Strangers in the time of COVID-19

If you’re a regular reader here, it probably wouldn’t surprise you if this turned out to be another column about Lola, the world’s most perfect dog (my column, my rules). But it’s not. Sure, she plays a starring role (only appropriate for such a perfect animal, obviously) but, still, it’s not about her. This column is actually about a person, someone I see often but who I do not know. And since seeing someone is, of course, not the same thing as knowing someone, I think it’s accurate to call her a stranger. With that in mind then, let’s call this a column about strangers and other animals.

We see her two or three times a week, sometimes more, on our morning walks around the neighborhood. She is elderly, I suspect in her 90s, and she’s tiny, maybe 5 feet tall, thin as the dry grass outside her home, her back so bent forward that looking up and away from her feet is an obvious effort. She carries a dark wooden cane to help keep her balance as she walks, so slowly, a few yards from her front door. And then back. I don’t believe she speaks any English other than her barely whispered “hello.” A few words of Yiddish is as bilingual as I get, useless in this case, so conversation is impossible. That hello is always accompanied by a few fingers waving and a big smile. These days, of course, a mask hides that smile but her eyes still give it away. Oh, and to be clear, that greeting is for Lola.