Interpretation by Deanna R. Bourassa
This was the blog that I had planned to talk about how hard it can be to make time for yourself. How it would be so nice for all of the overly busy people of the world to take a whole month away from it all, to go on a kind of home island sabbatical where everyone knows you are off limits so they leave you alone.
I had planned to write about just how dreamy it would be to check out for a while and I imagined how people would nod heads and agree with me and say things like… If only!
And then Coronavirus walked in to our world wide dinner party with its friend Quarantine and here we are on a home island sabbatical that we did not get to plan or design.
Some of you are alone. With lots and lots and too much time to yourselves.
Some of you are trying to entertain squirrelly kids or hormonal high-schoolers or bedraggled spouses or lonely aging parents who are stuck inside a zoom wall and you have absolutely no time to yourselves.
Maybe it was kind of nice to cozy up at home and bake things for a while but it quickly got not-so-nice for anyone who is not a monk or a very practiced hermit. And now a lot of people are going crazy on a lot of levels.
I’m all done with loving sabbatical and the terms that go along with it. But no, I’m not going to run to a beach and jump on the back of the nearest tanned, muscular surfer. In fact, I’m still going to grocery shop only when I absolutely need to and I’m going to wear a mask and I’m going to grow my tomatoes —and my hair— with gratitude and connect with friends in a Bette Midler “From a Distance” kind of way.
But here’s the deal. If it just so happens that one day (like tomorrow?) Coronavirus and Quarantine decide that this dinner party is way too boring, if they just magically walk out the door and “disappear” then guess what folks? You are ALL invited to fill the empty seats at my August table and gorge on tomatoes until you turn 50 shades of pink.
I hope to see you soon. I really, really do.