Shelter in Place, San Francisco, California
I keep forgetting to ask my neighbor what those bright red flowers are on his side of the fence. There’s an early morning moment as the sun is rising above his house and before it floods our patio, that the small blossoms seem to glow. I love that. They’ve been blooming for months, but I’m rarely out of bed so early, and it’s a time my neighbor’s never around. Later in the day the flowers recede in shadow and I forget my question.
Closing up for the night last night, I stepped out the back door to see the stars. Perhaps it’s just the cycle of the moon, but there seemed to be so many more than usual. Enjoying the cool air after a hot day kept me on the deck long enough for an extra treat - the soft melancholy of “Taps” played on a recorder drifting across the garden from some hidden yard or balcony - the end to a Memorial Day like no other.
I’ve been a little down in the dumps these last few days, so I’m glad to be reminded of the things I’ve liked within the confines of the quarantine - little gifts this side of the fence. So here’s a list in no particular order:
- A closer relationship with the garden (every leaf, every blossom, every weed)
- The increasingly loud and reliable catharsis of clanging pots at both 7:00 and 8:00 (don’t know why our neighborhood has decided that twice is better, but I like the independent spirit)
- The intimacy of sisters
- The daily NYT mini crossword competition where completion times are called out but never written down
- Science
- The secret relief of being forced to cancel doctors’ appointments and suspend worries about illnesses other than the virus; it clears the head and feels like borrowed time
- Zoom, Skype and FaceTime: the rediscovery and emotional support from smart and kind old friends
- Blue sky empty of airplanes and their trails
- Journalists
- Roast chicken and its inevitable second act: spicy tortilla soup with lots of gooey cheese - the comfort food of all comfort foods
- The sobering reminder and acceptance that death is around the corner for every one of us, but we have at least a little control over whether it will be this terrible disease that takes us
- The neighborhood cat, who has finally decided that my lap is an OK place to be (she must be lonely, too)
- Creative genius: the world’s valiant effort to reinvent itself overnight
- Reading aloud to and texting with my grandson
- The smell of Chinese take-out wafting down the street as the corner restaurant tries to stay alive
- Ricky Gervais, whose genius I have only just discovered
- Less guilt about not making better use of my retirement i.e., embracing the art of minimal expectations and its corollary: puzzles that help me while away the afternoon in the company of Degas, Michelangelo, and Van Gogh
- Oranges
- The generosity and ubiquity of art and music online
- The vacuum cleaner
- Mozart sonatas and the piano that forgives my mistakes
- Roz Chast
- Sappy ‘we’re in this together’ ads that honor our new heroes and give me an excuse to cry (have you noticed they are disappearing from rotation as we bicker about whether to wear masks and open up the country?)
- Mail
- Governors (most of them) and Bill Gates
- A release from my life-long fear of becoming destitute - it’s finally, completely out of my control (I didn’t expect that it would feel so freeing)
- The dive of male hummingbirds as they court their mates for the second time this spring
- Yamiche Alcindor
- My colorful array of pens and magic markers for writing postcards to voters (and to friends)
- Steven Sondheim
- The sound of kids being kids in the street at sunset
- Fog’s reminder that we do live in a city by the sea, even when it is hidden from our sight
- Love, marriage and best friend… all in a single package
- My camera and all the things still left to learn