COVID Senior Lockdown, Day 51

So, as you know, on Wednesday the Governor announced the freeing of the Golfers, along with the Tennis Players, Boaters and Campers. Today, on my weekly Thursday Happy Hour Zoom Party with the guys, there was much anticipation about getting “back out there” on the links. Only a few of us are any good. Most of us barely deserve to be called average. But, like the slow-pitch softball we practiced with little success for 40 years, our golfing is about friendship, not skill. We’ve been through a lot together. The lockdown has taken a toll on some of the guys’ relationships, plans, and sanity. A few hours in the fresh air working at the silliest game invented by man will, I hope, provide a tonic for what ails us.

Speaking of the phenomenon henceforth known as Lockdown Friction, every once in a while these days, the Missus and I disagree about something. It’s okay. Our relationship is strong, we’re mutually respectful and measured in our discussions, and we use semi-gloss paint, so the blood comes off the walls with a sponge and a spritz of Formula 409.

My buddy the Professor lives downtown, in a trendy condo complex in a trendy part of town. It’s nice. He lives alone, but there’s always been plenty to do around him. His observation as he walks the downtown area and bikes the demarcated paths is: So many buildings. So few people. It’s a ghost town. The people are there; they live there. But they don’t come out. No place to go, for one thing, with all the primary urban attractions shut down. And walking just to walk gets old after a few weeks. Only the psycho runners seem unperturbed, although they induce trepidation among the healthy in their paths as they huff and puff their way maskless along the sidewalks, spewing exhaust.

On the brighter side: