Then a stretch of days arrived where I took turns between immense terror and grief. I found artificial ways to blow up my new life and add manufactured drama to the fold. I stirred the pot with old boyfriends who got in touch and sent longing texts to men that could have been. Then, I took to writing long unanswered e-mails and two-hour phone calls. It felt luxurious to sleep in and set up my easel by the afternoon. Early on, it was listening to Billie Holiday and painting. Something would have to stick to make these days feel less like a never-ending threshold. As weeks rolled by, I would have to give in and try isolated life with the old circumstances of my personality. I didn’t think it was something to invest time in.Ī few weeks in, as I attempted to sear a bavette steak on a video call, my friend shook her head in disbelief, “I can’t believe we’ve let it come to this.” I began to understand that for friends who were used to being regaled by my exploits, to see me forced into this new climate was not only sad for me, but for them.įrom the narrow frame of my phone, I saw people find quaint pleasures in this sleepy state. I have never asked my landlord to replace my oven even though it is from a time when cooking veal and “fowl” was standard (there is a guide on the stove with suggested temperatures for both). My kitchen is equipped like Noah’s ark, only two of everything and rarely used.

The contents of my fridge range from soda water to nail polish. They would call to check in saying, “It’s been difficult … but I kept thinking what about Marlowe? What will she eat? How will she live?” Of course, it was an adjustment. Russell later explained the philosophy in a radio interview as, “Going out and meeting life, touching it and getting out in the foreground.” This, to me, has been the only way to live.Īs isolation began, it seemed that I was on the mind of several friends. When people asked me to describe my lifestyle I only thought of the glittering Rosalind Russell in the titular role of Auntie Mame howling, “Live! That’s the message! Life’s a banquet and most poor suckers are starving to death!” Ms. My home was just a place I passed through on my way to another destination. I am lucky to have a wardrobe fit for any occasion, and I am always one to choose dressing up and not down. If I wanted to go for a drink, I’d happily take myself for one, not the least discouraged by being out alone. Before isolation, I was known to flit from one bar to another, finding time for numerous dates, and always showing up to the party (invited or not). I have always wanted to live a big life – one filled with charm, adventure and mischief. Marlowe Granados is a writer and filmmaker based in Toronto and author of the novel Happy Hour, which will be published in September.

Marlowe granados age