Humans are fascinated by the rare, the strange, and the extreme. The tallest man, the oldest woman, the largest pumpkin. Add the suffix est and you can sell tickets.
Personally, and probably because I’m knee high to a grasshopper myself, I like small. Miniature shoes, tea cups, Disney’s Tinker Bell. Shrink anything down small enough and it’s adorable.
A German-Madagascan expedition team has discovered what they believe to be the smallest reptile on earth. The Brookesia Nana or nano-chameleon’s total length, from nose to tail, is just under 22 mm (0.87 “).
Here we are, living the sequel to a movie we never wanted to be in.
Social distancing, masks, quarantines, lockdowns, not to mention the parents battling with online learning, the people forced into unemployment, the gruesome ICU statistics, and the ever present threat of contracting this nasty little virus.
Yeah, fun times. Now, imagine this…
Imagine living through a pandemic, not once, but twice.
Born in 1911, in Lauder, Manitoba, Jemima Westcott was seven years old when the Spanish Flu struck in 1918. There was no social distancing back then, no vaccine, and the schools stayed open. Jemima remembers having to douse her handkerchief in eucalyptus oil which was thought to be both a preventative and a cure. 55,000 Canadians lost their lives to that plague, but Jemima’s family and their farming community escaped the worst of it.
A retired teacher, mother to five, and grandmother to fifteen, Jemima is once again waiting out a pandemic. To keep in touch with the family who can’t visit now, Jemima has learned to make video calls.
Just to keep it interesting, Covid-19 has come up with a few new variations. And here we are, hunkering down for another winter of lockdown, Zoom, and Netflix.
Into a sadly distanced holiday season, Netflix dropped a champagne glass bubbling over with cheer. Death to 2020, a British mockumentary from the creative minds behind Black Mirror, had me laughing out loud.
In a year that bounced from frightening to bizzare and back again, Charlie Brooker and Annabel Jones have managed to find the funny. Find it, dissect it, and serve it up on a platter—proving that laughter is the best medicine.
If you’re feeling a little lost and low, now that the gifts have been opened, the balls have dropped, and the fireworks are over, check out Death to 2020. It injects humour into a year that desperately needed it.
Covid-19 has changed everything and Halloween is no exception. The scattering of houses in our neighbourhood dressed for the ghoulish holiday won’t be handing out candy. Not this year.
Kids are still buying costumes, but they won’t be roaming the streets. Pumpkins, candy apples, and ghost stories will be shared among bubble members in numbers of ten or less.
No parades of miniature Darth Vaders, but if you happen to be in Edmonton come October 31, you might find an unusual funeral procession winding its way through the streets.
No dearly departed, no cemetery visits, just a bunch of car enthusiasts celebrating the Halloween with a display of their favourite rides—hearses.
Who you gonna call?
Robb Eggertson, founder of the the Edmonton Bone-Wagon Association, 460 members strong. Their usual parking lot meet-and-greet being a bad idea this year, they’ve decided to share the fun—and their vintage vehicles.
Good intentions might, or might not, pave the road to hell, but they don’t take you one metre down the path to a happier number on the scale.
Not when your jog around the track at the park ends up at the local Dairy Queen and your fifteen minute stint on the rowing machine has you pawing through the freezer for that ice cream sandwich you swore you weren’t going to eat.
If only all it took to fit into your thin clothes were good intentions, but I hear it takes something called discipline.