Today begins my eighth week of voluntary (?) lock-down, and
I do believe I am relatively sane, thought I would be a poor
judge of that. I have been observing the required social
distancing guidelines of staying six feet apart from others,
however that does not mean we can't sit on the deck and
share a drink and a laugh.
This weekend I helped a friend with her Spring yard work.
I can't tell you how good it felt to get outside with a rake and
a shovel and do some honest work again, (blisters notwithstanding).
We got about half the yard done and I made her promise to call me
when she is going to finish the work. It beats the heck out of walking
alone and lonely to get my required amount of daily exercise.
I got a notice in this morning's mail that the community garden is
open, and we may begin working the soil, all-be-it with a list of
caveats to keep everyone safe and prevent spreading the virus to
our fellow gardeners. Of course, it came right on time to coincide
with two days of heavy rain. But hopefully by the weekend I will
be able once again to grab a handful of warm earth and squeeze
it through my fingers to test it, and smell the glorious fragrance, and
the promise of a rich harvest to come. Never have I so looked forward
to getting down and dirty as I have this year.
This week I had to break down and go to the grocery store, not my
favorite thing to do in good times, and even less when garbed in face
mask and latex gloves. The weather was warm enough for me to wear
just my hoodie and a tee. I had my 'Bloomberg for President' shirt on as
it has long sleeves and it is fairly heavy-weight. Emblazoned on the front
of the black shirt, in bright silver letters, it says: "New Year - New
President", my sentiments exactly. Pushing my cart down the aisle,
I was met by a woman who gave me a thumbs up and said, "I like
your shirt". A man, probably 10-15 feet ahead of us heard her
comment and turned to look. He began walking back to us muttering
something, and as he was not wearing a mask, I asked him not to come
any closer. He kept coming, and I asked him again, only louder this
time, not to come any closer. He looked around and thought better of
it, and said in a very loud voice, "Stupid bitches!". I do think some folks
are not faring too well in this new normal.
I took my usual walk this morning, it takes me past our little park. On a
beautiful day such as today, it would have been overrun with children of
all ages, on swings and teeter-totters, merry-go-rounds and bouncy rides. The
air would have been filled with their laughter, what a joyous sound, the sound
of children laughing. But the park was empty, not a soul, the silence was
deafening. It is surreal, and I find it more than mildly disconcerting. I
have a new great-grandson; he was born on January 17th. I have yet to
see him, his big brother turned two last week, I sent a card and a check.
I didn't want to send something that couldn't be sanitized. What a strange
world this has become.
What I wouldn't give right now to be able to go to my favorite gin joint
and have a beer and play a little pool or maybe a game or two of darts.
Just to laugh and take a kidding on my really bad aim; at least I never
hit a bystander as someone else did, not mentioning any names. Funny
how somethings take on such importance when you are denied them.
I really miss my pickleball friends, by now we would be playing outside.
It might be a bit cold in the early morning, but once the sun is full up, it
warms up nicely. We start our games at 6:45am, all grumbly and grouchy
until play starts and then we forget the early hour, shouting and laughing
our way through two and a half hours without realizing how much we
have exercised . Then it is time for a stop at the coffee shop for a cuppa
and at least another two hours of gossip. What a great way to start the day.
Please tell me when this is all over, those days will come again. Tell me
traumatized children will laugh and play again or will they have lost some
of their innocence? Tell me my great-grandchildren will still remember
me, when I have lost those precious brief first days when imprinting is
so important? Will we have lost the hugs between old friends, the
handshakes between colleagues, the high-fives after a great game?
Will we always view each stranger, not as a potential friend, but as a
carrier of some dread disease? When will we be able to stop sanitizing
everything we touch, stop washing our hands when all we did was sit
alone on the sofa, and when can we scratch our chin when it itches?
When can I ditch the mask and show the world my smile, and I will
smile, from ear to ear. Some experts say never, I do hope they are wrong.
I'm just sayin'
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