I’m a writer. Words are my currency, my mode of expression. The well-chosen word is a necessity, both for the writer and the reader. Mark Twain understood. He said, “The difference between the almost right word and the right word is really a large matter—it's the difference between the lightning bug and the lightning.” I’ve come to realize over the past few months that we are living in a significantly altered time, and many words have taken on new meanings.
This transformation began with an invasion by an almost invisible enemy. It has done what terrorists, anarchists, crusaders and politicians have never been able to do: close up the bars, shutter the restaurants, eliminate crowding in factories, offices and stores; darken theaters and concert venues, empty the streets on Saturday nights, and shortened the lines at Ted Drewes. When I wrote this column for County Living Magazine a month ago, I had no idea what our city, our nation, our world would be like in summer. Well, summer is here. I still don't know. But I’m in good company. Neither does anyone else.
Which brings me back to my favorite subject: Words. They are incredibly helpful when explaining or describing a new idea. Some of these words have recently slipped into our daily vocabulary.
For instance - “Social Distancing.” Six months ago, no one would have put those two words together. They seem contradictory in terms. “Social” means getting together with others. “Distancing” means moving apart. But today, we know exactly what that means. Six feet. Roughly the same measurement the gravediggers employ for their clientele. Maybe that would be a terrific slogan for today: “Six feet apart or six feet under: Your choice.”
“Sequestered” is a word I don’t believe I’ve ever used, either in a talk or an article. I wrote a short story years ago called “The Hermit of 48th Street,” about a daffy old guy who lived alone, in the heart of Manhattan, and never ventured out. Not once did I use the word “sequestered.” But here we are today and most of St. Louis, and the U.S., is sequestered. Again, in some places. Those that rushed back into "business as usual" are paying the price. Sure, we all want to get back to work and socializing and grabbing a coffee with friends, maybe even a movie or a concert. But the concept of "Putting Profits Before People" seems out of step with the world today. The word "sequestered" has become as common as streaming.
That’s another word. “Streaming.” Our new form of entertainment. We don’t go to Powell Hall or The Sheldon or the movie theater. We “stream.” I frequently find myself still awake at 2:00 am because I can’t stop streaming. Kind of a mental meth addiction for the lonely. (I recommend Bosch, Mrs. Maisel, and The Kaminsky Method. Jack Ryan is pretty good too.)
That brings me to the latest fashion item, greatly in demand. The face mask. For Halloween, okay. For surgeons, baseball catchers, hockey goalies, okay. Whenever those sports resume. Face mask for me? Not so sure initially. I finally got used to putting on my mask before going into a store, but felt uncomfortable, like I was playing a game and dressed wrong for the occasion. The whole mask scene looks like a science-fiction movie, where we’re identified only by our eyes and earlobes. The bad guys, of course, are those who wander through Target or Dierberg’s without a mask. “Hey, look at me. I’m not afraid. I’m gonna live forever.” Sure you are.
A couple of other words worth mentioning. “Pandemic.” We got hit with that word sometime in March. I wondered, “How will that affect me?” Now I know. If you're looking for a movie to watch that stars some kind of pandemic, follow this link to see what's out there. Fictional Movies about Pandemics
I've seen only a couple of them, and Contagion scored high with me.
Another example. “Healthcare workers.” They used to be doctors, nurses, nurse practitioners, specialists, surgeons. Now it means a large and vital part of our population, even deserving of yard signs. I don't know if we will fully appreciate what they did for us, the dedication that drove them. They are the heroes of today. Finally, “COVID-19.” Scary, right? To me it sounds like an automobile. “Drive the new Hyundai Covid-19 today.” It could belong in the same class as the Ford F-150. Only cooler.
And finally: “Corona.” Not the Mexican beer or that hot mass around the sun. The virus. And, for me, a chance to play piano for the sequestered masses.
One final word. Be safe. Okay, two words.
