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Amanda Gorman / The Hill We Climb

And just like that, it is July.  

The last several weeks since my previous post have been full on ...full. 

A few deaths, a few birthdays, a first international trip for my son, workplace goings on for him, me, and my daughter; in short, life. 

All that and then some, plus, well, you know, the dumpster fire that is this country. 

I am unable to report that I've worked on (or better yet, finished) the story of Janice*. 

I am unable to report any measurable improvement in Spanish.   

I am unable to report sketching consistency. 

On the flipside, I can report that I am still chug, chug, chugging along and still trying to tame my wild and woolly salt-and-pepper mane. 

Take gentle care, gentle folks.  

*Janice has been renamed Opal.  

And away we go.                                                           

Is This Irony?

A Bowl of Fruit

View From My Window

Illinois issued the shelter in place order on March 20, 2020 and on the 24th there were lay-offs and reduced hours by my employer.  I was saved both of those fates thank goodness.  But.. But... yes, I remain concerned with each passing day that the situation may become more critical necessitating further action by said employer. 

Still, at present,  I am gainfully employed, still working from home, and for the newest normal to the mix, engaging in bi-weekly video staff meetings. 

Remember my casual comment about a year ago of maybe being ready to date again? Well, in my head the timeline for me getting out (with or without a date) was for right about now.  Spring and Summer 'round these parts are 'being out' times. There are art fairs, street festivals, all manner of goings on to increase the options over, 'dinner and a movie'. Even if one wanted nothing more than to walk (or bike) along the lakefront and gaze about that famous skyline.

I feel like I missed last year due to the move and various obstacles.   

Well, this Spring is done.  The lakefront is closed. The parks are closed. The first big annual art fair normally held the first weekend in June has been cancelled and there are sure to be others to follow.  Even as governors convene to discuss a re-opening we are likely looking at June or (sigh) July before public venues re-open. Even then, there will likely be limitations. The re-opening will be a gradual event. (As it should be.)   

I've come to realize in recent weeks that my most social outing had been to the grocery store.  And now, even that is gone as the grocery stores are limiting occupancy to 1 per family.  It just makes more sense for my daughter to be 'the one' as she does most of the food prep.  And just my luck, there are no jewelry kiosks open (not essential) to take a few links out of a watch I bought in anticipation of being 'out and about' and not wanting to rely on my phone for the time.   

Oh, well. 

The upside to being locked down and socially distant is my hair has more time to  get fuller/longer.  It is nearly long/full enough to execute the style I have in mind. And, I have time to get back on my 'get fit' (i.e. lose weight) wagon. I fell off some time ago and well, yikes.

Time. It's on my side.  Sort of.  I guess. All for the greater good. 

Be safe. Stay safe. 

    

Longest Week

The week between the day my mother entered hospice care and the day she died is easily the longest and worst week of my life. This week (oddly enough, very nearly the same set of days six years later) comes in at a very close second.

Earlier this month our condo building was deemed uninhabitable by the village due to the absence of running water. Mind you, we've been existing without hot water for months prior to this new designation; a fact the village was maybe not so blissfully unaware.

The water shut-off is due to polar vortex-induced busted pipes leading to water spilling about the village street. Something they frown upon.

The times, they have been hard.

Over the past several days I (we) have been furiously endeavoring to relocate before the village takes the next step, whatever that is upon a domicile being deemed uninhabitable. How many more days will they allow? I don't know. I can't afford to care. Particularly since the association is broke in every conceivable way. It. Is. Time. To. Go.

Thanks to the very fine and furiously expedited help of two local social service agencies and a very good friend, relocation is mere hours and some heft away for the daughter and me. The son is making his own arrangements, finding his own way. Happy Birthday to him, by the way.

The anniversary of my son's birth not-with-standing, I can say with fervent candor that February is doing its damnedest to earn the position of my least favorite month.

But then again, maybe this move, these series of events, will prove a very positive turning point in our lives.

We'll see.  March On!