It seems like a lifetime since the middle of March, when the world as we knew it began shutting down.
It’s been one hell of a time.
My oldest son had a call back date in place for work that was scrubbed as soon as his branch of the construction industry was deemed non-essential.
My daughter and her twin brother have been home from school and recently began distance learning online. My partner’s shop closed and might start back up again the first week of May.
My toddler granddaughter has been rampaging at home ever since most of Ontario’s licensed daycare centres were added to the growing list of lockdowns, testing her father’s patience and causing me to stifle giggles. Am I heartless enough to call his reactions Grandma’s revenge?
It’s been weeks since I’ve seen my parents, who are in their early 70s. The last time I can remember such a lonely Easter was 17 years ago when SARS was the health concern and I was alone with a very ill infant in Toronto, in the pediatric critical care unit at SickKids Hospital, awaiting complex open heart surgery.
My granddaughter has the solution to Covid-19: bandaids and hotdogs.
Netflix and our pets have been constant companions this time around. My lifeline has been a Facebook Messenger group comprised of me, my sister, and three close girlfriends who have become sister-level kindreds. Most mornings the chatter begins with a posting of a photo of Adam Driver, followed by a series of GIFs of Golden Girl Blanche Devereaux spritzing herself with cold water. (Picture it: Ottawa, April of 2020.) I also sleep with my handbag, a habit born of necessity after I caught my special needs kid trying to order random crap from Amazon with my Visa debit card.
I finally attempted grocery shopping today. The store my daughter and I went to has imposed a ‘one person per household’ policy, so she went back to the car and was soon bombarded with a series of PM texts and photos from me as I bumbled through the aisles. My son texts me that my granddaughter has the solution to Covid-19: bandaids and hotdogs. I also learn that she calls Netflix “Crackflix.” Kid’s not wrong. Sometimes hotdogs are the answer, especially when they come from a chip stand.
Once this quarantine is over, if it ever ends, I think I want to load up the car and hit the road west. I have never been to the western part of Canada. The Pacific Ocean beckons.