Pink Sneakers on the Go

 I’m trapped in a merry-go-round the clock ride with no reprieve in sight, banging and clanging in a suds infused barrel that’s clearly spiralled out of flight.  I’m flailing, failing miserably on navigating these uncharted waters.  Not even a glimpse of a mirage or a lighthouse beacon.  I’ve either apparently lost my mind or am stuck in the spin cycle yet once again.

I’m right on course, that is, of course, if I’ve actually drifted off course.

The map is one soggy mess, washed up shore on an island that’s on the other side of somewhere.  Or, was that on the precipice of nowhere?

No one knows.

It’s no longer of use to me, as the border is shuttered and I’m unable to paddle to the outskirts of the perimeter to retrieve the waterlogged blueprint that could set me free.

In the meantime, I’ve no choice but to cling on to the remnants of my threadbare socks.

Welcome to Day Who Knows What of 2020 Lockdown.

The automatic timer has apparently gone bust, a malfunctioning lemon for which refunds have been piling up in the dust.  And, there’s 28 more days of combustion and confusion smirking in the wings.

Let the countdown begin.

Re-set to renew.  Or was that anew?  I knew this cleansing was coming…

The dratted re-set button has a glitch of which I’ve no control over until at least mid 2021.  Another whirl at wading out the storm.  My thoughts are tied up in knots, not to mention the tangled mess of my socks, ravaged bits of colour and yarn scattered every which where.

Pre-wash, Wash, Rinse and Spin have propelled my reality into another dimension.

I’m all wrapped up in the saga of my skedaddled socks.  They’ve taken a hike and scampered off to whereabouts unknown.  Just like me.  Gone missing for the past three months.  At least I’ve an excuse for my disappearance.

Sequestered at home for months on end, I’ve been itching for a getaway, a change of scene and an escape from my unstructured routine.  The monotony of the same old drudgery was weighing on my soul and I was longing for a reprieve.   An outing.  A diversion.  A holiday.

Until the inevitable, yet predictable, sequence of events spiralled me in an entirely different direction.

Oi vey.  Be mindful of what you wish for.

To make a long story short, one does not want to be caught in a panic during a pandemic in which one embarks on an unexpected five-day hospital stay.  Nope.  Nada.  Not me. 

“Ha! We’ll see about that!” chortled Chaos and sidekick Topsy-turvy (formerly known as the Gremlins of Travel Disruption and now out of a job due to Stay at Home orders).  Ever so clever, the enterprising chameleons repackaged their game and threw me for a loop in the most unanticipated of ways. 

Next thing I knew, I was being wheeled out of Emergency, having undergone surgery, with my bothersome old gallbladder kicked to the curb.

Ouch! 

My 4:00am summons to lounge at “Le Wellness Spa”, aka The Curative Fix & Stich Holiday Inn, better known as The Hospital, had fortuitously arrived, an invitation that I will forever be humbled and grateful for.  Enough said.

A bucket-load of rejuvenation was the kick-start to a fresh start…

Skating at the edge of the pond, I’ve slid off topic once again.  The spin cycle is almost complete and one can only siesta for so long.  The Spring Equinox is just around the bend, heralding a mend with the promise of a long-awaited vaccine.  This celebratory news is the healing salve of miraculous cheer for a year like none other.

In the meantime, I’ve more immediate issues underfoot.  There are icicles on my tootsies and I’m hopping around barefoot.  My dash to the dryer to rescue those missing socks resulted in a tumble that left me with a few sore ribs and a round of vertigo.

Touché 2020!

Those darned old stockings have hightailed it on a flight out of here and have catapulted themselves into the New Year.  Eager to cement new imprints of their footprints, they’re always one step ahead. 

As for me, I’m just rolling with the times.

The countdown has officially begun…

One more post to go before the leap into 2021.  Next post:  Sometime the w/o Dec 28^th.  Stay tuned for yet another posting of “The Quarantine Series”, before I jump into the New Year and forge new imprints of a brand new compilation of musings and impressions.     

It’s Week 19 in Loco Lockdown and I’ve got a lot on my mind.  I keep forgetting that it’s gone missing, having wandered off to whereabouts unknown.  I haven’t a clue as to where it currently resides, perhaps somewhere more stable, where one is able to reflect and subside on images of mirages.  I must confess that I’m in quite the bind, as I can’t remember what exactly I can’t find in my chaotic mess.  A self-help book or two would certainly come in handy but, alas, those manuals are currently out of stock, having gone out of print around the time when my mind took an unexpected tumble off the shelf. 

And, speaking of time, well, that’s a parallel story, currently orbiting around my alternate universe. 

Not only do I fret about my sanity, but I’ve now had to squander countless hours tracking down the hands of time.  Whoever said, “Time Flies”, must not have been privy to the uncharted flight path of the split seconds that randomly shake up the structured order of our topsy-turvy world.

And, since we’re on the topic on flying, thought that I should skip that extra layer of fable for my tale.  After all, the clock is ticking.  The countdown has begun.

There’s just one issue.  My cuckoo clock has gone missing.

From what I’m able to surmise, there must have been one quell of a scuffle.  Remnants of feathers and sand were scattered everywhere.  An abandoned hourglass was wedged in the crack near the edge of the ledge, forever stuck in quarantine quicksand.

Looks like the patriarch of our flock has flown the coup and bird-napped reliable Chirpy along for the ride.

Could it get any worse?

Day 142 was not going according to plan.

But, what’s a plan without an agenda and we all know that 2020 is a malfunctioning bust.  It kyboshed my long anticipated excursion to the land of lederhosen and accordions, forcing me to abandon my one year sojourn.  But, who’s counting, as the days all blend into one.  After all, we’re all sequestered at home, lounging in pyjamas, engaging via board games on Zoom.  I’m itching to get away, but alas, the border is closed and there’s no way I’m able to jet away.  The only other option to get out of town was to sail in a different direction.  

I had no choice but to succumb to the lure of the trails of the Rain Forest.  All signs pointed directly to:  Amazon.ca.

So, where was I?  I seem to have misplaced my train of thought.  Can’t recall what exactly I was hoping to convey as I’m slipping on marbles in my frantic search for my missing glass slipper.  Wait.  Hold on a minute.  It's Cuckoo that's gone AWOL.   Whatever.  Either way, they’ve both taken a hike.  I’m suspended in time, playing the guessing game.

And, since I’m on stand by, might as well sip on a martini and indulge in some multi-layered Black Forest cake. 

My pumpkin is a tad delayed.  Must be stuck in rush-hour traffic…

Next post:  In two weeks, sometime the w/o September 14^th, Tuesday, Wednesday or Thursday.  Stay tuned for more updates on going cuckoo in quarantine!

Stay home, stay safe and catch up with your reading!

Be on the lookout for Chirpy and all of those missing cuckoo clocks!

UPDATE:  Ran into a roadblock or two, hence a tad bit of a disappearance for the past 3 months.  Will update in latest post to be published Dec 19th, 20th or 21st.  Stay tuned!

 It’s Week 18 in Loco Lockdown and it’s time to break free.  I’ve been sequestered for far too long.  Winter was just a flash of a distant memory and the sizzle of the lazy, hazy days of summer will inevitably drizzle into an autumn chill and then I’ll be stuck at home for the remainder of the year.  I’ve gone crackers under the covers and am gasping for a breath of fresh air.  I’ve got to crack open my snow-globe and weather the storm.  Make that escape and flee.

There’s just one problem.  Those men in the white coats are trailing me. 

I’ve long suspected that I’ve gone cuckoo in quarantine as I’m forever slipping and sliding on all of those loose marbles that pop up in the most inopportune of places.  I’m perpetually hopping a jig to a symphony of my own melody.  And, let’s not forget all of my imaginary friends, all clearly exempt from the two metre social distancing rules.  Inspiration and Imagination brought Creativity to the table, weaving tall tales and fables that entertained us to no end.  And, of course, no banquet was complete without the presence of that ever so debonair and charismatic Fly on the Wall. 

Those were the days.

But alas, restrictions are gradually being lifted, ushering in a smidgen of normalcy to my edge of the pond.  To make matters worse, I’ve run out of essentials and need to replenish my hoard.  After all, I’m down to my very last square of you know what.  Must shatter the ice, dip my toes in and test the waters.

A sea of masks stared back at me.

My first train of thought was naught with fear.  Are these hooligans who were caught in a jam and are now on the lam?  Perhaps I’m not the only one on the run. 

A gamut of emotions peered through the plethora of face coverings.  Who are these faceless beings with those expressive eyes?  The saying that “the eyes are the windows of the soul” couldn’t ring more true, as there was no need for babble or small talk.  Their eyes spoke volumes.  A collective decibel of comprehension solidified our bond. 

Out of sight, out of mind.

There’s safety in numbers.  Catch me if you can.

The shattered shards of my splintered sphere were a liberating breath of unfiltered air.

My mask has set me free.

 Might as well park myself on the bench and crack open some nuts…

 Next post:  In two weeks!  Sometime the w/o Aug 31^st,either Tuesday, Wednesday or Thursday!  Stay tuned for future updates on Stuck in Quarantine Quagmire in Loco Lockdown.

Stay home, stay safe and catch up with your reading!!

 

It’s Week 217 in loco lockdown and I’ve a sneaking suspicion that I’ve gone a tad bonkers.  Not quite over the edge but precariously close to hovering near the ledge.  Insane would be too institutional of a term, whilst out to lunch wraps it up in a nutshell.  I’ve lost track of time and yesterday could be today or today could be tomorrow or tomorrow could be yesterday.  No one knows.  It’s a problem.  I could be off by two hundred or so weeks and I wouldn’t have an inkling of a clue.  Not like there’s any rush in deciphering the truth but it would be helpful to stick to a schedule and mark off the days.  The quagmire of quarantine has jolted time to a halt and a kick-start to the daily routine would be a much welcome reprieve.

And that is where my conundrum begins.  I must confess that my calendar’s a mess and I’d like a fresh start.  Would it be asking too much to request a rewind to Dec 31, 2019?  After all, I’ve purchased a lemon and I’d like a refund.

My defective 2020 agenda is a malfunctioning bust.

In retrospect, I should instead have snagged the discounted 2019 one that was on sale for a song.  But then again, hindsight is 20/20.  So, I’m now the disgruntled owner of an almanac that came up short.  It’s a dud, collecting dust in the basement, reluctant to come out of hiding and greet the day.  It’s sequestered under the cobwebs, concocting a scenario of plausibly believable explanations as to why it failed to deliver.  Guess it’ll be at least another five months of sheltering under the covers before it makes its enthusiastic leap into the New Year!

In the meantime, I’m stuck at home, paying the price for its shortcomings.  The anticipation of 365 adventures took a turn of no return on Week 1 of Stay at Home orders.  It heralded the start to 137 days of creation in isolation, as I harvested lemons in my backyard. 

Germinating Lemgens, to be exact.

Lemgen - 

Definition (as found in Le Nik-tion-ary):

Noun.  Is an offshoot of the Word-Ling (Word-Lingo) family of up and coming lexicons and phrases.  A relatively young word that sprung to life in early 2020. 

Usage:  Used primarily to express shock, disbelief and frustration with the disruption of daily life and the broken promises of one’s calendar, hence the reference to having acquired a lemon of an agenda.

Spelling variations:  Lemon-genda, Limone-genda, Gen-Lem, Gen-Lemono.

Addendum:  For more info on Word-Lings, take a peek at my previous blog post.

Must skedaddle.  Time to sprinkle the latest batch of Word-Lings with a splash of Limoncello!

Next post:  In two weeks!  The w/o August 17th, either Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday or thereabouts.  Stay tuned for more updates on the latest batch of Word-Lings.  In the meantime, stay home, stay safe and catch up with your reading!

Preview of a few new Word-Lings and Phrases:

WordSing – Words that make you happy.

WordLock - Writer's block.

CitronChill – Chilling in quarantine, cancelled plans, wish I was in the French Riviera. 

LimoneChillo - Same meaning as CitronChill, with an added Italian twist for extra flair.

It's a LemGen sort of day!  OR It's a GenLem sort of day!

It's a LemChillo sort of day!