Mr. A In Time Of COVID-19

I popped in on Mr A in March this year. 

“Finally found a buyer.  Sold the house.  Have to be out by the 1st of May,” he said.

A frown furrowed his forehead.  

“Couldn’t do much clearing out over the winter.  I’m fed up,” he mumbled.  “Arthritis is killing me.”

He looked tired and on edge.

“You’re allowed to be fed up,” I reassured him.  “At your age.  It’s a lot for anyone to deal with.”

Self-confessed hoarder.  Mr A’s garage is bursting with stuff.
My fed-up friend, Mr. A, at the entrance to his packed garage.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I pulled out my phone to take pictures to post on Kijiji. Of random stuff he might be able to sell.

Like these –

A treasured, dusty collection of miniature cars .
A ferocious coconut pirate head hanging from the basement ceiling.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Stars of the silver screen. 
Hollywood hotties of yesteryear …

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Some items he will not part with.  “That’s coming with me to the retirement home. Not selling!”

… this little tin bucket. “My grandma brought milk home everyday, when I was a little boy, in this pail.”
… Grandmother’s kitchen scale, a real beauty of an antique.
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“These things I want to keep ….:

 

Framed family photos are definitely not for sale! 

The chalet he grew up in on a Swiss-German mountain village.
Framed photo of grandparents stiffly posing in Victorian attire.
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Little mother holding a log as large as she is.  “Dad chopped the tree down. She was a strong woman!”

Rickety sheds scattered around the sprawling backyard, all bursting at the seams – 

He built the sheds himself with bits of this-and-that …
… and kept adding makeshift structures in the backyard …

 

 

 

 

 

 

… to house the increasing mountains of stuff he kept finding!
Even the abandoned outhouse is probably full of useless things.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Mr Albert nursing a beloved miniature car he hopes to sell. “It’s hard to say farewell to a lifetime of memories.”

 

We said goodbye and I promised to come back again soon. 

Then lockdown happened.   Two days later. 

The world changed.

Hadn’t been out in 12 days when I drove past the mall some days back.   A long weekend Saturday and there wasn’t a single vehicle in the parking lot. 

Strange, surreal sight, but angst at being away from home urged me on.  I didn’t stop to take a picture.

Wore a mask, of course — dust mask left over from home renovations — and disposable rubber gloves.  I felt foolish and looked ridiculous.

Pulled into the supermarket parking lot and encountered masked, gloved figures like myself, hurriedly dumping bags of groceries into trunks and backseats. 

Didn’t feel all that foolish after all.

The line-up stretched out into the street.  I was thankful we weren’t in the dead of winter.

At every turn, grim warnings and reminders of the strange season we find ourselves in.

Cautionary warnings posted on  glass doors and windows.   A grim-eyed security guard waved me in.  He was masked, no gloves.  I snapped a photo of the poster on the door, but dared not ask if I could take a picture of him.  

My mask and see-through rubber gloves blended beautifully into the collage of crazed shoppers.  

Designated shoppers feverishly foraged for food.  Tension hung tight in the air.

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Masked mother and son in produce section
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The look in the eyes above the mask speaks volumes.

 

 

“Gotta get out of here!”

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Ominous urgency.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The bakery aisle was empty of flour.  Not one bag left.

No flour in the baking aisle. (Forget about finding yeast.) The whole world is stuck at home baking their hearts out — and posting pictures of their products on Facebook, of course.  Boredom births maestros!

 

 

Flour is now the new toilet paper it seems.

 

Masked cashier, behind a plexi-glass screen. Surprised to notice how many store workers were not wearing masks or gloves.

 

 

 

Hopefully the lot from my cart will last the next two weeks.

Called Mr A to check in on him.  He’s unhappy.  Naturally.   Unable to visit the wife in the nursing home, time hangs on his hands.  A friend gets his groceries, he told me, when I offered to do his shopping. 

“There’s only so much time you can spend in a day feeding the birds and visiting with rabbits,” he mumbled.

He was worried he wouldn’t be able to move on May 1st.  Anxious about the mountain of stuff to be discarded.

I told him not to fret.  “A bunch of girlfriends and I will head out there with mops, brooms and garbage bags.  We’ll come.  When lockdown is all done.”

He sounded relieved. 

The last time I visited, we walked around his yard.  I watched as Mr A fed the birds and wild rabbits and shooed the neighbour’s cat away.

“Keeps coming back. Terrible fellow,” Mr A grumbled. “Steals the rabbit’s food!”

I almost twisted my ankle when I tripped over a bunny-burrow mound rising from the raggedy grass.

Tea time and Bunny popped out of his burrow. 
His handiwork. One of the many hand-built bird-feeders in the backyard, with metal cones at the base to deter thieving squirrels.
Mr. A pumping water from the well he dug himself over fifty years ago.
Snack-time for the critters. A squirrel nibbles his way through a fine feast. 

 

This structure with grim graffiti was from a former place of work. Used to store petroleum, I think he said.

 

Then the world changed.  Suddenly, in an instant.

The enforced isolation is hard on seniors,  particularly those who live alone and aren’t willing or able to navigate technology.

Like my dad.  And Mr A.

Mr A’s wife owned a computer – she was an accountant by profession – but she’s been in the nursing home for the past few years.   A single landline phone sits on his kitchen table.  His only connection with the world outside.

Mr A sleeps on the hospital bed his wife used until she was moved to a nursing home. He pressed buttons to show me how the head and foot of the bed could be raised and lowered when required.  It’s now for sale.

 

“You must miss seeing her,” I murmured.

“What do you think?” he replied.

Wish there was more I could do.

 

 

Then, on a brighter note … Bunny is back!  

Spotted the rascal hopping outside my study window last week – the bunny, my-sworn-enemy!
Caught occasional glimpses of Bunny in the winter, staring at the stone rabbit by the chair under the apple tree, then he was gone for weeks at a time.

 

Who’d have thought I’d be happy to see him? The wretched creature chews up my flowers!

Bunny’s my reminder that life goes on nevertheless.  That Nature won’t pause.  And Joy will return.

Thankful the weather’s getting nicer. Finally.  Pruning and digging time again. 

                                            Garden went from this in the summer —

 

 

 

 

 

To this —

 

 

 

 

And now this mess that I can’t wait to started on  …

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Thankful for technology in this time of stringent distancing.  Thankful for Zoom family and other online gatherings.  

Oh! The blessing of Zoom! A church committee meeting.

Puppy can’t believe everyone’s home.

Puppy checks in on anyone who’s not to be seen.  He can’t believe the good fortune that keeps us all home.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Thankful for family dinners.  All four of us.  Together.  Everyday. After ages.

Thankful for time.  To write –

That’s me!

 

 

 

 

To stop and stare –

Time to catch my breath and take delight in a light-and-crystal shadow show on the window sill …
Time to stare at pink streaks of setting sun glowing on the bedroom ceiling …

 

Life changed. Overnight.  An un-imagined, dystopian pause.  The world over. 

Our front window – a call to prayer for safety and protection of the nation and our frontline workers.

When normal returns, we’ll forever be changed.  What will  that normal be?

While we wait, what do we do with this time on our hands?

A pause to ponder and re-prioritize?

Perhaps.

 

 Stay safe, stay home.  Reach out. 

Be thankful. 

Love this precious life. 

Our entire street stood outside on their driveways one Saturday night and banged on pots and pans in appreciation of our medical and frontline workers.  Listen …

 

Until next time,                                                                                                  

 

 

 

 

PS: Click here  to read Mr A’s story in Goodbye Yesterdays

Click here for Thursdays With Harold by Selina Stambi                                                                                                                                                                                                           SelinascoverKobo
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Just Junk (Or Maybe Not)

Fascinated by the art of decoupage as portrayed on Pinterest, I began to look for forlorn bits of this and that at garage sales and thrift stores.  Ideas for their transformation simmered and stewed until the magic moment arrived some weeks ago. 

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When you wake up know it’s time to tackle the task …

The relentless force of it carried me through a fortnight of sanding, painting, gluing, lacquering.

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When you start and simply have to keep going …

Exhibit One –

A handcrafted stool lurking on a pile of junk in a country thrift store.  One word: hideous. The darling drawer with the dangly handle was my undoing. 

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Exhibit One – after sanding.  Lovingly handcrafted and painted by someone who knew what they were doing.  Water damage and peeling paint …
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Mixed two shades of Dollarama paint to obtain the colour I needed.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A coat of Dollarama paint, two favourite hymns on the top and all around …

Et voila !  A quirky stool to tuck into a corner.  For occasional extra seating …

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The music sheets of old hymns on top and all the way around
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Aerial view of stool.  I ‘aged’ the sheet of music using a soaked tea bag.

Exhibits 2 & 3 –  Plain brown wood straight-backed chair and child’s rocking chair –

Forgot to take pre-painted ‘before’ pictures …

 

There’s a story to tell … 

I’d hunted fruitlessly for wrapping paper or paper napkins with an old fashioned sort of rose design. 

Months go by …

Searched for wrapping paper or paper napkins with a design like this one.  (Image downloaded from Pinterest)

A week before Easter my friend, Gail presented me with a bouquet of lilies.  The bridal blooms were done up in a layer of tissue paper printed all over with … red roses.  The exact kind I was looking for.  The attached card was from the florist at the mall up the street.

Woo hoo! Can’t wait to get going.  Transformation time.  Decoupage, here I come …

 

 

Pleasing finale. Tissue paper roses on garage sale salvage …

 

Wait …

That old flip-top table could do with a matching makeover. 

Rose-covered table to set off the seats.  Lovely …

Gail’s tissue paper yielded just enough for the two chairs – nothing left over.

Alas …

Flash of inspiration.  The mall florist might have a sheet or two to spare.

Right?

So I went.

Me: I received a bouquet of flowers from your store some days back.  It was wrapped in an unusual tissue paper with a beautiful rose print on it …

Pretty straight forward, huh?

Florist guy:  Yeah.  I know the one you mean.  You know what’s weird, though?

Okay, what?

                    …. We never ordered that kind.  We never have.  Don’t know why they came here.

Opens drawer and fishes around …

                                                            …They’re all gone.  Guess the girls used them up.  And we won’t …

Me:  … be getting anymore.

Florist Guy:  Weird, huh?  As I said, we never ordered it.  We only use the plain kind.

Weird all right …

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So what’s going on? (Which door? Dreams or reality? Thanks, Nicole, for this pic.  Luvit!)
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Love how life works … noticed this licence plate at the traffic lights on the disappointed drive back home!

Roses on two chairs AND a table would have been overkill anyway.

So I covered the table top with white lace, edged with baby ribbon.

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Forgot (again!) to take a pre-painted pic.  The ghost of a once elegant table, with chipped paintwork in a floral crackle-effect off-white and blue design

 

 

 

 

 

 

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A chandelier rainbow settled on the tabletop as I worked .  It turned out rather nice.

 

 

 

 

Love the finished effect …

I paused to ponder on the Tale of the Florist and the Tissue Paper

A light went on –

There’s a dream waiting to come alive in every rejected thing and there’s a dream-bringer who makes it happen. At the top of the chain is the Dreamgiver who creates the dream, orchestrates and manipulates events to make it all come true …

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The way I saw it …

This poor monstrosity has lived in the basement since forever –

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Haven’t been able to bring myself to toss it out …

Just had another idea for a fabulous furniture facelift.  

Watch out for the next Cinderella table-metamorphosis story coming to this blog!

I love breathing new life into dull, dead things.  Adore the thought of being prompted by a dream-giver.

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Found this book in a clearance bin at a bookstore.  Couldn’t put it down. (The Dream Giver by Bruce Wilkinson – author of The Prayer of Jabez)
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Check it out …

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

So there’s really no such thing as junk …

Thankful for beauty-basking-beneath-ugly-if-you-only-choose-to-look

Thankful for dreams.

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A passerby as I took a walk one morning …

 

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Why ever not?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

There’s always another dream.  And then the next one.   And the next.                                                      

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Roses … tiny dreams-come-true.  Teddy bears’ teaparty time for two little tykes! (Thank you my friend, Liesl, for the vintage ‘roses’ table lamp – a perfect match!)
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On my desk to remind me …

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Can’t stop dreaming, no matter what!

Until next time,

sincerely

 

 

P.s.  ‘Crafty’ weekend guests offer invaluable input.  Thank you Roshini!

 

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If You Could Read My Mind, Love …

Such fond memories of Asterix  comic books.  

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Frolicsome adventures in Roman times.  Fun, puns and ancient history.   Brilliant.  (First publication 1959)

Action-packed illustrations on each page. (Much) Younger Me spends ages poring over each micro-interaction in every frame.

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Have a look at this one below –

Take time, observe … 

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img_7716                             Asterix, the Gaul.   Assorted mirco-moments playing out at  banquet table 

This picture –

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Family-and-friends choir sings at Aunty Joyce-and-Uncle Rajan’s Golden Wedding anniversary party (Summer 2016)

– has that effect.  Urges me back.  Over and over again.  Examine every face, every expression.  Gordon Lightfoot echoes in  head (background music and all!) –

If you could read my mind love, what a tale my thoughts would tell …  

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Gordon Lightfoot (78) , Canadian musician, singer-songwriter

Looking again.  Intently.  Face by face.  Expression by expression.

So what’s going on in the singing heads ?

Ever wondered what it would be like to pitch a tent and spend a day in someone’s mind? 

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Some things are better left unexplored!

 

 

 

 

 

 

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What I see when eyes open each morning –

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Faintest crack of light slipping through door

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Light.

Husband’s up.  Light brightens, knifes through shadowed gloom.

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Bathroom light goes on
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Light will find a way

       

                       

 

 

Lurking dark recedes.

Heard someone say this recently:  “When night grows darker, light gets brighter.  It has to .”

Sets me thinking.

Light needs darkness to shine.

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Supermoon night.  Blood moon behind clouds
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Neighbour’s window
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Dawn thro’ bathroom blind 

                       

 

 

 

 

 

 

                     Darkness overthrown, must flee.

                      Power and effect of light … 

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Notice how light plays with cloud, makes gloom slide away?

Spectacular …

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                       Dazzling puddles of sunshine all over house –  

Delighted  by indoor rainbows. Heart-stopping joy-moments  in millisecond doses.

Grab I pad.  Tap, click  …   

    

                

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Through crystal candlesticks.  Marianne smiles.
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Bernadette’s tea towel
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… at the end of the rainbow

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

White light passes through clear glass prism, separates into colours.                                       

Grade 10 physics …

There’s a process to create  glorious dispersion of white light into rainbow colours  –

Parable?  Sort of …    

Realize something  –

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LIGHT is only a prayer away.    

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And then …
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… comes light! (Aunty Bongo’s birthday cake)
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Puppy and Tree Angel

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………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

If you could read my mind, if I could read yours ….

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If you could read my mind, love.  What a tale ….
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Husband browsing in junk store.
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Yikes!

Better left untouched?

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Who knows?
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Perhaps …
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Big time!
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Only a prayer away …
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Excuses?

         

      

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Whenever you’re ready …

 

 

 

Let light shine. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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 Celebrating joy this Christmas season –

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Inside view of backyard
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Outside view from kitchen

May JOY be your gift.

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                                                                                        Puppy believes.  “Hey, Santa?”
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Never in our house!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Thankful for daily joy.  Priceless.

Until next time,               img_20161117_190138

sincerely

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Puppy with Mall Santa

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The pictures in this post are moments captured on Ipad and phone.

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