Quarantunes.

I’m one of the lucky ones. I’ve worked at home for years, so my daily routine hasn’t changed much. My husband retired almost two years ago, then took a 6-month consulting job that allows him to telecommute, so we haven’t lost a lot of income (tho’ I can’t bear to look at the 401K that was supposed to be our safety net). We have a roomy house with a courtyard and a back deck that looks out onto trees with visiting birds – and once, an owl! Our two grown daughters are safely ensconced with significant others, so no one has been stranded where they don’t want to be. And we live in a blue state with a Governor who has a medical degree and takes the science of fighting this thing seriously. So, I realize that everything I write comes from a place of privilege, along with a sense of worry and wonder for those who are fighting much tougher battles.

And yet, with all this comfort, I still have pandemic anxiety. The first hour of the day is the worst, when I lay (lie? never could get that straight) in bed and ask myself ‘what’s the point?’ in getting up. I try to ignore my negativity, grab a cup of coffee, allow myself to drift, and the cloud generally lifts by lunchtime, making afternoon the time of day I can be somewhat productive.

The thing I miss most is live music. I’m not a religious person, but I believe I’m a spiritual one. There’s something about a crowd of like-minded people, enjoying a band whose music has meaning for me, that echoes the sense of community and uplift that other people get from going to church.

Now I seek solace in the scenes of humanity and kindness that are taking place in the midst of this madness. Twitter is a trash fire to many, but I must be following the right Tweeters, as I see sweet, short clips every day of people offering love and help to others. And cute animals. And lots of threads about Harry Styles. (Follow me @mariannemeyer if you’re on the social, and I’ll follow you back.)

When I started writing this, I was watching the Global Citizen One World Together At Home Concert. The heavily-promoted Prime Time show started Saturday at 8pm, but the streaming event began 2pm on my Roku-enabled TV (a phrase I didn’t even know until my brother guided me through the purchase process at Christmas). It ran all day long and gave me something to think about other than how much I long to hug my kids.

So I sat comfortably in my TV chair as a steady array of musicians played live from their homes and the clever folks at the charity organization offered inspiring clips of the brave health care workers and the common folk honoring them. It reminded me of the day I skipped the wedding of a couple of not-very-close friends to visit my in-laws in Westchester, back in the days when MTV was available in limited areas, to watch another all-star charity concert called Live Aid.

Sigh. Remember when concerts were attended by thousands of swaying, arm-waving, GFs-up-on-BFs-shoulders fans? Some medical experts are saying that we won’t be able to have actual audience-allowed live concerts again until fall of 2021. But I still won’t sell off the nice seats I bought for my daughter and me to see Harry Styles in June. Stub Hub tells me I could get 6 times what I paid for them on the resell market, but the money means less to me than the ridiculously joyful time Grace and I had together at Harry’s 2018 show. Like holding a lottery ticket in the days before the numbers are announced, I enjoy the lingering if foolish hope that something magical will happen, we will beat the odds, and our tickets will be winners.

The afternoon concert stream had a lot of fun moments, like Jack Black leading silly exercise routines, shamelessly flaunting his big belly, and his snazzy home. Part of the fun in Zooming With the Stars is peeking into the homes of celebrities. Some offer pristine spaces that show the input of stylists and interior designers; Charlie Puth didn’t even bother to make his bed.

I liked Finneas’ solo, Adam Lambert revisiting “Mad World,” Annie Lennox dueting with her daughter, the impressive way a group of many classical players were stitched together in a Zoom serenade, Milky Chance’s cute accents and the often sweetly awkward English of multiple foreign-language artists. And, to add to my ongoing obsession with boy bands, SuperM was adorable in a new song.

I’m guessing that, dear reader, you’re a music fan that watched the A-list evening show, so I won’t go much into that except to say that the husband and I thoroughly enjoyed it. Usually, when there’s an awards show or tribute concert or some such Major Musical TV Event, I sign onto the social network and partake in the snarky comments of who looks silly or sounds bad, but not this night. No cynicism, please. Not now.

Of course, some jerk at the NY Post ran a review calling it “insufferable” and “lousy,” complaining that it didn’t have half the energy of Live Aid, bemoaning that it didn’t feature any moments like Freddie Mercury’s legendary performance with Queen. He did understand that playing in your living room is a different gig than strutting in front of 50k or so screaming fans, didn’t he? Good thing he didn’t see Charlie Puth’s unmade bed!

More anon. Stay safe and strong. Spread kindness, not germs. And remember…