Jim_S
Gone But Not Forgotten
The Blessing of Time On Our Hands
Orange County Register - Doug McIntyre, Columnist
https://ocregister-ca.newsmemory.com/?utm_email=65639514D4C1A570C48C747587
Last week, I finally swallowed my pride and went to my local grocery store during their special senior shopping hour. This is a tough pill to swallow, especially in Hollywood, were too many candles on a birthday cake has killed more careers than the House Un-American Activities Committee.
I needed a few things, needed them so badly, I was willing to risk death to get them. Toilet paper (of course) because we all recognize, toilet paper is the foundation upon which civilization is built, the only thing that separates us from the animals. Paper towels are a close second, but even with senior shopping hours, I struck out. Instead, I loaded up on napkins and Kleenex just to be safe and moved on to the rest of my list, scoring a case of Diet Coke, a pack of Beyond Sausage, a frozen gluten-free cauliflower- crust pizza, one 14-oz can of cranberry sauce, a jar of capers and a bag of low-salt pretzels. Yes, COVID-19 may get me, but sodium won’t.
The idea of a senior shopping hour is one of the many innovations cooked up during this pandemic to make things safer, more efficient, kinder. Unfortunately, senior shopping is a work in progress. By the time the first granny finished writing her check at the cash register, senior hour was over and the store was flooded with 40- and 50-somethings hording humus, whole-milk honey Greek yogurt and all-natural Madagascar vanilla rice pudding and other life-essentials as if it were 1983 and groceries were Cabbage Patch Kids. I took my haul home, drowning everything in a vat of bleach and hand-sanitizer and then burning the reusable shopping bags in my Big Green Egg grill in the backyard. Exhausted, I needed a nap. It was almost 10:30 in the morning.
What to do the rest of the day?
For a people acclimated to racing pixels across time zones, jetting from coast to coast, continent to continent, cruising the rivers of Europe or bouncing in a Zodiac to Antarctica, a microscopic bug has slammed on the brakes on the 21st century.
While endlessly scrubbing germs off our hands we suddenly find ourselves with time on our hands.
I’ve cleaned the garage. I mean down on my hands and knees under the work bench clean. Our garden doesn’t have a single weed. The tarps I threw over the leaky skylights last fall have been folded, the bungie cords wrapped and the extension ladder stowed. My sock drawer has been purged of orphans and our cars have never been cleaner. The Wife’s “honey-do” list is a “honeydone” list.
Now what?
I’ve watched all seven episodes of Tiger King, all nine innings of Game One of the 1988 World Series. I scanned a family photo album and untangled the rat’s nest of cables under my desk. I finished “War and Peace.” (Spoiler alert! Napoleon retreats and Natasha marries Pierre.) The Wife even de-cluttered the pantry, finally tossing that jar of mango chutney that expired in 2012. We’re out of chores, out of conversation and soon out of our minds.
On a shelf in our hall closet is a set of bagpipes. Fear not. I am leaving the bagpipes where they are. The world has suffered enough.
Still, we have a piano I don’t know how to play. We have guitars gathering dust in the corner and The Wife’s ukuleles are scattered all over the house. I promised her someday I’d learn. If only I had the time. There’s an easel in the spare room with tubes of unopened paints. I have kettlebells, workout mats and stretchybands on the deck, my alleged home gym. I have a folder on my desktop of New Year’s resolutions with dozens and dozens of boxes still unchecked.
I have Spanish language tapes to listen to, stacks of books to read and old friends I haven’t called in years. Likely, so do you.
If not now, when?
Doug McIntyre’s column appears Sundays. He can be reached at: Doug@DougMcIntyre.com.
Orange County Register - Doug McIntyre, Columnist
https://ocregister-ca.newsmemory.com/?utm_email=65639514D4C1A570C48C747587
Last week, I finally swallowed my pride and went to my local grocery store during their special senior shopping hour. This is a tough pill to swallow, especially in Hollywood, were too many candles on a birthday cake has killed more careers than the House Un-American Activities Committee.
I needed a few things, needed them so badly, I was willing to risk death to get them. Toilet paper (of course) because we all recognize, toilet paper is the foundation upon which civilization is built, the only thing that separates us from the animals. Paper towels are a close second, but even with senior shopping hours, I struck out. Instead, I loaded up on napkins and Kleenex just to be safe and moved on to the rest of my list, scoring a case of Diet Coke, a pack of Beyond Sausage, a frozen gluten-free cauliflower- crust pizza, one 14-oz can of cranberry sauce, a jar of capers and a bag of low-salt pretzels. Yes, COVID-19 may get me, but sodium won’t.
The idea of a senior shopping hour is one of the many innovations cooked up during this pandemic to make things safer, more efficient, kinder. Unfortunately, senior shopping is a work in progress. By the time the first granny finished writing her check at the cash register, senior hour was over and the store was flooded with 40- and 50-somethings hording humus, whole-milk honey Greek yogurt and all-natural Madagascar vanilla rice pudding and other life-essentials as if it were 1983 and groceries were Cabbage Patch Kids. I took my haul home, drowning everything in a vat of bleach and hand-sanitizer and then burning the reusable shopping bags in my Big Green Egg grill in the backyard. Exhausted, I needed a nap. It was almost 10:30 in the morning.
What to do the rest of the day?
For a people acclimated to racing pixels across time zones, jetting from coast to coast, continent to continent, cruising the rivers of Europe or bouncing in a Zodiac to Antarctica, a microscopic bug has slammed on the brakes on the 21st century.
While endlessly scrubbing germs off our hands we suddenly find ourselves with time on our hands.
I’ve cleaned the garage. I mean down on my hands and knees under the work bench clean. Our garden doesn’t have a single weed. The tarps I threw over the leaky skylights last fall have been folded, the bungie cords wrapped and the extension ladder stowed. My sock drawer has been purged of orphans and our cars have never been cleaner. The Wife’s “honey-do” list is a “honeydone” list.
Now what?
I’ve watched all seven episodes of Tiger King, all nine innings of Game One of the 1988 World Series. I scanned a family photo album and untangled the rat’s nest of cables under my desk. I finished “War and Peace.” (Spoiler alert! Napoleon retreats and Natasha marries Pierre.) The Wife even de-cluttered the pantry, finally tossing that jar of mango chutney that expired in 2012. We’re out of chores, out of conversation and soon out of our minds.
On a shelf in our hall closet is a set of bagpipes. Fear not. I am leaving the bagpipes where they are. The world has suffered enough.
Still, we have a piano I don’t know how to play. We have guitars gathering dust in the corner and The Wife’s ukuleles are scattered all over the house. I promised her someday I’d learn. If only I had the time. There’s an easel in the spare room with tubes of unopened paints. I have kettlebells, workout mats and stretchybands on the deck, my alleged home gym. I have a folder on my desktop of New Year’s resolutions with dozens and dozens of boxes still unchecked.
I have Spanish language tapes to listen to, stacks of books to read and old friends I haven’t called in years. Likely, so do you.
If not now, when?
Doug McIntyre’s column appears Sundays. He can be reached at: Doug@DougMcIntyre.com.
