Category: A penny for your thoughts.

We are back in the daily routine and Rossini’s Cinderella is our Opera. With a twist on the story, the evil stepmother is now an evil stepfather, the fairy godmother is now a fairy godfather sporting a set of gold wings over his white suit. The rest of the story progresses as everyone knows it, the story of someone wanting to belong after been told they could not. Cinderella finds her way but a lot of folks are still unsure, in many ways, if and where they belong. This was true before covid but accentuated since, with a lot of people frozen in place, some in countries foreign to them, in strange settings and near empty cities. It will take a long time for folks to feel they really ‘belong’ here or there, out in the open, in public without distancing or mask, at restaurants tables or at a concert or a movie theater. Thinking of that reminds me of my friends and the times we could just stop by and chew the fat, I miss human interaction, I will miss hand shaking as well.
As it goes with covid, Remdesivir is back in the race as a promising treatment, the news of the drug’s demise was premature. That’s good news and it restored faith in my intuitions. I was humbled for awhile but the good news has risen my ego almost back to normal levels, unfortunately, as it sometimes gets in my way. All plaisanteries aside, the news is encouraging and results of trials of the drug are expected soon, within a week. The world should keep its fingers crossed for Remdesivir to become the bullet to kill covid.

On the political news, our national evil godfather is treating some states as cinderellas, barking at the necessity to foot the covid bills that are falling upon the states, following the tunes of bankruptcy trumpeted by the senator whose states get a great part of the pie when federal money is distributed. The States contributing to this senator ’s state from going bankrupt are now asking for help, to a deaf ear apparently.  It’s no surprise his state is one of the poorest in the nation, that he could not lift up his constituents to decent living wages and their right to belong above poverty level after so many years as a senator since 1985. Let them eat cake says he.
Cinderella concluded on a positive note, she forgives the step family, marries the prince. Hopefully our battered States will find a good prince too in a new administration. Our master of fake news has decided not to appear at the daily briefings anymore. I’m not sure anybody cares, the covfefe is just too intense for all parties and the information  to be deciphered out of the scientists, very slim, all on account of the looming presence of a boss looking over their shoulders, interjecting and muddying the message, if there ever was one. Yes, almost everyday it’s s another Punch and Judy show with a mean twist, in that guignol theatre, the viewers are battered. I am ranting bitterly? I’m not the only one, I’m only a small voice in a chorus of indignation. The only hope I have for a better world is that our voices are heard at the next elections. Three millions people around the world had been infected by covid according to the latest figures. It’s difficult to not think about it. Only one country so far was able to eradicate the virus, with only one infected patient left. New Zealand, with five millions citizens led by a woman prime minister and the swift decisions she took at the very start of the covid threat, was able to keep its people safe. It helped to be far from the epicenter but covid was in her country already, arriving there from any passenger traveling at the time. So she did it by showing her humanity, taking time to reassure children on video chats, reassuring them that the tooth fairy is indeed an essential worker. But she did it because she was decisive and because her citizens understood their civic duties to do anything in their power to defeat covid. The lack of both these ingredients are missing in the potluck measures our government has taken.
Routines have a hard time dying, after only a few hours, the president’s decision to drop out of meetings was forgotten and there he was again, according to the news as we pay no attention to them anymore. The news we pay attention to are about the human misery this administration has created by its chaotic response, when it even responded. The most tragic and disheartening about a young ER doctor immersed in death and suffering, she had seen so much that she could not cope anymore and took her own life. I remember the presidents claiming that if we have a lockdown folks would lose so much money that “we’ll see a lot of suicides”. The good and aware spirit that kept our mood up is slowly morphing to depression, the tall vertical blinds, unless wide open or closed, are looking more and more like prison bars.
Gaetano Donizetti‘s Opera, Anna Bolena is not going to be a cure to our melancholy.

Our small town has taken the lead in with 14.3 covid related death for every 10,000 residents, making it the worse town in Connecticut, the runner up with 10.8 related death. The country has passed the million infection mark, and that’s with limited testing as news stories abound about the topic, blaming the shortage on screwups and mismanagement, from the start, and the persistent lacks of available tests and labs working over capacity.
We were treated with gloom yesterday watching the next Opera, also by Donizetti, Mary Stuart, another day, another beheading. Today,  another Opera by Donizetti from the Tudor series, Roberto Devereux. I hope he keeps his head. It’s hard for us to keep our heads together, even the good news seem pretty bleak when compared to the depressing majority of the stories, some macabre, some deeply poignant and some frankly obscene. As the death dance valses around the country, the White House and conservative governors, some governing states with raising covid infections, are pushing for reopening their states against scientists recommendations. There is no doubt that some corporation‘s bottom line is hurting, and they would prefer to have the lockdown lifted.  Some businesses with expandable and easily replaceable low wage workers don’t really care if they croak, no big deal, just collateral damage as long as the dollars flow in. Just like war, not everyone comes back alive as long as the generals and other brass are well protected far from the front line. The Queen decided poor Roberto’s live should be shorten together with his height on the chopping block, our self proclaimed king has decided that some of his serfs can be sacrificed for the cause. There is no better action to describe his callousness than the executive order to keep the meat plants open when it is evident that hundred cases of covid forced the processing lines to a halt. Could it be that his love for hamburgers and the threat of a shortage of ground beef would have forged his decision? Of course it did, what’s the life of a meat worker worse? Really not much, low wages, deficient health care and practically no perks have placed these workers on the low social scale, easily forgotten if one falls through the cracks and easily replace on the meat packer chain gang. But we are accustomed to the unethical ways of our President, dismissing the bearers of contrary news, like the aircraft Commander sacked for trying to alert a sleeping at the wheel brass to the covid epidemic on his vessel. News of his reinstatement by the navy have vindicated him but the questions remain, how does a commander in chief explains his lack of understanding that an army needs to be healthy to perform its purpose, that is to defend the country and allies. But questioning a liar presents almost insurmountable difficulties and the results amount to more disinformation and shameless propaganda used to stir the base. The base was at it again yesterday, storming the Michigan Capitol but this time forcing their way in, armed with automatic fire arms, during a lawmakers session, and posing in threatening manners, fingers on the triggers, above the folks trying to legislate covid. Of course, lots of trumpians in that crowd of Aryanists white men, and I’m pretty sure, none of them work in meat processing plants.

To complete the lot of pitiful news, the weather is doing is best with grey rainy days, and it’s keeping us locked up in this lockdown, our occasional walks in the fresh air suspended until further rays of sunshine. Staying occupied is becoming a challenge and Carolle has been complaining of boredom. Thankfully, she has started a project that she had mentioned about before covid. The preparation consists on destroying a couple of dozens leather garments she had collected the past fifty years. The various leather pants, shirts, leather skirts and jackets had run their fashion usefulness or fitting abilities and passed through the scissors to be separated in various sizes rectangles and colors. The finished product will be a hooked leather rug. I volunteered to cut the thin strips of leather she will need, one half inch bu four, and that will keep me occupied as well, and glad to take the opportunity! The French newspaper I read online has a column where readers questions are answered, I peek at it from time to time. Today came up a very important one, on sex, fellatio, and the spread of covid. The answer was direct and reassuring, aside from the close proximity, rest assured, according to scientists, covid and sperm don’t mix. Usual precautions should be taken, like thorough cleaning before and after sex, and the use of adequate protection with a condom is advocated. Strangely, gargling with mouthwash or peroxide was not mentioned. Alongside this important message, the south of France region covered by the newspaper is still in lockdown mode, not reopening any time soon, and when it reopens, safeguards will have to come along. The French President is warning about a flood of tourist invading the French Riviera will not be tolerated, leaving us waiting and unable to plan. The airline tickets I purchased over two months ago are still not reimbursed after the airline canceled the flights, but that’s not surprising, when did airlines really care about their customers? My trip to France is now postponed indefinitely, a small bother and I feel guilty just to commiserate about it.

Twelve days after the first recommendations for a shutdown, the virus continues to spread and the death count has reached a first milestone, a thousand dead, together with the number of infected folks, and swiftly, our country is leading the world in the number of cases, more cases than China at the height of the epidemic. Twenty one deaths in Connecticut including a young health worker whose colleagues have deplored the lack of protective gear. Sad and scary for the younger folks, it’s not only a boomer thinner, covid is an equal opportunity killer. In the meantime, our leader still waffles and pushes mix messages on just every aspect of the crisis. His motto “like you’ve never seen before”, repeated time and time again with different wording, “like the world has never seen before”, a passe partout sentence usually uttered for big things to come, economy, tax breaks, wall, Iraq, whatever his mind is fixated on at the time, can now describe his response to the pandemic. We now have a crisis “like the world has never seen before”, and a president bungling it “like you have never seen before”. It’s actually not a surprise to see him nearly despondent as he his facing this crisis. He shot himself in the foot when, pushed by his base and the will of the Republican Party to further inequality by cutting taxes on the higher tax payers, and by stripping the different systems designed to help the nation in case of a catastrophic event, he and his administration have left health responders shortchanged in personnel and supplies. That virtual bullet will hurt him more than the bone spurs he suffered, the same bone spurs miraculously helping him to obtain several deferments  of the drafts for the  Vietnam debacle. He was finally declared exempt of serving our nation. It is mind boggling  that the politicians showing the American flag pin on their lapels and preaching their love of the flag and the nation, would line up and pledge full blind support to someone who showed such poor patriotism when the country was looking for bodies to fight a war. But they bow to him with a cowardice “like no one has seen before”.

Anyway, Siegfried, the third part of Wagner Opera is on. The elaborate sets, the medieval style of the costumes is just eye candy from the tv screen. I find the music more lifting than the two previous parts of the ring. The scene of Siegfried and the birdie is adorable. Never mind that it turns into a bloody slaughter, the whole act is riveting. Staying put is not that bad in this environment.
As Siegfried winds down, a wave of sadness engulfed me, and my thoughts went to Nice, as this is where Carolle and I were supposed to be today. But that’s pre-covid, before we cloistered and the airlines and the borders shut down. I will miss la Rue Catherine Ségurane, the street of the Antiquaires, directly bordering the Vieux Nice, five minutes away from the Port and the Mediterranean walking South, two minutes away from Place Garibaldi walking North. When in Nice, it is definitely a neighborhood worth spending time and discovering. I enjoy visiting the Marché aux Puces overlooking the Port de Nice. As a habit, every Monday I visit the Antiques Market at Cours Saleya, and  the Marché aux Livres by the Palais de Justice, held bi-monthly, in the Vieux Nice. We are sure going to miss Nice this spring.
Earlier in the day, idleness leading to thinking, and of course, a lot of my thinking is related to the virus, covid is always not very far in my mind. Actually, my thoughts were not only fixed solely on covid, instead I was thinking about viruses in general and he bubonic plague in particular. Then my thoughts went from ethanol to Eau de Cologne back to the plague, and wondered if they had ethanol in the Middle Ages. So I went to the Encyclopedia Britannica  (just kidding) and l looked up on ethanol, and besides learning that folks started bottling it eons ago, I also found an allusion to its use during the plague. Eau de Cologne is about 70 to 90% ethanol. Good enough to kill viruses. A note to survivalists out there looting the stores, when all virus are gone from the pharmacies, the last store to raid is the beauty store, but stick on with the best, the most alcohol content, don’t be cheap and buy the weak stuff, it will not protect you.

Today, March 27, the news of the day trumpets that Congress just passed a 2bn dollars bill, the buoy to keep the economy afloat, over the objections of a lone Republican objecting to the procedure. He was concerned about the deficit, go figure, I thought that objection to deficit was a ghost of the past for the party. His pleas, drowned by both sides of the chambers, earned the world a new word: masshole, soon to be perused in your favorite dictionary.

Needing fresh air and distances from the depressing news, we attempted a walk around the neighborhood, but after less than ten minutes walking, Carolle tripped on the uneven sidewalk and we had to walk back to the loft. She was holding on to me and did not fall, but still, twisted the leg that suffered  a hamstring a few month ago. I hope the fear of being stuck inside was more distressing that the pain. That’s one of the problems with sidewalks here in town, the maintenance is left to the adjacent property owner. Snow removal is left to them and every winter bring a strange basket of obedient owners shoveling  snow  from the walks and having to return, sometimes several times a day, shovel  at work to remove the snow plows threw back unto the sidewalk while clearing the streets. It happens every winters,     for every snow days, the same ritual. Sysiphus is not alone.The silly ordinance leads to a cacophony of substrate in various states of decay. This dereliction by the town and state government, in lieu of saving money makes for a poor and obviously dangerous  pedestrian environment. It was a terrible idea from the start and now it’s an expensive problem to solve. But, if maintenance was taken back by the states and the towns, it could put tons of folks to work, employment would translate to collecting more taxes to grease the gears of the capitalism machine. Capitalism for the people, and for all to benefit. Besides, not only homeowners do not own the sidewalks but they must also provide a right of way for the town and the state, adjacent to the walk. They don’t own that small parcel of land, but they are responsible for it. What’s the rationale behind that?

My ranting about broken sidewalk seems somewhat silly in view of the coming apocalypse but in a strange ways, bring me back to mundane daily life. And yes, despite covid, life goes on. David Brooks on television, tells us that “…so we have sort of seen an institutional failure from the White House on down.”

The spike on the graph pops up like a mean acacia thorn. Covid is claiming bodies at a fast rate. Still, our quixotic leader insist on fighting wind mills. His ego always in the way, he is now using his loved quid pro quo as he deals with the governors asking for help. The ones praising him get his ear and he is deaf to those complaining about the lack of equipment or criticizing his response to the pandemic. It’s a daily litany of fuckups. The health community is stretched already thin and we are only a few weeks into the spread of the virus here. For the virologists, we are in for a long time. For the administration, all may be fine by Easter, less than two weeks from now. It’s with conflicting informations and projections that we live our lives. It’s scary. It’s scary because, in a crisis, be it a catastrophic event, a natural disaster, a war, or as now with this pandemic, citizens expect the experts and the government to work in unison. It’s scary because we are in a situation where our leader believes his gut feelings and whatever motivations ferments in his brain, are more in line with the way the quarantine should be orchestrated and than what the experts are recommending. The experts have no specific  time line but they have the data and the projections calculated from covid casualties in China, but also most importantly, from Italy, where the data may be more accurate. Adding to the fact that test kits are still not readily available, our curve is not expected to flatten any time soon.

Every day we wake up feels like a nightmarish Groundhog Day, unfortunately without Bill Murray.

I try to sleep longer but still wake up around the same time before 6am. So far, isolation has not been a big bother, there are enough undone chores to be completed, stuff to do that procrastination bumped to the proverbial tomorrow. Covid’s silver lining, if there is one,  gives us plenty of time to tie up loose knots. Having moved into our loft only a few months ago, we still have multiple boxes and totes of unpacked items . We moved from a thirty five hundred square feet house to an eight hundred square feet loft. Even though  we sold or gave at least two thirds of our belongings, the process of emptying the house still required several fifteen feet box trucks. My bookbinding studio alone, in the oldest part of the house and overlooking the garden, a space that had been used as bulbs and other plants in need of storage,  took four trucks of machinery, cabinets, file drawers, supplies, tools and other stuff relating to the trade, all that was moved to storage, paid a year in advance, thinking that, in a year time, I would dispose of it. The plan was to work at it this summer. It is now derailed by covid. The studio did not include books and artwork which took a full truck to move. We still have a lot of stuff stored at my son in law’s garage. I slowly bring it to the loft, a couple of boxes at a time, to sort through. Quarantine time is a good time to do that. It cuts into the doldrums of the day in this time of confinement. Unpacking brings memories and longings of the near past, before the virus descended upon us. Nostalgia can deal a languorous sorrow to someone living in a cage. I did not know how easy my life was.

Twilight of the Gods, the fourth and last part of The Ring of the Nibelun has started. The first scene shows women weaving the rope of Destiny and predicting the destruction of Valhalla. The virus is destroying our Valhalla. It is the danger facing us now. It will take a concerted effort, “like nobody has seen before” to overcome this pandemic. There are signs of people working towards that effort. Yankee ingenuity picks up when necessities are short, like ethanol. A distillery nearby is turning its spirit production to disinfecting grade ethanol. Quilters and sewing hobbyists are sewing masks, pop stars posts songs, or other pertinent messages from their homes, giving us free entertainment and lifting our mood.

I can now tell new tv broadcasts from reruns, pre-covid, hosts and guest are close together, since covid, they stand or sit six feet apart. More nostalgias. The choirs of men on the tv screen, plotting to kill Siegfried, some fifty or sixty of them, reminds me of the artists stranded in New York City, and the rest of the New Yorkers and I felt sorry for them. I spent close to twenty years of my life in Manhattan and still have a great love for the city. I miss the hubris. New York adopted me when I arrived in the USA, I have memories of the place, bad as well as good and sublime, and some tragic. New Yorkers are resilient, they’ve suffered greatly not so long ago. They bounced back and will again.

Another grim milestones today, came from Italy. Ten thousand have died so far. It’s a miserable day outside, grey sky and drizzling. Although the temperature has not changed on the nest stuck on the wall, it feels cold in the loft. Our governor is on the news, looking as confused as we are, and telling us about it in no uncertain terms, about a muttered line by the president today, something about a possible three states lockdown in strict quarantine. He is kept in suspense and in the dark as much as we are. In the meantime, the spike on the graph rises sharply. A military hospital ship is sailing towards New York harbour to help house the sick if needed.

I went to bed feeling depressed, but woke up in the same mood I always have, happy to open my eyes and see what today will bring. I knew already that another Wagner Opera would be on the schedule today, this time a lighter story taking place in Nuremberg, a town I knew well. In my early twenties, I travelled around Germany studying life and drawing Madonnas with colored chalk on the sidewalk. The town had been mostly destroyed by allied bombardments, but rebuilt faithfully after the war. The sets on the screen brought back memories. Nuremberg is a city with ample walking space and pedestrian shopping area. When drawing on a sidewalk, chalk is the perfect tool for the task, cheap, easy and ephemeral.  I would pencil a grid on the original to be copied, usually a postcard. The postcard was divided in a grid of equal squares, and the same pattern was transferred to the sidewalk. That method, classic for painting murals, helped me keep the drawing proportionate and true to the original. Once the rough sketching was done, the rest was easy, a bit like a glorified paint by numbers. This type of work was not done in a day. I would set up early in the morning and choose a spot. By noon, the painting was laid out and some color was already applied. I paid attention to the faces, often a Madonna and Child, because people’s attention was more likely to be retained when they saw eyes or a mouth born out of the sidewalk. As the chalk evolved and the drawing progressed, crowds of people would gather, distracted from their shopping. They often appreciated my efforts, enough to leave a coin or a banknote in the box.

The large paintings, four feet by eight, took three or four days to finish. If the weather was good, without rain, and the forecast was clement, I would linger a bit longer, slowing down the completion of the painting. At dusk, I would cover the art with a transparent plastic tarp, secured by tape on all edges. Many mornings, coming back to the drawing, I would find bills slipped under the plastic, five, ten and even twenty Deutschmarks notes, left there since the evening before. The German people respected art in all its forms, I liked that. When the painting was done, it was time to move to another town and start again.
Sometimes, when I was gone, leaving the painting to the elements, a homeless person would sit by and collect a few coins. Eventually, elements erased the artwork, cleaning the concrete until only a ghost of an image remained and eventually totally disappeared. There was something soothing about that, not unlike the Tibetan colored sand paintings that, once finished, are destroyed.

Meistersinger, Wagner’s Opera on the podcast today, is over four hours long. There must have been quarantines when he wrote it, plenty of time to think about circumvoluted plots when one is locked up.
Earlier on, this Sunday  morning, we drove to Litchfield to my son law’s house, were we still have stuff stored. A young couple from Europe, who used to rent an apartment from us, will occupy it for the next few weeks. They are more or less stranded here between an expiring lease and travel plans cancelled because of covid. They are moving in and we are still moving out after three months. I should have listen to George Carlin’s litany about “stuff”. We were still occupied when they showed up at the door. With all the reservations we had about close proximity in this covidian time, it was a pleasure  to be with familiar faces, and I think we all appreciated the moment. Never mind that we looked each other a bit suspiciously, the immense pleasure to be close to friends made us loosen our guard. It must be hard to be Monk. When we came back to the loft, Carolle settled down with Wagner and new boxes of stuff to sift through. I donned my hazmat suit and went to the liquor store for wine. I went through the routine, taking all precautions. This time I came in with a double bag that I used to carry my purchase to the the cashier who insisted to have me sign the credit card receipt. I told her that I would not touch the pen she was holding with a gloved hand. A quick look at the glove and one could bet they had not been changed for awhile. She was adamant and as was not going to convince her, I asked to see the manager. He agreed, my chip card did not need signature. I was good to go, in time to pick up a pizza on the way, sidewalk order only. When I got back Wagner was still on. The sun did not shine today, but it turned out to be a great day.

After weeks of vacillating decisions and the lack of a clear path from our leader, today, March 30, the last day of the month, three weeks after our voluntary social distancing and  isolation, he was finally convinced to extend the lockdown until the end of April or longer if necessary. From my visit to the post office, it’s an optimist time line. There are three different sets of doors at the post, each door has two handles for a total of twelve handles used to open the doors. There are hundred of people using this post office everyday. Wouldn’t it be prudent to leave the doors open? I feel sorry for the workers, I have no idea how they cope but it must be unnerving to be stuck behind a counter in these scary times. The killer is invisible. I wear a mask everywhere I expect to be around people, so did the young woman ahead of me at the store’s cashier. She had the civilian hazmat suit on and kept rigorous social distance while we encountered each other in the aisles. Most shoppers were following the six feet rule, an encouraging sign that most folks are taking the matter seriously. A lot were wearing gloves as I did. There was a peaceful civility in that strange ballet. Troubled only by my concern for the employee’s welfare, for they, like the clerks behind the post office counters, are at the front of this battle against the virus. If I believed in any sort of god, I would pray deeply for their safety. There are not pop star or sports star salaries worth that could these folks for the jobs they are doing now for all of us. To shop, I used the caddy again. I now keep it in the car when I am done. It does not enter home as I unpack it’s contents outside our entrance door. Nothing that comes home is not properly cleaned or washed before been shelved. It’s getting to be easier as I am getting better at it.

I know that there are cases in town, the virus has already claimed a victim in a nearby nursing home were my friend Paul has spent his entire adult life. The death of a patient and the confirmation of other cases near him is frightening. I have not looked at the latest figures as it does not make a difference in my new habits. There are dreadful projections of hundred to two hundred thousand deaths. Hospitals are been erected in Central Park and the Javits Center in Manhattan and the hospital ship has arrived. New Orleans is badly touched by the virus, a result of the last Mardi Gras. Churches here and there, and their pastors, ignoring the threat and comparing the virus to Satan, tell the flocks to pray for protection, while gathering thousand folks in the same building, elbow to elbow. A school called their students back for study resulting in a dozen contaminations. These folks have to be stopped if we want to eradicate the virus. Or, send the churches the bill for the care they’ll need when infected.

Wagner, yes again, a short Opera, only less than four hour, is our entertainment today. Tannhäuser, the Opera in question, greeted me when I came back from shopping. It spins a story involving Venus and the Virgin Mary. That’s some combination! I can’t explain anymore, my attention to it is quite sparse, the music in the background is enough to admire without really knowing who did what to whom. To tell you the truth, I would prefer some Mozart or Bizet, but it’s the Metropolitan’s season and we are watching it as produced.
The news are fixed on covid. One of the story circulating from the start of the crisis, and still maintained by the CDC and the administration’s health experts, pushing folks not to wear masks, supposedly because they may be placed incorrectly or because they would induce the wearer to touch his or her face more often then not. That position, taken without any serious study or data, was basically fake news. Imagine that, from an administration whose president, the man who determines his course of action from an anchor at a propaganda machine. It would be almost comical if that disinformation did not costs lives. The question is why? Why would they feed us such dangerous propaganda? I tried to find an answer, started writing and after hundred words, edited all, as I have no sane answer. It leaves me with great sadness to see my adopted country act in such an unethical way. And you may think I am naive. Perhaps, but endangering a whole population of the United States takes us to another level of crass. You may say I am exaggerating but I am not, everyone of us is at risk, so far no body is immune to the virus. Perhaps our president did not want his citizens to wear masks. That would have made us look too much like people in some countries in Asia, using masks to filter the coal polluted air they breathe. Perhaps it has to do with his love for “clean” coal, who knows, the one thing we know, is that, in this administration, the rules come from the top.

I am glad now that I followed my gut feeling, seeing folks in China, in Korea, in Italy and now the rest of Europe, with masks on their faces. I only have the two found in the garage, I keep them clean by spraying alcohol and letting sit for 15 minutes. I do that in the car, it feels safer and I use the heat ports on the dashboard, with heat at full blast, to remove any trace of humidity. I believe I can keep those for a long while by alternating their use.

There are news from Italy that the curve may be showing signs of flattening. That would be long overdue good news and I hope for my friends in Italy that it’s true, my old friend Corinne, who is one of three friends I still connect with online. Then there is the couple of artists, husband and wife and traveling companions, Laurie and Blair, two expatriates living now in Italy, too close to covid. I do hope the curb flattens and that covid is defeated. My hopes turns into the reality of news. If we project the Italian data to our population, the prospects of a quick quarantine gets grimmer and grimmer. A new expression has been created, Darwinian Federalism, or the dereliction of duty of an administration putting the onus of responsibility on States. Some states are totally oblivious and take very few protective measures while others sacrifice for the good of all. So we sit, and wait, hoping the measures we take individually keep us from infection.
Today, no Wagner. Dialogues of the Carmelites by Poulenc is on the program. Carolle, had already seen it and found it depressing, and not inclined to watch it again. After a dozen hours of Wagner, I was ready for something different. My other reason was that I knew Carmelites, they had a convent in the town I was born and were I spent my youth. Out of the Carmelites came a saint adored world wide, Sainte Therese de l’Enfant Jesus, the weakly child of a jeweler and watch maker. The Carmelites taught Sunday School in my neighborhood, the bicycle tires I flattened one day after school, belonged to a Carmelite. Adding that the story takes place during the French Revolution, it made sense for me to watch it. Carolle was right, the story is downright depressing, with the Nun Superior exhaling her last breath for what seems an eternal time, and in excruciating pain just about renounces the Almighty. The Opera ends when all nuns are beheaded. I did not like my Carmelites when I was a kid, specially the part of kneeling on a square ruler, but I did not wish for them to be shortened. From the first glance at the first scene of the first Act, Blanche’s (the heroine) father sits in a chair reading a book. The decor is eighteen century French, the actor wears appropriate brocades and is reading a book. He was not wearing sneakers and I wonder why then was he reading a book made in the late twentieth century. A book from the period can be bought for only a few bucks, why use something that is totally out of of place on a set? That bugged me almost as much as those old Ralph Lauren ads in which books in disrepair are shown in luxury settings. Poulenc’s Carmelites is much shorter than any of Wagner’s works we have seen so far, but still long enough to fill a couple of hours of background sound.

As the sun showed up, clearing the sky of the clouds we’ve had the last couple of days, and with Carolle’s leg fine after all, we took a stroll around the neighborhood, this time  a long loop that paralleled the highway. The houses bordering the streets are vestiges of an opulent past when the mill by the river was in full production, many decades ago. That’s when workers and bosses lived near the factory, the more modest houses nearby and the more stately further up on the hill, were the owners lived. There was no commuting then, life was simpler. Today, the robins were busy, with plenty of them around at this time of year. One of them was pulling a worm from the ground. I had forgotten how comical the image was, with the worm stretched out like a rubber band and the bird pulling until the worm finally gave up, ending in the beak of the robin who immediately flew away. Just like the first crocuses we spotted last time we walked, the birds helped us forget, for an instant, the dreadful virus. Two hens in a yard, pretty birds, surprised us. Here we were in the middle of town, certainly not expecting to encounter farm animals. Perhaps they were pets. The owner, busy cleaning the yard, waved at us and we waived back. Daffodils and forsythias were more visible now that March was turning into April, and the trees pushing out of dormancy, are starting to look greener. The long walk was welcomed, and now that the weather becomes more clement, we can enjoy more excursions in our newfound neighborhood. Life is not that bad when one can walk.

On the news, the numbers related to covid are climbing, people and politicians are finally starting to recognize the threat covid presents, it’s not a Dems hoax anymore.

A sunny day ahead and after breakfast, a trip to the box store down the street was deemed necessary. A bit irrational perhaps, to think about cookies during the pandemic, but a real need of McVities’s Digestive biscuits, a treat we both like with tea or coffee, left me no choice. A perk coming with that cookie is that it’s dunkable, without drowning in your favorite coffee. Risking my life for cookies on this fine day, I decided to take the woody path behind the mill. Once into the woods, my mind settled on the environment and I slowly forgot about covid. I passed the rocky stream again and it looked more beautiful than the last time I crossed it. The moss on the old boulders seemed fresher, the bright green alive with a sheen of morning dew. The water flows rapidly between boulders and long rooted trees before falling into a thirty feet wide gully down below. The gully may be an ancient river bed transformed into a series of marshes and near still water ponds. It lays about ten to fifteen feet down between the two small wooded crests that borders it.

Spring is making a timid approach in the woods, leaves are just starting to show signs of life. Birds, in contrast, are busy foraging and claiming their territory. Passing by a mess of brushes at least fifteen foot long and six wide, I startled a few birds that went scattering, in fright, into the bushes and out of my sight. There must have been a dozen birds there, judging by the commotion they made. I saw a couple of robins and glanced at a red something that may have been a cardinal. When I reached the point were I could see the homeless camp, I noticed that this time, it was occupied. From fifty feet away I could see that someone had been using it since I saw it last. The big No Trespassing signs around the camp were also a clear indication that folks had claimed that parcel of the woods. I did not bother the tenants. Suddenly, the camp brought me back to reality and to covid. Is that person or persons more in danger here in the woods than a homeless facility? Governors are trying to requisition hotels to house homeless folks. In the meantime, what happens to the ones who are left without dwelling and the ones who are withdrawn from society, invisible?
My visit to the store went as usual, but now, folks seemed to be more aware of distancing. The manager and employees were restocking the shelves, trying to keep safe distances but not wearing masks. I asked the manager about McVitie’s but he had no idea what they were. Finally I found a misshelved orphaned pack, went to ask the manager again, pack in hand. That jolted his memory and he guided me to the shelf he had just restocked, ten minutes before, with a full new shipment. Go figure. I chalked the distraction to the stress of working for the public in the time of Covid-19.

I hoarded shamelessly three packages of Digestives and by that time my backpack was full, even though I did not find the white vinegar I was asked to bring home. The police officer paying the cashier ahead of me did not wear a mask, neither did the cashier. I quickly paid and went back the same way I came. Again, the woods lifted my mood  all the way home. By that time noon was approaching and scrambled eggs laced with ham chunks and Parmesan cheese satiated us while watching the day’s musical offering. The Barber of Seville enchanted us for a couple of hours filled with smiles and laughter, something we both needed. Culture comes in various ways, today Figaro taught me a new word, factotum, a word I may never use again, but one that has entered my already jam packed brain, the proof that one can learn even when neurons start disappearing as we age. Rossini’s music is a good antidote to the sadness of the ever depressing news. There is a comic scene where the plague of the day is used to trick a character. Necrophiliacs beware, there is no languishing death in the Barber, instead you can enjoy an equally long love declaration, sang beautifully towards the end of the Opera.

My good mood continued as I packed the small fifties’ German parlor guitar I’ve had for a dozen years. I had bought it from Jay, a luthier/carpenter friend who keeps a booth at the Antiques barn were I also have a spot to sell vintage and downright ancient items. On that last visit with my grandsons, Max, the younger one, expressed interest in guitar playing while we were cooking rocket fuel in the driveway. Although I really liked that small guitar, I really seldom played it as I have half a dozen to choose from. I figured that it would be a good instrument to learn with, the action, the width and length of the neck comfortable. It sports steel strings now, but could as well be strung with nylon for easier fingering. I printed the UPS ground label and dropped the parcel at the usual store. This time, a table was set outside to keep folks from entering and the drop off bin pushes some six feet away, was also outside. I was glad to see the precautions taken to minimize contact. It was a good sign to see that businesses were starting to react to the pandemic in a sensical way.  I dropped off the package, hoping it will make it all the way south to North Carolina, and drove to my last digs to gather more of our stuff to bring back to the loft. One of the items is a restaurant terrace table with a cast iron base and slate top, one of a pair that I had bought forty years ago when I lived on Madison Avenue, from a restaurant on fifth avenue almost directly across the Metropolitan museum. The restaurant was modernizing and selling the old furniture. I remember paying fifty bucks for two of them. Cleaning it gave me another chance to spend time in the fresh air and I took my time to enjoy the chore. Driving back home, the large white tents in the hospital parking lot were a sobering remainder that my mild euphoria was only an ephemeral state of mind. The day passed too quickly, evening was closing fast and with it, the deluge of bad Coronavirus news.

The news of a six month old infant succumbing to covid, together with rising numbers of infections and death are starting to lean on heads of states. They are changing their tunes on social distancing and closing unnecessary business. It’s about time, but it’s also way too late to keep people from been infected. The genie is out of the bottle, the procrastinating stance to refuse taking necessary precautions will cost lives, no doubt about it. While the heads of these states have no excuses to have waited so long, they invent them, shifting the blame as much as they can, refusing to accept responsibility for the inactions. That’s also what the administration and the persons in charge of overseen the epidemic, the same folks making decisions of life and death, are doing now, trying to absolve themselves by shifting whatever blame to the same institutions they govern, to the other political side, and of course, to the press. Governors are bidding against each other and against the federal government for the purchase of life saving supplies. On this April fool day, the Chinese fire drill would be humorous if the situation was not so tragic, and no one is laughing. Is it not ironic, that a president, obsessed with the grandiose, on this once in a hundred years pandemic, instead of taking the team reigns and with a grounded plan take charge, and like the great business man he has claimed all along to be, guide us to the flat lining of the virus. He would have been the hero I’m pretty sure he dreams to be most nights. He would have merited his coveted Nobel prize. Putin would eye him with jealous envy. Instead, from the start he was likened to Nero playing a jig as Rome was in flames.
Some folks are still trying to profit during this horrible time. A hobby store, own by a vocal and influential Christian family, staunch right wing Republicans, lobbied to obtain dispensation for essential businesses, meaning they can stay open to sale essential goods. Their argument for essential offerings, fabrics sold to quilters our be made into masks. The owners are billionaires but they can’t raise money to keep their employees home for three months?
We learn, from the latest new, that nearly ten million workers are unemployed. We are presented with alarming numbers of infections and climbing deaths. Worldwide infections closing to a million people, the death toll approaching fifty thousand. Our country mourns five thousand dead and fear for over two hundred thousand infected.

Covid is no joke on this first day of April.