Friends pop up all over the world and all are more than welcome to send me their own coronavirus diaries/jottings. Bill Taylor led the way with his notes, reproduced here from his Facebook pages. See the series at this link . And meanwhile, if you were wondering how low humanity could sink ...
I was hoping that this would turn out to be a fake tweet, not the actual words of a former sort-of colleague and decent author. It really does scrape the bits of the barrel Trump left unscraped.
— Colin Randall (@salutsunderland) March 24, 2020
Fresh notes from the trenches:
Contender for headline of the week from what passes these days for the Toronto Star’s Life section: “How do you date during a pandemic?”
Really, really gingerly, I’d say. As for sexting…
“Wot r u wearing?”
“A mask & l8ex gloves”
“Take them off…”
“Go 2 hell”
A cheerless day, a good one for trying to get things done. Laundry; clean the bathroom; a bit of a workout to test the limits of my stupid knee; bowing to the inevitable and finally cancelling our Air Canada flights home from Italy in May – the airline had already nixed the April outward-bound leg. Face it, Bill, you’re not going anywhere any time soon.
Otherwise, this must be what retirement was like when it really was retirement. My grandparents’ retirement. Veg out until you’re overtaken by the inevitable.
Not me. Not yet, anyway.
Except the old man on my new(ish) “Assuming I’m Just an Old Man Was Your First Mistake” gym T-shirt is fading already. This better not be an omen.
It's okay to have a meltdown. But don't bother singing The Sun'll Come Out Tomorrow to make yourself feel better. I tried and I think that's what made it snow.
The house, meanwhile, just keeps getting cleaner. Tables? You could eat your dinner off the floor. Which is where I sometimes drop bits of it. So it all works out.
There are moments when I feel like weeping for my species. From a New York Times story: “In Rhode Island, among businesses cited for ignoring social-distance warnings was Wonderland, a strip club, where customers were still receiving lap dances…”
But I’m reading others things, too: “Wilding,” by Isabella Tree, “Returning nature to our farm.”
A truly wonderful, clear-eyed, logical, even hopeful book. That is, if anyone’s paying attention. Colourfully written and entertaining, too… “The droppings of a green woodpecker look like cigarette ash on top of an ant mound. Break them open and they are full of sad little ant faces looking like they don’t know what hit them.”
And who knew (as Trump would say, meaning “pretty much everyone but me”) that most herd animals, from elephants to deer, are matriarchal and that cows choose a leader from the more senior of their ranks?
See? This is where the freakin’ human race has been going wrong all this time (except for Margaret Thatcher; she was a mistake).
Today’s must-have offering from eBay: “2020 Bowman Baseball Hobby Box,” which appears to my untutored eye to be a collection of autographs of people I’ve never heard of. “$279.95 (reduced from $329.95), free shipping, get it by Fri May 29 – Thu, Jun 18.”
I admire optimism. I don’t always understand it.
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