Stoop Sessions In The COVID Age
By: Thomas Cluderay
In his book East of Eden, John Steinbeck writes that “a great and lasting story is about everyone or it will not last”; that “the strange and foreign is not interesting — only the deeply personal and familiar."
The age of COVID-19 has been strange indeed, with the pandemic relegating our regular lives of crisscrossing pick-up sticks to cordoned-off checker squares, staying physically distant, at least six feet apart. Foreign too are the headlines, public health orders, and growing toll — foreign to what was before, only weeks ago. But there’s dimension and depth to be captured in this story, beyond the statistics, in this gnawing collective experience.
That’s why I began taking friends’ portraits this spring on their front steps in and around Washington, D.C., while everyone is staying close to home. Short visits, outside. But still, an opportunity to stay connected and hear how friends are getting by in the face of uncertainty, fear, and anxiety.
These so-called “Stoop Sessions” are just one thread in a shared story of resilience. But it’s a personal and familiar thread that I hope weaves together a memory of what this time was like, intact long after we resume.
During each portrait session’s conversation, I listen to ways friends are inventing everyday rituals to bend and shape days that otherwise blur without the forge of commutes and steady social commitments.
Some friends have turned to music-making:
Classical: “You’ve seen my posts. I’m trying to learn and record all of Bach’s sonatas; some are quite hard!” Holding up a violin, “It’s raining, so I’ll just stand here in the doorway while you get your shot. Can’t risk getting my instrument wet.”
Americana: “‘Just like children sleeping / We could dream this [pandemic] away…’ Have you ever seen that documentary about how Neil Young and Graham Nash were playing Harvest at Young’s ranch? All you need is ‘more barn’!” Guitar strumming resumes, a bit of harmonica, too.
Others are listening intently:
“I'm playing all the top-100 pop songs on the charts during my birth year, 1973. If you gloss over the ‘Monster Mash’ reissue, 1973 wasn’t too bad. I mean there’s Carly’s ‘You're So Vain’...”
“Podcasts all the time. Have you checked out Song Exploder? Basically musicians break down their songs’ inspiration and how they were recorded. Just caught the one with Nathaniel Rateliff discussing ‘And It’s Still Alright.’”
Then there are the culinary pursuits:
“My sourdough starter is named ‘Brady.’ Check out this bread I baked…”
“Even if we aren’t in the pews for Easter, I’m still wearing my bowtie and seersucker, and see, I’ve made ham biscuits and deviled eggs.”
“I’m Italian, so whatever I make there are going to be leftovers and I better like what I’ve made since I’m going to be eating it for the next four days.”
Revamped workouts and bootcamps:
“I shouldn’t say this, but our gym let us borrow all of this equipment which we’ve made into our exercise space in the alley.”
“I’m running 30-40 miles a week. It’s become an obsession. Still figuring out how runners manage face masks like that. I don’t know, but they now think there’s lower risk when exercising outside. We're learning more every day.”
Some other odds and ends:
“No better time than now to take up needlepoint. It’s very calming. See, I’m working on this Tom of Finland pattern for a throw pillow.”
“I used to play the card game Whist with my grandmother growing up. Three days a week at the height of it. Think Spades or Hearts. Playing a lot of that now, and the wine is good, too.”
“For my big birthday, I’m trying to keep up with fashion for the times. I’m calling this ‘Apocalypse Chic.’”
Invariably, we discuss ways we've been trying to preserve our mental health and social interactions, especially in the face of increasing video chat exhaustion.
“I read this interview with a Northeastern professor. All about this thing called ‘Zoom fatigue,’ and how video doesn’t hold a candle to in-person interactions. We can’t read each other’s non-verbal cues on screen,” a friend shares with me while I’m setting up for a photograph. “I’ve got a 2D hangover and I’m over it,” he adds.
But most everyone acknowledges wanting to connect more with others as a lifeline, finding a way to tie up loneliness in the vacuum of a society on pause:
Pandemic Sociology 101: “We’ve formed our social pod, a small group that gets together for dinners, porch drinks, things like that. But we have strict rules. No one is supposed to open up beyond the pod, not outside of social distancing guidelines. Yeah, it requires a level of trust, but it’s better than being walled off,” one friend explains to me. I nod, take a couple more photographs, and press a little bit on that construct. “How can you be so sure?” I’m delicate, maybe my skepticism shows, but it’s not with judgment. “It’s a risk, sure. But, so far so good,” my friend says.
And Pavlov’s Dog: “I feel like a dog,” another friend says. “Huh?” I lower my camera and stare blankly. “Yeah, I now get excited when it’s time for my daily walk. Mostly heading out to Rock Creek Park now that they’ve blocked off cars on Beach Drive.”
Fortunately, we’re tenacious and life still finds a way... One couple I know had a new baby just days before D.C. issued its stay-home order. Upshot for them, plenty of time to adjust to parenthood. Our photo shoot is their first real capture of the new family.
Another couple went ahead and married in May, reconfiguring pomp (face masks to match wedding suits) and circumstance (“for a couple of hundred dollars, a team is able to manage your whole celebration by Zoom”).
My own grandmother turned 90 with my family assembling from three time zones to sing “Happy Birthday” online, which I joined between work calls. All the world is “connected,” just one meeting ID and password away.
Of course, we do plenty of predicting during these “Stoop Sessions.” A lot of “new” qualifiers before “normal” when envisioning daily life resuming.
“I think I’ll permanently pivot to working remotely, even when people can go back to their offices,” one friend speculates. “In fact, we may even give up our office space when the lease is up.”
Another friend, another view: “It takes a certain level of privilege to think we can all just work from home, forever. It ignores workers on the front lines, who can deliver that printer ink on call, or Thai carryout. Someone’s always going to pay. There’s always a cost, a trade off, no matter what happens.”
Naturally, in D.C., plenty of concerns about the coming fall: “Whatever the cost, we need to protect the right to vote in November. Bubble wrap for three people in particular, Joe Biden, RBG — and Betty White.”
Much will be revealed in time, over the coming weeks and months. But forecasts aside, in the moment, I recall again East Of Eden. In it, Steinbeck also writes we're all “going to pass something down no matter what”; even if we choose to let ourselves “go fallow, the weeds will grow and the brambles. Something will grow.”
I’ve been thinking a lot about what we will pass down from this moment. How we will continue to cope. What we will learn from. What we will carry on.
For me, it’ll be this book of friends’ portraits during the COVID age. Individually, these “Stoop Sessions” have given me a chance to stay connected with people I care about; and to share photographs with them, which I hope offer some joy under the arc of an epidemiological curve and the continued need to fight for social justice.
Collectively, I hope these images also tell part of our shared story, along with pandemic-themed haikus friends submitted for their captions. That it isn’t finger-pointing, stock market rallies, or conspiracy-rich origin stories that’ll deliver us to the other side. Rather, it’ll depend on us choosing to recognize and appreciate the strength of human connection, empathy, and community. May that be so.
