Seven Months

My evening walks are quiet now. The creek has iced over, the wind off the lake is biting, and it gets dark early so I have the park almost to myself. Me, thousands of Canada geese, a family of raccoons, one or two people walking dogs, and my thoughts.

I remember the early days and all the anxiety about what was to come and despair for what was lost. I heard it described as collective mourning. While I remain careful and concerned, that has tapered off in much the way that I can't really remember just how painful my pancreatitis was. It reminds me of a quote from an episode of CBC Ideas that I heard recently. "It's not the apocalypse, it's just Tuesday."

I wonder what I'll do with myself when winter is really here. There's one more outdoor farmers' market on Halloween, but they can't safely do indoor markets so I'm not sure what I'll be doing with my Saturdays. They might need my help for the pickup and delivery operations, but I haven't heard yet. I'd help just to get out of my house and see people.

About the only other people I'm seeing regularly are my pals at Happy Hi. One of the joys of working from home is that I can walk there at lunch and get a steamy beverage. It makes my Thursday full of Zoom meetings just about tolerable.

I've decided that I prefer working from home. Mostly. I have a better office at home, there are fewer distractions, the food is better, and, if I need to, I can throw in a load of laundry in the middle of the day. About the only thing I miss is the non-work interactions with people. The friendly woman at the convenience store, the wave from the staff at International Relations, and the chats with colleagues about things outside of work. Despite all the advances of communication, there's something about being in the same room with people that's just different.

I suppose that's part of the reason that I didn't even bother to try the dating apps in the midst of this. Supposedly there was a significant increase in the number of people using them so, in theory, it should be easier than ever to meet someone special there, but then I think about having to text back and forth before having a Zoom date and realize that I rather enjoy having the whole house to myself.

Maybe I'm becoming a hermit. No, that doesn't seem right. A cat seems more apt. "Hello, nice to see you again, now please leave me alone. No, not that alone. Let me just fall asleep on your lap, but don't touch me."

It's been a long seven months that seems to have passed incredibly fast. In seven more months, it will be May and, somehow, that fills me with hope.