My Pajamas

It’s 4:27 a.m. on a Saturday morning. If you follow these early morning purges at all lately, a quirky – but socially acceptable – pattern of non-sleeping is evident. Tolerated these days due to our governmental, virus-laden, punch-in-the-face complete stop of productivity and industry. I’m caught in it, as all of us are, and my self-employment mind cannot shut off as easily as the illustrious Governor of our Commonwealth thinks it can. “Put up with” because most of the obedient mask-covered constituents of our keystone state are trying our ever-loving best to push through a very difficult time. Agreed to since there seems to be no other choice; Have to, as I so patiently wait for four, yes FOUR, incomplete boxes in my financial life to be checked that should be checked by now.

You want to know my position right now? I’m pissed. Never mind who dropped the challenge in my lap, or under what circumstance it was placed. I’m not happy. The dishes were done by hand 45 minutes ago … that didn’t calm my nerves, so here I am. This, my friends, IS a socially acceptable position to take. And here’s why:

I don’t know who to believe anymore. It’s really that simple.

This shouldn’t surprise even the most astute among us, right? Politicians have been lying since the first T-Rex gnoshed on his first DoDo bird and the media flies around as if it has the virgin wings of Ouranos. Drop in a healthy, pardon me, unhealthy international dose of covid-19 in the middle of a dead bat-infested meat market in China and we have the beginnings of an “UN-believable” pandemic.

It’s to the point in my, now, sheltered life that if I not-so gracefully slide my left leg into the left pant of my pajamas … I’m not trusting it will reappear out the bottom. Yes, it’s that bad right now. My pajamas could be in a conspiratorial mode against me – plotting its next move should I decide to mistakenly forget to wash them, again, this week. #IsolationIssues. Assuming left is successful, right must then attempt insertion and then both must work together in order for me to have some kind of productive day. In my day pajamas. Doing basically nothing. Since none of my four boxes are checked.

This is a simple, but oh, so accurate analogy, of why I can’t sleep .. or believe anything anymore. Should I say, “anything”? Nah, that’s not fair to me. Let’s replace it with the phrase, “All the Windbag Words that Waste my time”, for the sake of this diary entry today. Yes. That’s perfect.

“I can’t believe all the windbag words that waste my time.”

This is phrased carefully, and purposefully. I did not say everything I hear is useless. The gift of discernment has to exercised, and it’s exhausting to say the least. Filtering out the bad information from the good is truly difficult. Just isn’t the same as pulling a pair of fresh, warm pajamas out of the dryer, holding them up close, and sucking in the sweet heavenly air through a cold nose.

Good Covid numbers vs bad.

Are the hospitals really full, or are we being dupped?
Are people actually dying from the virus as the primary cause, or are there serious underlying issues, but C-19 listed on the death certificate?
Is there a ventilator shortage, or not?
Why do the models keep changing so drastically and the experts get to skate when they, themselves, are the experts upon whom we rely?
Is the President really in charge, or not?
If this is such a pandemic, why are the seasonal flu yearly mortality numbers so much larger in year’s past?
Why do the numbers surrounding the success of Hydroxychloroquine stay basically hidden from coverage?
We have a really low number of cases in our county with, thankfully, no deaths. Why are our numbers so low?
Why no actual cases in North Korea or Yemen, as of April 7th? (ok, so this one, although true, is for some levity)

Facebook isn’t a good filter. I say that because it is from where the original proposition came. With over 1,500 friends, a survey would split them 30% reasonable all-in conservative, probably 40%-ish moderate, and the rest reasonable liberal to the edge… should a survey be done. I’ll never so it, obviously. Don’t want to. Love them all and really don’t care to know their political positions as I would hope mine isn’t of much importance to them, save one, the “proposer” . A few I’ve shared via private messenger or in a string of comments below a post. For the most part, however, kinda silent on the matter.

My theory about what the media and politicians say to us is pretty simple. They hear the same words coming out of their mouths time after time, so they believe what they hear … and expect us to as well. We have to discern and filter out the good from the bad, anymore. “Repeat a lie often enough and it becomes the truth”, is a law of propaganda often attributed to the Nazi Joseph Goebbels. Among psychologists something like this known as the “illusion of truth” effect is so important to remember. I don’t know what the truth is about Covid-19. Hell, I can’t even decide what kind of mask to wear.

So, here’s what I want. First, I’m still pissed. Let’s not lose sight of that fact. When I click “Publish”, the couch awaits my tired soul for some hopeful rest.

Second, and more important, the media and politicians need to start putting their informational pajamas on together. First right, then left. Both sides need to work together – getting their stories straight. I kinda wish they’d quit trying to play the gotch-a game with us, stand up like real Americans, pull up their big-boy superhero pajamas and start walking forward for the benefit of all of us … not them.

My position will remain unchanged until they change, but my position in this chair must change because I’m weary from a lack of quality sleep. I have personal boxes to check with no hope of doing so this weekend. Oh, my pajamas are really comfortable and I probably won’t be taking them off at all today. Yeah, coronavirus! The whole thing right now is really unbelievable in so many ways. That you can take to the bank…

…Hey, when you’re there, could you ask about the status of my paperwork? That’s one of my unchecked boxes and I’m pretty sure they don’t want me to call again.

Thanks.

The Hearts of Friends

The title above has been used before, I’m sure of it. Can’t say where or when. Not laying claim on originality because in the history of words, those four – in that specific order – must have been printed on the cover of a book, in a movie script, or tearfully penned in the diary of a princess. With this legal disclaimer out of the way, I can proceed with my 1:43 a.m. thoughts on the subject.

I’m up. Again. Having finished off another bowl of chicken tetrazzini and nursing a can of plain seltzer as I write, the time slowly pushes forward into deep night … and I’m awake. Nothing new, since this isolation, stay-at-home mandate, time warp continuum is sucking the daylight out of my life. The sleep/wake cycle I used to ride is tire-lessly lumping along a pedestrian free street to nowhere these days. I see no one as I push my bike up emotional hills day after day.

All of us are adjusting right now, though … Please remind me our collective Tour De’Humane Race is happening and I just can’t see it. The race toward normalcy and community-immunity, right? Heading toward a shared finish line where there is a ribbon of vaccines, reopened businesses, and significantly less political rift.

Well, for now anyway, we’re not there. We’re on our late night / early morning couches bitching about not sleeping enough. I am, for sure. Seems the only cure is to remind myself I have the most awesome friends in the world … and I miss seeing them.

To list all of them wouldn’t be fair to those I’d most assuredly forget to mention. Not bragging here, but I have a lot. They wouldn’t agree on the number, however, because … as I say so often … they are stupid and ugly 🤣. In their minds, I am overbearing, pretentious, full of stupid humor, sarcastic, well-intentioned but ill-informed, stylish with no sense of fashion, and best understood when quiet … Oh, and these are my traits as described by my bestest of friends – the loyal four: Mike, Joel, Jim, and possibly another Jim.

I have so many friends in my inner circle other than the four goofballs mentioned. Friends I can text anytime during the day or night who would show up right now with a warm cup of hot chocolate and listen to my story. Nice, cool, reachable friends who are less stupid and ugly. No offense to my loyal four, btw … wink wink.

Extending outward, the descriptors are less unkind – thankfully. We know, don’t we, that friendships change in quality as distances and times change. They are folks – occasionals – who are so gracefully in and out of our lives when we need them to be. The glances up from avacado strawberry salads … and there they are with a smile and a kind hello. Our days filled with such niceness because they close our circles. They fill our empty hearts with good things when we need it.

Mary is such a friend. She has a wonderful heart. Yes, being up in the middle of the night is not good and I’m not pleased about the habitual sock shuffling foot fetish I’ve developed. The path from this couch to the kitchen is worn enough with sock lint. Tonight, however, the trip was well worth the effort.

Mary dropped off a large pan of chicken tetrazzini the other day and tonight I just about finished off the last of it. It is so freakin’ delicious. Late, late night snack o’extra-ordinaire if I must say so. Better still is her genuine care and love to bake a casserole, drop it off, and do it without expecting anything in return.

We are co-workers at a local private school and great friends. Outside of school, though, we don’t see each other much save the occasional staff party or run-in at the local convenience store. Especially now, since the COVID-19 “yeah” stuff goings-on, there’s no opportunity to connect. She’s busy with two grand-young-n’s at home and trying to prepare on-line video lessons for school. In the midst of all this, I get a fantastic chicken tetrazzini casserole delivered. Did I say it’s freakin’ delicious!! Because if I didn’t …

The hearts of friends beat wonderful pulse-nalities. I love them all. Whether they want me to stop telling stories that are, in my mind anyway, folded into magical mysteries, or they drop off yummy goodnesses, ….. I Iove them all.

Too many to mention. Even more memories and joys from them to say or write about so I’ll close with the same four unoriginal words: The Hearts Of Friends.

Know yours. Remember them at 1:43 in the morning when you need to be reminded that your finish line may seem far away and your bike burdensome; However, lonely is never far away when friends are helping you push.

Be rest the best way you can.

DOUG

Why All The Plastic Bags?

I ask because it is obvious. On the wall of our kitchen hangs an unused cell phone. From the base of that very phone extends a rubber antenna – approximately 6″ in length – holding, by my guess, 1,455 plastic bags. Tan ones, white & gray ones, foreign & domestic, alien, …shall I go on, or is my sarcasm obvious? These very flexible pains in my a** multiply at a rate faster than bunnies on steroids. And, for clarity, I am responsible. Three more were added today to this ever increasing, bulging clump of pliable sacks.

At some unfortunate point in the future, there will be no more. Oh, just no more room on the the antenna, not plastic bags (they’ll keep coming). I figure there is about one-half inch left – at best – at the top before an end will be reached. Then what? Find another out-of-date phone to hang on the wall and start a sequel? Try, maybe “try”, to smoosh down the already tired bags to make room at the top. Me don’t think so, because I’ve finger-trash compacted the bags so much they’ve begged for pardons numerous times already. The antenna inmates have suffered enough.

My only solution is a bigger plastic bag. A step-up. A dorm room to an efficiency, as it were. Better yet, an individual cell to a common area, since I’m on that string of thought. The better move here is letting all these bags off the hook by dumping them, gently, into another, … err, larger plastic bag. Jeez. Where does it end? I then have a 5-gallon capacity plastic trash bag partially full with 1,455 smaller plastic bags … Good news, I guess for the 2,344 MORE bags I undoubtedly will be toting through the front door in weeks to come. At least the unused phone on the wall can take a breather …

Why all the plastic bags? Again, I ask because it is obvious. Let’s go back to plastic in general with the help of http://www.tecnofer.biz

The “years of plastic” began officially the 11th March 1954, when Giulio Natta, future Nobel Prize for Chemistry (in 1963), wrote in his diary: «Made the polypropylene». The new product, later called “Moplen”, was used for producing everything: from dishes to car components to bowls and toys.

Now, to our little baggie friends: http://www.allaboutbags.ca

Plastic bags were invented as an alternative to paper grocery bags in the late 1970s to protect trees and prevent clear-cutting of our forests. Plastic bags are a by-product of natural gas extraction and provide an environmental solution to the burn off of this gas during the refining process.

Easy, simple summaries because I’m not currently in a Doctoral research program at Harvard and have a ridiculously fantastic Chicken Tetrazzini dinner to consume before it gets cold. I’ve accumulated (all sarcasm aside) probably 25 bags in a week … low estimate. Fifty since the stay-at-home mandate started two weeks ago. Let’s go with a 25/week average for this household x 50 weeks – with two off for no reason = 1,250 bags / year.

This is one household with minimal needs. For argument’s sake, I’ll up the numbers to better represent what I feel America is doing. I’m going to do this first without googling the actual numbers. After thumb-crunching my way through, I will exit out, go to google, and then re-visit this entry.

So here’s my baseline: Average household consumes 50 plastic bags a week between groceries, household needs, and entertainment. Out of the 325 million people, an average household of 3.5 people means there are roughly 90 million households +/-. 50 bags per week is an annual household usage of 2,500 bags. Again, 2 weeks off for no reason.

90,000,000 Households x 2,500 bags = 225,000,000,000 bags per year. That’s 225 Trillion plastic bags PER YEAR.

Give me a few seconds to check out Google. Be right back.

In The United States

According to the Environmental Protection Agency, over 380 billion plastic bags, sacks and wraps are consumed in the U.S. each year.
According to The Wall Street Journal, the U.S. goes through 100 billion plastic shopping bags annually. (Estimated cost to retailers is $4 billion).
Four out of five grocery bags in the U.S. are now plastic.
The average family accumulates 60 plastic bags in only four trips to the grocery store.

160,000 plastic bags a second (www.theworldcounts.com)

This year 5 trillion plastic bags will be consumed. That’s 160,000 a second! Put one after another they would go around the world 7 times every hour and cover an area twice the size of France.

OK. So, I was way off. Glad to know my estimates were laughingly off-the charts. Possibly the number of households? … bags per household? Again, not doing Nobel-winning research here. For our sake, thankfully, my numbers are high. Too bad the real numbers are high as well, though.

Back to my kitchen…and the clod. Its gotta go somewhere. I have little patience anymore for the little tip of rubber exposed at the end. WHY all the plastic bags? I am at fault. We have reusable totes that could be reused. Thus, the moniker so forcefully emblazoned on the side! Jimminy Be-Jeepers it isn’t that complicated! Laziness begets more plastic. Ugh.

This is why all the plastic bags. I’m lazy.

Not too lazy, mind you, to spend an hour writing about it. Just too slothful to take a few seconds, when heading out the door for snacks and essentials, and grab a reusable, green tote.

Life is complicated in other areas. This shouldn’t be one of them. I hear my phone – should answer it. Not the one on the wall, though. It is otherwise occupied.

Always the Tease

It’s 3:45 in the morning and I’m up as usual. My sleep-wake cycle is all weirded out much like half the country’s attitude right now. Social screens blowing up with contrarian viewpoints, arching flame-filled volleyballs across spiked nets … works of biased broadcasting to be sure. I’m certainly not one to kick sand in anyone’s face here. Or, am I. Atlas shrugged his shoulders at the man and then became a body of reckoning by facing down his bullies. Ayn Rand served up potential of the human mind and the consequences of our good intentions in “Atlas Shrugged”. Both are digging their heels, deeply, into the dark wet sand of our emotional ripples. We sit watching them play as the volley never ends.

Above looks like an itchy, painful, sand-in-the eyes mash of mix metaphors and cross-pollinating literary plaah. I grant you that. Again, it’s early (now, 4:32 a.m.), I’ve run low of hot tea, am checking in on Facebook as I type, and hear funny voices in my head. The latter not uncommon, by the way. Oh, and we are still Social Distancing … not from anything inanimate, mind you – just from anything breathing, moving, or otherwise capable of interacting on any level keeping me from losing my ever-loving mind.

So, let’s tie all this together .. the little bit I’ve here so far. Charles Atlas Shrugged (not shagged .. be careful – now, now) Ayn Rand at the beach playing volleyball. We’re watching them early in the morning on March 29th, 2020, during a mandated mindful-ish, societal time-out. I am sipping once again after filling my monopoly-themed mug once more with Garden Andes organic tea. Facebook became boring so I clicked out and the voices still remain but are less funny …

All this to say, you have my almost complete attention. For now. To the subject at hand: The word BUT. Not, BUTT, but BUT … only one “T”. Being ever so careful, I am clarifying for clarity, exacting for exactness. In the case of this word specifically, it’s … Always The T’s, … always. T’easing and pleasing, in the most joyous of ways, during these confusing, hard days.

This word has been peeking around the dunes lately, wanting to play with the big boys and girls on the beach. I am as guilty as the next bikini-clad, batman-boxer bathing suit, speedo sporting, sand surfing writer. We invite it on our literary towels, where tanner more sporty looking words lay, without considering its ability to shun onlookers. Once a but is seen, an interested glance accompanied by a wink and a nod turns away. Exposed to the sun’s light, a but cracks open a spasm doubt previously unkown to snufflers walking by. It negates any sweet smelling idea proposed by the sentence structurer. Therein lies the rub.

I’m not completely adverse to the idea of using the but word, however, it is used way too often. It’s crammed into sentences so often I don’t think even the most exquisite among literary laxatives would ease the log jam. So apparent in columns of online social and professional colonoscopical bloviating, I find its usage exhausting. No wonder we’ve seen a run on toilet paper. It’s not just due to the Covid-19 outbreak and panic buying ad nauseam. Some fault to all the professional editors who are scurrying about, raiding the big box stores, maxing out their corporate credit cards, driving up the stock prices of Charmin, Cottonelle and Angel Soft. They are trying to clean up the crap-storm, but messes of contradictory information floating around in every crevasse of porcelain popular opinions.

So, here we are … buckets upon buckets of wet sand starting to build castles on a beach that will, eventually, be washed out … BUT for now, we have to deal with what is. A world of he-said-they-said-she-said information where everyone is entitled to their opinion preceded by the word “but”. I see it everywhere, especially in the Facebook universe where a man-boy founder’s vision of a better, less ugly world is certainly not that right now. I would argue today is more in line with Zuck’s original intent, anyway. Lining up faces in a juvenile dorm room to poll away the pretty from the ugly … just now we are substituting opinions for faces.

We are caught, non-professionals and professionals alike, in this goofy paradigm. Our line in the sand is the constantly moving narrative of what is true and what isn’t. Every day the stories change. President Trump vacillates more than a well-oiled, grease pole of slimy day old engine oil and Congress couldn’t agree on where to take a sh*, well … I’ll keep it clean because they did, sorta, manage to pass a massive relief. err… bill, BUT …

We will pay for it … eventually. There’s the rub, again.

Opinions are like ***s … as the saying goes, so I will get back to my original premise. But is a problem, Give me any proposition, follow it with “but”, and you’ve just negated your original position.

“I think you are gorgeous, but…”
“Wow, you certainly look nice tonight honey, but…”
“Thanks for your order, but…”
“I hate being Socially Distant from you, but …”
“Spiders can go suck on poison, but …”

See the problem? Now, to be clear, as a reply to another’s opinion, I could be persuaded. For example:

ME
“I’ve been up four hours now and I think the two mugs of tea I’ve consumed so far are making me delusional.”
YOU
“Yes, but think of all the fun you are having click-clacking away knowing you have all day to do absolutely nothing … abso-freaking-nothing!”

Aside from me asking why you are sitting next to me and I can’t see you, get my point? As a reply, it is ok. After your own idea, though, I’d avoid it like the Covid-19 virus…especially on social media. You’ll confuse an already stressed, red-eye-ball popping public whose tolerance for anything less than a two-seconds meme is already stretched thinner than the skin of a …. _______ (fill in your own descriptor here). The above examples are fine for humor’s sake, BUT when politics get involved, nasty-nasties comes out to play. I’ve seen it. To my shame and pity, I’ve engaged in such malfeasance to such a degree … forcing my play shovel into the sand … causing me to say…

… Here I sit. Watching Atlas and Ayn lob and volley. There are consequences of good intentions. One of them being my ability to not sleep during the night. Another, a willingness to share deep, profound knowledge with you, my loyal reader. So, here it is:

“This whole Covid-19 virus could be a once in every 100 year plague, or a simple over-hyped common flu bug, but maybe neither one. Could be somewhere in between the two. What do I know?”

Let’s hold hands in agreement as we sun bathe together here on my Superman towel. Oh, by the way, could you put some SPF 50 on my back? I’m starting to burn here.

Think.

Thinking about thinking. This isn’t a good thing for me now. I need to be active – moving my body around in bigger areas, bouncing ideas back-and-forth with other humans. Changing the world within 6-feet of each other is a more ideal situation than what is currently in place. As I sit here thinking, too many hours inconveniently pass without a single word written. Hours into days. Thinking about thinking isn’t ideal … for any of us.

This is one of many unseen, small tragedies of this stay-in-place mandated quarantine / isolation reality. Time. Thinking time.

Our bodies are made for movement. I’m in that sliver of the self-employed population where motion produces a nice little income, so a forced voluntary stay behind your own walls and think isn’t very kind to my wallet. This situation makes an unhappy relationship between my bills and the dust accumulating in my checkbook. Other folks in my industry have been slogging their stuff about town, money-changing for goods, however, I’m not inclined to do so because of the risks involved. Thinking, in this regard, isn’t a bad idea … I guess 🤷🏻‍♂️.

I think about my mom. She died in 2012 and is lucky to be avoiding all this mess. As the quintessential social butterfly of our family, her world would be a deep crevasse of emotional isolation. A dark time this would be in her silence behind the smiles. Most unfortunate would be her unwillingness to show it as she personified the sweetness of every rose. Always the optimist … always the, “everything will be ok”-er no matter what. This was her thinking all the time. I hesitate, but think it may be true, … most in isolation right now are staying positive.

My thinking about thinking also confirms that these same people are hurting underneath. Mom was very lonely, but never let it show. Needing contact, but staying strong to keep the proverbial plates spinning, or ovens warm is status quo for now in the homes where nobody greets us at the front door. Entryways we should not be near anyway – violating our own social distancing mandates.

What are we thinking? It’s important we share the anger, doubt, and sadness with each other at home. Facebook and other social media don’t get to sit here at our table.

Pick a quiet evening once in a while with only family – no outside distractions. Perhaps a take-out pizza with extra cheese sits in the center among a few cold beers for the adults and sodas for the kids. No napkins, just pieces of torn paper towels to wipe the inevitable mistakes off Grandma’s table you’ve had for years. Good idea using her table. It holds memories from the hard years when milk and bread were much, much harder to find.

Think things through, together, out loud. I would argue every day if possible for a few minutes in between news updates, memes, texts, virtual lessons, (blogs), essential work obligations if necessary, home responsibilities, and whatevers …. Talk real emotions and feelings. This isolation is so unkind to all of us. Unnatural and uncomfortable. Don’t be positive if you don’t WANT to be. Be angry. Be mad

If you’re gobsmacked because thinking about thinking is getting on your nerves? Write a short, incoherent blog about it. Get it off your chest!! You may start to feel better …

I said, “May”.

Have a wonderful isolation everyone. I have some more thinking to do. Ugh.

Pink Monkeys and Party Balloons

A large swath of us are not going to be recognized for anything we do. We’re plog-alongers. Sure, there may be those rare times when local celebrity status is draped over our shoulders, but we inhale and exhale normal air so conveniently, so unconsciously, most of our lives. Day in. Day out. Day in-between.

Gonna say this is ok. I’m certainly willing to belly up to the bar of normal and have the server say, “What’ll it be, Mr. DougHugs person?” without any expectation of another shouting, “Hey! .. I think that’s … yeah … that’s him… the blog guy!” in my direction. The only universe that would happen is a an oxygen-starved one where realities are shifted so bad Spock, Vader, or Homer sit in a darkened corner pondering string theory over a bowl of blueberry yogurt. Or, the world is paralyzed in a COVID-19 crisis. Either one seems, ultimately, implausible ….

Anyway, reality shifting aside, normal is normal until it isn’t, right?

I’m not J.K. with Harry, James Patterson, or IT on paper as penned by Mr. King. These folks are the not-normals. They are among the masters of many. So few achieve while many strive … and I am not a striver in this regard. I do not blog in the slow lane with my blinker on waiting for a opening. Quite content am I to be non-speeding my “one heartbeat at a time” auto-do-it down life’s express-myself-way. The whizz bys can go past. That’s fine because their cause and destination is as just as mine. They have fancier vehicles, anyway. I’ll spat-sputter along in my shifty little, two toned, paneled word wagon occassionally blumbling over a rumble strip or two. That’s normal.

So, I write.

It’s hard to separate from this problem. Lately, when I sit down to begin, a miserable malaise – this overhang of ugh -has an incessant drip of can’t get away from it landing on my intent. I can be full-in pink monkeys and party balloons only to be hijacked by social distancing, flattening the curve, shut downs, pandemic, Italy, ventilators, experts, thoughts and prayers

All of this is tiring. I know it is imperatively important and ultimately understandable. Normal, if I may, for the time that is now. I’ve reached epidemic exhaustion … if that can be a thing. Ugh, because we’re at the beginning of a long haul, towing a massive load of unknowns to a destination of who-knows with all variations of on ramps and exits along the way.

For a few hours yesterday, I had my 82 year old dad in my life’s car. We had to organize our way around some of his eighty-year old wonderful problems. It wasn’t easy. His normal isn’t my normal. There were many phone calls I had to make, back and forths necessary to make smooth possible for him again, and a few laughs to chuckle the stresses away.

Earlier, I made an attempt at opening my seasonal business. This is my 15th year – and, by far, the most challenging. It’s NOT going to be normal. I have to be closed – and remain closed – for some time until there is some settling down. There isn’t much else I can do. Wiggle room aside with some of my fellow restaurant compatriots offering drive-thru service, I’m content on the sidelines waiting this out. Supply chains are limited, customer sentiment and flow are both historically low and, overall, I just don’t want to be in the way.

So, in the true spirit of “blogging”, yesterday was “a day”. I realized (but already knew) being normal was my SOP, my business is going to lose money as the bills keep coming in, and my dad is pretty cool. He frustrates me like nobody’s business. If I had the time – and his permission – to tell you yesterday’s WTF’s, it’d be worth the ride … trust me.

If anyone says it’ll be worth all the aggravation – the shut downs and social distancing – to get to that final theme park of happy vaccines and cures, I’ll cheerio-clink a mug-o beer with them. Pull up a stool, I say, and join me. Be leery, however, of a crowd that may gather asking for my autograph once they recognize who I am – oh, though if it’s more than 10 people … or, wait .. we can’t be in the bar anyway they’re under a mandatory closure as of midnight last night. Buggers.

Dad’s free. Bowling alley is closed and I know he’d like the company. Can’t lose sight of the important things. It is so true. A large swath of us are not going to be recognized for anything we do. Maybe yesterday taught me a lesson.

I had to get some things done yesterday aside from COVID and dad. The little (aggravating, but necessary) get-along issues with dad had be completed, though. They were inconvenient and complicated, but resolvable. He needed help. I’m always around and willing to do so … and I do, laughingly, insist he buy me lunch for my efforts. Ultimately not necessary for me, but I know he likes to do it, so why not, right?

The lesson being, he has a normal. I have a normal. You have a normal. We have to try the best we can to be that normal and help our friends and family keep their normal as well.

The sash we proudly wear over our shoulders at the end can simply say, “I survived COVID-19 and stayed normal”.

Breathe in. Breathe out. It’s all pink monkeys and party balloons until it isn’t.

Hoping You Didn’t

It is, simply, a beautiful day. Mid-50s and sunny. Ladies: the kind of day you almost want to wiggle into that after-winter, slightly tight, vertical patterned little halter top and do some springing around the house. Gentlemen: it is either the kind of day you don’t want to do anything around the house except watch your lady chore-ily spring about … or, it is a time to take her out for a nice walk around the neighborhood while treating her to organic teas and salads afterwards. I would caution against the former. Any attempt at individual idleness within your partner’s periscope of expected errands is a fool’s folly.

Maybe today is a single day for you. A day to get the ol’ frisbee out and toss a few flicks into the head winds. Perhaps call up a few friends and mingle around the park, occasionally taking the football out from under your arm to toss a short out-and-up as remembered. Talk out some financial problems with the pigeons as you relax on the bench by the pond. Whatever appeals to your get-out from behind the walls today, do it. It is, simply, a beautiful day.

We don’t get too many of these this early in March. Strange that today happened to be the day after our spring-forward clock event, when an hour of lost sleep became the drama disturbing the distractables. These folks see the sun, but absorb the shadow. They welcome the extended daylight as additional time to see more shadows extending back from themselves. We must remain ever vigilant to walk around … but at the same time, recognize sincerity in the pain and embrace an opportunity to join them with compassion because the beauty in a day can be the healing of a soul as well.

Single, or partnered up? One of the few missing, badly, an hour’s sleep? You’re a human who should find some way to grab a minute of marvelous merriment when offered up on a planetary platter like today.

Why am I writing this?

I eagerly started this post at 11 a.m. and the little white clock on my PC, now, says 9:20 p.m.. With the exception of an hour around 2:00 and a trip to a friend’s place, I’ve been sitting at my desk organizing receipts, stabbing at this blog off and on, and playing games on the computer … all day long. At 6:00, I shuffled over to a friend’s house to grab some snacks and visit – inside her basement, mind you – leaving around 7:30. The hour above was spent taking a leisurely walk about town. I pretty much missed the whole freakin’ day because I am a hypocritical, blathering blogger of the highest order. This is my need to purge my current penitent personae.

Feeling better now, though I’m sad I missed most of this simply beautiful day. Hoping you didn’t. My receipts are done and organized. I was, ultimately, successful on-line and feel pretty good about my diet today. The walk about town did help relieve some minor back pain I’ve been having – probably from sitting too long at my desk. Correlation? Maybe so.

More outdoor time might be warranted if we are so fortunate to have more off-season, beautiful days like this was today.

I think I have some old vertical patterned tops upstairs from my awkward junior high years. They’re not halter tops – just real ugly brown and yellow 70s button down, collared, short-sleeved, cotton blend shirts that are probably too tight, but I can use as dust rags. I may have some springing to do around the house if the weather cooperates in the next few weeks.

Clocks Ahead

“Push ahead, spring forward!”, they say with great anticipation. Words spoken … expected to extinguish the causes and pauses of a long, laborious winter season. And they do. Early mornings suddenly walk away from their partnership with bleak and creaky, cold-lit shady wakenings.

We are happily reminded, once again, to spring the hour hand (showing my age) forward on our clocks. This wee little tweak and twirl of the littlest worker, clicking by at a sixty-minutes pace, gives us renewed hope in the magic of time. Time being one of the assets we have to give away or hold … to use, or to waste, …. to treasure or lose.

Some believe there was a certain, specific timeline assigned to us when we were born. Randomness of events leading up to an unexpected end could never occur in their scenario of a pre-determined final exit. Others embrace a what will be, will be thinking and give no mindspace to possible pre-natal preludes of prognostication. Time is time for all of us. Birth to death. It has equal weight on the life scale as we stand side by side – whether or not our beliefs differ about its function.

Equal weight in the balance of nature as well: loss and gain

We’re losing an hour tonight. Giving it away, I guess you could say. Whatever anyone thought that hour may have represented, it won’t matter. In one swoop, it’ll be gone. Tomorrow, and days that follow, will be longer light with gradual, graceful, decreasing dark.

We’re gaining also. Now, what to do with the extra sunshine in your life? Just push ahead and see where the warmth leads, I suppose. Still only 24 hours to fill, so get some extra Spring in your step, drink lots of water, wash your hands frequently even after the covid19 shakey-head syndrome fades, breathe, sleep a good 7-8 if you can, and eat lots of really cool food!

Time is in your corner wanting the best for you. And remember, in six months, we’ll be falling back into …. ah, never mind. For now, just enjoy whatever time has for you in its magic bag of wonder.

Oh, and please DO turn your clocks ahead one hour!

Thank You Interview

New experience yesterday. The walk-about kind blogs are designed to talk-about. I guess.

This writing thing is still new to me. I’m baffled beyond amazed at how much fun the journey has been so far. Over 115 entries into this Imagineer’s Workshop of ideas and counting … with no barriers in front of me that I can see. 🤞 As a man with limited knowledge of grammar, a few ideas on how life should be, and an unpredictable sleep/wake cycle, I’m enjoying every solitary keystroke from my PA Keystone state of mind.

We are not having a normal winter here. One minor snowfall dusting and a few below normal, ice-scrapey days are scant entries in the diaries of expectant winter lovers. Ice melt sellers, snow blower repair shop owners and plow drivers rest easy inside local donut shops eagerly sipping coffee … waiting. Weather forecasters, climate experts, global warming alarmists, environmentalists, … everyone on social media, earth humans in general all wondering why West-Central Pennsylvania is having a mild winter. Me, too.

Yesterday was my “Me, too” movement. The simple act of moving my left leg out of the car onto the pavement of the radio station’s space in which I chose to park gave me pause. I, also, was wondering why the warmth of the sun felt so unseasonably pleasing on my nervous face. Or, why I didn’t remember walking across the slightly windy parking lot at all when I sat down in the lobby. The papers I prepared had little wind damage, nor did my black checkered sport coat, so all was well as I sat momentarily next to my good friend, Donna. And waited.

This was a radio interview to introduce a business venture/partnership between my Doug’s DAWGS concession thing and ArtsAltoona. In addition to this, the hour-long show also highlighted my music and blogging interests as well as a personal dive into the deep end of my family history swimming pool. Donna is the President of ArtsAltoona and was my support, friend, and compatriot in the process. A true, honest-to-greatness asset in our community and someone I am so honored to call a friend.

“The 11th Hour With Doug Herendeen” began as I would have expected since I listen to his show almost every day. The perspective inside his small, padded studio is quite different. He’s a real person, first of all – not just a voice. We had to sort out who was Doug #1 and Doug #2, get the microphones in order, and calm my nerves a bit. Bottled water at the ready, buttons knobs and switches lit and prepped, commercials done, …. the “on air” bulb lit up outside our small wooden door and words started to push up through the large satellite dishes …. into the invisible universe they went.

I enjoyed every moment. Every word. Every sputtering syllable (even though I believe I am a good public speaker). The creaky floors of our local radio station speak for the many who have walked upon those boards – delivering a message they believed to be important to them. Yesterday, Donna and I were honored to be counted among them.

As I left Donna behind to discuss other matters, the same sun I felt an hour before still appeared in noon glory through the front windows behind the leather, worn chair I sat in a short time ago. It was still unseasonably warm. Even more so … being high noon, and a little after twelve which meant I was due for a really nice lunch. A lot more relaxed, getting back in my car required much less movement and reason to question my anxiety. The uncertainty of underperforming, or not doing my best, had passed. I was going to be o.k.

Isn’t that what we want at the end of all the noise and confusion? We want to be o.k.. Things may not seem normal – like the weather – but somehow we manage. Yes, it’s hard and we ask why a lot, …. Why am I wondering if I’m going to say the right words, on the spot, live, with a large fluffy mic and untold numbers of strangers listening? Does it really matter? In my goofy past mid-years, am I still concerned what others think? Why, yes. Yes I am. If you were me, you’d be feeling the same, I’m quite sure. That’s ok, too. If you think you’re alone, you’re not.

Thank You for allowing me this space to tell you about my new experience yesterday. Next time I visit my friend, Doug, at the radio station, maybe you can join me. We’ll sip a bottle of water together in the lobby and maybe, just maybe, catch glimpse of a snowflake sledding down a seasonal breeze of arctic cold. Until then, live in unpredicability. There’s magic in the unknown.

Coronavirus Today, Anyway

Holding my cell phone as I type … and wondering: Are there any coronavirus molecules on here? … if molecules is even the correct term to use. I don’t know.

How could I know? No one has sneezed on it or held it lately, so odds are in my favor. I wash my hands regularly – in hot water and soap for 20 seconds – at least 10 times each day and sanitize the case of my phone with wipes once in a while. Travel is limited due to lack of free time and money. I avoid my friends at all cost because they don’t find my jokes funny. Finally, the news reports have me wondering why I am even alive at this point, so I’m at an impasse … ARE there molecules here …. or NOT?

I woke up 45 minutes ago with a stuffy nose. Details unnecessary. Under normal early March circumstances, I’m thinking too much white flour in my diet yesterday combined with not enough water consumption, or a seasonal allergy. I did have a large, leafy salad for lunch yesterday which probably saved me from a pit of misery this morning. Anyway, at first light bleeping, my cell phone MSN feed reports additional cases of Covid-19, blacklighting my already germ-anic, panic-laden nose closure. Did I wiggle a finger in my eye the past few days? Was my mouth open to the possibility of airborne particulates precipitating possible pathogens?

Sipping organic tea, casually nibbling on a Clif bar, and occassionally stabbing a few honey nut cheerios are the three things I can do right now to quell my supposed fear of coronavirus. An agitation I’m told every day to tattoo on my must-worry-about armful of things to carry around, like paying my bills, working, eating, and … living.

We know the statistics. Facebook friends have been sharing all the graphs and charts. There are more pies and bars on Facebook right now than in a drippy glazen bakery attached to an oozy, nutty chocolate factory. Doctors sitting under fancy lighting, presenting 5 minute professional summaries, with cartoon-bubbly spiked balls of badassery popping up on my feed every day. This-and-thatery being hyped from New York news rooms to Bay area think tanks.

I am a piano playing blogger with NO medical experience, save the safe application of a band-aid on a finger once in a while. I am also a very compassionate person who grieves the loss of any person, for any reason. Our extended family has been touched by the tragic loss of a young lady who lost her life battling a super-virus. Truly nothing to mock or satirize in a demeaning manner. I would honorably stand by the side of any person and console them while still convinced the Covid-19 news cycle now, intended or not, is way overblown.

There’s no reason sanitizer bottles, wipes, and surgical masks should be selling out like milk and TP during a snow storm. Additionally, if people thought President Trump was incompetent before all this, any response to a super-virus is akin to him entering the nuclear codes. Travel overseas and cruise ship considerations I do see being reevaluated … those make sense. Some friends are looking into changing modes of transportation from planes to cars for interstate travel. Hey, if they want to switch three hours in a plane for multiple days in a sweaty (possibly germ infested) heat box laden with blabs of kids, juice boxes, snack crumbs in the seats, traffic, a nag-i-vator in the passenger seat, and no control over anything? … go for it!!

We need to make our own decisions. I get that … there was a day all this seemed easier. The news wasn’t so overwhelming. We woke up with stuffy noses, blew them, and thought no more about it. If coughing ensued, a call to the doctor was warranted. I guess today’s world is better with easier access to Googles of information as well. Good and bad. WebMD and common sense. Coronavirus hype and settled-psyches.

I’ve been breathing comfortably through my nose since sipping my tea … refilled twice. Clif bar gone … and cheerios? Quite yummy. Still wondering if I have an infected phone, though. I’ll run a scan! Oh, wait. I can’t do that. I can’t run a check to see if the Covid-19 molecules are dancing the merengue on my phone. Damn! Why am I paying for an antivirus program if I can’t use it … especially now?

Alert the press!!

Here’s to the future of all this … much of which I don’t have a blasted clue. For now, wash your hands, wipe off all phones with sanitizer pads if you can find them, and please don’t sneeze or cough on anyone. Stay away from anything looking ooey, gooey, or pooey. Love your neighbor, stand by anyone needing compassion and care … and please filter all the news through a common sense brain I know you have.

I’m out of tissues, patience, and time. Be well.