Journal from the Edge of Survival: A Walk in the Park

Charlie and I discovered that the big park near us, despite all of the dangerous looking “closed” and “COV” signs surrounding it, is actually open for limited activity… and that activity includes walking. Woohoo! Our neighborhood has no sidewalks, lots of curves, and lunatics who think they are the only people on the road. Dead old ladies barely register as we bounce off their front bumpers. Having the park back was like a dream! So off we went.

It was 78 degrees and the sky was so blue it looked like you could dive up into it. Perfect day for a park visit.

After we verified that yes, we are allowed to walk in the park, we skirted around the ominous sign, took the bridge across the creek (which actually had water and little stone waterfalls in it… a completely unexpected sight in arid Southern California) and entered a green, post-apocalyptic land of sadness.

Every place where groups might gather was taped off with yellow caution tape, shining in the sun and fluttering in the breeze like incongruous festive ribbons. The first sight ofthem made my stomach clench up a little. Without them I might have been fooled into believing the world was good and normal and happy. Silly me. The only things missing were the chalk outlines of bodies on the ground or I might have expected to hear the “bomb bomb” sound byte of a CSI episode.

Children’s voices were so absent you could almost hear them on the other side of some vast void, where in an alternate universe there were better and wiser leaders and the people had already come through this and joy and play and celebration was being had by all. As it was, the playground was just depressing. I wanted to duck under the tape and jump on a swing if only for a quick moment, just so the equipment wouldn’t be so damned lonely. But Charlie had his camera in hand and some moments should never be captured for posterity. Ever.

There were a few other couples and one or two dog walkers, and for the most part everyone made an effort to step aside and leave ample room for people to practice their social distancing skills as we passed each other.

But even as we conscientiously separated, an unusual friendliness flowed across the space to unite us, and everyone waved and said hello and how are you and all the other things people have forgotten to do and say in my neck of the woods for, say, the last 30 years.

I wonder if we’ll bring that with us to the other side of this tragedy. Maybe our longing for connection during this time will bring back to the old ways of neighborliness, reminding us to make eye contact and greet one another, rather than our current practice of gazing steadily at the ground as we pass in silence in an ironic effort to not be rude or weird or inappropriate.

I hope so. If nothing else good can come of this, maybe it will help us remember once again that we could be a community, even a world-wide one, if we wanted.