A NORMAL MOMENT IN DIFFERENT TIMES
Chatting with a stranger in the park means more during a pandemic
A not-too-close encounter of the COVID-19 kind:
Still pretty much restricted to base as a 71-year-old cancer survivor, my quest for fresh air — and the necessity of walking my dog — involves at least four outings to the pleasant park that’s a minute from my townhouse.
On a recent stroll, Quaqua (I inherited the name — she’s a rescue) did what she often does.
A woman sitting at a picnic table with three preadolescent children was approached by my 11-year-old miniature poodle, seeking — as she often does — a friendly pat, particularly from someone consuming food.
Because I use an extension leash, the dog is able to ignore social distancing. The woman was happy to meet a friendly dog and petting ensued.
This often happens, and I usually deliver my customary quip: “OK, my dog likes you. You can take her home.”
The person offering the petting chuckles, and then we’re on our way. Not this time.
The stranger petting my dog wanted to know its name, its breed and how old it was. And then we got to chatting.
This is rare for me. Notwithstanding almost 40 years as a professional journalist — during which I would pose occasionally impertinent questions to strangers — I’m a shy person. So the lengthy conversation that ensued in the park was unusual.
The best-guess 40-something woman cheerfully recounted how she had:
■ Broken an engagement in her early 20s because “I had a chance to travel in Europe. Get married or see Paris? Easy call.”
■ Eventually married an engineer whose career took him far afield.
■ Spent three years in Singapore: “Amazingly clean and orderly but a very different culture from ours. I wasn’t crazy about it.”
■ Lived nine terrific years in England.
That’s a lot of living.
Despite being about 30 years older, the best I could do in comparing life notes was:
Montreal Expos beat writer
■ for one star-crossed season (my newspaper, the Montreal Star, folded while I was in Pittsburgh covering a great pennant race).
Two Montreal Symphony
■ Orchestra tours, in Europe (Switzerland, Germany, Paris) and Asia (Japan and Hong Kong)
■ TV and radio critic for almost 20 years and a city columnist for 10.
Again, I am not one to rabbit on about my life story to total strangers in a public park.
But this convivial chat was most enjoyable. And it ended with the woman telling me she’s employed by the local school board and works with autistic students.
I was going to tell her that my ex-wife has a PHD in education and specializes in autism. But a bashful old coot didn’t want to be shmoozing in the park all day.
I think this very rare lengthy social encounter was a consequence of the COVID-19 crisis.
Not everyone is as confined to base as I. People are going back to work. Life is returning to some semblance of normalcy.
But it’s a weird time — and it will be for a while.
Reflecting on that therapeutic chat in the park, I thought back to the Blanche Dubois line in A Streetcar Named Desire: “I have always depended on the kindness of strangers.”
And not just strangers.
When we got home, the dog and I discovered a small Ziploc container on the doorstep. It was homemade soup, from my nextdoor neighbour.
Not a surprise. Since the health crisis hit and home confinement began, there have been regular outpourings of generosity.
I’ve lived in a townhouse on a dead-end street in the ’burbs for 35 years. One of my neighbours is a semi-retired nurse who likes to cook soups, stews, meatloaves and other yummies, generous portions of which are often deposited on the front stoop of the housebound guy who lives next door.
COVID-19 must have people reading the Bible: “Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself.”
And I love them back.
The stranger petting my dog wanted to know its name, its breed and how old it was. And then we got to chatting. This is rare for me.