Thank goodness for extra long weekends. Since I don’t have a cottage to travel to during a pandemic, I invested my time continuing to organize our new home.
Yesterday I unpacked three suitcases from the move; two contained the remainder of my seasonal wardrobe. It feels like I am clothes shopping in my closet after cycling through four basic outfits for the past month. Bonus!
I spent the sticky, humid half of the long weekend sorting through boxes of books, finding appropriate spots for them in the limited supply of bookcases. You can read about it in this blog post written by the Tabby Cat.
The excess boxes with questionable historical value have been tucked away for later inventory. They may have to come with me during the next move to an even smaller rental. Either that or my adult children will have to deal with them after I die.
This may sound morbid but I think it’s important for adults to consider the eventuality of one’s death and make preparations to alleviate the burden on others.
It becomes more of a consideration during a pandemic.
I am sure there are statistics somewhere but I wonder what percentage of Canadian residences have such a thing as a landline or “Home Phone” anymore.
One of my goals for 2021 is to move to a cleaner, safer rental setting. Forget affordable; we will have to cut back on guilty pleasures and luxuries. I just want to have our own laundry facilities instead of dealing with inconsiderate, clueless tenants, lazy custodians and petty crime vandals – especially during a pandemic!
A sense of roots
I am debating whether to transfer our home number to a prospective new rental. I am also comparing costs of getting a bundle with major carriers for phone, Internet and TV.
To me, having a home phone number is like having a sense of roots, something that is permanent although transferable, a number where family and friends know they can reach members of your family if you are not roaming out and about. It’s not like we have the freedom to do that these days during a pandemic lock-down anyway!
One of the Millennial youth scoffed at my reference to “home phone” in conversation one day, when I used the term for communication options during logistical arrangements. “What even is a “home phone” anymore?”, he asked. Says he who had to move around the country for school and special training but still carries the same cell phone number.
This current rental is what was the last “family home” they lived in before jumping off to their various independent lives, sharing accommodations with friends or finding a quiet place to themselves. Some returned for short stays in-between engagements and the next phase in their lives.
I have to learn to let go and trust the Universe to protect and guide them. My job is done with providing a sense of family, home and convoluted roots.
Tree of Life watercolour 2020 T. Jamone
It could be something deeper for me in that I have a hard time of letting go of them, of missing our small family gatherings for holidays, special meals and celebrations. The COVID-19 pandemic and regional lock-downs since March 2020 seem to have relieved me of that expectation but blessed me with the company of my youngest Millennial for the duration.
It’s time to move on after ten years, to downsize and remove emotional attachments. I have given up on waiting for the fifteen year-old cat to die; she’s going to have to survive the move. Perhaps a new home layout will provide her with more enrichment between her naps, meals and tongue baths.
Geneva Tabby Cat mellowing out on a Friday night
Thanks for dropping by – and keeping a safe distance.
First, I hope followers and readers are safe and healthy.
I am thinking of folks adapting to pandemic protocols, political uncertainty in the south, forest fires in the west, tornadoes in the middle and hurricanes in the east.
Then there’s the rest of the world where I feel I have little control of events except through donations to humanitarian causes.
Doodle – I accept that I don’t have control of everything
When you’re surrounded by chaos and uncertainty, it helps to take a few minutes a day to sit in quiet, to meditate and if anything, just count the breaths.
I am still grateful to have a job and flexibility to work from home. I am still hopeful for a future career by starting school last week, now as an online course in the part-time program. It’s nice to hear familiar voices, to see familiar faces although pixelated, and to discipline myself into focused learning again.
I am grateful to see one of my offspring in person every few weeks. I feel satisfied to hear and see other loved ones over the phone, video chats and during physically distanced picnics in the park. It has been over a year since I have travelled to visit my grandchildren. Heartbroken, I still compensate by sending them birthday cards and small gifts through the mail. My heart skips a happy beat when their parents send me an email or text message. It seems like so long since I have received a barely legible letter from my oldest granddaughter.
The used bookshop where I would volunteer on weekends has been closed since March. I miss it. I think about the library staff, the regular patrons, the Seniors, the socially and economically challenged who rely on these services.
I spend my lonely nights watching TV, movies and doodling. I seek out comedies to help with the release of belly laughs.
