Move over, Fred Rogers.  There’s a new kid on the block. (Okay, well not exactly new.)

Since most of us have been driven inside our homes for safety’s sake (not wishing to inadvertently add to pandemic statistics), we’ve been left to grapple with the challenge of maintaining our sanity, our sense of belonging, and our love for life.

We need to feel like ourselves. Whole. Human. Even in isolation, we need to feel connected.

I consider myself lucky that even while living alone, I have never felt alone. I used Zoom last week for my monthly book group meeting. I have also been able to enjoy informal house concerts given twice a week by a favorite Chicago musician, Corky Siegel. Along with most people who’ve ever met him and wife, Holly, I call him FRIEND.

A composer and seasoned piano and harmonica performer, he has had many musical lives and has grown quite an international following.

When his busy tour schedule got put on hold due to the pandemic, he decided to do his part to keep the music flowing. Corky called his first home concert, “Six Feet of Separation.”

In the following weeks, the format evolved, and, understanding people’s craving for something to look forward to, he is now advertising livestreams via his facebook page every Tuesday and Friday at 11:20 AM CT.

More than just a welcome break of music to ratchet down our collective anxiety, the twice a week midday streams feel like a visit to an oasis of warmth; time spent in a place of happy memories, a celebration of creativity and compassion. And hope.

Like watching Fred Rogers begin his shows by walking into his TV home’s interior, singing a song and hanging up his cardigan, Corky greets his fans at his door and walks with them to the heart of his home.

Typically, his wife, Holly, is given a shout-out for being behind the camera and for checking on Facebook comments as they come in. (She’s gotten pretty good at her camera work, too.).

They might share a personal story or theme for the visit before Corky rips into a musical number, starting out on an electronic keyboard in their living room and moving on to the harmonica which he’ll cradle in his fist as he eventually collapses on their kitchen floor; in happy exhaustion.

Their streams include music biz stories and recollections of serendipitous moments. Their joy and authenticity, as much as Corky’s tunes, spark smiles and laughter. Fans — friends want ALL of it.

Last Tuesday, like participating in a first grader’s show ’n tell, they displayed a few Winnie the Pooh books, which were Corky’s during childhood and returned by a family friend recently. At the end of the stream, Holly held the camera on a closing page from the book.

“Goodbye…? Oh no. Please, can’t we go back to page one and do it all over again.”

That’s the sentiment of well over 100 friends connected live via his Facebook page.

On Friday’s stream, Corky explained, to his best understanding, why he became fascinated with sound at an early age and chose a path in music.

He got down on the floor, as any child might, and directed everyone, through the camera’s lens, to focus on the coiled stem of a door stop. He pulled it until it snapped back into place, amused at the sound it made.  Boing…Boing… The rest, as they say, is history.

While going on to demonstrate some of the basics of playing blues piano, it was clear that, for him, the emphasis was not on key or rhythm. It was and will always be on PLAYING.

When Corky and Holly bring their music and stories into our homes via Facebook, they’ll mention a sampling of people sending greetings, comments, or “likes” as they come in from all over the world.

Words of thanks might come in from Norm or Larry or Beth. Other musicians will vow intentions to get together to jam when this (isolation) is over.

Fans for decades (now in their seventies, still living in the sixties), cousins living overseas, and people they’ve met during a lifetime of travels, will share personal reminiscences as if they are just as indelibly stored in Holly and Corky’s brain folds as they are in theirs. Perhaps they are.

The way I figure it, Fred Rogers reminded everyone, mostly children, that they were special. Even though all of us want to be loved, we all have special qualities and talents, and we should be proud of them. Each person is responsible to do his or her best and share their best.

Corky and Holly add something to this in these home concerts. By embodying such joy in making music, we are given permission to nurture the child inside each of us. By calling out people by name, it’s like telling us that if we stopped showing up in his life, we would be missed.

Especially now, most of us long for this. We want to know that we’re important to each other.

Knowing that as my physical world is shrinking my neighborhood is actually getting bigger is no small thing.