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.