Category Archives: Pandemic

About House Hunters International

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Photo by Robin Ooode on Unsplash

So, not to put too fine of a point on it but we’re in Month Twenty of this global pandemic thing, at least, since our world here in Canada became strapped down, wings clipped, house arrested. While it doesn’t really substitute for the real thing, I have been watching House Hunters International with insatiable interest these days. And the question on my mind is: Where in the world do I really want to go? You know, when the viral cloud begins to lift a little?

I don’t really have any patience for the shenanigans on the regular House Hunters franchise where (ahem) CRAZY AMERICANS looking for a new home come armed with 1. Unreasonable Expectations 2. Unfettered Attachments to Barbeques and 3. Unbelievable Demands for Separate Bedrooms for their Pets. The ensuing problem of living in a place like, say, Texas, is that you expect everything to be BIG: big house, big kitchen, big backyard. The only thing that people don’t usually come with is a big budget. Hmmmm. How is this going to work exactly if everything on the list is non-negotiable?

Sometimes on House Hunters International, because the move comes with a cost of living allowance, the budget IS big. On an episode I watched recently, the folks “settled” for a 3-bedroom, 2-bath apartment in Zurich – to the tune of $7100 a month! Yowza! More often re-locators are working with a big wish list and a small budget, like on the domestic version, but cultural differences can really change that must-have list fast. In Europe or Asia, for instance, things we often take for granted are not a given, things like bathtubs, ovens and clothes dryers. I can understand that in a country where square footage comes at a premium, space-suckers like bathtubs aren’t a thing. And ovens aren’t necessary when you can go out to eat in the market for cheap. But I’ve been to Asia and it’s humid there. It takes days for clothing hanging around the house to dry. I don’t know why clothes dryers aren’t more of a thing. But it’s not my country or continent, so what do I know?

The thing about travelling is that it’s a chance to experience things that are different. Why would we get such a hankering to go to the other side of world if the view is the same? And why would I want to expect the same things as I find at home – staying home would be cheaper, non?

But moving someplace else is a whole different ballgame. Home, for some, is the repose when all else is different: city, workplace, grocery store, cafe, greenspace. So I can understand wanting it to be dependable and consistent. I think that’s why so many of us in this last twenty months have indulged in home renovations and HGTV – because HOME helps us to find our place in the larger world, gives us a place of courage to start our day and a place of rest to end it.

And hopefully is filled, at least sometimes, maybe just even virtually, with other people that you love. Home really can be Sweet Home.

About Electricity

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Marcus Wallis on Unsplash

A funny couple of things happened this last week. Well, not really funny-ha-ha, per se, but more like “we can laugh about this as soon as we figure out how to get around it” kind-of-funny. My husband Rick was leaving for work early one morning, pushed the button to open the garage door and nothing happened. The spring on the door had broken and that essentially locked him in the garage. It turns out that a spring is a terrific mechanical aid not just for electrically opening the door, but also manually. He called his handy younger brother to help – or fix if he could – and between the two of them they managed to get the door to open and free our vehicles into the driveway until we could get the door fixed.

And then yesterday, almost immediately after his alarm went off, the power in the house went AWOL. After a few extra minutes in bed, he got up and tried to figure out how to get enough light in the bathroom so that he could shower and get ready for his day. He did it mostly in the dark, which heightened our appreciation for bathrooms in our past that have had windows. He finished getting ready – without the usual Global News in the background – and headed to the garage when he realized that for the second time in a week, he was locked in again. However, with the new spring, it wasn’t too hard for me to help him open the door and release him – although we do question the door designer who failed to add grabber-handles on the inside.

Ah, electricity! How do we use thee? Let me count the ways! Lights, coffee, garage doors! And need I mention that very special friend of mine: the Internet. Oh sure, I could use some data on my phone if I really needed to. But I didn’t REALLY need to. Unless, of course, this pesky power outage persisted.

But it didn’t. Pretty much an hour later, at 7:15 when lots of people are just getting up, the hum and shine of my interior domicile resumed and I didn’t have to entertain the idea of breaking out the camp lantern later that night or running my laptop battery down to zero.

But what if the power didn’t come back on? My brain was rehearsing this thought for the few minutes before the electricity resumed. Remembering stories of ice storms that resulted in power-less days-on-end made me question how prepared we really are. Can we cook? Can we bathe? Can we internet? And if I take it further, thinking about Emily St. John Mandel’s book Station Eleven, when the electricity leaves and never returns, how happy would I be then?

In some ways, this pandemic has made me think about things like this. What sort of things can I live without? And how do I make my peace with the things lost that I have no say about? No gatherings of family of any real size. No traditional celebrations. No concerts. No farmer’s markets – well, not ones that aren’t highly policed and sanitized. No eating out inside or outside a restaurant. And some of the time, no haircuts, no libraries, no school inside the actual schools.

But we endure, even if it’s not all how we like it to be. I’m thankful that it’s spring and that the warm weather allows for walks together or visiting outside. There’s still thankfully the internet and the ability to Zoom if we want to. And there’s the hope that if we fix what needs to be fixed and we work together, we can bust out of our garages and be free again someday soon.

About More Time

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(Photo by Jon Tyson on Unsplash)

My time got away from me this week and I remembered this silly thing I once wrote many years ago during the busy pre-season of Christmas when I was pressed for time:

I hit upon a blockbuster idea the other day as my husband flipped his way past an infomercial on television. You know – the kind of idea that could potentially send you on your way to millionaire status faster than you can say, “Is that your final answer?” After all, my husband’s idea of working for a living isn’t getting us there and Jean Pare has already written all of my cookbooks and the bank won’t let us put up a McDonald’s franchise in Vermilion without a down-payment. Huh, go figure.

“Let’s get a spot on the Home Shopping Network!” I cried. “We can sell time! Just think of it! We could sell an hour for five bucks, three hours for twenty! People would call in from all over the world asking for more time! They wouldn’t be able to get enough!”

My husband looked sideways at me like he was thinking I had spent too much time hovering over the glue bottle when last crafting with the kids, so I knew he wasn’t giving any credence to my grandiose scheme. Granted, there would be a packaging and delivery problem but those were things I would let him figure out. After all, radio and television stations are constantly selling time and at a much more exorbitant rate. Why couldn’t we?

The trouble was, it was already too late, what with the shipping and handling problems, to really capitalize on the Christmas market, when people would really be after our product. Not only would they be able to give the gift of time to so many people on their list, they indefinitely would buy a little extra time for themselves. Admit it: who doesn’t buy themselves one or two things when they’re buying all those nice gifts for other people? And who wouldn’t want another hour of vacation, or just more time to read a good book, have coffee with a friend, or even sleep a little longer?

I spent some more time thinking about the idea (don’t worry, I have plenty) and realized that no sooner would we begin our little venture than people would probably start taking the time! Without a patent (some Big Guy probably already has it) people would rapidly catch on that we don’t have a monopoly on time and pretty soon any schmuck would be throwing away time like they had a whole lifetime’s worth. And to top it off they would use it on fruitless things like watching infomercials on TV, reading blogs, and shoveling Alberta sidewalks. Right?

[Ah! Time! As I watch the COVID numbers ramp up and down and wait (patiently?) for a return to gatherings and vacations, I hope I am using whatever time I have wisely.]

About Canadian Geese

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Photo by Crystal Jo on Unsplash

We’re not travelling very much these days with The Whole Covid Thing. And we’re certainly not crossing any borders except maybe past the big red border markers in Lloydminster. So it’s kind of fascinating to think about how the Canadian geese that proliferate the fields and sloughs at this time of year make their semi-annual trek north and south without any regard for travel bans.

I love Canadian geese. When I was driving some distance in the car recently, I was able to enjoy mile after mile of geese flying in the air and dancing on small ice floes. Plus I witnessed a few cow-and-goose get-togethers in some pastures, the two species standing around a grain buffet like it was a cocktail party. Maybe it’s the “Canadian” moniker that makes me so affectionate towards them, both patriotic and possessive. Maybe it’s just that they are one of the first happy heralds to spring, arriving while there’s still ice on the pond and the threat of a spring blizzard. It’s like they don’t care, they just want to get home even if they didn’t send anyone ahead to turn up the heat in house after a long time away.

There’s also the whole “mates for life” thing. The deeper into spring we get, the less often you see whole flocks. Instead, you witness couples scouting out a place to nest or just having tea for two. I’m a little sad when I see three geese hanging out, because I assume some heartbreak must have occurred for one (or all three). I actually saw one silly goose lolling about in the rocks and muddy leftovers of a former snow pile in a Superstore parking lot like he was the last customer in the pub, maybe looking for love where there was none to be found. Eventually he flew away, drunkenly.

My assumptions may be completely off base. Maybe some geese don’t want to be hitched, tied down or coupled – just like some humans . Geese are known for their adaptability, so why not their individuality, too? I mean, I can’t tell apart one from the other but they certainly know who their significant other is, if they have one. Some enjoy living in the country, others make their nests on the roofs of high-rises. They always seem to figure things out.

Nearly twenty years ago, there was a terrible drought around here. The sloughs dried up and the geese, it seemed, went away. But no, they didn’t. They just figured out where they had to go to find water. My boys and I would find thousands of them congregated in the Vermilion Provincial Park where the river swells at the bottom of the toboggan hill, a whole convention of geese (loudly) discussing their ideas of what they should do next.

Every day, we turn on the news and listen to all the silly geese talking about what’s going to happen – as if anyone really knows. The real geese have it figured out: head to north in the spring, find someone to love and include a lonely third. Don’t judge where others live. And eventually plan a big trip with a bunch of friends or family to someplace warm. Not so silly after all.

About Small Talk

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I went to the grocery store this morning for some basics: bananas (because: BANANAS), cream for my coffee, some pasta and a tomato for tonight’s supper. I don’t usually go to this particular grocery store out of the two in my small town – it’s a whole five minutes further by car and that’s usually enough of a deterrent, but I also don’t think the loss leaders are very enticing. And finally, I don’t find the cashiers there overly… well, happy to see me. Not me, specifically, just me as a customer in general.

Except for today. As I unfolded my re-useable grocery bag to scarf away my purchases, the cashier became overly animated about the fact that my bag sported a Cookies By George logo. She positively gushed about how much she loved those cookies – which I confess I also have a weakness for, so much so that I try to donate blood at the Canadian Blood Services location near the U of A in Edmonton because they (pre-Covid) usually serve Cookies By George leftovers. Which I feel no guilt in eating after trading in a pint of my lifeblood.

A couple of things took me by the surprise. First, was the gushing. My previously unengaged food checker suddenly developed a personality and we were bonding over (just the thought of ) a yummy treat. My trip to the grocery store had become like reminiscing about a holiday with its standard observance for consumption of chocolate eggs or shortbread cookies or pumpkin spice lattes.

The second thing was more surprising. I was almost moved to tears by the whole cookie conversation because: COVID. I’m just so tired of the anonymity of wearing masks, the 6-foot distant conversations, the leaning away and the crossing of streets. I am missing small talk and the clerk suddenly disclosing the cookie thing made me like her a little more.

Now, to be clear, I’m not tired of following the rules for the safety of all concerned, including myself. I just am missing the nuances of our Pre-Covid Life: the jostling of elbows in a crowd, the passing of the peace in church, the easy hugs from family and sometimes virtual (the pre-pandemic kind of virtual) strangers. Post-Covid Life is a little less spicy, less interesting and less filled with inane conversations about cookies. But inane conversations that nonetheless make me feel incredibly connected to the world again for Just. One. Moment.

Too often small talk has been given a bad rap. Although I do like to “interview people”, as my husband says, sometimes conversation amongst strangers and acquaintances does not come so easily. But there can be a lot of potential in spontaneous chatter: it can spark a friendship or a romance, it can send out a warning signal (“This is not the friend you are looking for.”), it can lead you to a good restaurant recommendation or indie bookstore when you’re travelling and it can very possibly help you to feel human, like you are included and like you belong.

So here’s three cheers (or at least one) for small talk.

About Masks

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Image result for masks in winter

I walked into an appointment yesterday and as I sidled up to the edge of the plexiglass shield between me and the receptionist, I simultaneously became aware of several things at once: the stares of the other clients in the waiting room, the mysteriously cool breeze on my face, the look of horror on the receptionist and the perplexing amount of free-to-infect area between me and that person on the other side of the desk.

I had forgotten to put on my face mask before exiting my car.

With extreme apologies, I quickly donned the spare mask that I keep in my purse at all times. I could have also used the one that I have stashed in the secret pocket of my winter coat or the one that I use as a bookmark in the paperback in my purse or the one that I tuck into my boot in case I misplace all the others. JK. (Sort of.) Once I put my mask on, I returned from The Land of the Shunned and was admitted into the deeper recesses of the waiting room. But I still had to shield myself from some dirty looks.

I am not an anti-masker, just someone who doesn’t emerge from their house that often. I’m also not a germaphobe – no judgement here and I expect none back from the ‘phobes – so I have no internal bells and whistles going off either. With a spouse in a career that had him wearing a mask daily before Dr. Deena told him to, I was given one piece of advice when I complained about either wearing one or not being comfortable: Suck it up, princess.

And so, I have. Besides the obvious Caring For My Fellow Humankind angle, there’s actually a few things I like about mandated mask-wearing.

One: It’s February in Alberta. When the wind chill registers way lower than what the actual temperature is, any extra layer is welcome. I’m not a sissy, it’s the law.

Two: I have rosacea, a skin condition that flares up on any given day (like cold ones) which even the best makeup sometimes fails to disguise. A mask covers up my cheeks and my nose where the redness is most prominent and I don’t have to bother slathering on foundation with a spackle knife. (Yes, it’s an silly insecurity but it’s my insecurity.)

Three: There’s a level playing field out there when everyone has to wear a mask. No one is staring anyone down or saying anything nasty because they’re mask-less. And I no longer have to feel like an oddball in a store if I’m the only one wearing one and I’m not the cashier.

Sure, I look forward to a time when we no longer have to mask up, but I don’t necessarily think masking is going to end when the pandemic does. When we travelled to Asia twelve years ago at the tail-end of the H1N1 scare, we saw many of their citizens wearing masks all the time. It felt foreign to us (well, hello, we were in another country), but it didn’t take long to realize that they just more comfortable with the mask on than without. It might take awhile for many of us to get out of the habit.

Or, at least to that extra cool air on your face.

About 2020

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https://edmonton.ctvnews.ca/edmonton-ad-agency-sums-up-2020-with-xmas-dumpster-fire-channel-1.5224958

This year, on Christmas Eve, instead of tuning in our television screen to the standard fireplace channel to set the mood for a magical evening, we opted for a dumpster fire that we queued up on YouTube which had been produced by an Edmonton graphic design firm.

And so we come to the end of The Year That Nobody Expected, Not In A Million Years. Let’s see: there was a world-wide pandemic, premature death, economic chaos and, ugh, social distancing. You mean to say that throughout this sh*tstorm, we don’t even get to cry on other people’s shoulders, pull them in close for a hug or sit side-by-side just to have the feeling that someone else is with you? Isn’t that what shoulders are for? So, yes, the appropriate response might be to throw it all into the dumpster and, for good measure, douse it in gasoline and light it up.

Is it possible that there’s another response?

Easy for me to say. Yes, there have been difficult moments for me this year. There was uncertainty, there was frustration, there was fatigue with the whole dang situation – and that all continues as we move into a new year. But I/we have been “lucky”: our business has survived and none of my immediate family got “The Vid”. (Although Simon claims he can still feel the swab they stuck up his nose to test him back in May.)

The last few months of 2020 I’ve been reading through Barbara Brown Taylor’s An Altar in the World about different ways to practice faith…well, practically. The last chapter is about pronouncing blessings, which is something that anyone can do. BBT says she’s not even sure you have to believe in God to pronounce something blessed, that “it may be enough to see the thing for what it is and pronounce it good.”

AND THEN she goes on to say that you blessing something doesn’t confer the holiness – it already is just there – that maybe we have no business deciding if something is a blessing or not. One can say a blessing “when you break a bone the same as you do when you win the lottery. The two events may be more alike than you know.“

Hmm.

I remember the first time I was challenged with this concept. It was while I was attending university and had stopped in to visit my spiritual mentor at the time. I overstayed my parking welcome and when I found a (not-a-lottery) ticket on my windshield, he called out from the front door where he and his wife were waving goodbye to me: “Call it a blessing!”

Okaaaaay…how could I do that? Well, first of all, it wasn’t enough to erase the happy feeling I had of the good, long visit we had just enjoyed. I got a ticket, but I was also lucky enough to own my own car. I got a ticket but I probably didn’t starve to pay it. I got a ticket and it taught me to be more careful next time. Apparently, there were myriad blessings in the thing.

The dumpster fire can consume a lot of crap. But it can give off a lot of warmth and light, too, which is Not All Bad. Wishing you a Happy New Year and pronouncing it Already Blessed, No Matter What.

About Me and Santa, Again

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Thursday, December 24, 2020, 6:04 a.m.

From: bonnie@bonniedonily.com

To: santa@northpole.ca

Santa!

I really meant to get this message off to you sooner, but since Canada Post is up to their earballs with round-the-clock deliveries in this package-laden-pandemic-pandemonium, I thought I’d shoot you an email instead. Feel feel to wait until Boxing Day to open it. I know you must be busy right now.

Or are you? I mean, Covid has really changed the definition of “busy” for a lot of people. Things certainly don’t look anywhere near the same as they did when I wrote you last year. Well, my tree is up and the presents are wrapped and the perogies are tucked into the freezer with care in hopes that my children soon will be here. But, riddle me this Santa? When exactly is that going to be? When will we be all together, under one roof, free to hug with abandon, again?

As much as Amazon and Etsy are getting all the love this year, I think a lot of us aren’t really wishing for material things as much as we are wishing that our loved ones would materialize in front of us. How crazy that we took that in stride last year, the gift of presence. If Covid has gifted me anything, it’s the realization that I actually like people and I wouldn’t mind hanging around them more, without the worry they they are contagious. It’s just too dystopian for me, all the masks and the not-touching and the Zooming.

I don’t want to mix you up with God, asking you for things that I know it’s more in His Department for me to ask for – namely for the end to this pandemic and for things to be “normal” again by next Christmas. And far be it from me to threaten your job security – there certainly is enough of that going around – but I don’t think I need much right now.

BUT, just in case, I will let you know that I still haven’t stopped thinking about that set of toy pots and pans with the happy faces on them that I wished for so badly when I was a 6-year-old paging through the Sears catalog. I’m thinking you must have had shares in that company – at least the Christmas catalog part? Glad you’re still around even if Sears isn’t.

Merry Christmas, Santa. Make sure you have lots of hand sanitizer and extra masks with you as you make your rounds tonight. And above all, stay safe. We want to see you again next Christmas.

XO (the only kind that are ok right now),

Bonnie

About Tradition

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It sort of goes without saying that this will be a different kind of Christmas.

“Normally” what we do every year is pretty much the same. Christmas Day is at Rick’s parents’ house, New Year’s Eve and Day is at our house, in between we get together with my siblings and their families. Plus there are three birthdays in between Christmas and New Year’s, one of which is celebrated with Chinese food, a nice change from the turkey and chocolate overload. It can be pretty busy and leaves me sometimes wishing for just a little bit of time to work on a dang jigsaw puzzle and watch some Mr. Bean.

Sometimes you HAVE to be careful what you wish for.

The temptation this year might be to treat Christmas Day like just any old day. Because if we can’t have Christmas the way we want, if it’s not going to be the way Christmas “normally” is, well then: forget it. Maybe I’ll just open up a bag of turkey-and-mashed-potato-flavored potato chips and scroll through “The Best/Worst 2020 Pandemic Memes” on Buzzfeed.

Nope, not gonna do it. I am determined to keep Christmas in my heart like Mr. Ebenezer Scrooge vows in Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol.

And anyways, is there really such a thing as a “normal” Christmas? Things just keep changing from one year to the next. Fake Christmas trees get more real looking than real ones. Abnormal frosts wipe out entire mandarin orange crops. A freak storm on Christmas Eve leaves somebody stranded in a motel in Vegreville. Someone usually has the flu, or everyone, like last year in our family.

One year, after saying goodbye to our mother ten days before Christmas, we all retreated to our respective corners and agreed to celebrate Christmas together in January. One year, we watched Rick’s parents’ shop burn down on Christmas Eve, our spirits dampening as the firemen extinguished the flames. One year, we spent too much time in the hospital and Christmas really didn’t feel that merry.

Some years we coupled the joy of a new baby with the fatigue to barely enjoy Christmas. Years later, we welcomed those babies’ girlfriends as happy new additions to the crowded table.

Oh sure, we usually eat the same things (unless there is a mandarin orange shortage) and play games and open presents, as usual. But one of the traditions of Christmas is to take the time to notice the changes and the speed of life and hold your breath for a moment, before the moment of Christmas passes.

As Scrooge said to his nephew before his fated ghostly visits, “Keep Christmas in your own way, and let me keep it in mine!” It really is up to you how you will keep your Christmas this year, but don’t forget to watch. It won’t be the same next year.

About Finishing

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new years eve celebration
[Photo by olia danilevich on Pexels.com]

I am a finisher. Oh, not necessarily of marathons or anything like that. No, I am more the kind of person who gets a weird satisfaction out of finishing the last cracker in the box or making someone eat the last pickle in the jar. Then I can recycle the box or wash up the jar and feel strangely that I completed something and all the detritus has gone to its rightful place: the recycle bin, the storage room, someone’s intestines.

I have to admit that I’m a little (okay, a lot) like this when it comes to the end of the year. On December 1, I look longingly toward my new planner (that I ordered in September) and get “excited” about penciling in all the birthdays and paydays and Canadian holidays that my American planner doesn’t have the good sense to include. Making the first mark in it is difficult for me, however. I subscribe to Anne Shirley’s philosophy: “Isn’t it nice to think that tomorrow is a new day with no mistakes in it yet?”

It is nice to think that, but it is also a little naive. Turning the page to January 1, 2021 is not a magic spell, except in my brain, which is a real place and I can’t wholly discount the power of the mind to create something tangible. And 2020 has been – shall we say – a little surreal. To quote Barbara Poelle in the latest issue of Writer’s Digest: “This year there was a global pandemic, a sonic boom of needed steps in social and racial justice…an election cycle that is rocking the foundation of (their) nation…and murder hornets.”

And so I find myself once again in The In Between. I don’t think it’s any mistake that we celebrate Christmas at the end of the year – there’s all sorts of circumstantial evidence that Jesus was born around this time – but also Christmas makes us sloooowwww down, before we start mistaking up a whole new year. Oh, sure, it may feel like your days are whizzing by with the extra chores of shopping and baking and wrapping and decorating – or whatever extras you assign to December. These things keep me grounded firmly in the present, away from wishing away the time and also, away from that spanky new planner.

Last weekend, Rick and I put up our Christmas tree. We enjoyed it unadorned except for lights for an evening and then, on Sunday, as we pulled out the boxes of decorations, I groaned and wished that the Christmas Tree Decorating Fairy would show up and do this for me. But I knew that She/He didn’t really exist and I might as well “get it over with”. Because I do like me a decorated tree to look at every day of December. And Fairies, though prodigious in their powers, probably do not know how exactly I like the ribbon to go around my tree and which decorations need to be relegated to the backside because I love them less than others that deserve front-and-center prominence.

And it was a lovely afternoon: just me and my husband and Michael Bublé and Mariah Carey engaging in a tradition that is timeless and ever-new. And it was nice to get it done before December 1 – a little less rushed than if we squeezed it into a weeknight in the middle of the month and a little more special because we did it together.

As much as I like to Finish Things, there’s a lot to be said for Holding Off, Slowing Down & Pausing. After all, it’s not really good sense to eat twenty Oreos just so I can recycle the box. It’s also not good sense to waste all my December days wishing for January 1. The shopping, the baking, the wrapping, the decorating are ALL GOOD THINGS. I will try to savor my Oreos one at a time and give thanks for all the days that I get to have.