Recently, I had the opportunity to attend a conference "in person" after so many months. As everyone now understands there is a certain level of anxiety that comes with this after so long in social isolation. The majority of the nervousness hovered around the fact that I was out of practice of the social norms. Really, what was going to be normal now? What used to take no consideration, now focused heavily.

I was awkward. How would I establish a rapport without the ice breaking handshake? Everyone would be masked. We had committed to the safe distance. How would that work for chitchat? Questions abounded while I considered what to wear, packed, during the drive, the arrival, amounting to my stomach in turmoil right up until I stepped through the doors.

Then, like magic, none of these concerns mattered. 

Like the old saying of riding a bike, I was reminded that indeed we are SOCIAL creatures and will congregate and co-exist...laugh...chat...and share stories.

The masks made no difference, you learn to adapt. The distance was what it was. We spoke a little louder. I missed the hand shake. I'd be lying if I said differently. It was certainly strange to keep the mask in place while carrying on conversation. Certainly, we all realized that the masks were made--duh--for covering, not talking...but we muscled through, because that's what people do. But in the moment, we were like a garden that had just been watered. Lunch arrived and sat untouched as people took their precious "chatting" over hunger to catch up and bask in the sunshine of people's presence.

​Someone said during the session, once "man" , meaning HUMAN,  discovered fire, they gathered, told stories, laughed, cried, shared, cared and SOCIETY was created.

I am water.

Sometimes I am blue. 

At other times I am green.
 
But mostly I am shades of grey and a mixture of all.

In certain light I reflect, and you are dazzled.

With the tilt of the sun I absorb, and you are drawn in.

I fade in the night and wake in the dawn.

I go on forever and end at the horizon where I hold hands with the sky.

While some things can bounce off my surface, most are drawn into my depths.

I surround and hold in an absolute embrace. 

Yet you can move freely. I won’t hold you back.

I am strong, but I can look so very passive. 

I have the power to change everything I touch.

You may think you can conquer me, but I have a will of my own and stubbornly will get my way.

Don’t underestimate me. I will surprise you.

My storms are all encompassing. 

My calm creates your tranquility.

You cannot stay away. 

I nourish both body and soul.

My surface may freeze, but I am always flowing underneath.

I cannot be still.

I am relentless.

I am patient.

I am always.

I am here.

I am water.

While it must be said that I adore historical fiction and am as fascinated by the timeless rogue in the kilt as any other, I have never longed to live in any other time period than present—despite current events,

That being said, this is what Pandemic 2020 has taught me about potential time travel:

Let’s start with the toilet paper hoarding. Obviously, I could not travel back further than 1857 because that was year the cleaning sheets were created by a New York entrepreneur named Joseph Gayetty. He claimed his sheets prevented hemorrhoids. I guess no one cared whether that was fact or not. But it wasn’t until 1890 when the paper found the roll and took off as some may say.

And let’s be honest, the indoor water closet wasn’t a “thing” until mid last century at any rate, so I’d be limited to the last 75-years of time travel exploits.

But I digress…

Aside from modern convenience, I have no transferable skills. Let’s face it…I’m not going to be royalty or upper class, so where does that leave me … milking cows? I’d likely not even make it to the kitchen help. 

What would we do with no internet? Certainly, without spellcheck, I’m likely illiterate. Never mind mathematical skills or basic map navigation. So, there’d I’d be walking in circles never able to reach my destination without Google Maps or Siri. You never find those time travel stones in the middle of city centre after all.
 
We’ve given up the ability to do for ourselves, growing our own food, raising chickens, etc. What no skip the dish? I’m out.

Just keeping a house would be fundamentally frustrating with no Windex or basic cleaning tools. Vinegar and water, eh. No scrubbing bubbles then? How about my washer and dryer? The dishwasher would be me, ouch. I guess that’s a no go for the leftovers in the microwave. And absolutely no complaining, because let’s not forget, women had no rights.

What on Earth would I do without my moisturizing soap, cream, wax strips. I am reminded of the bug population and would be lost without my Off spray. 

Evenings by candlelight and no Netflix. I guess nighttime entertainment would be my trust butter churn and certainly no Apple tunes to keep me motivated and on task. I can just feel the tap of my foot fading away. 

Think about how much time we spend writing on all our various platforms a day. If we could even find paper and quill, messing with the ink and blotter, we’d be lucky to share out a post a week IF we could get it to the printer between chores and the ability to find a mode of travel.
​
Yes, we may have gone through months of isolation and a big pity party, but we are still incredibly spoiled in comparison to our ancestral generations. We have more than one room to move around in, plenty to entertain and distract, and considerable convenience to make it all bareable.

The birds are singing in the trees, the geese are swimming with their young, the breeze blows lightly, the sun is shining, and its Father's Day.

What could be better than going fishing with dad? 

As an aspiring cook, our youngest boy treats us daily to new creations which tantalize and satisfy the palette in equal measure. So, when he decides to go fishing with dad, well...there has to be luncheon to accompany trip. With lunch prepared and bait packed, rods, lures, all that was missing were the fish. Into the boat and off they go, puttering down the lake.

Much later, their laughter preceded the tut-tut of the motor as they came around the bend and returned to the dock.

First thing as he hops from the boat, a grin splitting his features ear to ear. "Wait 'til I tell you what the new foolproof bait is?"

Intrigued, I wait for the story that's sure to come.

Nothing was biting, for the first hour, but they were enjoying casting and telling stories. They paused for lunch and while eating, a pickle dropped out of the sandwich. There are no five-second rules on the floor of the fishing boat, so what to do with this pickle? Recycle of course. Not to go to waste, my son decides if it's good enough for a sandwich, it's good enough for a fish. Who is dad to disagree? Up comes the line and the bait is replaced by one bread and butter slice, carefully threaded into the hook. 

The fish must have smelled it coming, he told me, because they landed the big one first cast!

I'm told future fishing trips will include extra pickle!

Having to be at the airport so early now to clear security and all the various check points, leaves a lot of time for people watching. 

From the moment you walk through the airport revolving doors, check in at the counter or kiosk, you are then listed as being present for your flight … then there are at least two, if not three checks through security, all before you arrive at your departing gate. So, we’re waiting for our flight and the intercom buzzes with missing people from various flights. “So and so is requested at gate X, your flight is fully boarded and awaiting your arrival.”

I think whatever happened to the days when the flight just left. So sorry, but if you didn’t arrive on time, why should everyone else have to delay their flight time because of you. 

The first list goes by and Garry’s name is listed. Few minutes later, only Garry is called. Then along comes the oversized golf cart pausing within every crowd and asking, “Does anyone know Garry, he’s late for his flight?”

I think, man this Garry must be a VIP or something, we’re twenty minutes into this. 

Then she backtracks through the departures area, same request in reverse. One more announcement and then quiet for about ten minutes. THEN…I know unbelievable, the intercom crackles with the search for Garry…again. “Your flight is boarded and waiting your arrival.”

Who is this guy? I want to be Garry…or at least meet him.

The oversized golf cart makes it way down again…everyone’s on the hunt for Garry. They know he’s there somewhere. He’s made it through all the check points so far, so he’s here. Apparently the airport staff were in the mood for hide and seek, they were all sporting to find Garry.

And lo and behold, they do!

Along comes that golf cart, the driver frazzled looking, but smiling and Garry in the back looking like he just came off a bender and was topping up for the flight. 
​
We couldn’t help but wave as Garry went by. I almost wished I were on his flight so I could get the full story…