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My Outlook - Eleven weeks....it must be time for a sing-along

It’s been a strange three months. I know — understatement of the decade, right? Are you tired of hearing the word ‘unprecedented’? Me too, but we’ve run out of vocabulary for this one. But hey, it’s June. The sun is shining and the backyard beckons.

It’s been a strange three months. I know — understatement of the decade, right? Are you tired of hearing the word ‘unprecedented’? Me too, but we’ve run out of vocabulary for this one. But hey, it’s June. The sun is shining and the backyard beckons. Perhaps it’s time for a little silliness. So in the spirit of the strangeness of the season, join me in a little song. I’m not kidding…you have to sing along.

 

On the first week of quarantine

My mind went in a spin

Go home, you have to stay in.

 

By the second week of quarantine

the country was shut down

Too much time on-line

And we all now have learned to stay in.

On the third week of quarantine

We’re learning something new

Three loves of bread

Too much time on-line

And the rolls in the bathroom are few.

 

At the fourth week of quarantine

I gave up dressing up

Working in sweats

Three days a week

Office --the lawn

And the hand sanitizer is gone.

 

By the fifth week of quarantine

I simply had to stare,

“What’s with my hair???”

Sports are no more

Can’t buy yeast

Streaming’s a bore

Oh how long can this possibly go?

 

(Weeks six to nine were something of a blur so let’s fast forward to…)

By the tenth week of quarantine

We knew the rules by heart

Ten to a gathering

Nine on-line meetings

Eight Covid updates

Seven days all ditto

Six feet of distance

Five Olympic rings…(gone)

Four walks a day

Three Zoom bombs

Too many dreams,

Go to church now in slippers on screens.

 

By the eleventh week of quarantine our homes felt less like lairs,

Eleven weeks… still healthy

Access to face masks

Thankful for family

Yay, social bubble

We have new heroes

Food on the table

Still have bad hair!

Forty texts to friends

Realized again

We’re not at the end

So it’s air hugs this columnist sends.