a birth and a funeral

I wake up to a dark, rainy day.

My good friend is burying her husband of almost 30 years today. He died at age 61 from complications of COVID-19. It is indescribably sad. The funeral will be small. Just immediate family. Unfortunately their large circle of friends cannot be there to comfort and support. The isolation demanded by this virus makes the grief it causes that much harder to bear.

And on the same day, in this crazy world, my nephew Jason and his wife Amanda welcome a healthy baby boy. Lenox Hill Hospital is a couple of blocks from me, but I can't visit. No one can. Even Jason, who fortunately was allowed to be with Amanda, now cannot leave the hospital (or he won't be allowed back in) until Amanda and their new son are released.

The essence of our humanity is challenged when we can't be with those we love to commiserate or celebrate life's most important events. 

seven pm, every night

All over the world,  people have been opening their windows to acknowledge and thank essential workers. It's a small way of saying thank you. We so appreciate what you are doing.

On March 27, a Friday, New Yorkers joined in.  7pm for two minutes. That was the mandate.

And today, almost five weeks later, the clapping and cheering continues. Sometimes songs are played. One night it was New York, New York. Another night it was Lean on Me. 

Some nights the noise is louder than other nights. 

But whatever the decibel level, it is heartening. 

Seeing neighbors on their balconies. 

Cheering from their windows.

Standing around.



Or walking and clapping, in sync with the surround-sound noises.

Our hopes are the same. 

That it will end soon. Not the solidarity. But the reason for it.

shopping for masks

M and I sometimes shop together. 

We live 200 miles apart, so shopping is typically done online.

Our purchase considerations have been both big, as in, "I'm looking for a coffee table. I'm going to send you a link; let me know what you think."

And small. "What color should I get this sweater in?"

Several months ago, if someone were to have said, "In the spring, you'll be looking for masks together," I'd have thought them nuts, — unless they were referring to some kind of masquerade party.

But here we are. Spring 2020.

And M and I are shopping for non-medical masks that give good coverage, appear to fit securely, and aren't too too ugly.

M sends me a link that offers many masks that are, most importantly, available.

We decide we like the Vida masks best. I buy two (one black and white checked, one solid black) along with extra filters.

I call Alexander and ask him if he'd like any. "No, I'm good," he tells me. "All my masks are in really good condition."

His response makes me laugh. 

How ridiculous it seems that we are all talking about masks. 

• Where to find them? 
• What kinds of non-medical grade are best? 
• How to care for them? 
• How many should we have on hand? 
• How often can we re-use them? 

Is this going to become the newest summer fashion statement? 

Will Saks re-open with a new mask department?

Will Chanel and other top designers have their own signature pieces?

I don't know. The future right now is one big, unfathomable mystery.

short trip, big find

After yesterday's post, I get this email from a friend:

GET OUT OF THE HOUSE.
I am not exaggerating the font size she used.

Then I hear from my mother. "You should really be walking and not staying in all the time. You can get blood clots if you just sit around."

Today is a cloudless, gorgeous spring day. I give my self a purpose in going out.

I have been looking unsuccessfully for the past two weeks for baking powder, both on line and in store. Flour too is hard to find. Lots of people baking these days.

I armor up and go outside. I have several types of masks varying in protectiveness. When I plan on going inside a store, I wear the strongest one. It's also the least comfortable and most annoying.

But still, I wear it. Though it looks like more and more people are not. 

Don't they know how selfish they are being? Wearing a mask protects others from you. I feel like shouting, "PEOPLE. NOW IS NOT THE TIME TO LET UP ON THE RESTRICTIONS WE'VE BEEN ASKED TO FOLLOW." 

My first stop (and as it turns out my last) is Gristedes. Fortunately, inside everyone is in compliance.

And there, on the shelf, I find it. The very last one.

At $4.99 I am sure it's overpriced. But it's a whole lot less than what I could find it for on Amazon: 

Rather than continue my walk on this beautiful day, I come home. Mission somewhat accomplished.

a new low in at-home activities

I can't say I really like cleaning — as opposed to organizing, which I do love

But like the rest of the world (except maybe Georgia), I'm home a lot now. This gives me more time to notice things that need cleaning.

To start, there's my bathroom floor.  

I go to google. There I find a video on the easiest, best (?) way to clean a bathroom floor. And while it does involve getting on my hands and knees, I have all the products I need:

1. Sweep bathroom.
2. Fill bowl with 1/4 C white vinegar (love that no pail is involved).
3. Add 1 T of dish soap.
4. Use sponge to clean floor.
5. Wipe dry (I didn't even do that).

Easy and efficient with decent results.

Because I have been cooking more, I notice the grease on the inside of my oven, I tell my friend M (yes, my conversations have reached a new low too) and she asks, "Don't you have a self-cleaning oven?" Do I? I have no idea.

I find my stove's original instructions (it's only 5 years old) and am thrilled to learn I do. It takes 4 hours, but pretty much only requires pushing a button. The results are noticeable.

Before:

After:

But the grill racks have to be hand-cleaned. This takes me two days, six SOS pads, 1/4 bottle of Dawn, and the most working out my right arm and hand have gotten in months, maybe longer. Then I discover Scotch Brite scour pads; now I'll never buy SOS again.

While in the kitchen, I decide to organize my freezer. I make an excel spread sheet of what is there, and where and when I bought it. I don't want anything going to waste, especially since I'm not used to having much in my freezer.

Maybe my next in-home project will  be the refrigerator.

Life in quarantine sure is fun.

just a few words

Through this really awful time, I have nothing to complain about.

I know that I write about the trivial, at a time when so many are suffering. So what if I'm inconvenienced a bit? Everyone is.

My blog is not intended to address the monumental issues facing us.

Nor is my blog intended to publicly express concerns for people I know who are directly affected. That is not my story to tell.

I write about the small stuff. Kind of like Seinfeld minus his brilliance.

The news is best reported by others. It's been breathtakingly sad — although it appears to be getting better.

We can't be with the friends we'd especially like to hug. Nor can we tell them that everything will be alright, when we have no idea what the future holds.

For now, tomorrow is hard to imagine. 

risky adventure?

There was a time — not all that long ago — that if I found myself at night, on an unlit street, I was fearful of seeing a masked man.

Now, under sunny skies and well-travelled streets,  I hope only to see masked men (and women too).

But alas I don't.

It looks like about 80% are following the governor's edict to wear a face covering. And the ones that aren't make no attempt to social distance. They just expect everyone else to move aside for them. 

It's a gorgeous, sunny, 63-degree day.  I take a 2.3 mile walk, heading south, to pick up some grocery items. By the time I get to my destination, I'm exhausted, mainly from the hot mask and the effort of dodging other walkers. 

So I make the daring decision to take a bus home. 

The busses are now free — the whole front third is roped off to protect the drivers. 

Starting out, there is me and one other person on the bus. It's easy to maintain a safe distance. 

Then slowly, a few more people come on, and I find myself acting as chief enforcer. 

A woman and child (about 10) enter the bus, and while they sit far from me, both are maskless.  I remind the mom of the governor's face-covering directive. She kindly tells me that she can't find any. I suggest Amazon, and leave it at that. I  don't want to get into a whole conversation about watching the many DIY youtube videos. Nor do I want to mention that I just saw a street vendor on Second Avenue selling them along with jewelry and Russian nesting dolls.

Next, a couple gets on and sit directly across from me, despite the bus being empty. I suggest they move; they do without argument.

I stop at Butterfields on the way home. 

They are only letting six people in at a time. The outside line moves fast; and everyone is respectful of maintaining the proper distance.

I get home. Wipe down all my containers. Disinfect the door knobs, my sunglasses, etc. 

And now I can rest. 

I find being outside totally exhausting.

spring in Central Park, 2020

Yesterday, before starting a virtual canasta game, Ellen texts us a picture of Central Park. 

"Have any of you been in the park lately?" she asks. 

Zelia hasn't left her house in weeks, so her answer is no.

Shari A has been in the Hamptons for about a month now, so her answer is also no.

And I've barely been out at all in weeks, so I answer no also. 

But Ellen's picture is enticing. I decide that when our game ends, I will go to the park.

I suit up. Keys. A small bottle of Purell. A mask. And my Nikon. I'm ready.

At any other time I'd look ridiculous. But now I look like everyone else walking around Manhattan. To say wearing a mask is not comfortable would be a huge understatement.

It's brisk out but within a few blocks I'm hot. So hot that my glasses start to fog up, making the mask even more annoying than it already is. But it's not even a choice anymore. Face coverings are now mandatory in New York.

Ellen is right. The park is gorgeous. Slowing down the economy has had a positive effect on the environment. 

Spring has arrived.

But this is a spring like none before it. 

All the playgrounds are closed.

New signs have been added.

And a makeshift hospital has been erected — right in the middle of Central Park.

New York is magnificent.  

But it won't be the city's beauty that will be remembered when recalling the spring of 2020.

It's been a while since...

Though it feels like a lifetime, it hasn't been all that long since I've...

• Had my hair colored. Feb. 13. 

 That's 9 weeks, when it should be 3 or 4. I've wanted to see for a long time if my hair, grown in, would be that beautiful silvery grey that some woman have. Now is my chance to find out.

• Been inside a store of any kind. March 23, Butterfields.

• Spent time with even one friend. March 9, Stephanie.

• Attended a screening in a movie theater. March 5, with Jill to see The Way Back.

• Bought a piece of clothing, of any kind. November 1, a white Marni wool sweater at Saks.

• Dined in a restaurant. Feb. 24, Match 65 with a group of friends to celebrate Shari T's birthday.

• Gotten my hair cut. Feb. 16.

• Gone to a meeting that took place outside my apartment. March 11, BAFTA Board Meeting.

• This was also the last time I rode the subway and wore mascara.

• Played canasta with friends, while we sat around a real table at someone's real apartment and ate real food. February 9, at Shari C's.

• Went to a play. March 4, The Minutes by Tracy Letts.

• Stepped outside for more than 10 minutes, and without wearing a mask. March 23.

• Hugged my son. December 26.

We are all anxious to not be stuck inside, and to have the economy up and running.

I am grateful for having a smart governor, and for knowing smart people. No one I know would be in any crowded space anywhere protesting against a lockdown. 

Yes, I live in a hard-hit city. But still. Our great country has no borders. The virus spreads. And what happens in one state affects another. 

Stay safe.

Addendum

I asked my friend Bob, who lives in Napa Valley, if I could print his response to this post. He responded, " You have perpetual approval to share any one of my pearls of wisdom."

That's why I am printing his thoughtful response to this post. 

I bet you don’t really think that the 800 residents of Rock Springs, Wyoming - a state whose single death occurred 3 days ago 300 miles to the north - should behave as do the residents of NY just on the off chance that they might decide to fly to NY or NJ, do you?  If you were a resident of Wyoming would you say to a neighbor, “hey, airfares are really cheap now and I hear the traffic on 5th Avenue is light, let’s vacation in Manhattan next week!!”  Don’t we need to give residents of other states a break?  Or, to put a finer point on it, if due, say, to the great social distancing behavior of New Yorkers the new infection and death rates in that city decline to near zero but the yahoos in, say, New Orleans have rates that continue to rage would you want New York to remain on lock down a couple extra months until those Cajuns got their city under control?  

new observations (plural) and new skill (singular)

In a bizarre kind of way, I feel the rest of the world is now living my life. 

Not working means a lot of time at home. 

And since I haven't worked since November 15, I have had a lot of practice at finding at-home activities. The only one I'm not doing (that I was before) is looking for a job. And now I fear I'll never find one again.

But I have learned some new things.  

• I now know how to  name a text thread. And even more exciting, I can even add emojis to the name, thereby making it a lot easier to find threads that I'm often on.

• Frozen bagels thawed in a microwave do not taste good.

• I've fallen in love with Andrew Cuomo. 

• Playing virtual canasta (via Canasta Junction) with good friends (and conferencing in via phone) is a great substitute for playing live... and includes the added benefit of being able to play with friends in Florida and Colorado.

• Making roasted peppers with garlic and olive oil is time-consuming but worth it.

• But making roasted asparagus coated with olive oil and freshly grated pamiginao-reggiano cheese requires almost no effort and is amazingly good.

• The library has free Kindle downloads, and, they have the book I was about to spend $12.99 for (The Light We Lost by Jill Santopolo).

• Hulu's interface is awful, sometimes the words are out of sync with the lips. I get a free  month that I'll be cancelling as soon Little Fires Everywhere is over.

• A highly caloric lunch of melted istara cheese and cherry vine tomatoes, on mini brioche rolls (from Fresh Direct) is excellent,

• I can keep myself pretty busy without getting bored. Not sure if that's a sign of creativity and resilience, or just that I am good at finding lots of meaningless things to do.

self-isolating or not

Right after nine-eleven I was afraid that terrorists would come storming down my street, in open trucks, indiscriminately tossing bombs into closed windows. I strongly considered leaving the city, fearing I would never feel safe here again.  

I am glad I didn't, and over time, my fears abated.

Now it's different. I know, with absolute certainty, that I will feel safe going outside again without a mask and gloves. And I also know, with that same certainty, that the world outside will never be the same as it once was.

As of today, NY state has more confirmed cases of coronavirus than any country outside the US. And, NY has almost 10% of all reported deaths worldwide.

It's an invisible enemy; nothing dangerous is being thrown from open trucks. Now I just have to be more conscious of my neighbors. The elevator. A communal door knob. Really, pretty much any thing and any body.

And while some of us are more vulnerable than others (either by geography, age or health), we are all experiencing some degree of the same. Though our actions to stay safe may differ.

Here in NYC, I know many people like myself. They are pretty much self-isolating. I have one friend who hasn't left her apartment in over three weeks. But every day she walks 10,000 steps within the confines of her apartment and shared hallway.

Others I know would go crazy if they couldn't go outside and exercise. One friend bikes an hour a day. My fear for her is not that she will get the virus, but what if she falls? No one wants to go to an emergency room now. A friend of mine who recently had to go inside a hospital describe it this way, "What I saw would make you all faint. It's beyond belief." 

Yet some who live outside, but near the city, seem to believe that by stepping one foot inside Manhattan means catching the virus. 

My friends in Massachusetts are responding in various degrees of isolation. One walks daily with  a good friend; she feels comfortable that they are both healthy, and sufficiently careful. 
Another in Massachusetts — who is also scrupulously careful — does allow for someone to come in and clean her home. And a third, while still going grocery shopping, exhaustively protects herself. In describing a recent shopping trip, she writes:

Two things I forgot and left out of yesterday's shopping exploits:  (1) There were 2 people disinfecting carts, which they personally give to you, but since I didn't trust their disinfecting skills, I took out my little aerosol bottle (formally held a hair product) that I had washed and filled with rubbing alcohol and sprayed my cart; (2) Wearing my mask, which practically covers my entire face, made putting on and taking off my readers cumbersome, so I just kept them on.  New problem:  My breathing into the mask caused the glasses to fog up, so that I could only partially see all the people I was trying to bob and weave away from.  

I have a friend who is living on his boat in Florida.

One in Vermont who hasn't noticed a big difference in his everyday life.

Another in Colorado who is pretty much in isolation, except for her regular exercise of climbing a mountain than skiing down it.

A friend in Northern California who spent this past weekend in some remote forest somewhere (not because of covid-19, but because he likes the wilderness).

And my friends in Maine, Illinois and even Hawaii are all being very very careful.

There are no right answers as far as isolation goes. 

As for me, I will continue to stay in, at least mostly. The thought of getting sick while living alone is just too overwhelming to consider. 

And it gives me some comfort. I won't have to re-think every sneeze, every cough and every headache. 

It's allergy season now too.

what I now buy

I get a Groupon advertising Nitrile gloves. In a trillion years I would never have thought that this Groupon would interest me. But these are different times.

This Groupon leads me to a multi-hour Google search for disposable nitrile gloves. This is what happens when you have a lot of time. 

(Okay, being totally honest, I love spending time researching the perfect whatever. And I am so good at it. I wish there were a job for this kind of obscure talent).

I talk to my friend Zelia, who just bought a box of nitrile gloves on Amazon. And, they arrived in days, she tells me. "Send me the link," I say. 

I open the link and the ones remaining are "open-box." In this new age of sterility, open box  doesn't sound like a good idea.

I finally find some. Halloween orange. Delivery is promised within two weeks. I am so excited. I immediately buy the size Medium, the last box in that size. And today, one day later, none are available. 

I check and mine have shipped. Expected to arrive on Friday. I'm so lucky. 
I get an email the other day from my favorite place to buy sheets, Matteo LA. The company is now selling masks. Smart. I cancel another order I had previously made for a washable silk mask as it hasn't shipped yet, and order 5 cotton Matteo masks. 

I buy small essentials where the shipping cost may approach the cost of the item itself. But as a friend recently said, "Who's looking at that now? If you can find what you need, and it can arrive pretty quickly, get it."

It's all part of the new normal we are currently living. 

Can't begin to imagine what the new normal will be six months from now.

outside, finally

Today would have been day #18 of my self-quarantine; instead I go out  Not very far, but still outside.

I dress appropriately feeling a little like I've added a beak to my wardrobe.

I am heading to Orwasher's, less than a block from my home. 

While the streets are not crowded, they are not one-way either. I find myself dodging pedestrians coming from the opposite direction in order to maintain my 6-foot distance.

I arrive at Orwashers. Outside there is a short, well-spaced line of masked people. 

I had placed my order earlier in the week, and I'm supposed to text them when I arrive. Instead, I wave to a brave worker inside, having chosen to leave my phone at home (don't want to have to think about disinfecting it later).

I easily get someone's attention. A young woman comes out. I give her my name; she hands me my order.

That's it. I'm back home within 10 minutes.

I was expecting to feel great from my short venture outside. I don't.

The mask is not comfortable. And breathing through one negates the beauty of fresh air. Also, trying to abide by the distancing rule is not as easy as I thought it would be.

And then when I get home, I spend at least 10 minutes disinfecting everything from my bag of food, to my mask, to my outside doorknob.

I feel safe enough to occasionally leave home as long as I wear a mask and gloves, and keep my distance.

Still, staying in is so much easier. And safer too.

sounds in the night

8 pm last night. A very loud sound pours into my windows.

It's the sound of two, massive-sized trailer trucks, blinking yellow and red lights, doing some kind of road work. 

10pm. Noise has not abated. Not one bit. It's awful.

On the side of the two big white trucks are letters reading ACV. I google them and find a number. 

I call and get a person. This alone is astonishing. The very nice woman answering says she'll connect me to a dispatcher. She does.

I get Ernie. I even open my window so Ernie can hear the persistent sound of the idling trucks. He agrees. "That's really loud. I wouldn't like that either."

He tells me he'll find out what is going on and will call me back. Ya sure.

But he does. Within five minutes.

Turns out there's a problem on my street. Con Ed has subcontracted with this company called ACV to do some maintenance work to prevent a power outage in my neighborhood. The process involves using a gigantic, vacuum-like machine, housed in these trailers. The sound I'm hearing is the mega-vacuum as well as the idling trucks.

I find some kind of weird comfort in Ernie's explanation. And the words power outage are enough to make me accept just about any prolonged noise to prevent it.

In the midst of everything else that is going on, imagine no power. No phone. No TV. No internet. No lights. No Zoom. 

I thank him and hang up. More relieved than not.

Less than ten minutes later the trucks are gone. 

Doubt it was my call. 

Hope it wasn't my call.

Would hate to think of this job left unfinished.

a different kind of passover

A week ago I send a text to my family suggesting a Zoom Passover. The response is  overwhelmingly positive.

We decide on an early start, 4:30. This way we can accommodate my niece Sally who lives in Barcelona. Aside from Sally and my nephew Michael who lives in LA, the rest of us live on the east coast —  either New York, Connecticut, or Massachusetts.  There will be two new baby additions in the coming months, but for today, our Passover will include 25 people, four generations.

Everyone — with the possible exception of the oldest and youngest among us — has had some experience with Zoom. My mom, at 91, and Rita, at 96, are good with their phones and iPads, but not entirely proficient in apps other than email. So my nephew Jack comes to their rescue. He gives them each a private tutorial before we meet, and they prove to be very good students.

I click on at exactly 4:30, and am not the first person joining. My mom, who is always early, makes no exception for a Zoom Passover. Soon others join in, and before long, we are all visibly present, ala The Brady Bunch.

The first 15 minutes are spent directing: we can't see your face, move your finger, your audio isn't on; etc. But soon we are all talking as if no one else is in the room. At one point, Michael says, "Are we just going to say random things at random times, or is someone going to lead?" His astute comment is ignored, and everyone just keeps talking whenever. If it were any different, it would not feel like family.

Henry, the youngest at 5 1/2 months, is the only male wearing a yarmulke. We are not a terribly religious group, but we always celebrate the holidays together. 

.

Whether on a child's electronic device...

 a computer, 

or an ipad, getting together this year is exceptionally meaningful.

Next year in Jerusalem? Maybe not. But next year at Val and Abbey's? That would be just fine.

daily travels

So here is where I'll go today.

To my kitchen to make coffee and meals.

To my living room/dining area. To eat. Read. And watch TV. I have a beautiful large rug but it was sent out before all this happened. Can't imagine when I'll see it again.

To my bedroom, where I spend most of my time. It's where my virtual Canasta games happen. As well as TV. Reading. Anything on my computer. And sleeping.

And to my open windows, to let a little of the city (I miss) in. Here is where I see people braver than I. Most are wearing masks. 

Winter lingers. But bare trees will soon be replaced with greenery.

And then there's spring. Beckoning me with flowers and sunshine. Reminding me that life goes on and will be good again.