NOTES FROM A PRIVILEGED LOCKDOWN Lockdown Easter Saturday

In my domestic archeology, I have dug up 2 valuable fossils:
A ceramic chamber pot from a French flea market (which I clearly remember paying in Francs), and a bunch of silk tulips, bought in Bangkok in March 1990.
The long lasting quality of Thai silk and the immaculate durability of ceramic – still pleasant to the eye after 30 years – make me change perspective on my shopping future: I no longer see spending less, as I had intended just until a few days ago: I will spend MORE.
I will just BUY less.
One expensive (…) instead of 3 cheap ones.
I will still come out ahead.
And when I look at IT, 20 years from now, I will still find beauty in it.
BARGAIN!
– – – – – – – – – –
Today, a great catch for my search of things that money can’t buy:
Sun Basking.
Not Sun tanning; you CAN buy that: it usually comes included in the price tag of a week in Viareggio, or Sardinia, or Mexico.
And so far, we had managed to sneak a couple of those in our budget, each summer .
Naturally, when working, there is no time to lay out in the sun for that “half an hour a day, naked, between 8 and 10am, or 5-7pm”, recommended for boosting calcium, melatonin and serotonin.
So usually I make it to the beach pale as a mozzarella, I cover myself with expensive SPF lotions, I avoid the sun like a vampire, and end up sun-burned nonetheless..

Lockdown is affording me the luxury to

“bask | verb [no object]: lie exposed to warmth and light, typically from the sun, for relaxation and pleasure”.
So now, daily, just for “relaxation and pleasure”, the sun-hungry bones of a 50 something year old lady can make peace with the sun-overdosed skin of that same mrs.
PEACE!

– – – – – – – –
Last night I went to bed with a sense of frustration: I had decided that yesterday would be the Day Without Alcohol.
Unfortunately, the power of habit got the better of me: Marco handed me the ritual “cheap-beer-in-expensive-glass”, and before I could remember my good intentions, the glass was empty.

And while it was obviously too late for the Day Without Husband, I thought I could make it up with a Night Without Husband, which – I negotiated with myself – surely must be worth at least as much as a Day Without Husband.

But it was almost midnight, and I was exhausted by a white-knuckle game of Pictionary.
So there I was, lying in my bed, defeated by my lack of self discipline.

But then I had a micro-epiphany:
without me trying, it had been a Day Without Sugar!
Yeah Majla, I win!

Wait. It does feel more like a tie.

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