March Memories from Years Gone By

March Memories/2020 

Five years ago today, San Francisco Mayor London Breed and the mayors of five other Bay Area counties ordered residents to shelter in place, starting March 17. Three days later, California Governor Gavin Newsom announced that policy would extend to include the entire state. 

I know this because I just read my blog entries for 2020. I wrote that I’d been staying in even before March 16, because a week earlier Newsom had recommended that people 60 and older stay home because of the rapdily spreading COVID-19 epidemic. So I did.

In a blog post, I admitted I’d driven to the edge of the continent once, defying the shelter-in-place order, “to make sure the Pacific Ocean was still there.” It was — but the next day the governor closed all the parking lots at the beach. 

Phew. Remember when we were told the shelter-in-place order probably would last about four weeks, and then everything would go back to normal? Yeah — it didn’t, and in some ways, it still has not. 

Remember how scared we were before a vaccine was available, and then how desperate we were to get one? Later this week, I’ll pop in at the Kaiser clinic for my ninth COVID shot. My doc recommends I get boosted every six months, and I appreciate the extra protection, so I’ll go.

I giggled when I read my post from 2020 that defined my “Essential Self” at that time. My “Must-Haves” included clean sweatpants, t-shirts and tie-dye socks; a Zoom Costume for my upper half, complete with dangly earrings; my favorite music; plenty of good food; a charged phone and Kindle; and enjoyable freelance writing and editing assignments. 

Five years later, I can’t argue with any of that, but am so relieved that we’re all out and about again.   

I hope we’ve learned not to take that for granted!

March Memories/1994 

“What’s doing in the Maldives?” 

That was just one of the quirky questions that would open our Sunday afternoon ritual for almost a decade, as Ross Winter and I paged through an atlas to look for an island to move to in retirement. Each week, we’d research a possibility or two. 

One Sunday, I was certain I’d found a perfect spot — the Dry Tortugas, islands 70 miles west of Key West, Florida. As we talked about the location, Ross not-so-innocently asked, “Did you check out why they’re called “dry?” I had not. Turns out there is no fresh water there. Oops. 

When Ross took a vacation in Greece, he sent me a postcard from the island of Symi, also spelled “Simi.” He praised the place, suggested we consider it a possibility— and signed off with “We could be Simians!” I still have the card.

After perusing the atlas each Sunday, we’d work the crossword in the New York Times — he used a pencil, and I opted for a purple felt-tipped pen, which always annoyed him. Next, I’d serve as prep cook, slicing and dicing and assembling whatever ingredients we needed, and then Ross would cook dinner. 

At the time, Ross, a native Australian, was co-founder and artistic director of a regional modern dance company. When he was approaching 50, he decided to choreograph a full-length parody of “The Nutcracker” for his company, and he spoke often of his plans for his show "The Madcracker" during our Sunday dinners. 

At some point, I insisted that he include a tap number in the second act. In response, he challenged me to perform it. Though I have more nerve then talent, I’d danced as a kid, so I quickly rounded up some talented teachers to prepare me for the role. 

For the next eight years, I left my job as a newspaper reporter for two weeks and toured the Midwest with the show, dancing (well, sort of) in gazillions of red sequins and flapping fringe. 

Yep, I used to be fun! I’ve always believed you have to collect wild and crazy experiences when you’re young so you have something to talk about later when you’re hanging out in the lounge at your senior residence. And I do!

Bonus: All those years, because it was a paid gig, on my income taxes I got to list “tap dancer” along with “reporter” as my profession.

In March of 1994, my career in show business and those idyllic Sundays came to an abrupt end. While I was off watching gray whales in San Ignacio Lagoon in Baja California, Mexico, Ross was in a car accident. He died a week later. Though he's been gone 31 years, I miss him still. 

And I still have no idea what’s doing in the Maldives.