Woodpecker

You’ll have to excuse me. I over-dosed last night. Syringe full of Lysol. In my black, sleeveless “Lone Wolf” t-shirt but otherwise naked. I was looking for a quick pick-me-up after a rough day of seasonal allergies - not to Make Heaven Great Again. Luckily, I’m still here and now making an American flag for the next freedom protest, out of the walls of toilet paper that I couldn’t sell for $10/roll on eBay in early March.

Now that we’re coming down the other side of the hill with this virus in NYC, the song “White Cliffs of Dover” by Vera Lynn has been stuck in my head. The song came out in 1942, the “darkest hour” for Great Britain as they were under constant air attack from the Germans, the U.S. not yet fully engaged in Europe. There were multiple covers by American big-band artists shortly thereafter. “I’ll Be Seeing You” was another hit song that my Dad certainly had good memories of as many people took to its message during the war. (That song became particularly poignant after Dad died; the implication of the song isn't that the singer will be seeing someone again, but seeing vestiges and reminders of that person who is now gone.)

I remember Mom singing along to songs like these on a portable AM radio in the morning. That was her oldies show that she played while making Sunday dinner in the 1970s, usually meat loaf or pot roast. I would sit in a kitchen chair by the window playing the imp, poking fun at her. But she paid no mind as she worked. Call it osmosis, but those songs stuck with me for decades, through blizzards of teenage and early-adult cool, for me to appreciate how great they were. It’s strange, how the world was so much harder then, millions of violent deaths, yet this music was so light, hopeful and buoyant.

That’s how I’m feeling now, although this thing is far from over. Most people who don’t live in a large urban area have little idea what it’s like in New York City. (Thus, the black-covered book advertised on this site that’s selling like shit-flavored ice cream!) A vast majority of us have small apartments, no back or front yards, living literally on top of each other, not owning cars, taking public transportation everywhere. Even when this thing ends for most people, we’ll surely be wearing masks and gloves in certain social situations for months. I can see that now, as much as I wish we could drop this shit all together and go straight back to normal. That won’t be happening here for awhile.

I’m dreading my return to daily subway rides. Here’s what they look like normally and will surely be like as things get back on track. (This is what they look like now, thanks to the homeless taking over the empty space. That video reminds me of what it was like in the late 1980s at the height of the crack epidemic.)

Being on unemployment for the time being, that would imply going into Manhattan to attend my boxing workouts at various gyms throughout the week. I can only wonder how they’ll be … with the instructors wearing face guards when we do hand-pad combination workouts? We’ll be wearing boxing gloves on our hands, but I’m sure social distancing will still be an issue. I’m dreading the locker rooms, which are always the worst part of going to the gym, how cramped and unsanitary they are, in close proximity to childish buffoons who think the world spins around them. I have no clue how gyms plan to handle this.

I finally learned of someone I “knew” who got this thing, and that person died. I didn’t know her well. Back at the job, there was this woman I’ll call Beverly who worked on the other end of the (football-field length) floor. Usually the only time I saw her was in the lunch room, eating with her friends and talking shit loudly, which I considered perfectly healthy, for coworkers to commiserate over their injustices. If I saw her down on my end of the floor? Particularly walking up my aisle? It could mean only one thing: she was shaking everyone down for charity donations.

I know this should have been banned from work, but I’m not going to out someone getting money for breast cancer research. That was her big one, along with Girl Scout cookies for her daughter. She always called me “William” based on my cubicle name plate and was very polite. I usually had a $20 bill and would ask her for $10 in change. It irritated the hell out of me to see her skulking down the aisle, but I also knew she was doing it for causes she cared about deeply.

Well, I didn’t know she was in poor health herself and often suffered bouts of pneumonia during the cold season. Whatever happened in March, she got this thing, and it took her down. A strange passing. Someone I knew and would nod at or say hello to in the hallways, and liked despite whatever mild dread she inspired coming down the aisle with her sign-up sheet, envelope of cash and big smile. She meant well, and this thing took her like a truck on the interstate running over a deer in its headlights.

I say “only person I know” not even knowing if I have or have had this thing due to lack of testing. Given that a few million New Yorkers may have already had this thing without even knowing it, I would surely love to get tested, but who knows when that will happen.

But for now, it’s just the daily grind of waiting out the pandemic. Jumping rope and doing calisthenics on the back patio. Going for a long walk each day. Washing hands constantly. Sing “The Birthday Song” twice while washing? I’m singing “Hey Jude” in its entirety. Wearing a mask has been the hardest thing to adapt. When this whole thing kicked off and we were told masks would be a necessity, I found myself cutting up old pants, thinking the length of fabric from the knee to the thigh would make a perfectly-sized piece of cloth to cover my face.

Well, I found that denim and khaki pants were too heavy and bothered my ears when I tried to hook the fabric around them. It was then that I discovered a few old pairs of Uniqlo thermal underwear that I’ve rarely worn. Using the same methodology, I’ve found these much more agreeable: breathable and easy to drop up-and-down while out walking and not encountering anyone for at least 50 yards. As you can see from the photo, I look like that Bazooka Joe character with his turtleneck pulled up over half his face. And I don't quite understand some folks' horror that I'm wearing old underwear - as if I shat them first before putting them on. I haven't worn these things in at least two years, and they were surely washed before then!

This doesn’t feel like a long-term solution; I’ve ordered some silk cycling half-face masks that will hopefully work better and last longer. (And no lectures please, on the do’s and don’ts of wearing masks. The two articles I’ve read imply that we should wear these things as if we’re going into surgery, as opposed to providing minor, largely ineffective positive reinforcement to fellow pedestrians.)

I don’t bust balls when I see people not wearing masks in public. While I feel a mild sense of unease that they're not going with the flow, I’m not convinced it makes any difference. I’m saving the outrage for the first time someone sneezes or coughs near me without covering his mouth, which is sure to happen given the levels of stupidity I witness routinely on the streets. It’s so easy to not share your “droplets” with others by practicing common sense and simple hygiene, but I guarantee you there are millions of people out there who are too stupid to do either.

The last thing I’d like to note is the woodpecker. With life growing so quiet in New York City, the main thing I notice now is the sound of birds in the morning and evening, chirping away in the trees. One morning, I heard this insistent tapping sound. Rhythmic, but not steady. Every few seconds. Son of a bitch, I thought, that’s a woodpecker. I ran out, looked up at the bare branches, and sure enough, there was a woodpecker hammering away at the tree outside my window. It’s amazing to watch them at work, bashing their beaks into the wood. I did some research online to see why they do this (often a mating ritual, or to mark their territory).

The best explanation I came up with was from a site called Trusted Psychic Mediums that lists “spirit animal” justifications of woodpeckers: “When the woodpecker comes knocking, it seeks to rekindle your passion in finding the truth. It also encourages you to be innovative and creative and to protect those who are too weak to protect themselves. The meaning of the woodpecker can help you be more open to changes and opportunities and invite more luck into your life. The woodpecker appears to you because you need to protect your wisdom and creativity from threats. Do not be too open about your pursuits because there are many threats out there that will take them away from you. People will always want to take advantage of your kindness and generosity. The woodpecker encourages you to strike a balance between being kind and being cautious. It symbolizes the need to understand different rhythms, patterns, and cycles, and to do your best to adapt to them and flourish.”

Fuckin’ A.