Nothing?

Most days when I walk out the door for my pandemic pacings, nothing happens. And what can I expect? There isn’t some ‘story’ every moment of the walk. Or even for one moment of the walk. Or is there?

          

  Today, I walk and nothing happens. I don’t walk past the ‘free seeds’ house and overhear a woman lamenting her distress over planting. “I don’t know if I’ve been watering it too much or too little….can you help?” And Free Seed Lady, nods in sympathy, “Let’s take a look. I’ll see what I can do.” And I think to myself, well, at least I don’t have that anxiety! Plants! Or do I? It seems with the pandemic that anxiety takes over every waking moment. Of course, we’re all worried about this plague and if it will ever end or at least become manageable. But then, there’s also just the free-floating anxiety, about plants?

            I do worry about my plants, specifically the cherry tree in the front yard. It just isn’t as fluffy as the one in the back yard. I know they are slightly different varieties of cherry trees: one is a hanging one and the other is what? A normal one? See, I don’t know anything about plants. I voice my anxiety to Ian about the Normal One. He just shrugs after glancing at it. “Don’t worry. That tree is just fine.” And again, since he’s so authoritative about things, I take comfort in it. He has a lot of plants after all, growing in abundance in pots all over his kitchen counter, the little table by the window, the eating table. I’ve given him plants over the years that just elude me. The yellow Chrysanthemums that began to shrivel and die after my colleagues gave me them for my 60^th birthday. I think this may have been a sign. After all, 6 months later, I’m laid off this job. It makes sense the flowers follow suit.

            Yet Ian brings them back to life. Their yellow blooms brighten his kitchen. So, when he says the Normal Cherry Tree is fine, okay, I believe him.

            See? Plant worry? It’s there.

            And today, as I walk on and nothing happens, I continue to remember the times that something did. The time I spoke with Piano Man who kept his family piano near him. And this morning when I walk by and glance in the windows where I know the little piano is, I don’t see it. I can’t see it. The windows are a dark shade of purple. He’s replaced the regular windows with dark windows so I can’t see in?

            Could this be?

            No, Cj, not everything is about you. But actually it is, right? Cuz I’m in my body and brain and there’s no escape! DL and I used to joke about how we needed a Braincation. And, with this pandemic and spending so much time by myself in my brain, I find I could really use someone else’s brain for 10 days! Who would I pick? Someone calm and young and anxiety-free. Like that person exists, CJ!

           

I walk on and still nothing happens. I turn the corner where the constant barking dogs yelp at me from behind the screen door. Today? Nothing. I remember a few weeks ago, walking round this corner and their rabid barking as a UPS man, masked up and roly-poly , sauntered out from the front porch. “BABY! RALPH! STOP BARKING AT THE NICE MAN! HE’S JUST TRYING TO DO HIS JOB!” And, I make eye contact with the Nice Man, can’t see if he’s grinning or not behind his mask, but his eyes seem to say, it’s all in a day’s work. No big deal as he climbs back into his truck and whizzes off.

            I think, well, at least I don’t have a job as a UPS driver. Imagine! The risk! The pressure. Yet, he didn’t seem fazed at all.

            Maybe I could have his brain for 10 days.

            I turn into my drive and think about Carl Nolte’s “Native Son” column last Sunday, (7/19/20)—how he bemoaned the loss of tourists on the streets of San Francisco. He actually surprised himself by how much he missed the tourists, not only for their economic contribution to the City’s well-being, but just for being there! They were life!

            And, I think, as I open my door, where is all the life now? When I go on these walks and don’t see a soul, where are all the people? What are they all doing? What will become of them?

            Who knows the answer to these questions, esp. the ones about the future. We’re living in a hellish sort of limbo with this pandemic and that’s the anxiety of being in limbo. You have no idea what’s coming next, and nothing does come next for who knows how long. And then?

            Nothing.

            This might be a good thing, I think, as I unlock my door, scoop up the kitten, and try not to get scratched. I turn on The Young and the Restless.

            Nikki has big blonde hair and she’s scheming to take Sharon’s child away from her.

            At least something is happening in Genoa City, I grin, plopping down on the couch, and turn up the volume.