The day the music stopped

When "The Ukes" played for the last time in February, no one suspected how long it would be until we could meet again. 

Perhaps when it's safer at the Senior Centers, but like so many other things, our group won't be the same.  Not everyone lives in West Seattle, and now there's a daunting detour. Others might be permanently spooked by Covid fears. Who can blame them? In terms of risk, group singing in a small room is off-the-scale. You might as well sit at crowded bar with yelling yokels. 

There's two other ukulele groups in Seattle. SUPA (Seattle Ukulele Players Association) is the largest.  They had a fun monthly jam on Sunday afternoons.  Another group called STRUM played weeknights at the Kona Kitchen in north Seattle.

The husband and wife behind the Kona Kitchen both died of Covid in March. I never went to STRUM meetings because of the evening traffic. And I'm glad, because several STRUM players also got sick in March, and I heard that one player died.

But I'm just an amateur missing my friends. Imagine the heartbreak and frustration for professional musicians unable to perform, deprived of both their passion and livelihood. So much sadness in the world.

One of the Ukes invited everyone to her house this week to play outside, with masks and social distancing. That sounds OK, but I know her backyard is small and enclosed. She also said there would be shared food and drinks. Now how could that work, with masks and social distancing? (It doesn't.) And what about the current orders forbidding groups larger than 10?

Someone needs to write a pandemic etiquette book!  Even the most innocent-sounding invitation is fraught with so many questions it still feels rude to ask. In the end, I decided going just wasn't worth the anxiety.