Back to Lockdown

Musta been some COVID party: one of two stacks of wine boxes by the curb
in front of an apartment building on Isabella Street. 

Bruce and I took a walk yesterday to make the most of what might be the last of the nice weather. We started the walk around 3:00 p.m., so the Premier had not yet announced what Ontario was going to do next about the pandemic.

We made our way north to Rosedale, along Glen Road, through Chorley Park, and down onto the Belt Line. We climbed back up to street level at Heath Street. Our long term plan was to take the subway from St. Clair station back downtown.

But first, we stopped at a local pub for a beer. Turns out the fine weather is not the only thing we'll be seeing the last of. Just as we left the tented patio, after we'd fortified ourselves with some pints of Guinness, we heard people talking about the lockdown like it was a coming storm.

When we got home, I looked on line. Because people have been gathering at weddings and home parties to spread the virus, Ontario is closing retail stores, restricting the numbers of people inside of grocery stores and prohibiting the consumption of food and drink on outdoor patios.

Makes sense to me.

The Sixty-Four-Year-Old Man and the Genie, Part Two

A sixty-six-year-old man was cleaning out the basement of his family's home. His wife of forty-two years and he were going to sell the place, downsize and move to the west coast where their children and grandchildren lived.

He'd already been at his task for the best part of a week. Every box he opened, every corner he searched, brought another flood of memories. It was slow work, but he wasn't in a rush. He'd retired two years ago. Since then, each day was better than the one before.

His health was good. He and his wife were as happy together as they had ever been. Their children were genuinely pleased their parents were going to move close to them. Everyone was looking forward to that.

The SSYO man had one last dark corner to clean. Digging through piles of stuff carelessly heaped against the wall, he found an old box, like a strong box, but the metal was shiny and its surface was etched with odd-looking marks. He brushed the surface with his hand to remove some dust.

WHAM! A blow out of nowhere knocked the box out of his hand and made the SSYO man fall back flat on his ass. Stacks of old magazines and board games broke his fall.

“Time's up” said a mild voice.

* * *

I never did find the second part of the story as I wrote it ten years ago, but I recall it landed in the same general vicinity as the story above. The sixty-four-year-old man chose happiness, of course.

Thanks for reading!

Stay safe!

Karen

$14.95 a bottle at the LCBO