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NAMASTE 2022

  There is a wet nose at my cheek. The room is still quite dark, but I am sure that it must be close to the time I scheduled myself to get up for yoga with Hetal. It is time to get back to routine. “Georgia up,” I call.  I surrender after her face tells me she is not getting up on the bed for a morning snuggle. “Ok, here we go.” I search for my slippers under my bed and rise from those cozy sheets (I call my cocoon) towards the door. Georgia scampers down the hall with definite purpose, down the stairs and makes a beeline to the patio door. “Good girl,” I add, and heave open the glass door to the minus 20 degree Celsius temps on the other side. The creak and groan and heft of the door mimic my reluctance. A waft of arctic air accosts my pyjamaed body from head to toe, sending a chill straight to my bones, but it does not faze fur-covered Georgia in the least. She scurries out, finds her spot in the belly-deep snow, and continues to search for just the ideal location for her morning con
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   It is New Year's Day Eve, 2020, the most sought-after day on the planet. Everyone I know and love wants to bury this year in a self-combusting tank where the pain of illness and death, unemployment and bankruptcy, mental unwellness, desperation and loneliness are left to rot.   This year of Covid-19 has truly created a new understanding of what really matters in life: health, family, friendship, and imagination. For most, our work spaces have moved into our homes; our homes have become our sanctuaries; our sanctuaries have been limited to family, few friends, masks, and 6-foot distances. To be self-sufficient is to survive; to be calm is to create; to obey the advice of health care officials is prudent.  So please explain to me why there are still people in this world who opt to follow their own paths, their own egos, and resist the science of this virus? Their foolishness is contagious. I will not be responsible for those individuals; may they find their places in another solar