So here we are. Enjoying each other’s company (or not).
I don’t know about you, but our little household has been pretty much locked-down since January on account of that nasty virus. Since my husband and I are somewhat over 80, and since we both have what are euphemistically called underlying conditions, we both have to be careful with whom we hug.
What do I do to avoid boredom? I’m glad you asked.
I do have something to show for my self-imposed exile. Well, two things, actually: My rapidly expanding recipe binder, with the neatly printed new recipes for fabulous meals and even more fabulous desserts. That, and my rapidly expanding waistline.
There is one other thing around here that has thrived during the lockdown: our garden. I must admit that aside from visits to the dentist (which we celebrate wildly by dressing up so much that the dentist must suspect that we are bound for a party afterwards to celebrate having had our teeth cleaned), we have made a few furtive masked visits to our local nursery. At least it’s outdoors!
We have a system we use in the 90-degree plus summer heat: we get up around eight and stroll our garden, having our coffee in the only shady spot we have most mornings, which our daughter has dubbed “The Secret Garden” (she even made us a sign). Then exercise and breakfast. Next, I water my potted plants and deadhead wherever needed. Then we head into the house to do chores, pay bills (for all the goodies we’ve ordered that month—did I mention they call me the Catalog Queen?)—crank up the AC and rest.
Finally, it’s movie time. Netflix, Hulu, HBO, Amazon Prime? We’ve tried them all in a vain attempt to find an evening’s entertainment we can agree on. Aye, there’s the rub.
He likes comedies and animated films (Yogi Bear is my personal favorite), and I prefer spy movies—anything adapted from John LeCarré novels, starring Jack Ryan, similar to Homeland, and films with lots of skullduggery and shooting.
It’s not easy.
Sometimes, we read. Sometimes, we listen to music. We’re trying to get up the nerve to paint. Or knit. I may even bake bread.
Meanwhile, our club is on hold, but Four Seasons Writers’ Club will meet again. We just don’t know when…
– Mary Lynn Archibald