Coronavirus 2020

 We still lived in an apartment in Charles and Erica's basement when Coronavirus began to grind through New York City and slowly make its way westward. One Sunday afternoon we sat upstairs with them and college-age grandchildren, Maxwell and Mira. Casually, we compiled all the information we knew about the virus from our readings. It was an airborne virus; it mutated quickly; it was deadly especially for the elderly. Maxwell said, "Say good-bye to the grandparents."

Wait! No! He means us. No, not us. We have at least another five or ten years left.

His uninhibited pronouncement cut through our denial of death like a well-sharpened Nakiri knife. Maybe we wouldn't live another five years. Maybe we wouldn't make it to Christmas!

We lived anxiously.  Children's friends were not allowed in the house. We bought masks. We ordered groceries; we followed the rules and so did they. Months later, we realized that in the fall, ready or not, Erica would return to teaching school, and the kids would have at least some classes that required actual attendance. Who knows what grim diseases they might carry back home to us, the compromised elderly.

That's when Tom and I decided we needed to live alone and in a few months, we moved.

We have our own two-bedroom apartment, yes, but the building has 350 units, so occasionally we meet someone in the hall or on the elevator, but everyone wears masks and we have grown comfortable with our choice. We asked before we rented if there had been any Covid in the building and the agent said a confident no. But how would she even know? If I get Covid, am I going to call the management to let them know? Probably not.

Since we moved the 1st of August, the numbers of people getting the virus has multiplied in an alarming way. I meet my friends in parks, and where we didn't know anyone with the virus a few months ago, now we know many people who have or had the virus. It's closing in. Hospitals are filling up. The danger is far from over.

This is what I've learned: once a month, I have to take a quick walk through Target and look at "stuff." Having a church meeting alone with Tom has been one of the most satisfying experiences of recent years. Meeting our children and grandchildren in outdoor venues is precious. I miss hugging. I miss the blowing out of birthday candles. Meetings on Zoom are awkward and sometimes appalling. Zoom doesn't replace human contact.  I like how quickly human beings revert to humor in perilous times. Of course there's not one cartoon I can paste into this spot, because I'm ignorant or there's a conspiracy against me. I refer you to Roz Chast online.

Thank heaven for books and movies and Parcheesi. Thank heaven for ice cream, take-out, and the great outdoors. Thank heaven for Amazon, UPS and Fed Ex. 

If I die before Christmas, it was nice knowing you.