Time's Up

Three years into the pandemic and I have been COVID-19 free … until now. Despite having all my shots and boosters, it has hit me like a train leaving me sicker and weaker than I have ever felt in my life. Oh, how I lament my naïveté at thinking I was somehow immune.

Day One: a little kitschy-kitch in my throat that develops into what probably feels like a smoker’s cough. I don’t smoke.

Day Two: my head feels like there is pressure. I experience very sharp pain in my right eyeball. A feeling of exhaustion comes over me so I go to bed at 5:00pm (!!!) … and I don’t wake up until 9:30am the next morning. The entire night, I alternate between being frigid and absolutely sweltering. In the morning, my sheets are soaked in sweat.

Day Three: I can’t seem to do anything for more than five minutes without taking a rest and lying down. Going from my bed to the kitchen, for example, leaves me exhausted. I haven’t eaten in three days. I am not hungry at all. Just subsiding on water. It feels like it is taking more effort to simply breathe and get the same amount of oxygen in my lungs as it would under normal circumstances.

Day Four: my throat feels like someone used extra-course sandpaper in an attempt to scrub it raw. My tongue is completely white. I assume it is this. My teeth hurt. My head is still pulsating. This is the day I have lost both my sense of smell and my sense of taste. Which sucks because I haven’t eaten much and now everything is just texture. Fucking wild. Debating switching my diet to raw vegetables in an attempt to find a positive in this.

Day Six: I’m now on Day Six and while definitely doing better than last weekend, I am still so exhausted and my nagging cough and sore throat just aren’t leaving yet. I don’t know what, if any, long term complications will arise but this is definitely something I have never experienced before.

Day 22: sore throat and coughing like a life-long smoker who goes through five packs a day.

Your Occasional Monty

Thirteen-years-old (91 in dog years) and still looking like a champ.

Wee Monty, January 2023 (©Deborah Clague)

All dressed up and ready to go for a walk, my Monty (©Deborah Clague)

Monty and some of his (many) assorted toys (©Deborah Clague)

California Dreaming

I recently had one day in Los Angeles to act as tourist and make the most of a visit before the working portion of my excursion took over. So what does one do with twenty-four hours in the city of angels? Well, to be honest, it was probably closer to thirteen hours, as I like to be in bed by nine like the grandma I am meant to be. But in the moments I was active, I was getting my steps in (and bleeding my wallet for Uber).

9:30am: First stop was The Original L.A. Farmer’s Market and The Grove shopping area. Purpose was to source local goods that I can’t find back home in Canada like regional spices, teas and chocolate. I may have failed to check the opening schedule for the market and got there a bit early, so I used the wait time to walk up to West Hollywood (which also got my Target fix in). The Original L.A. Farmer’s Market does have a good variety of vendors and unique items. I also managed to pick up some varied flavours of Nonna’s Empanadas for lunch and dinner. I had honestly never tried this Latin American delicacy before, which is a damn shame because they are delicious.

Nonna’s Empanadas, Los Angeles (©2022, Deborah Clague).

1:30pm: after dropping off my purchases at the hotel, I made my way to The Broad, a contemporary art gallery in downtown Los Angeles a few blocks from my hotel. Tickets are free but must be booked in advance. The highlight of this visit was entering Yayoi Kusama’s Infinity Mirror Room—The Souls of Millions of Lights Away. I also got to see the work of contemporary artist Jeff Koons, whom I got to hear stories from later in the week.

Yayoi Kusama’s Infinity Mirror Room—The Souls of Millions of Lights Away, The Broad, Los Angeles (©2022, Deborah Clague).

Balloon Dog, Blue, Jeff Koons, The Broad, Los Angeles (©2022, Deborah Clague).

Michael Jackson and Bubbles, Jeff Koons, The Broad, Los Angeles (©2022, Deborah Clague).

Tulips, Jeff Koons, The Broad, Los Angeles (©2022, Deborah Clague).

Under the Table, Robert Therrian, The Broad, Los Angeles (©2022, Deborah Clague)

4:30pm: I would be remiss if I didn’t take the opportunity to visit the beach while in California. And so this is where my hectic twenty-four hour adventure ended—at the end-point of America’s famous Route 66, Santa Monica Pier, as the sun set along the horizon of the ocean Pacific.

Palm trees, Santa Monica, California (©2022, Deborah Clague)

Santa Monica Pier, California (©2022, Deborah Clague)

Santa Monica Pier, California (©2022, Deborah Clague)

Ocean Pacific (©2022, Deborah Clague)

1st Annual Corgi Race

Small town entertainment at its finest, in support of the SPCA.

First annual running of the corgis in Martensville, SK (©Deborah Clague, 2022).

First annual running of the corgis in Martensville, SK (©Deborah Clague, 2022).

First annual running of the corgis in Martensville, SK (©Deborah Clague, 2022).

First annual running of the corgis in Martensville, SK (©Deborah Clague, 2022).

First annual running of the corgis in Martensville, SK (©Deborah Clague, 2022).

First annual running of the corgis in Martensville, SK (©Deborah Clague, 2022).

The Life I Once Knew

We walked down St. Mary’s Road. It was Autumn and the trees were slowly changing to a gold-tinted colour palette, leaves languidly falling and crunching on the ground beneath our feet. I pointed out a familiar apartment. It belonged to a former boss, Ed, a small business owner that carved out a niche in the Winnipeg advertising community with his partner Richard. They were two of the most honest, down-to-earth individuals I had ever had the privilege of knowing and collaborating with in my life. Looking up at the residence, nostalgia flood my memories. Without their support and encouragement, I never would have started my own business. My father knew this as well and asked if we could stop by and say hello.

I paused, not knowing how to address it with him.

Both Ed and Richard had passed away years ago. But if I told my father this, I would also have to tell him that he did too.

I woke up from this dream and had to lie in bed, staring at the ceiling for a bit before fully consenting to the day. This isn’t the first time my father has visited me in a dream but it was the first time in a long while. It’s always a bit jarring; the warm comfort of a familiar embrace shattered by the reality that you’ve lost that presence—and that life you once knew—forever. I knew my day would be thrown off kilter as I increasingly searched for meaning during a time in which everlasting sleep seems like a welcome respite.

I feel this dream was a result of the continued, relentless stress and anxiety of the ongoing pandemic. I try to limit overexposure to the news and social media, however, it’s hard to escape the current ripple effects of a society divided. Just in the past week, I’ve born witness firsthand how emboldened certain segments of the population are to freely express their hate and discord. As I ran an errand at a local mall, an angry white man yelled obscenities and told the South Asian taxi drivers parked at front to “go back to your own country”. It is disgusting. It is deplorable. I never thought I would live during a time where this and nazi flags being flown in broad daylight would be acceptable in Canada, where the perceived consequence from one’s personal choice are compared to the rape, pillage and genocide of an entire race of people.

But I suppose it’s always been present.

Just hidden.

Many have said that 9/11 was the defining moment of a generation but that seems so long ago (I actually remember watching it with Richard on the small office TV as it happened). The dual pandemic of COVID-19 and social media, and how different our lives and perspective will be moving forward is well surpassing it with everything from everyday safety protocols to personal relationships forever altered. I feel that I may always long for my previous carefree life. That bitch didn’t know how good she had it.

Meeting my father again in a dream, leaves crunching under our feet as we breathed in the crisp, Autumn air, was the momentary escape I needed. The life I once knew is there … if I close my eyes.