NOTES FROM A PRIVILEGED LOCKDOWN DAY 12 (but more like 16) ish

NOTES FROM A PRIVILEGED LOCKDOWN

DAY 12 (but more like 16) ish

So yes, a few minutes before 10am I did have a list of 3 items to be accomplished by the end of the day;
but they mostly relate to grooming of house, pets, self:
a bit too trivial to be shared, even for a FB post.

– – – – – – – –

5 items for the bucket list: that was a challenge. Still is.
But then again, finding it hard to come up with things I want to do before I die, must mean I either lack any kind of imagination, or I have had a decently adventurous life. (Or I am really really old).

Anyone out there! Help with the bucket list, please!

In Italian there isn’t even a word for “bucket list”.
And if you can’t name it , you can’t think it.
I had never thought about that.
Definitely worthy of some more reflection.

For now, on my draft copy I am jotting down:
– having a returnable new baby, yet that I can call my own.
(But this one is entirely up to my children).

– – – – – – – –

For the “4 items by next Sunday” list:

1) Make the Fitbit proud.

(Apparently I can’t make the daily 10k. )
So I will compensate by keeping a cumulative weekly total of 70k by next Sunday.
After all there are 90 steps to the top of the tower: 5 round trips and a couple visits to the bathroom should do it.
I will pretend to be a hamster in a luxury cage.

That puts me in a fairly empowered mood: I can make up for my own unaccomplishments. (the grammar corrector doesn’t want me to use this word: “unaccomplishment”).

The trouble is that JUST MAKING A LIST of what I haven’t done might take up most of the lockdown time.
(And while I cannot work on that baby of my own, I do need to get to those urgent grooming projects. By today.)

To reduce this latter list, I must resort to a little shortcut: forgiveness.
So some shortages I will compensate, and some I will just have to pardon myself for.

BTW: here follows one of my favorite short stories about forgiveness:

“Two old gentlemen are sitting next to each other at a bench in the park. They converse amiably and reminisce of the good old days of hunting together as young men; and of as little ones chasing each other.
They share a sweet memory of their mother. So, they are brothers.
Finally satiated with memories, they keep silent for a while, and exchange a look of deep affection.

Then suddenly one asks the other: “Listen, I want to ask you a question. It’s been a long time, and I can’t remember how things went: was it you who killed me, or am I the one who killed you?”
And the other replies, shrugging: “I can’t remember anymore, Cain, I just can’t remember anymore.”

BOOK NOW
Privacy Settings
Name Enabled
Cookies
We use Cookies to give you a better website experience.
Google Analytics
We track anonymized user information to improve our website.
x

We use cookies to give you the best online experience. By agreeing you accept the use of cookies in accordance with our cookie policy.

Are you looking to bring Italy into your home? Join us for a virtual pasta making class!