• Summertime music means creating playlists on Spotify. There were no outdoor concerts or street festivals this season.
• A social highlight is when I run into two other dog owners on walks in my neighborhood and we exchange our pets’ names as we stand at least six feet apart (conveniently, the length of a standard leash).
• I buy toilet paper, regardless of immediate need, when I see a size of package I can readily store (12 rolls or fewer).
• My nighttime checklist includes having a clean mask for the next day.

Welcome to the new normal.

To recognize a friend’s birthday this past Friday, I was asked to meet a small group at a restaurant that had outdoor seating under a white tent.

Like millions of other Americans in the Age of COVID, I have taken to watching my spending, but I wanted to get a little something to mark the occasion.

I recalled how, many years ago, I used to shop at Uncle Fun, a novelty store on the city’s near north side.  I was fond of the “potato guns” they sold, a mostly harmless way to let out your aggressions by shooting pencil eraser-sized pieces of a spud across a yard.

After Googling for store hours, I was very disappointed to learn that the laughter stopped at Uncle Fun around five years ago when the store closed. But wait….

Google did not disappoint. I was linked to an article from an online neighborhood forum. It seemed that a local comedy promoter, Flabby Hoffman, opened up a store in Logan Square in the same spirit of Uncle Fun.

Hoping to be taken by whimsy, I wanted to find the right type of collectible or plaything for Wendy only hours before our dinner gathering.

Although a bigger space than Uncle Fun, and seemingly not as chock-full of oddities and ha-ha gizmos, the Extraordinarium was full of treasures.

In one of their front windows, there appeared to be a garage band rehearsal going on. The musicians were larger-than-life stuffed bears.

In the back of the store, there was a strange arrangement of Astro-turf sections under the not very watchful eyes of a blow-up Elvis; a miniature golf course.

And the shelf displays demanded that I check out my options slowly. There were Mad Magazine collectibles and trading cards, Pink Pony metal lunch boxes, Bernie Sanders string figure key chains, and backwards clocks (the number 11 was where the 1 should be, 10, where the 2 should be, etc.)

And I picked up a book, which was not stacked with other books, but rather with pet items. After reading a few pages, I decided it would be a perfect gift for Wendy.

How to Talk to Your Cat About Gun Safety: And Abstinence, Drugs, Satanism, and Other Dangers That Threaten Their Nine Lives.

As the store’s name started seeding the notion, the Extraordinarium was an extraordinary find.

I considered how sad I’ve been lately that so many people in this country voice more outrage over vandalism and shattered windows, which can be replaced, than over lives lost because armed policemen act from an impulse to control instead of a desire to protect.

I’ve been discouraged by how many Americans seem to  confuse freedom with self-centeredness and feel justified in being defiant, disrespectful, and cruel.

I’ve been appalled by leaders who feel winning is the only thing that matters, even if they have to cheat in order to achieve victory.

So, my adventure to the Extraordinarium was well-timed. Even for only thirty minutes, I allowed surprise and laughter to well up inside of me. Playfulness prevailed.

Finding healthy ways to escape reality and lift your spirits, while the world is reeling, is no small thing.