What’s Funny Now?

Families Merging Into One Another. Acrylic and Sand. (Before Coronavirus) H. Jacobson

I’m trying hard to think of funny things happening now. We are all missing interactions with the people we care about, but we also are having other social moments that are awkward and new to us at best.

Three weeks ago I was at my local grocery store, before ordering everything delivered was recommended. I was there to get necessary supplies for the lockdown that was purportedly coming. Before heading to the usual produce, dairy and meat, fish aisles, I wandered over to the beauty section. Looking at boxes of hair dyes, root touch up products, I thought about my friends and I lamenting our lack of hair dresser appointments and the very visible effects of that. On the other hand, we said:”Who is going to see us now?”

Well, I was just on Zoom and guess what everyone saw me. Standing in front of boxes with medium and dark brown root dye, I debated. Suddenly a hand reached in front of me and grabbed the last two dark brown boxes. I turned around to see an older women with a scarf covering her hair.

” Hey, I was going to buy one of those!”

” You need red!” She harrumphed and walked away.

I probably do since my streaks are auburn, but wasn’t that my decision?

Walking my small poodle, Philo, is my main activity outdoors now. If it is cold or rainy, he turns around to go home quickly. On a recent sunny day, we headed over to the Charles River and joined others, walking, biking, scooting, trying to be socially distant. I saw a woman I knew, we waved and she approached us with her small red poodle, a friend of Philo’s.

” I’m picking her up,” she told me.

” The veterinarian said on TV that their fur is not contagious.”

“But what about their noses? “

” I don’t know, ” I answered. I had never thought about noses. A vision of dogs in masks greeting each other made me smile.

How about lists? Everyone has given me or asked me what to read or what to watch on TV. I keep a small notebook next to my favorite TV watching chair where I scribble down all the suggestions. Then trying some, I often realize that I had watched them before or I don’t want to watch any of them. Preferring to scroll through Netflix, Prime, HBO etc, I have found odd movies, old shows. British programs calm me down, perhaps it is their slow, deliberate speech and usually a lack of violence. Closed captioning helps me understand the varied accents.

Books are another matter. My study abounds with books I haven’t read, gifts, or bought by me to read one day. I consider the books I’m reading for my two Zoom book groups as homework. I flip through their required pages, determine how much I have to read each day and often reward myself with cool whip and ice cream when I’m done. I listen patiently to everyone’s literary recommendations, but inside I feel like an illiterate rebellious teen-ager. “Don’t tell me what to read!”

We are surrounded by articles and television shows encouraging us to clean out our closets, organize our files and papers, set up at home work or creative areas to do new projects. I am busy fighting my daily urge to scream at them. I want to yell until I’m hoarse, ” Don’t make us feel bad for what we aren’t doing!”

My children have now reminded me that I am a senior. Telling me to stay away from stores, from people, wash my hands, wash everything that comes in to my home, wear a mask etc. I know I’m a senior! I know there are special early shopping hours for seniors. My first response to that was, “Aren’t they more likely to be sick? ” My second one is, I don’t feel senior but I know the world looks at me that way and treats me like an old lady. The kinder and more helpful people I don’t know are to me, the crazier I feel inside, the more I want to be independent.

Like other seniors, I have developed systems for coping with daily challenges. Returning home with bundles, I unload them by the front door, then go to park my car. I carry them inside and move them up the flight of stairs in shifts, alternating which ones go up a few stairs at a time with me. At the top, I bring them inside my place. I used to go up and down the stairs three or four times but now think this is easier, even though it really isn’t.

Driving requires much more attention and care. When my mind wanders, if my window is open, others will hear me yell, “Focus, Helen! Focus!” I wander around many streets to find a parking space that is enormous or one I can pull into. The new rear view camera I have helps, but can leave me confused as to what the lines are showing me.

Shopping is a new art now, where, how, who, when. Online sites offer too much, tempting me to add items to their carts which I can later delete. After all what do I need? I am one of the very lucky ones, living on a pension, in a nice apartment, near a hospital, with people I can reach by phone and sometimes see outside.

Since I joined the masked world, I am learning masked communication. Walking Philo, I passed a couple across the street, they were unmasked and exclaimed, “What a cute dog!” I smiled back at them and continued on my way. A few more such interchanges occurred, as well as arm waves. Returning home, I looked in the mirror and smiled at my funny face with its mask and sun glasses. Oh wow, no one can see me smile! I googled how to talk with women in burkas. All I learned was that it was sometimes okay to say hello at a distance. So, now I guess I will wave my arm, or nod my head when Philo or I are greeted by strangers, six feet away.

There is little humor in the world our health care and service professionals are facing every day. Their challenges, dangers and mental and physical exhaustion are heroic. I hope they know how appreciated they are and how much they are in our thoughts and or prayers. I’m mentally joining those who are banging a pot outside to thank them!