Living in coronavirusworld 257: Officially spring. It's been. a year.

 3/22

African dance class

It’s officially spring now. The weather has turned sunny and warm. Again.  And it’s been a year living in coronavirusworld. People are outside. My neighbors are putting their lawn chairs out on the sidewalk, getting ready for a warm night on the street of music and drinks and  talk. It’s been many months. 

A year ago, there was a sense of dawning apocalypse as everything radically shut down and what was was taken away from us. And day by day we began to adjust. Plotting daily just how to live. As Calamity Jane said in “Deadwood”: “Every day takes figuring out all over again how to fucking live.” And so we did.

As the weather warmed, walks became important. Getting out of the houses we were confined to in the peak days in quarantine lockdown.  I walked slowly and looked intently. Noticing for the first time the subtle changes day to day as new flowers blossomed forth in Central Park. Noting daily the life in Morningside and Central. Turtles. An egret. Ducks. Swans. A feral cat. Pizza eating  squirrels.  I came to understand the marvelous and unnecessary diversity of being and that each  creature was in its own way, perfect, doing precisely what it was meant to do. And coming to accept that I, in my imperfection, was somehow perfect too.

In Central Park, I saw the field hospital spring to life. And in the air cleared of helicopters and planes and streets cleared of traffic, I heard the birds sing again as new species arrived every day. I was with  only one other human being. We set aside the pain of our separation and became walking partners. 

I set rituals to give the amorphous time boundaries. Coffee outside one cafe on Monday mornings…until it closed its doors forever…and organizing my week.  ZOOM Bible studies on Mondays. Tacos on Tuesday. A virtual open mic on Fridays to replace the one we lost. The Morningside farmers’ market on Saturday mornings with coffee. Newspaper, pastry and latte at the Venezuelan coffee shop every Sunday. 

Enthusiastically set out to create a cultural life. Became a regular attendee of the National Theatre of London. And others. Steady consumption of Shakespeare. Set out to experience Wagner’s “Ring Cycle” with the Metropolitan Opera. And survived. 

Watched regular parts of my life turned into ZOOM. With its alienation and intimacy. Learned how to produce ZOOM concerts, stream them live onto Facebook and even how to import videos. Ran my own “Lockdown Showcase” series under the “Grateful Distancing Stay at Home Tour of 2020.” And wrote enough songs for a 2020 EP.

Stood with nurses demonstrating for adequate PPE. Followed the Black Lives Matter marches through the streets of my Harlem neighborhood. Intently followed the primaries and the election that wouldn’t end breathing in relief at the outcome as the neighborhood exploded with celebration.

Committed to writing each day, trying to mark the subtle daily changes and signs of resistance as we created a way to live. Saw my numbers go up again.

Agonized as my mother in her assisted care facility found her life reduced to that of an incarcerated prisoner with one supervised 15 minute visit behind glass a week and then quarantine solitary confinement after any doctor’s visit or other outside visit. 

Experienced the deaths of three people in three weeks as many continued to deny the reality of the virus. Learned to live in a mask.

Learned the adventure and pleasure of eating dinner outside at 30’ temperatures. (-1C).

As time ground on, that initial excitement began to wane. Could only watch so many plays. And tired of daily writing  and saw the readership  numbers ago down again, never learning why so many readers in Italy were following me. 

As Rusted Root once sang, “Won’t ya come along, Babylon, ‘cause we’re living in a land of virtual reality…”

Milica at the Composers Conordance concert

Times Square

the parrot

After five weeks of virtual “Low key Chamber Concerts” my new music classical friends hold a live concert in a rehearsal studio near Times Square. With an audience of 10. Walking home, I see the life of Times Square…break dancers, action heroes and Sesame Street hustlers,  a giant panda, an evangelical born again Christian Korean youth choir, a giant live snake and a snow white parrot.  We are still here. Stretching out. Stepping into the sun again.

Sunday, Morningside is filled with people and picnics and birthday parties and fathers playing catch and white women learning African dance. 

Entering into a new netherworld, not locked down but not what was and not knowing what will be as we feel our way forward.

It’s officially spring now.

 

iving in coronavirusworld 208: Bars and churches....

 

11/14

yes there is....

and we voted...

Going to the framer’s market, it’s hard to believe it was just a week ago the announcement can that Biden was declared president. A weekly visit here one more marker I’ve created to give structure to the week. And something about food right from the farms that is comforting. 

I spend the afternoon trying to learn new songs for the (now_) open mic at Bar 9. The summer show case is over. Much as I dislike it, I’m taking the directive tofocus on upbeat covers seriously.  And actually enjoying it. Learning a Rubber Soul era Beatles  song and discovering many of these songs are more complex than meets the eye.

In the gathering darkness, I meet my friend Beppe with craft spirits from the farmers’ market. It’s getting colder.  We’re beginning to wonder how we are going handle these outdoor meetings now that the virus is spiking again. Beppe and I share the same feeling. That  March feels like yesterday and last week a year ago.  He too had been pulled out into the streets by the surging wave of joyous people as the news spread. We know we are close to it being over. But thousands of Trump supporters rallied in DC today.  Including Qanons and Proud Boys and who knows who else. And I realize although it’s not objectively true, in Trunpland’s alternate universe it's Black Lives Matter and Antifa striking fear in the hearts of the faithful.  And we continue to be anxious about what happens next.

We the Whole People

Time Square vendor

Times Square

I join my classical music friends for a concert in a rehearsal studio, safely distanced of course. A concert with the timely theme of We the Whole People. (Inspired by a quote from Susan B Anthony: It was we, the people; not we, the white male citizens; nor yet we, the male citizens; but we, the whole people, who formed the Union. )And only 10 live audience members. To get the subway home, I walk through Times Square, again amazed at how full of life it is…without tourists …apart from the ‘B&T (bridge and tunnel) visitors from the outer boros and Jersey.  City people have made this their own playground. Young women striking sexy poses for their boyfriends with the Times Square lights behind them. 

11/15

in my neighborhood

My Sunday morning routine…when I wake early enough…is a Sunday Times and coffee and a pastry at the Venezuelan Monkey Cup cafe. Early morning. 

My friend Run leads West Park’s virtual service. Moved that he uses my song”Listen” from my new release. (

                                                                     Listen

 He takes the story of the talents and servant in a different direction than we went last Monday in Bible Study. His focus is more on the side of risks we need to take for the sake of the kingdom. And not hiding what you’ve got. It’a small but good group.

My son in Berlin is frustrated by the German spike and its impact on his students.  They had worked for weeks preparing for a concert performance. Families would be allowed to come.  But that was canceled and only live streaming allowed.  He wonders at the logic of it. These students are much less likely to get sick. Why are commercial stores allowed to remain open? And school events canceled? What is essential about headphones or North Face jackets or lamps? Choices. Not always data driven. 

At Stony Point, New York, a tea is being held to honor Rick and Kitty Ufford-Chase, co-directors.  As I watch on ZOOM, I can feel the coolness of the air 40 miles up the Hudson from the city.. That deep fall feel under overcast skies. I can almost taste it as I watch it, having been there. Eleven yeast of creative, groundbreaking ministry brought to a halt by Covid 19.  (And a limited institutional creativity…as I’ve said  vision  and institution are incompatible realties…) The air is heavy with sadness. And yes, for sure, thanksgiving. And even hope.  But what we have loved is gone. As the camera zooms around the circle, I catch sights of places that have meant so much to me. Locked down.  I count the groups I’ve been here with:

the Interfaith Assembly on Homelessness and Housing 

The Interfaith Center of New York City Marshall Meyer social justice retreats

the International Sanctuary Declaration project took shape and form here

My own congregation, West Park

The Presbyterian Church USA Central American Task Force initial meeting

Presbyteiran Health Eucation and Welfare Association

That all May Freely Serve’s gathering of 4 decades of friends engaged in the struggle for full inclusion of lgbtq people in the church, to make sure the history was preserved

My friend Zeljko bringing his film about the Serbian Colonel who shot down an American stealth fighter pilot…and both pilots …to speak to a national women’s group..

                                                          Second meeting

I mean I wrote my doctoral dissertation here….many of the meetings were to reimagine and envision a ministry, often with Rick’s help…Rick and Kitty are of course gracious…but as the testimonies die down, the pain cuts really deep.  Much grief here.

I try my new song out at Bar 9. The whole night goes fast because they’ve now declared bars must close by 10. I mean we’re done playing by 8:30. As I play, I keep thinking about watching the Linda Ronstadt movie last night. Realizing her value as perhaps the greatest interpreter of American music of all kinds. And ho when you do it well, the song becomes yours. 

As we finish, the wind picks up, the rain comes down in torrents. My friend texts me: tornado warning! We meet at the Gate anyways as it all dies down. The more we talk about it, the more the 10’oclock rule appears to be a cosmetic compromise gesture with no scientific data informing it. Bars and churches, struggling to hold on.