Snippets: 5 Days of Journal Entries

a snapshot in time & life

28 Nov. 2020 | Saturday

It's an early COVID curfew day. Saturday and Sunday we need to be in our respective homes at 1pm. I met with M for a vegan burger at Bloomy; it was delicious. We chatted and ate, mindful of the time, then headed back to our apartments to wait—for what, I don’t know. As we crossed a busy intersection on Avenida Luísa Todi, I noticed a man tightly wrapped in his clothes and stretched out on a park bench, his face partially covered by his hat.

I asked my friend, "Where do the homeless people go when they have to be home by 1 pm?"

29 Nov. 2020 | Sunday

Woke a bit later than usual; makes sense as I stayed up late. My body hurts less upon waking than it usually does. This is a gift. I get myself dressed and put Milo's harness on as we stumble outside for our first walk of the day. Few people are out on curfew Sunday, no need for masks with so much distance between them, yet 50% are masked and going about their business. Most of the leaves have fallen from the trees making a dappled carpet of yellows and oranges along the sidewalk.

Sunday's are sleepy around here, but even more so these days.

Lights are hung throughout the park along with a few decorations in a glancing nod to the Christmas season, but there will be few public festivities. With COVID cases increasing, we’re all just waiting for the next shoe to drop, or so it feels.

Back home after a coffee date with a friend, the rain starts to fall. I make another cup of coffee and wonder what January will be like. February? Will I get back to San Diego for a visit in the spring? Autumn? There are no answers, and even the best guesses are just that, guesses. So, we wait. At least my body doesn't ache too much.

30 Nov. 2020 | Monday

Decided to finally tackle the paper pile I mentioned in my last newsletter. I keep my home super tidy, but this pile of papers, well, I don't have a proper place for things (no filing cabinet or filing boxes), so it has grown, and it seems menacing. It scares me. Honestly, it's probably just about 6 inches tall, but I know once I start it will take hours, if not days.

As I start to dig into the paper pile, I put on Spotify to some random suggested playlist. After a few songs by the Rolling Stones, The Clash, and Al Green, on comes the song Blue Monday by New Order (and on a Monday, no less!). This song, that incessant opening beat, took me back decades to when I had just moved into a tiny studio in a cool 1920s Spanish-style building in San Diego.

The building had been the living quarters for an order of nuns back in the twenties. But clearly, no nuns lived above me. Just the coked-up party boy who at 2 am would come home from the club and play this song. Over and OVER. I went up there once, knocked on his door—bad idea. I never did that again.

After all these years, that song still brings up negative emotions—funny how music, like a scent, can transport me back decades away to a time that doesn’t even feel like a part of my life.

1 Dec. 2020 | Tuesday

First day of December, where did the year go? It's all gone by in a COVID haze.

Making forward motion, in fits and starts—planning to travel, then not, staying home, numbers getting better, now worse—but better again. Are these measures working? Is this curfew working? I miss hugs.

Yesterday we had to be in our homes at 1pm because it was a holiday. We do this same early afternoon fire drill on the weekends, too. The day before the holiday we are in at 3pm. Some days it makes sense to me; other days, not so much. Today I'm in the not so much camp.

Next week, another holiday, so we'll follow the same pattern. And of course, on the early curfew days, the weather has been glorious. It's as if the universe is taunting us to see how much we can stand. Then I remember that the Spanish flu of 1918 went on for more than two years.

I'd better make another cup of coffee—it's going to be a long winter.

2 Dec. 2020 | Wednesday

Woke to sunlight streaming through the kitchen window. Sunlight is a welcome visitor on these short days. Although once outside, the temperature was in contradiction to the bright light.

The cold wind made me tense my muscles wishing I had grabbed a scarf before we went out.

Milo is my priority in the morning, whether I'm ready or not. I get up, try to shake off the sleep, and dress for our first dog walk. He runs around making whimpering noises, which makes me think he's going to have an accident in the house.

He never does.

I talk in soothing tones to him while I locate some socks. Then, just as I think he might actually have that accident, I pick up his harness and leash, bend down to put it on him, but he runs away to his toy box to grab a stuffed animal, usually hound or baby flea, and taunts me into playing. This is a daily ritual.

I cajole him back, put on his harness, and we're off. Cold wind be damned!

My house is still a mess, although the paper pile is largely tamed with the essential bits filed away in new and ostensibly more logical places. When I decided to file the pile, I also decided it was time to rearrange furniture. My mom and my friend, Sophia, say, “If it's midnight, Shanna must be rearranging furniture.” They know me well.

I'm a chronic re-arranger. It's the way I maintain a bit of control over my environment, I suppose. And it's fun. But, I do tend to start around 10 pm.

I don't like living with the same furniture configuration for too long. Although my regular moving of the stuff does confuse Milo a bit. He gets the same look on his face when I move furniture as he does when we're moving from one apartment to the next. I read his look as a mix of concern and are you kidding me—again?

I hope you enjoyed these little snapshots of my day. I’d like to know about your days, too. What do you do every day? Coffee, dog walk, yoga, read, jog, or ?

GOOD LINKS

Read

• Here are 8 ways travel will change after the pandemic via National Geographic

• Motherland: A Memoir of Love, Loathing, and Longing by Elissa Altman (book)

• Want to help animals? Here’s where to donate to end suffering via Vox (if you think eggs are not bad and fish don’t feel pain, please read—no horrifying images here, I promise).

Listen

• Vox’s Future Perfect podcast is binge-able—so good!

—> My readers are the best—thank you for your support! If you enjoy life: examined, please comment, share it—and if you want, buy me a coffee. Your generosity keeps me caffeinated, inspired, and writing!