My mother and I can’t visit each other today. I thought about delivering balloons, but the shop is closed, a social responsibility that hasn’t yet been forced upon the citizens of Montreal, yet looks imminent. I hope they don’t go under. Perhaps the margins for balloons will carry them through. Happy Birthday Keena Doherty. 91 today. Keena golfs, takes swimming and bridge lessons, reads ever day, loves The View and Alex Trebek, and makes shepherd’s pie for the homeless. That’s just one finger. As the coronavirus has been viciously thinning the ranks of the elderly, I try not to think of her vulnerabilities. Last year was a long and miraculous series of celebrations that will have to carry over into this year.
I arrived from London on Friday, March 13th, the day Trump unilaterally declared that people with Schengen passports had until midnight to leave Europe and enter the US. It’s hard to believe it’s only been seven days since I returned to Canada. Because I have Nexus, no questions were asked, no temperatures taken, no long lines at all. It was business as usual, except I cannot visit my mother. I am in quarantine and she, by nature of her age, is surrounded by yellow caution tape.
March 20th has long been an important day in my family. It’s our 38th wedding anniversary. Please come for dinner. The address is Argyle Avenue for us, and your place for you. And please dress up. (It will be a good switch-up from pajamas and Lulu’s and sweat pants.) Hal will be wearing his Tin Man suit tonight, a shiny silver outfit that was custom made for a fashion show a decade ago. I believe we will be re-purposing a lot of items in the coming days, and weeks and months. Can we eat lasagna noodles that have been in the cupboard for nine years? What about icing sugar?
I’m setting the dining room table with a flower arrangement that arrived on June 25th, 2016, soon after my stem cell transplant. Thank you Emma McCavour. It looks as good now as it did then— pink and white hydrangeas. You’d think they were delivered by Christine Pickerel herself from the Westmount florist. Micki gave me some butter for baking. I want to think that these kinds of generosities won’t be thrown out the window if the situation turns dark. If hoarding and rationing become commonplace, will we still share?
Quite remarkably Fred Rogers would be 92 today. Fred has been on my mind ever since Tom Hanks announced that he and Rita Wilson tested positive for the coronavirus. Are Tom Hanks and Fred Rogers one and the same? Certainly cut from the same length of faux fur that’s used to make cheery puppets. Fred devoted his career to the importance of the neighbourhood, and his oft-repeated, “Will you be my neighbour?” has never seemed more relevant. Tom is that same sort of unique male prototype. Actors recall his legendary generosity. Journalists say he arrives before they do. Neither man ever felt entitled. Fred proposed to his wife Joanne by letter. He didn’t make assumptions., and he wanted her to have time to give her answer. Joanne said in an interview that he could fart on demand. It was his secret way of letting her know that he was bored to death at this event or another. They laughed constantly.
Today is Kevin Boyle’s birthday. On the surface he’s a scientist but underneath he’s a writer with a story to tell. Happy birthday to Spike Lee, Barron Trump, Xavier Dolan, Holly Hunter, Lois Lowry, Sting, and Bobby Orr. I imagine that each of these people will celebrate in some fashion despite the disruption of quarantine, self-isolation, fewer flights, no gatherings beyond ten people. Corks will still pop. The liquor outlets are still open. I did see a very long queue at the cannabis outlet on St. Catherine’s Street. Of the 200 people in line, 80-90% were male. That gave me great pause. Happy Birthday and Happy Day to everyone who has something to celebrate.
Every day people die, and every day people are born.
But I can’t help but worry about the unborn babies. Come back tomorrow for that story.