Even though I’m an atheist, deities somehow still make it into my subconscious. I was feeling slightly self-satisfied as if the gods of weather had chosen my winter-break flight plans (scheduled for last night) over the poor fools who had chosen to travel around Christmas. Their flights were canceled left and right. Almost all of Southwest Airlines shut down. Yet warmer weather and rain were predicted for Chicago when I would be laying over on my way to Tyson McGee Airport in Knoxville, TN.
Then the pestilence gods weighed in and took Pelé and several other notables, and for me, they tapped my shoulder with a case of COVID. (Okay, who am I kidding. The gods didn’t tap my shoulder. They just threw out a trail of coronavirus dust. Who am I to be tapped?)
I briefly considered traveling with COVID, but quickly decided that would be morally reprehensible. Also, I’d be miserable. My head was feeling like it had been trash-compacted with cotton. All fluids bypassed my brain without even a smidgen of capillary action. Oh for a sloppy sneeze!
I canceled my flight and the nine days I planned on spending in eastern Tennessee. There was about a 30 minute period of reverie when I suddenly saw those nine days open up before me without obligation or plan. That quickly turned to boredom as I was quarantined to my room and did not feel like reading or writing or throwing away old texts and emails or doing anything that might make me feel like life has a purpose.
So I tried to watch Sleepless in Seattle. I liked When Harry Met Sally so I figured I couldn’t go wrong. Right? …Wrong.
Why is it that some movies just don’t hold up? It moved at a snail’s pace and I kept hitting the 10 seconds forward button and then resorted to sliding the bar at the bottom of the screen. When was I gonna get hooked? I’m a lover of romcom, but this was lite on both. I gave up.
I switched genres and latched onto The Outfit. I always love watching a person that seems to have their shit together no matter what and this tailor, or I should say cutter, could thread a needle while gangsters tromped by him in his back workroom. Maybe it’s my theater background, but I also love movies that are heavy on dialogue and take place in one or two rooms, for example: Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom, Glengarry Glen Ross, and, of course, My Dinner with Andre.
After that, it still wasn’t bedtime. It’s getting dark at about five o’clock. I still had a few hours of wakefulness. About a month ago I started listening to a sleep podcast called Sleep with Me but that’s mostly for when I wake up at three in the morning. Scooter, the host, calls himself your borepal and he is very good at guiding you through the deep, dark night with his squeaky dulcitones and meaningless meanderings–his words. Sometimes I put him on before I go to bed but I don’t generally have difficulty falling asleep then. And even Sleep with Me, boring as it is, would not have put me out with my cotton head at this early hour.
So I went back to try another dose of romantic comedy—something more updated. I latched onto About Fate. It may not be memorable, but it charmed me and it was a nice palette-cleanser after the darker movie. Still it was The Outfit that made it into my dreams. I was in a dimly lit room with stacks of different size black, white and grey paper on an old, polished oak table. The stacks were not neat rectangles but with triangular points of the paper laid at odd angles atop each other. I evaluated paper size by turning the stacks without actually lifting any of the sheets. There was some sort of puzzle I was trying to figure out. It was all about slow and careful consideration like the main character of the movie.
Now, here we are. It’s noontime Saturday and it has been steadily raining for 15 hours or more. Rain is hopeful like the new year.
Another day in bed. More movies to watch? I’m not reading much although I did read my book group’s The Rosie Project which is going to be made into a movie that I’m sure will fit in the romantic comedy category. It’s a fun read.
I may try to rebook a shorter trip to Tennessee if I test negative soon enough in this vacation. My head has started to leak, releasing much of the built up pressure. At one point last night I felt something like a wet, pointed feather trying to wiggle down into my lungs. It made me cough for about ten minutes and I wondered if that is how the deadly virus works its way into people’s lungs—a thin, hollow dart covered with hairs that subsequently open and expand to release the whole team.
I covered the cold spot on my chest with my hands and stopped listening to a podcast We Were Three about a woman who lost her father and brother — both anti-vaxxers — to the disease. I’m vaxxed and boosted. I’m safe. At least, that’s what I told myself. But I didn’t want to relate too much to the deceased whose symptoms were being described through phone texts discovered after their deaths. I may be an atheist, but the power of negative and positive thought, short of being magical, is well-established.
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Here is the big news I’ve been waiting to tell you — THE BACK PATIO PROJECT IS DONE!!!
This last photo shows the patio after the first rain. I picked a three-day window to paint the concrete which included temperatures above 50 degrees and no rain. But the directions also said, don’t wash the paint for two weeks while it is curing. I’m pretty sure rain counts as washing. There are some bubbling spots now and places where Sasha’s little claws have scratched through the soaked paint. I’m not sure why I chose not to follow the manufacturer’s directions since I knew there would be rain. Did I think the gods would give me special treatment? It was likely that and a dose of impatience.
It only took a few hours to roll out the red so it won’t be much sweat to scrape up the bubbled spots and put on another coat this spring. Experience is a blessing. Maybe that’s the lesson for the new year.
Best wishes for your coming projects and dreams. Welcome 2023.
Spotty West Goes East 