SMOOTH JAZZ
Smoooooooth jazzzz. I'm chair dancing. A gentle wiggle of the hips. Rise. Sashay. And step. Ball change. Soft snap. Step. Ball change. Wiggle.
Smoooooth jazzzzz.
It's Saturday morning (I think) and this is how I'm entertaining myself. Jazz dancing. No jazz hands. I mean real jazz dancing. In my kitchen. Alone.
Bill is now at the third store in search of yeast. We are making pita bread for a Greek feast today. I'm used to bare shelves at the grocery store. But yeast? Everyone is getting their Sara Lee on I guess.
I just got distracted by the new song. I need a slim cigarette and a Rob Roy for this one. Shoulder shrug. And point. Gentle snap. And point.
Self-entertainment is crucial. And we can't deny that the memes, jokes, gifs, and pictures on social media are 100 percent hysterical. There's a lot of talent out there. Wow. We've moved on from toilet paper jokes to inserting Lori Lightfoot eyeing us closely if we dare go outside.
I could clean and start a house project. Or not.
Other than reading, helping with a puzzle here and there, crosswords, Netflix, and lesson planning, I have tried to be creative.
Yesterday I practiced balancing myself on an eight-foot piece of wood in the yard. On the grass. Bill called me Nadia Comaneci. It was thrilling. It lasted for about four minutes. What next . . .
I helped write a paper on macronutrients for Rosemary. I walked the dog. I watched a set from the 2019 Marist State Volleyball Tournament. I schooled myself on Google Meet. Now I need a filter. My roots are greying, and with my glasses on I now look like Brett Sommers. My rosacea is in full bloom with the spring. In other words, I don't want to frighten the children.
I've tried using this opportunity to educate my children on music and film. Last night I blasted The Gambler, performing each line with the precision of a Vegas blackjack dealer. They weren't impressed. I tried coaxing them into watching The Polka King. "You love Jack Black and School of Rock! You have to watch The Polka King with me!" Nothing. My evening ended with The Lion King, which now makes me want to read Hamlet. Perhaps I can get them to act out the To Be or Not to Be scene. Now that sounds like fun. I can't wait for Marty to get out of bed at 3:30 to ask him if he's interested.
It's easy to retreat into our own worlds. Bill sat watching baseball from the Cubs Steve Bartman year this morning. He rarely watches TV alone, always succumbing to whatever everyone else wants. I brewed the joe and sat down to re-read the pita recipe from my friend Shatha.
"THIS SAYS THAT YOU HAVE TO WARM THE MILK FIRST AND THEN MIX IT WITH THE WATER AND SUGAR! WE NEED YEAST STILL! TWO TABLESPOONS! I BOUGHT FLOUR YESTERDAY! DO WE HAVE PARCHMENT PAPER?!"
Bill gently requests, "Do you mind if I finish watching this?"
Belly laughing, I apologize. Lacking all self-awareness, I belted the recipe out loud, interrupting this man's sole opportunity to watch a little baseball during the lockdown.
We are alone together, everyone.
So what are you going to do today?
Smoooooth jazzzzz.
It's Saturday morning (I think) and this is how I'm entertaining myself. Jazz dancing. No jazz hands. I mean real jazz dancing. In my kitchen. Alone.
Bill is now at the third store in search of yeast. We are making pita bread for a Greek feast today. I'm used to bare shelves at the grocery store. But yeast? Everyone is getting their Sara Lee on I guess.
I just got distracted by the new song. I need a slim cigarette and a Rob Roy for this one. Shoulder shrug. And point. Gentle snap. And point.
Self-entertainment is crucial. And we can't deny that the memes, jokes, gifs, and pictures on social media are 100 percent hysterical. There's a lot of talent out there. Wow. We've moved on from toilet paper jokes to inserting Lori Lightfoot eyeing us closely if we dare go outside.
I could clean and start a house project. Or not.
Other than reading, helping with a puzzle here and there, crosswords, Netflix, and lesson planning, I have tried to be creative.
Yesterday I practiced balancing myself on an eight-foot piece of wood in the yard. On the grass. Bill called me Nadia Comaneci. It was thrilling. It lasted for about four minutes. What next . . .
I helped write a paper on macronutrients for Rosemary. I walked the dog. I watched a set from the 2019 Marist State Volleyball Tournament. I schooled myself on Google Meet. Now I need a filter. My roots are greying, and with my glasses on I now look like Brett Sommers. My rosacea is in full bloom with the spring. In other words, I don't want to frighten the children.
I've tried using this opportunity to educate my children on music and film. Last night I blasted The Gambler, performing each line with the precision of a Vegas blackjack dealer. They weren't impressed. I tried coaxing them into watching The Polka King. "You love Jack Black and School of Rock! You have to watch The Polka King with me!" Nothing. My evening ended with The Lion King, which now makes me want to read Hamlet. Perhaps I can get them to act out the To Be or Not to Be scene. Now that sounds like fun. I can't wait for Marty to get out of bed at 3:30 to ask him if he's interested.
It's easy to retreat into our own worlds. Bill sat watching baseball from the Cubs Steve Bartman year this morning. He rarely watches TV alone, always succumbing to whatever everyone else wants. I brewed the joe and sat down to re-read the pita recipe from my friend Shatha.
"THIS SAYS THAT YOU HAVE TO WARM THE MILK FIRST AND THEN MIX IT WITH THE WATER AND SUGAR! WE NEED YEAST STILL! TWO TABLESPOONS! I BOUGHT FLOUR YESTERDAY! DO WE HAVE PARCHMENT PAPER?!"
Bill gently requests, "Do you mind if I finish watching this?"
Belly laughing, I apologize. Lacking all self-awareness, I belted the recipe out loud, interrupting this man's sole opportunity to watch a little baseball during the lockdown.
We are alone together, everyone.
So what are you going to do today?
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