A Covid Wedding: Canadian Style

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Like many other couples during this past summer, Keith and Chris had to make a few changes to their wedding plans. First up, whittling down the guest list. At the time, Covid restrictions in British Columbia limited outdoor gatherings to 50 people or less.

The outdoor part was easy, the men having always planned on having their service in Keith’s parents’ backyard.

Scaling down the guest list from a cozy 105 to a painful 45? Not so easy.

Because the invitations had already gone out, Keith and Chris had to make a lot of tough phone calls. Tell people they cared about that they couldn’t come to their wedding.

When Covid concerns had their catering service bowing out, a determined Keith and Chris rolled up their sleeves and prepared all the food for the wedding party.

Amid all the Covid-dictated changes, some things remained the same. The couple didn’t have to go looking for another ringbearer…

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Their Bernese Mountain Dog, Gus had no problem walking down the aisle with them.

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Pod People

Cars, buses, trains—gone.

Okay, they’re still here, but not for long.

Virgin Hyperloop wants to get you there—anywhere, everywhere—faster, much faster. From Gatwick to Heathrow in four minutes, from Dubai to Abu Dhabi in twelve. That kind of faster.

How?

No problem. They’ll just pop you into a pod inside a vacuum tube, and blast away at 1000 km/h.

Virgin Hyperloop

A futuristic transport system? Definitely, but the future is closer than you think.

Virgin Hyperloop has completed its first passenger journey. Meet Sara Luchian and Josh Giegel—pod people.

To quote Sara, “It’s an exhilarating ride.” Smooth with no roller-coaster effects, meaning neither she nor Josh got sick. Good to know.

One not so small problem?

The vacuum tube sits on a track. Space has to be found and tracks have to be built for each trip. Lots and lots of track.

Virgin Hyperloop

You didn’t think the future would be easy, did you?

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No Excuse

It’s no secret I have an on again, off again relationship with exercise. Mostly off these days.

I have no excuse, not with Covid still lurking about. It’s not like I’m going anywhere.

As an official senior citizen, with a cheque from the federal government to prove it, I’d like to claim age as an excuse, but that’s BS and Bill Mason knows it.

Bill is 96 years old. He’s recovering from a stroke he had two years ago—and he works out twice a week.

Sarah Keaveny Vos/CBC

On a suggestion from his grandson,

Sarah Keaveny Vos/CBC

Bill decided to try a Crossfit class for seniors. He celebrated his 96th birthday by doing a series of deadlifts, sit-ups, push-ups, and a 200-metre row.

See what I mean? No excuse.

Monday, first thing.

Heard that before, huh? Yeah, me too 😦

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Ghostbusters?

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.

Robb Eggertson

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.

Ghostbuster decals optional 🙂

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Write What You Know

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

After months of using Covid-19 as an excuse to procrastinate, I finally forced myself to sit down and start working on the last book in my Blood Bond Trilogy. Thanks to the previous books, I already have an MC. I know what he looks like, how he dresses, where he works, what he drinks, and who his love interest will be, but…how to start?

Write what you know, right?

I trolled through my memories, more years of memories than I’d like to admit, and came up with a scene, something that happened eons ago. A tourist on my first trip to Ireland, I was checking out a small display case in some church basement and I heard a man talking behind me. His voice, his accent, truly charming. Naturally, I turned around, and the real world being what it is, the man was nowhere near as attractive as his voice.

Perfect. There’s my attention-grabbing first paragraph. Enticing accent, alluring voice—hail the love interest.

But…

I haven’t been to Ireland in decades. I can barely remember the accent now and I have no idea what expressions or slang they’re using in Dublin these days.

Write what you know?

I don’t know how this character speaks. There’s no way I can write dialogue for him, not without spending weeks researching speech patterns in Irish novels.

I’m in awe of authors who can create dialogue for characters of a differing ethnicity, nationality, or time line than their own. I have no idea how they do it. How exactly does a blacksmith in the eighteenth century speak, or an alien in the twenty-fourth?

Back to the drawing board. Ditch the accent and rewrite the first page, so far, the only page.

Write what you know?

What I know is, I never should have started writing this trilogy 🙂

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Excuse me, but…

To paraphrase Jeff Foxworthy, you know you’re old when—

1. You’ve never heard of half the shows nominated at the Emmys.

2. You sit down to put your shoes on.

3. You think TikTok is a new clock.

4. You remember when Amazon only sold books.

5. You’re phone takes you aside, and says, “Look, we’re really sorry. We know you’re one of the dinosaurs who still buys music on Google Play, but we’re switching over to YouTube music.” And you say, “YouTube has music?”

Excuse me, but—I’m old.

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Lucifer

Tom Ellis has been working the British accent and devilish charm for five seasons now. As Lucifer Morningstar, he takes us into a world where the Devil is real—and runs a club in L.A.

In the tradition of Death Takes a Holiday and Meet Joe Black, the Devil is on vacation. As one would expect, he’s keen on all the things our mothers warned us about, liquor, drugs, and sex in all its many incarnations.

Unexpectedly, this Devil wears a three-piece suit, plays the piano, and has daddy issues. The ruler of hell spends his time solving crimes with an LAPD detective and chatting with his therapist—when he’s not otherwise engaged.

According to this Lucifer, hell is fueled by guilt. Humans torturing themselves in endless loops of their worst sins. No brimstone and fire, just people blaming themselves for eternity.

Damnation based on human psychology; I like it. That’s why I watch the show. Absolutely nothing to do with the fact that the devil looks like this…

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Life’s Mysteries

I’m not talking major unanswered questions here, no whatever happened to Amelia Earhart, or what’s with the Bermuda Triangle, or has Elvis really left the building? No, I’m thinking small scale.

Life’s little mysteries, the everyday perplexities that have us standing, and staring, and thinking what?

Take lids, for example…

Each lid has a corresponding container. They are a matched set, they go into the kitchen cupboard together. How is it then, that I found myself with four lonely lids on my hands this morning—and no equally lonely containers?

Did the containers grow bored with their partners, become disenchanted with the old ball and lid? Are they off somewhere, smiling at the newer, younger lids popping up on their dating app?

And what about socks?

How do they go into the laundry as a pair and come out as single? Do they argue in the washer, get divorced in the dryer?

Life’s little mysteries 🙂

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Star Trek Calling

With Covid-19 rewriting how we live our lives, Earth isn’t looking so appealing these days. When a trip to the grocery store means wearing a mask and keeping an eye out for inconsiderate bozos threatening your two metre bubble, we’re all looking to escape. Escape the virus, each other, and the monotony of not being able to do—anything.

Travel is out of the question. Even if you wanted to risk all the possible free-floating germs on a flight, where would you go? Covid is everywhere—almost everywhere.

SpaceX Dragon docked at the International Space station.

The International Space station is Coronavirus-free and Elon Musk has a plan to get you there.

SpaceX, Musk’s company, is sending up it’s second crewed Dragon flight at the end of the month. Four astronauts will stay on the Space station for six months. By the fall of 2021, when hopefully, anti-Covid vaccines will be making their way around the world, three lucky customers will be settling in at the International Space station.

For a mere $55 million, you too, can enjoy the vacation of a lifetime, and return home to this welcome from mission control…

“Welcome back to planet Earth and thanks for flying SpaceX.”

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Stuck With You: a Covid Story

“Pancakes?” David said, sliding onto a stool at the kitchen counter.

“Observant.” Joel grabbed two mugs, set one by David’s plate, and slipped onto the other stool. His stool. It was undeniably his kitchen too, although technically, he was a guest. The condo was David’s.

Eyes on their tablets, they forked up the pancakes in silence. Neither one of them was much of a talker before the caffeine kicked in.

“You see this?” David asked, pushing his plate aside. “We’re starting Stage Two on Wednesday.”

“Yeah.”

“We can get a hair cut.” David smiled, waiting for the inevitable what-hair crack from Joel, but he got nothing, not even a smirk.

His mind obviously on something more serious than David’s ever-widening bald spot, Joel gathered up his plate and mug, and slotted them into the dishwasher. He snapped the door on the machine shut and leaned against the counter. “I can go home.”

No! This is your home. Here, with me. “You think that’s a good idea? A five-hour flight, recycled air, germs floating about in a confined space?”

“Air Canada is enforcing a mask policy.”

“Yeah, that will be comfortable.”

“No, but…” Joel shrugged, shoved his hands in his pockets, his eyes finding David’s across the space between them. “This was never supposed to be permanent.”

True. When the country had shut down in March it had been chaos, flights cancelled, stores and businesses closed, the government pleading with people to stay off the streets, to stay home. Joel, a sales manager from their Vancouver branch, had been stranded in Toronto, and David had offered him a place to stay. Sure, they knew each other. They’d hooked up a few times, but they weren’t a thing. Not then.

“It could be. Permanent, I mean,” David said, walking around the counter. He gathered a handful of Joel’s terry robe and pulled him close. “It could be very permanent.”

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