Pink Sneakers on the Go

A Crack in the Quarantine Bubble

Posted by Nora K ,

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!!

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Harvesting lemons in Loco Lockdown: Week 17

Posted by Nora K ,

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!

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Germinating Words from Scratch.

Posted by Nora K ,

It’s Week 16 in loco lockdown and oftentimes I question whether I’ve managed to remain sane. Perhaps I’ve already crossed the bridge of no return but I’ve nary any visual markers to gage my sojourn and there aren’t any manuals out there to guide my way. All that I can do is sequester and play, since I’ve inadvertently stumbled into the Land of Cuckoo, that wondrous space of a place of solace and refuge. Might as well test the waters and linger a while. After all, I’m stuck at home with nowhere else to go.

Dipping my quill into the aqua potion was the first start. The restorative ink has extraordinary capabilities, able to reinvigorate and, most importantly, whisk me away from the drudgery of every day.

And, voilà, next thing I know, I’m in Shangri-La, one with the earth, plucking weeds and planting seeds. The gift of sunshine and H20 is a rejuvenating force, birthing life anew.

A splash of inspiration, a sprinkling of devotion and an over-active imagination is all one needs to grow words. Tiny sprouts of seedlings that blossom into ideas that keep me up at night as I toss and turn over the strategic placement of nouns and consonants. Verbs are another story altogether. Always on the go, they’re non-stop movement, a flurry of restless activity one sprint ahead of the tale; a collaborative team of 26 that work in tandem to spell out the narrative of what is on their mind.

A watering can, a chant, a prayer and a smidgen of hocus-pocus are the secret ingredients that flower my garden. And, Abracadabra, as if by magic, alongside the marigolds and sunflowers, a batch of Word-lings have germinated overnight.

I know what you’re thinking. About The Word-lings.

Being a wordsmith and linguist, I am fully aware that Word-ling is not an actual word. It’s made up, not real, but then again, so is fiction. I’m beyond besotted with words and the crucial role they play in weaving the fable. And, I declare that there are NOT enough of them in The Dictionary to facilitate the process of fabrication. I therefore propose that I lobby Webster’s for an immediate amendment to include my newly hatched batch of terminologies. After all, I’ve a boatload of expertise in dreaming up new lexicons and phrases, which seem to spring to life only when I’m on the road exploring foreign locales.

But alas, I’m trapped in the quagmire of Day 123 of quarantine and I’m itching to hop on a plane to Spain. The world will just have to wait for the next crop of Nora-isms (aka Word-lings) to make their debut in the revised addendum to Le New and Improved Dictionary (To be re-defined as The Nik-tion-ary, if truth be told).

Must dash. The landline’s a ringing. It’s Webster’s on the line…

Next post: In two weeks or thereabouts. The w/o August 3^rd, sometime on Tuesday, Wednesday or Thursday! Stay tuned!

Next blogs – Continuing the conversations with my vintage turquoise writing machine; Watch out Webster’s! New Word-lings are on their way!

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

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Awaiting a delivery from yesterday.

Posted by Nora K ,

It’s Week 15 in loco lockdown and I’m stuck at home anticipating the delivery of a parcel from yesterday. It’s been quite the wait. I’ve marked the hours and it’s been more than 60 plus years, but who’s counting. After all, I’m in quarantine with nothing else to do and nowhere to go. What’s a decade or six when you’re on the brink of conversing with history and swapping stories with pen pals of generations long past.

The thrill of unwrapping and mapping the narratives of my fellow scribes from so long ago is an added bonus accompanying my long awaited FedEx package. My shipment has been in transit for the better part of half a century. I’m giddy with glee to finally be privy to prying open the box that encapsulates the musings of wordsmiths from a bygone era.

And voilà, as if on a magic carpet ride, on Day 112, my vintage Hermes Baby finally landed on my doorstep.

Let the click clacking begin!

The ding of the ping is music to my scrivener soul. A blank piece of parchment rolled into the carriage heralds the start to curating a legacy of art. Aligning the smorgasbord of ABC’s into a cohesive order that threads the plot from beginning to end are the tasks delegated to the symphony of keys that co-exist to create and please.

My slightly battered and well-loved writing machine is eager to make my acquaintance and who am I to displease.

Let the introductions begin…

We’ve a lot in common. We both are originators, scribblers, linguists and poets, besotted with the arrangement of words. Enamoured, to be exact.

Whether penning free verse, sonnets, Japanese Haiku or ballad quatrains, our connectivity lies in our appreciation of the craft of re-inventing and re-imagining experiences, not to mention, emotions. We’re soul mates, kindred spirits, long lost sisters…

Oh, Brother! OK, now you’ve gone off the edge and “lost the plot”, so enough of the Blah, Blah, Blah! You get the visual, dear Reader. Masterpiece Theatre drama queen is on a roll yet once again…

So, where was I?

I was so caught up in the excitement that I momentarily lapsed into reminiscing with yesterday, submerged in the delirium of catching up with an ancient soul.

And so I ponder and wonder whose home did my beloved writing machine grace? Did she belong to a be-speckled granny who lived in a shoe and pecked rhymes all of the time? Or, was her owner a dapper young fellow who pounded the pavement pedalling his freshly polished screenplay? Or, a starry eyed 12 year old, eager to shoot to Hollywood glory, envisioning his name on a star of fame in the land of make believe?

I’m not certain whether I’ll ever know the answer to that question, yet it’s the magic of the mystery that keeps me peeking through the window of not so long ago.

It’s my turn now to share the privilege and type out the story…

Next post: The conversation with my 1957 turquoise/green typewriter continues….

Next post will be published either w/o July 13^th or w/o July 20^th, Tuesday or Wednesday or thereabouts. Stay tuned!

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

Scribbling the dream.

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Scrabble squabble wars in Week 14 of Quarantine

Posted by Nora K ,

It’s Week 14 and I have absolutely nothing to say. Nada. Zero. Zilch. I’m at a loss for words. They’ve evaporated. Vanished. I’ve searched far and wide. The ideas no longer flow.

Adverbs abandoned. Nouns deserted. Vowels and adjectives are no longer stars of the show, having embarked on a lark somewhere less stark.

It hasn’t always been like this.

A was playful and jostled with C, teasing her readers with suspenseful tales. The relentless flirting with both D and E, kept them guessing at what was meant to be.

K and L had integral roles to play, padding the middle with informative facts, hinting at clues that led the other astray. Q and U took turns stirring the stew, whilst last, but not least, the letter Zed threaded the plot and tied up loose ends.

My alpha and beta’s have quit the cabaret, no longer a show of spell, not tell.

Their exit sealed my fate, as I’m staring at a blank slate.

The drama ensued the morning of Day 105 in loco lockdown. There was a scuffle. A squabble. Accusations. Shouting. Stomping. Doors slamming. Dead silence.

I was caught in the middle with nowhere to go.

It all started with a game of scrabble. It was meant to be an entertaining diversion from the monotony of being stuck in the quagmire of the quarantine clock, yet had I known of the hysterics to follow, I would have suggested a game of solitaire instead.

The disagreement was trivial. Beyond ludicrous. After all, how many versions of a word are there to dispute? Apparently more than I cared to know. The epic battle of the War of the Words had just begun. The cauldron of long pent-up rivalries had boiled over into a scathing knock-down-drag-out spat, scalding the ever so fragile egos of the duelling duo.

Oy vey. Here we go again.

Ms. Thesaurus and Le Dictionary were in it for the long haul in the altercation of the century. And, where am I? Sequestered at home with the lot of them; a bunch of raving lunatics.

It hasn’t always been like this, but three long months of lockdown were enough to make anyone go insane. I concur with the both of them. After all, they’re “family”, albeit a tad dysfunctional, but nonetheless, I sympathize with their differing points of view.

Ms. Thesaurus had quite the superiority complex, a bona-fide show-off skilled at showcasing her vast repertoire of synonyms. A literal treasury of ideas and expressions, as well as countless versions of opposing antonyms were more than enough to prove her point.

Monsieur Dictionary was quite the je ne sais quoi know-it-all, honoured to document all facets of a word. Definitions, meanings and pronunciations, just to name a few.

They used to work in tandem and were one heck of an unstoppable team, a writer’s dream, but now all that they do is point fingers and scream. The two used to discourse, debate, bounce ideas around and create in the good old days of far-away yesterday.

The fracas started over the simplest of wordings.

Whether to go fishing, spend a weekend in Long Island, holiday in Spain, take a siesta, frolic in the park or jubilee unapologetically once we’re all set free.

Are you kidding me? Give me a break!

To be continued…

Next post: In one or two weeks, the w/o June 29^th or w/o July 5^th, either on Thursday or Friday or thereabouts. Stay tuned! Stay home, stay safe and catch up on your reading!!