Dear future hubster

 Dear future hubster, this is a friendly reminder that things are not going to magically get better overnight.  Those who were hungry yesterday will probably be hungry tomorrow. Those who were beaten last week will probably be at the risk of being beaten next week. The girls who didn't get to go to school, were forced to marry young, have children their bodies and minds weren't ready to have are not going to feel any better tomorrow, next week, next month. Governments will not suddenly give back rights they've taken away this year. Hatred is not going to turn to love. For love, grace, salvation don't just appear. Neither do solutions. They take a lot of work. Maybe a little more so in difficult (unprecedented, extraordinary, trying, challenging) times, but making the world a little less of a crappy place has never been an easy task.  The only thing that can (somewhat) change overnight is how much of that hard work we're willing to do. You know, good old Gandalf said...

Dear future hubster,  when we (the world) first watched Love Actually, that grand finale scene at the school Christmas play seemed very cute on many levels. Looking at it today, it was also a bit of a prophecy. Remember when the girl points at everybody's favourite little drummer boy saying "all I want for Christmas is you", and he practically melts and we all go awwww? But then she keeps pointing at pretty much everybody in the room saying "and you and you and you", and he's well, a little grumpy, understandably. Now imagine them playing a show 2020-style, to an empty auditorium, with their audience watching online. All they want for Christmas is us. All of us. Or, try if you can, with a wild somersault of your imagination, picture being a person in 2020 who hasn't seen, for most of the year, most of their favourite people other than on screens, from the shoulder up. I for one admit without hesitation, that yes I want you, dear future hubster, for the C...

 Dear future hubster, the expression "dance like nobody's watching" now should be understood as "dance like it's 2020 and you've been stuck in your living room for long enough to carry a pregnancy to term and The Killers are blasting it from Lollapalooza in 2018 and you actually have enough room and lack of other sweaty bodies to freely shake what Mother Nature gave you to shake and also you're not wearing a bra and the remote control is now your own personal microphone". Do they get royalties for saving the day?

Dear future hubster,  hang in there. I'm saying this to you so I don't have to say it to myself.  Hang in there, because there is an end in sight. It's not as near as Frankie said it, but there is some light. I don't know if we even acknowledged the progress that has been made in the past weeks. I for one might or might not have been in tears seeing Maggie Keenan getting her shot. Tears of hope certainly, but not tears of relief. Tears of anticipation, anxiety, cabin fever, uncertainty, lack of trust. For all the things we couldn't do externally, this year, for many of us, has been severe labour on the inside. Too much to think about, too many things to question, nobody to give answers, and when they do we don't believe them anyway.  Grief - anticipatory, real -, misery competition, guilt, loss of perspective, loss of appetite, circles to go around in. Anger, jealousy, resentment towards those who weren't there. Anger, jealousy, resentment towards those who ...