2020: A Pain-In-The-Ass or a mere inconvenience?

 

So there you have it. 365 days from the last time you were here. Now you (and I mean the other two people) have to learn how to write 2021 on your checks.

One more lap around the sun. A few grayer hairs? A few grayer heirs? Another year older and deeper in dept?

Each of us will have a story of the pass twelve months. Here is mine.

Resolutions

Sure there was a list of ‘to-do’ that are now covered in dust. Didn’t have anyone to kiss the dropping of the ball in, but the champagne was frosty. Woke up to the sunrise and didn’t know what was awaiting. Same as it ever was.

When is graffiti art?

Not only the toxic political speak that was difficult to avoid, the aged old confession of the original sin arose again. Instead of being restrained into long forgotten places, city residents came out swinging. Confederate statues that lined up in a row on a quiet corridor became the target (symbols) of protest. Spray can vandalism marked the spot where history was about to change. Hand held technology spread the word and everyone took sides.

Guns

Disturbing more than the chants and the signs, were the guns. Seemed the return of the old west where no one felt safe without carrying heat was back. If dressing like Rambo compensates but unlike words a bullet cannot be taken back.

Un-Believable

The presidential campaigns, debates and election were beyond whatever SNL could parody. Everyday was a new adventure into the absurd and the writers were working overtime. Avoided the advertisements but got enough ‘pissing in the wind’ from social media. ‘Alice in Wonderland’ on steroids.

I did my duty as a documented American citizen of the United Confederate States of America and voted.

Pandemic

I’d never heard this word before. After hours on Google and Wikipedia I realized this reason for all my friends to be taking pills and visiting doctors and going to hospitals seems to be spreading all over the globe. There was no gray cloud blocking out the sun. There were no little cooties running up and down the streets. There were no army trucks riding up and down the streets telling everyone to stay inside. There were only white faces on daily reports with charts and graphs and numbers with conflicting information. Then they started wearing white lab coats. Then they started wearing surgical mask. Now they looked like they were medical professionals. There was no cure. The only advice (conflicted by other white faces) was to cover your face in a diaper, stay two yard sticks away from each other and for God’s sake, don’t eat out of the garden buffet.

Some say salvation is on the way at end of a needle. It ain’t over yet.

Quarantined

If you have read any of these writings for the past decade, isolation is not a problem. The idea of pressing flesh with thousands of my favorite friends was over with the Monument Avenue (yes, the same one with the Confederate generals) 10k Marathon. Gatherings at local events like the Folk Festival, Richmond Symphony, rock events or even funerals had lost any appeal. I didn’t need to see or be seen. I can have fun by myself.

Being quarantined was my usual modus operandi except for dressing up like a cowboy to ride to the Tummy Temple. It was a rough ride until I learned you was supposed to wear jeans under them chaps.

So the new curfews, lockdowns, stay-at-home recommendations were merely inconveniences.

Mortality

Unfortunately in the mist of all this talk of global extinction, I had to go to the hospital. I didn’t have to go, but all my home remedies were not working and I was not in the mood to wait it out. There wasn’t any pain, just discomfort. So I wander into the ‘Emergency Room’ pass the Covid-19 testing centers and have the doc take a look at me. After several folks put me on a rolling table and wheel me around from room to room, they finally delivered me to a nice private room with a large window looking over the tree. Unlike a vacation, I was strapped down by tube in my arms with the guards checking in on me every so often to see if my blood pressure had gone up or down or if I’d forgotten my birthday. After a couple quarts of blood and plenty of down time in isolation I was released back to the world. Better but not cured. Mortality rattled their chains.

Media/Entertainment

It started with VHS tapes. Maybe you remember those. If not ask your grandparents. There used to be stores where you could rent a movie on one of these oversized cassette tapes. They were all the rage until the DVD came about.

Well one of my TVs had a VHS player built in. Then it broke. What would I do with this shelf full of VHS tapes? That TV went into the trash but I found another machine that played VHS and DVDs. After hours of reading multiple copies of instruction manuals and punching buttons on three remote controls finally a picture appeared on the screen.

The daily habit of turning on the TV before making the coffee had faded from interest. Soap operas and cooking shows are long forgotten. News (turned entertainment) has been cut to scrolling reliable sources to keep up-to-date.

The VHS tapes were divided and sent to others who may appreciate ancient technology or enjoy what hadn’t been transferred to DVD or uploaded to YouTube.

Now the screen is dark and dusty next to the three remotes. They will all find their way to another home in 2021. Resolution!

Free Money

Last year was the year of consolidation. Clothing, books, artwork were thinned from lack of use or interest.

Even the few shekels saved through the years was moved to within reach yet now insight of the governmental taxman. For the first time in a decade, I had to pay taxes. Calculating and double-checking I filled out my paperwork, attaching a check and stamped the envelope having done my civic duty to add to the government coffers. When I received a letter stating I needed to pay more to the commonwealth, I placed a phone call for details. After a few moments I was talking to another human being and with a quiet civil conversation we both agreed 2020 had struck again. A few weeks later I got a refund.

While all of that was going on and local businesses were shutting down or boarded up and people were losing their jobs and couldn’t pay for rent, food, childcare, Netflix, Uncle Sam send a check for $1,200.00. Don’t know about you but $1,200 doesn’t go very far, but like you I’ll take FREE MONEY (even though it was our money to begin with).

The stock market was soaring and unemployment was reaching record levels. How the two will work out this coming year will have to wait and see.

Relationships

Having to rely on ‘social’ media to send and receive comments from friends and family, communications took a disturbing turn. Every thought and idea became opinionated rhetoric and demeaning trash talk (using words not suitable for children’s ears). After some attempts to reconcile comments without coming to blows; the only viable solution was ‘DELETE’.

Will tomorrow change how we express ourselves? Only time will tell.

Speaking of ‘Just Another Life’ blog

Living in virtual incarceration, many thoughts float through the air with the virus. A word, sentence, song or name may spark a creation to be transferred to paper before it slips away.

Trying to stay clear of the obvious, some of the writer’s gibberish is personal and some is just observational. It don’t cost nothing except some time to read.

Not a viral site with no sponsorship or promotion it gets an average of 15-20 reads a day. Over a quarter million folks have stumbled upon this site to take a moment. Some return. Some comment. Some email interesting conversations to strangers.

This may just be a one-way call to the universe but less harmful than spam robo calls wanting me to buy insurance for a car I don’t own or a computer hack that only takes time to undo someone else’s lack of creativity.

When this is gone, will sit in silence.

Puppywoods

There were no big changes this year. With back and leg problems, outside productivity has slowed down. That is my excuse and I’m sticking to it. Even the purchase of a lawnmower and a sickle didn’t stop the abundance of greenery in the forest. The excessive heat of climate change reduced the desire to whack away in the summer sunshine. I’m sticking to that excuse too.

Did I put up the flags I purchase (online) for curtains? No. Did clean the toilet? Somewhat. Did I vacuum? Tomorrow. Did I…. I see a pattern.

The only constant is to travel to the Tummy Temple everyday (most, maybe a half dozen don’t happen) and retrieve enough consumption for my furry and feathered friends and myself for another day. The traffic has been sparse and the few who venture out into the air smile and wave as another survivor.

There are no new technology but more surveillance and plastic barriers to the only other humans to interact with in person. The cost has gone down with the reduction of adult beverages but the fun is to get pass all the cameras and TSA to slip away with a free six-pack.

The water still comes out of the facets, the toilet still flushes, the heat still warms up my tootsies and the stove warms up the frozen pizzas. There are still the moans and groans of an old house but the radio drowns out most of them.

The clothing is all rolled up but only a pair is worn. One is in the washer and one on the body. Rinse and repeat.

One of the computers hasn’t kept up with whatever the Internet providers provide and still work but with reminders that they are no longer supported by 2020.

The yard still offers entertainment for the price of a can of cocktail peanuts and the front porch is perfect for a snooze in the sunshine.

Of course there were those pink tails that tried to settle in the yard after street repair disturbing the feeding process and that mouse in the house that wanted to eat sponges and steal paper towels and Mr. (and Mrs.) Hawk who like to come visit occasionally.

Other than that, no major disruption or disasters to the boredom of hibernation. The next stop will probably be even more boring?

 Music of 2020

I try to listen to music through NPR’s ears. Now and then I catch a pearl and share with others. Sometimes others send me a jewel I’d missed. Often I listen to favorites that have lasted me through the years.

At year-end, I review what has been popular and what will give me a taste for another try.

This year of 2020 introduced me to Molly Tuttle. I’d had probably heard her before but this year a couple of her tunes got on my play list. She is a talented singer and an exquisite flat picker. Her versions of “Helpless”, “Standing on the Moon” and “She’s a Rainbow” are technically strong visually interesting. She is also cute (with or without hair).

Another woman who got my attention was Fiona Apple. Intense. I like intense women. Don’t know if I could sit through an entire concert but her videos have kept my interest.

Pomplamoose, from a French word meaning grapefruit, have a couple of mash-up covers that were well produced and the musicians seem to be having fun. Fun is important. Plus they stopped on a dime. She is also cute.

Mike Oldfield released the making of “Tubular Bells” video. It was that early 70s album with one song on a side that everyone had. The video shows all the parts and how they were played. At least for the presentation for the camera one gets the idea of how it was constructed with Oldfield conducting.

Tash Sultana “Jungle” was on Tiny Desk (which I regularly watch). She’s been in my ear before but again energy. Lots of energy. Lots of technology but seems to be having fun. Fun is important. She is also cute.

‘Harlem River Blues’ (written by Justin Townes Earle, Steve’s son who left us this year) Steve Earles & The Dukes caught my ear with the drop down D drone and the chorus at the end. Must be hard to play your son’s song.

John Prine gave us ‘Summer’s End’ before he left us. He had the pause of human spirit. Cried like I’d just seen one of those Budweiser puppy and big horse commercials.

To keep the taps open try… ‘Heather’s Letters to her Mother’ Becca Stevens, ‘Better Than We Found It’ Maren Morris, ‘Love at the Five and Dime’ Nanci Griffith, ‘Willie’s Lady’ Anais Mitchell and Jefferson Hamer

To lighten up the mood try… ‘You Shook Me All Night Long’ Steve ‘n Seagulls. Breaks me up every time.

To end the year, how about a Christmas carol like: ‘Carol of the Bells’

‘Carol of the Bells’ on a Harp, ‘Carol of the Bells’ Shepherd Boomwhacker, ‘Carol of the Bells’ Verge Studios, ‘Carol of the Bells’ Dark Isle Pipers, ‘Carol of the Bells’ Cast in Bronze, ‘Karen of the Bells’, ‘Chorus of the Bells’, ‘Carol of the Bells’ Berea College Bluegrass Ensemble, Carol of the Bells Karolina Protsenko, ‘Carol of the Bells’ Carolina Crown marching band, ‘Carol of the Bells’ Calum Graham, ‘Carol of the Bells’ Hans Zimmers Dark Knight version, ‘Carol of the Bells’ Allen Protégé, ‘Carol of the Bells’ Hillsong London Carol Service, ‘Carol of the Bells’ Gael Winds, ‘Carol of the Bells’ Shin Beom Hong BPMC hand bell choir, ‘Carol of the bells’ claymation, ‘Carol of the Bells’ Metallica, ‘Carol of the Bells’ trans-siberian light show, ‘Carol of the Bells’ Pentatonix, ‘Carol of the Bells’ piano cover, ‘Carol of the Bells’ St. George’s Chapel Choir, ‘Carol of the Bells’ The Piano Guys, ‘Carol of the Bells’ Lindsey Stirling

2021

In a few hours, I hope to be asleep as the bell chimes twelve. Hopefully the rain will stop drunken idiots from firing off into the sky. Seems the family has stuffed their faces and shuffled off to their trundle beds. Finishing off a bottle of bubbly before retiring myself.

What will tomorrow bring?

Today is the tomorrow you worried about yesterday. Let’s see what happens.

If you use this time, as I do, to arrange your memories to prepare for a new year with unknown adventures and possibilities, then sleep well.

You have no control.

In Memoriam

 

About this time of year, a collection of photos and stories of those who have ‘passed away’ in the pass 12 months will appear in the social media and obituary pages. These are the recognizable faces and names of celebrities. Composers, writers and painters, heads of state and activist, television comedians and Shakespeare thespians, accomplished performers and media personalities are all listed. It is one of the few times age is associated with the name.

Like any good memoriam, accolades are made to the works and wealth of the deceased. Next year there will be another list.

What of all the others?

Harold, Thomas, Mary Joyce, Michael, Ann “Bobby”, Marcia Elizabeth, Ronnie, Richard, Annie Bell, Franklin, Jo Ann, Deacon, Nicholas, Marva, Delores, Lovelee, LaTonya and Merwin all died yesterday in this town. At least that is the local newspaper listing of obituaries. There are more who are not recorded and those who will pass nameless.

There was another list before this one and there will be another list tomorrow. These names and faces are familiar to someone, but I don’t recognize any of them.

Harold had hemorrhoids, Thomas was a vet, Mary Joyce had a drinking problem, Michael never came out of the closet, Ann was an orphan, Marcia was a single mom, Ronnie wrecked his car, Annie OD’d, Franklin had diabetes, Jo Ann was abused as a child, Deacon was shot, Nicholas, Delores and LaTonya had Covid-19, Marva drowned, Lovelee had kidney failure and Mervin had a heart attack. One was a plumber. One was a truck driver. One was a preacher. One was the person behind the mask checking out your groceries. One repaired cars. One cleaned rooms at the motel. One was a notary public. One had seven kids, but one died in childbirth. One was a special ed. teacher. One was a trash collector. One was an accountant. One worked at a hardware shop. One worked in a factory. One fashioned nails. One delivered newspapers. One was a fisherman. One cooked school lunches. One was a card shark. One was a park ranger.

Families and friends will see them off, say a few words and stand in silence to respect. Then they will walk away over the loved one’s new neighbors. Some will tell stories during holidays or perhaps put a photo up on the wall as a reminder. Some will return to the grave to place flowers until daily life distracts. Don’t worry. Until the archeologists come, everyone will stay put.

Some who make the in memoriam will remain in the ‘top ten’ while other famous names will fade to be replaced. Some will even get a holiday named after them so people can take off from work or give presents.

As you see these pages of names and faces of the recognized, place one of the folks from the obituary page in too. One day your name will show up.

Made In The U.S.A.

 

Sitting here waiting for last nights dinner to leave, I was reading this article about a new guitar.

I admit I’m a gear head and am fascinated by the luthiers who take pieces of wood and make musical instruments. How someone can take a tree and turn it into a guitar or violin or piano is fascinating. The parts and pieces that are carved, sanded, drilled and polished into a tool used by composers to create tunes we can all hum along with (because no one remembers the words without the sheet music).

There are master craft professionals whose practice and experiences have become recognizable names. A violin constructed by Stradivarius is coveted for it’s perceived quality and sound and can be sold for millions. Antonius Stradivarius wasn’t the first fiddle maker or the last. He didn’t have any special woods or tools that made his creations better than others but everyone remembers the name Stradivarius.

The same is with other instruments like Steinway pianos, Ludwig drums, Sennheiser electronics and Johannes Scherzer trumpets. The names Martin, Gibson, Fender, and Guild have been the most recognizable guitar brands through the years.  Through construction quality, manufacturing quantities, availability or advertising these names on the headstock have been the heritage of the guitar industry in America.

Like the brand of Ford, Chevrolet, Heinz, Levi, Craftsman, and Coleman they have become synonymous with quality, fine workmanship and constructed in the U.S. of the A. Employees took pride in working for these companies.

There was still demand for Volvo autos, Rolex watches, Howard Miller clocks, Château Mouton Rothschild wine and Yves Saint Laurent fashions whose expertise could not be matched in America.

Made in the U.S.A. became a patriotic chant, a form of nationalism during the 70’s. With an economy that was repressing, small oriental models with good gas mileage were replacing large cars from Detroit, manufacturing was shifted overseas due to lower labor cost and America started to enjoy the new technology and cheaper prices coming from abroad.

Today no one knows where all the parts and pieces of anything we purchase are made. In our deposable society it has become the custom to throw away the old one and buy a new model. It has become acceptable to settle for lack of quality and workmanship for lower prices.

Now back to my reading.

There was this article about a ‘new’ parlor guitar presented under a fairly recent brand but one with a good reputation for quality and innovation.

 A little background history of the guitar industry in America.

When the colonists arrived at these shores, the indigenous people did not have any guitars. The immigrants brought the idea of strings plucked on a box from the fatherlands. The slaves created the banjo and the Spanish brought the basic design for the guitarra with variations of lutes and harps from other European areas.

Most of the aforementioned guitar brands started making mandolins. Small and easy to carry the mandolin became popular with many types of music.

The ‘parlor’ guitar was a small guitar that could be played in ‘the parlor’ by the ladies entertaining the family and friends. The small ‘parlor’ went out of style as people requested larger and louder guitars.

Every guitar brand has several sizes with names like D-45, J-200, F-512, and O, OO, and OOO models. Like cars have Mustangs and Corvettes, guitars have 000E Black Walnut Ambertone and J-185 EC Modern Rosewood with prices to match.

With everyone being stranded at home, guitars have become more popular. Unfortunately guitars, like cars, need to be ‘test driven’ before purchase. Each has a feel, a sound, attention to detail each player is looking for but must be experienced to get the endorphins churning. A guitar is built by hand and played by hand.

The article in question was about the PRS SE P20E. To translate that is a Paul Reed Smith (brand) Signature Electronic Tonare Parlor 2020 model.

James Rotondi wrote this article for ‘Acoustic Guitar’ February 2021 magazine. He is a guitarist, writer and performer who also writes. “Roto” as he is called, noted the quality, touch and sound of a smaller guitar. He wasn’t as impressed by the electronics but these are supposed to be quiet guitars not fit for AC/DC. His overall review was positive except for one thing.

“Perhaps the only buzzkill on this otherwise charming and solidly built guitar is the decidedly un-vintage machine imprint on the back of the PRS headstock which reads: “Built by Cor-Tek Musical Instrument Co, LTD, China. Under exclusive license for PRS Guitars.” Cor-Tek, for those unaware, is the official name of the Cort guitar company, with plants in Seoul, South Korea, China, and Indonesia. Now, clearly it would be difficult, if not impossible, to produce a similar guitar in the U.S. for the $579 street price that the SE P20E offers—though going with laminated mahogany back and sides, rather than solid wood, must also help keep the price affordable.”

The PRS SE P20E was ‘made in China’. The reasonable street price is $579 and without electronics around $500. The Paul Reed Smith organization (founded in 1985) is noted for their extreme ‘quality inspection’ before shipping. Then again all guitar manufactures say that.

The Paul Reed Smith mission statement: “Guitar building is an ongoing process of discovery. We are devoted to the guitar's rich heritage while committed to new technologies that will enrich our products with uncompromised tone, playability and beauty. Our success depends on our ability to listen, implement positive change and continually refine our craft.

Believing this, we strive to build the best guitars and guitar products possible and to serve our employees, customers, suppliers and community with distinction.”

The best reviews are by players who have purchased and use the guitar. From what I’ve read and heard, PRS is close to the best.

So why should it matter if the PRS SE P20E is constructed in China or U.S.A.? If the person(s) gluing the wood selection together, inserting the frets, cutting the inlays or applying the finish following exact detailed instructions and overseen by experienced qualified inspectors before release, is named Hank or Wáng does it make a difference? If Wáng worked at Stevensville, Maryland at the Paul Reed Smith construction facility would it make a difference in the quality of the guitar?

If one does the homework, each guitar style and model has specs of size, frets, wood, bracing, strings…. There are plenty of opinions and reviews on makes and models, some good and some not so much.

I’ve been privilege enough to play a variety of guitars through the years. Some came home and some had to be given back. Some are what are now called ‘Vintage’ or ‘Platinum’ guitars that carry steep prices. I found preferences that sway my purchasing or even browsing. A Gibson neck is too wide for me but is fine playing cowboy chords. A Guild has a flat sound to my ear but is known as the King of the acoustic 12-string. Every brand has a reputation and every player has a personal preference.

Every year there are new models. Some are experiments to see if the brand can expand its share of the market. Some are retro remakes to get the audience that either missed them the first time or couldn’t afford them when they first came out. Some are just cosmetic changes and some are in depth replicas with meticulous care to detail.

Some of my guitars have been almost impossible to play but they filled a need at the time and were a learning exercise. Some of my guitars were excellent but my taste changed. Some were bought in music stores and others pawn shops. Some were spur of the moment purchases and some were hours (years) of research for the best instrument for the buck. Some guitars were a few hundred dollars and some much more.

Now I always get any guitar I purchase a set-up check by luthiers or retail guitar techs. The best guitars are perfect straight out of the box while others might need a tweak or two to adjust from traveling bumps and bounces. Before I put the plastic down I want a seal of approval, not only from the manufacturer but the seller.

Some of my collections are name brands; some are unfamiliar brands with similar histories and quality standards. Some were not the top of the line but same specs except for type of lacquer or the name on the headstock.

I’ve never been one who covets the Stradivarius but understand the heritage of history and the discussion of how good the old pre-war guitars were. The same is true for automobiles. Is the ‘new’ Mustang comparable to the ’66 Mustang?

Smaller guitars are becoming popular again so more ‘parlor’ guitars are on the market. They are good guitars for the coach or campfire, easy to play, travel well and are affordable. I already have a parlor guitar (along with a mini, travel, junior) so I’m not in the market, but enjoyed reading the review.

 

Pam Dimick

 

Have you met Pam?

She is the talk of the town.

You will know her when you see her.

She’ll take your breath away.

There has been no one like her for years.

She’s been all over the world and is on the news every night.

World leaders talk about Pam.

Even the Pope mentions her in his Christmas message.

She can clear a room.

She makes grown men swoon and women faint.

Little children are taught to run and hide from Pam.

She is drop-dead gorgeous.

She’s hard to stay away from because she gets stuck on you.

She will probably be the celebrity of 2020.

Let me buy you a drink Pam.

Corona?

The Room

 

You are sitting in a room. You are sitting at a desk or relaxing staring at a screen scrolling through text, sometimes called ‘reading’.

Stop and look around the room. How is it decorated? Is it comfortable? Is the door closed?

A room is four walls. You can only be in one room at a time. A house is made from a bunch of rooms put together. Some houses feel like one big room designed by heating/cooling companies. Some houses are tiny with little room to turn around.

Some rooms have names. There is a bathroom for porcelain accoutrements. There is a bedroom for sleeping. There are rooms called dining rooms for a place to eat. There are room called closets that hold the clothing that isn’t on the floor. There are never enough closets and they are never big enough.

There are specialty rooms. The kid’s room, the poolroom, the entertainment room, the nursery room for the baby, the craft’s room and even a room where you can keep your powder dry. A room for all your books is a library and a room to cook your food is a kitchen. If there is a shed outside to hold the tools and lawnmower, it is just another room.

Most rooms are four walls. There is a ceiling and a floor. A room might have one window or more. The windows might be small or floor to ceiling.

How is your room decorated? Ceiling light? Ceiling fan? Curtains? Shades? Painted walls? Wallpaper? Carpeted? Rugs? Chairs? Sofas? Tables? Accent lights? Picture frames? Mirrors? Trinkets?

‘Tis the season where there are additional decorations to give the room a festive look only to be taken back down and store away until next year.

Are all the rooms decorated the same? Does your house have a theme?

As you sit here in this room, take another look around. Is there a pile of clothing that will be picked up later? Is your dog or cat sleeping? Is the remote within reach? Is the television on in the other room with no one watching it? Is your drink on the left or the right? Are you staring at your phone hoping it will ring? What do you see when you look out the window?

When you get up and leave this room do you turn off the electronics? Do you close the door? Now this room has become quiet storage for you stuff until you return.

When you enter another room, was it waiting for you? Are those stacks of magazines you’ve been reading still in the same spot? Are the lights on from your last visit?

While you coop with isolation or quarantine or lock-down, you have been recommended to stay in your room. You can pace from room to room and back again but what you see out the window is a place you are not allowed to go.

Do you feel boxed in? Do you feel claustrophobic? Do you feel you are living in a cell? That is a room too.

 

Just like you can’t live in the past or live in the future; you can only live in one room at a time.

The Christmas Pie

 

It rained yesterday. Today is sunny, cold and breezy. I woke up from a dream that I didn’t want to go away. Stumbling down the hall to get my morning V-8 I was still in a fog from last night. It had been warm enough before the second batch of rain to get a few zzz’s on the porch. After scanning the network to find Nancy’s town made the morning news, I crawled back under the covers. The dream didn’t come back.

It was now time to heat up some water, pour in some sweet flakes in a bowl and try and wake up to smiling children and pets wearing red and green sweaters. Lots of Christmas trees and little else scroll through the screen as I sip my coffee. This day is so quiet there is never any news.

Still I click on my usual news sites to see a repeat of what was there yesterday. There is a video of our president and some woman who talks funny telling the nation their thoughts of Christmas day. There was a series of religious references and cut away to a nativity but they were reading off a script. I turned it off because if I want some preaching I’d go to Preacher Jim, not the president.

It was time to start putting on layers. The temperatures were still in the 30’s but I can’t change that. The crew awaits me at the backdoor but will have to wait a little longer for their seasonal treats. I have other errands to do first.

Sunshine and no traffic makes the ride a little easier, but first have to put a gift out for Nessie and Cooper with a bottle of bubbly for Jan and her son to cheer in the New Year and wash away the old.

Going through routes I traveled everyday for years, it seems new from my last year’s venture. New fences and landscapes and gigantic houses that weren’t there last year surprise me on every corner.

Rolling up to Station #16, I pull up my kerchief and ring the bell. Both doors open to big burley men wondering what the emergency would be on this day of peace.

“Merry Christmas” I say handing the apple pie I’d brought as an offering. They all looked bewildered on why some old cowboy on a bicycle would give them a pie on Christmas day.

I told them the pie had gotten a bit crumbled in the ride but should still taste good. We’ll call it the 2020 pie.

I said my usual spiel of one neighbor who appreciates what they do and how working on Christmas sucks, yadda yadda yadda. “Merry Christmas and I hope you don’t have to work today”

Everyone left with smiles, but they couldn’t see mine under my handkerchief.

On the way back home I got to try out the new bike lane installation. Some white lines and little poles stuck into the pavement. All the cars were parked on what used to be the right lane of a two-lane autobahn instead of by the curb leaving a thin clear path for two wheels to travel unabated. Unfortunately this is where the leaves and fallen branches accumulate but it was better than before. I don’t know how many bicycles use this bi-pod highway but it is my tax money put to good use. Where was it 30 years ago?

There are no Amazon trucks in site. They’ll be back tomorrow for returns.

I pass by the old homestead up on the hill. I pass a few strangers walking their dogs. Everyone seems pleasant and friendly but everyone always does on this one day.

Stowe away the pony while panting from the hill climb, then put out the Christmas feast of blueberries, peanuts, sunflower seed, walnuts, pecans then refill the water dish.

It is too cold to sit outside with them, so I’ll watch from a cozy chair with a cup of Joe being rewarded in their antics.

As the yard calms down and the sun starts to set, I open a bottle of Williamsburg Governor’s white 2019, slice up the rest of the Gouda and Italian loaf and finish off the Christmas carols to be locked away until December 25, 2021.

Then get back to that dream. I left her waiting and I want to see where it goes.

Memories

 

This is the time of year when families gather and old photo albums are pulled out and memories are shared.

Except for this year.

The memories are still there, but there is no one around to hear them. That makes this year a different memory.

Old family movies showing snowball fights and unwrapping presents with no sound might bring back a memory, but it is only that.

Being home alone is a time to go through old photos and letters remind you of those who can’t be with you this year. Singing Christmas carols without harmony is pitiful. Decorating a tree for yourself can bring back when the dusty ornaments were bought. They may be hand-me-downs from another Christmas time or family heirlooms passed through generations. Then they will all have to be boxed and put back away in the attic.

The tacky sweater and goofy jewelry over the daily sweats only prolongs the agony before the wine is opened. Television, movies and music are repeats.

Some memories are unforgettable and others are a bit foggy without someone else around to fill in the details. Some memories are forgotten and some wish to forget.

Each memory is different from another’s point-of-view. Did we eat rice pudding or ambrosia?

So many other events happen in your timeline, layered deep in the recesses only to be prioritized during seasonal reminders or faded off the page losing all reference. Occasionally a word or a smell or a sound will jolt a long lost memory that may bring a smile or a tear.

In the end, memories will be all we have left. Whether documented or not each and every one of us will have our own perspective of the life that proceeded the time of the last rites.

Maybe our memories are what Saint Peter reads in the book before we enter? 

Calling Out

 

There has been a lot of calling out this year.

If you call someone in, you circle back to a hurtful or oppressive comment they made in private.

If you call someone out, you let it be known the comment was hurtful in a public space.

There have always been expressions of dislike. People give the finger or call out some offensive, but usually from a distance.

This year is different.

With the flood of conspiracy theories, anxiety, fear, boredom and repetition in isolation; people lash out on social media. There is plenty of fodder to comment on.

If you view a statement verified with questionable references, do you call it out?

Is that person wrong with their assumptions or are you superior in your knowledge of the subject?

Who wins the game?

This year with all the turmoil and strife, there have been too many instances where I had to disengage from communication with another person. Neither of us was ‘right’ or ‘wrong’ but the conversations were going nowhere. It was not a productive process.

Perhaps the New Year will calm the savage beast of politics, aged old perjury and bias to bring an awakening? Enlightenment?

I call out the world.

Stop feeding the frenzy and do something about your complaints. Think there is law enforcement injustice; join up. The other side is wrong, and then become them so they will know. Think the politicians are crooked or incompetent? Get into the game and get elected. Think racial bias continue to disenfranchise people of color? This may not happen overnight to change 400 years of history, but the activism gains attention and must not be paused. Shine the light on causes like global climate destruction, feminine inequality, pollution of land, sea and air, health care, starvation, addiction, welfare vs. billionaires, etc.

Nothing will change unless you make it happen.

 

Or is it time to close down social media and only talk face-to-face?

Behind mask.

Let’s Play Doctor

 

Seems this Covid-19 pandemic is clogging up the hospitals. All the doctors and nurses are busy trying to do their daily diligence wrapped in plastic. All the beds are filling up with patients who can’t breath.

Too many patients means the overflow must be shipped to another hospital or clinic or military ship until they are full.

And when there is no room at the inn, where does the ambulance take the shooting victim or the car crash victim or the overdose victim or the pregnant victim?

If the medic or EMS can’t stop the bleeding, the medical facility will attempt to cope with limited resources.

When the call goes out to stay at home, what will you do?

Self Help

There was a time when gigantic buildings with corridors and sparkling clean rooms with big windows and adjustable beds were not built. The local doctor would have to be called to alert of an accident or baby due. He’d grab a leather bag filled with ‘doctor devices’ (for the fairer sex was designated to nurse status) and arrive as soon as he could.

Until then, the family was the only resource for pain relief and comfort. Without any medical training, cold compresses to reduce fevers, bandages made from bed sheets and a bucket to catch whatever came out of the body. Other than that there was the praying and the wringing of hands in anticipation of a medical professional arrival.

Self Diagnosis

So here we are with all the social distancing and quarantining and fear of catching (or spreading) the cooties, even the doctor won’t come around. Just like teaching or office meetings or family gatherings, everything is done through the wire to your computer screen.

The doctor, nurse or whatever medical professional answers on the other end of the line can see your face, hear your voice (just like in the examination room) and record your complaints.

They can’t listen to your lungs, take a blood sample, check your blood pressure or take your pulse. If there is an opening in the skin letting liquids out, the person on the other end of the screen can’t reach through and put a band-aid on your boo-boo.

They can prescribe some pills or potions for you to go get at a pharmacy and take on a schedule to be followed up by another call, to check to see if you have improved or croaked.

You would like the doctor to have some empathy and compassion for you, but you are just case #13978-6 and the chart must be referred to before recognizing your name.

Self Evaluation

You know ‘You’ better than anyone else. You may have symptoms of something abnormal that you do not understand or a pain that won’t subside.

If you go to a medical professional to explain in detail your mental, physical or social ailment, you are a stranger. Test will have to be performed and diagnosis of the most likely of known similar reactions and possible chemical or physical adjustments to ease the pain or better the daily experience of living.

No medical professional can cure what you have done to yourself over the years. All the pizzas and fries, staying up late, partying too hard and worrying about everything from your job to your kids to your car breaking down won’t go away. It is all part of who you are and what you have become.

Breathing a little harder when you cut the grass?  Coronary artery disease; heart rhythm problems (arrhythmias); and heart defects you’re born with (congenital heart defects)? A heart arrhythmia is an abnormal heartbeat. Your heart may beat too quickly, too slowly or irregularly.

That pain in your knee when you stand up, is that just old age and creaky joints? Knee pain may be the result of an injury, such as a ruptured ligament or torn cartilage. Medical conditions including arthritis, gout and infections maybe the cause of knee pain.

You can certainly check online at all the different sites with every diagnosis and cause for every ailment with a multitude of solutions, but no cures. Maybe you can pick up a hint from ‘Ben Casey’ or ‘Grey’s Anatomy’? Maybe a visit to old doc ‘Marcus Welby MB’ or ‘Doctor Quinn, medicine babe’ will solve the aches and pains?

There are no going back or redoes. What hurts today that didn’t hurt yesterday, may or may not go away. You are the only one who will know.

Worried yet?

If you attend a session with a medical professional, they will astound you with words you can’t pronounce (unless you know Latin) and give you the ‘Fear of God’ preaching to follow their instructions or else.

Or else?

That is the point. There is no cure for life; there is just a timeline for when it is over. All the potions and concoctions may only delay the inevitable.

There are those of us who travel around the sun with frailties we shy away from, but they can’t. Sometimes all the healthiest practices fail no matter how hard we try.

Get A Shot

I’ve lived in a time where there was little pain. A few bumps and bruises along the way, but now it are different.

Without thinking about it, there was Polio, Smallpox, Aids, Ebola, Influenza, Cholera, Dengue fever, Hepatitis B, Measles, Mumps and the common cold going around while growing up.

Maybe a healthy immune system or those shots of Penicillin given to me as a kid or the practice of staying away from sick people have kept me alive this long?

Now there is a shot (or two) that promises that the news will change from body counts, lock downs and fear (as if politics wasn’t enough) and I’m almost in the age group to be a prime candidate.

How are you feeling?

The Christmas Wren

 

Here is a little Christmas story.

I have a studio behind my house. It is a little green shed that has everything I need. “Mansland” (as it has been called) has electricity, little heater that looks like a fireplace, a refrigerator, tool storage and an old wooden drawing table that is 5’ wide. There is no running water but I’m only a few yards away from the house.

When I get up in the morning, I’ll leave the house by the backdoor and unlock “Mansland”. I’ll bring out one of my ponies and ride to the Tummy Temple to get exercise and whatever meal for the day. When I return I open the door, turn on the radio and raise the blinds.

On warm days, the door stays open. On hot days, the windows are opened and the fans turned on.

With the door always open, I get some visitors. One of the bunnies will hop in to look around. A squirrel will go searching for the peanuts. A chipmunk will scamper in then turn and zoom out in a flash.

Now and then a bird will fly in. They will get up on the rafters and look around in wonderment. There are two skylights that they bang into wondering why the sky is solid.

No and then I have to walk out the door to show them the way they came in. They figure it out.

This little guy (or gal? I never asked) is a regular. I call him/her my “Bike Buddy” because he/she likes to get on my bike when I return from the Tummy Temple and check for bugs I picked up on the way.

Bike Buddy flies in through the window and searches the corners for spiders and whatever kind of bugs that I live with. After a good inspection, he/she escapes only to return another day. For a ‘Thank you’ I get a song.

The other day it had gotten colder and rained steadily. I don’t put out food when it rains because everyone is sheltered and won’t come out to eat.

The next day, after the rain stopped, I went out, opened the door and saw a little brown blur with the sound of fluttering wings. I went about my usual ritual of changing glasses and getting my gloves.

Before I left, I checked the rafters before I closed the door. Bike Buddy was gone.

Did he/she get trapped the last time I was out and locked in for two days?

There is a board that is slightly warped, just big enough for sunshine. It is also just big enough for Bike Buddy. I call it his backdoor.

They are all welcomed to come and go as they please.

Years ago I might not have been so tolerant, but I’ve learned. The guys, or at least their ancestors, were here long before I arrived. They are my neighbors and should be treated fairly. I’ve tried to be a good steward of the land and give them shelter and shade. I provide food and water and give them space to do what they would do if I weren’t here.

An amazing lady taught me that and I try to follow the lesson. I guess I’m still married so December 23,2020 @ 8:23PM is 37^th Anniversary. 

Stoic

 

What do you do if you walk out to the car and see your tire is flat?

Do you kick the rubber and yell out words that your granny would not approve of? Do you call the police to report a crime? Do you get on social media to tell everyone what crappy tires you bought?

 

If you are stoic, you realize the situation, call a auto service for assistance or get the spare and change the tire yourself.

 

Stoicism is a school of Hellenistic philosophy founded by Zeno of Citium in Athens in the early 3rd century BC. It is a philosophy of personal ethics informed by its system of logic and its views on the natural world.

 

The word “stoic” commonly refers to someone who is indifferent to pain, pleasure, grief, or joy. The modern usage as a “person who represses feelings or endures patiently” was first cited in 1579 as a noun and in 1596 as an adjective.

 

The Stoics elaborated a detailed taxonomy of virtue, dividing virtue into four main types: wisdom, justice, courage, and moderation. Wisdom is subdivided into good sense, good calculation, quick-wittedness, discretion, and resourcefulness. Justice is subdivided into piety, honesty, equity, and fair dealing.

 

So Stoicism is inimical to freedom. It is true that we cannot control everything, but Stoicism is the wrong response. But Stoicism is unable to work the “magic” of emotion, as Sartre says. In his view, people initiate emotions when they are confronted with obstacles they seemingly have no rational way of overcoming.

 

The Stoics viewed death as natural, a return to Nature. It is the value judgments we place on death that makes it as terrible as it is. This is the existential dilemma we all will face at one point or another in our lives. It often appears after the passing of a loved one or someone close

 

Opposite to stoic is to be easily perturbed, agitated, upset or excited.

 

Focus on what is under your control, the Stoic would say, even in love. Accept the human condition and the bounds set for you by nature. Understand that you cannot possess what you love. We have our loved ones on loans and should rejoice in them as long as they are present.

 

Being stoic is being calm and almost without any emotion. When you’re stoic, you don't show what you’re feeling and you also accept whatever is happening. The noun stoic is a person who's not very emotional. The adjective stoic describes any person, action, or thing that seems emotionless and almost blank.

 

Stoicism, a school of thought that flourished in Greek and Roman antiquity is one of the loftiest and most sublime philosophies in the record of Western civilization. In urging participation in human affairs, Stoics have always believed that the goal of all inquiry is to provide a mode of conduct characterized by tranquility of mind and certainty of moral worth.

 

Its chief competitors in antiquity were: (1) Epicureanism, with its doctrine of a life of withdrawal in contemplation and escape from worldly affairs and its belief that pleasure, as the absence of pain, is the goal of humans; (2) Skepticism, which rejected certain knowledge in favor of local beliefs and customs, in the expectation that those guides would provide the quietude and serenity that the dogmatic philosopher (e.g., the Stoic) could not hope to achieve; and (3) Christianity, with its hope of personal salvation provided by an appeal to faith as an immanent aid to human understanding and by the beneficent intervention of a merciful God.

 

 

Do what you can, where you are with what you got…

 

 

Christmas Music

 

There is a genre called “Christmas” music.

There are lots of types of music. Pop music, Hip Hop music, Dance music, Rock & Roll music, Swing music, Rhythm & Blues music, Techno music, Country music, etc. The list goes on and on, but there is only one type of music that is coming out of every speaker and headphone at the end of the year. The music is playing in the elevator. The music is playing in the grocery. The music is on every television program. There are special parades with this music. There are impressive orchestra presentations of this music. There are movies made about this music.

No other music overwhelms the ears during the 12^th month than “Christmas” music.

So how do everyone else adapt to this white Christian cultural event that has been promoted for years? Everyone joins in. Musicians, worth their salt, will either cover a “Christmas” song or write their own “Christmas” music. Seasonal commercialization 101.

“But wait,” you say, “Christmas music started a praising of the birth of the Son of God (today known as SOG)”. True. Cathedrals were constructed with outstanding acoustics for choirs to harmonize with words by contemporary composers who had no prior references.

Then words like “God” and “Jesus” started changing to little drummer boys’, frosty the snowman and of course Ole Saint Nick. A pious day of reverence turned into a party.

I heard every “Christmas” song since I was born. I’ve also heard most of the religious tunes too. I haven’t kept up with each year’s new batch but have a few favorites I play on Christmas day. Just to keep it real, I crank up the boom box outside and blast some “Christmas” music when it is 100 degrees in the shade. It is like ‘surf’ music when it snows.

So this year I decided to find all the variations of one of my favorite “Christmas” music and post one everyday. Many years ago I did a similar project to another popular song ‘Louie Louie’ and it stands the test of time.

This year as you are chomping on your fruitcake and slogging down your spiked eggnog, enjoy “Carol of the Bells”. You can sing along if you’d like.