“Zoom, Zoom,” the little boy on the commercial says as the car speeds past him. The word has acquired new meaning in the midst of the COVID-19 pandemic: Communication. There are wide differences of opinion today about social gatherings, but there is general agreement on the usefulness of Zoom.
A writer, I now submit to publishers via e-mail, much less clunky than hard copy submissions, where even the type of paper was dictated. I meet with editors via Zoom, reviewing work they’ve edited digitally.
I also meet occasionally via Zoom with docents and educators at the Florida Museum, where I once led tours and taught classes. Our in-person work with children has stopped. There will be no live classes or school tours for the rest of the school year. Virtual tours of the museum were given this summer and school tours have been designed. As a teacher in the public school system, I sometimes tore my hair over permission slips and transportation. This online resource is a boon to teachers but there is no substitute for the museum experience.
That said, teachers are now struggling with both in-school and virtual teaching — at the same time. A clue to my age, when I last taught in the public school system, I had one computer, and only the sixth grade classrooms had access to the internet! While all Alachua County students have access now, tens of thousands of children still have none in rural areas and across tribal lands. So virtual contact is a blessing in disguise.
My sense of community loss is magnified on weekends, when I can’t attend church. I worship on Facebook live. Occasionally, I rummage through the cupboard for Triscuits or French bread, and grape juice, to serve as communion elements. I mean no disrespect; whatever I use, they are representative of my Lord’s body and blood. Thankfully, worship is starting up again, live (with a reservation), and masked worshippers’ seats are separated. Small groups are still Zooming, but the fellowship isn’t the same, and Wednesday night dinners and Sunday morning coffee at the gazebo can’t happen virtually.
That is not to say, contact via Zoom isn’t worthwhile. Harn Museum docents receive training on new exhibits via Zoom. Florida Museum docents exchange book, Netflix and PBS show recommendations. New book clubs have formed. Some who hated nighttime driving are newly social. And there is something to be said for not having to fight traffic.
Favorite TV shows have ceased reruns for live shows via Zoom. At first, it was fun seeing inside homes of favorite personalities. Now it seems they’re all at the library, with bookcases as backdrops. Many do, however, put up greenscreens or favorite scenes. You can appear to be on safari or by your swimming pool (whether you have one or not), while remaining sequestered in your den.
These days, we may not be able to visit with Grandma at the nursing home, but families who’ve been separated by distance are finding new ways to gather. My young friends announced their pregnancy after gathering far off relatives together on Zoom, and the baby shower will be virtual. While some do drive-by Happy Birthdays, others do Zoom parties. Bring your own cake.
Business owners have found those working from home can network virtually. I’m wondering how many business owners will decide to forego the overhead of brick and mortar, even when the pandemic is over — and how many ghostly buildings will remain uninhabited, deteriorating. I envision mankind’s creativity transforming said buildings into new forms of residences amidst the pervasive shortage of low-cost housing.
Yes, life as we know it is changing. Broadway is shuttered until June. While this has no effect on my life, local movie theatres have closed. Watching movies on television is comfortable, but no substitute for the big screen. Restaurants are adding outdoor dining areas, mimicking Europeans’ love of dining al fresco. While small and large businesses struggle, many have shut down, throwing countless employees into unemployment lines. But online shopping has engendered new jobs in home delivery of everything from furniture to take-out dinners.
Ordering online from big box stores, groceries, pharmacies, restaurants and even the library has become the norm, with customers picking up at the curb. Some physicians require patients to park outside and call, for permission to enter an empty waiting room.
In October, the governor of Florida lifted all restrictions on restaurants and other businesses and banned local fines against people who refuse to wear masks. But keeping a safe space between you and others who don’t live in your household, and keeping a mask between your face and theirs, whether mandated by law, is the recommendation of the Center for Disease Control (CDC). It seems like a wise course to follow, rather than taking the advice of someone who failed to safe-distance, caught the disease, and spread it to his circle.
We all miss gatherings with friends and loved ones and a sense of normalcy. By now, everyone knows someone who has suffered with or died from COVID-19, reminding us that no one is invulnerable. Hugs, my go-to greeting, are out and I still fight the urge to reach out for a simple handshake. But until we can be together again, I’m grateful to see the unmasked faces of fellow members of the Writers Alliance on our weekly Zoom meetings, and facetime with grandchildren is a joy. Yes, something is missing — the warmth of touch, I think. A friend’s smiling face, albeit virtual, can still lift my spirits. So let’s stay in touch, people. Zoom, Zoom!
Note from the author: This post was originally written for the COVID Project Community Archive for the Matheson Historical Museum
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