Is this what the Chinese, to quote their famous saying, mean by ‘living in interesting times?’ If so, I can’t tell if these are the best of times or the worst of times…and like Tolstoy, the trick is to assume it’s both, wonder if you are living in war or in peace…and decide it doesn’t matter. Just get on with your blog.
I have been indoors for something approaching three weeks. With the viral doomsday clock already ticking, I shut the doors rather permanently and decided not to open them for the duration. The duration of what, of course? Possibly the duration of the Trump presidency. Although I would miss the regional change of seasons. No, like everyone else, I am waiting it out, while uncertain of what ‘it’ even is.
On our street, according to Jane, people are behaving themselves. They keep the prescribed viral distance and, when passing, give each other a wide berth. So, what the hell, I finally ventured out, following Jane up the hill on a dog walk. The dog, by the way, is a new acquisition. All our animals had died within the space of a year. So nine days ago, with the shelter-in-place order about to come down for the San Francisco area, we got in Jane’s car and drove across the Bay Bridge to Richmond, 10 miles north of Oakland.
And there she was. Poppy. Part pitbull, all love. We now share a home with her. We are trying to make room. She needs a lot of the latter. Which is just what I need, a lively, loving diversion from all the grimness.
So here we are, the three of us, one on leash, one on foot, one on wheelchair, rolling along the lower slopes of Twin Peaks. Joggers and walkers occasionally approach. And each and every one immediately goes into the street, using the pavement while the three of us remain on the sidewalk. Even this small concession is heartening. An unspoken understanding has already come to be. There is hope.
Whether a larger, national understanding is in the making…I just don’t know. This currently looks grim. Thing is, even if the Covid-19 transmission rate falls to zero within San Francisco, so what? This isn’t a walled city. We are all in this together, like it or not. Still, big changes have small starts. And as starts go, this is a good one.
What is scary is that anything is scary. What if at 73, with musculoskeletal mishaps threatening me every day anyway…something bad happens at the wrong time. Because that ‘wrong time’ may extend indefinitely. Meanwhile, if there are no mishaps, I plan to huddle inside writing, like Daniel Defoe, my own Journal of the Plague Year. Although, quite frankly, I would prefer the Journal of the Plague Months.
On the way back from our walk up the hill, the electronic lock on our front door isn’t working. Why? Because eventually nothing works. Except us. And we had better work together.