Where we will go now? Reimposed restrictions by Gov. Walz for bars, restaurants, and the numbers of bodies in one place at one time has forced my comrades and myself to disperse.
Our clubhouse in downtown Litchfield cannot allow indoor gatherings. The menu is still available to drive-through, but you can’t eat the fries in-house. Our group of geezers meet on a regular basis at about 9 a.m. each morning, rain or shine.
We gab and shake dice for minimal amounts and whining is tolerated but not encouraged. The palaver varies from season to season, day to day and minute to minute. Sometimes professional sports are bantered; very quickly the discussion can move to politics and, of course, the weather.
Now and again a member will be absent. He has gone fishing, hunting, visiting a relative or repairing a device that has broken down or won’t start. Health is sometimes an issue — arthritis, various heart ailments, age-related breakdowns and medical tests of all kinds. “Having a Frazzelgram or Amiofloculation on Thursday, won’t be here. My Sisiphus hurts.” All wish him well and Godspeed.
The virus has dampened everything this year. A colleague, even a close friend, must maintain social distance. I call it social dystrophy. A loss of something communal or community; a measurable loss of what makes us humans, human. No handshakes or back slaps. A smile behind a mask is hard to detect.
“Keep your mask over your nose please” is not as welcome as a “how you doin’?” Hopefully in a few weeks this will all change.
These gatherings are important and necessary to the mental and even spiritual wellbeing of us human beings. We need to share stuff with others, pray together, play together, laugh and cry together. Hugs are good. A well-meaning hug is usually a pleasant thing, unless of course, you have a cracked rib or herniated disc. Our geezer-group does not hug.
I don’t know where we will gather for the next several weeks. The first virus alarm came when spring was about to arrive with hope and new growth. We occasionally met on a deck, outbuilding, or kitchen. Winter is upon us; our options are minimal. Some tundra dwellers migrate but others will cling to the glaciers’ edge. Domestic disagreements could occur.
C’est le virus—it’s the virus.
