random truths – Day 1,021 (Monday) – magic slate

Before the morning coffee and chopping and rationing the dwindling chicken supply for Winston’s breakfast ... before the runny nose and search for tissues in the bathroom closet … before the sneezing and headache, couch snuggles with Winston, the news and Wordle, there were ideas. Great ideas. Ok, probably more like lame to mediocre ideas.

And before a single reminder or keyword or nugget of any of them was written down, the ideas were completely forgotten. The only thing left was the memory that there had been ideas, but no actual ideas. Again.

It’s not the first time and it’s kind of depressing. Ok, a lot depressing. And sometimes frightening.

This used to be fun.

It happens with ideas for work, potentially fun things to do, singular sentences and entire topics. Very little is spared. But ask me what I wore when I was 12 and my family went somewhere on vacation and there is a very good chance I remember that. Go figure. 

The disappearing ideas are like the Magic Slate toy I had as a kid. You know the one – you write on the plastic sheet with the plastic pencil stick and the words and images appear and when you lift the plastic sheet, they disappear. Somehow, the ideas disappear just like lifting the sheet on that Magic Slate. It was fun when it was a toy but now that it's more like real life, not so much. 

Overall, this week's Monday holiday was a lot of more of the same. There were the daily forgotten ideas, but also some special touches from the COVID. Streaming shows and chilling on the couch featured the return of actual chills, plus blankets and a nearby box of tissues. When my hands were frozen, there was a trip to the kitchen sink to hand wash the never-ending collection of plastic storage containers that don’t fit in the dishwasher. The hot water feels nice and thaws the hands for a bit.

The afternoon included the initial phase of the Christmas decorations round up. Wreaths were gathered and bagged on the dining room table staging area in preparation of their return to the storage tubs. The return to the couch included hours of laughing out loud to Key and Peele streaming on Netflix.

A superhero friend texted to see if I needed a roasted chicken for Winston. I did need one, and suddenly it was handled and there were two roasted chickens on the table in the porch and I am grateful. Canine Overlord Winston dined like a king on the usual portion of fresh, warm chicken mixed into the expensive and seemingly horrendous glucose management food he doesn’t like. He avoids eating it until every last tiny morsel of chicken is gone and sometimes not even then. But we are restocked with roasted chickens which have both been carved, portioned and packaged, and some of it sent to the freezer.

The house is filled with the aroma of the carcasses simmering in the pot for bone broth. I’m glad to be able to smell it and thankful for thoughtful friends. And the countdown is activated until the next holiday. Two whole weeks. Oy.