Living in coronavirusworld 10: I'll come when I can

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a sea of white tents in the East Meadow field hospital....

I call my friend Rachel, 94 years old, long time member of West Park.  Homebound with her remaining Pug and 2 or 3 cats.  I don’t see her as often as I’d like.  Last February, I was playing a gig at the Five Lamps and looked up on the screen only to see the Westminster Dog Show.  I remembered that  going to see Rachel to watch the Westminster Dog Show was something we did. We’d share a single malt and watch the dogs. I’d never done that before. Sadly, it was the last night. 

Conversation is not easy, her hearing is not so good.  I start to say, “I’d love to come see you but…”and her attendant takes the phone and says, "Please don’t talk about the virus, she doesn’t know anything about it.  I don’t want to upset her….” I do all right until she says, “I’d really like you to  come see me.” How do I answer that?  “I’ll come when I can,” I say.

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My friend CC has decided to end the Sunday night We Love Songwriters (virtual) open mic. Not enough friends donated. She’s desperate for income having lost her restaurant and bar work and all music work. Like so many of my friends. We will miss this gathering. 

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As I walk to Morningside Park, I notice more and more places that were open for take out and delivery have now stopped doing that. Too expensive. Options shutting down. I get to the Park and wait for my walking partner. We just seem to head for Central Park. In the Park, we notice the inconsistent practice of “social distance.” I have an idea and we agree to head to the East Meadow to see the field hospital. By the Conservatory Gardens, we stop to check out magnolias and some sweet smelling flowers.Odd as we fear airborne enemies. 

 On the other side of the garden, we go down to 5th Avenue and there on the other side of police barriers is a sea of white tents,  the field hospital. When I post my picture, she one says “ It looks like a war scene.”  “It is,” I respond. I still can’t believe this, even in front of my  eyes. Like I’m in one  of those time out of time times, like when someone dies or there’s a disaster or revolution. All normal rhythms stop. 

magnolias

My partner, a teacher ,is working full days with her students. Along with filling out forms and endless paper work it’s exhausting. Same with my youngest son who works with children with autism. ‘I’m not working at home, he says. I’m at home attempting to work in the middle of a virus.”

We near the end of our walk. I sigh once, My friend notes that we’ve been walking over an hour and I’ve been quiet, not like a few weeks ago. She’s right, between sciatica and breathing issues, walking had become unpleasant. But since my Florida trip, I’ve started a new regimen and am in my best shape in a very long time.  It’s a bit ironic. My world’s crumbling and I’m in great shape. 

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Up until now, I’ve been attending my biweekly physical therapy sessions in the mid50’s. But they called and told me my therapist would not be back until the end of April ..... at least. That concerned me. Why? Was he potentially exposed, or???? I decided to not go. So my trips through the Columbus Circle underground have ended. Just didn’t feel comfortable.

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My cleaning lady’s older husband with  history of heart problems is in the hospital with Corona. Not being able to see him increases her anxiety and his. We have to go through this alone. No visitors. Not even chaplains. It’s hard.

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I do, after serious contemplation, agree to stop by an elderly friend, RL’s, apartment to visit him and Dion who works for him.  It's to discuss how to get a virtual West Park Open Mic up and running by next Friday. It’s BYOB. ( I haven’t had a drink since St.Patrick’s, not wanting to drink alone at home.) My neighborhood deli on the way is run by Muslims and doesn’t sell any alcohol. When I get to the Upper West Side, all I can find is closed delis. Several restaurants you have to call in your order to get it. I find one, the Hi Life, open for take out. I walk into the darkened, classic Art Deco bar. There’s a masked security guy and two people, a  man and a woman, working to fill multiple orders. I order two cold pinot grigios. He makes two strong pours into plastic cups with lids, packs tightly in a plastic bag with ice. So that’s how we do things now. In normal times, this would have been deemed highly illegal, but concessions have been made.

I walk down the street and the top of the five story walk up. Doin  this day after day is probably why he’s still spry as he is. We watch Jeopardy which continues like the world is the same despite the irony of the game show's title. Its last segment, always Final Jeopardy. I share with them everything I know about virtual open mics. And I’m given the assignment to follow through. And so I will.