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I’ll Have a Zoom Christmas, Without You

I’ll Have a Zoom Christmas, Without You

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The 2020 Christmas Letter

 

Have yourself a merry Covid Christmas
May your masks be bright…
From now on your smiles will be out of sight

Have yourself a merry Covid Christmas

Begin the Yuletide fray
Because now on your family will be miles away

 Just last year in our olden days
Happy golden days of yore
Faithful friends who were dear to us
Gather near to us no more

Come next year we all will be together
If the States allow
Hang my Christmas card it’s all I’ve got for now
So have yourself a merry Covid Christmas

How?

 

How?

You may be asking yourself that same question.

I actually considered skipping this letter again this year.

I had already written so much about this year in the life of my family I thought how much more sad news can you folks take?

How do you be “merry” in 2020?

 

I tried some of the usual things to generate “merry.”

I went out and bought a new Christmas tree.

“And don’t be cheap” was my only instruction.

So I got one with lights already on it and a remote control!

And though it wasn’t cheap, I did get a discount because it was the floor model.

Then I got a “smart plug” and now all I need to do to turn the Christmas tree lights on is say,

“Alexa…turn on the Christmas Tree.”

 

But none of that seemed to do it.

 

So then I thought I would go back and read the last fifteen years’ worth of Christmas letters including the 2018 non letter year blog post, hoping to find some inspiration and “merry” in those.  But I came away from that even more depressed and convinced that every year was a struggle with the hope that the New Year would bring something different, only to repeat the cycle the next year.

 

Then I listened a second time to an online Sermon from the first Sunday in Advent and that was a little more promising so I decided to “Google” Advent to learn more and I found this from a Western Kentucky University website:

While it is difficult to keep in mind in the midst of holiday celebrations, shopping, lights and decorations, and joyful carols, Advent is intended to be a season of fasting, much like Lent, and there are a variety of ways that this time of mourning works itself out in the season. Reflection on the violence and evil in the world causes us to cry out to God to make things right—to put death’s dark shadows to flight. Our exile in the present makes us look forward to our future Exodus. And our own sinfulness and need for grace lead us to pray for the Holy Spirit to renew his work in conforming us into the image of Christ.

Hmmm, I thought…

“Violence and evil?”

“Death’s dark shadow?”

“Our exile in the present?”

That was just what I didn’t need to be reminded of and certainly didn’t evoke any “merry.”

 

So I thought about music.  Music always makes me feel better. So I put on my Lowen and Navarro Christmas CD. That was good.  But then I found my favorite Christmas album of all time, That Christmas Feeling by Glen Campbell released in 1968.  My dad had this album when I was a kid.

Now I was getting warm.

 

Even though the Supreme Court ruled against prayer in public schools in 1962, when I was in “grammar school” growing up in New Jersey we were still allowed to perform a Christmas pageant each year acting out the story from the Bible of the birth of Jesus.  The pageant was narrated by two readers, typically a boy and girl.

In 1969 when I was in the eighth grade I stepped out of my comfort zone and volunteered to be one of the narrators.  To my disappointment however another guy had already asked to be the narrator.

My “shop” teacher was one of the teachers in charge of the pageant and he was my favorite teacher.   After some consideration it was decided that the contrast in our voices (mine was much lower) would work and so I was able to be one of the narrators and read the story of the birth of Jesus.  The story from Luke Chapter 2:

“And it came to pass in those days, that there went out a decree from Caesar Augustus that all the world should be taxed.”

And, in true “Life in the Wobbly Cart” fashion, I caught a bad cold that week and so the narration included me coughing and sniffing into the microphone as I read my part. It wasn’t pretty.

“And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people.”

And even now as sit on my couch writing, I look out my window to see my second Christmas tree, the one I set up outside on my deck in another attempt to find “merry,” bent and broken, the star hanging limply upside down, most of the lights not working but there is one random bulb flickering incessantly; damaged from being blown over by the wind.  Another reminder of just how “normal” my life still is.

For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, which is Christ the Lord.

But then it occurred to me.

In this year of everyone’s world being turned upside down due to a virus; a year that started off with the loss of our pastor, Steve; a year that I lost my old friend Frank to the virus; a year when my brother Carl lost his battle with cancer and we lost Kim’s dad; heck we even lost our cat… I was still looking for “merry.”

And so it was, that, while they were there, the days were accomplished that she should be delivered.

And she brought forth her firstborn son, and wrapped him in swaddling clothes, and laid him in a manger; because there was no room for them in the inn.

When all along, maybe I should have been looking for “Mary.”

“So they hurried off and found Mary and Joseph, and the baby, who was lying in the manger.”

And…Jesus.

 

“Suddenly a great company of the heavenly host appeared with the angel, praising God and saying,

“Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace to men on whom his favor rests.”

 

And in recognizing a brighter meaning of Advent, one of expectation and what was and is to come, maybe I had found my “merry.”

I hope you do too.

 

Kim and I hope you and your families have a very Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.

 

Kim and Curt

 

Postscript:

Our prayers go out to all those who continue to struggle in health or well-being due to Covid 19, as well as those battling other conditions; and also to those of you, who like us, lost family members and friends.

Kim and I would like to thank everyone for all the thoughts and prayers, and cards, and the general thoughtfulness provided to us and both our families this year.

Finally, from that Lowen and Navarro CD and the Meaning of Christmas:

So open your heart and let us give cheer, and try to remember the meaning of Christmas each day of the year.

PPS:

On December 9 after finishing and publishing this year’s letter I learned of the loss of another old friend, Joe Centanni, resulting from complications of the virus.  I have many happy memories of good times with a guy who, like my brother, would have given you the proverbial shirt.  Our prayers go out to Linda and the kids and the rest of the family.

The Answer is Blowin’ in the Wind

The Answer is Blowin’ in the Wind

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Would You Like a Lime with That Week Thirteen – The End

 

“Hey man, c’mon, c’mon we are going downtown, there is a huge protest going on.  There is going to be thousands of people in the streets.”

“Thousands of people?  You mean to tell me I can’t sit next to you at a bar and have a cocktail, but I can stand next to you in a protest and throw a Molotov Cocktail?”

“Yeah man, c’mon lets go.”

“Wait, wait,  wait, what about all that anxiety and social distancing and the economic disaster we just created due to the virus?  What was that all about?”

“C’mon really?  Are you still talking about the virus? That’s so last month.” 

“No, people with businesses lost their whole life’s work and incomes and some are just now beginning to open up again, isn’t that important?”

“Look, we don’t have to wait for them to open, we can just go in and take whatever we want.  It’s that easy! It’s a riot!”

“I don’t get it.  We can’t assemble twenty five people to worship in church but thousands can protest in the street?  There is something not right about that.”

“Dude… church?  There is no church anymore.  You don’t have to go to church any more, you watch it from your kitchen. Your kitchen is your church.  And besides, there is no God in all of this anyway.”

“Wait, wait, yes there is…  I think there is…God has to be in all of this…where is God?…I want my God back…”

 

Bob Dylan released Blowin’ in the Wind way back in 1963.  I would have been seven years old.   By the end of the decade much would change for this country.  The 60’s had proven to be one controversy after another with protests in the streets common.  Though there were definite similarities to some of the causes, like civil rights, and it’s hard to believe we are still talking about it all these years later, the hypothetical conversation above still can only be unique to this time.

Though I read that Dylan denies that Blowin’ in the Wind was written as a protest song, it certainly fills that need perfectly, and has been described as the anthem of the civil rights movement.

“How many roads must a man walk down
Before you call him a man?…

how many years can some people exist
Before they’re allowed to be free?…

… how many times can a man turn his head
And pretend that he just doesn’t see?

The answer, my friend, is blowin’ in the wind
The answer is blowin’ in the wind”

 

Some think that this theme of “blowing in the wind” may have been taken from a passage in Bound for Glory, Woody Guthrie’s autobiography, where Guthrie compared his political sensibility to newspapers blowing in the winds of New York City streets and alleys.

 

To me sadly, we just experienced this generation’s 9/11 in Mr. Floyd’s death.

We just had the incident. The moment when the whole country came together in a crisis, the one where everyone agreed, and the one that presented the perfect opportunity to build on.

But, like boo boos and never letting a good crisis go to waste, this opportunity seems to have been hijacked for other purposes, at least initially.

Mr. Floyd’s death can’t be in vain, there has to be some result.  And just like the 60’s, peaceful protest will prevail and changes will be made to tighten up some of those wrongs that still plague our society.

But laws and protests aren’t going to solve this problem, we can’t force people to change.

And there are always going to be bad people out there.  We can’t erase whatever the genes are that cause some people to be abusers, murderers, racists, and whatever else is bad in people of all colors in this world.  We need to acknowledge those people exist, and exist disguised and wearing many coats, and some uniforms, and deal with them appropriately.

But the rest of us, the majority of us, those of us who came together for a brief moment on Memorial Day or in the days after, need to not waste another fifty years and just remember to trust each other and to treat each other with love.

We have to look at ourselves and decide what we can do to help make this problem go away one by one.

We need God back because we need God’s help.

God has to be in all of this.

Because God is love.

 

And God is in the wind.

 

Week Thirteen and the end of the tag line.

 

 

 

The Birds and the Bees, Finally

The Birds and the Bees, Finally

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Would You Like A Lime With That Week Eight

 

Another week.

I got the sense this week that people are starting to get tired of this new lifestyle.

Normally on this upcoming weekend, the first Saturday in May, I would have the homemade meatballs cooking, the Derby decorations up, and the TV’s all on for the Kentucky Derby festivities.  This year that will be the first Saturday in September.  At least I hope.

I was busy since my last post.

I successfully “painted the roots” and made my wife even more beautiful.

On Sunday afternoon the remaining large potted plants that made the trip to “Plant Camp” back in October returned home again for the summer.

But I also must admit, since that last post, I broke the rules and made a quick twenty four hour visit to see my parents.

The last couple of weeks I had been more concerned that I hadn’t seen them and the phone calls were getting a little more weird and stressful each time.

 

My parents live in a small town called Woolford on the Eastern Shore of Maryland, west of Cambridge.  Their house is on the water, on a tributary of the Little Choptank River that empties into the Chesapeake Bay in the area of Taylor’s Island.

At the time I wrote this Dorchester County Maryland had the fourth lowest number of Coronavirus cases in Maryland with 51.  In fact with the exception of Wicomico County with the city of Salisbury, the Eastern Shore counties are all at the lower end of the list.

Never the less, without any traffic on the roads, I made good time and didn’t stop until I got in their driveway.

The last time I had been out there was the weekend of the 9th Annual Crawfish Boil and Muskrat Stew Festival on March 1st, so it had been about eight weeks.  That’s a long time when you are used to making that trip every two or three weeks.

 

The sun porch where we tend to spend most of our time faces the river, their pier and bulkhead.  In the yard there are a couple of trees, a flag pole, and two large purple martin houses high up on poles.  Purple martins like open areas which makes the waterfront yard perfectly accommodating.  By this time of the year, the purple martin houses were full of activity with birds swooping back and forth from their perches on their houses to the yard, and back again.

At one point, my mother and I were sitting at the table looking out the window and there were two birds rolling around in the grass.

So I said to my mother, “look at those two birds out there… they are really fighting!”

If you know my New Jersey mother you know she is awesome.  You also know she has never been shy about saying whatever is on her mind whenever she feels like it. She has no filter.  You always know where you stand with my mother.

In this case, her rather loud response was:

“THEY’RE HAVING SEX!”

“THEY’RE NOT FIGHTING!”

“THEY’RE HAVING SEX!

“Oh” I said rather sheepishly.  “I thought they were fighting.”

“THEY’RE HAVING SEX!”

“THEY’RE NOT FIGHTING!”

 

 

“Gee,” I thought to myself.

For the first time in my now almost sixty four years, I think my mother just had the “SEX” conversation with me.

In her own way, we just had “the talk.”

For me I wanted it to be like “C’mon Ma, yuck, is that what they are doing?  No, please tell me they’re fighting…!”

But no, they weren’t fighting.

THEY WERE HAVING SEX!

This is awkward…

But how was I to know?

I am naive about these sorts of things.

 

While I was there I was able to check and clean the gutters, a chore that included my dad insisting that he climb the ladder to check my check of the gutters.  Thankfully the quality control part of the gutter cleaning process included only one gutter section.

I also changed a couple of light bulbs, replaced a shower head, and fixed a smoke alarm.

We talked about memories of their growing up in our hometown of Oceanport and memories of me and my siblings growing up there too.

We stayed up late.

In the morning, we assembled and raised on a pole, a third purple martin house in the yard.  It was a birthday present from my mother to my father.

Probably a good thing because with all that sex going on, the purple martins were sure to need another boarding house pretty soon.

My father and mother then brought down the American flag, now frayed from the winter winds and needing to be replaced.

After all that was done, I packed up the truck, and headed back home.

I felt good about the time I spent and what I was able to accomplish.  My parents were grateful for the visit.  I was a lot less worried.

And best of all, I now understood:

“THEY’RE NOT FIGHTING!”

“THEY ARE HAVING SEX!”

 

Needless to say, I couldn’t wait to get home to tell my wife what I had learned!

 

Post Script:

As of today in Virginia, medical and dental offices are starting to open up, and elective surgeries will begin again.  A good sign.

Don’t forget to continue to keep those healthcare workers and their families in your prayers. Remember “Blessed are the merciful, for they will be shown mercy” (Matthew 5:8)

As well as all those sick or compromised from the virus and all other health issues.

Also those non healthcare caregivers working to take care of a loved one while isolated at home.

And those families who have lost loved ones.

And those who have lost jobs and businesses.

And keep reaching out to those who may need some attention.

 

Coming home from Plant Camp
Week Eight

 

Hello In There

Hello In There

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Would You Like a Lime with That Week Six

 

“I am an old woman, named after my mother

My old man is another, child that’s grown old”

 

I am not an old woman and I don’t have an “old man.”  I didn’t write those words.

The person who wrote those lines was also not an old woman and didn’t have an old man either.

What made this person such a great songwriter was his ability to write from the perspective of the characters he created and wrote about in his songs.

John Prine passed away earlier this month, a victim of complications of the Covid-19 virus, another reminder of the times.

Those words are from the song “Angel from Montgomery,” one of my all-time favorite songs, written by Prine, made more popular by Bonnie Raitt.  It contains one of my all-time favorite lines:

 “If dreams were lightening, and thunder were desire

This old house would have burnt down a long time ago”

 

According to Jason Isbell, another singer/songwriter I have mentioned before who was a close friend of Prine’s, “John always said, when he grew up, he wanted to be an old person.”

I have always thought, when I grew up, I wanted to be a writer.  I guess for me being an old person some day was just assumed.

John Prine was a writer who just wanted the chance to grow old and proved you can’t just assume.

 

Kim and I had a nice Easter.

We got up at 6 a.m., had coffee by the fire pit while we viewed the on line Sunrise Service on Kim’s iPad.

Then we took a four-mile walk.

We planted flowers at Donny’s gravesite, now an Easter Sunday custom.

We did a Zoom call with all the kids and grandkids.

My cousin sent us a nice photo of my aunt, who along with my parents, are the last surviving members of that generation in my family.

We talked to our parents.

 

It hit home to me a little more this week, just how this virus, has impacted our older generation.

Almost a month ago now I wrote about how I wrote about “Mr. Nobody” and had read a lot of nice comments about my dad that I promised to read to him the next time I went out to see him.

When I made that promise, I thought it would be soon.

Now a month later I know I really don’t know when that will be.

And this past weekend a similar situation presented with my dad’s birthday.  Again there were many nice comments and remembrances, I promised to read them all to him.  I was thinking this time over the phone.  But there were so many, that didn’t seem practical.

So just before dinner on Easter Sunday I tried to teach my mother how to access my dad’s Facebook feed on his smart phone while trying to communicate this while on a video call over the Amazon Echo.  Understandably for an older person, trying to learn how to use a smart as well as navigate Facebook proved to be way too hard to manage.

Let’s face it, technology isn’t always an option for an older person.

After dinner, again sitting by the fire pit, I sat with my wife as she talked to her mother on the phone and towards the end of the call I listened to my mother-in-law weep as Kim assured her she would up to visit as soon as it was possible.

Then I received the photo of my Aunt Joan being wheeled out of her assisted living facility on Easter Sunday by a healthcare worker so that my cousins and their kids could see her from a safe distance.

 

And I realized, on a good day without a virus, most older folks don’t get to see their families or friends enough.

Prine had a song for that too called “Hello in There” that might make you cry if you have never heard it.

“We had an apartment in the city
Me and Loretta liked living there
Well, it’d been years since the kids had grown
A life of their own, left us alone”

Sad right?

The kids have moved on, they have a life of their own now.

 

Special days, like birthdays or Easter Sundays, are a big deal for our older family members and friends.

Maybe they get to go to church, which may be their one social outlet.

Maybe they get a visit from their family.

Maybe they get taken out to lunch or dinner.

But not now.

Some, like my dad, may not always understand that.

They are being deprived of that birthday visit, deprived of the Easter visit, deprived of being able to worship and have fellowship in church.

Instead, they have to wave to their family on a six-inch screen.

Or, from a wheelchair, with loved ones a safe distance across the street.

And they have to watch their church sermon on their cell phone or computer, using Facebook or YouTube.

Maybe.

Because, what if your older person can’t navigate a cell phone or computer; like my mother, my father, my mother in law, and my father in law.

 

Prine’s song “Hello in There” beautifully yet sadly captures the loneliness of an older couple.

“You know that old trees just grow stronger
And old rivers grow wilder every day
Old people just grow lonesome
Waiting for someone to say, “Hello in there, hello”

 

I understand why we have to live like this right now.

I guess the message is, if you have an older person or couple that you know is alone and isolated at this time more than ever, reach out to them.

And, if you have an older person who doesn’t have the technology or know how to use the technology, maybe once you are logged on to your online sermon or small group or happy hour Zoom group chat, call that person on the phone so they can at least listen with you.

Somehow find a way to do this:

“So if you’re walking down the street sometime
And spot some hollow ancient eyes
please don’t just pass ’em by and stare
As if you didn’t care, say, “Hello in there, hello”

 

Say “hello in there.”

 

Post Script:

So, wanting to make sure my dad saw all those nice comments from all of you, I decided to print out hard copies of the Oceanport Centennial post and the birthday posts and mail them to him.  He received them on Wednesday and has been taking his time to read all of them.  He told me “they were great.” Thanks again to all.

The photo above is of my aunt,  Joan Christiansen, with the caption “Grandma! And the amazing healthcare worker that brought her out so we could wish her Happy Easter!”

“Blessed are the merciful, for they will be shown mercy” (Matthew 5:8)

Please continue to keep those healthcare workers and their families in your prayers.

And keep all those sick or compromised from the virus and all other health issues in your prayers.

And of course, all those families, who like the Prine family, who have lost loved ones.

The sun rising on Easter morning

And All God’s People Say…

And All God’s People Say…

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Would You Like a Lime With That Week Five

 

In the darkness of the early morning, the worshipers began filling the benches of the church’s outdoor venue.  The fire was already burning, providing some helpful light as folks settled in their places, as well as a little welcomed heat on the chilly spring morning.  To the left of the fire was the cross, draped with white cloth and covered in fresh flowers now illuminated by the rising flame, creating a beautiful image to celebrate the resurrection.

As the time of the service approached the lone musician began singing songs of Easter unplugged on an acoustic guitar as the worshipers waited.

Now 6:30 a.m. the scheduled start time, and everything was perfectly in place for a beautiful Easter sunrise service; the fire, the cross, the music, the worshipers.

Yes, all the pieces were there, except for one, only one thing was missing.

The Preacher!

Six-thirty dragged on to 6:35 a.m., now approaching 6:40 a.m. while the music continued, the worshipers were starting to get antsy and whispering to each other.

I leaned over to Kim and said: “maybe I should go see where he is.”

I quickly walked into the building and found the pastor, Steve Vineyard, behind his desk hunched over his laptop working away.

I stood in the doorway of his office and the exchange went something like this:

“Hey man,” I said.

He spun around in his chair to face me and replied very cheerfully “hey Curt, how are you?”

“I am good,” I said.  “Is everything okay?”

“Yes,” he replied, “just reviewing my sermon, why?”

“Well,” I said, “because there are a whole lot of people outside waiting for you to come out and preach the Sunrise Service.”

He bolted straight up out of his chair and stood briefly visibly disturbed by what I had just told him.  He quickly collected his jacket, Bible, and sermon notes while muttering   “This is my worst nightmare!  I have nightmares about this kind of thing! Forgetting the service!”

We headed out the rear door towards the outdoor sanctuary and split up to not give the appearance that anything was wrong and that this was nothing more than Steve’s dramatic Sunrise Service entrance.

With the sunrise still some minutes away he hit the lectern and began the service, with surely a sigh of relief from the musician and the worshippers.

As I settled back in my seat next to my wife, in the distance I could hear sirens.

As the sirens in the background began to get louder indicating they were getting closer, once again I leaned over to Kim and whispered: “I hope they aren’t on their way here.”

Within minutes, a fire engine from the Sterling Volunteer Fire Department pulled up to our Sunrise Service.  Apparently a concerned neighbor had reported a fire at the church.   After a brief discussion with the firemen and a few laughs, we were able to finish our service with our fire intact.

At 6:54 a.m. the sun rose.

The sun was now up on Easter Sunday, April 1, 2018.  Our service ended around 7:15 a.m. The fire engine provided the necessary comic relief and the pastor being late for the service was quickly forgotten.  And Pastor Steve, it turned out, was a huge fan of fire engines. All was perfect again.

 

Twice in the last couple of weeks, I have been reminded of the events of Holy Week of 2018.

Kim was going through our Google photos one evening and said “look, here’s a picture of Steve,” as she found some photographs I had taken of the Good Friday service on March 30, 2018.

A few days later, while preparing for a presentation for this year’s Good Friday virtual  “service” I found folded up in one of my Bibles, the instructions for my role in that 2018 Good Friday service.  I was one of the eight readers assisting in the service.  I was reader number four, the eighth and final reader was Steve.

My instructions were “After you read your Scripture, each of you will be helping to ‘strip the Altar’ as the lights in the sanctuary are slowly dimmed.  We have eight items and eight readers…LEAVE THE LAST CANDLESTICK FOR STEVE TO CARRY OUT AS HE LEAVES THE SANCTUARY AFTER THE FINAL READING…Steve will read the eighth and final Scripture and carry the remaining candlestick out of the Sanctuary.

Bell Toll.

Pastor Steve stripping the final item, the candlestick, off the altar and carrying it out of the Sanctuary. Good Friday 2018

Though it was nice reliving those memories from the past, it was a hard reminder that in spite of the chaos of our current crisis that is affecting all of our church services,  Easter at my church wouldn’t have been the same anyway.  My church was broken before the disruption caused by the virus.  Maybe you know because you attend my church, maybe you remember my post from January titled The Stone,  but our pastor who delivered all our sermons for the last four Easter Sundays, Pastor Steve Vineyard, passed away unexpectedly in January of this year.

He would end all of his sermons by saying, “And all God’s people say…”

Only one of those sermons that I know of, was he late for.

Only one I can pretty much bet, featured a real fire engine.

And though all were meaningful to me, I can say, truly one of those sermons was life-changing for my family.

And so, this Easter’s diversion, this Easter’s “fire engine,” is in the form of a virus. On that Easter Sunday in 2018, it was the fire engine that helped us forget that the preacher, who for the only time in his shortened life, was late for a service he was to preach.

For my church, I hope that the arrival of this Easter’s “fire engine”, the Coronavirus, doesn’t have the same result it had two years ago, I hope it doesn’t cause us to forget.

Therefore, let us not allow this virus to help us forget what is really missing from this Easter season.

Because once again,

It’s the preacher.

Pastor Steve.

 

“And All God’s People Say…”

Amen

 

 

“Blessed are the merciful, for they will be shown mercy” (Matthew 5:8)

Please continue to keep those healthcare workers and their families in your prayers.

Happy Passover and Happy Easter to all.

By the way, the photo above was taken at 6:35 a.m. Easter morning, 2018.  The lectern located between Willis on the guitar and the fire, as you can see, was still vacant at that time.

The arrival of the fire engine.

 

Don’t Piss on My Boots and Tell Me It’s Raining -Would You Like a Lime With That Week Three

Don’t Piss on My Boots and Tell Me It’s Raining -Would You Like a Lime With That Week Three

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My hands hurt.  They are cracked and bleeding.

I am washing my hands a lot.

Back in the early 80’s I was working as a Respiratory Therapist in the ICU at Fairfax Hospital (now INOVA Fairfax Hospital) and I worked with a nurse whose husband was from somewhere in Africa.  I remember her telling us one evening that her husband would say that if you had a wound or cut your skin you should urinate on it.

I don’t know about that but I do know that on those occasions that I have to apply hand sanitizer to my now split, cracked, and sometimes bleeding hands peeing on them sounds like a less painful option.  Alcohol on cut skin stings.

 

This is now the third week of our escalation of caution related to the Coronavirus Pandemic.

And speaking of peeing, there was a lot of pissing on boots and claiming it’s raining this week from all sides but thankfully the bill was finally passed that would begin to bring some economic relief to workers and businesses big and small.

I don’t know that I understand all the detail nor do I want to but I am comforted to know that it may be just the beginning and could be expanded should it be needed in the future. I want to be sure that if the Kennedy Center goes through their $25 million too soon they can get more.

 

Also this week I had a “first” experience.

Instead of kissing my wife goodbye when she leaves for work we started elbow bumping.

Now I want you to know that this year, on July 1st to be exact, will be my 20th wedding anniversary.

And if, by July 1st, the only thing my wife and I are touching are our elbows, I am going to be pissed.

 

And this week the President got in trouble encouraging the use of a drug called chloroquine and another closely related drug called hydroxychloroquine.  Sadly, a man in Arizona ingested an aquarium cleaner with a similar name, chloroquine phosphate and died, which the President got blamed for on social media.

Dr. Anthony Fauci, who we have all come to know and love, said he would take the drug if sick but only within a clinical trial.  I understand the need for data, but sometimes it’s hard to understand the delays in treatment while you set up the protocols, qualify the patients to meet those protocols, and then finally at some point begin the treatment while all the time you are your loved one is dying.

 

Yesterday I was going back through some Google photos and realized it has been four weeks since I have seen my parents. The first Sunday in March we were attending the 9th Annual Crawfish Boil and Muskrat Stew Festival in Cambridge, Maryland with my parents and my sister Pat and brother-in-law John, as we celebrated their 68th wedding anniversary that weekend.

Ralph, the winner of last year’s and this year’s Muskrat Leg Eating Contest.

Life was still normal back then.

Well, at least as normal as eating Muskrat legs can be.

Congratulations to “Peg Leg” Ralph Bramble for repeating as Muskrat Leg Eating World Champion again this year.  We didn’t stay to watch the competition but I did ask Ralph for a photo before I left.

 

We also learned this week that Easter was canceled.

Well, not canceled really, you can’t cancel Easter, but churches, at least United Methodist churches are to be closed until at least April 23.

Too bad, I think we could all use a little reminder of Jesus and what Easter is all about right now and in the coming weeks.

 

Please continue to pray for those who are sick, those who are taking care of the sick, those families who have lost loved ones, for our leaders as they navigate us through this situation, and those working on a cure and vaccine for all diseases.

 

Post Script:

While writing this I thought it best to look into this peeing on a wound question and from what I have determined, it is not advisable.  So, let me make it clear I am not encouraging you to pee on the next wound you get.  I don’t want to be demonized on social media for causing you to be septic.  Soap and water and little antiseptic only, please.

Mr. Nobody -Would You Like a Lime with That Week Two

Mr. Nobody -Would You Like a Lime with That Week Two

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“I get the news I need on the weather report,
I can gather all the news I need on the weather report”

I can’t help it, it just happens.

I woke up this morning singing “The Only Living Boy in New York.”  I have been belting it out all day.

Don’t we all just want to get all the news we need on the weather report these days?

We are now in week two of the official escalation of Coronavirus pandemic.

Life has changed for all of us.

For those lucky enough to be still working it’s not business as usual by any means.   Working from home is the case for many, or shortened hours; reduced staff; “take out” only.

Shopping continues to be challenge, especially for certain items.

Hopefully you don’t have colonoscopy scheduled any time soon.

But even if you did those elective medical procedures are probably canceled anyway.

Sporting events are going on with no one in the stands or not at all.

My “first Saturday in May” event, the Kentucky Derby, will this year be the “first Saturday in September,”Labor Day weekend.

And my daughter Alexa has officially proclaimed the Maryland Terrapins 2020 NCAA Champs daring anyone to prove her wrong.

And of course, if you are a church, you are preaching to the camera on Sundays with no one in the pews while on Friday afternoon your lone staff person is belting out “The Only Living Boy in New York.”

 

Then there are those who are not working at all.  Their lives have really changed.


“Hey, I’ve got nothing to do today but smile,
Da-n-da-da-n-da-da-n-da-da and here I am”

Many with nothing to do today, but hopefully still smiling.

 

I spoke with my mother on the phone earlier today.

One of the highlights of my dad’s day is his “coffee break” which for him is kind of a mid to late morning time for some food and coffee and rest that goes back to his days as a crabber and a waterman.  It could be out at the table by the river or on the deck or in the house depending on the weather.  Or if they happen to be up in Cambridge, the closest and biggest town near them like they happened to be this morning, it could be at a restaurant, or McDonalds, or Royal Farms.  My dad no longer drives so this morning he asked my mother to stop for coffee break and of course she couldn’t and had to explain to him that everything is take out.

My mom said my dad is having trouble understanding that.

I get it, it’s hard to change your routine.  I understand, but it’s hard.  Especially for old guys, ninety-year-old guys who don’t have a lot of options for fun activities even without a pandemic.

He wants his “coffee break.”

 

One of the highlights of my week again came from a post on the Oceanport Centennial Facebook page belonging to my New Jersey hometown.

Someone posted a photo of my dad sitting on a little desk on the job at the Wolf Hill School.

My dad was the head custodian at the Wolf Hill School which had grades K through 4 or K through 5 depending on the year.  He started in that position the year my younger brother started Kindergarten so maybe 1966 and retired about 28 years ago so maybe 1992?  So, for about 25 years or so he worked at that school.

It got a lot of comments:

“Great guy to work with”

“So great with the kids!”

“Love him”

“He would sweep…with Mrs. Jeffrey’s class pet hamster in his shirt pocket”

“He would sing to me my own special song”

“great guy’

“The best”

“A true hero”

“Wonderful sense of humor”

“True work ethic”

“Amazing guy”

“Such a nice man”

“What a terrific man”

“Loved us kids and we loved him”

“What a wonderful man”

“One of my fondest memories”

“Deserves nothing but the best!”

 

Gee whiz Pop, I hope when I am your age someone will even just remember me.  Probably be more like “yeah, I remember that guy, he gave me a cold once…”

 

And then there was this comment:

“Remember the notes on the black boards from Mr. Nobody?”

 

Mr. Nobody?

From one aging nobody to another, I had never heard that story.

So, I asked the nice lady who posted that comment to tell me more.  Here was her response:

I believe he only did it with the lower grades because I only remember it happening in 1st grade with Mrs. Bennett. When we were out of the room someone would mysteriously leave little notes on the black board and signed them Mr. Nobody. They were short messages like have a nice day or be good children, I’m watching, etc. We would be so surprised and excited when we got a note. I didn’t know until probably 4th or 5th grade who it was.  (Tara)

Hey Pop!

Hey Mr. Nobody!

Reading all these comments, it doesn’t sound like you are nobody to me.

Sounds to me like the kids thought you were pretty special.

 

In three weeks, Mr. Nobody will celebrate his 91st birthday.

I am hoping this pandemic doesn’t keep me away from visiting him for too long.

I would like to thank all you nice folks for all the nice comments about my dad.

I can’t wait to get out there to share them with him.

 “Hey, let your honesty shine, shine, shine
Like it shines on me
The only living boy in New York”

 

Yeah Pop, like it shines on me…

Happy early birthday Pop!

 

Oh, and let me not forget to thank all you healthcare workers who, like our soldiers in war, are reporting for duty every day, then going home and taking care of your own families. We are grateful and praying for your safety!

Week Two

 

(The Only Living Boy in New York, written by Paul Simon, performed by Simon and Garfunkel)

Would You Like a Lime with That?

Would You Like a Lime with That?

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It’s Friday the 13th.  If you believe in that sort of thing, you might think it a fitting way to end this week.  For me it actually came complete with being attacked by a black cat.  How appropriate!

Last night around 8:00 p.m., I finally settled down after I made a trip to Sam’s Club. That was an experience. You had to forage for your own shopping cart from the parking lot and the lines were long.  The obvious things were gone: toilet paper, disinfecting wipes, hand soap.

But other items too you wouldn’t expect, like chicken. There wasn’t a piece of chicken to be found, rotisserie or otherwise.  I sent a photo of the egg cooler to Kim, totally empty, and told her not a chicken or an egg was to be found in Sam’s.

Then I couldn’t help myself and sent her a second text asking “I wonder what went first the chicken or the eggs?”

Sometimes I just crack myself up.

Wednesday night the President finally did what everyone wanted him to do. Tell it like it really was. After telling us his plans to try to reduce the severity of the situation he basically said,

“Folks, we’re all screwed”

Well not exactly but based on the hysteria it’s caused since then he might as well have said that.

 

I remember when I was a kid, my younger brother Gary was diagnosed with Scarlett Fever. I remember Gary being out of his mind with fever and hallucinating which my brother Carl and I thought was hilariously funny. My mother had to come into the bedroom and try to calm him down while he talked about monsters and such. It was awesome, maybe not so much for Gary though.

But for the rest of us it was awesome.

Because, we got quarantined and had to stay in home from school! Though I think we were supposed to stay in the house, my mother let us go out in the yard and play. I believe we were off from school the whole week.

 

Though I am not prone to panic I did make that foray into Sam’s Club.

My mission?

I didn’t have one.  I was just curious.

So I wandered around bought some canned goods (“brown beans”) and some vitamins.  I have already been in the habit of practicing a lot of the safety precautions due to my everyday desire to avoid getting a cold or the flu.  The last time I had the flu was back in 1986 but I remember it as being up there with my perforated colon as an experience I wouldn’t to go through again.

They say we don’t need masks and I believe that.  But just as a precaution I am in the process of letting my nose hairs grow long and bushy to add some extra filtering capabilities.

And I was considering allowing my mustache to grow to one of those long “David Crosby” styles that cover your mouth too but that would make it too hard to eat onion soup.  All that cheese and stuff.

We just need to use common sense. Wash our hands with soap and water for 20 seconds

Some are saying sing the happy birthday song twice but I would prefer a couple of verses of Humble Pie’s “I Don’t Need No Doctor” while I am scrubbing.

 

As an adult in 2020, staying home is no longer as much fun as it was when I was a kid. There are certainly more conveniences because now as adult “kid” I can order supplies from Amazon, food from Uber eats or Take out Taxi, groceries from Pea Pod, and according to the sign I saw recently at a local intersection you can even get your beer and wine delivered.

And with my PC, internet and VPN connection I can work at home. With my cell phone I can communicate and have my calls “follow me” if I chose to.

Isn’t progress great?

I would rather play in the yard.

 

How did we get here?

Was it a conspiracy?

Was this China’s way of reducing their population through natural transmission of disease?

Some say it was the CIA!

Was this China’s way of showing us how dependent we are on their country?

Maybe a plot to reduce our country’s healthcare costs by filtering out the older more costly age group of citizens (like me) utilizing our healthcare system as we usher in the new socialized programs?

 

Who knows?  Of course I am making that all up.  But I can see how easy it is to spread fake news.

But the situation is now very serious not only from the health threat.  Not since Y2K have I seen such a response to a potential problem.  Of course in that case nothing ever materialized.

We know COVID-19 is more than just a potential problem we just don’t know yet how much of problem.   We have sickness and some deaths, and the already devastating economic costs are just beginning to be realized.

“Folks, we are all screwed.”

 

We will no doubt get through this like we have gotten through every other crisis to affect this country. And like with terrorist attacks, 9/11 and the wars that followed lives will be lost.

The stock market will go down and eventually the stock market will go back up.

Our vigilance will be heightened though maybe a little different (“hey man, cover your mouth!”)

But it will all be okay again and maybe even better.

Maybe our dependence on foreign manufacturing goods, pharmaceuticals, and foods will be realized and those supply chains will return home to our country.

Maybe research in finding vaccines and treatment for COVID-19 will aid other treatments and vaccines including those for the common cold or other disease.

Then it will all be behind us.

And we will just hear about the mundane deaths we have grown used to like those from cancer.

Or unwanted babies maybe.

And with that the world can be happy again.

 

So on this Friday the 13th and my weekend to follow, I think I just may have to quarantine myself to my deck and my back yard.  I can open up a can of brown beans, drink some Elderberry juice or maybe even a Corona with lime, play in the yard, relax a little, shut out the world, and just pray about it.

 

Just sit back, relax,  and watch the nose hairs grow.