Goodbye, My Lovely...

For those of you who did not read this post in 2015, the bottom portion refers to my lovely friend Pauline and her eldest daughter, Elizabeth, named for me, and a wonderful human being. I said goodbye to Pauline almost six years ago. She died of cancer at 53. Last week, I also bid a tearful and private goodbye to her daughter. She was married, recently pregnant, a graphic artist and a mother who leaves behind a five year old girl and a shocked family. She was a victim of COVID 19.

It was the hair color that I noticed first. You know, the shade that every unimaginative person on the planet refers to as “carrot-top?”

As the little girl’s feet moved back and forth, her head would dip, a syncopation fathomable only to her but amusing nonetheless. She was all arms and legs and flying braids as she turned, and spying my chair in the aisle of the store, flew toward me, saying, “Wow, your chair is cool.” To which she added, apropos of nothing, “Do you like my shoes?”

Normally, a late middle-aged woman in a wheelchair in twenty-first century America does not elicit this reaction. I glanced around, looking for the face of a worried parent, and finding no one, smiled as this small whirlwind skidded to a stop in front of me.

“Hello,” I offered. “You’re full of energy today.”

“Yep,” she said. I just got new shoes, see?”

Presenting her feet for my inspection, she removed a lollypop from a shirt pocket, unwrapped it and pushed it into her mouth, waiting for my reply.

Looking at the side of one shoe, I noted the redheaded hero to girls the world over, stating, “Oh, Pippi Longstocking was one of my favorites when I was a kid.” This was met with, “Mine, too. My grandma reads to me. We came to buy socks.”

Before we could take the discussion further, an older woman appeared, and saying, “Excuse us,” promptly seized the little girl’s arm, pulling her away as I bid them both a nice day.

It wasn’t until I was outside the store expecting the bus that I noticed tears welling, seeing in my mind’s eye, my late friend, Pauline, and her eldest girl, their two red heads close together, long ago, the first Pippi book, spread upon on their laps. Proof positive that the grieving brain makes strange connections.

Hard Day's Night...

That is the song playing in the background as I'm attempting this post. A routine of necessity is evolving here based largely on the need to avoid neighbors who do not practice social distancing. Ditto for our postal carrier who I saw walking with one of the neighbors and chatting with mere inches between them. 

Combined with the recent remarks by Scott Rivkees, MD, our state's surgeon general, I'm more determined than ever to avoid people. Rivkees has said that social distancing should remain in effect until a vaccine is developed which will be at least a year and that social distancing is our new normal.

So, life in this new normal continues in a much less frantic fashion. At the county level, our commissioners instituted a curfew from 9 PM to 5 AM in an effort to curb gathering and further social distancing, a nod to both commonsense and public safety in a state short on both at the moment. 

Earlier in the week as I was checking mail and throwing out the outer packaging from a delivered parcel, my upstairs neighbor rounded the corner, dog in tow, and had to be told to back up. Though I thanked her for doing so, it always astounds me how dangerous "dumb" can be. She is neither very elderly nor infirm and has surely heard the term "Social Distancing" by now. I was so rattled by the encounter that my keys got tossed into the dumpster along with the detritus from the mail. Fortunately, my spare set was copied when the couple in back ventured out on Friday.

Yesterday was spent cleaning the kitchen, sorting out my bathroom and spraying everything down with bleach water. The bathroom and kitchen floors were mopped to the best of my limited ability and looked better for the effort. Two small loads were washed and the afternoon and early found me on You Tube watching a complete performance of Phantom of the Opera. To see others, go to You Tube and put the words, the show must go on, in the search box. I also found Joan Baez singing from her quarantine.

 I've been listening to her since I was a tiny kid and my mother played her Vanguard albums on our portable stereo. By the time I reached high school, those records were mine, along with albums which held Baez's own lyrics. I have no idea what happened to them. Though time has altered her range and she retired a couple of years ago to paint, it is wonderful to see and hear her again.