Letter to a Quarantined Mother
Dearest Mother,
How weird that after all these years, we now have you sequestered away, alone in your little box, unavailable for visits by your loving family. You, at 95 years old now, mother of three, grandmother of eight, great-grandmother of a handful. You, the one who never misses any family get-together, or any chance to hang out with your off-spring and their friends, and your friends, and the world at large.
Weird, but here we are in the Coronavirus World.
To say you are sequestered in your little box is unkind. You have a great place. Small, maybe, but hey, your cute little brown-shingle Bay Area house has it all. And the neighborhood is great. You are the first to say that you are “one lucky old lady” and we get that. Sister of mine and grandkids of yours are all within minutes, if not seconds, of your front door.
But right now, nobody, absolutely nobody, can come or go through your front door. Well, you can. But just for your little walks around the neighborhood with your facemask and gloves on, keeping your social-distancing abilities intact, waving and smiling to the neighbors who cross the street to avoid you and to avoid breaking the Coronavirus Rules.
And your Queenly greetings from your funny second-story doll-house deck, waving and toasting, lifting the drink in your hand. Your adoring family, friends and neighbors, down in the street, waving and toasting back to you. No words are spoken to speak of, because you can’t hear worth a hoot anyway, right? It’s a party, regardless.
How’s my Real Estate life up here in the North Valley? Weird, too. Like you, I am sequestered in my little box. Unlike you, my little box does not have it all. But not too bad. A desk. A phone. A computer. It’s an upstairs office in a big bright building which usually has 50 to 100 people buzzing around inside. It is now 99% dark. It’s quiet. It matters not how well one can hear. Everyone is sequestered away in their own boxes, little or big. No worries. I am slathered in Hand Sanitizer. I hug my bottle of Antiseptic Wipes.
But I have Zoom! Zoom is the great new trick! THE online gathering place. Because of Zoom, I’m face-to-face with more people, more often, than I ever have been. You’ve tried Zoom. Yes, I heard. My brother told me he put you on a Zoom call. Seeing brother and his wife was great, and on Zoom they were right there on your computer screen in living color. But, alas, you couldn’t hear. Bummer.
Anyway, how’s the Real Estate life in the North Valley, you ask. Amazingly, we continue to operate. Homes can be shown Virtually. Meaning online. They can be Zoomed! They can be videoed! They can be FaceTimed!
An offer is typed up by a Realtor and emailed to a Buyer who signs it by clicking the keys on their keyboard. The signed offer is then sent to the Seller who follows suit on their own keyboard. Nobody leaves their box. Realtors and Buyers and Sellers can see each other, talk to each other, look at property in the Virtual World, and do business.
Dearest Mother, from 1924 to 2020, you’ve seen more than most. You made it through World War II. Now it’s Covid-19. How weird, that after all these years, we have you sequestered away in your little box. But we can’t risk losing you.
Precious jewels are kept in little boxes.
Love's Real Stories 