ACTS OF KINDNESS

When we pulled into our Maine driveway after a grueling three-day trek negotiating I-95 north from Florida, I spotted a white plastic bag hanging on the bronze door knob. “Welcome!” it read. Inside were a roll of toilet paper and a nip-size bottle of Scotch. 

Betty’s was the first but, in the past few days, we’ve experienced other countless acts of kindness— none of them random. I bet you have too.

Vic called. “If you need anything — ANYTHING AT ALL — give me a shout.” I reminded him that he was my age, therefore a “vulnerable senior” too. He schluffed it off. “Call me any time of the day or night.”

Suddenly you feel less isolated, less alone, less quarantined.

On a dark rainy day earlier this week, a friend, who is the director of the fabulous Blue Garden in Newport, Rhode Island, sent an email that brightened my inbox. It depicted lush blue irises and delphiniums planted throughout this exquisite Olmsted-designed compound. Sarah said, “We hope these images are a reminder of the pleasures that await when the crisis is over.” (See for yourself: www.thebluegarden.org)

This past week a Portland landlord waived his tenants’ rent for April. Another day, the guys behind the counter at Shields Meats in Kennebunk insisted I take TWO complimentary rolls of toilet paper when I bought enough chicken and steaks to fill my freezer. This  Sunday (March 22), Daryl Conant, owner of Kennebunk’s Fitness Nut House, is doing a free Facebook Live video demonstrating workouts that can be performed at home. Nervous gym rats and those of us who can’t stop noshing might want to watch.

Everywhere, people are giving unselfishly and generously, including daughter Lisa who filled our car before we departed Florida with masks, sanitary wipes, reams of TP, plus dozens of anti-virus products. After we got here, daughter Alex and grandson Max arrived with a carful of groceries — 20 bags! They stood on the front porch, wouldn’t let me open the glass storm door to give a thank you hug, and insisted we stay “in quarantine.”

Touching is not allowed but I’ve been deeply touched by it all.

And Vive la France! My friend Francois wrote from Paris, “Everyday at 8 PM, many people all over France open their windows and clap for five minutes in support of hospitals and nurses who are having a very tough time.”  Yaay!

In 1920, F. Scott Fitzgerald wrote a letter while being quarantined in the south of France during the Spanish influenza outbreak. His words are impeccable and worth repeating:

“Dearest Rosemary,

It was a limpid dreary day, hung as in a basket from a single dull star. I thank you for your letter.

Outside, I perceive what may be a collection of fallen leaves tussling against a trash can. It rings like jazz to my ears. The streets are that empty. It seems as though the bulk of the city has retreated to their quarters, rightfully so. 

At this time, it seems very poignant to avoid all public spaces. Even the bars, as I told Hemingway, but to that he punched me in the stomach, to which I asked if he had washed his hands.

He hadn’t. He is much the denier, that one. Why, he considers the virus to be just influenza. I’m curious of his sources.

The officials have alerted us to ensure we have a month’s worth of necessities. Zelda and I have stocked up on red wine, whiskey, rum, vermouth, absinthe, white wine, sherry, gin, and lord, if we need it, brandy. Please pray for us.

You should see the square, oh, it is terrible. I weep for the damned eventualities this future brings. The long afternoons rolling forward slowly on the ever-slick bottomless highball. Z. says it’s no excuse to drink, but I just can’t seem to steady my hand. In the distance, from my brooding perch, the shoreline is cloaked in a dull haze where I can discern an unremitting penance that has been heading this way for a long, long while. 

And yet, amongst the cracked cloudline of an evening’s cast, I focus on a single strain of light, calling me forth to believe in a better morrow.”

That “better morrow” will come, and with it, a legacy of countless acts of kindness. Touch someone today without physically touching them. It’s a great feeling.