FOOD CHAIN

What does it say when you wake up most days, 3 to 10 minutes before your alarm is set to go off? I have been good at that for some time. When I had obligations, keys and a schedule to follow I didn’t want to wake up before I needed to be up. A good night’s sleep is a reward now but the waking up is the best part. Waking up in the wee hours is not so good but with daylight leaking through the blinds it is like an invitation. It sounds corny but it is what it is; I get another day. 

Outside with shine in the treetops but not on the ground, it looks like any day in late March, any year. For the birds at my feeder and the neighborhood cats, one day is pretty much like another. Of course their life spans cycle quickly. I can’t tell when one nuthatch dies and another takes its place but the scene is predictably repetitious. I make the distinction between the world of weather and things and, the world of human experience. In that other world it looks normal. But humans are waking up to a new set of circumstances. We’ve been dealing with global warming for decades. It has been a hot political issue with people lining up on one side or the other depending on what they think they have to gain from the outcome. But pandemic isn’t debatable even though our President and other demagogues around the world try to minimize its threat. 

Pandemics are normal events in the bigger picture of life on earth. Events that target turtle or bird populations rage out of control right under our noses and we don’t even know it is going on. Life on earth is not the private domaine of human beings. From microbes to Blue Whales, every habitable location in the biosphere is occupied by organisms that replicate their own DNA and pass that genetic code on to a new generation. As humans, we exercise more direct control on the natural world than any other species but that does not give us control. It is my personal view, subject to scrutiny and debate of course but humankind would fare better if we sought balance rather than dominance. We are instruments in a natural orchestra, not the composer, not the conductor, not even a section leader. Everything we do is in reaction to something else and, due largely to human hubris, we haven’t got that message yet. 

In my world today there is a virus, a microscopic parasite if you will that needs a host. We are it. It consumes people no less than Blue Whales consume krill, tiny, shrimp-like crustaceans. In this case it takes a lot more virus’ to consume people than whales versus krill. But the arrangement is comparable. People at large don’t care about the fate of krill. But every organism that lives and dies is part of a food chain and there are consumers for even us. When it is an invisible predator wanting nothing but to grow and reproduce at our expense, we care a lot. If our immune system is strong and it can fight off the virus, we survive. But with any predatory species, they prey heavily on the weak and the old. That’s me; not the stallion I once was. 

This pandemic is sweeping through the civilized world, leaving enough humans to carry on but also a a deadly path of victims who perished in the process. I want to not be one of those victims. For me, the best strategy is to avoid the pathogen altogether. So I am sheltering in a safe place, avoiding people and things that could possibly be contagious. The virus is new; no cure, no vaccine. The best health care experts believe that between one and two million Americans will die of Covid-19 and it will be a month before the crisis peaks. To be honest, it is frightening and it should be. 

But curling up in the fetal position and fretting over what might happen is bad medicine. I’m so happy to have a strong family and friends, I have to believe that I can dodge that bullet. The last time something like this happened was the Spanish Influenza pandemic in 1919. It swept the world with devastating casualties for nearly 3 years. We are not the first generation to live in deadly times. The whales at sea and the birds at my feeder, they don’t have a clue. 

LOW BALL IN THE DIRT

Saturday, this is day 11 of my self assigned quarantine. So far, so good. My nature naturally moves me away from the beaten path when times turn sour. When I behave other than expected, it’s not unusual for someone to ask, “What is wrong with you?” I respond, usually privately in my personal, internal dialogue, “I don’t know; let’s see, what is it that is wrong with me?” and I weigh that possibility before I return the insult. I make mistakes all the time and I think it is more about human frailty than about me personally. When shit happens I automatically consider how much worse it might have been. After all, one of my favorite sources (Buddha) said, “Let us rise up and be thankful, for if we didn't learn a lot at least we learned a little, and if we didn't learn a little, at least we didn't get sick, and if we got sick, at least we didn't die; so, let us all be thankful.” Maybe that’s where I get it.

Without condescending or sounding snooty, people consider their perceptions to be both accurate and obvious. But we get all of our information through our senses, the neural gate keepers of the mind. Between raw input and perception, there are many filters for impulses to work their way through. Only then does the perception feel obvious and correct. But that sequence goes on unawares without our control. We can share the same experience with others and have very different perceptions of what just happened. But still, if we saw it and heard it in real time it’s hard to question the perception. We like to believe we have an unobstructed access to truth but all we get are perceptions. 

I played baseball through my teens and college, usually on the left side of the infield but also a share of catching. At our level, you knew where the pitcher was trying to locate his pitch but calling for the low, inside corner of the plate with a fastball, the catcher best be ready to move because it can go anywhere. There are pitches that go in the dirt or out of reach overhead. One’s perception of what the catcher could have, should have done can vary greatly depending on where you are as you perceive the action. As a catcher, you want to make the difficult look easy but in the crunch you default to the first rule for all catchers, don’t let the ball get past you. 

In this life, what we could or should have done generally requires some wait-time. Hindsight leans heavily on how we perceive as well but it has the benefit of instant replay. It provides a window for changing the mind after the fact. When best laid plans go in the dirt like an errant fast ball, I default to my first rule, consider myself as part of the problem. I usually have to consider an altered perception. So, what is wrong here? In any case I want to be the first to take on that question. 

Quarantined, I have more time than tasks to keep me busy and that stream of consciousness is hard to corral. I goes from the mundane to the absurd, even to troubling thoughts that are hard to deflect. I’m feeling pretty good today, slept well and breakfast hit the spot. I’ll go for a walk and talk to friends on the telephone. As long as I have a wifi signal I can keep on with this blog. Three more days to conform and I can practice responsible social distancing again. Covid-19 is still a deadly presence and no matter what the President says, I’m afraid his priorities revolve around his reelection campaign while the weight of a pandemic registers somewhere below that. What’s wrong with me? Lots of imperfection there but I’ll be working on it. The fact that I will be able to go get groceries will be more satisfying than the act of shopping.

NOTHING CLEVER

I don’t think I’ve been this clean since last time my mother bathed me in the sink. In the same vein, I thought I would do well enough in quarantine. I live alone and we have a good relationship. There is comfort in the isolation, me inside and the virus out there. But the possibility that I brought the virus in with me makes the solitary time tense like nothing else. One week into the quarantine it’s good that I have no symptoms but there’s another week to go before that tension goes away. 

So what do I do to stay positive and take care of business? Keeping clean/sanitary of course, watch some TV but not too much. That goes without saying. I have a niece in Florida who lives alone. We have been exchanging good morning emoji texts for some time. It is a convenient way to let someone know that you are up and around. People who spend as much time alone as we do, it covers a gap in the social construct that solitary folks understand while multiple dwellers have no reason to think about it. My niece and I now talk on the phone for a while every day; helps diffuse boredom and meets the need to interact. Living alone isn’t being alone if you can maintain your contacts and move about.

Preparing food garners more attention than when you had so many options. My cupboard is stocked but I think about shelf life on fresh stuff and plan ahead more than before. I have cabbage that needs to be incorporated every day. My little crockpot has rice and beans soaking now with some cabbage, brussel sprouts and carrots, maybe some toasted almonds to go in when I plug it in. That yields 2 full meals that can be frozen. Then I have a big bag of spring salad in the refrigerator and 3 small avocados. I just learned that you can freeze avocados and I’ll do that as they ripen. 

Writing demands undivided attention and so, there you are. This blog has many functions, none more important than providing me with a sense of purpose. It doesn’t matter if anybody reads it, it just needs to be written. I think how many times I’ve cautioned others or been cautioned, the world is a dangerous place. That was true enough but largely rhetorical. I remember a commercial on TV from the 1970’s, a butter substitute was offered up to Mother Nature who sampled it and gave tacit approval. When she learned of the deception she was indignant, called down lightning bolts and made the earth shake. An omniscient voice chimes in with, “It’s not nice to fool Mother Nature.” Human Nature drives us to fool around with Mother Earth and sometimes she responds with bad news. Not saying we deserve a pandemic but too late to make excuses or place blame. All I can do is keep busy, beg for mercy if you think she might be listening, and trust the health care experts. 

I’ve been up going on 5 hours. We have sunshine and a mild day before rain comes in tonight. I walked 50 minutes in the neighborhood yesterday, hope to go longer today. The ‘Stay at home’ directive has been given some teeth. It’s more than a recommendation now. Unlike Italy, they won’t send violators to prison and it’s alright to walk for exercise, maintaining social distancing but the serious ultimatum is, stay at home. A clever comment here would seem in order but making clever right now is like nailing jello to the wall. If ‘clever’ takes shape like a soap bubble in the tub then I can take some comfort there. But I can stir the pot all day and nothing clever comes of it.

ALL BROKEN HEARTED

Do you remember pay toilets. I haven’t seen one in so long I can’t remember but they used to be in bus stations and such. You had to drop a coin in the slot and turn a handle before the door would open. I want to think this story is my own but it could have come to me 2nd hand. Sitting on the commode in a pay toilet, graffiti on the back of the door told a pitiful story, “Here I sit all broken hearted, paid to shit and only farted.” 

In the last few days the world (civilization) has changed. In my lifetime I can’t remember another time when class privilege and wealth dissolved and everyone shared a common risk. The plague in The Dark Ages would have been comparable but they didn’t know germs from worms. In either case, nobody could pay a stand in to take their place. Hunkered down in voluntary quarantine, by myself, I’ve exhausted options for keeping myself busy. All I can do is to sit down and write. 

When Africans were dying by the thousands in the Ebola outbreak of 2014, we felt a sympathetic but condescending sense of concern. Ebola was well understood and there were plans and resources to deal with it. The disease ran rampant in 3rd world countries mostly due to ignorance and a culture that put tribal customs ahead of survival. But powers that be were able to keep it contained and eventually suppressed. Most of us felt a diluted empathy that could be expressed simply, “That’s really too bad.” 

What we are experiencing is significantly different. The new ‘Bug’ is just that, new. Civilization was/is unprepared for COVID-19. Educated and sophisticated as we are, out culture drives us to high risk behavior no less than those Ebola victims of 2014. We, Americans, are rapidly getting the message but there are many who feel either invincible or (fake news junkies) who trust demagogues more so than experts. I’m afraid the bad news is just beginning. It won’t be over in 9 or 10 innings. I am not a doom’s day prophet but my experience tells me that bad news will be the new normal. Good news will not be that we have won, but that we didn’t die after all. I don’t know what the odds are that I come through the quarantine period unscathed but I’m guessing it’s no better than 50/50: too many airports, too many crowds. 

  I am not complaining, not making excuses, not feeling anything in particular, just writing. I was too little to experience social/cultural gravity when Japan surrendered in WWII, I just knew everyone was happy. When JFK was assassinated and on 9/11 I felt the weight but the instruments had narrow blades and sharp points. The new virus has the same kind of gravity but is wielded by a long, wide, blunt instrument. It doesn’t do its thing in a heart beat like a bullet or over a morning like hijacked airlines. I think it more likely to unfold like Noah’s flood; what a grim thought. When I personalize the feeling I think of the warrior Crazy Horse. Before battle he set the tone by telling his followers, “It is a good day to die.” I take that to mean, All you can do is what you can do. This is one of those things I share with people who tolerate my skewed views. The story goes; sometimes I have a life and sometimes it has me. I’m thinking, right now life has us. We have to do what we have to do but we will not push life up the hill. It will drag us along, wherever it decides to go. I just read an article by Dr. Tom Frieden, former CDC Director. He spells out what to expect in the immediate future and it is scary.

So here I sit all broken hearted . .  . like the guy in the pay toilet. I wonder, did I make a bad choice or did it make me? If I can’t use humor to vent anxiety, what else can I not do? I’m afraid I’m not bright enough to find my way by myself; paid to poop but only farted. I told myself I wouldn’t exceed 1,000 words here so I need to give it an ending. For me it’s a real gut-check. All this time I’ve been confident with approaching mortality. If you don’t know when or how it will arrive, you can focus on living in the moment. When you learn more than you really want to know, it gets difficult. It is no wonder our paleolithic forbearers created mythical gods. Certainly hunter gatherers feared the unknown, enough so they needed a security blanket. Modern humans haven’t changed much in that regard and it doesn’t leave skeptics much wiggle room. Still, all in all, I’m really glad my folks brought me along for the ride. This would be a good place for a Spaceship Earth or Star Dust story but I’m not selling anything. 

OOOPS!

I have nearly two hours before boarding for my ride to New Orleans. I’ve been driving mostly in the past year so I get to remember, relearn the TSA ritual. I did put all of my pocket load in my backpack so I wouldn’t have to undress at the x-ray machine. I am surprised that the airport that charges $5 for a cup of coffee and $8 for a skinny ham & cheese sandwich, that they provide a free wifi signal. It’s raining but wet concrete and gray sky are so similar the only clue to the horizon is a thin, brown strip of grassland in the distance. Driving in the rain, in the dark, in the early rush hour (there are two commuter rush hours) was dreadful; parked at a nearby hotel for $5 a day. They shuttle travelers to and from the airline of choice. Sometimes the new normal is better than the old one. 

Three days back from Michigan, my outlaw daughter nurse there (family by consensus) has always railed about men, that they don’t wash their hands after using the necessary room. Some do and some do sometimes but as a rule, more men zip up on the way to the door than slow down for a scrub with soap and water. If nothing else, the Chinese plague has men lined up, waiting their turn at the sink in all the truck stop restrooms. 

I must remember, don’t touch your face. I think the universal experience is to remember just after you have touched your face. My nose must have a terminal, intermittent itch that can drive me crazy if I don’t go there. I have learned to keep my fingers out of my nose but rubbing it may be instinct, it fires without permission. My other nurse-daughter, with my DNA, uses that leverage to get my attention, to what’s what and from both directions, don’t touch your face. Mucous membranes of the eyes, nose and mouth are the fast track into the body and every virus’ preferred landing zone. I sneeze in my elbow and use the cuff of my long sleeves to rub my nose when it itches, when I remember. I’m getting better. Ooops, I just touched the bridge of my nose. Damn!