AS TIME GOES BY

Well, here we are, day 384 of house arrest.

No, wait a minute, that can’t be right.

No, no, no, make that HOUR 384 of house arrest!  You’ll have to forgive me.  I’ve never been any good at that ‘feels like’ conversion math they use for wind chill.

Anyway, it’s been a long time.

Long enough, in fact for me to have gotten all philosophical about this situation we find ourselves in: this being confined with another human being in a comfortable home with no worries of running out of food or toilet paper.  One would think that being as I had personally chosen this particular human years ago and that the home is my own, things should be going along just hunky-dorry.  If success is measured in the fact that we are both still alive and talking to each other, then yes, this is the epitome of hunky-dorry.

The success of our mutually happy co-habitation is that he does a lot of his habitation out in his shop or up on the pasture cutting wood for future shop heating use.  He is part artist, part inventor, and part mechanic and I am his cheering section.  As long as he’s out in his shop I will cheer on any job he’s doing.  Sometimes the dog goes with him.  This is even better.

Meanwhile, I wander the house remembering the plans I had last week when it was still spring.  I had dragged flower bulbs out of cold storage and rejoiced at the sight of sprouts – proof that the future would hold flowers.  I even sorted things out and prepared a more stable growing environment for these treasures just to have Mother Nature throw another snowball at us, sadistic dame that she is.  I think it’s because I dared to hang laundry out on the line last week; I should have known better.  She always has to have the last word.

This morning, having finished vacuuming the brick wall in my kitchen and letting the dog in and out six more times, I decided that my next big project would be a manicure. 

Usually doing my nails involves a pair of clippers.  Because, normally, I’m not into spending a lot of time on such a mundane task.   COVID-19 has changed all that, though.  Expeditious Jocelyn is so last March.  Now I’m all about savouring the moment.  Why take three minutes to do something that you can stretch out to a full seventeen?  I filed my nails.  They are all nicely rounded and uniform.  It’s really a pity I have nowhere to go and show them off, but that wasn’t the point.  The point was to occupy myself, to engage in self care, to blend artistry and exercise.

Counting the three minutes it took to find an emery board, I used up one third of an hour.  So you know -  win/win.

By that time the dog was long overdue to be let back inside so I picked up where I had left off, and went on with my life.  I really am getting to the point where I need a haircut.  That’s a little scary.

So now I have reached the quandary of what to do with this, hours 384 to 408, of self imprisonment.  Vacuuming?  Thank goodness the dog is spring shedding so that’s a twice daily job.  Cleaning out the fridge?  Well, it’s not the May long weekend yet, but I suppose I could give it a whirl.  Likewise washing the windows.   I was asked if I was going to sew up some cloth face masks – mildly interested in this job I went to check out my sewing supplies ... the fabric was no problem but apparently a person should be hoarding elastic too.

Let’s see ... finish that novel?  Go out and stare at the ground willing my tulips to come up?  Apply for my pension before they run out of money?

Try not to think about when 384 days doesn’t need any conversion math.