TALES FROM THE TERRACE
April, 2020: The real world has invaded the quiet serenity of Hawthorne Terrace. Though I’ve felt protected in my isolated oasis, the virus continues its advance. I feel fortunate to live in a relatively safe place with no need to venture out expect for groceries and medications. I’m happy to be retired; the call of the work world can be ignored. And yet, money regularly appears in my bank account.
The building was in the middle of a top to bottom remodeling project. The general contractor had turned the computer room into their construction office. Complete with sign and locked door. Now the room is empty since all work has stopped.
Most of the furniture throughout the building had already been removed. The large dining room has an echo but no place to play cards or have lunch. Sitting areas at the end of each hallway are bare. Some hallways have been painted and others not. The patched walls give off a deserted, unfinished look. It’s kind of eerie.
Instead of people everywhere, the halls are empty. Common areas of the building are closed. Kids can’t play in the playroom. The reading group and the monthly potluck can’t meet in the small dining room. No more kibitzing in the library as we wait for the mail. No shopping and gossiping at the in-house grocery store. Furniture still in the lobby can be a small gathering place but it’s hardly used.
Looking out my window to the soccer field, there are no games. Today a mother, dad and three kids kicked and ran after a ball, then departed after an hour. Couples with a child in a stroller walk the field or on the sidewalk below. Young children often interrupt their walk and climb the hill in front of my window. They laugh and squeal as they roll down then trek back up for another try. Some things can’t be stopped.
But many things have been stopped. I look around in the quietness of my small apartment and know this will pass, as many are saying. Perhaps the shut-down with more spare time and less to do will encourage a life style change, enjoyment of a slower pace.
We have a rough time ahead. I know I will have a new appreciation for lunch with friends and for writing group once it begins again. These and other small pleasures will not be taken for granted. There’s a lesson in everything and I hope we all learn something from this.
A Million Little Memoirs 