writer, teacher, reader, mother, athlete
Not your capital “L” Literature, but that doesn’t mean it’s not worth the read. It’s light and fun and I love this protagonist (who is supposedly a lot like the author).
Read the review of the other book mentioned in this vlog here. And tell me if you pick up Happily Ever Afters by Elise Bryant.
٭ = DNF, would not recommend
٭٭ = would not recommend
٭٭٭ = enjoyable, would recommend
٭٭٭٭ = very good, would recommend
٭٭٭٭٭ = amazing, would definitely recommend
K and Z, stuck in the lavender home with blue violet trim on Wonky Way Lane were last seen in the bathroom where K was cleaning up her own throw up.
See what happened in the previous episode of The Days of Our Pandemic.
And now, for today’s episode of The Days of Our Pandemic! Featuring K, Z, and Rochelle.
“I cleaned it up, Z!” K reported.
“Good job, K,” Z said without a morsel of awe or intonation.
Z stared through the looking glass at the mess of a woman before her. Her hair disheveled off her face. Roots reaching down her scalp. A single lined eye.
“My goodness, K. At least make yourself presentable.”
“Ooooh! Do we have a Zoom today? I love Zoom days.”
“Would you like a Zoom today?” Z spoke down to K as to a puppy.
K responded as though a puppy. Her tongue splayed itself outside her mouth, moving like a Coronavirus case line graph.
“We shall see, Z. We shan’t let it get in the way of our plans.”
“Yes, K. Our plans.”
K looked expectantly at Z in the mirror.
“What plans, Z?”
“Our plans, you dimwit!”
“Right-o. Our plans.” K touched up her eye shadow. She stroked on mascara.
“What’re our plans?” K asked Z.
Z sighed. “Same as our plans every day, K. Escape the world enclosed by these four walls.”
A cackling echoed through the room.
“Enough, Rochelle!” Z declared.
The cackling stopped.
“Yeah. Our every day plans,” said K. K stared expectantly at Z. “How will we escape these four walls, Z?”
“We will use the technology of the Zoom call to transport ourselves from our side of the screen to another screen. The jumbo screen at Ray Jay Stadium.”
“Ooooooooooh. Ahhhhhhhh.”
Z rolled her eyes at K.
“Where’s Ray Jay Stadium, Z?”
“It’s in Tampa Bay, K.”
“That’s a long ways away, Z.”
“The longer the better, K.”
“Right-o. How will we do that, Z? How will we get from one screen to the other?”
Z unrolled a scroll. “Behold! The Internet Transportationonometeration Machine!”
K gawked at the image.
“We will build it and use it on the internet to jump on the information highway and surf it along the copper wires that travel under Wonky Way Lane all the way to Tampa Bay.”
“Oooooh.”
Z interrupted K before she could ah. “Yes, and before anyone knows to look for us, we’ll be far, far away.”
Rochelle’s cackles burst through the walls and calmed themselves like a breaking wave.
“Z, I’ve been wondering…” said K.
“Yes, K?”
“It’s just that….” K trailed off, head cocked considering her thoughts.
“You were asking, K?”
“Yes. If I were to swallow all the phones and computer screens, would I have all their information inside me? Would I be as smart as you, Z?”
“No, K.” Z sank with disappointment. She didn’t know why she always expected K’s questions to be pertinent.
“Have you tried it?”
“No, K.”
“Then how d’ya know, Z?”
“Because most information these days is hardly digestible.”
K looked pensively into the blank air just beyond her face. “Makes sense, Z.”
“Now! My Internet Transportationonometeration Machine! Here are the directions, K. Let’s get to work.” Z held the scroll so that K could see its contents.
What is a Transportationonometeration Machine? And will it help K and Z make their pandemic pining a reality? Can they escape their four walls? Find out next time in The Days of Our Pandemic.
Outside the lavender home with blue violet trim on Wonky Way Lane, a pair of peregrine falcons chased each other out of a rabbit den, squawking and combating mid-flight. Prior peoples may have seen a harbinger herein, but those who roamed the land had long since considered ancient omens.
In front of the bathroom mirror in said Wonky Way Lane home, the following scene took place. Observe, Reader, from your safe distance on the far side of the screen lest you spiral into what you discover…
“What shall we do today, Z?” K asked the figure in the mirror.
“The same thing we do every day, K,” Z responded. “Escape the world enclosed by these four walls.”
Before K could agree with the brilliance of such an idea, cackling emanated from the walls and reflected off the toothpaste-coated tile floors.
“Rochelle? Rochelle? Stop that!” K hit the wall with the outside of her fist.
The cackling continued.
“RO-Chelle!” K pounded.
The cackling ceased but K already felt regret blooming in the form of a bruise on her wrist.
“Damn you, Rochelle.” K returned to Z’s fresh face in the mirror. She coated it with concealer. “Where were we, Z?”
“Where we always are, K. Escape.”
“Of course, Z. You’re rather a smart one, aren’t you?”
“Always dapper, yes,” Z said, petting down any lingering wrinkles on her sweater.
“Oh, you’re so witty. Smart. Dapper. Good one, Z.” K threw her head back in a chortle, knocking the back of her head on the hospital white wall behind her. “Ouch.” She rubbed the point of impact.
“Enough of this nonsense,” said Z.
K snapped to attention. But thought about the back of her head. And wondered if her thoughts came from that spot on the back of her head that had taken a beating. And if her thoughts came from that spot on the back of her head that had taken a beating and now that part of the back of her head had been hit by the wall….wait, no….had hit the wall, then perhaps her thoughts could radiate out faster. Like the pain itself. Throbbing its way from a single point like a ripple. Or, perhaps she’d cracked the spot that held her thoughts and the thoughts that came from that spot on the back of her head would fall into an abyss so dark and lonely they’d never be found again. Or maybe her thoughts…
“K! Listen to me!”
“Yes, Z.”
“We must find our way out of this place. We have been in here for a year. Isolated. Quarantined. Our lives placed on pause while the world outside swims through a COVID-infested ooze.”
“Oooh. Ooze. Is it like slime? I like slime, Z. Maybe we could go swimming too?”
“Yes! But no. Not in the ooze. But we need to get out and into the world again.”
“How will we do that Z?”
Z motioned K with a solitary finger. She beckoned her closer. Closer. Closer to the mirror where Z resided. Until BAM! K knocked her skull against the glass.
“Ouch. That hurt.”
Z rolled her eyes. This happened every morning. K hit her head from behind. She hit her head from the front. They were lucky when she didn’t end up lethargic for the day in consequence, but, still, the continual impact had its effect.
“As I was saying!” declared Z with stentorian posture and a downward struck fist.
K rubbed her forehead. And her backhead.
“Yeah, Z. As you were saying.”
“We must escape the confines of these four walls again today the same way we do every day.”
“Right-o, Z! Same way we do every day.” K nodded her head enthusiastically. Then threw up.
“You’ll have to clean that up before we escape,” said Z evaluating her cuticles.
They were out of Clorox and bleach and dishwashing soap and detergent and vinegar, so while K cleaned up her mess with a dustpan and some febreeze, Z turned the other way to bake honey banana cupcakes. Again. They always had bananas to go on.
Will K and Z escape their four walls before they go bananas? Find out next time in The Days of our Pandemic….
I like art museums, so call me a nerd. You wouldn’t be the first.
It started in Boston, like several of my hobbies, as an assignment to visit the MFA. While the art students sketched in their journals, I wrote. I lament, in this shut-down world, the ability to go to an art museum, to be in the presence of an original, to stare and study and consider every movement in it. And, of course, the story of it.
I came across this poem, written many years ago while at an art museum viewing Rembrandt’s Faustus in His Study, in my journal. Read it. Then comment:
a) What I could improve/what you like
OR
b) Where you most miss visiting (or maybe not most miss just miss — no judgments)
Faustus in His Study
Faustus, Faustus
Glowing grandly
Spreading soundly
Your own dark light
Watching, waiting,
Waxing impatient
By your soul’s own
Grand Delight.
Faustus, Faustus
Staring starkly
As the magic disk revolves
Never noting
Naught before thee
But your own design to grow.
Pride, Impatience
Desire for Greatness
You’ve wound yourself into
The disk that flows.
Spinning, it’s spun you
Woven, it’s won you
To its delights to keep you
Alone.
Alone, you are
Alone, you aren’t.
You are man
Caught among men
Guided by the same sin.
Get the print by Rembrandt.
Read my favorite Faustus, Dr. Faustus by Christopher Marlowe.
For years, my husband has been telling me to create a blog. His reasoning morphs with the seasons, but the seeds are always there.
“Publish your poetry,” he says.
“Your work could really help people,” he says.
“You read so much,” he says, “and could offer a lot in giving reviews.”
“You’re a talented teacher,” he says. “What about a vlog?”
And, so, he’s worn me down. (I jest.) Here I am. Beginning the blog that will be all those things, probably, and many more. Because, he also says…
“You’re very creative” and “No one can say you’re boring.”
Thank you, dear.
KZ Rochelle 