FEBRUARY 2012: Getting To Look Like Willie Nelson

 

GETTING TO LOOK LIKE WILLIE NELSON

 February 6, 2021 - 

Just 43 days until spring

It’s 6:30 am…time to get up.

I shuffle to the kitchen, 

make my instant coffee, 

then shuffle to the sliding glass door looking  out onto our back yard.

I study my reflection in the glass.

I’m getting to look more like Willie Nelson every day,

he’s older than me of course, but all the same,

I’ve got the wrinkles, the sagging flesh, and the pasty coloured skin,

that befits just about everyone in their eighties.

 I think to myself, “give me a bandana, a cowboy hat and a worn guitar. and Willie and I could make a good team.”

“On the road again, on the road again,” I hum to myself.

I also think to myself, “give me the weed that Willie smokes because,

if I’m to get through the winter, 

God knows,  

I’ll probably need it.”

Winter, here in the Great White North, also known as Canada, is hard to take,

especially if you’re pushing eighty years of age. Still thinking,

I wonder out loud and say to myself “where has the time gone, one minute your only seventy with years to go, and 

the next thing you know you’re peering over the wall at eighty.” Shit, 

it’s so frustrating to be old.

Old and cold, old and cold. Always cold. My medicine I’m told, medicine to help me stay old, and not go away.

It’s sunny today. Enticing, but as it’s still cold, I shy away, 

content to stay inside….and wait. For what, I’m not certain, as when it’s warmer, 

I’ll look more like Willie Nelson. 

Covid-19, a virus, is to blame. It hitched a ride with a traveller, 

from China, we believe, way back in 2019, but 

was not recognized as a pandemic threat until March 2020.

Many died, and more, many more were still to die

We’ve since been forced to isolate, and 

mask up when we venture outside the relative safety of our homes. 

Some, however, refuse to accept the reality of the the threat, and 

unknowingly, 

at least for them, 

become the virus’s best friend, 

spreading the virus with every cough.

Vaccines are being developed, and some 

have been vaccinated, but

most of us have not, and the not knowing

if you might become another victim,

after eleven months of masking and isolating,

is beginning

to wear thin. 

Peering through the sliding glass door into the back yard, I observe 

that the bird feeding station has visitors,

two Juncos, and a Tree Sparrow. Same ones as yesterday, 

I suppose, although, 

I really have no way of knowing.

I turn away from the sliding glass door, and 

shuffle from the kitchen to what we call the computer room, 

and log on….

Another day of isolation begins.

February 7, 2021 -

Just 42 days until spring.

It’s 6:30 am…time to get up.

I shuffle to the kitchen, 

make my instant coffee, 

then shuffle to the sliding glass door looking  out onto our back yard.

It’s still cold. Snow squalls from off the Bay, have dumped a couple of inches of snow on the back deck. 

It’s going to be a tough day for the birds at our feeding station, 

at least for the ground feeders as the snow 

has covered the seed.

The blowing snow clears for the moment.

If you didn’t know that there was a pandemic, 

and that the virus and its variants,

were out there, lurking, waiting to infect you, 

then you’d marvel at the beauty of the fallen snow.

The wind picks up and blowing snow obscures….everything.

I turn away from the sliding glass door, and 

shuffle from the kitchen to what we call the computer room, 

and log on….

Another day of isolation begins.

I check the weather. The forecast calls for snow, then more snow, followed by even more snow.

The news is same old, same old. The pandemic is still with us, and apparently,

will remain so for many months to come. 

One of the articles reports that Canada has experienced 800,000 infections, 

since the beginning of the pandemic, 

some eleven months ago.

As if I needed to know. 

There’s no good news to speak of, but then,

it wouldn’t be news if it were good news,

would it? But then, I notice something that could be considered good news,

Canada has a new Poet Laureate, an indigenous poet, Louise Bernice Halfe…..

āniskōstēw - connecting

I cannot say for sure what happened

to my mother and father.

The story said,

she went to St. Anthony's Residential School

and he went to Blue Quills.

They slept on straw mattresses and

attended classes for half a day.

Mother worked as a seamstress,

a kitchen helper, a dining room servant,

or labored in the laundry room.

Father carried feed for the pigs,

cut hay for the cattle and

toiled in the massive garden.

That little story is bigger than I can tell.

From Burning in this Midnight Dream by Louise Bernice Halfe 

©2016. Published by Coteau Books. 

I don’t know what to think. Are we providing indigenous peoples a soap box to air their grievances against White persons, 

inflaming an already tenuous situation, or will she, 

when called upon to provide a poem 

ignore the past, and

praise the future of this great land.

I set aside the article, and get on with my day…

The blowing snow has now become something of a blizzard.

I’m finished writing,

It’s now 10:30 am.

I shuffle off to the kitchen, 

make an instant coffee, 

then shuffle to the sliding glass door, and 

look out onto our back yard. I see Willie’s reflection.

The snow keeps falling…..

February 8, 2021

Just 41 days until spring.

It’s 6:30 am…time to get up.

I shuffle to the kitchen, 

make my instant coffee, 

then shuffle to the sliding glass door looking out onto our back yard.

In the reflection I see that he’s still there, 

Willie Nelson, in all of his not so glory.

We received a huge dump of snow overnight. The birds must be happy. 

No doubt there’ll  be  a number of empty gizzards this morning.

I sip my coffee and think to myself how much, at one time I enjoyed a fresh dump of snow on a cold winter’s morning. In my mind’s eye I see myself skiing the snow covered trails zipping down the hills and snowploughing around the corners. I remember it as exhilarating. Now, simply stated, I hate the snow, it’s heavy on the shovel, and it’s cold shovelling. A beta blocker will do this to you every time. “Being old is not fun”, I say out loud, although there’s no one to hear me.

I turn away from the sliding glass door, and 

shuffle from the kitchen to what we call the computer room, 

and log on….

Another day of isolation begins.

I’m feeling somewhat out of it, no energy, and just looking out the window of my studio watching walkers pass by bundled up and hunched over, makes me feel cold. When I’m down I tend to think negatively. The other night, sleep evasive, I had this thought rattle through my head, an analogy about the meaning of life, and decided to write a few words. Not great poetry, but, what can I say it helps to pass the time….

Life 

Life is like a vacation,

it’s planned, studied, and anticipated, and

then the day arrives.

There’s some travelling before you arrive at your destination,

some unpacking, 

exploring, 

and planning. 

Then comes a period of enjoyment, 

sunny days, 

sunny ways, and

then one day, 

mid way through your time away, 

you take stock of the days left, and 

you try to cram enjoyment in whatever time is left.

The day comes when, 

there’s no time left. You must go home,

you have no choice.

Life,

unlike a vacation, 

returning home is not like home, but 

something more eternal. 

So, like a vacation,

plan your life - 

before unpacking.

EAS 2021

I make the mistake of reading the CBC News. What to say? There’s an article about the decline in the Grey Jay population in Algonquin Park. I think to myself, “really, these studies have been going on for decades.” I went on line and suggested that they, the researchers, should move on and accept that a changing habitat and visitor pressure on the park, and on the birds themselves is to blame. Immediately, one of the idiots that spends most of their time writing comments, attacks my comments. I move on. There’s an article about one of the vaccines having been withdrawn because it is ineffective for the African variant. I find this interesting, the fact that every country seems to have their own variant. Why? I look at some of the other headlines then give it up, as it would seem that the whole world has gone crazy.

The thing about the Covid-19 variants being more infectious has me worried. Sandy, my wife, also seems to be concerned. We’re old. She’s a few years younger, but with me being just shy of the age where they stop keeping statistics should you get infected, presuming that it’s a miracle if you survive, I’m morbidly concerned. It’s been eleven months of avoiding the shadows waiting for a vaccine and now the virus is playing tricks on our efforts to control, or kill it. I suppose that we can only hope.

Tomorrow, Sandy has to attend a dental specialist in Barrie. Hopefully, it won’t snow. Wishful thinking, perhaps. And then there’s the thing about coming in contact with others, and possible infection.

I’m thinking that these are no longer interesting times, but the shitty of times of my existence. Life is pretty much over it would seem. First there’s the vascular thing, and its treatment with a beta blocker which slows me to a crawl, and now this virus. “If I should survive”, I think to myself, “I’ll get in the car and drive to New Mexico, somewhere, anywhere, even if it kills me.” 

I’m through writing, talking to myself. Perhaps, tomorrow, or another tomorrow, we’ll see….

It’s now11;15 am.

I shuffle off to the kitchen, 

make an instant coffee, 

then shuffle to the sliding glass door, and 

look out onto our back yard. Willie’s still there.

February 11, 2021

Just 38 days until spring.

Up late this morning, 7:00 am.

It’s now light at this time of the morning. Winter, however,

continues to hang on. It snowed all day yesterday, and

the temperature overnight and this morning is close to -20C. On the plus side,

from the look of things from the bedroom window it may turn out to be sunny.

I shuffle to the kitchen, 

make my instant coffee, 

then shuffle to the sliding glass door looking out onto our back yard.

Just snow, no reflection, no birds at the feeders, and no willie Nelson.

I turn away from the sliding glass door, and 

shuffle from the kitchen to what we call the computer room, 

and log on….

Another day of isolation begins.

I continue to make the same mistake very day, reading the CBC morning news. I find it so depressing. If it’s not about Covid-19, and its variants, a new one for every country, its about the human toll that it’s taking, then it’s about “Black Lives Matter”, or Indigenous problems, all caused by the sins of my fathers. Racism is endemic, but only practiced by White persons. As if the minorities are lily white, and aren’t also racist. Of course one can’t say anything as your comments will be seen to be racist.

I glance at the news headlines and come to the conclusion that I’d be better off not reading the news, and proceed to delete the link to the CBC News from my Bookmarks.

My life has become complex, just when it should have become less so.

I check our emails. There’s nothing terribly earth shattering, so I fiddle for a few minutes attempting to delete old mail and archive those that, at least fro the moment, seem important.

I put the computer to sleep. Perhaps, I’ll find some reason to return later today.

It’s now10:15 am.

I shuffle off to the kitchen, 

make an instant coffee, 

then shuffle to the sliding glass door, and 

look out onto our back yard. Still no Willie, and no birds at the feeders, just snow, although, on the plus side, it appears that it may turn out to be a sunny day.

February 14, 2021

Just 35 days until spring.

Up at 5:30 am. Do my daily exercise,

then I shuffle to the kitchen, 

make my instant coffee. 

No looking for Willie this morning,

not enough time. We’re going grocery shopping at 7:30 am.

We go early to the Loblaws Super Store to avoid any crowds. With Covid-19, now in a variant stage, 

that is more transmissible,  and apparently, more deadly, 

we want to avoid people at all cost.

The Super Store has few customers. We make use of a shopping list mimicking the layout of the store, 

which helps us to get things done quickly, and minimizes our stay. We’re back home inside of an hour, put the groceries away, then

wash our hands and change some of our clothes. Shopping early, wearing a mask, practising distancing from other shoppers, and sanitizing everything is a part of everyones’ ritual these days. Life in the time of the pandemic has very much changed the way that we go about our daily lives.

It’s Valentine Day. Roses in the grocery store are almost $35.00 a dozen. The price of chocolates has been pushed higher.

We, or perhaps we should say ” I” am not a fan of Valentine Day. I may have been, but for the life of me I can’t remember.

When I was but a child Valentine Day was celebrated with cut out cards. You could buy a book that contained a lot of cards, and you’d cut them out and address them to someone you liked in your class then you’d drop them in a cardboard box in your classroom at school. On Valentine day, at the end of the school day, the teacher would draw them out, and hand them to the person to whom they were addressed. Everyone got a card. The more popular kids would get more than one, and to avoid embarrassment the teacher would put extra cards in the box for those that seemed to be left out. Of course we didn’t know that the teacher did this. It was something that you learned as you got older.

Our neighbours across the street, Mr. & Mrs. Hook, always gave my sister Judy and me a card. They were old, and their children had all grown up and moved away. I suppose that in doing so it brought back memories of when their children were young. We gave them cards, as well, until we all grew older, and they went away. Thinking about the Hooks brings back a lot of memories. Reminds me that I should write them down someday, before I grow older, and also go away.

We got a dump of snow last night, 3” - 4”, of the light, fluffy stuff. Sandy shovelled the deck, and I shovelled the stuff thrown into the driveway by the plough. We’ve now got as much snow as we did last winter…. with more in the forecast.

I log out and shuffle to the kitchen. The sun’s come out. There’s no reflection in the sliding glass door. No Willie Nelson today. Time to start supper, roast beast, roast potatoes, and a cauliflower dish put together by Sandy. Apple cake for dessert.

Another day of Covid survival, and isolation. Eleven months of this. One wonders if we will ever see the end?