Whooping and Clapping

It’s 7:59 pm. I’m standing alone on my balcony, in the cool breeze, watching the last moments of sun light the clouds between the palm trees in purples and pinks before it sinks off into the west, when it begins…

First one person yells, then another. Some clapping starts, and a few whistles. Here we all are, on cue, taking a brief moment from our separateness, to come “together” to cheer all the workers putting their lives and health on the line for the rest of us.

And I’m shouting my “woo-woo’s” and smiling, and clapping, alone, on this little balcony, in the middle of Los Angeles. Being reminded, by all the sudden noise, that I am not alone. That all of us, all these crazy, yelling, cooped-up, whooping, clapping, whistling people within earshot, that we are all in this together. That we are ALL in this together.

My neighbors and I, we don’t know each other. We’ve never met, or likely even seen each other, beyond our dim balcony-light silhouettes. But someone starts ringing a cowbell, and in another building, someone gives a loud “moo”. From across the street a stranger shouts, “Needs more cowbell!”, and I am clapping, and laughing, and somehow suddenly crying. I am crying? And it comes as a surprise to me, as I am not a crier. But here I am, standing and clapping and crying, and simultaneously yelling at myself for crying, because my job is to “woo” and one cannot effectively “woo” while crying over cowbells, or the need for more of them.

And while this is all so moving for those of us within whistling range, it occurs to me that the ones in the hospitals and the grocery stores and delivery trucks, do not hear us. Do not know. So, to all of you on the front lines, all of you working so hard in so many ways, on behalf of my little block of rambunctious families, crazy couples and sentimental singles, I would just like to say, that wherever you are, and whatever time it is there, if you are tired, and still have many hours to go, just know, there’s a whole lot of us thankful Los Angelenos, stuck here inside, that come outside, every night, at 8pm, to celebrate you.

And we even have a cowbell.

Photo by Roberto Nickson