All My Last Things

 If you're tired of people talking about what they were doing a year ago when This Whole Thing began, click away quickly. I love this conversation and I'm going in.

A friend asked me the other day if I could remember what it was: the last thing I did before the world shut down. What was my last outing, my last date, what was I doing the night before we found out the schools were closing and everything was cancelled?

I laughed, and laughed, and laughed. I snorted. I groaned. Because, yes, I could remember. I could remember vividly. And even if I couldn't, these things are documented on Instagram with dates and summaries included, shocking and adorable in their naiveté. Haunting, even. So incredibly on the nose, they almost feel psychic in retrospect. 

I hereby present to you: All My Last Things: An Instagram Anthology

1. The Last Restaurant 

It has officially been more than a year since I've eaten in a restaurant (we have, however, enjoyed takeout a LOT this year, shoutout to Vic's, Leopold's, the Lancaster, and Lakeshore). I'm trying to remember if there was a point where I realized we were going to have that option taken away from us but where it hadn't been yet, and if it crossed my mind to have one last hurrah. If it did, I didn't follow through on it, leaving the McDonald's on Park Street as my last real in-person restaurant experience, and this my last photographic keepsake of simpler in-person restaurant times:

2. The Last Declaration

On March 6, I sat and worked in a coffee shop for the last time. In my subsequent Instagram post, I declared to the world (or, the bite-sized portion of the world that reads my Instagram posts) that I would choose "this meek sun" over "sun that blares down on a tropical beach" every time. 

Don't get me wrong, I still quite like this meek sun. But I do hereby publicly apologize to the blaring tropical sun: I didn't mean to anger you. Please let us have airplane rides again. 

3. The Last Date

It was the beginning of March. Barclay's parents took the kids overnight so Barclay and I could have a belated Valentine's Day date. (Typing these words sends sharp pangs of nostalgia and longing through my chest like forks and knives—sleepovers at the grandparents' house? Be still, my weeping, shaking, temper-tantrum-throwing heart.)

What did we do with our one wild and precious evening? Did we eat in an actual restaurant (you already know the answer to that, don't you)? Did we drive to Moose Jaw for a night at the spa? Did we go to a concert, the theatre, improv night at the Artesian? 

Oh heck no, not us. We decided to get creative. We decided to disrupt our status quo. We walked around the Cathedral Village—outside, away from other people. We shopped Safeway for Nicer Ingredients Than We Usually Buy and we made a gourmet meal in our own kitchen. Then? We stayed home and watched a movie. BLESS US.

4. The Last Family Outing

Last winter, the kids and I went snow clearing with Barclay as often as we could—provided the school schedule allowed it, provided we didn't have other plans—and it always felt like such a fun and special little family outing. The museum? Fine. The movie theatre? Never got around to it. Driving around in the car drinking coffee? Familial bliss. So that is what we did, the last time we could've done anything.

5. The Last Night

The crown jewel in my week of fantastic pre-pandemic decision-making. It was a Saturday night. Barclay had a friend over to listen to Slick Shoes albums in the living room, and I locked myself in the bedroom with snacks, a book, and my laptop for a luxurious evening ALONE. Because I was tired of people, events, going out, all that NOISE. I was so excited about it, so pleased with myself, and very determined to make this a regular thing—I remember saying to Barclay, "I should do this more often!"

LOL. 

LOL. 

Lol.

lol.

lollllllll

So there you have it. If anyone's wondering what brought this pandemic upon us, it was probably me. I tried to disrupt the status quo just a little and accidentally disrupted it all the way. Is there a moral to this story? Something about seizing the day. Or maybe it's a flagrant display of Murphy's law or the long-lost fourth verse to Alanis Morissette's Ironic. 

Mrs. Girls Night Out 

Wanted a night at home

She packed her sna-a-acks and drinks

And crawled into bed alo-one

She watched her TV shows

And she took a break

And when the world shut down she thought

I've made a big mistake

And isn't it ironic?

Don't you think?