Holy ghosts and talk show hosts

 

Feel that I should document my experience during this time, not only for my own vain purposes, but also in case they are casting around three or four decades from now for ‘primary sources’ – well, no matter how egregious my transgressions, at least I will have contributed to the vast human almanac. Take me at my word! These are indeed the real gasps and moans of a people, as they happen. Or of a person, as she happens. For heaven’s sake… If there is but a mote of pride trembling within me, its character, identity, spirit arises ever out of nature, familiarity, laughter. Language gives us everything we long for: comfort, clarity, the sacred melding of utility and sentiment. May we yet survive the might of its dread enchantment.

Side effects may include...

It is day three of the lockdown here in South Africa. A Sunday. The light is clear and white-gold, autumn has chased off summer’s heavy heat, and there is a new feeling of being in the world:  connection in the shared distance, in this surreal season we have entered. We are comfortable up here and there is nothing to complain about. We have food, space, views, plenty to keep us busy. I have been doing yoga via Zoom every day (YogaSpirit is the best – wonderfully organized and reliable – so happy to keep practicing during this time), playing piano, trying to play guitar (after learning it can be tuned using an app! So satisfying.), reading (“Three Women” by Lisa Taddeo. Jeezus. Very good.), watching Netflix, cleaning out the house. It is actually a very agreeable situation for a person with my shallow, relentless fear of missing out. I didn’t stock up on alcohol either, so it’s kind of a low-budget rehab. Habits are forming – some good, some bad. Good – reading out loud every night with the kids, loading the dishwasher before bed. Bad – Mad Men + Jumpin’ Jack white cheddar popcorn (aka Palomitas del Diablo). Nothing revolutionary, of course, but I still hope the good ones stick when life resumes its usual rhythm and all the old distractions and obligations come rushing back. Every night at 8pm, people in our neighborhood and all across the valley go outside and cheer for the front-liners – the cops and medics and grocery store tellers, etc. We go out and holler and clap and Apollo barks. Tonight there were thick beams of light, four spotlights casting into the sky in recognition of people’s service. They reminded me of the Altamont Fair. The kids will remember this time forever, I think.