The Pavilion 

In March 2020 on the cusp of the Covid outbreak my husband was scheduled for surgery,  but the prospect of him spending even a few days in a large New York hospital was worrisome.  Luckily his doctor discharged him one day post-op,  I took him home,  and the next day we left Manhattan and drove to rural Connecticut to what had been – until then – our weekend house.

Thus we began our Covid quarantine as full-time country folks,  and in fact we didn’t return to the city for over a year.  During that time,  other than our son we had no visitors,  had all our groceries delivered,  baked lots of banana bread,  and learned to live in lock-down.  (See Sheltering in Place and The Summer of My Discontent)

Our house is in a resort community where we have a circle of friends,  mostly weekenders like ourselves.   But during those early months of 2020 as New York rapidly became a Covid epicenter,  many of them  – like us –  came up to sit out the pandemic away from the city.

Each night on the TV news,  with office buildings nearly empty,  and shops and restaurants and Broadway theaters shuttered,  we watched the city that never sleeps gradually become a ghost town.   And even our country community seemed deserted as we all stayed indoors, venturing out only occasionally to the local markets and shops,  while on the roads only a few intrepid souls could be seen out driving or biking or jogging.

And locked down with only my spouse for company led to some martial strife,  and I realized how much I craved the companionship of other women.

I was certainly not alone in those feelings,  and one day a friend called and asked me to join her and other women in the pavilion where summer parties and outdoor concerts were usually held.  “Bring a folding chair and we’ll sit six feet apart and talk.”

And so the pavilion became a safe place to share our pandemic fears and our feelings of isolation,  and of course to talk about so much more.  We met weekly,  and sometimes only six or seven of us were there, and sometimes more than a dozen women showed up.  We began to bring bag lunches and often stayed together for most of the afternoon.

And there in the pavilion old friendships were strengthened and new ones forged,  and during that first spring and summer we all looked forward to those gatherings.  In the fall we continued to meet as long as the weather permitted,  and then over the winter we Zoomed,  and in the spring we returned to the pavilion.

But as time passed and with the advent of vaccines our Covid concerns lessened.  After that second pandemic summer many of us moved back to the city,  we resumed our old routines and responsibilities,  and we came to accept the new normal of post-pandemic life.  And altho our bonds remained strong,  we eventually stopped meeting as a group.

But those gatherings in the pavilion had been an antidote to our isolation,  an affirmation of our sisterhood,  and a lifeline when we needed it most.

– Dana Susan Lehrman 

I first heard this old Irving Berlin song (which you can hear below) during our 8th week Operetta concert at the end of camp, in August, 1969. The concert was devoted to his songs. It seems to perfectly sum up this week’s prompt, though, as I will explain, it does not apply to me. Berlin wrote many songs about loneliness, some during WWII for the GIs who left their loved ones behind to go fight against the Axis powers so Americans would be free from Fascism. Maybe some in this country, who claim to be patriots, need to be reminded of our history as they cozy up to Viktor Orban, think Putin isn’t so bad, etc. In a Fascist society, there is no First Amendment freedom of speech, nor the right to bear arms, practice whatever religion one chooses or vote freely. These so-called patriots should go back and study civics again, if, indeed, they ever studied at all.

I am a social creature and enjoy my time with others – family and friends; going to gym classes with others, going to meetings with acquaintances, attending lectures. But then I need my downtime; to just be by myself, no one around; to be able to do exactly as I please, eat what and when I choose, have total quiet, read as I choose, do all my projects, get lost in my old, romantic movies. I find it soothing. I am not lonely at all. This can go on for weeks at a time (I still go the gym, to be sure and run errands, but I am essentially alone at home).

After years of looking after my children while my husband worked (and often traveled several days a week), and now he has been retired and home full-time for more than two decades with no projects beyond daily exercise, I do look forward to time alone. But that is not to be construed as loneliness.

On the other hand, our daughter in Seattle, has become a shut-in since the onset of COVID. She is a tech person and has always lived in an online world, but this is different. She’s had all her vaccinations, including the first bivalent booster (and hopes to get a second soon – she has some underlying conditions). Yet, she remains fearful of eating in public, going to a movie, doing anything where there might be crowds. Last year, she flew home for Thanksgiving and does plan to come again this year. She wore a good mask through the airport and knows the air quality is good on the plane.

She admits that getting COVID isn’t the real problem; she is fearful of long COVID – the brain fog, the extreme fatigue, etc. She knows the odds of her getting it aren’t high, yet she remains fearful, so stays inside, seeing just a few good friends. She is a contract programmer, so there is no need to go to an office. Yet she is very lonely and it wears on her. She admitted to me a few months ago that COVID has ruined her life. It made me terribly sad to hear her say that and I wished I could help her – reason with her, but I know that I cannot. I cannot wish away her fear. She suffers from anxiety and can go down into deep depressions. She has sleep difficulties and struggles with her weight. All of this adds to her fears about COVID. This is not something I can I help her with (beyond being supportive), but my heart goes out to her. We can only hope (and point out to her) that the world is returning to normal; she can choose to join us.

Now she tells us that she and her special friend will move in together in a few months. This is, indeed, great news! She said they are both a bit hesitant, but are going to take the plunge and will begin looking for an apartment together. And best of all, she will no longer be lonely!

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The Elevator

By New York standards our apartment building is not very big with 16 floors and 187 apartments,  and over the years we’ve come to know many of our neighbors altho certainly not all.

One day I was in the elevator when  a women I’d seen in the building – but didn’t know – got on carrying a book.  A reader myself,  I couldn’t resist asking her what she was reading.  She showed me her book and we talked about the author whom we both admired.

By the time the elevator got to the lobby we had made a lunch date and I had invited Liz to join my book club.

And now years later Liz and I are fast friends – thanks to the fortuitous timing of that elevator ride!

My friend Liz

– Dana Susan Lehrman