If this is Dying

 

 

It Sucks

ATTENTION S P A N

 

First of all, let me say I do not use my phone to text or watch videos. My dumb flip phone is not used for Internet.

With that said, it seems we communicate to each other through motion pictures taken on our ‘smart’ phones. YouTube calls them ‘shorts’, Facebook calls them ‘reels’ and TikTok is made on them. They are 2-3 minute videos from old television shows or movie snippets or commentors or influencers or old Beatles clips or best songs from or rude or mean confrontations or silly human attempts or cute animals…

Being encapsulated by the cold, I am as bored as everyone else looking for something to pass the time. Without a television, I awake to the NPR news. Other than the Olympics, reminder of how cold it is and no other distraction but the constant wars, I turn to the Internet.

Constant scrolling through different news sites and social network only comes across a series of these video snippets. Some are old black and white shows I remember and watch while others are just nonsense that must be quickly scrolled to the next one, then you realize another hour has gone by wasted.

Some of these old television shows I went back to YouTube to watch the full sequence and was surprised that these snippets were the way television was made back then. A short clip of characters then a cut to a different scene with other characters. Maybe this is our attention s p a n?

The first television were long shots of soap operas and entertainment because cameras were huge and not easily mobile. Two cameras had to be edited live which was still experimental. There was no CGI and sound quality was weak. If mistakes were made, they were covered up like radio.

Seems these early television shows were two-minute conversations then scenes of cowboys riding around the same rock or long distant horses riding or cars driving around the city. Only later did the special effects come in to show action figures amid explosions and make-believe fire. Maybe that is why pop songs or 3-minute? That is as long as we can pay attention?

Ever been to a play? When the curtain goes up, the actors have to keep your attention with limited movement on a stage, speaking loudly without a microphone and interacting with others until they take an intermission to pee. As an audience, you have to focus to keep track of the story presented live.

Ever read a book? The author has to describe every detail of a situation so the characters make sense in your minds’ eye. You can always turn back the page and re-read a chapter to try and expand your interpretations or the plot.

Time to get a bite to eat and scroll some more, constantly searching for something different.

Me and Rodney and the Winter of 2026

 

Our forecasters, the predictors of our weather, said it was coming. It’s going to get cold and we will have some snow and ice. Fine. I planned ahead and ordered a delivery to stock up on consumables and readied for winter. A few extra sweatshirts and sweaters, knitted gloves and hat and another cover for the bed. The only things outside my control were electricity, furnace, water and the Internet.

Sure, enough the weather changes. The coldzilla brings the white stuff and everyone hunkers down. The temperatures drop below freezing and stay there…for weeks. The realization I’m imprisoned by ice.

Normally a snow day or days or daze gives one time to do things around the house. Relax on the couch under a cover, binge videos, eat snacks, take naps and reveal in the white wonder outside.

On the second or third day (I forget for everyday is the same) I try to take out some trash and immediately slip on the ice. After some innovative maneuvering, I slide back into the house realizing my folly and vowing not to do that again until all this mess melts. My mind wonders if I’d hit my head harder or broken a bone, I’d frozen to death in 14° weather without a coat, gloves, hat. Being in a spot where no one could see my body, I’d just rotted until spring. Lessons learned.

The problem with this spell of frozen incarceration by Mother Nature is I don’t feel well. My stomach is still bothering me and not being one who is popular of partaking of pharmaceutical concoctions and potions, I take everything I have in the medicine cabinet to lessen my uncomfortably. I pace back and forth like a caged tiger and go from chair to bed to chair with no relief.

Rationally knowing I must eat to maintain my lack of energy; I ration my stocks to stretch them out for I’ll not be going out and a delivery would be risky. One would think that during a home-alone time, could endow in treats and meals of desire, but when your stomach is bloated, nothing seems appealing. Lots of coffee, water, soups and stuffies are poured down the gullet but only fills my gut increasing my discomfort. Where does it all go?

Rodney? you ask. He is my little rodent roommate. How he got in, I have no idea. This ole house has plenty of nooks and crannies for the outside to enter. I hear him rattling around the stove. I’m sure this is a warmer place than the outside below zero atmosphere. He’d steal my sponges at night and drag it out behind the microwave. He’d take a few bites but not sure it was nourishment. There is nothing else to munch on because everything is in a jar, but he just hangs around. Now and then, out of the corner of my eye, I see a grey blur. A rattle sound will let me know he is still around.

The other night, I got up at 3AM from my series of one-hour naps and put on my slippers before going down the hall for relief. The right slipper went on and the left slipper…? I scrapped the slipper into the next room to sit in a chair and reach in to find the mysterious blockage. There was Rodney taking a nap. Can’t blame him. It was probably a cozy warm but perhaps smelly spot. We scatter in different directions and got back to our nightly patterns.

         Since my medicine cabinet choices have not solved my continuous discomfort and the temperature has at least cleared the streets, I make an online delivery request for off-the-shelf pharmacy recommendations.

One day follows the next and the fluids flow but the chocolate choo-choo is still stuck in the station.

Then, one evening, the body indicates a blow-out is coming. Better hurry down to the porcelain throne for this relief. My bare foot hits the tile floor and…Wham! Bam! Thank you, ma’am! I’m flat on the floor. “I’ve fallen and I can’t get up” used to be funny…until you get my age. I try and right myself but the floor is as slick as the ice outside and there was no traction. Think. Even if I could reach the phone, there is no one to call and lift me up. Think. What can I find to brace myself to pull myself up? I scoot myself across the floor in my dirty diaper and grab a coffee table that is low enough to get on my knees and then push up to my feet. What used to be a normal exercise is now a chore.

One day follows the next day. Listen to NPR, watch a speech on YouTube, review documentaries on the end of the Confederacy and the WWII with amazement of why white men would walk for miles to shoot and get shot at. Without interest in sports, the Winter Olympics holds no interest. The political talking heads having nothing new to offer. Nothing holds my interest. I have lots of toys to play with but none get my attention or desire.

One surprise is the ‘shorts’ or ‘reels’ of old 50s television shows. “Leave It to Beaver’ caught my attention. I remembered the conversations, clothing, cars, neighborhood because I lived it. Between “Leave It to Beaver” and Ozzie and Harriett” they were my family. Westerns also drew my attention. I watched them all on my little B&W TV. “Gunsmoke” with the dependable Marsal Dillion, Kitty, Doc and Chester maintained good vs. evil in a clean western town of Dodge City. Even met James Arness at lunch at the club one Sunday. Big, quiet guy who personified his character. My dad was a mix of Matt Dillion and John Wayne.

Though there is no moment in the neighborhood, now and then a neighbor will venture out trying to clear their walkway with a hammer. My house faces south, so when the sun comes out and the temps get above freezing, this mess will go away by itself.

I’m from Virginia. My town is on the plateau between the mountains and the seashore, so the snow is usually light and gone soon. Waiting by the radio to hear the schools are closed was rare. Not to say there have been some memorable snows. In the mid-60’s our tribe gathered at the Dexter’s house for a snow party. The snow kept coming. After a foot or two or three, Mister and Mrs. D. decided to put us up for the night. Only two, my date and the youngest, required us to strap on our boots and venture out into the cold to deliver them to their doorstep. The evening was spent listening to ole WWII stories from Mr. D and drinking pop until we found enough blankets and sleeping bags to rest for the evening. The girls, who were quarantined upstairs almost came down and joined us but the elderly prevailing efforts forted our testosterone desires. The winter after my wife’s death, there was a big snow fall. I was younger then and wandered out to take some photos but didn’t have to venture further. 

Lucky enough to be close to a bus line, on most snow days I was able to ride these standing room only tanks that powered through the drifts. On one occasion, the bus never arrived so I trudged my way down a very quiet Monument Ave. listening to conversations on the telephone lines. I think I was the only one who made it in and there was nothing to do. Was appreciated that the publisher came through every department to thank for the effort.

One day, hoping to get some air and having a clear walkway, I ventured outside to turn on my little heater and shiver in a different location. There is plenty of liquid for delivery will bring alcohol to your doorstep Still discomfortable, but in different ways with no appetite or energy, I scroll the Internet hoping to see something exciting or someone to contact for there have been no conversations in days. Is anybody out there?

Being isolated, the news of a missing person ponders me. Would the FBI come searching for me? Who would say I am missing. Missing what? Then I get a letter from the Department of the Navy. It is a request for a DNA sample to database against ESN Clifford McIver who went MIA March 18, 1945. Good luck spending out tax money. The Pacific Ocean is full of planes and pilots from WWII.

Just as the little violet crocus start to tease spring is on the way, the prediction is old Ma Nature is bringing another round of cold and snow. Back inside and under the covers, I ready for another engagement session, but now something new.

I decide to take out the trash. Easy pezy right? Wrong! For weeks there has been so little activity, the simplest task become a overwhelming exercise in breathing. Plus, a cough has popped up. Putting on my pants or walking across the yard requires a stop to catch my breath. Chores are broken down into segments to stop and sit down to stop the huffing and puffing. My next order for delivery will probably include an inhaler, gas medicine and cough drops.

Those who flip a coin on the H’s and L’s tell us by the end of the week the temperature will rise 40°. Warmth. 80’s. Good enough for a rocking nap on the porch? Perhaps it will bake out my boogie boos or maybe ole age has caught up to me?

Time will tell…

 

What a difference a day makes

 

Silence. Looked in the house surrounded by a siege of snow and cold. No movement. Little activity except to walk to the kitchen and back in front of the screen. A lap blanket and layers assist the dependable furnace keeping the frost away.

The sun is shining. That is always good. The critters are sheltered in place and only make some movement when I trudge through the white powder to spread out what little grub I can provide. The temps are below freezing for the week, so it is scurry back inside and under the covers.

The excuse of ‘too cold’ is good enough not to attempt any chores unless duly necessary. Today, being Wednesday, will be peel off the layers and place them in the machine that whirs and waters and suds and spins then heats them up to a nice toasty pile. Then back under the covers to the screens.

The radio is on repeating the many opinions of the sad state of affairs. Scrolling the disasters looking for some relief, the Walk for Peace presents humanity in its most basic and purity. Thank you.

Music is a distraction for a background but is to listen to rather than play. Am testing out some Ai software than converts .mp3 files to MIDI so I can then use another Ai software to transpose it. Boredom more than interest.

While the sun is out, the empty cans need to be dumped to make space for more empty cans for hydration must be attended to. Will venture out onto the crust trying to avoid any slippage that, at this age, could be life altering. But first…

The story goes that knowing there will be no movement outside and the silence of this polar vortex should be appreciated I zoom my attention into the screen. As long as the electricity holds out (knock on wood) I can find plenty of entertainment for diversion. Even took time to write a blog post on the ‘Rules of Engagement’ for better understanding on what and what not people who carry weapons are supposed to obey by law, acts, permission, regulations, licenses. I spent many an hour in this position.

The next morning, I awoke to a pain-in-my-neck. Not a disabling pain, but an annoying reminder to move around more. Enough of an annoyance to make the usual movements uncomfortable. The bad part was I couldn’t find a spot laying down to get some sleep. About 5AM after tossing and turning and walking and stretching and rubbing, I passed out of exhaustion.

Groggy and still tight, I looked in the medicine cabinet for possible medical relief. There was a dab-on Icy Hot tube I applied. That created some warmth but no cure. Then I found a Thermal Care heat neck wrap. I bought it sometime ago but now it was time to try it out. Place it on the neck and back, peel off the adhesive strips and wait for the warmth to start.

Pull back on my layers and waited for relief. My neck got hot. The instructions stated it would last for 8 hours, so I gave it a run. Before bed, I peeled it off and lay down. Slept comfortably with no twitching.

Back to our story…

I bag up the empties that I had ordered in plans for the snow and walked out to the steps. I closed the door and grabbed the post and stepped down hoping to find a footstep I’d made several days ago in the powder. Instead I found nothing for traction.

Whoosh! Feet fly out. Pound my butt. Head hit the side of the house. Glasses pop off and slide down the slick path ahead. THIS is what I wanted to avoid.

I sat on the ice evaluating my condition. There were no broken bones or blood but there was no way to hop up and be on my way. There was no one to call for assistance since my phone was inside nice and warm and cozy. Innovation is the mother of invention so I slid down the path on my gluteus maximus until I found a frozen lawn furniture to grab hold of and pull myself up (still skating). Why didn’t I wear any gloves?

Two choices. Continue to my mission of feeding the critters or try and return to lick my wounds? Gingerly stepping out to Mansland, I emptied the stores that just slid about out on the glassy surface and was immediately gobbled up by my feathered and furry neighbors. The temperature inside was 29° and my little heater couldn’t compete with that, so I slid carefully back inside. The empty cans will have to stay until June.

Apply some Icy Hot to my back that is already telling me a bump on the butt is no free ride. Every day is an adventure. Enjoy the ride.

The water is still running. The electricity is still on. Mister heat keeps blowing and there is food and hydration. I can still shuffle about as an elderly geezer so be appreciative of what you have.

“Dear Mother Nature. I got your message. I’ll stay inside. I understand you are thinking of sending some more of this white stuff this weekend. I may have to request some more stores delivered to get me through another week of this snowzilla. That will just put another person in peril which I do not attend. I look forward to rocking on the front porch basking in the warmth and listening to your children sing. Sincerely my sore tukus.”

Rules of Engagement

 

DISCLAIMER: I’ve never been in a situation of social decent (on either side). I have witnessed the desegregation protest, the voting rights protest, the anti-war protest (that made the president surround the White House in a moot of buses). I watch the ’68 Democratic Convention riot with a Republican conservative in quiet. I observed the LA riots and the Kent State shooting in real time. I felt the fear of the looting and vandalism in my city until the mayor had enough gonads to remove the 150-year-old monuments to the lost cause. I’ve pondered what each side, at the time, dealt with and the reactions of the time.

 

Rules of Engagement

Basic rules of engagement (ROE) are guidelines for interaction, focusing on clear purpose, respect, effective communication, and appropriate action, ensuring smoother collaboration and conflict resolution, whether in business meetings (listen, stay on topic) or military/security contexts (proportionality, positive identification). Key principles include defining goals, respecting boundaries, using minimal necessary force/effort, communicating clearly, staying professional, and seeking de-escalation.

 

Rules of Engagement

(ROE) are directives issued by military authorities that delineate the circumstances, conditions, degree, and manner in which force may be applied. They serve as crucial tools to manage political objectives, ensure compliance with international law (such as the Law of War), and regulate the use of force by personnel. 

Key Principles and Aspects of ROE

·                Purpose: To manage operations, protect non-combatants, and provide clear, actionable, and legal guidelines for soldiers on the battlefield.

·                Key Principles: Include the requirement for Positive Identification (PID) of targets, proportionality of force, and the right to self-defense.

·                Scope: ROE dictates authorized targets, allowed weapons, and limitations on force to prevent civilian casualties

.

·                Enforcement: ROE are generally considered binding, and violations can lead to disciplinary action.

·                Types: While often used in combat operations, ROE can also be applied during peacekeeping, humanitarian, or stabilization missions. 

According to Joint Chiefs of Staff (JCS) Publication (Pub) 1, the Law of War is defined as “that part of war that regulates the conduct of armed hostilities.” The purpose of the Law of War is to prevent unnecessary suffering, safeguard certain fundamental human rights of those involved in a conflict, and to ultimately restore peace.

During the late middle-ages, war became a cultural event studied from both political and philosophical perspectives.

Leaders around the world began to realize that unlimited warfare was counterproductive to most objectives.

Common customary practices started to become internationally accepted acts.

Some examples include formal declarations of war, prisoner exchanges, protection of civilians and noncombatants, and communication between warring factions by neutral third parties. Some common historical examples of this progression include the Hague Convention of 1907 and the better-known Geneva Conventions of 1949. Some of the outcomes of the Geneva Convention include the protection of the sick and wounded during land conflict and at sea, treatment of prisoners of war, and protection of civilians during time of war. Again, several of the laws and regulations that we abide by today have been developed from international customary practices that have eventually become codified to international law.

Proportionality states that the nature, duration, and scope of the engagement must not exceed that which is required to decisively counter the hostile act or the demonstrated hostile intent. We reply with only as much force as needed to eliminate our enemy. If a unit is pinned by a bunkered sniper, is .50-caliber or MK19 fire a proportionate retaliation? Yes, it is. An equivalent retaliation such as rifle-fire may not have been sufficient to eliminate the danger to our Marines. Either of those weapons would provide the quickest and most decisive way to neutralize the threat. Now, in the same respect, a 1000-pound bomb may be seen as a disproportionate response to an improvised explosive device (IED) triggerman when a rifle shot would eliminate the threat.

Avoid Unnecessary Suffering

Suffering will never be eliminated from war. What we must ensure is that our decisions and actions minimize unnecessary suffering to the enemy as well as to any civilians and noncombatants involved. This includes the proportionate destruction of property that is relevant to the mission. All of our actions during the engagement as well as our subsequent interaction with the enemy and noncombatants should be guided by this principle.

Distinction

The concept of distinction requires that combatants be distinguished from noncombatants and that military objectives be distinguished from protected places. Parties to a conflict are required to direct their operations only against combatants and military objectives and will be discriminate in nature.

All persons we detain on the battlefield, regardless of their status, are treated the same. All detainees have rights under the Geneva Convention that guide us in their handling. If they are injured, we provide treatment as if one of our own Marines. The following rules dictate our handling of detained persons:

• Search: Remove all weapons and items of possible intelligence from the detainee. Allow detainees whatever protective equipment is needed for safe transport to the detention facility.

• Silence: Do not allow detainees to converse with one another, as this may allow collaboration between them.

• Safeguard: Guard them, and allow no further actions against them, whether by other detainees or enemy forces. Ensure they receive the same protection as our Marines during movement to the detention facility.

• Segregate: This means separation of males from females, enlisted from officers, and also separation amongst religious or cultural affiliates.

• Speed: Ensure the proper process is conducted as quickly as possible, expediting the individual to the next stage of questioning or processing as soon as possible.

• Tag: Supervise proper documentation of their capture and ensure all the information collected arrives to the proper personnel in your unit.

Note: This last part is from the US Marines handbook.

 

What happens to a man who with other men (brothers, cousins, neighbors, fathers…) walk for miles and miles in all weather conditions on dirt roads to line up in a field and shoot at another person you don’t know? What commands from an officer incites deadly aggression against one who will respond by shooting back?

I do not have any answers why but our species do seem to love violence against one-another so wars go on with a multitude of reasons.

***

On the other ‘Rules of Engagement’ I’ve never knelt down begging and praying for a positive answer of marital proposition with a ring and a promise of eternal admiration and fidelity.

The romantic gesture is still heart stopping on the stadium cam or at a gathering. If the answer confirms the request, then engagement parties can be planned, the couple will become one name and will live forever adored and comforted by the other.

If the answer is a reject, one player get a dusty knee and a ring with egg on face while the other will walk away without an excuse or reason to turn down the promise of eternal love.

***

Luckily, there is the Walk for Peace to show humanity still lives.

 

There was a time when due to circumstances, moved away from the parent’s home to find shelter somewhere else. Never thought about a place to lay my head until I got kicked out of the house in college. Time to grow up.

Some parents figured out a roommate for a two-room 3^rd floor flat with a kitchenet and a full bathroom (no shower). Living away from home would have been more difficult other than I was just blocks down the street in the same city.

We each complied with our parent’s wishes and dragged up the stairs a bed, a desk, some clothing stuffed in an old WWII wooden footlocker used in camp and a stereo record/radio combine player. The rest of my ‘stuff’ was kept at my parents’ house.

As roommates we only saw each other waking up. We both were going to the same college, but different majors and classes. He also had a intown girlfriend, so he spent most of his downtime at her house.

I had a job to earn ½ the rent, so when I wasn’t in class, I was at work. I also learned how to ‘hang out’ in dorm rooms, other’s apartments and local diners. I was living on my own and was having fun.

I found renting was not like having a room at home. If the power went out, someone else had to fix it and you just had to wait. The landlord, I found out, had a key to every apartment and could/would just enter at any time and make themselves at home. This was their home and I was just renting.

The lease would run out or the rent increased to requiring another search and moving all our ‘stuff’ to another room in another building. You find out who your buddies are when you have to haul a sofa down three flights of steps and then up another three flights of steps.

The other aspect of renting were the neighbors. They were changing constantly and their lives could be heard through the thin walls.

After renting three apartments, my father talked me into purchasing a home and get away from the bohemian living. I finally had my own space but if the furnace died, I had to get it fixed.

Home ownership is part of the American Dream, but there is something to be said about ‘renting’. If you like traveling or changing jobs or exploring distant romances, where you lay your head at night could be anywhere. It is also less expensive, but without a return on investment.

My thought was a comment I heard about ‘renting’ clothing. Most of us ‘rent’ a tuxedo for a wedding or a special dinner, then return it after a one-time-wear. A wedding dress is usually a one-time-wear that hangs in the closet for a daughter to wear as a hand-me-down or is refitted from a generation earlier. With fashion styles and trends constantly changing, manufacturers want to have people fill their closets with purchases that will last until the next red carpet runway photos show up with celebrities modeling the duds you must have to be current.

The older threads might be worn by your kids as retro or with a bit of humble pie, taken to the thrift store trying to sell for the price of the tax. Other ‘out of style’ items could be donated for those who don’t care about fashion but warmth.

When you look around your house (or apartment) at the ‘stuff’ piled on tables and stacked on shelves and cluttered in drawers, why do you need them? Books are a good example. We purchase the latest ‘must read’ then place it on a shelf in a library. You can justify having that book gather dust by thinking a future re-read might be a reference or could show your intellectual knowledge of being well-read. Someone else may enjoy reading that book but can’t afford it. Also, the public library has vast stacks of volumes for your interest and they are FREE. You are actually ‘renting’ the book and return it by a certain date for another to peruse.

Renting a lawnmower or a camper or skis or a boat seems more cost efficient than purchasing and having to find a space to store it during seasons when not in use. A taxi might be a better transportation than having a depreciating mass of metal parked in your garage full of flammable fuel?

Ownership makes us feel special. We can pride ourselves on our purchases of a fine watch or fancy wheels or a new toilet (there are something you don’t want to rent). We don’t show guest our underwear drawer.

In the end, we may score our excessive assets as our ‘estate wealth’ but then it all moves on to another person or charity or foundation or landfill. Only museums will display items that were created for some historical figure to establish it’s value at auction.

Sorry, you cannot borrow my car because I don’t own one.

2nd Responders

 

A crisis happens. Call 9-1-1. The air is filled with sirens as marked cars and trucks with flashing lights race to the scene. Uniformed professionals, trained and equipped, will arrive and do the necessary duties to solve the confuffle. If there are injuries, they will be temporarily treated then carted off to a local medical center. These are the 1^st Responders.

When the yellow tape is taken down and the bodies removed and the hoses rolled up, what is left? A shell of a house? A blood spot on the walkway? Crumpled metal and broken glass on the street?

Who are you going to call?

The 2^nd Responders. Those who will clean the streets to make clear for other vehicles to arrive. Those who are the ones to clean up the toxic rubble in hazmat suits and remove it to another site. Those who arrive to assess the damage and cut a check for food and shelter while the future is being muddled over. City or county folks in day glo yellow best work to repair or reconstruct the infrastructure while bucket trucks restring the power supply.

Then come the construction crew to attempt to bring back what the bank still wants mortgage payments on. Chain saws and leaf blowers attempt to renew the landscape. These are the 3^rd responders.

The 1^st responders of the EMS will deliver the sick, wounded, ill or otherwise discombobulated to the 2^nd responders of doctors and nurses who wrap, blot, cut and sew with shots to alleviate the discomfort while checking insurance coverage. Other 2^nd responders will identify the remains of casualties, cataloging the numbers to notify the next of kin and the news media for disposal. The 3^rd responders will provide the emotional final resting spot with the stretch limo, a few words and a marker.