Week 6.

The other day someone announced it was okay to go outside and take a walk, or even to walk the dog. I felt a stir in my heart. Going out for a walk has not been my thing since I lived in Hawaii, but I was thrilled. Was it true? It also warned us to still maintain social distancing and not to go too far afield. That’s okay!

Then, as an afterthought, it added, “Seniors are still on strict lockdown.” Sigh!

In the evening, the “permission to walk” was canceled. Another positive case had been reported in our area. And we’re back to square one.

I don’t know what the news is telling us about the curve. But I’m afraid we won’t feel safe long after April 30. Will the paranoia ever end? Are my days of “just get up and go” really over?

‘The Chosen’

With this prolonged downtime on our hands, what can we do to keep our sanity? Some are bingeing on Netflix. I haven’t done that yet. Others are cleaning and decluttering. I have a friend who is trying to make her own antivirus concoction with natural ingredients. Last I heard they had run out of Datu Puti in her house.

My binge was during Holy Week, when I watched all eight episodes of “The Chosen,” stories about Jesus Christ in the last years of His life on earth. It is brilliantly done. I loved every single show and can’t wait for the next season.

When I was a child I liked to make believe that I was one of the characters in my storybooks. Not the central figure. In the movies my role would be that of a walk-on with no speaking parts. I would just be there, an eyewitness, part of the story.

Stories from the Bible fascinate me. I have visualized vivid pictures of the events and seen myself in them. Maybe I was one of the shepherds on that holy night in Bethlehem. Did I kneel at the door of the stable? Was I in the crowd shouting “Hosanna,” or maybe at the Crucifixion, when the world went dark?

This series makes you feel like you are right there, living in real time when it all happened.

Do yourselves a favor. Look for “The Chosen” on YouTube or Google. You will thank me for it.

Sad news

Leila Benitez passed away last week in Manhattan from complications of the new coronavirus disease. No, she isn’t just another statistic in this nightmarish season that has befallen the world. It was top of the news here, where Leila’s public persona was legend. Every Filipino knew and loved the “lady dean of ‘Student Canteen.’” She was a star.

Leila was my friend. She was also my comadre, the ninang of my twin daughter.

I don’t remember exactly when we first met. I recall seeing her at Holy Ghost College after the war. When did we become close? I am not sure. It feels like we were friends forever, never mind the time or the distance.

Leila was always there for me, ready to lend a hand or offer a shoulder to cry on. We had many of those weepy sessions, by the way. I mattered to her like she did to me.

She was genuine, never trying to be someone she was not. There was nothing phony about her. What you saw was the real deal. You knew where you stood with her.

No pretense.

She loved fiercely. She was warm and tender, but feisty. She could get emotional. Intense.

Leila loved what she did but couldn’t keep still. She was a trailblazer. Remember Leila’s, at the lobby of Rizal Theater? That was her baby. It became the go-to place of that era.

In the early ’90s, when I lived in Manhattan, Leila and I spent much time together. We went to the theater, played cards in her kitchen or just sat by the fire until the wee hours.

There was something special about being in Leila’s home, from her cottage on Consuelo Street when we were both young moms, and later in her posh apartment overlooking Central Park. You always got that famous Leila welcome and it made you feel at home, like you could just kick off your shoes and stay.

In recent years, my trips to New York were few and far between. We kept in touch. It was no longer the same but the love remained.

The last time I saw Leila we had dinner in a Chinese restaurant in the Upper East Side. Her husband, Don McCollum, was with us. We had the usual nightcap in their apartment. After Don went to bed, Leila and I talked about old times. Life was good. And we toasted to our friendship. Her martinis were world-class.

How I wish we had one more evening—just one for the road.

Ciao, Leila.

Normal?

As we start another week in enhanced quarantine, I watch the news and see the top honchos, leaders of the land, still looking for someone to blame for this pandemic. Pathetic! Just deal with it! Please!

Someone writes online:

“They say that masks are here to stay, and that social distancing will be the standard protocol of the future.

“We can’t wait for this darkness to be over. But exactly what do we want to see when the lights come back on? Everyone wants to know how soon we can get back to normal.

“But what part of ‘normal’ do you think is worth getting back to?”

Think about it.