much to miss

Here we are, over 7 months in, and no real end in sight.

We've gotten used to bringing a mask everywhere we go. Of not being in big groups. Of keeping our distance. Of not entertaining. Of missing our friends and families.

It's been a long time now, and none of it feels natural.

I miss a lot of things, some big and some very small. 

For example, on the very small side, I miss not having my newspaper delivered to my door each morning. It's now dropped off in our building lobby.

I also miss:

• Not giving any thought to taking a subway or bus.

• Reading about off-broadway plays I want to see and then checking TDF to see about finding discounted tix.

• Eating in a restaurant.

• Going outside without a face mask.

• Screening season.

• Not being scared by people without masks and being scared by people wearing them.

• Having people over... for dinner, for watching movies, for anything.

• Playing weekly in-person canasta games.

• Having a calendar that has stuff listed on it.

• Getting to know three new family members as they grow from infants to real little people.

• Celebrating holidays, birthdays, and other events with friends and family.

• Not having to socially distance from everyone.

• Turning on the TV and not seeing bad, upsetting news, all of the time.

• Hearing stupid, offensive, untrue comments spewed by our president.

• Driving in a car with someone else and not worrying if I need to mask up.

• Angsting over the upcoming election.

• Socializing outside of zoom.

• Looking forward to wearing makeup and dressing up for something, anything.

• Seeing your son without requiring him to get tested first.

I'm sure there are many more. 

It's still hard to believe how much life has changed. Even making a short list seems silly, as all of the changes have become almost commonplace.

But there will be a time — we just don't know quite when — that friends come over for dinner, that we celebrate Thanksgiving with only excitement and no second thoughts, and that we get to hug anyone we want. 

Until then, at least we're all in it together. And there is a lot to be said for that.

good sights, bad sights, 9 days out

Having little to do, and with much rain predicted for the week, I decide to walk downtown. A nice 6 mile walk, as it turns out.

I am impressed by the multi-block line I see as I pass Wagner Middle School, one of many voting stations throughout the city.

Early, in-person voting opened here yesterday, with some people waiting over four hours. 

I am glad I voted by mail, and was happy to learn that ballots can be tracked.

Almost 60 million people have already voted.  Last election, a total of 138.8 million people voted. This will be a historic year, for yet another reason. Though this one is a good one.

I pass Madison Square Garden. There, too, the lines are long. Like the Upper East Side school I passed earlier, lines snake around several blocks. People care who leads our country, and they should — there is much at stake.

I walk down to 18th and 7th. Stop at my favorite store, Homenature. And then decide to take the subway home. Last time I did (in August, I think), it was spotless and empty. 

Well, things have changed.

Not only is the subway crowded, but people are sloppy about mask-wearing. Two people keep lowering theirs to either talk on their phone or drink their ice tea. And one man doesn't bother with a mask at all. 

I take out my phone, put on my glasses, keep my distance and uncharacteristically say nothing.

I stop off at Butterfield Market to pick up something for dinner, and can't find my glasses anywhere. I check both pockets of my coat, the two pockets in my shorts, and even feel the top of my shirt, thinking maybe I hung them there. Nope. They are nowhere.

I buy what I need. Check again. And still, no glasses. They must be somewhere. Wouldn't I have heard them fall?

On my half-mile walk home from Butterfield's, I hear loud honking and see blinking lights. It looks like some kind of parade. 

As I get closer I see this unlikely caravan around 76th and Third.

It's an unwelcome sight.  But so is the normal-looking, middle-aged woman walking next to me, who suddenly raises her two middle fingers and starts shouting over and over to the paraders, "F*ck you."

I get home, and go to wash my hands before removing my mask or touching anything in my apartment. 

This unflattering and utterly ridiculous image stares back at me.

the ramble

One of the many things that makes NY great is its endless offering of new discoveries.

And I'm not talking new stores, restaurants, Broadway shows or museum exhibits.

I'm referring to those things that have always been here.

It's a muggy, overcast fall morning.

Ronda, Zelia, Shari and I meet for a walk in Central Park. Shari suggests The Ramble, a part of Central Park that I've of course heard of, but where I've never been.

Tree-covered pathways wind throughout the 38 acres (that I later learn is its size).

Rustic structures that blend with the scenery pop up everywhere.

It feels like a faraway place but the big city lurking reminds us that it isn't. 

Bridges and archways, some hidden, some not, appear frequently.

There's even entertainment.

We come upon three separate weddings; here are two of them.

And in the end, we climb the equivalent of 19 flights of stairs.

It's a nice way to begin a Saturday.

ghost town

Dear Mr. President:

In last night's final debate against VP Biden, I listened once again to your mistruths, conflation of facts, and outright lies. At least this time you tempered your bullying rhetoric. But calling New York City a ghost town? C'mon. You don't even live here.

Sure, we've been hit harder than most by COVID-19. 

Businesses are hurting. Many have closed.

Vacancies are up.

Broadway and movie theaters are shuttered.

No one I know has yet eaten in an indoor restaurant.

Many New Yorkers are biding their time in their weekend homes.

And some have left for good.

Yes, Mr. President, New York City has suffered. 

But to call us a ghost town?

Today is a soupy, overcast Friday. Not particularly nice. 

Yet Central Park is filled with runners. 

People are out exercising.

Dogs and their owners are conversing.

And some are just enjoying the reservoir's haunting beauty.

And it's not just the park.

The streets are lined with traffic.

Madison Ave is not empty.

Outdoor diners are everywhere.

And restaurants continue to erect covered outdoor seating areas.

Those living here are cautious. We have reason to be.

It is, for sure, a quieter New York. 

But a ghost town? 

The NY Post is famous for its bold headlines. 

I hope we see this one soon.

                                                                YOU'RE FIRED!

When that happens, the ghosts living here will be deliriously happy ones.

Sincerely,

a ghost town citizen

add-ons

It happened when I was in high school, or maybe it was middle school (then called junior high). 

My parents gave in and got their three daughters a green box phone, with push buttons. A step up from the old rotary dial. And it wasn't an extension phone. It was a phone with our very own number. And that was its real beauty.

When our friends called, we could cozy up, cuddle in, and enjoy our long lazy meandering calls. We no longer had the annoying interruption of our parents needing to use the phone.

Everyone knew every friend's phone number. Speed dialing didn't exist. And mobility only went as far as the length of the cord.

I miss those singularly-focused conversations.

• I never had to worry about hearing my friend suddenly say, "Do you have this in a size 8?" in the middle of our call.

• Or yell at some random driver who is taking up two spaces as she pulls into her local store.

• Or listen to what sounds like loud crashing as she unloads her dishwasher.

• Or hear huffing and puffing as she works out on her basement treadmill.

• Or peels a carrot that sounds like a piece of wood being sawed in half.

• Or know that the silence on the other end is my friend reading, or even answering, emails or texts.

• Or suddenly hanging up for a more important caller.

We are all guilty. 

Modern life makes it difficult to do one thing at a time.

But still.

Amazon has this thing called add-ons. 

They are not important enough to be bought alone, so you can buy them when you buy something else bigger, more substantial.

I don't want to be an add-on. 

And it's not that I miss my old green phone. 

But there is something nostalgic (and nice) about a phone having a single purpose, staying in one place, and requiring the same of its user.

this october weekend

Making plans to see someone is complicated in today's world.

But it is doable.

Alexander and I finally solidify a plan for him to visit (from Phila) this weekend. I last saw him around Christmas time. Far too long ago.

He was supposed to come in mid-March for my birthday, but then we all know what happened then.

Neither one of us want to risk a long ride on public transportation so that's out.

But then my son buys a car at the end of July.

Finally, he can come stay with me.

Except now he's become very busy at work so we need to wait.

Then I go to the Cape for a couple of weeks in early September to visit my mom whom I hadn't seen since Thanksgiving.

At the same time, Alexander unexpectedly decides to vacation in Arizona and California.

After his return, my son needs to prepare for a test to get his real estate appraiser's license.

So the plan is to get together sometime after the October 8th test. I don't want him coming with a big test looming.

We decide on this weekend.

I ask him to get tested, and he asks if I'll get tested too.

Though I'm sure I'm much more careful than he is, what's fair is fair.

Early this week Alexander calls to tell me he is worried about giving me COVID (even if he tests negative, which he expects to) since his roommates are not all that careful.

He even suggests his staying in a hotel.

I think that's ridiculous but am willing to comply with whatever he wants just to see him. I advise him to please be careful after getting tested.

Alexander is supposed to get his results today, Friday; I get mine on Monday and all is good.

I make a mental list of things we can do, shows we can watch, and food we can eat.

Last night he calls.

He tells me that he went out one night — and without going into the details, now I am concerned that his (deliberate) behavior may put both of us at risk.

Living alone, I do not want to be sick. I wouldn't anyway, but living alone would make it even more frightening.

So now Alexander is not coming this weekend. He is willing, but I am not. 

I am disappointed, angry and sad.

In the big scheme of things there are many upsets worse than this one. 

I do get that.

But I miss my son.

Zoom is good for a lot of things, but it can't replace that in-person hug.

happily uneventful

I'm bored. 

And I can't write about being bored as that would be, well, boring.

Lately, aside from walking, my days pretty much consist of:

• Watching (and loving) Schitt's Creek. 
• Reading (just finished Leave The World Behind by R. Alam, a bleak, literary thriller).  
• Following the confirmation hearings of Amy Coney Barrett.
• Playing online Canasta with friends.
• Buying food.

So I'll write instead about three recent non-events.

On Sunday, I again visit Metropolitan Hospital for a COVID test. 

I am doing this in anticipation of a visit from my son. Like before, this hospital is well-organized and clean. There are only four people before me, and the line goes fast. 

24 hours later I get my results. Negative. I am not surprised but I am comforted.

Then Monday, I have my scheduled mammogram and sonogram. It's been a little over a year. I am nervous, as always.

After the sonogram, the doctor comes in and says with a big smile, "Okay, you can go home now." I want to hug her, despite having hugged no one in months. 

And then today, I visit my dentist, where I am long overdue. I hate going to the dentist as much as I hate going to the gynecologist, maybe more. I get a cleaning, have a few x-rays, and am relieved when I hear (through my nitrous-induced high) my dentist tell me that all is good.

And so while nothing much has happened since I last posted, I am grateful for that nothingness.

city wonderland

Yesterday Shari asks, "Do you want to take a walk through the North Woods tomorrow?"

"Sure," I reply. "Do you have a car?"

I have no idea where the North Woods are, but it sounds far away — like a place that requires transportation to get to.

"You don't need a car," Shari responds. "It's in Central Park."

Today, Shari, Zelia, Ronda and I go on a long walk through the North Woods. It's a magical place filled with:

silent waterfalls,

hidden ponds,

narrow trails through shadowed woods,

welcoming tunnels,

and gorgeous vistas everywhere.

We walk far. Over 7 miles.

Up hills and down. 17 flights-worth.

And all this within a big, beautiful city. 

There are many hidden gems here if you know where to look. Or, if you are lucky and have a friend like Shari to show you.

a new find

For me, walking to somewhere is mostly so much better than walking to nowhere.

The other day I make lamb chops and can't smell the ground rosemary and thyme that I've had for over three years. I decide then that I need some new spices.

I discover through YELP a spice store on 28th and Lex. It's called Kalustyan's, and apparently I'm the only one in NYC who doesn't know about this store. So today, that's where I go.

Low-60's. Clear blue skies. Zero humidity. Perfect conditions for a long walk.

The unassuming store kind of blends into the block. I'm not sure I'd go in if I hadn't known about it.

I am just buying some basic herbs and spices, though the store appears to carry every imaginable kind.

Only one other customer is there when I am. And Donna, someone who has worked there for a while, is immensely helpful in answering my questions. She even questions one of my potential purchases (basil powder) and suggests instead dried basil leaf.

I also end up buying some spreads (baba ganoush and hummus) that a couple of friends have highly recommended, something I have never heard of but looks great (apricot labneh) and some homemade fig jam.

I get my four mile-walk in, and arrive home with some stuff that has never been in my refrigerator before. Am hoping it's all as good as it looks.

a different experience at this year's flu shot

Last year, around this time, I went to CVS and got my flu shot. There was one other person there. I remember because she was afraid of needles. I remember, too, that my shot hurt. 

This year, like everything else, is different.

Yesterday I went to CVS and was told the same thing I was told earlier at Duane Reade. "Sorry, we're out of the vaccine." But unlike DR, I was told at CVS to come back tomorrow, after two, as they are expecting a shipment. 

I should add that I was asking about the senior flu shot, the more potent one for those who fit the category. How did it happen that I got to be this age and not notice myself getting there?

Today around three I walk over to CVS. The store is packed.  There are lines everywhere. I get in the one I'm told is for the flu shot. It's long.

About ten minutes into my wait, the white-haired lady in front of me asks, "Is this where you pay?" 

I strike up a conversation with the very nice woman behind me (the one with the black mask) after I hear her tell the person behind her that she is too close. 

When I look, I see that not only is the woman too close, but she is wearing some ridiculous spur-of-the-moment-makeshift-mask that is mostly transparent. In other words, useless.

We decide not to say anything but we both keep our distance. I learned my lesson on the bus this summer, though this woman hardly looks like the type to start a brawl.

The line moves quickly and soon I've completed the check-in process and am waiting for my shot. I hear that nice woman behind me say to her son, "When you're about to get your shot, pinch yourself hard somewhere else. This will refocus your brain and it won't hurt as much."

I've never heard this before. 

I try it.  

I barely feel the injection. More like a quick prick and it's done.

I had no idea.

I'm passing this on because it was really helpful. I just hope it isn't one of those things that I'm the only one in the world who didn't know it.

so much to contemplate

Before I even open my eyes this morning, I know.

I've had trouble sleeping. And last night, around 12:30, I take a Tylenol PM. The headline as I go to sleep is that Hope HIcks has tested positive for COVID-19 and Trump is awaiting results.

Early this morning my phone wakes me. Non-stop pings. And I know, with certainty, what the pings are about.

In today's world, it's easy to stay informed, even with your eyes closed.

I turn on the news and all the pundits are speculating.

What does this mean for the election?

Who else might have it?

Did Trump know about Hicks and still go out campaigning?

How sick is he?

What is his treatment, if any?

Is the US at risk with its President sick?

And on and on.

I'll leave all the what if's to those more expert than I.

Instead, I'll concentrate on a more personal aspect of life. Hair.

On Tuesday I have the Cezanne treatment. I like it so much better than keratin —  that leaves my hair stick straight and flat. This only does initially.

I wait two days and wash my hair today.  I blow it dry in five minutes and its more manageable, softer,  and frizz-less.

I don't even mind that it's multi-colored. The texture feels great; much less dried out than before.

I know its vain, but it's a lot less traumatic to worry about how my hair looks than to contemplate the state of our world.

At least I have a little control over the former.