Small Robberies

As far as pandemics go, this one has not been so terrible for our family. None of us has gotten sick so far, and we have found ways to carry on our lives with as little interruption as possible. We have been able to work and shop and eat too much and even attend two Zoom birthday parties in the last two weeks at which we could share news and good wishes with family members and friends from around the country. To be honest, I even wore ugly but comfortable shorts and sneakers without socks to both of the parties, and no one, not even Audrey, offered any criticism of my attire. I did put on a clean and respectable polo shirt, and Audrey added a scarf and makeup to spiff up her appearance, but below the neck, we were just plain “comfortable.” Which makes me wonder what everyone else was wearing.

I am painting a rosy enough picture of this pandemic, but it has taken its toll on many of us, and that toll has not been only health-related. There have been many small robberies.

My extended relatives Sherry and Eddie have not been able see or hold or squeeze their new granddaughter who came into the world 800 miles from their home in Savannah, Georgia, but who is one scary plane trip and possibly 14 days of quarantine away. Imagine taking that flight being fearful of breathing in some whiff of infection, arriving at their son’s home, and being able to greet the new family wonder with only waves and smiles through a closed window. And Sherry and Eddie’s situation has been echoed hundreds or thousands of times in other families in the past few months. It is only a small robbery, but something big has been stolen for now.

Grandparental love can overcome any barrier.

We have all found ways to deal with the thefts, but do these ways really compensate us for our losses? We hold a FaceTime update with our son in New York each week, but there is often the sense that a clock is ticking in the background keeping us from feeling fully relaxed around each other. Our synagogue’s longtime custodian—a wonderfully upbeat and always helpful person— is moving with his wife to another state, and the special dinner we wanted to hold in their honor is being replaced with a drive-by shout and wave through the synagogue parking lot. Is it enough? It will have to be for now.

Small robberies.

Audrey and I purchased a vacation home in the Berkshires a few years ago, close to Tanglewood, the summer home of the Boston Symphony Orchestra. We spend time up there each summer to bask in the abundant music, dance, and theater available in the area. But those have all been put on hold until at least 2021, and I miss them.  My daughter might call these “First World” complaints, and I feel a little guilty making them. But I also feel a little bit robbed.

In the Berkshires, the season is kicked off during the July 4th holiday each year by a concert or two from musical star James Taylor, a local resident who has made more than good. The concerts are what we Baby Boomers call “happenings,” and more than 18,000 fans overstuff the concert pavilion and lawns at Tanglewood. The grounds are so packed with tarps, chairs, and bodies that, if you feel the need to pee, you would rather hold it in than traipse all over other fans to get to a restroom. Now that can be a double punishment for a claustrophobe with an aging bladder like me.

Bodies and music fill Tanglewood for a July 4th JT concert

But the discomfort becomes worth it when Taylor sings “Sweet Baby James,” and croons the lines:  

Now the first of December was covered with snow
So was the turnpike from Stockbridge to Boston
The Berkshires seemed dream-like on account of that frosting
With ten miles behind me and ten thousand more to go.

We find ourselves dreaming with him and singing along with out-of-tune but enthusiastic voices.

I can remember when both James Taylor and we were
this young. We have aged together.

Sadly, we were robbed of live James Taylor concerts this year, but some fans devised a fitting way to deal with their loss. They climbed aboard kayaks, took along a small boom box and CDs, and rowed together onto Stockbridge Bowl, which borders Tanglewood. There at 8 p.m., the time the Taylor concert would have begun, they played a few of his hits on CD, including “Sweet Baby James,” closed their eyes, and sang along. Audrey and I were not along for the replacement concert, but I am sure it was sort of “dream-like,” and I hope it was satisfying for the rowers. Small robberies deserve fitting payback.