Ground control to Major Tom

It’s the age of the coronavirus. It’s a time of uncertainty. And so I did what I often do, I walked to the river.

The sun had tried to come out earlier in the afternoon, but the day had turned gray again. Light jacket weather. For me the river is a reminder of constant change – and the endurance of things. Sometimes I just watch the water as it makes its way to the sea.

On my way to the Kaw River Bridge, I stopped at Aimee’s Coffeehouse for my usual glass of iced tea. Cary, the owner, had reopened only for delivery and pickup orders. I sat outside at a table on the patio. I scribbled a few notes as I savored my tea. Mostly I just watched the few scatterings of people wandering along the sidewalk.

A man about my age I recognized but didn’t know by name walked up and got a cup of coffee and a pastry at the front door. He sat down at a considerable social distance from me across the patio. As a courtesy, he asked if I minded if he had a cigarette. I didn’t. I joked that he was downwind anyway.

Then an older woman wheeled up behind her walker along with an older man in a cowboy hat. She said that they were living at Vermont Towers, a residence for seniors. They had walked to the bank. Now they were heading back. She ordered two coffees – one with cream and sugar and one black. We sat together on the patio, slightly closer to each other than the recommended social distance, but it seemed to be a small risk.

Joanne quickly introduced herself and soon we had all met each other - and in the lyrics of David Bowie we were  “sitting in a tin can/ far above the world/ Planet Earth is blue/ and there's nothing I can do.” It was just the four of us, old and getting older, simply chatting together as people will often do at a coffee shop. Phil told a joke - not that funny, but funny enough. And then he told another one. Joanne made point of saying that she and John weren’t a couple. They were just friends. She laughed and said that she had always hoped to find a man with blond hair and blue eyes.

I asked her if Robert Redford might be her type.

Oh yes, she had replied. In fact she said that she had nearly met him once when she was younger. Nearly. A friend had told her that Robert Redford was going to attend an Eagle Scout ceremony at the Mormon Church. Joanne wasn’t a Mormon, but she sure went to church on that day. She was sitting near the back when she saw him come in through a side door near the front. She laughed as she recounted how she had spent the entire service looking at the back of Robert Redford’s head.

I sat there, leaning up against the iron patio railing and imagined that in her day, Joanne might have been quite pretty, with soft blond hair and blue eyes. Now her hair was tightly curled and gray. Her eyes sparkled when she laughed. My guess was that she laughed as easily then as she did with us.

The times have always been uncertain. A little more this week, perhaps, than last. John told us that in the time he had lived in Vermont Towers - not really that long - three residents had died. Phil pointed out that none of us will get out of here alive. A kind of punch line. I had to laugh a little.

I looked across the street at the Granada, a concert venue closed for the duration. The marquee  read: Stay strong, Lawrence. Be kind. Be well.

And then I had finished my iced tea and said my goodbyes. As I walked down the street Joanne called out to me: take care of yourself.

When I got to the bridge, I saw that the river was a little lower than the day before, although still high for this time of year. I could hear the honking of geese echoing off the Bowersock Hydropower Plant. As I headed back home, I looked over the railing to see a pair of Canada geese feeding near the south bank of the river – making plans for the future.

So the world is changing. Some things will stay the same. And some of us won’t make it to the other side. But here’s the question I have to ask: will we be able to laugh with each other when we get there?