Our boy Matty just made a delivery to our kitchen window. Technically, I'm not sure he's supposed to since our governor, Janet Mills, just put us in lockdown today. However, I imagine beer delivery is an essential service, so I think we're good. Matty kept a safe distance as he put the brewskis through the window, and Michael grabbed them with kitchen towels before putting them in the refrigerator. When Matty said so long, he smiled at me from under his raincoat's hood, and I told him I love him and his family. Right then it became more real how hard it will be not to commune with our beloveds for who knows how long. My guess is September.
Everything coronavirus is intensely fascinating.
In the background we were listening to KEXP, which is broadcast from near my hometown in Seattle. They had just played a gorgeous cover of David Bowie's Young Americans by Durand Jones & The Indications, and were pausing for a top-of-the-hour break. Two DJs sitting in separate sound studios spoke of how they could perform dorky dances since no one was there to see them. They went on to notice how they were getting low on wipes to disinfect the equipment, adding that they'd play music until they ran out. That last comment made me begin to weep. Seeing me, Michael said something to the effect that music will save the world. He says that all the time.
As the one DJ was signing off, she said, "Be kind to each other." If I hadn't already been slayed by the previous comment, that one pretty much killed me. I thought of a recent conversation I had with a loved-one in which I might have been over-the-top and not as forgiving as I might have been in other times, even if a reaction was duly warranted.
As dusk is setting, a fire rolls in the wood stove. Michael is fixing salmon and sushi rice for dinner. Thankfully, a dear old friend who lives alone in a farmhouse on the edge of town, and whom I've been worried about, finally responded to me saying, among other things, that he is fine.
Love in the time of coronavirus is wild.
Everything coronavirus is intensely fascinating.
In the background we were listening to KEXP, which is broadcast from near my hometown in Seattle. They had just played a gorgeous cover of David Bowie's Young Americans by Durand Jones & The Indications, and were pausing for a top-of-the-hour break. Two DJs sitting in separate sound studios spoke of how they could perform dorky dances since no one was there to see them. They went on to notice how they were getting low on wipes to disinfect the equipment, adding that they'd play music until they ran out. That last comment made me begin to weep. Seeing me, Michael said something to the effect that music will save the world. He says that all the time.
As the one DJ was signing off, she said, "Be kind to each other." If I hadn't already been slayed by the previous comment, that one pretty much killed me. I thought of a recent conversation I had with a loved-one in which I might have been over-the-top and not as forgiving as I might have been in other times, even if a reaction was duly warranted.
As dusk is setting, a fire rolls in the wood stove. Michael is fixing salmon and sushi rice for dinner. Thankfully, a dear old friend who lives alone in a farmhouse on the edge of town, and whom I've been worried about, finally responded to me saying, among other things, that he is fine.
Love in the time of coronavirus is wild.
Feeling you from afar. Loving that you turned me on to Durand Jones & The Indications, and sending a fist bump to Michael - music will save the world. xo
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