Orwellian

FlyingPig

George Orwell penned a fable, a tale called Animal Farm;
hogs rebelled against Farmer Jones, much to his alarm.
Though this is only fiction, I could almost suspend disbelief
when I read news of Corona, and its effect on the world’s beasts.

The unpeopled streets of Paris have attracted wild boars.
They root and grunt for food, but cafes have shut their doors.
Rats replace the revelers on silenced Bourbon Street;
perhaps they will host a Mardi Gras where humans do not meet.

Starved monkeys battle in Thailand, they fight over yogurt cups.
Corona has emptied Thai tourist squares; the primates now erupt.
Let’s not forget Welsh mountain goats who migrate into towns
they frolic and munch on hedges and play like a troop of clowns.

Beasts emboldened by Corona try out new behaviors
while we observe a brave new world, six feet away from neighbors.
What if the animal kingdom continues to revolt?
How do we know that pigs won’t fly?  Or pick at our dead bolts?

But take a look at Venice – its canals are crystal clear.
Is Corona all that bad?  Do we have so much to fear?
Cruise ships retreat from Venice while Gondolas skim with swans.
Perhaps our plague has benefits for us to ponder on.

We hear that COVID 19 is cleaning up our air;
from China to Los Angeles, the ozone might repair.
The noise pollution’s dwindled, bird songs are loud and clear.
Humans are more awake to birds – more silence helps us hear.

Life is stranger than fiction; of this I have no doubt.
If pigs could fly or pillage homes, I’ll give you all a shout.
George Orwell’s tale is curious, he had wild imagination.
What would he make of the deer in Japan who wander the subway stations?

Blue Teapot

TeapotBlue

I question why I write this poem
of a family relic from a place called home.
The teapot is blue, a Lipton coupon special;
I am caught in the spell of this memory vessel.

You thought of yourself as “the trunk of the tree.”
The tea leaves are muddled, but not your memory.
Decades have passed since I left you in Chicago.
Your DNA is in my cells, you cast a long shadow.

I imagine your oilcloth, the table where I listened
to yarns of the past while prunes stewed in your kitchen.
How you came of age during the Great Depression –
tales of gangsters, and flappers, and Italian processions.

The World’s Fair of ’32 – a Century of Progress;
Sally Rand’s dance with fans to conceal her undress.
Woven in your remnants are ones of Grandma too;
how she bore twin boys who perished during Spanish flu.

Now a sun shower blooms out my window in Seattle,
as I sip jasmine pearl to soothe the current rattle.
We have a pandemic in our year 2020,
so I sweeten my black tea with extra honey.

Picasso had his blue period and I am having one too.
It seems that 2020 roared in without a clue.
We The People scratch our heads, world leaders obfuscate
while we test vaccines to inoculate.

Where is our Century of Progress?  Who are we of the digital age?
Are we, as Shakespeare said, just players on the world’s stage?
When will we meet face to face in our community?
The world’s stage seems to shrink as we gather virtually.

If I were at your oilcloth to share Corona’s madness,
what would be your antidote to this peculiar sadness?
Would you brew me some Darjeeling to comfort and appease?
I would cross the moon and visit, welcome a wild breeze.

This simple little teapot has triggered these old times;
the Lipton coupon special that you saved for with dimes.
I find it a comfort, I find it a friend, in this year of our plague –
though you may muddle tea leaves, your tales are seldom vague.

It’s All Funny in 2020

CoronaVintageShipPic

In 1908 in Seattle, a ship called “Corona” launched from downtown Seattle to West Seattle with a full deck of passengers. You can faintly make out “Corona” on the front of this ship which was one among others in the Mosquito Fleet.

The Mosquito Fleet ships were so nicknamed because they were small and quick, flitting from one side of the sound to the other.

While I never sailed on this ghost of the past, I did have a mosquito commute to work on the Sightseer which was pleasant.

AdmiralPeteOriginal

It took only 12 minutes to cross to downtown Seattle and was far preferable to 40-minute bus and car commutes on the West Seattle Bridge.   Less gridlock, less carbon footprints.

Before the Sightseer, I commuted on the Admiral Pete.  Pete was much smaller than the Sightseer.  He was the first water taxi when Seattle re-launched service in 1999.  I used to sit on an open seat in the back and feel the water’s spray against my skin.

But in 2020, things aren’t funny.  We are in lockdown now, with cities across the world in the same situation.

The haunting image of the Italian balcony singers of our Corona days presses me to get outdoors as often as possible.

My husband and I ventured out for a walk to Elliott Bay.  With Purell in our pockets and donning our disposable gloves, we visited the dock where the water taxis moor.

A water taxi was pulling in.   I was curious as to ridership these days, and so I spoke to the ticket taker.  Ridership is down 90%, he said, even though King County is offering rides for free.

Social distancing on the water taxi?  Of course, what was I thinking?  This is the new normal.  It just takes so dang long for me to wrap my mind around it all.

But wait, there’s more!  A few weeks ago, the City of Seattle decided to shut down the West Seattle Bridge for repairs.  There is no timeline for even temporary repairs.  We are in a pandemic and the most heavily trafficked bridge in Seattle is closed?  People are finding alternate routes, adding more time and requiring more patience, as they attempt to get to appointments, buy essentials.

I’d like to say things are funny in 2020.  I’d like to say “bring on the mosquito fleet” so we could all feel salt breezes and avoid gridlock on bridges.

Though I will never feel nostalgic for gridlock, I am nostalgic for mosquito fleets.  But also for bridges — which, after all, were first developed by the ancient Romans.

 

 

 

 

 

Love Rocks!

WestSeattleDancerRooftopCarona

Ah, the human spirit!  Witness the West Seattle rooftop dancer at sunset.  Who knows.  Maybe she will start a trend of rooftop dancers just as Italy has its balcony singers to  alleviate the loneliness of COVID-19 social distancing.

Let’s hope that it does not get as bad here as in Italy.  Il mio povero paesani!

In WA State, Governor Inslee and the State Department of Health declared that outdoor activities are recommended, as long as you follow the “social distancing” guidelines.

But how do entire populations stick to guidelines?

In West Seattle, spring fever hit Alki Beach and stirred up controversy.  Social distancing seemed not to be given a thought on March 19.  There were people everywhere, riding bikes, skateboarding, and playing on the beach.  Despite state-wide closures of entertainment, leisure, and “non-essential” services, bike rentals and Alki’s Wheel Fun rentals were still open.

I love bicycling.  I “get it” that all work and no play make Jack and Jill a dull boy and girl.  But COVID-19 is our new normal for awhile.  If we don’t want martial law, we need to behave.

The scene is better at Lincoln Park.  No businesses there, just Nature writ large with its old growth forest and Puget Sound.  Parents, kids on scooters, singles, dog-walkers.  There is a palpable feel of enjoyment, of slowing down and using our senses, smiling at our neighbors (from a safe distance).  Less attention to cell phones, more eye contact.

Wouldn’t it be nice if this became the new normal?

It touches my heart.  Kids are making chalk drawings, writing words such as “Be excellent to each other.”  This is Lincoln Park’s Love Rock:

WP_20200322_001

Yes.  Love rocks!  Let’s be excellent to each other.   We are all in this together.  We are all struggling to find a new normal.