Day 23: Lonely for Chatter

As of April 10                 Cases                   Deaths

Global                           1,677,256             101,372

National                           492,995               18,248     

Michigan                            22,783                 1,281

As of April 8                   Cases                   Deaths

Global                           1,475,978             86,979

National                           417,206             14,183

Michigan                            16,970                  845

I have been constantly watching the numbers.  I don’t think it is good for my mental or emotional health.

Yesterday was the first day with 70° temperatures.  This occurred after a night of strong thunderstorm and lashing rains.  The air, so much clearer because of reduced traffic, sparkled.  The grass, overnight, stretched out and reached skyward.  It called us out of doors, first for a walk, then for lunch outside which transisted into cleaning and pruning our raspberry patch.

Work was more than difficult.  I could barely string together two thoughts.  I gave up around 4:30 and we prepared our bikes for the 1^st ride of the season.

The bike felt good and it was a pleasure to cruise down the empty streets on our way to the riverfront.  Along the riverfront at the foot of Rosa Parks Blvd., there were plenty of fishers, as there often is.  They were spaced about every twenty feet, usually alone, but occasionally in small family groups.  But here is the difference.

Nobody was talking and laughing and joking about casts and catches, clothes or music.  A few fishers stared morosely at the river.  I wondered if they are fishing for food instead of pleasure.

Further down, after passing the surreal disappearing structure of the Joe Louis Arena, we again saw quite a few people.  As is usual, they reflected the beautiful diversity of our community.  The “sagging hard” set pass hijab and chador wearing moms pushing strollers, who pass a pair running in lycra and headphones, who zoomed past the family in jeans and sneakers.  But here’s the difference.

No one was talking. About 50% of walkers, runners or bikers are wearing masks, so conversation is hard.  But most people are not even nodding.

The chatty crowds who populate the riverfront, drinking fancy drinks or greasy fries were absent because every café, bar, and food stand was closed.  Even at Millender State Park, where the birds were engaged in full-on mating song and dances and we were pleased to see the first grackles of the spring, we saw small groups in quiet conversation.  One couple dressed in bright red sweats and hoodies, was laughing and joking, sharing selfies and kisses.  They are the only people sending energy out.

The rest of us, though we were outside, were still surrounded by walls.  No talking, no looking, no fooling around.

By the time we biked home, we were sore, sad, and blue.  I made a meal and we ate in silence.  When we did the dishes, we were nasty to each other about dishtowels, proper washing techniques and god-knows-what.

Afterwards, I watched a twelve-minute video missive from a family we know from church.  The whole family is sick with Covid-19.  Daddy, a postal carrier, got it first, then Momma, then the three daughters.  Without porch deliveries from family and friends, they wouldn’t have made it because they were too sick to move, too sick to shop, too sick to cook.  Daddy is still quite sick, wracked in pain and coughing, coughing, coughing.  It hurts to watch.

There was a question on Facebook responding to the Detroit mayor’s statement that everyone knows someone who is sick.  The questioner wondered how that could be when Detroit has a population of 700k and at that point there had been 400 deaths.

But what Duggan said is true—at least for me.  This virus spreads easily in crowds, and Detroit is a social place.  We go to church; hundreds participate in a ballroom dancing club, community groups sponsor events like Pancakes and Police.  Each have been a source for multiple infections.  Three people in our parish have died.  Parish members have lost family members.   

While we hear that our priest, who has been sick with the virus, is doing much better and that Father Norm Thomas, age 90, is no longer on a ventilator (which is something of a miracle), it is not enough to boost our moods.

We’re lonely for noise, for jokes, for the casual chit-chat with strangers as we move about the city.  We want to check in with all our coffee shop pals even though we barely know their names.  We miss the chatter when we play Bar Bango at our local watering hole.  We long for our twice weekly sharing of prayers, blessings, and food with our faith family.

Years ago, as we were waiting to start our bike trip across the country and were stuck in Portland.  I noted that Portlanders were courteous, but not very friendly while Detroiters were friendly, but not very courteous.   

(https://cyclesoulsearch.blogspot.com/2013/07/t9-not-so-blue-portland-blues.html).

Today, on another bike trip, I felt grief and pain circling our community even as the earth is rebirthing.  I hope and pray that the chitty-chatty, “hey baby, what’s cookin’” blather of my beloved city is not another casualty of this wretched virus curse.