Love's Real Stories

John Prine wrote these lyrics in the last verse of his song, “Hello in There”:

“So, if you’re walking down the street sometime, and spot some hollow ancient eyes; please don’t just pass ‘em by and stare, as if you didn’t care. Say, ‘Hello in there, hello.’”

In these Coronavirus days you must be careful how you say, “Hello in there.” Don’t lean in any closer than six feet!

A good sentiment by Mr. Prine, however. It’s good to check in on people. Especially with everyone in some form of lockdown because of the hated Coronavirus, Covid-19.

There are a lot of reasons to hate the Coronavirus. A big reason for me right now, and millions of other people, is that the virus took John Prine. Iconic American songwriter and performer, Prine gets the nod from all the Greats in the music world as a Master. The Greats love the man and they sing his quirky, funny, sentimental songs. He was 73 years old with a busy touring schedule.

I leaned in closer than six feet to a lady who was driving her wobbly shopping cart down the parking lot of Raley’s the other day. The cart was piled abnormally high with goods, and she was out of balance, burdened by a couple of purse-like bags dangling on straps from her shoulders. As I passed her, a plastic bag fell off her cart and hit the pavement. A clear-topped container holding a rotisserie chicken spilled halfway out of the bag. The lady was in a helpless position, gripping her cart which would roll away downhill if she were to let go. I instinctively took the few steps to the bag and picked it up for her, instantly realizing I had breached the social-distancing zone. I held it up in an offering gesture, apologizing for intruding into her space.

The lady’s eyes widened above her face mask and she leaned back from me, in apparent horror. She snatched the bag from my hand with her gloved hand and wobbled quickly away down the parking lot.

“It’s a different world right now,” said Bruce, a retired buddy of mine, who called to check in on me. “You must be hanging out at the homestead, doing nothing, like everybody else.”

“Far from it,” I said, “I’m busy every day trying to stay on top of the crazy Real Estate world. We have new Coronavirus Advisory forms people need to sign, and we’re finding new ways to do this business electronically, so people keep the density down and social-distancing up.”

“But no one is buying right now,” said Bruce.

“Surprisingly, there’s an amazing amount of stuff going on,” I said. “Buyers still want to buy, and Sellers want to sell. We’re figuring out how that gets done.’

“Yeah right,” said Bruce. “Everybody’s freaked out and staying home.”

“You’d be surprised,” I said.

“Okay,” said Bruce, “surprise me. What gives?”

“Hang on,” I said. I had spotted one of our Agents, a twenty-year veteran at her desk in the gloom of our darkened office. I stood at least 8 feet away from her with my mask and gloves on and asked her what she sees out there.

“I just wrote an all-cash offer on a house in the $900,000’s that came on the market three days ago. We were beat out by another all-cash Buyer who pushed the price up to $1,000,000.”

“Holy cow,” I said.

“And I wrote an offer for another Buyer today on a house in the $500,000’s, all cash,” she said. “Somebody pushed the price above asking and my Buyer lost out on that one, too. It’s still crazy out there. We need more Listings!”

I reported the news to Bruce. He said, “Oh. Hmm. Well, anyway, did you hear John Prine is sick with the Coronavirus? Such a bummer.”

That was day before yesterday. Last night the news came down that John Prine passed away. My house speakers and my truck speakers have been all John Prine ever since.

One old song of his, “We are the Lonely” speaks in its refrain, to our current time: “We are the lonely, all together. All together we’re all alone.”

RIP John Prine. Thanks for everything.