Pink Sneakers on the Go

It’s the first day of the New Year and I must confess that I’m somewhat of a discombobulated mess.  I’m not quite certain as to exactly what I expected would transpire once the hands of time traversed the path of midnight and ushered in 2021.  Plotting and dreaming of my escape from The Year of Isolation, I envisioned a miraculous leap back into the “normal” of yesteryear.  Was it not so long ago since we gathered, feasted, promenaded, embraced and – egad! – even paraded sans face coverings when out and about?  It feels like a zillion time zones away, yet it was almost 365 days from yesterday when the globe spiralled into the abyss of the unknown.

So much has changed.  Nothing remains the same.  Yet, it’s all so familiar in a strange sort of way.  I can’t even comprehend, let alone explain, the magnitude of it all.  It’s been quite the journey navigating these uncharted waters.  I’ve spent weeks, not to mention months, drifting off course, struggling my way upstream.  The debris of splintered paddles scattered every which where.   Sink or swim was the mantra that I recited every day.  The incessant rain was quite the drain on my psyche and soul, unleashing the predictable torrent of you know what.  The basement's now flooded and mopping will keep me occupied for the remainder of the month or at least until the floor caves in and I've then got an entirely new set of issues.  At least I've a surplus of buckets...

I expected a whole lot better from the month of January. 

Surely I am not the only one hoping in haste.  After all, we are only a few hours into the calendar of new beginnings and Hope should be granted a chance.  Optimism and the promise of a better tomorrow loom on the horizon.  Do I dare believe?

I had envisioned a mirage of a miracle.  A fairy dusting of Abracadabra to make everything all right and re-set the pause button back to “normal” with an instantaneous reversal of all of the tidings that had spilled sorrow into our now foreign world. 

Was I asking for too much?

The Welcome mat lay outside my door. 

The De Novo to a brand new tomorrow.

Yet, no one was more disappointed than I when Hocus-pocus did not knock on my door and greet me on New Year’s morn.

Looks like the fairies had overslept.  Or, perhaps they were just following Stay at Home orders to shelter indoors.

Nonetheless, the inevitable gush filled more than a few buckets.

So, dear reader, allow me the privilege to indulge in back-paddling to the distant depth of the capsize, where I made the acquaintance of one of Poseidon’s seafaring companions, a kindly old Seahorse that so graciously carried me on its shoulders through the tumultuous waters of yesteryear.

The months long sojourn was an ebb and flow of whitecaps and resilience.  The circling sharks added yet another element of suspense to my tale.

The boulders are no longer jagged, just pebbles on a sandy beach, stepping-stones that have traversed the path of midnight.

Starting anew. 

Again.

Next blog post:  In two or three weeks, sometime the w/o Feb 8^th or 15^th or perhaps a tad earlier or later.  No one knows.  It all depends upon my faithful old companions, Inspiration and Creativity.  In the meantime, my daily meditations and journal jottings are aids that help guide my way to new beginnings.  Stay tuned for more of my series:  Chronicles on Scribbling Towards the Light.

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

 The countdown has officially begun.

It’s a stampede out there, or would be, if we were not all hunkered down at home, sheltering from the rain of 2020.  Safe in our lockdown place, we grew to embrace an entirely new space.  Working from home became the new norm.  Zooming from room to room now part of the daily routine.  A hop around the globe in minutes time, connecting with loved ones far and near.  A huddle with memories in lieu of hugs would just have to suffice.  Who ever imagined that cuddles and entwines would be so treasured and rare?

Hindsight, of course, is 2020.

Once again, I’ve unintentionally veered off track.  Typical.  It’s been that type of year.  The scuttle is real.   The hunt for 2021 agendas is on and it’s a marathon of a sprint to secure that coveted diary.  Hourglasses, calendars and almanacs all lined up in a row.  There are truckloads of lemons of malfunctioning 2020 agendas all piled up in the scrapyard of yesteryear.  It’s immensely satisfying, not to mention, gratifying, to finally kick those Chronicles of International Disaster to the rubbish, where they now fester and wait their turn for curb side pickup.

Hallelujah and Welcome 2021! 

As you might have guessed, dear reader, the agenda for this week’s blog post was none other than keeping up with Time, hence my delight to reveal this Year’s musings of heralding in the light.

Pencils sharpened, quills dipped in inspirational ink, 365 days of blank pages await…

The hope of tomorrow is a dawn that has just traversed the path of midnight. 

Let the healing begin.

Next post:  In two or three weeks, sometime the w/o January 10^th or 17^th, perhaps a tad earlier.  No one knows.  The Quarantine Series blog posts of 2020 have been retired (for the time being but will still re-appear from time to time) and have been replaced with the Scribbling Towards the Light Chronicles.  Stay tuned for another year of reflection, contemplation, hope and gratitude.  All, of course, generously sprinkled with a touch of much needed laughter and humour (where applicable).  

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