PANDEMIC DIARY

HAVE YOU NOTICED?
December 7, 2020

[Please take a moment. On this date in 1941, the Japanese Air Command attacked the United States Naval Base at Pearl Harbor, Hawaii, killing 2,403 Americans including 63 civilians. As of yesterday evening, more than 283,700 American lives have been taken by Covid-19. On December 3, over 2,857 human beings died directly from Covid or Covid-related risks factors. That translates to more deaths than a Pearl Harbor every day; a 9/11 attack each and every a day; and, three times the highest number of single day deaths from Polio in 1952.]

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This morning I woke up, swung my feet around, slipped on my sweats, slid into my slippers, ambled my way to the bathroom, traipsed to the toilet, strolled to the sink and washed my face, brushed my teeth, got my arm caught in the sleeve stretching on my hoody and stumbled downstairs while my eyes played a game of “they’re opened; now, they’re closed”. It was not a good night. I went to bed at 10-, awoke at 11:30 and could not fall back to sleep. So, I went to Alex’ room and turned on the television which, next to Melatonin, is the best sleep aid ever invented. I eventually returned to bed at 2:30 AM and slept fitfully until 6 AM.

Still dark, I dragged my weary, half-awake body downstairs to the living room and collapsed on the couch. a I opened my eyes and there, poised on our coffee table not two feet from my eyeballs, stood a sculpture of a dancing woman. She has been dancing there for years. Sculpted by a dear friend, Will, who has since deceased, I took a closer look than I had for a very long time. Hand sculpted, the lady stands about 18” high. Actuancelly, she’s not standing. She is twirling, one leg on toe point and the other arched around the straight leg to emphasize the movement. Will was a painter and we often spoke of art: what it is, from where it derives, art’s purpose, and what’s not art. Will was adamant about art and the creative life.

When Will died, I was invited to his home where his children and extended family were staying while deciding how to divvy up stuff and what to keep and what not. I was there with another of Will’s closest friends, and the family was gracious enough to separate what they wanted and offered that we each select one or two of Will’s paintings for memory’s sake. I selected two paintings. We stayed a while longer and gracefully indicated our departure to allow the family to get on with their work, when I spotted the dancing lady sculpture. Not a particularly commanding piece, it nonetheless had Will’s hands all over it. I walked around this statuette and thought, “Would it now be impolite, even insulting, to ask for this piece? Maybe I should offer to give one of the paintings back?” I felt forced to make a sudden decision at the door. I turned around, returned a couple of steps back into the living area, and humbly asked if this was an item they wished to keep for themselves. Everyone of the family member’s gestured, “No. If you like it, please, take it.”

She is no doubt a bit “twerky” in her movement. At certain angles she appears as if she desperately requires a hip replacement. I understand the depicted attitudes and personalities of ballet instructors portrayed in film. Even I, at moments, want to scream, “Stand up straight. Bring your right arm up. For God’s sake, point your toes.” She bulges in places like a tumescent growth. And, I always feel as if her one foot will not support her for a moment more.

Still, I find her lovely. She strikes me as being in upright repose. She is moving in space with relaxed sleepiness almost. Its not that she doesn’t care, she does. Its that she is dreamily spinning, like all and everything is whirling - our atoms; the planets; stars in space; the whole of space as we know it is spiraling. No wonder she is dizzy, off-balance, maybe trying to recapture her stasis. Maybe she is simply ecstatic.

By his hand. Dear will. A human being I so loved and admired. Flawed and brilliant. Annoying and talented. Wise and incredibly prideful. By his hand. I thought about the other items we have in our home. Have I looked at them recently? Have I really taken notice? Do I take the time to enjoy their presence in my life? Do I recall what they meant to me at point of purchase and what they mean for me now? Indeed, I do.