- THE RANT
- RAVENS
- SHOPPING
- HEAVY
- KIDS (new)
HUMOUR
•
• • • • • • •
•
• • • • • • •
The VIRUS DIARIES
By
Rick Goodman ©Copyright 2020
Contact author Rick Goodman if you'd like to publsh The
VIRUS DIARIES for your Humour Column
in your publication. Other topics are available as well.
To
know more about the author and other story topics, email:
rickgoodmansk@gmail.com
THE RANT
By Rick Goodman ©Copyright 2020
Bea and
I were watching TV this weekend when our Prime Minister came on and did
a speech on what the federal government is doing to help us common people
through these trying times. Before getting into it he took the time to
stress the importance of social distancing. His wife is practicing it.
Up in cottage country with the kids. And a security detail. And, for all
I know, a private physician. He, of course is self isolating at home,
where the media has easier access to him.
There's quite an impressive
list of programs coming out to help small business and wage earners and
their families weather the economic havoc this virus is wreaking on our
economy. Tax breaks, easier access to employment insurance, short term
income tax deferral. The list goes on.
My favorite is a 9
million dollar program designed to aid seniors in need. A google search
shows around six and a half million Canadians are over age 65. If the
Feds were to lose complete control of the purse strings and spread this
around to every senior in the country we could all expect a cheque for
around $1.38 each. Taxable, and before administration costs. Of course
that's just silly and they aren't going to do that. The plan is to assist
seniors in need.
Another google search
says around 6.7 percent, or somewhat less than a half a million seniors
in this country live in poverty. Now if you divvy up the pie between all
those in need they are going to get a one time windfall of around $20.67.
Pre-tax. Now the thinking in Ottawa seems to be that if you give poor
people that kind of money it will probably just get squandered. On food,
or Gosh only knows what. So the plan seems to be to send people out and
do home checks. With the virus as contagious as it is the plan is to throw
a rock through a senior's window. If he or she has the strength to throw
it back out the protocol will be to assume that they are OK and do NOT
need assistance.
There's a rumour going
around that if there's any money left over they plan to build dumpster
ramps to make foraging a more secure experience for the mobility impaired.
Kind of a social safety net if you will.
Well done Ottawa, well done.
AIR TRAVEL
By Rick Goodman ©Copyright 2020
Bea and
I were reminiscing about how we used to travel and wondering how long
it will be before we can pack our bags and head out again. I hate to say
it but it's probably going to be awhile. But it's fun to remember some
of the places we've been. And some of the experiences we've had getting
there.
A few
years ago we were on a flight out of Bangkok headed to Hanoi in North
Vietnam.(Any time we go someplace we try and learn a few handy phrases
in the local language. 'Gow' and 'bia', meaning 'hello' and 'beer' were
the only words that stuck with me at that time.)
We dodged
thunderstorms on the flight and crabbed sideways in a dirty crosswind
over the Red River on our decent into Noi Bai airport. The plane was rocking
and bouncing.
"Oh
Good Lord," I thought, " This is probably why they call it the
Final Approach."
Have
you ever noticed how quiet people get on takeoffs and landings? That's
because deep down in the reptile part of our brain we know that flying
is un-natural, the laws of aerodynamics is just so much malarkey, the
only thing that's going to get this thing off and then back on the ground
again in one piece is the collective mental concentration of every person
on board. That's why the cabin crew don't let you play with your phones
and tablets. The pilot needs every bit of psychic energy he can get his
hands on.
That's
on a normal routine flight. When things start getting rough and interesting
the group cohesion starts to disintegrate and people start making deals
with God. Gluttony, debauchery, cheating on income tax. All gone, please
God just get us on the ground in one piece and You'll never have to worry
about that kind of behavior from us ever again. Deals and possibly a quick
word of gratitude.
"Thank you Lord for making me remember to put clean underwear on
this morning."
And noise,
people start making noise. The plane heaved and then dropped and the tail
swung sharply to port. When the cabin lights went out the guy in the window
seat started making little whimpering sounds.
"Ooh,
ooh, ooh," he kept moaning.
I found myself chanting, "Gow, Bia," over and over.
Bea was taking deep breaths and going, 'EEEEEEEE."
We sounded
like a rap group.
And then
the wheels hit the runway and 237 people slammed their feet down on where
the ancillary brake petals were supposed to be and then started to clap
and cheer as the aircraft slowed down.
Hello Vietnam!
• • • • • • •
• •
• • • • • • •
RAVENS
By Rick Goodman ©Copyright 2020
Ever
since this Covid-19 pandemic has started Bea and I have been basically
locked down at home. And like everybody else we keep looking for ways
to help deal with it. We've found exercise to be a healthy stress relieving
activity. After our morning coffee we unroll our yoga mats, call up a
yoga video on u-tube and spend 10 or 15 minutes pretending we're young
and supple again. Well we're not.
"Bend
all the way forward," the lady on the tv says, " Hands flat
on the floor."
And that's
when I break wind.
"You
pig!" Bea says.
And the
lady on the tv tells her to take a deep breath in. See what I mean about
stress relief? It cracks me up every time.
We tried
walking on the treadmill for awhile as well. Both solo and tandem but
had to give it up because it just wasn't getting us anywhere. Lately we've
been driving out to the camp and hiking up and down our access road. Not
a bad bit of exercise but I figured we could do better if we tried snowshoeing
again. It took all morning to find the snowshoes, we hadn't been on them
for around 35 years and for the life of us we couldn't remember why we
had given it up. It was going to be great! We'd drive up to camp, hike
up past the outhouse, swing by the apple trees and then head down to the
river and cross over to the muskeg and see if we could spot a ptarmigan
or two. Then we'd brew some tea over by what we call 'the Big Tree' and
then head home. Couldn't be more than 5 or 6 miles.
The snow
was only around 4 feet deep and soft enough to let you sink past your
knees, even with the snowshoes on. I was breathing hard by the time I'd
broke trail past the greenhouse. Talk about a workout! It would have been
easier to shovel a trail than it was to break trail through the brush
with those instruments of torture strapped to my feet. By the time we
made it to the apple trees I'd had three mini-strokes and one cardiac
event. Bea, being the only sane one there had given up and headed back
to camp to sit by the fire and drink tea.
There
were only 5 and 9/10's miles to go but things were looking bleak. Half
way to the river I started hallucinating. A raven landed in a tree and
told me to lay down in the nice soft snow and go to sleep. Nice raven,
the very voice of reason.
Another
one landed and said to his buddy," Whoa! Look at the hams on that
one! When do we eat?"
"Pretty
soon," the first one said, "Pretty soon."
Eventually Bea showed up on the ski-doo.
"Get on," she said. "Why are you talking to a stump?"
• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •
THE SKUNK
By Rick Goodman ©Copyright 2020
Bea and
I have been spending a lot of time at camp ever since this Covid-19 got
going. It's pretty easy to practice social distancing when the nearest
neighbor is two rife shots away across the river. It's nice. You might
think it would get boring but we manage to keep busy. I keep the wood
box full. Bea cooks. I practice the accordion and Bea goes for long walks
down our bush trail.
The odd
critter wanders through. Squirrels, chipmunks, a couple of young deer
hung out by the apple trees for awhile. It's nice to have them around.
But a couple of mornings ago I stepped out of the tent and saw a skunk
run under the deck. Skunks are generally ok, at least in theory, but we're
not comfortable sharing living space with one. So I set what is called
a live trap, which is nothing more than a box with a spring loaded trap
door. And yesterday we had our skunk.
"Now
what are you going to do with a live skunk?" Bea asked." If
you let it go it'll probably just run back under the deck.
"No
problem," I replied, we'll eat it. Back in the day people used to
eat skunks all the time. I did some research and even came across an old
pioneer recipe."
I'm not
cooking a skunk you fricken lunatic!" Bea exclaimed, "I'm going
for a walk."
"Just
so long as you're back for lunch," I replied. Bea doesn't take to
new concepts too well sometimes. Like cooking a skunk was going to be
some kind of big deal.
Now,
I'm not bragging or anything, but if the truth be known, I'm no slouch
when it comes to the culinary arts. Kraft dinner, wieners, you name it,
and I can dish it up. The secret to cooking is simple. Follow the directions.
Substituting beer for milk in your morning cornflakes might give you that
little pick me up you need to get your morning going but it just doesn't
taste as good as you might have hoped.
I've
never claimed to be the brightest bulb in the chandelier, and Bea will
back me up on that, but I can follow directions. And the directions for
cooking a skunk couldn't have been simpler. First you get a skunk and
then you make a fire outside. Then you take the skunk and put it in a
large pot with carrots and onions and cover it with water.
And that's
when the whole project went all to Hell. The skunk didn't seem to mind
the pot, and looked like he was enjoying the carrots, but good Lord, he
went absolutely berserk when that cold water hit him. He came boiling
out of that pot like a world class saddle bronc at the Calgary stampede,
blasted me with both barrels and lit out for parts unknown. And stink!
It ruined my appetite!
Bea came
back from her walk to find me rolling on the ground in a yellow cloud
of pure evil.
"Told
you," she said.
And now I'm social distancing out on the far edge of the property. In a pup tent. Just me and my accordion.
•
• • • • • • •
•
• • • • • • •
SHOPPING - WITH THE KIDS IN MIND
By Rick Goodman ©Copyright 2020
Yesterday Bea and
I had to come out of self isolation and go shopping. What an experience
that was. Things have changes since this virus has run amok in the world.
There was a sign at the store entrance advising us that a R.A.P.E. team
was on the premises. R.A.P.E. stood for Reaction Against Possible Emitters.
Long story short, through no fault of my own I got raped. All it took
was a sneeze caused by a whiff of some lady's perfume. The Reaction team
ran me to ground in the poultry section, threw a laundry bag over my head
and G.R.O.P.E.D. me down the hot beverage isle, past the express checkout,
and out the door. Apparently G.R.O.P.E. stands for Get Rid Of Potential
Emitter. I'd had a three pack of fryers in my hands when they nabbed me.
My dignity was completely gone by the time the team got me outside but
I by God managed to hang onto those chickens. They had given me hope.
The shopping had gone
really well for Bea. She'd even managed to get a super size family pack
of toilet paper. From what we'd seen on the media this was pretty much
the equivalent of buying a winning lottery ticket. We didn't waste any
time getting a windfall like that into the van and under cover. Getting
mugged on the same day you get raped and groped would have just been too
much to bear.
We were starting to
realize just how dangerous this virus really was. Earlier we felt that
everything would be fine if we just took a few basic precautions. Now
we weren't so sure. Take all the precautions you want and there weren't
any guarantees that you wouldn't catch it. And if you did catch it there
weren't any guarantees that you would survive it. These were sobering
thoughts. By the time we had the van loaded we'd worked out a plan. Just
in case.
The guard at the bank
wouldn't let Bea in the door until she put a facemask on. The bulging
shopping bag she'd gone in with was empty when she came out. It seemed
odd, that is not normally how someone in a facemask does their banking.
Just goes to show you how much things have changed in the world.
That evening we facetimed the kids and let them know what we had done. We feel fine we told them. But just in case the worst should happen we want you guys to go to our bank and open our safety deposit box. You'll find the key in your Mom's panty drawer where she keeps all the important stuff. We've stocked the box with enough toilet paper for you to get two rolls each. Somehow it just seemed like the right thing to do.
•
• • • • • • •
•
• • • • • • •
HARD TIME
By Rick Goodman ©Copyright 2020
Bea and I have been self isolating for awhile now. Sometimes even in the same room. It can get a little stressful at times but so far we've managed to avoid gunplay. For the most part. The secret to getting along is to put a lot of emphasis on each others good points and ignore each others little warts and blemishes. Take a little time and take a good hard look at yourself and try and find ways to make yourself a better person. I myself have done a lot of soul searching and have come to the conclusion that she's darn lucky to have me.
And she knows what she has. And isn't afraid to show her gratitude and affection in so many little ways. Just last night I woke up to find her with a pillow in her hands. She said she thought it would help me stop snoring. And this morning she offered to feed me breakfast in the bathtub. That seemed odd but you should never refuse a kind act. The toaster balanced on the edge of the tub made me a little nervous though.
There's a lot of joking going around on Facebook about the challenges couples are encountering while self distancing. We were talking about that and I mentioned that on the whole things are pretty good as we are. We have a window facing both the street and the main road so we can keep up with the going's on around us.
"Car comin'!" she'll holler from the kitchen, and I'll bolt in from the living room to catch the tail end of the morning's action.
"Dog peeing on the van!" I'll call from the living room.
"Which one?" she'll ask.
"The blue one."
"Dog?" she asks. I can sense her excitement.
"Nah," I reply, "The van." It's a letdown for sure.
It's got to be hard on those people trapped on those cruise ships. Quarantined in a 12 by 12 cabin. Day after interminable day with the one you promised to love and cherish 'til death do you part. Staff trying to keep you fed but the only foods that will slide under the cabin door are pizza, hard boiled eggs and processed cheese slices. Toilet paper being distributed on a lottery basis. The only thing on television is David Suzuki moaning about climate change and the unfortunate effect it's having on the mating habits of some obscure Guatemalan jungle slug.
"Well Dave," you think to yourself, " If you want to observe dysfunctional try locking a pair of them up in one of these cursed cabins."
I asked Bea what she would do to cope if we ever found ourselves in a situation like that.
"Smother you." she said.
"With love?" I asked. That's so sweet.
"No," she replied, "With a pillow."
•
• • • • • • •
•
• • • • • • •
TALKING THE DOG
By Rick Goodman ©Copyright 2020
Bea and
I have been self isolating now for around three weeks and things are actually
going better than either of us had hoped. We were initially afraid that
close confinement would generate a lot of friction and tension and stress,
but so far, so good. There were a few harsh words spoken over the cribbage
and monopoly boards but we are well past that now. ( I had the good fortune
to draw a '29' hand on the last game we played and I must say the language
that resulted was absolutely shocking. Shocking!) But since we taped off
the house into 'his' areas and 'her' areas with a couple of small common
areas things have settled down nicely. Occasionally one of us will commit
an intentional trespass out of pure boredom simply to provoke what I like
to think of as a recreational argument. One of these can keep us entertained
for an entire afternoon. Unless we decide to go non-verbal. These arguments
can go on only as long as the dog is willing to run notes back and forth
so the duration is uncertain at best.
Now you
might be thinking that these little contretemps are savage full blown
donnybrooks but nothing could be further from the truth. We have rules
and we play by them.
Rule
one states that all perceived faults and transgressions of party number
one as pointed out by aggrieved party number two must be relevant and
current and therefore must have occurred post conception. What you might
have been up to when you were an egg is completely out of bounds.
Rule
number two states that regardless of the degree of exasperation experienced
by the parties engaged in said arguments these parties MUST refrain from
indiscriminate gunplay. Verbal broadsides are allowed, as is long range
sniping via dog delivered notes, but the use of live ammunition is strictly
prohibited and will not be tolerated. Any infractions will result in the
wronged party refusing to engage in future recreational arguments. And
that would mean some long and boring afternoons.
At least
we're communicating. We talk to each other, even when we're not recreationally
disagreeing. And we talk to our food. I told my lunch that it was a pretty
darn good looking bologna sandwich earlier today and instructed it to
come to Daddy. Bea had some harsh words with her toast at breakfast when
it fell on the floor butter side down. And when I'm not talking to food
I can usually pick a fight with the TV.
Early
on we tried talking to the cat but he's full time employed eating, sleeping
and licking his butt, and has no time for idle conversation. The dog seems
to enjoy an occasional chat though. And I might be imagining it but lately
he seems to be talking back.
Just
this morning he was sitting by the door so I said to him, "Sparky,
what are you going to do today?"
"Well,"
he replied, "I think I might go for a walk and then later try and
ambush the neighbour's cat."
And then going out the door he looked back and said, Stay home Rick. Stay! Bahahaha!"
•
• • • • • • •
•
• • • • • • •
HEAVY
By Rick Goodman ©Copyright 2020
This corona virus is having a negative effect on my health these days.
When we first started self isolating Bea and I thought it would be an
excellent opportunity to get back in shape. We'd have a light breakfast
and then do a yoga routine and then go and work out on the treadmill.
By day three we had slacked off to the point where we were making sure
we were getting enough rest. You can compromise your immune system by
not getting enough rest. I racked up around sixteen hours of high quality
rest yesterday alone. Sleeping in and Netflix, that's the answer, no virus
is going to lay me low.
Our
yoga routine is starting to suffer as well. Yesterday my downward facing
dog position looked more like a squatting elephant.
"You
should walk more," Bea said.
"I
wore that step counter you gave me yesterday and it said I did four km
in less than 24 hours," I replied.
"I
don't think back and forth from the couch to the fridge for beer and snacks
really counts," she said. "And speaking of fridge, where's that
chicken I put in there yesterday?"
Busted!
I wonder how long it will be before she misses the cheesecake.
Not
that she's perfect. I noticed that she's been struggling with her child's
pose position lately. And this morning she came up with a genuine humdinger
of an excuse for not doing yoga any more. She said that an article on
Facebook claimed that yoga was nothing more than devil worship in disguise
and she wouldn't be participating any more until her pastor could give
her his theological opinion on the matter. And that wasn't going to happen
any time soon because he was in the hospital recovering from a high speed
treadmill wreck.
"Right
on!" I said, "You sure lucked out there. Praise the Lord!"
Apparently
not everybody appreciates sarcasm when they hear it.
The
sad truth is that ever since we started self isolating we've been over
eating and under exercising. It was time to choose... get things back
under control or say to heck with it and shop online for his and hers
muumuus
And
that's why we're taking turns jogging behind the van out on our camp road.
It's hard but it's healthy. One drives, one jogs. Every time the pace
slacks off whoever is driving waves a bag of sandwiches out the window.
Bologna sandwiches. My favorite.
•
• • • • • • •
•
• • • • • • •
KIDS
By Rick Goodman ©Copyright 2020
This Does anybody know how a kid's mind works? I don't and I was a kid once. Still am in some respects, but with age I'm starting to lean a little more toward the childish end of the spectrum. At least that's what Bea tells me. On average around six times a day. More often than that now that we are hunkered down self isolating from this Corona virus. And this from a woman who is sitting in the living room knitting me something that looks suspiciously like a noose!
That got me thinking about why we do what we do as adults which got me thinking about what we did as kids. And I've come to the conclusion that a kid's thought process is often clearer and more straight forward than an adult's. You ask a kid why they did something strange like try and flush the cat down the toilet and they will look you in the eye and tell you that they don't know why they did it. And that is the truth.
But every now and then a kid will surprise you. Our granddaughter came over one day after a rain and took her shoes off at the door. They were full of earthworms. Both shoes.
"Alexis," Bea asked," Why are your shoes full of worms?"
"Because I don't have pockets," Alexis replied.
Now that's a case of problem solving on the highest level.
Another time we were having breakfast and Alexis was telling me that her younger cousin wanted to grow up and be a basketball player.
"Papa," she asked, " Do you think he'll make it?"
"I don't know," I said, " I guess we are just going to have to wait and see."
She thought about that long enough to swallow a mouthful of Cheerios, shook her head and replied matter-of-factly," Your old Papa, you'll be dead."
When your five years old you just can't see any point in candy coating something. Just serve it up straight and move on.
And speaking of moving on, Bea is calling me from the basement. I had better go and see what she wants.