Another cold and rainy November

We Can at Least Pretend It’s Summer/painting: Eaton Hamilton

I’ve been thinking a lot about moving somewhere warm. Who wants to come? The south of France, Portugal, Costa Rica?

I’m sick to tears of bad weather, I have to say, and these days I’m on total lockdown and finding it incredibly challenging to be back here (still, again, I don’t know)? It feels futile and forever, but my medical situation is such that I am stuck with solitude. The BC gov’t is not going to do its job and lock the province down, even with about 3500 new cases a week, so the disabled among us have to do it for themselves. I had a brief flurry of opening up two weeks after my second vax mid-July, but the Delta situation was worsening around us even then. I did go swimming and to the supermarket. I was called on to leave the island several times for car repairs and medical tests. I did see my grandkids, the dearest people in my world.

But on Thanksgiving, in early October, my two kids came over because I’d had a medical emergency. It was the first time I’d seen my younger child for 2.5 years. I kept two masks on the entire time (all weekend long, only lifting them to eat and sleep, door firmly closed) and it was no kind of feast, given we ate far away from each other and at staggered times for safety’s sake. Two days later, we discovered the littles had played indoors the day before with two covid positive kids, maskless, for three hours. Having that health emergency on top of my personal one capsized me. We waited anxiously for the results of covid tests, which were, when they came, astonishingly negative. We dodged bullets there, but I’m not keen on taking more chances.

I miss those grandkids something fierce. We can’t really seem to connect via FT as something’s always chasing us offline. I’d visit outside keeping masked and distanced, but so far, the weather has disagreed with that plan.

Back to dreams of moving. Do you imagine living in your dream location?

I’m supposed to be working today on my essay collection, but it’s one of those days where all the words are wrong, bland, without a pulse. You know those times? How is it going for you?