Sarah Roush

Sarah Roush

A lot of things have become more understandable as these weeks of isolation and working from home drag on. For instance, I totally get why Tom Hanks started talking to a volleyball in that movie, Castaway. I have caught myself having entire conversations with various objects in the past few weeks.

This weekend, I cooed to an array of pretty, red flowers as they were planted in the flowerbed in front of the house. I was telling them how cheerful they looked and how they would brighten up the space. The next morning, as I looked at their stubby remains, I had an entirely different conversation regarding the herd of ravenous and inconsiderate rabbits in the area. Instead of flowers, we now have a whole array of plastic cups, jugs and bottles with ends sawed off, decorating the beds; each of the containers received a pep talk about defending the frail and weak plants within.

I am optimistic that by the time these plants outgrow the containers, enough rabbits will be picked off by hawks and coyotes for the plants to rebloom by the Fourth of July. Unless they drown from these unrelenting rains. The clouds certainly have not seemed to pay attention when I beseech them to go away and let the sun rejuvenate our spirits and dry out the swamp that now exists in our yard and surrounding fields.

I find myself baking bread again. I haven’t done so much baking in years: the kneading is therapeutic and relaxing. Thankfully, the bread dough does not absorb the salty comments as I mutter my frustrations quietly with each punch and fold. Amazingly enough, the more irritation I take out on the dough, the better the bread turns out.

Just this morning, I found myself apologizing to the vacuum sweeper as a trail of “yabba dabba doo” and “magically delicious” cereal was swept up from the living room floor. I have no doubt that junky sugary cereal was doing awful things to the brushes and innards of this appliance. I was basically begging my 20-year-old appliance for forgiveness.

Our recent weather has also created conversations with our satellite service and our landline phone service since they seem to immediately go on the fritz after every heavy rainfall. So, the telephone and computer wind up being recipients of pithy comments regarding being fair weather friends and workers.

The dumbest commentary has been reserved for our toilet paper holders. We have the type where you just snap a new roll of toilet tissue into the holder. Super simple even though every male in this household still sits the fresh roll on top of the used spool. Lately, we have discovered that manufacturers have made the rolls slightly shorter — as in the width of the roll. Instead of staying on the tissue holder, the roll will now drop to the floor with the slightest contact, sliding across the bathroom floor and stopping just out of reach, creating yet another conversation best not shared with our son.

Even though the circumstances are different, I have a greater appreciation for Castaway’s hero and I could go on about the connections, but, there is spilled apple juice in the fridge requiring a stern lecture and a pile of bills which are waiting to be told off.

Written and submitted by Sarah Roush for The Circleville Herald. The views of this column may not necessarily reflect that of the newspaper.

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