These past few days, I’ve gotten an unusual amount of emails from people with upcoming birthdays. It seems like everyone is stuck indoors, self-quarantining, and this isn’t exactly a fun way to spend the big day. One such email comes from Abbie, who writes:

“My daughter Emma's birthday is on Sunday. She will be turning 9. She's a typical kid. Hates vegetables. Whines. Says ‘Mommy’ at least one thousand times a day. Usually her aunt and grandparents come over for a birthday lunch. Complete with cake and presents. Not this year.

“This year will obviously be different. I prepared for a breakdown when I explained what a global pandemic is and why we are quarantined. She just looked at me and said, ‘I understand. Can I help you make my birthday cake?’”

“I'm pretty proud of her and the little lady she has become.”

Well, on the off chance that Emma is reading this, I want to be among the first to wish her a happy 9th birthday. What a

great year.

When I was 9 years old, my teacher read “Where the Red Fern Grows” aloud in class. This book became a favorite book. I hope you get to read it one day, Emma. It always makes me feel good.

Consequently, that was also the year my cousin, Ed Lee, ate three worms on a bet. He did it during a baseball game. We boys sat in the dugout watching in pure amazement. When he finished, Ed Lee had earned fourteen bucks, but he had also puked in someone’s glove.

These are the kinds of stunts my generation was famous for. This is probably why the most notable cultural contributions my generation ever made to the Greater Good were: Angry Birds, air-fryers, and Spanx.

Anyway, I know it sounds silly, but did you know that I'm jealous of you right now, Emma? It’s true. Because you’re a kid. You…

I have here an email from a woman named Ella who lives in New York City. Ella writes:

“I turn 76 years old in two days... I’m trying not to lose my mind, but being trapped inside this little apartment and self-quarantining with my daughter and her roommate, I’m starting to go stir crazy!

“It’s been a long two years for me, I have survived breast cancer, and an autoimmune disease, please write something upbeat just for me that doesn’t even mention COVID-19 and take my mind off of it.”

Ella, since we don’t know each other, and since I don’t have your personal details, I guess I’ll just start writing something based on what I DO know about you.

For starters, you’re turning 76. This means that, if we do some basic math… Subtract the six… Carry the two… Divide the coefficient… Take the remainder and shove it up the cosine’s exponent… Made a mistake and kissed a snake, how many doctors did it take...?

You were born in 23 BC.

No wait. That can’t

be right. I’m sorry, Ella. Math has never been my strong suit. Let me try that again. You were born in 1944.

Before I wrote this, I was doing some research on your birth year and found out that ‘44 was a pivotal year. The war was still on, Navy ships were still being attacked, Roosevelt was president, America’s most edgy pop-star was Bing Crosby. There were also several historical figures born that year, such as Diana Ross, Jerry Springer, and of course Boz Scaggs.

Boz Scaggs. Now there’s a name I haven’t heard in ages. Do you remember him? Of course you do, who doesn’t? He was a singer-songwriter who had a big hit from the movie soundtrack “Urban Cowboy,” starring John Travolta. The song was titled “Look What You’ve Done to Me.”

This song was majorly depressing. My friend’s older sister, Sandy,…

If you get a free moment today, smile. But don’t do it with your face. Try smiling with your heart.

Yes. I realize what I just said seems very stupid. It almost sounds like something a weirdo hippie therapist would say after an hour of hand-puppet therapy out in his yurt. “Alright everybody, let’s hold hands in a circle and smile in our big ole hearts.”

But I’m being serious. Close your eyes and give it a whirl. Smile with your chest region. Go ahead. I’ll wait.

See? You felt it, didn’t you? That faint fluttery thing happening in your chest. Kind of cool, huh? Great, now I’d like us all to hold hands in a circle and start chanting in Pig Latin.

No, I’m only kidding.

I can’t take credit for this heart smiling thing. An old man used to tell me this. He was a friend of mine. In some ways, he acted like a father to me after my father died. He was white-haired and a lot older than my father.

Alzheimer’s eventually took

him from the world. When the disease hit, it moved fast. Pretty soon he didn’t know who I was.

The last time I saw him, he kept calling me Lucinda. I don’t know who Lucinda is, but I will say this: Lucinda must be a very handsome man.

My friend was the first one to tell me, “Smile with your heart.” Truthfully, I thought it was pretty dumb. I didn’t fully appreciate his words until I got older.

Come to find out, the phrase didn’t originate with my friend. It comes from an old American song, popular during my pal’s heyday. A song you probably know the words to. The tune is “My Funny Valentine,” written in 1937, back when the whole world was Depressed.

My friend used to tell me stories about life during the Depression. He once told me how he…

You awake in a barbershop. It’s filled with old men. They are laughing. Talking. Carrying on. You are wearing plaid pajamas, and your hair is a mess. Where are you? How did you get here? Why are you in pajamas?

Oh well, it could have been worse. At least you didn’t awake standing before your fourth-grade class buck naked again. Thank God for small blessings.

Anyway, the last thing you remember was watching the news on your sofa. It was late. The newscasters were talking about the coronavirus because that’s all anyone thinks about now. Even ocean-dwelling creatures living 35,853 feet below the water are social distancing right now.

Then (boom) you were here. Just like that.

The man in the barber chair is telling a story. It’s wonderful. It isn’t so much what he is saying, but how he’s saying it that makes you smile.

It's a happy, humorous conversation. He’s not using the buzz words you’ve been hearing lately. Like “self-quarantine,” “mortality rates,” or “interpersonal airborne viral transmission ratio.” He’s talking about fishing.

The old men puff leather-scented smoke from

pipes. A few wear fedoras. You find yourself carried away in their conversation. The more they talk, the more you forget the things you’ve been worrying about all week.

It seems like the fear comes in waves lately. Sometimes, you’re fine. Other times, if you hear the word “coronavirus” once more you are going to lose it.

But right now, you’re not worried about viruses. Not in this shop.

You say something to the barber but he doesn’t respond. In fact, he doesn’t even acknowledge you. None of the men notice you. Maybe it’s because you’re wearing dorky pajamas.

“This is weird,” you’re thinking. “Why won’t they look at me?” So you wave your hand in front of a guy’s face, but he stares right through it. “Hello?” you say.

Nothing.

Now you’re really freaking out because you…

I’m playing cards with my wife outside on our porch. We never do this. In fact, I can hardly believe this is happening. It’s almost like a dream.

The sun is setting. It’s a pleasant spring evening. The North Florida mosquitoes are the size of Volkswagen Jettas. My wife and I are sipping beers, playing five-card draw. It’s been years since we’ve done this.

You know, in some ways this coronavirus quarantine thing isn’t all bad. Yes, I know the newscasters are constantly reminding us to stay inside our living rooms, and to keep our televisions cranked up loud so we don’t miss urgent commercials about reverse mortgage offers. But I need a break from TV.

I’m sort of getting into the spirit of this quarantine. Right now I feel the same as I did when I was a kid and school got cancelled. Whenever school closed it was like getting set free from Alcatraz. That’s how today feels.

Anyway, I love playing cards. There was a time in childhood when I

was always coaxing my friends to play Crazy Eights, War, or gin rummy. Sometimes, we would sneak into the Baptist church shed, where no fundamentalist mothers could find us, and we would play poker. We played high-stakes tournaments. The game was Omaha hi-low split-eight or better, no limit. If you can just imagine.

We once played a three-hour game with Brother Gary, the church maintenance man. Brother Gary must have smoked three packs of cigarettes that afternoon. Wherever he is today, Gary still owes my cousin, Ed Lee, roughly $800,000.

As a young man, we used to play cards during lunch breaks on construction jobsites. We would toss dollar bills and quarters onto the lunch table. One day, I lost sixteen bucks and I was sick about it. It’s funny how a man changes with age. If I lost sixteen bucks today, it wouldn’t matter. But back then…

DEAR SEAN:

Do you think we are going to get through this thing? My dad keeps telling me not to worry, but I can’t help it, I’m honestly scared about this coronavirus thing and of what’s happening to everybody. I wish you and I could hang out, ‘cause I bet you could calm me down.

Thanks,
EIGHTEEN-IN-ATLANTA

DEAR EIGHTEEN:

Listen, I’m flattered. But I don’t think I could make you feel calm. Not because I don’t want to, but because if we did hang out, you’d hear me speak out loud and say to yourself, “Hey, wait a minute, this guy’s a hick!” And I would lose all credibility in your eyes.

This is why all your trustworthy TV experts are Harvard graduates, Yale lawyers, or certified nuclear proctologists. They are smart, well-spoken, and they wear enough hair product to deflect small-caliber bullets. But they are never hicks.

Me? I can’t seem to tame my hair. And believe me, my mother has squandered years of her life trying to get it to stay put.

The reason I

tell you this is because if you and I actually met in person, you’d most certainly figure out that I have no idea what I’m talking about. In which case you would start worrying again.

But as it happens, I do know a little about worry. I had a crummy childhood, just like a lot of people. I dealt with stomach ulcers, anxiety, night terrors, and other things that go along with fear.

The fear was because my family went through a lot of trauma surrounding my father’s death. After he died, we all slept in the same bedroom together for a while. That’s how scared we were. Sometimes before turning out the lights, we would use pieces of furniture to barricade the bedroom door because that’s what irrational fear does to people. It makes them a little crazy.

One time when…

MEQUON, Wis.—It’s cold in Wisconsin. Try 29 degrees on for size. This is definitely not the time of year you want to run out of toilet paper because of a coronavirus epidemic.

But I suppose Wisconsin people are used to the cold. I talked to one Wisconsin lady who said, “This is nothing, last year it was so cold that if our thermometer woulda been an inch longer, we woulda froze to death.”

The Mequon Pizza Company is making the weather and the virus pandemic a little more bearable with regular pizza deliveries. Their deep-dish pies are the best in town. Their hand-rolled mozzarella sticks are to die for. And if you order today, your large pizza comes with a free side of Cottonelle 2-ply toilet paper.

That’s right. Toilet paper is on the menu at Mequon Pizza Company. They are delivering rolls of toilet paper all over the area.

An official company spokesperson announced online a few days ago: “Did you run out of toilet paper? If so, the Mequon Pizza Company

has your back! ...We will give you a free roll of Cottonelle 2-ply toilet paper if you need it! Just ask!”

There is a limit to six rolls per customer. One dollar for each additional roll. But the main thing to remember here is: The Mequon Pizza Company has your backside.

I wish they delivered to Florida.

PORTLAND, Ore.—Wanda is reading bedtime stories to her grandchildren via video phone calls. She has been doing this every night.

“You have no idea how alone I feel,” said Wanda. “To be a lonely senior citizen, sometimes going to the grocery store or the post office was the only socialization I got.”

She reads to her grandchildren from the same book each evening. Her grandchildren end every phone call by kissing the camera and saying, “We love you, Grandma.”

“It’s all I have to look forward to right now,” says…

WESTMINSTER, Mass.—These kids have been busy. Madilyn 10, Olivia 9, Cameron 7, Jack 4, are siblings who have been making greeting cards for elderly people in nursing homes that are restricting visitors due to the coronavirus outbreak.

The kids are crafting handwritten letters with lots of artwork and sending them all over Massachusetts.

One of Madilyn’s letters reads: “...To cheer you up I have decided to write this to make you happy. Another thing that could make you happy is reading. I hope this makes your day.”

If that doesn’t melt your heart you’re living in a GE refrigerator.

And these children are just getting started. Their mother says, “As long as we have more paper, we’ll keep doing them.”

ROCK ISLAND, Ill.—Saint Anthony’s Nursing and Rehabilitation Center is asking for kids to send them cute letters, too. They simply don’t see why elderly folks in Massachusetts should get all the dang luck.

Please send your cards to them ℅ Saint Anthony’s, 767 30th Street, Rock Island, IL 61201.

Thank you.

KNOXVILLE, Tenn.— This week, Lydia’s

family has started taking road trips. Not big ones. Little ones. This is how they are dealing with being quarantined.

“I don’t think being inside too long is healthy,” says Lydia. “I don’t want my kids being afraid of the world. Getting outside to look around, seeing stuff, you know, it helps.”

So Lydia and her husband, Rob, have been cramming their kids into the minivan. Rob drives, Lydia sits in the passenger seat, using her phone to look up roadside attractions like parks, historic landmarks, you name it.

“It’s fun,” says Lydia. “We spent four hours in the car yesterday. It was like a vacation, and it didn’t cost a thing. I think my husband really enjoyed it, too.”

Yesterday, Rob took them all southward to Lynchburg, Tennessee. They stopped at a cemetery to visit the gravesite of Jack Daniels, the American whiskey…

FORT MITCHELL, Ky.—The Oriental Wok restaurant is your quintessential family owned Chinese restaurant. They’ve been around for 42 years, and business has been good. But business is about to go down the toilet due to the shutdowns on Monday.

Restaurant after restaurant is closing. One out of every five people in the U.S. have either lost their jobs, or had their hours taken away due to the coronavirus pandemic.

If you’ve ever worked in food service, you know how this closure hurts. A server lives on tips. Five bucks here, eight bucks there. Servers are constantly carrying platters, collecting dirty dishes, forcing smiles, yes-sirring, no-ma’aming, and apologizing because the kitchen made the General Tso’s chicken spicy enough to disable a musk ox.

After a typical shift, many servers go home, balance their checkbooks, and discover they will be eating Kraft Mac and Cheese for the next six months because of mounting bills, and their oldest kid needs dental braces.

Just before the Oriental Wok closed its doors, a few final customers walked in. They were regulars.

They ate, they paid, they left.

There was a note written on their receipt, which read: “Your family has always taken such good care of us through the years, we know it’s going to be a tough few months.”

They left a $1,000 tip.

LAKE WACCAMAW, N.C.—Carly Boyd got engaged last week. She’s a young woman, pretty, a nursing student at Southwestern Community College.

Between classes, Carly apparently does her grandfather’s laundry then drops it off at the Premier Living and Rehab Center where he lives. To call her “dedicated” would be like calling Clifford the Big Red Dog a “Chihuahua.”

When Carly dropped laundry off Monday, a staff person noticed a new ring on her finger. “You’re engaged!” said the staff person.

Sadly, the nursing home is restricting all visitors, so there was no way for Carly to show the ring to her…

CLEAR SPRING, Md.—Tom Grosh was doing his civic duty during the coronavirus outbreak by standing on the side of the highway, offering free toilet paper to motorists.

His wife, his neice, and two teenage friends joined him, holding cardboard signs which read, “FREE T.P.!” Tom himself climbed onto his truck tailgate, waving rolls of 2-ply toilet paper at traffic.

Tom explained, “I was sitting in the office doing some work at the end of the day, God said to me, ‘You gotta help your fellow man.’ I knew exactly where to go to get the toilet paper and went and bought it.”

Tom bought 960 rolls, loaded them into his pickup, and gave them to anyone who had fallen victim to the Great Toilet Paper Shortage. People tried to pay Tom for the paper, but he wouldn’t accept money.

“We’re just trying to be a blessing and make somebody’s life a little better,” said Tom.

I will refrain from making any toilet paper jokes here, even though it would be very easy. Frankly, I’m just

too wiped out.

HARTLEY, Iowa—Friday morning. The last day of school, before the world closed down. Elderly Bonnie Linder was on her porch. Bonnie always stands on her porch in the mornings so she can wave to the schoolbus. This is a highlight of her day.

It was a chilly sunrise. Bonnie heard the diesel engine. She started waving. But the yellow bus surprised her when it hissed to a stop before her house. Every window opened. A million rosy faces popped out and shouted, “HAPPY BIRTHDAY!”

All Bonnie could do was laugh. Emotions will do that to a person.

Happy 93rd birthday, Miss Bonnie.

PORTLAND, Maine—Nathan Nichols told his tenants they could skip paying rent for April. His renters are blue-collar workers, Nathan knows work will be slow in the coming months. So he wanted to help.

Which is sort of miraculous, considering that…