Wednesday, April 15, 2020
No bonus check.
Nobody sick.
The morning crisp, cold, and clear. A smattering of snow. Gone. I just watched three of the most beautiful creatures in my life cavort out back near an old and gnarled apple tree, old and gnarled, yep, but still bearing. I take it as a metaphor.
We've been told this is peak week - the curve will go up/the curve will go down. Remember that remarkably true story of the Japanese soldier who never heard about the surrender and spent the next 40 years in hiding on an island believing the war was still on?...I have these thoughts: Could that be us? We never hear the plague is over, so we never leave our "hideout"? Of course, not, but it's a plot, i.e., the grid gets taken down; communication is impossible; an intrepid community of survivors completely cut off; etc, etc, etc. If you like it, it's yours. I don't need credit A token percentage of the gross will cover my expenses.
What's also come to mind - Edgar Allan Poe's "The Masque of the Red Death." It's more nerve wracking now than ever. We can party all we want and kid ourselves along. Go ahead. Do it. Enjoy. And keep me in the loop.
A reporter came to visit W.C.Fields on his deathbed. "How are ya, W.C.", the reporter asked. "Lookin' for a loophole," he answered.
Good to laugh. Very good to laugh.
When Bob Hope's children asked him where he wanted to be buried, he said, "Surprise me."
It doesn't lurk. It meanders. It's all around like bird netting. Who was it tried to hide from God and couldn't? For me, on my better days, the fact that this thing could take me out tomorrow acts as a propellant. A correction of direction. A reminder. A chance to get maybe one thing right. It demands focus, and focus is knowing what you don't have to do.
I don't have to answer the phone; I don't have to sign your petition; I don't have to finish a book just because I started it. I don't have to open the door if you're out there with a pamphlet; I don't have to open the door period. I don't have to go to another super bowl party; I don't have to go to another bris; I don't need to smile or go to meetings, but, if I do go to a meeting, I can get up and leave whenever I feel like it. Gregory Corso, a Beat poet and lover of Alan Ginsburg, said that, "True power is standing on the street corner waiting for nobody."
And your point is?
Focus.
L'Chaim!
Bedtime
Nobody's sick.
Thursday
April 16, 2020
I really don't have anything more to say. Hang in. Wash hands. Clean fingers crossed.
Friday
April 17, 2020
Rural communities are not safe.
90 confirmed in Greene County
Saturday
April 18, 2020
96 confirmed in Greene County
Disgusted and frightened by the political situation
It snowed! Give us a break, will ya?
Taking the baby back to Kingston shortly.
Nobody's sick.
That's it.
Sunday, April 26, 2020
Wednesday, April 22, 2020
Plague Redux 1 - Peak Week - April 13, 2020
Monday, April 13, 2020
Week underway. Nasty outside.
Plague all over the news, but, for us, so far, nothing. This, too, is a strange feeling, to be the hole in the donut. We're surrounded by it, but it's still not here. Fifteen miles away, but not right here. The legendary Chesty Puller, General, United States Marine Corps, one tough son-of-a-bitch, but the commander you'd want in the worst situation imaginable. Chosin Reservoir. South Korea. Brutal winter. When Puller was informed that the Chinese had them surrounded, his response was, "Good. Now, we know where they are." The Marines fought their way out, became legendary themselves - "The Chosin Few." We know the plague is out there. The difference is that we are powerless to repel it.
It's mid day, and nobody's sick.
It's going on bed time, and nobody's sick.
However, it's still nasty outside. A heavy wind pile-drives frechettes of rain up our narrow road. The creek in front of our house churns like a rabid dog. The wind whines like a turbine. King Lear would have raved here. The rain has been relentless. It only just calmed down. It occurs to me that the air has been scrubbed clean. Perhaps the weather is as ferocious as it's been in order to drive out the demons. Could this virus withstand a beating like that? Wouldn't it be driven back? Shredded? I don't believe there is any kind of intelligence familiar to us propelling the course of this thing, and I certainly don't believe in demons, but these days do seem like something evil courses the planet with the sole function of eliminating a substantial portion of the human race. But, I'm gambling that the onslaught of ferocious weather drove the devil in the opposite direction, although it might be wise to savor the words of St. Augustine: "Two thieves on the cross. One was saved. Do not despair. One was damned. Do not presume."
Tuesday Morning, April 14, 2020
Nobody is sick.
No more nasty. Darkness lifted. The sky is back. It's clear and clean, sunny, full of promise. Air as God made it. A little chilly, but no threat apparent. Spotted a nuthatch climbing down the trunk of an elderly maple. Greene County now counts 80 some confirmed cases. That was yesterday. No toll yet for today. Actually, I'm wrong. There is a threat. And it's very apparent. And very ironic. Just back from Kingston, thirty miles away. Asleep upstairs. Nineteen months. My grandson. He's with the mother part of the week, with his father, our son, at our home the rest. We'd happily take him a full seven, but it's court ordained. Kingston is a hot spot. It's impossible to know where he's taken and to whom he's exposed. Could such an adorable creature harbor a deadly pathogen? Would you be charmed by an ugly one? Goo goo. Ga ga. Kiss the belly. Tickle the ear. I'm so cute, and now you've got it.
The most lovable thing on earth. Our very own Trojan horse.
He's just had his bath and is now asleep. For me, there's no more peaceful sight on earth than a sleeping baby. I loved to watch my children sleep. I still love to watch Jamie sleep. Now, I have a new one to watch. But, this child may be lethal. Am I over stating this? Am I? Maybe. But, it's a thought. Suppose this were a plot for a movie? Well, isn't it? A helpless infant is brought to our home from somewhere else, and that somewhere else happens to be a somewhat shabby neighborhood in a somewhat shabby city currently on emergency lock down. This could go south. Should we bar this little thing from our home? Until he's how old? We didn't. We won't. He's finally comfortable enough to know I'm his chair. He doesn't ask. He doesn't thank. He simply climbs into my lap and settles back. I want to assure him that I have his back, that as long as he's got me, he's safe. But, I can't do that. It wouldn't be true. He's not safe, and I can't help him. It's not just because of my age, but because, in this world, what's safe?
Nearly Bed Time
Nobody's sick.
Week underway. Nasty outside.
Plague all over the news, but, for us, so far, nothing. This, too, is a strange feeling, to be the hole in the donut. We're surrounded by it, but it's still not here. Fifteen miles away, but not right here. The legendary Chesty Puller, General, United States Marine Corps, one tough son-of-a-bitch, but the commander you'd want in the worst situation imaginable. Chosin Reservoir. South Korea. Brutal winter. When Puller was informed that the Chinese had them surrounded, his response was, "Good. Now, we know where they are." The Marines fought their way out, became legendary themselves - "The Chosin Few." We know the plague is out there. The difference is that we are powerless to repel it.
It's mid day, and nobody's sick.
It's going on bed time, and nobody's sick.
However, it's still nasty outside. A heavy wind pile-drives frechettes of rain up our narrow road. The creek in front of our house churns like a rabid dog. The wind whines like a turbine. King Lear would have raved here. The rain has been relentless. It only just calmed down. It occurs to me that the air has been scrubbed clean. Perhaps the weather is as ferocious as it's been in order to drive out the demons. Could this virus withstand a beating like that? Wouldn't it be driven back? Shredded? I don't believe there is any kind of intelligence familiar to us propelling the course of this thing, and I certainly don't believe in demons, but these days do seem like something evil courses the planet with the sole function of eliminating a substantial portion of the human race. But, I'm gambling that the onslaught of ferocious weather drove the devil in the opposite direction, although it might be wise to savor the words of St. Augustine: "Two thieves on the cross. One was saved. Do not despair. One was damned. Do not presume."
Tuesday Morning, April 14, 2020
Nobody is sick.
No more nasty. Darkness lifted. The sky is back. It's clear and clean, sunny, full of promise. Air as God made it. A little chilly, but no threat apparent. Spotted a nuthatch climbing down the trunk of an elderly maple. Greene County now counts 80 some confirmed cases. That was yesterday. No toll yet for today. Actually, I'm wrong. There is a threat. And it's very apparent. And very ironic. Just back from Kingston, thirty miles away. Asleep upstairs. Nineteen months. My grandson. He's with the mother part of the week, with his father, our son, at our home the rest. We'd happily take him a full seven, but it's court ordained. Kingston is a hot spot. It's impossible to know where he's taken and to whom he's exposed. Could such an adorable creature harbor a deadly pathogen? Would you be charmed by an ugly one? Goo goo. Ga ga. Kiss the belly. Tickle the ear. I'm so cute, and now you've got it.
The most lovable thing on earth. Our very own Trojan horse.
He's just had his bath and is now asleep. For me, there's no more peaceful sight on earth than a sleeping baby. I loved to watch my children sleep. I still love to watch Jamie sleep. Now, I have a new one to watch. But, this child may be lethal. Am I over stating this? Am I? Maybe. But, it's a thought. Suppose this were a plot for a movie? Well, isn't it? A helpless infant is brought to our home from somewhere else, and that somewhere else happens to be a somewhat shabby neighborhood in a somewhat shabby city currently on emergency lock down. This could go south. Should we bar this little thing from our home? Until he's how old? We didn't. We won't. He's finally comfortable enough to know I'm his chair. He doesn't ask. He doesn't thank. He simply climbs into my lap and settles back. I want to assure him that I have his back, that as long as he's got me, he's safe. But, I can't do that. It wouldn't be true. He's not safe, and I can't help him. It's not just because of my age, but because, in this world, what's safe?
Nearly Bed Time
Nobody's sick.
Sunday, April 19, 2020
Ooooppps!!!
Sorry, folks, don't know what I did, but the only blogs intended for today are Plague Redux 1 & 2.
I hope this isn't confusing. It is to me.
Stephen
I hope this isn't confusing. It is to me.
Stephen
Monday, April 13, 2020
Plague
PLAGUE
April 11, 2020
Strange times trying to comprehend that next week I could be dead. Of course, that’s always the case, but this feels so much more immediate. Definitive. This virus has its path, and I can only hope we’re out of its way. I’m feeling healthy, a little achy, but healthy. However, if the damn thing is biding its time in my system, the following sequence is operative: Diagnosis. Recuperation. Relapse. Death. I present. We call the ambulance. That’s the last time Jamie sees me alive.
For me, isolation is not the problem. It’s a writer’s MO. I’ve had many fine years of external stimulation, Do I need more? Well, sure, I could awaysl use a little more, but, really, I’m good. We’re fortunate to live in our remote mountain valley, but we’re certainly not cavalier about this thing. It’s in the air and might well connect with a flight pattern that brings it here. Currently, our largely rural county has a total of 43 confirmed cases. Not too many, but with a good, strong wind, hey, it could be here by morning. So, right now the news tells me that all the ventilators in New York state will soon be utilized. No more. Too bad.
How old are you? Uh, huh. You’re gonna die.
That’s not comforting, so, what this tells me is that I’d best get busy. Is an assessment in order? One week left, hmm...How do I want to spend it? How do you assess a lifetime in a week? What changes would I make? How many changes can you pull off in seven days, anyway? And, besides, they wouldn’t be so different from those I’ve been trying to install since way back, since all the way back.Tell the truth, other than intermittent bouts of grumpiness, life is good. The people I love love me back. My weight is where I want it. White hair, but lots of it. My own teeth. I’ll just go on doing what I was gonna do, anyway: spend the first part of my day making stuff up, then go outside, hopefully, with a grandson traipsing along.
However, deep in the pit of my stomach, I am uneasy, the way animals are said to feel prior to an earthquake. I’m not sure what’s afoot, but my radar tells me tumult. Trust in what? Believe what? Truth destroyed in a matter of months. Fine people on both sides? Sheee-It! My world will change with everyone else’s. It already has. I’m sorry to report I don’t see a whole lot of plus. My grandchildren may see it differently, but they will never know the world I did, cannot ever know that world. My world had hope in it. I don’t know that theirs will. But, my world: the time is coming when I may not know it anymore. What then?
Way before it became a national monument with its rules and regulations, I once roamed around the Superstition Wilderness in Arizona with an elderly prospector who spent his entire life hunting the Lost Dutchman, a legendary gold mine. When I met him he was in his seventies and saw no need to stop. The Superstition Wilderness is a baffling desert of crags, canyons, sand, volcanic boulders, cacti, mesas, mountains, blistering sun, and nasty creatures. A limited palette: grays, browns, faded green, old bone. You go in there, it’ll either sting ya, stick ya, or bite ya. Challenging. Beautiful in its own austere way. He’d take a pack horse with him and stay out as long as supplies allowed. One trip he asked would I like to come along? Said he had a good horse with my name on it. I’m supposed to say no to something like that?
Prospecting’s hard work. You’re pushing a lot of rock around under a tough sun. My friend was convinced that every shovelful meant he’s one shovel closer to paydirt. One night. Tired as hell. Fire down to embers.The stars seemed far away.
“You ever get lost”, I asked.
“Not lately.”
“I don’t mean lately.”
“In the beginning.”
“What happened?”
“I’m still here.”
“Yeah, but how come?”
“Thinkin’ too much. I was young. I might have been in love. Lost track. I didn’t know where in hell I was. Cold fear took root. Let that feeling’ get the better of you, you’re inviting yourself to your own funeral. I sat right down and stared at the ground a long time, a very long time. Stared at it ‘til there wasn’t no time. Then I looked up, stood up, closed my eyes. When I opened them again the rocks looked different, but I knew them, anyway, and the way was clear. I knew what to do. There was a kinda calm to it. I miss it, that calm. Here’s what you gotta know: just because you lose the trail don’t mean it’s the end of the trail. Smoke that one, son. It’s a talent. He didn’t actually say, “Smoke that one, son”, but he did say everything else.
What happens this week if the virus continues to pass us by? Who’s to know unless it doesn’t? No matter. My week this week will be the same as last and next. Make stuff up. Go outside.
As the immortal Casey Stengel once said, “It ain’t over ‘til it’s over.”
************
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