It was about to arrive. The deadly covid-19 virus was closing in on my home town. There was no stopping it. And so, four years ago today, on March 16, 2020, authorities around the San Francisco Bay Area announced a pandemic shut-down.
Starting at midnight that night, Jon and I and 7 million-plus Bay Area residents were to shelter at home for three weeks beginning March 17. We were to limit “activity, travel and business functions to only the most essential needs . . . . ”
Jon would be 79 in a few days. I would be 78 for a few more months. At our age, what were the odds of surviving covid-19? The estimates were all over the map.
Some reports put our odds at two percent. Others gave Jon and me a whopping ten percent chance of winding up dead by the end of summer.
What to Do With the Time I Had Left?
Were my days numbered? I didn’t know. I started prioritizing, just in case. What would I do with the months, weeks — days? — left to me?
Spend time with the kids? Skype would make that possible.
Spend time with Jon. No problem. We’d have tons of time together from here on in, some of it of the quality type.
Get some writing done? Sure. With a world-wide pandemic swirling about me, there’d be lots to write about.
And so, one month into the shutdown, I wrote this piece.
I Miss My Friends. But I Miss My Acquaintances More — Sheltering at Home Week 5
By Barbara Falconer Newhall April 17, 2020
I miss my friend Jean. We are overdue for a hike at Pt. Reyes. I miss my kids. I miss Peter. I miss Christina. And I’d give anything to be able to scoop up my baby granddaughter and kiss the hair on her head. Do I miss family and friends? Of course. But the thing about family and friends is, you can call them up and chat, and they’ll be glad to hear from you.
You can’t do that with acquaintances. What’s the phone number of the saleswoman at our neighborhood card shop who’s been selling me birthday cards for years? I don’t know her name, let alone her phone number or email address. She doesn’t know my name either. But she knows exactly who I am.
You can call up a friend if you are feeling lonesome. How do you call up the saleslady at the Hallmark store?
I miss my acquaintances. I miss the Zumba ladies at my gym. The short one with freckles, who likes to talk about writing. The redhead, who made me feel at home when I showed up for my first Zumba class ten years ago.
I miss all those people who’s names I have to stop and think to remember, who’s jobs and professions I never quite got a handle on. The people I think of as mere acquaintances. Except, it turns out, they aren’t so mere.
The Dry Cleaner. The Book Group
The seamstress at the dry cleaners who’s hemmed more than one pair of pants to fit my on-the-short-side legs. The greeter at my church. The friends of friends at parties. The smart people in my super-sized book group — yes, I might recall what they had to say about “Jude the Obscure,” but, no, they aren’t quite friends.
They’re my acquaintances and I miss them.
I tried turning on the TV to video stream some Zumba classes. Good dancers. Cool moves. Very slick. And they did get me dancing and working up a nice sweat. But I was practically in tears by the end of the first session, grape-vining across the carpeted floor of our den, all by myself. Those splashy dancers were . . . splashy. But they weren’t my Zumba ladies.
They weren’t my — dear to me — acquaintances.
More about daughter Christina at “Wedding Dress Shopping — When Your Daughter Lets You Tag Along.” And some words about her adopted city, where she was holed up for the duration, at “Los Angeles — The Good, the Bad and the Truly Ugly.”
Good read!
Thanks! I’m beginning to forget how those covid days went. They were so intense, it seemed impossible that they could fade. So I’ll rerun a few of these stories to refresh my memory.