Last night’s “virtual” dinner was lovely. We dined with six friends via Café Zoom and I have to say it was fun. Not stilted or awkward in the least. Jokes and deep thoughts flowed freely from table to table across the Internet. We didn’t make the same dinner or dress up as other friends have done for their virtual dinners, but we had a blast. We compared the books we’re reading and checked in about how distant loved ones are doing and coping. It’s a strange way to keep “close,” but so it goes in the Coronavirus Era.
Who wants to join us for the next Café Zoom dinner? I don’t want to sound “easy,” but we’re available most any night!
OK. I’m not that easy. My niece Leesa and I have a date Friday to Netflix Party. We haven’t picked the movie yet. Any suggestions?
Meanwhile, isn’t it odd how we, all once super busy people used to operating at maximum warp speed, are re-calibrating and trying to slow down? It’s hard. We’re not doing things “in a New York minute.” We’re not on Daylight Savings Time or Greenwich Mean Time. We’re on Coronavirus Time and it’s awful.
I’m already losing track of time and days of the week. Today is my late brother Mal’s birthday. I’m usually terrific about noting the special milestones in my family. Yet, without needing to look at a calendar (Why bother? I’m not going anywhere, right?), I almost missed acknowledging this important date.
The second way I know I’m getting a little unmoored: I took no joy in the Sunday New York Times. Growing up, the Times, especially the Sunday Times, was the family Bible. This Sunday, it wasn’t just the news that made me sad, it was the actual physical paper. Should I touch it? Is it germy? Ah, paranoia!