Date: Sun, 29 Mar 2020 12:02:29 -0400
From: Brad Page
Subject: Corona Journal #2
3/29/20
In my middle years we used to call people like me “shut ins.” Now we practice social distancing with a twist. We are “at risk” plus a whole host of other conditions applied people who are journeying through their 80th year. No matter the label, I am hugely grateful for Mr. Galin and all of you who help me keep two feet on the ground when high flying in worry, anxiety and stress feels a few feet away.
Here at Walnut Grove I have been part of a small group that varies from 8-10 people who gather roughly every two weeks to watch a film, argue politics sometimes and generally share the same air in company with each other. It’s a perfectly ordinary thing for human beings to do most weekends. No more.
I have a friend who calls me weekly for a few hours of conversation at the Phoenix Bakery for coffee and unimaginably sweet treats. He’s very interesting. Now we speak on the phone and I am concerned about what I consider his dangerous working conditions.
Another friend calls weekly. She and I used to go regularly to various music venues from the Blue Note in Durham to Bluegrass at the Cats Cradle. A few months ago we sat 4 feet from Tommy Edwards at the Joyful Jewel while he played one gorgeous piece after another.
No more. Still, what is here is the heart of Pittsboro. I stepped out my door for the first time in 8 days to walk the parking lot at Walnut Grove. Two of the gathering group were sitting across from each other discussing the challenges they face. Men are relatively scarce here so it was a welcome site when a male friend showed up on the other side of the picnic table, standing the respectful 6′ away. This can be a challenge for people who have difficulty hearing. Yet, it must be for these are precious companions. I encountered another friend and her dog down at the creek behind the complex. The dog came to me and I raised my arms though he is irresistible to anyone in his innocent friendless.
Yes, I am isolated and at times lonely. I also hit the pavement for connection, write emails, text my son and sister, and, most of all as, repetitive as it is, read what the governor’s up to and how the other world wide nation states are gathering their forces against the virus. When a government is effective such as that of FDR’s in 1941, when I was 17 months old, the loneliness and helplessness dissipates.
To all of you: Good cheer, good luck and give ’em hell.