And this. 2021.

 

Trying to sum up the past year is like gathering the shards after breaking a glass—just when you think you’ve got them all, another ugly piece appears. Underfoot.

 

2021 was the cave I hibernated in, looking out at the murky sunshine, unable to propel myself into it. I am now habituated to avoidance, picking and choosing between friends, events and even family gatherings. I am not sure I will know how to act when I get back into polite company. Or if I want to….

 

As per my demographic (retired senior citizen, born and raised and still living in small town central Ontario), I volunteer for a handful of organizations. Pre-Covid 19 I would regularly rail against the mind-numbing inanity of most meetings—and those who LOVE to meet. But after another Zoom-cum-Teams meeting last night I am longing for an in-person, fidgety get-together that drags on way too long as one member (there is always one) insists on interjecting personal anecdotes at every turn.

 

Just imagine trying to record the minutes as 12 board members struggle to stay online through inadequate internet connections, variously stuttering and freezing mid-sentence like a horde of Frankenstein-esque Hollywood Squares celebrities.

 

Thankfully, twenty months of pandemic pandemonium have prepared me for this version of insanity. When the Zooming is mercifully called to a halt—or just plain cuts out for good—I know to self-medicate with ice cream. Way back in 2020 when everyone else began hoarding paper products, I performed a rational situation analysis of vital necessities impossible to replicate on my own in my cave. They are coffee, wine and Chapman’s Maple Walnut Frozen Yogurt. I invested heavily and still have plenty of stock on hand. So, I’m good.

 

Now that another viral variant is spreading among us just in time to capitalize on holiday get-togethers, the doctors are saying be very careful and the politicians can’t bring themselves to say the Lockdown word. I am about to get a third vaccination strictly in the hope that it will get us all through this. Unfortunately, the science is not entirely behind this; it’s more of a grasping at any straw available strategy.

 

In lock-step with viral infestation our planet is heating up and we may already be past the tipping point of reversing permanent climate change. Our optimism in our ability as a species to overcome all difficulties with chutzpah and charm is astounding. In spite of the recent climate conference where some of the scientific community’s best minds rubbed shoulders with top politicians there is still no agreement on any kind of coordinated plan to combat a very complex threat. This may turn out to be what historians and archeologists surmise as they sift through the detritus of our devastated civilization—that 2021 was the year it all fell apart. What is clear is that the Earth will endure; we may not.

 

What a grim way to end a year. I may be wrong and I hope I am. In the interim, should the economy collapse, the world order descend into anarchy, the ice caps melt and turn North America into a 100-square-mile island, I am doing my best to be ready. Should we regress to bartering as the chief form of commerce I will be willing to trade wine for toilet paper. I know several hoarders. But I hope they do not want the ice cream. That would be a devilish bargain.