I’m guessing you’ve noticed. Perhaps not cared, but noticed nonetheless. Don’t get me wrong. It’s not that I think the last thought you have when your head hits the pillow each night is “Where the heck is the shallow blog? I haven’t seen it for some time!” I suppose there’s an outside chance that every once in a while it might have crossed your mind that I haven’t posted anything here for, well let’s just say, eons. But I’m not here to apologize for my lack of musings on the Interwebs. After all, it’s not easy to be shallow, or at least to write about being shallow, during a pandemic. Even for the shallow gal. What I am here to do is apologize for never even saying goodbye. Which, if you peruse my last post, you will see I did not do. Mostly because I didn’t know, at the time, that it would be a very long time before I’d be back. If I had known what was to come, or should I more accurately say what was not to come, I could have, at the very least, parted with a “till we meet again” or a “see you later, alligator”. But who knew! Who thought I would stop writing the shallow blog just because we were are in a pandemic that has lasted longer than it takes to read the collected works of Shakespeare? Although, if I had thought about it for a moment or two, I would have realized there were lots of things I stopped doing during the pandemic. So maybe I should have known.
Like having friends over for dinner. Or lunch, coffee, breakfast, pretty much anything. It’s not that I no longer liked our friends, although it was a handy excuse for those I didn’t quite fancy. It was just that the risk involved in hosting a shindig, no matter how small, was simply not worth the trouble. First there was the rearranging of furniture to ensure everyone would be six feet apart. Then came the “lysoling” (if you could get them. Remember when you couldn’t get them?) of every single surface that could possibly be touched by us, them, and/or the cat. And whether they liked it or not, I would have to insist that all guests wore N95 masks and provided verified COVID 19 test results taken no less than two hours before arrival. All that and I pretty much knew that the topic of conversation was going to be nothing other than the pandemic. Imagine. We’re sitting in a sterilized home, six feet apart wearing masks and the only thing we can talk about is why. Really, who needs that? And so it stopped.
As did make-up. With no one coming or going there was really no point putting in the effort to get all dolled up every morning. I’m afraid all those tubes with the 24 month “best before” dates have now found their way into the trash bin. I mean, what was really the point? Who was looking at me on my very brief outings to the grocery store? Certainly the mask negated any possible purpose that wearing lipstick might have had. Not to mention the stains it left on my very expensive N95 masks. Mascara? Between the fog on my glasses and the fog on yours, the chances of my marginally elongated lashes being seen was quite remote. And I’m pretty sure the grocery clerk didn’t really care if I had eyebrows or not. Suffice to say as a result of the pandemic I no longer spent those 5 precious morning minutes putting on a new face. I just stopped. At least until recently when we all realized that passersby on the street don’t pose much of a risk and we can take off those pesky masks while walking outside. Now every day before I open the door I hear my Auntie Fanny’s voice (may she rest in peace) say “Going out? Aren’t you going to put on a little lipstick?” So I do.
I would be remiss if I didn’t mention that I have even stopped buying clothes. Actually that is probably not a bad thing since I seem to have enough shirts, pants, skirts and dresses to cover pretty much any occasion that might arise. The real problem is, none do. As I think back over the last three years (I know, it only seems a lot longer) I can honestly count on one hand the number of times I have had to put on anything other than jeans and a T. Ok. Admittedly I have donned a couple of fancy blouses for those Zoom meetings we all endured but, as you know, even then the jeans still sufficed. And there’s really no problem wearing the same things over and over again because, like my eyebrows, I don’t think the clerk at the grocery store really notices.
And in case I haven’t yet convinced you that it is not just the blog I had stopped writing I can honestly tell you I’ve pretty much stopped traveling, going to concerts, eating out at restaurants, taking transit, sitting closer than 6 feet away from anyone and, if you can believe it, going to Starbucks. Which is why it’s somewhat astonishing that I am back writing the blog. The problem is I can’t tell you when and if I will be here again. So until we meet again, “See you later alligator”. Just in case.
I don’t know about you but when I was growing up there were plenty of things I was told to do, or not to do which admittedly, I ignored. Looking back, I now realize of course, that I wasn’t always right and while rules might be made to be broken I probably shouldn’t have broken all of them. To be fair though, not everything I was told warranted the same level of adherence. Let’s face it. There was a modicum of exaggeration to some of these admonitions. For example, the vast majority of us who ran with a pencil, scissors, or sucker in our hand never actually lost an eye. I’m not saying it never happened. I’m just saying that it probably didn’t happen as often as the ‘rents led us to believe. And there were those that simply turned out not to be true. If I have to be honest, and I am nothing but honest, my children turned out to be way less trouble to me than I was for my parents. And even though I made my share of funny faces, my face never froze in time which, now that I think about it, might not have been such a bad thing. And I don’t ever recall either of my parents turning around to go home just because we were making too much noise in the backseat of the car. Nonetheless, I admit that there was a great deal of good advice imparted to me over the course of my life to which I did listen. I mean I never jumped off a cliff just because all of my friends did and, as a parent, I do now understand all those things they told me I would when I had kids of my own. 
As you can well imagine it has been rather difficult to write a shallow blog during this pandemic. Admittedly, the impact of COVID-19 has not (yet) had a major effect on my life. To be brutally honest, it has been frighteningly easy for me to confine myself to my home and to connect with others primarily through Zoom, Facebook, Google Hangouts, Skype and that old fashioned mode of communication, the telephone. Yes it’s true, I still do have a landline. Sure it’s been hard to give up my grocery shopping habit. Thursday used to be a big day in our house what with the delivery of all the flyers. Now it’s one trip, in and out, sales or no sales, and I thank my lucky stars I am able to continue to stock my pantry with what I need. But I am painfully aware that for many life has taken a dramatic downturn financially, physically and emotionally, and I do not for one minute want to minimize the sadness and suffering our friends, family and those we do not know, are feeling right now. Our world has turned upside down. Everything has changed. The most common and perhaps accurate description I’ve heard is “
I love baking. I don’t think I have to tell you, at least those of you that know me, that these are three words I never thought I would utter. And if you don’t believe me, just ask my children. They are the ones who suffered through the late evenings when I was compelled to at least attempt to fulfill my duty as the “muffin mom”. You know. The one who must provide muffins for the entire class on an appointed day which, from what I can recall, was the third Thursday of each month. Honestly, I have tried to block this whole episode from my mind because here’s what would happen on the rare occasion when my husband, who was by any measure a very competent baker, was not available to take on the task. 
As a shallow person you might imagine that I have mastered the art of small talk. And you would be right. To some extent at least. Honestly, there are many times when I really don’t want to talk to anyone about anything. But when I do I can usually figure out something small to talk about. Especially these days with “45” and all of his hijinx. Can’t get much smaller than that. But there are better things to talk about. Like pets. It’s pretty easy to make small talk about a pet, particularly when you happen to have one that’s 19 years old. There’s a lot to be said about growing old no matter who/what you are. Just ask my 103 year old Mother. She’ll tell you a thing or two about it. And not that I would ever try to equate the two, but both make pretty decent conversation starters. If, of course, it’s a conversation you actually want to start. However if, unlike me, you don’t have longevity to fall back on, evidently you can always talk about the weather. Because, it seems, that’s what Canadians (and I’m guessing) Americans do. Although, I must admit, I have never really seen the point. 
Shallow Be My Name 