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just like normal, only not

Very sunny but a chill wind. Many daffodils. The ‘hood is extremely quiet. I feel guilty that I am not chronicling this new world in articles, only here. But then I read this and it made me feel better:

We read a lot about writers who have a “butt in chair” philosophy, who crank out a minimum of 1,000 words every day rain or shine. If you are one of them, I am genuinely happy for you — and for me, because I get to read your books on a regular basis. But I’m also here to reassure people who don’t work this way that they are not alone. Sometimes it’s impossible to get writing done, especially for those of us who have other work to do, including care work for our children or parents. And sometimes, like now, the world is so in flux that our brains are filled with static and we can’t hear our own thoughts. At these times, surviving daily life is enough to occupy every corner of our consciousness.
No kidding.
Sam came over yesterday. Last week when he wanted to come I said yes but he’d have to stay outside. This week, I wanted very much to see him; he lives alone, misses work and friends, walks the city. We maintained distance as best we could. He cooked a fabulous meal – grilled steak with smashed potatoes infused with roasted garlic, grilled cucumbers – I didn’t think they were a thing, but they are – and onions caramelized with red wine. Am I a lucky woman? The kitchen smelled like heaven. We ate outside like normal people in a normal world. My neighbour Jean-Marc is condemning me right now, I’m sure. 
How to balance caution with good sense? How to balance our most basic human need for contact and communication with our need to survive a hideous unseen menace? 



2 Responses to “just like normal, only not”

  1. theresa says:

    Dinner looks delicious!

  2. beth says:

    It was – and the leftovers I had for supper tonight were too!

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About Beth

I began keeping a journal at the age of nine. Nearly fifty years later, I started this online journal, sharing reflections, reviews, updates, and the occasional secret.

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