pour!  May you have what you need to count all the hours to happy!

In peace.

Shelley

Today this made me laugh:

“Eighth day of self isolation and it’s like Vegas in my house.  We’re losing money by the minute, cocktails are acceptable at any hour and nobody knows what time it is”.

Am I the only one that thought that Monday was Thursday?

I have heard the concept.  Daytime jammies and nighttime jammies.  The struggle is real.  I am like many of the masses and have suddenly found myself without work and am using up my holiday time.  If I have to pretend that I am on holiday, I am now in Vegas and my bathtub is now the pool.  If I ask nicely, my youngest son is the cabana boy and brings me Mai Tai’s.  As for gambling, I’ve got that down pat.  There’s a 50/50 chance that dinner will be ready and with enough mai tai’s, there might even be an evening show.

It’s hard to explain, this new reality.  I no longer set my alarm.  What’s the purpose in getting up?  Spring cleaning was never high on my list so why start now?  My day has found a gentle rhythm.  So gentle that I often need a nap but I will persevere!  I get up, make coffee, listen to the news and then make a list that consists of “make bed, have shower and get dressed”.   Ok, that took an hour.  Maybe it’s back to the pool and the land of pretend!

All kidding aside.  I am watching the alerts.  I paid special attention to “essential services’.  I am aghast.  Who made this list?  I’m sure it was a man who was going prematurely bald.  There can be no other reason for leaving hair salons off as an essential service.  I mean, really.  All this stress and on top of it, I have to go grey?  I think we need to revisit the essentials.  I say REDO!  Essential service must include those that need color in  these very dark days!

On a positive news, the liquor store is still deemed essential.  Thank God.  I can’t imagine my pool boy bringing me soda water with lime and pretending that this is Vegas fun.

So these are my days.  Dull and somewhat dreary.  I read another meme that made me laugh.  “Where are we going for holidays this week-end?” and they showed a blueprint of the house.  For me, I am going back to my bathroom and lathering with sunscreen in hopes of ultraviolet lights!

These are times that deem the need for airport rules.  It’s not easy and you need to do what you need.  Yes, I have a cabana boy but I also have a back deck where I am trying to perfect the plank and get my heart rate up.  If I have to go grey, at least I don’t have to be droopy.  It’s bad enough that in the middle of the night I have to ask if my rush of heat is COVID 19 or just another hot flash.

Be kind to yourself.  If your bathroom must be Vegas and your hair is of concern, just push it aside.  Although the times are grim, I celebrate that new found time allows me to connect with those that I adore.  If my life includes “airport rules”, I am so glad that I have virtual travelers who follow my path.  Thank goodness for friends who all make me laugh.  These are the people that are the true wealth of life.  If they were to disappear, my soul would be poor and my life adrift.

I wish you  all to have travelers that join you in your journey.  People who bring you joy and build up your spirit.  The times are tough, the salons are shut but I wish you connections that bring you solace.  May your bathroom be your Vegas and may these dark times teach us that life is rich because of those that we love.  To all of you, I wish you courage to face the days and may each day bring you glimmers of sunshine, of blue oceans and long sandy beaches.  May we celebrate small moments of gladness and may we feel blessed with connections.  Together we are stronger.  Vegas is never fun as a solo journey.  We need group love because that is where the memories are found.

To each of you, I wish you the strength you need.  Know that you are loved, that you make a difference in the world and that your influence matters.  Connections are our life line.  That, and a good cabana boy!  Airport rules are a once in a lifetime experience, indulge and enjoy!

 

100 GB……per month……of data……and the government says “stay home”.  That is like looking at the last 2 ounces of wine and being told “no more until next month”.  Everyone has their level of crisis.

Thanks to a large nation wide telecommunications company, our little house in the woods is now connected to high speed fiber optic internet with UNLIMITED data!  Having come from 100 GB on satellite, I feel like I have found crack and I am completely addicted.  Netflix, online news, steaming and more!  I have found Nirvana and best of all, I don’t have to declare DATA LOCK DOWN to the family five days into the month.  Binging has never felt so good and all calorie free!

And it’s not just internet.  We now have TV!  So many choices of nonsense and I love it!  90 Day Fiance? Drivel to die for.  It just keeps showing over and over and if I need to further escape from the reality of the world, there is three billion episodes of Say Yes To The Dress!

I am in the New World and it’s all a tad foreign.  I have never been hip to the trends or cited as fashion forward.  When did ripped jeans become a “thing”?  I tried it.  I looked like I had fallen into a barbed wire fence and the fence won.  That’s kind of the technology metaphor that I face.    I have TV but what is this thing called PVR?  What does it even mean and how does this work?  Thank goodness for Google.   I can record 90 Day Fiance for the rest of my isolated state and never miss a melodramatic moment!

Perseverance is a great word.  I often likened it to personal challenge and doing a proper “plank” but now I find it applies to the world of tech.  And while my perfect plank is only a figment of my imagination, I have now finessed the Personal Video Recording, mastered the remote and can now move to mystery world of tech savvy teens.  What is this Tik Tok and why does Snapchat make messages disappear?  Doesn’t anyone value the paper trail?  Oh wait.  That’s exactly why things disappear…….

Hulu is not an abbreviated version of an exercise, Spotify is not a laundry cleaner, Instagram is not affiliated with the mail and Visco is not an investment firm.  So many terms and means to master.  I might do better to go back to trying to perfect the plank!  Interviews are now done by more social platforms than what Beyonce has on a stage and I have to shake my head when the feed breaks, the connection is lost and really, the interviewer was just down the street.

However much a mystery, the social estrangement has allowed us to practice for current world conditions and thank goodness we aren’t starting from scratch!  I will YouTube and start my tutorials so I can keep up.

This brings me to my current challenge.  The art of virtual cocktail parties.  My social stance on Apple finds me in a pickle.  I was a die hard Blackberry user.  I loved Canadian technology,  I also loved the keyboard.  However, all good things end and my Blackberry had to head to the compost but I can’t do Apple.  It’s like world domination where you have to pay to play for innovation which is contrary to Microsoft that embraces “sharing is caring”.  My kids think I am nuts.  They may be right as now I have been invited to my first virtual party!

All my favourite gal pals are gathering at 4.30pm today to connect, convene and socially sip.  Thanks to my stance on fruit, I was gutted to learn that FaceTime is not on my Android menu.  I am once again trying to rip my own jeans and have found myself tangled in a fence!

My social resistance could result in virtual social isolation!  Damn my stupidity!  Now I have to grovel and ask to use my daughter’s Iphone.  Humble pie will be filled with my composted blackberry.

The world moves fast and while I feel less than limber in my efforts to keep pace, I will use this time to master the many mediums out there in the world.  Who knows, I might even be able to change the format of this blog.  There is a link that says “more options”.  I haven’t clicked that box yet.  It could be scary.  Am I the only one that worries that I could be the one that hits a button that deletes the universe?  Technically speaking, I have a stutter but with some therapy, I think I can learn this new language.  To all those that share my snares with tech, I’ll jump because I never like missing a good time with gal pals, virtual or otherwise.

To all, may you be well, and safe.  Let kindness be our friend.

 

 

 

 

I’ve mentioned that maybe there is a bit more jiggle to my wiggle and a few more lumps to the bumps.  It kind of bugs me.  It bugs me for a few reasons.  For one, clothes don’t “hang” well on a bump and when they cling to a lump, it throws the whole look off.

Spandex is a miracle.  How marvelous that something so simple can smooth it all out.  I understand the concept of the corset.   There is much to be said for lacing in those parts that are starting to run a bit rogue.  If only squishing all the bits and bobs didn’t give me such a headache! Lets be honest, those lumps and bumps have to go somewhere and just like when you squeeze the toothpaste, it all goes to the top.   I am vain but not that vain.  I like to be able to breathe, eat, drink and not pass out because my “squish” is “squashed”!

The lumps and bumps bug me because now my underwear doesn’t fit.  My thighs have chosen to blossom and now my underwear is too tight!  I used to love bikini but now it  slips off my rolls and digs into my belly.  What used to be so simple has now become impossibly complicated.  I’m grouchy and all I want is my underwear to fit!

My life journey can be documented by the stages of my knickers.  I no longer see any appeal in wearing dental floss and a “thong” isn’t much more!  I eased into boy shorts and then slowly to sexy and seamless but now I fear I am on the verge of the abyss.  Where do I grow to next?

I’ve been trying it all!  A larger size, a higher waist, a different blend of cotton and lace.  Anything that allowed me to breathe and not curse by mid day.   A fair penny has been spent with the hopes of my circulation not being cut off.  I just didn’t want to have to land in the beige bloomer section.  If I wear underwear the size of a parachute, it’s like I will have given up and if I give up, I might as well go all the way.  I’ll let my gray hair grow, stop plucking my chin hairs and what the hell, why bother shaving my legs.  Pantaloons is nothing more than the beginning of the end.

And just when I thought all was lost and death by lack of circulation was imminent, I found my new stage.  Enough spandex to keep things “tucked” in place, a style that kept all bits covered and if I were hit by a bus and taken to hospital, my knickers wouldn’t give the impression of collecting a seniors pension.

I have found a comfort which is kind symbolic of life.  I have often been looking for me.  My search has kept me looking here there under where.  My search for fit is taking time.  It’s quite a happy place to know my fit.  Yes, that sense of fit is sometimes fleeting but at least I have stopped pretending and can admit that dental floss is really not my fit.  It boggle my mind that I paid good money for three strings that were held together by a thread.

Anna Quindlen, who is about the greatest author there ever was, described aging as lineage on a laundry line. The bright pink panties that a toddler wears with glee that is quickly followed by fun cotton prints.  There is a stretch of raucous and cotton slowly fades to near nothing but grows back to that thing called a thong and then eases into boy shorts or comfortable bikini.  There is a flash of hipster and the glamour of french cut but inevitably, seamless is sexy and control briefs sublime. Imagine it all, that long line of glorious garb, swinging in the wind on the line.  The ages and stages, flapping like colorful flags.  Oh what a life.

Yes, I want to fit my life.  I find I am happy in cotton and sexy is breathing without fear of fainting.  A higher waist ensures a firmer fit.  It’s knowing what works and what brings comfort and form.  But when adventure calls and courage is needed, I will search under there for a fabulous pair of underwear!