Dancing On My Own (Week Fourteen)

This morning, after a long run through the park and -- after I returned home -- a shower, I went back to bed and drifted into a hypnagogic dream state. I saw a beautiful apple with unpolished skin, the kind you can only get at an orchard. Then a wasp appeared whose body seemed to be made out of amber-colored glass, so that I could see its organs pulsing and moving like the inside of a watch. Finally, I heard a voice speaking and I recognized it as belonging to a friend, except she wasn't speaking to me alone, she was speaking at a protest. She was holding a sign. As I listened, I was jostled by the crowd. It felt familiar and good and a little frightening in the way that things we used to take for granted are now forbidden but -- maybe? -- becoming less forbidden.  

Time this week continued to feel oddly elastic. There's so much news. Much of it is horrifying -- anything Trump & Co say or do, the ongoing toll of the virus, the utter failure of the mayor to prepare the city for the next phase of our existence -- and much of it is encouraging: the Black Lives Matter protests offer hope for a kind of reinvention that seems like the only antidote to the conservative/neoliberal nightmare we've been living for as long as I can remember.   

This week, I've been floating on a sea of questions. What will happen to the economy? What will happen to my job? (Is it selfish to worry about my job when 40 million others have lost theirs?) Why is the city not picking up any trash in the parks? What's going on with global warming? Who's going to win 'Top Chef'? Why are there so many motorcycles racing around the city at 110 mph? Is the virus 'over' or will there be more waves? How big does a protest need to be in order to not only defund the police, but also to defund chillingly obsolete and antidemocratic institutions like 1) the Senate, 2) the Supreme Court, and 3) the pro-parking community boards of New York City? I'm constantly worried and constantly trying not to worry, and these thoughts -- worrying and not worrying -- are amplified by the lockdown. I'm sure I'm not alone in this respect. I'm also sure there are a lot of people who want to escape this dynamic, which explains (in part) the rush to reopen, even though we don't seem to be much better prepared for another wave. 

I try to concentrate on good news. I don't know if you've noticed, but this was the week the oak-leaf hydrangeas reached full bloom. Sometimes they will surprise you. Like this morning on my run, on Riverside Drive, I saw something flash in the corner of my eye and realized it was a cluster of oak-leaf hydrangeas growing under the trees on the steep hillside that leads down to the river. I didn't know they were there until I saw the flowers shooting through the morning mist.  

In our garden this week, the jasmine is in bloom. For many years, Stephen dreamed about having a wall of jasmine but feared that it would never survive our winter. A few years ago, he discovered a cold-hardy variety; fast-forward and the dream has been (mostly) attained. The scent of the flower -- a sweet (but not too sweet) vanilla -- is intoxicating. Sometimes, when the wind is right, the cats will sit in front of the jasmine and sniff the air and look at each other, as if wondering what could have  created this miracle. 

This week, I recorded a cover of Robyn's 'Dancing on My Own.' I heard it on a television show the other day and I thought, 'I've always loved that song -- I should cover it!' not realizing that tons of others have already done the same thing. But it seemed like a good 'gay pride' song -- it perfectly captures gay longing in a straight world -- and is appropriate given that there are no parades this year :( Click through here if the embedded video doesn't feed through. 

"I'm right over here, why can't you see me?" -- Clio

 

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[Edith Zimmerman]

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