my neighbors dance every morning, every evening

We were in the paper the other day because every morning at 8:55 and every evening at 6, someone blasts music and we dance six feet away from one another. Children run around, everyone smiles and claps along. We dance like only our friends and neighbors are watching – which we are. I can't imagine being in this situation without my neighbors. Here's some of the playlist:

1. Let it be – the Beatles
2. Lovely Day – Bill Withers
3. Always Look on the Bright Side of Life – Monty Python
4. Don't stand so close to me – Sting
5. From a distance – Bette Midler
6. With a little help from my friends – Beatles
7. Imagine – John Lennon
8. Singin' in the Rain
9. Raindrops Keep Falling on my Head
10. I Will Survive – Gloria Gaynor
11. Stayin' Alive – Bee Gees
12. We are Family – Pointer Sisters
13. Age of Aquarius – Hair
14. Somewhere over the Rainbow – Israel Kamakawiwoʻole

There have also been more impromptu sing and dance alongs to the Vietnamese Hand Washing song, a song for the climate to the tune of Bela Chau, and I've led stretching in the courtyard every morning too. A few days ago on a beautifully sunny, chilly day, we planted the seeds for our spring gardens. The turn of the earth goes on. I did not wear gloves because I love the feel of dirt on my fingers too much. Enrique, who is 9, was definitely standing too close to me, and Wendy and Sebastian, both 6, grabbed my hands to show me a worm. I went inside and washed my hands.

We have so many teams: teams for checking in with sick people, for disinfecting the common spaces, for grocery shopping and bulk food shopping and drug store visits for friends, for tech help, for meal trains, for the inevitable of caring for each other and making sure no one is alone. Some people are shutting down their interactions, quarantining because they are essential personnel or just scared. Other people want to have one of our monthly "sharing from the heart circles" in person – sitting 6 feet away, of course. Everyone has their own level of risk assessment.

Phyllis is at the highest risk of all of us. She's in her early 70s and has made it through multiple cancers, including lung cancer. Every morning I watch her dance harder than anyone.

I can't upload the videos, but here we are in the newspaper

I'm listening to: Moondog
I'm reading: Braiding Sweetgrass