My entire social life at the moment consists of going out for walks and randomly running into my neighbours. Some I know quite well and we end up stopping to talk for awhile to catch up, standing apart in the middle of the road. Our streets are wide, without sidewalks, and there’s hardly any traffic so distancing is not a problem. Others I know by sight from walking these roads and forest trails for the past 9 years; I am more likely to know their dogs’ names than their own. We acknowledge each other with nods, smiles and brief stops to chat about this and that. The latest big news in town is that the small pine siskin birds that are passing through now are dying from salmonella poisoning probably from bird feeders. Or so the story goes. I’ve seen two dead ones on the road and two in the backyard that I can certify were not killed by Dennis.

The other day I was talking to someone about what we were going to do in Year 2 of … what are we calling it this week – lockdown. “I’ll just have to get more hobbies, more pastimes!” I suggested. The truth is, there’s no shortage of things to do. Friends are finishing up long neglected projects, cleaning up their stuff, redecorating parts of their homes, and discovering new interests in new ways. It really feels like a very creative time for many.

So what have I been doing and what’s next? Since it’s January and we’ll be inside for awhile yet, both because of stay home rules and winter weather, I’ll think about inside pastimes.

Last year, from May to December I painted almost every day, learning to use watercolours, which were entirely new to me. Till then I had been either drawing or painting in acrylics of one sort or another, but I’m always up for something new. To learn this new medium of watercolour I joined the online art school of a well known, loose style watercolour artist in the U.K. and I’ve been having a great time, it has exceeded expectations. However, for the past 6 weeks or so I’ve put painting aside and I’ve been spending a lot of time in front of a monitor, creating a number of photobooks to have printed, including some that are snatching 14 years worth of blog posts out of the ether to become hard copy (ahem) page turners. It’s pretty mechanical and repetitive layout work so I amuse myself by listening to podcasts. These projects are going well but the lure of colours is beckoning so no doubt I’ll be painting again before too long.

An annual ritual is the post-Christmas jigsaw puzzle. This year the 1000 piecer was finished in record time. A great time passer. Should the mood strike to change up the ritual to twice a year or whatever, I have a cupboard full of them and access to a neighbour’s puzzle cupboard as well.

Then there’s this situation…

This Christmas, once again, I collected all the books I have that I haven’t yet read, put them into a huge gift bag and put them under the tree, re-gifting them to myself. I counted 65 and I know there’s even more than that here and there around the house and Bunkie. Am I a book reader or a book collector? I’ve been doing a lot of reading this past year and it looks like there’s lots to keep me busy in Year 2.

Last summer I heard that a favourite author, Colin Cotterill, had just released the 15th and final book in his Dr. Siri mystery series set in Laos. I first found these books in a bookstore in Vientiane, Laos in 2007 on the first of many visits. Cotterill, who now lives in Thailand, was having them printed locally and proceeds of all sales in Laos were going to scholarships to young Lao trainee teachers, rehabilitation of bomb victims (bombs and bombies leftover from the American war are still exploding) and children’s literacy programs. He’s been releasing new books in the series regularly since then. Until now.

The protagonist, Dr. Siri, is a 70-something reluctant national coroner in the People’s Democratic Republic of Laos in the years after the Communist nationalists took over in 1975 after a long civil war. With the help of a small, motley group of friends, and the assistance of the spirits of the dead, he solves a series of strange mysteries, all along serving up commentary on life in Laos in the 1970’s. They are the funniest books I’ve ever read.

I decided I would honour the event of this final Dr. Siri by, before reading that last book, re-reading the entire series again, concluding with this new grand finale. So that was my summer treat, self-isolated on a chaise in the garden, laughing out loud with my favourite books and dreaming of Laos.

After the first Pause and lockdown lifted late last spring and the small shops started to slowly reopen in town, I noticed that my favourite shop, a used book store, had closed for good. Our town is mostly made up of small independent businesses – there are no large chains or anything like that, so the spring lockdown and subsequent very scaled back summer tourist season was difficult to say the least. The book store was a first casualty and I was so sorry to see it go. But then it got worse.

When I first saw this sight of the liquidation and upcoming closing of the used music store in the next town I’ve been frequenting for the past 9 years I was pretty devastated. Owned and operated by one guy, the place was a wonderful anachronism. I’d go in every few months and spend a lot of time flipping through CD’s of all kinds of music finding old stuff and new stuff and stuff I never knew existed. I bought lots. Glad to support the last of a dying breed.

The store was temporarily closed when I first saw the liquidation signs and for a few days I felt sorry for myself and the prospect of being cut off from my great experience of music-seeking. Poor me. But when I returned later I walked into a heartbreaking scene. The owner, Tim, is a small man, slight and stooped, of indeterminate age, older but not old. This day, I found him behind the counter, among the usual mess of assorted cardboard boxes filled with music, shuffling CD cases around. When he slowly raised his head to recognize me, I looked into the sad and weary face of a man who was completely and totally gutted. The sorrow hung heavy as he told me his story.

In the spring when everything shut down for 3 months, there was some government financial support for awhile and temporary rent reductions. But when reopening was finally possible it didn’t bring back what small business he had had and now the landlord was not only wanting full rent, but he was requiring Tim to sign a new 3-year lease. Not possible in the middle of such uncertainty, and the fact is he had already been struggling for some time, for obvious reasons. So now it was the end, and he was hoping through the liquidation of inventory that he would have enough money to keep him going through to the end of the winter. He had no idea what he would do for work.

And…his mother had just died after her third bout of cancer…

I stayed for a long while that day, flipping through the plastic CD cases, finding gems, absorbing the atmosphere, respecting the past – it felt like I was present at a visitation, grieving alongside. As usual I bought lots, more than lots. Before I opened the door to leave I stopped and backtracked a few steps. I leaned over the counter and told Tim exactly what joy he and his store have brought to my life these past years.

Then I left.

That was my first experience of personally knowing, and witnessing, someone losing their business this past year and it gave me a lot to think about. Behind every liquidation sign we pass by there is a story. While acknowledging my own sense of loss of my favourite this or that, or that I can’t go and do this or that, in the end it really doesn’t amount to a hill of beans compared to what so many others are up against. Compassion and gratitude will see me through – that and a whole lot of patience.

I’ve decided that another pastime to pass time as time passes will be to stop collecting and take a very deep dive into my own private used music collection and discover, rediscover and appreciate what I already have. Over 400 CD’s and more than 5000 songs on my IPods. Should keep me busy happy for a (non) foreseeable future.