Stories of the Pandemic
A Promise.
Nature calms me, but I have always been a city lover. I adore the smell of asphalt in the rain. It is the urban fabric of bookstores, magazine shops, boutiques, cafés that makes me feel fully alive. Window shopping, people watching, and coffee sipping all bring me joy.
I retrace my steps, wave to Ted, still at the window, and head right. This route also seems purposeless, down Queen Elizabeth Drive, now closed to traffic. I had taken it all the way to the National Arts Centre the day before but there was nothing to see when I got there, except a man wandering about saying “We are all going to die”, to nobody in particular. There is nowhere to go, nothing to do, few people to watch.
I prefer to get out for my solitary work early, but it is almost 4 pm and I had frittered away the day in extensive house cleaning: vacuuming, scrubbing, polishing. I have never been quick and efficient at house cleaning, accustomed as I am to the pampering of a regular cleaning lady.
A cleaning lady; alas those were BC, the BEFORE-COVID days. To think I used to complain about how she left the carpets strewn about, the lampshade all akimbo and the alarm clock jiggled so it went off at odd hours in the night, jolting me awake. God, I promise never to complain again and to double her wages, if I could just have her back.
And as I continued on my purposeless walk, I began to think about all the whining, grumbling and wingeing I used to do. I miss all the small independent shops I used to frequent for hats, gloves, shoes, kitchen supplies, toys. I will pay your marked-up prices without complaint and never check online for cheaper deals. I promise. Just please come back, I miss you.
I used to gripe about the proliferation of box stores in my community, where small independent shops used to thrive. I would even welcome Winners right now, with its fast fashion, surplus goods and face creams. I would happily pick up a bottle of shampoo or goopy unguent I don’t need, just to have a distraction.
I step off the sidewalk to make room for the masked lady walking towards me. I used to whine about the self-absorbed youth with their loud voices speaking in vocal fry and almost knocking me over as though I were an invisible old lady. Hell, I would forgive those annoying teenagers and never complain again if they would just come back.
I used to carp about millennials who grabbed the best tables in my favourite coffee shop and monopolized the seats for hours, staring at their computers. God, I miss them, and the tables and the coffee shop. I used to bemoan Ottawa restaurants and how expensive they are and how they all serve the same things on those small plates just to trick us into ordering more than we could possibly consume. If you would just reopen, I would happily order your overpriced wines and too many of your costly teeny-weeny plates without protest. I promise. I used to deplore Chapters and how they diversified into selling so many products besides books: blankets, scented candles, cozy socks. I promise I will never have a hissy fit again if I could just get in to wander your shelves. Hell, throw in a few cushions too with my stack of books; mine are worn out from being used as a yoga bolster during my improvised at-home exercise regime. I will buy them all. Just please, please reopen.
I used to moan about my gym, and the shallow conversations with my fellow gym rats. I used to call it the McDonald’s of gyms. But after weeks of my morning workout in the family room, I am weary of using a biography of Tolstoy as a yoga block and a mismatched collection of weights and soup cans. If my choice could be given back, I would never again snivel about the inane banter, the sales pitches for extra training and the mindless music. I would embrace them all. And as for overcrowded flights, poor airline food and being nickel and dimed over the cost of a suitcase, I would make nary a peep of protest if I could just somehow transport myself to Cambridge, England to snuggle with my two wee grandbabies.
Please, please I promise to be kind, forgiving and patient. If only life would just come back.
https://sites.google.com/ualberta.ca/storiesofthepandemic/words/reflections-and-short-essays?authuser=0