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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

 

Groomin’…On a Friday Afternoon…Doin’ Anything We Like to Do

Groomin’…On a Friday Afternoon…Doin’ Anything We Like to Do

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Would You Like A Lime With That Week Seven

 

It’s Friday again, another week in “quarantine” comes to an end.

This week the focus in my house turned to appearances and what we might look like when this is all over and what we have to do to avoid that.

 

Last week I heard a story about a judge who made a plea in a letter for attorneys showing up for court hearings on Zoom, to put on some clothes and get out of bed.

Of course, this in was in Fort Lauderdale in Broward County, Florida.

Wait, wait, wait, my daughter is an attorney in Broward County, Florida.

Alexa, please tell me you were clothed and not still in bed for one of these Zoom hearings?

 

Grooming…or, not.

Things have certainly gotten a little more casual with our current situation.

Have we found the perfect hideout for our vanity in lockdowns, sheltering in place, physical or social distancing, and working from home?

Are we exhibiting paradoxical behaviors?

 

The dry cleaning pile sits ignored in a spare bedroom.

Casual business attire is now jammies and baggy sweatshirts, or less maybe, according to the judge in Florida.

 

And then there is hair.

Proverbs 16:31 says Gray hair is a crown of splendor; it is attained by a righteous life.   

 

Though my wife has lived a very righteous life, she chooses to not flaunt that by making her hair blonde.  And she is very beautiful. However, lately she has been worried about her roots.

Do you ride it out?  Or do you go to Walmart or Target and do it yourself?

As a result of this root issue, this weekend I get to add beautician and coloring specialist to my “additional skills” on my resume as I will be the in charge of painting the roots.

 

Eyebrows are an issue too.

Kim wants me to wax hers.  I am thinking about drawing the line on that one. I keep having this image of Kim with one eyebrow or maybe two little ones.

Or maybe worse, third degree burns on her face.

Making her hair fall out I can live with, but disfiguring her face? Nope I ain’t doing it.

 

I am glad I don’t have to worry about all that.

Surely it’s a little bit of an exaggeration to think that  I will look like the “me” in the photo above.

But a couple of weeks ago I ran into my buddy Jim who was then sporting a full beard for the first time, taking advantage of the opportunity that working from home has allowed.

Though as an adult I have always had some level of hair on my face, never have I attempted a full beard.  I wasn’t sure I could.  I must say I was a little disappointed when it took my wife a full nine days to even notice.

But still she was encouraging.

Now that I think about it, she was very encouraging.

Hmmm…

My wife once told me a long time ago that she used to only date guys with beards.

Hey, I’m thinking maybe this could work out for me!

 

Growing up my hair was blonde and though I sure don’t know how much of a righteous life I have lived, right now I couldn’t tell you what color my hair is.  If I had to describe it, I would say gray with white highlights.

My hair is also, right now, longer than it has been since the 70’s.

“It’s getting’ kind of long,” almost like I am “letting my freak flag fly” again as David Crosby put it way back then in “Almost Cut My Hair.” 

Thankfully my “freak” days are way behind me.

 

But I don’t suppose all this is hurting anyone and I don’t have to worry about my dad yelling at me to “get a haircut!”

 

I do hope the day comes sooner than later, albeit when it is safe to do so, that those folks who rely on our hair, our eyebrows, our finger nails and toe nails, and our dry cleaning to make a living, are able to get back to work.

 

Earlier this week on a Zoom call for work we were asked what we were thankful for in this time of crisis.

The truth is I am realizing just how hectic life was for Kim and I before this pandemic forced us to slow down. I am spending quality time with my wing man once again. I’m even painting her roots.

I guess maybe that’s my paradox, finding peace and love in the midst of a crisis.

 

I will end with some more words from Crosby in the final verse of “Almost Cut My Hair;” “When I finally get myself together…And I find a place inside to laugh…I feel like I owe it to someone.”

Hopefully we will all be able to look back at this someday and find something to be thankful for and hopefully something to laugh about.   I think we are all owed that.

 

 

Post Script:

 

I did find one other Bible verse relating to hair that seemed a bit ironic and fitting:

Therefore say to them, “This is the nation that has not obeyed the Lord its God or responded to correction.  Truth has perished; it has vanished from their lips. Cut off your hair and throw it away;  take up a lament on the barren heights, for the Lord has rejected and abandoned this generation that is under his wrath.”  (Jeremiah 7:28-29)

 

I realize not everyone out there is experiencing what I am experiencing therefore:

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.

Got my mojo working…

 

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.

 

Rollin’ Stone – Would You Like a Lime With That Week Four

Rollin’ Stone – Would You Like a Lime With That Week Four

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According to my cool guitar calendar on the wall in my office that I have mentioned before, today is the birthday of Muddy Waters.

Wikipedia refers to Muddy Waters as the “father of modern Chicago blues“, and an important figure on the post-war blues scene. His style of playing has been described as “raining down Delta beatitude.”

A beatitude, a supreme blessedness.

Quite the compliment.

Well, my mother told my father
Just before hmmm, I was born
“I got a boy child’s comin’
He’s going to be, he’s going to be a rollin’ stone
Sure enough, he’s a rollin’ stone
Oh well he’s a, oh well he’s a, oh well he’s a…  (from Rollin’ Stone, Muddy Waters)

Featuring that classic blues chord progression, it’s a great harmonica song.

It is said that the band the Rolling Stones and the magazine Rolling Stone both took their names from this song.

 

I spoke with my brother Gary a week ago and he was prodding me about how I had to keep this corona theme going now that I had started.

I haven’t written a weekly post since 2014.

I had to make a beer run.

 

Things got worse this week.

Some people think this is the end of times.

Some people think it is all part of a grand scheme for Trump to declare Marshall Law and take over the country.

Some people think this is this generation’s 9/11.

I don’t think any of that.

It may be the end of times for some things, like values maybe.

This is a different country than what it was twenty years ago.


Gas is cheap.

But we can’t drive anywhere.

Flights to Florida are $49.

But who wants to fly to Broward County right now?

I mean I do, my little guys are there, but I can’t.

Yesterday I got the email that my June 4 Jason Isbell and the 400 Unit show with David Crosby opening at Wolf Trap Farm Park has been rescheduled to a future yet undetermined date.

That’s okay because maybe that means Kim and I can go to the Kennedy Center.

Oh, they are not open either?

 

Do you remember when guys used to carry a prophylactic in their wallets?

I am carrying a rubber glove folded up in my wallet

You can never be sure when opportunity knocks so you have to be prepared.

Hey, you could be driving down the road and on the next street corner something catches your eye.

That’s it!  I’m doing a U-turn for that one.

$1.69 a gallon?

Yup and  I’ve got my glove on!

 

And speaking of prophylactics.

Every time I see Andrew Cuomo on the TV, I think of how elated he was a little over a year ago as he was celebrating the signing of his new abortion law, and lighting up buildings in New York City pink.

87,325 dead babies in New York (the average number of abortions per year in New York) and you get so excited you light up buildings.

As of last night, New York had 5,489 Coronavirus deaths.

But no lights.

But I guess it’s different.

Well, who knows, without those 87,325 abortions he might be needing 50,000 ventilators right now.

Maybe that was part of his Emergency Preparedness Plan.

Maybe he should run for President.

 

Well, I feel, yes I feel
Feel that I could lay down oh, time isn’t long
I’m going to catch the first thing smoking
Back, back down the road, I’m going
Back down the road, I’m going
Back down the road, I’m going
Sure enough back, sure enough back (from Rollin’ Stone, Muddy Waters)

 

Got the Blues?

Read your Bible.

Tomorrow is Palm Sunday.

The day Jesus entered Jerusalem on a donkey, the crowds laid down palm branches before him. We begin the holiest week of the year and sadly, we will not be in church.

“Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord.”

 

So I began with a “Delta beatitude,” I will end with another beatitude.

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

Keep those healthcare workers and their families in your prayers.

 

 

And if you want to hear a little Muddy Waters playing Rollin’ Stone at the 1960 Newport Jazz Festival, here is a link.

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.

Fat Tuesday Musings

Fat Tuesday Musings

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At my job, on the day before Ash Wednesday the talk around the water cooler would not be about how many beads you received.

No, it would be more like this:

“Ash Wednesday reminds us of our mortality and of our need for repentance and amendment of life, so that we are truly ready to meet our Maker,” a quote I read from a publication I received in my email.

I work at a church in case you didn’t know.

I don’t know that I need too many more reminders of my mortality especially lately, but maybe the need for “amendment of life” on this Fat Tuesday eve of Ash Wednesday wouldn’t hurt.

And thanks to social media that’s been reinforced by a couple of recent reminders of just how many years have gone by for this aging nobody that in some weird way have made me a little depressed.

I was contacted on Facebook Messenger by someone I went to high school with who had posted an old photo on a Shore Regional Alumni Facebook page that she thought might have included me in the picture. Shore Regional is the name of the high school I graduated from in 1974. I went to the page and checked it out and it was me, in 1973 or 74 probably.  So I messaged her back and confirmed it was in fact me and she encouraged me to join the alumni page which I did.

A few days later another old photo was posted on the Facebook page of my hometown’s 100th anniversary organization Oceanport Centennial.  My hometown of Oceanport, N.J. will celebrate its 100th anniversary this year and so the page is for information and the sharing of old photos.  This photo, I would guess, was taken around 1975 and was a group photo from an Oceanport Hook and Ladder Fire Company event of some sort.  I was a volunteer fireman back in those days.

Where did all those years go?

Though my hair is getting a little long it’s certainly not that long.  And the once blonde locks are now white and gray and a lot thinner.

But it was fun that the photo also included by father, my brother Carl who also needed a haircut, and two of my uncles.  And upon closer examination, those same blonde Frye boots I was wearing that evening in that photo from 1975 or so, were actually on my feet that Thursday all these years later as I carefully examined the cast of characters from my past with a rush of memories.  Those same blonde Frye boots I wrote about in “He Restoreth My Soles” that I bought in 1973.

But the reminder on this Fat Tuesday that the “need for… amendment of life” might be on account of some other things that also might be characterized as “fat” and getting larger, like my body.   Those amendments included the introduction of plain yogurt and strawberries for breakfast and tuna fish on super whole grain bread with seeds that could practically choke you.

And while mixing up that tuna fish this morning I was also reminded that there some things in life that aren’t getting larger like my can of tuna fish.  I remember when I was a kid you could feed yourself and your buddy lunch with one can of tuna and a little Hellmann’s (of course) mayonnaise.  Like my flat stomach, those days are gone.  You get one sandwich from the little cans now.

Though I long for my loaf of French bread, I don’t really think that losing ten pounds is what the author of the quote was referring to as proper preparation to meet my Maker on this eve of Ash Wednesday.  And I don’t need any more reminders of my mortality.

Or the areas of my life where I need to change.

I have my wife for that.

But the truth is I probably could do some repenting after all those years.

But there is a lot to be thankful for as well.

On that same Thursday, the day of that photo post, I got a call on my cell phone from my Dad.  It’s always unexpected when my Dad calls, and once I realized there was nothing wrong that triggered the call, we tried to have a conversation.  Unfortunately, since my father’s hearing is no longer good, we eventually agreed to hang up to try again some other time.  But I was still glad he called.  It’s a blessing that I can still receive phone calls from my dad even though we can’t have a conversation.

And hey it’s also kind of cool to know I have a pair of boots that may outlive me.

Recently I was surprised to find out that I may actually live on in one of the happiest places on earth.  Because you see the photo of me with the mandolin is me in likeness but really not me.  That photo was taken a few weeks ago by Alexa on a trip to Disney World where she found me immortalized as an animatronic in the Spaceship Earth Ride in Epcot.

So, I guess I can thank Jesus for everlasting life, and Disney for my everlasting likeness and for preserving the flow.

I hope your Tuesday was fat and happy.

That’s me front row second from left. My dad is front row four from left. My brother back row center under the light. This photo courtesy of Oceanport Centennia Facebook page.
The Stone

The Stone

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God has made a home in the heavens for the sun.

It bursts forth like a radiant bridegroom after his wedding.

It rejoices like a great athlete eager to run the race.

The sun rises at one end of the heavens and follows its course to the other end.

Nothing can hide from its heat.

 

Wow.

Maybe the greatest poet or song writer ever, even better than Dylan.

David.

I have been reading Psalms lately.  Those words are from Psalm 19.

So cool but he is all over the place.  Sadness and joy, hope and desperation, all in a handful of lines.

I think if David were alive today he would surely be on Xanax.

I had a band I used to follow who I have mentioned before called Lowen and Navarro.  They used to joke at their shows about how depressing their songs were that they wrote.

I get that, I think I have that tendency too.

I guess sadness, loss, and desperation evoke emotions that need a way to be processed.

It’s therapy.

April 17, 2017, Easter Monday, I wrote a post called “Good Friday, Easter Sunday…What Did Jesus Do On Saturday?”

The day before, Easter Sunday, I was all proud of the fact that I had my entire local family in church with Kim and me.  I think we filled the pew.  In that post of April 17,  I wrote about the sermon from that Easter morning.

In that sermon, the preacher asked who will roll away the stone.  That stone referred to in Mark 16 of great weight blocking the way to Jesus in the tomb.  The stone, the preacher said, that represented all those hard times in our lives; times of tragedy, divorce, loss of a job, an unexpected diagnosis, all things that were tough in our lives.

At the time I knew that message spoke to all those sitting in my pew.

But at the time I didn’t know just how much.

On the way out of the sanctuary that morning we were each handed a small stone to remind us of the weight of our troubles and that Jesus was just on the other side.

About a month later I got a call from Hayley who was in the pew that Easter morning.  She needed help.  She was ready to make the decision to remove herself from the physically abusive marriage/relationship that she was in and that we were unaware of.

Over the next few weeks, she would be safely removed from the problem, begin to initiate the legal requirements necessary, and start the process that continues today of healing and living in a safe environment.  Life for Hayley today is finally starting to return to one she can build her dreams on once again.

The relevance of all this is that Hayley’s decision to muster up the courage to finally end the mental and physical abuse she was experiencing in her relationship,  resulted from the message she heard that Easter morning.  According to Hayley, she finally got the strength she needed to roll away her stone from the words of that preacher.

That sermon saved her from mental anguish, physical pain and bruising.  That sermon, in my opinion, literally saved her life.

On a day in the months after, I shared this story with the preacher who delivered that message and thanked him for saving Hayley from a life of torment or even worse, death.  Thoughtfully that day in his office, he asked if he could pray for us, and he prayed.

Hayley still carries that stone that she received leaving the service that morning.

I share this story with you now because the life of the preacher who delivered that life-altering sermon was tragically taken from us this week.

Early Wednesday morning Pastor Steve Vineyard passed away, too young, and very unexpectedly.

I probably have many things to thank Pastor Steve for but none of them will ever come close to giving my daughter her life back.

For that, I will be forever grateful.

 

Tomorrow the sun will rise from one end of the heavens and follow its course to the other end.  We can’t hide from it, our lives will go on.

But we will all be carrying another stone.

 

P.S.

The photo above is one of Pastor Steve and me on a “typical day” at work.  Our work, as you can see, is awesome, but never typical.  I was reminded of that this week.

Rest in peace, my friend.

May the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be pleasing to you, O Lord, my rock and my redeemer.

David’s last verse of Psalm 19.

That works for me too.

Hayley sharing her stone right now and the National Domestic Violence Hotline number 1 800 799 SAFE (7233)