Friday, November 6th, 2020

I finally get to see my family for a little while at the House of a Hundred Grandmothers. Their lockdown has lightened up a bit. The workers have set up tables outside. Residents can schedule to get together with their families. I get there right when my family is coming out the door, headed to a table. I meet them there. I haven’t seen some of them in months. We talk about what’s been happening, the US election, my disappointing vacation, and the cascade of problems caused when their ceiling leaked. Depending on how quickly that can be repaired, they may have to move to another apartment there. They had just rearranged their small space, fitting things in with millimeters to spare. Moving all that will be difficult. The roar of small planes from the nearby airfield halts conversation every few minutes. After half an hour, they have to head back inside. I walk home through the usual park. A few dogs and their people wander about. Someone whom I don’t recognize, with a mask and a child’s bicycle, says hello to me. I say hello back. I see him a few minutes later, heading into my yard. It’s my landlord. I rarely see him with his mask on. I head inside and get to work on my newsletter. I pause to mark my calendar. I’ll see my family again at the same place and time next week, assuming that nothing further goes awry.