As I write this it is Easter Sunday 2020 and it seems as though the whole world is crouched under the table hiding and trying to avoid COVID-19. And for me being “under the table” can also serve as a metaphor for trying to avoid Donald Trump and especially his daily-televised campaign rallies masquerading as CORONA Virus Task Force Briefings. The limited number of minutes I have spent watching these briefings have served to only reinforce for me what a toxic nitwit Trump is and force me even deeper under the table.
Not to overwork the Trump analogies here but so much of what he does is under the table and in this case the phrase means secret or hidden and most often nefarious. His entire career, to say nothing of the past three years as president, has involved under the table wheeling and dealing.
My preferred Democratic presidential candidate, Bernie Sanders, recently with drew from the primary race. I am not particularly enamored with Joe Biden but I could easily be coaxed out from under the table to help campaign for him. As I have been fond of saying for sometime I would vote for a rabid raccoon over Donald Trump any day.
Wandering a bit further afield with today’s topic I could compare the lower level of my condo to sort of being under the table. It is a garden level space with a large window that literally looks up and out onto the sidewalk. There is lots of foot traffic that I am able to watch from what is actually my bedroom and office space with the computer I sit at to write my SAGE stories. Lest you think I am an exhibitionist/ voyeur it is a southfacing window and thanks to glare, a large piece of stain glass and tall Draceana trifasciata, aka Mother-in-Laws Tongue, make it virtually impossible to see in from the sidewalk.
While lying on my bed and peering around stain glass and foliage I am able to see a nearly endless parade of pedestrians walking by. Young people, old people, homeless folks and lots of dog walkers passing by. The grass berm between the sidewalk and the street is a favorite dog pee and poop spot so I know many of the neighborhood canines and their various bowel habits quite intimately. I won’t begin to speculate as to whether I am a bit jealous of these furry creatures being rewarded with praise and treats after a good poop. That would be way too Freudian for this piece of writing
Since my window view is actually a few feet below street level I can imagine that I am watching from under a table. These days even when it has been sunny and warm many of those walking by are wearing masks. The masks themselves are a parade in diversity. Many are homemade and brightly colored. Some are just bandanas and appear to be quite the afterthought. A few are hospital grade surgical masks with the rare N95. The medical messaging around the necessity for masks when out walking on a sunny, breezy day is mixed to say the least. It is clear though that social distancing of at least six feet and always coughing or sneezing into one’s elbow is mandatory, mask or no mask.
One of the true luxuries of being retired is being able to take an afternoon nap. These days as I lay on my bed looking out the window at every mask that walks by it is a reminder of how fragile the whole trip we call life on earth is. It is very humbling to be reminded over and over again that almost all of humanity has been pushed under a table by a tiny microscopic piece of RNA. As Robert Hunter, the great songwriter for the Grateful Dead said “if the thunder don’t get you the lightning will”.