Albo P Fossa—April 29, 2020
Times like these need a grin.
On TV, time and again we hear “times like these”. Eh? What other times have been like these? It gives the phrase “times like these” a bad name.
Mark Twain said, “History doesn’t repeat itself, but it does rhyme.” It rhymes as “limes like peas”; or “orange” and “door hinge”.
Cabin fever (er… “quarantine fatigue”) grows. At times folks tire of Planet Earth reruns or other shows from better times: the good ol’ days. Folks rebel, knowing full well Fall may rhyme with the virus panic of Spring. At least Fall may bring fewer reruns—if the show makers don’t #StayHome. Are you ready for some football?
To pass these times, we’ve found yard projects. We’ve moved rocks. One day in November 2012 we moved large rocks to a horseshoe pit to make room for Junior Tree. Since then the pile has loomed: a grueling task for old farts after 8 years. No time like the present: rock rhymes with block—big blocks.
We dug in shepherd’s hooks for Jill’s ornamental lanterns, and artfully moved our pink flamingos. Next: a cleanup of long-dead leaves (like, years). So there: lanterns and flamingos. Rhymes with? Oh well… Leaves, schmeaves. It’s time.
In these times, lots of TV ads tout “We’re here to help.” They weren’t here to help lift rocks or rake leaves. That would’ve been curbside only, I guess. “We’re all in this together,” meaning, “We’re all in this apart.” What doesn’t kill us makes us stronger—by lifting, digging, and raking.
Those who get through this and wash their hands of these times will know; those after may say, “What?” Last one out has to clean up after.