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(I saw the play twice, once on Broadway and once here later at the ÃÛèÖÖ±²¥ Theatre Company. If memory serves, I wrote a note to ATC that the ÃÛèÖÖ±²¥ performance was as good as the one in New York, if not better.)

I have not left my house since Friday, March 13. Superstitious people have considered this a day of bad luck for eons to remind us of the Last Supper when 13 were at the table. And March 15, 2020, will likely be known as the world’s worst Ides of March because just about our entire planet is or will be in coronavirus shutdown.

Like the rest of us, I seek ways to make this shutdown endurable. I am grateful my partner and I are together, have enough food and medication and are not sick. (Because of our ages one of my worries is that one of us will need medical care or hospitalization at this scary point in time.)

But as I keep my social distance, I long for social closeness. The only people I have seen — at a safe distance — are the morning walkers, the saintly deliverers of food, and Mr. Amazon.

Our calendar was wiped clean except for one doctor’s appointment that has been postponed. It is hard to remember what day it is … they all seem the same.

What has saved me from coronavirus depression is connections. Which brings me to many degrees of connection.

I have started, and am resolved to continue, calling or emailing, not only my family and close buddies, but those from my past. I am reaching out to friends from high school and college, colleagues from work, relatives of lost friends, those I have shared a wonderful trip with or event together.

My contacts list was set up to save me time. Now I use it to spend time with those people who mean a lot to me even though I have not connected with them for some time.

An old friend told me about a book she had just written and a copy is en route to me. I learned of recent accomplishments of grandchildren and great-grandchildren. There was laughter when we reminisced about old boyfriends or college capers.

We shared our hopes and fears about the pandemic and our country and urged each other to stay safe and healthy.

A cousin who had emigrated to New Zealand many years ago reached out to tell me about their county’s four-tier lockdown system: “We will remain at this level for at least four weeks. The government is subsidizing lost wages and the banks have declared a mortgage holiday for six months for those who lose their jobs and can’t pay their mortgage repayments. Many businesses will go under and things won’t look the same when we come out the other end … which we will do.�

Remember writing chatty letters in the old days? I wrote or typed several to those that do not use email or cannot hear well over the telephone.

I enlarged the font for one dear person who has visual problems.

I have several close friends who live alone and we have set up a daily check-in by phone or email. It’s fun to talk about what we will do as soon as this pandemic is over.

A pianist friend is challenging herself to learn an especially difficult piece and plans to give us a concert as soon as we can once again safely socialize.

A creative professor friend has invited me and other readers to join a virtual book group. Members send her a paragraph or two about a favorite book. She collates these and emails us. I have already ordered two new books I plan to to read.

As a grandmother I don’t know how I could survive without frequent FaceTime sessions. Also photos and videos of school at home, Joshua exercising with dad, a new puppy and an old dog who is being treated for doggie heart failure but still looks lively, a pizza being eaten by three hungry people.

Make as many connections as you can every day.

Let’s all try to make at least seven connections so we can lord it over the six degrees of separation. Repeat daily until the crisis is over and we can be together once again. We are a social, not a solitary, mammal.

I was not sure how to end this column so I took a break and finished reading today’s New York Times. A full page was devoted to a new genre of what I call “Coronavirus Poetry.� Dr. Elizabeth Mitchell, an emergency physician, said “This feels for the very first time there is actually a threat to me as a physician … the nurses feel the same way.�

She wrote a beautiful poem titled, “The Apocalypse� that ends: “My mouth and nose and eyes are/still and calm inside their waiting shields./This is the apocalypse.�

Her poem inspired Times readers to write their own. One by Joyce Bartlett especially touched my heart: “A Blessing for Staying Inside.�

One verse spoke clearly to me: “May you find peace in your own kitchen./May your four walls feel like a/sanctuary. A haven from a noisy world.�

Though I am not a poet, I love poetry and write poems on occasion. My mother saved my first attempt: “Waves and waves of flame/filling the air with light/’tis sunset, ‘tis sunset/ and soon it ‘twill be night.� I learned punctuation later.

Poetry takes time and concentration to both read and write. I may try to write my own coronavirus poem and welcome yours!