Our building is great and still has young people working hard to keep it maintained. Many take 2 subways to get here. We are very grateful. As well as for the grocery/delivery workers and of course all medical/emergency front liners and the people who support them.
Most of the residents are gone to their other homes or family refuges. But. We are still here. Thank you for making it possible. Every night at 7pm we open our windows to cheer and salute all of you.
There are no weekends anymore. No Sports. Masters. March Madness. Spring Baseball. Even those still working. It’s flexible and from home. No alternate side parking to define things.
So. It’s Saturday. Except no vehicles with New Jersey plates filled with Park-going people with strollers. No farmer’s market. Just another day of stationary cars and an empty street.
Cuomo’s pressers happen 7 days a week. There’s talk now that Dotard Joe’s staff is conspiring to put the Gov on the ticket. But. Biden’s boxed himself in with the prospect of a politically correct Sarah Palin.
Grateful for acts of kindness. Online bridge games. TP. Books. Gin.
Opening the windows & cheering for medical/frontline heroes at 7pm. It’s a City thing. And. Birdsongs. Clear days. Even if we’re reticent about going outdoors, still better when the sun shines in.
Coronavirus asymptomatic City isolation side effects.
Parents appreciate teachers every hour of the day.
Misanthropes actually missing people.
Alternate side parking rules suspended.
No traffic. But. No place to go.
Noisy workmen across the street now sound sweet.
Garbage grinding at dawn’ll be missed if gone.
Walks in Central Park a necessary luxury.
Restaurants’ take-out & delivery vital godsends.
Fresh Direct toilet paper scarcer than steak.
Bridezillas getting arrested for large weddings.
Dogs kinda quarantined with owners.
Some better than others.
Spring will happen at 11:49. Looking out the window, I spy an empty bus on Central Park West. A group of young people hugging and taking selfiies, oblivious to social distancing. But. They are the only ones on the sidewalk. A random car or cab appears on the vacant street. Kids are crying below as parents work to find a happy activity on our abandoned block. And. We are only in early days. But. Hey. It’s going to be 70 degrees and the blooms are still popping in the Park.
Perfect read for this mindset:
A Gentleman in Moscow, Amor Towles.
Perfect painting. They can’t cancel Spring. David Hockney:
Happy St. Patrick’s Day? No green beer this year. No parade. Nor corned beef and cabbage. Maybe some pubs will have clandestine revelry behind the frosted glass. Like a private Irish wake.
We had them in my family. Maudlin drunken rollicking passages. NYC and the world are in the throes of one. An epidemic milestone.
So. Put on your tophat with the shamrock on it. Find a streaming tavern scene and lift a virtual Guinness to get through it. Sláinte.
Or. Make St. Pat’s Soup.
68 degrees & sunny. Happy day to me. Escaping all the cofveve. Sister Deb brought me a beautiful cactus which served as a centerpiece for our Tavern on the Green table. On a perfect Spring-like day.
Daffs are up already in Central Park.