Covid-19 Diaries. Toronto: (14) the mother and father of 'when it's over' lists

 

 

This, for Bill Taylor, is an open goal. After a slightly surprising dip yesterday, readership levels for the Covid-19 Diaries are once again robust and may be heading for a record (at least for the series). Just as well as Bill has come up with an exhaustive list of things he will and will not do or be in the event he gets out of this at the other side and not on the other side ... as he puts it, "I shall hope not to be a statistic"

 

Buried notes from the trenches:

 

         At however remote a distance, one of the great conversational crutches of these turbulent days has become, “when this is all over…”

        

         So

         

         When this is all over

        

I shall try never again to say, “Do you remember when…”

 

I shall try never again to count the cost. Of anything

     

I shall try not to take anything for granted

 

I shall no doubt fail

        

I shall forgive myself because I have more of an idea now how weak, how strong, how human I am

       

I shall probably go on kidding myself, just like always

 

I shall certainly never tell anyone

I shall try not to count the days that have been lost or even think of them as lost

 

I shall lie awake sometimes wanting my lost days back

 

I shall be very much the same person as I am now. And yet not

 

I shall be glad that I forgave my enemies. One or two of them, at least

 

I may not even get my hair cut

 

We shall share secrets, myself and I. And we haven’t always

 

I shall look in the mirror and smile

 

I shall always choose the better bottle

 

I shall always have the extra glass

 

I shall try harder to replace “no” with “yes”

 

A bit harder, anyway

 

I shall not tolerate being scolded

 

I shall look out of the window less and go outside more

 

I shall paddle my own canoe. And keep a spare paddle in the back

 

I shall wear a life-jacket. Even on the bus

 

I shall invite the neighbours for a barbecue

 

Well, the family next door, anyway

 

I shall be selectively more honest

 

I shall tell more entertaining lies

 

I shall try to be more accepting

 

But I think I shall be less trusting 

 

I shall be like an infantryman’s rifle: “clean, bright, lightly oiled”

 

I shall wear my years like a badge of office

 

I shan’t expect anyone to salute

 

I shall be more compassionate

 

No, I probably won’t

 

I shall try to walk the extra mile, even though I’m limping

 

I shall wake up and smell the coffee

 

I shall think, “No one made the coffee yet”

 

I shall look over my shoulder more often even though my neck is stiff

 

I shall try never again to say, “Same old same old”

 

I shall try to live differently. Once I figure out how

 

I shall hope still to be around to know that this is all over and do all these things

 

I shall hope not to be a statistic

 

I shall hope never again to have to say, “when this is all over…”

 

When this is all over