Thirtieth Entry

Thursday, April 16th, 2020

The quiet of the morning remains delicious.
Twenty-two million people have lost their jobs in the last four weeks in the US—a more rapid loss of jobs than during the Great Depression.

Yesterday, the first $1,200 stimulus checks started arriving. Bank websites crashed all over the country as people checked their accounts. That money will go a lot further for some than for others.

A second generation of desert locusts will hatch in East Africa as the crops start to come in.

I have not heard the word “dystopian” for at least two days, but the word “depression” is creeping into news reports.

The governor’s new rule requiring masks be worn in public (when in the proximity of others) goes into effect this evening at 8:00 PM. He also announced the shutdown of non-essential business will be extended state-wide, for another month, until May 15th.

Six hundred people died of Covid-19 yesterday in NY.

I heard a female commentator strongly state that the handshake should never return. She had several reasons for her opinion, many personal. For me, that is a very sad thought. A handshake is about the only physical contact you can have with total strangers—no small thing. How many hundreds of times have I been introduced to one or more people and shaken each of their hands? These were direct physical connections with people I might never see again or might work with for thirty years, marry, or whatever. Those handshakes were a starting point for what was to come—a meeting, a meal, a battle, sealing a deal, a thank you, or a farewell.

Like hairdos, tattoos, shoes, and jewelry, a handshake can communicate a lot, even if it only lasts a second or two. I recall my friend Michael meeting and shaking hands with a young man who was dating a friend of ours. Later, Michael mentioned that the fellow he had been introduced to would “never last” as our friend’s partner. He was quite right; his only information was the handshake.

George Washington bowed, and the Quakers refused to do that. A young woman curtseyed in my office a few years ago. Prior to that, I had not seen a curtsey since square dancing in school. No gesture lasts forever.

At the rate we are going, the handshake replacement may become a ping from your cell phone, or, in a few years, perhaps a hovering emoji hologram. The simple human gesture of grasping another person’s hand—actual contact, dirt, sweat, germs and all—is not something I would choose to lose.