DEAR DIARY; DAY 65

Writing about one’s thoughts and feelings while a pandemic is sweeping the planet is a challenge. In fact, it is more about keeping busy and staying sane. At first I avoided news, it was all bad. I listened to music and watched reruns on television. By now we understand that pandemics are not new and that civilization has weathered the storm every time. The Black Death came and went in the 14th century with a death toll that stagers the imagination. Covid-19 kills a small percentage compared to the Bubonic Plague but in the 21st century, the 3rd largest nation, even a small percentage is a really big number. The virus is new, no history so no head start on the learning curve. 

So how does it make me feel? Anxious is one feeling I’ve been experiencing. There is no fix yet, won’t be for a long time. No cure, no safe place to hide; how would you feel if you knew there were thousands of assassins out there who want nothing more than to take you out? Not just me, the virus needs people to replicate and anybody will do. So we learn fast, people carry the virus that can jump from one person to another on a sneeze or a cough or even a loud shout. We take our chances every time we get in a car but you can see cars coming. Wash your hands, don’t touch your face, wear a mask and keep a distance. The new normal is, anxiety and fear can pop up without warning. 

I feel sad. Civilization, my culture has taken a big hit. American Exceptionalism is a popular myth that elevates us above other nations in terms of morality, creativity, leadership and industry. We have prospered and we are quick to sing our own praise. I have no qualms with praise but likewise, we conquered a pristine continent and its people, then replicated our own civilization very much the same way a virus takes over its unsuspecting host. Still, it is my culture and we are unprepared to compete with pandemic. We have a powerful military and an economic infrastructure that works as long as everything conforms to an established paradigm. But a wild card in the deck changes the rules. So much for international supply lines and industrialized agriculture. We are hurting and I’m not the only one afraid it will get worse before it gets better. 

My thoughts are scattered. Believers have Faith to fall back on but even in my righteous period, my doubts superseded Belief. If I were faithful I’m sure I would feel better but it’s not something you can turn on and off. I am sequestered in my home with a big yard and a fence. As long as I can keep that buffer between me and other people I don’t have to worry about the virus. It doesn’t survive very well outside living tissue. 

I think about how life, how American Exceptionalism has dealt me good cards, how I enjoy the benefits of white privilege and of male privilege. Before the pandemic I worked with a volunteer organization that fed the homeless. Our clients came in all colors, all genders but not many old, white men. Those that I met were veterans who had been discarded by the system. I saw me in their faces. All it takes is one wrong place at a bad time and you no longer have a life; it has you. Those people are still out there, hungry, many hopeless, trying to make it through another day. Now they have pandemic to contend with. I think about gratitude. I think about how arrogant it is to think you can judge others when you don’t know what’s what. Who deserves privilege and who does not? After all, by definition Privilege is unmerited. If it’s earned it isn’t a privilege. 

This pandemic will unfold. Someday its survivors will look back on it with understanding that hasn’t been born yet. A day at a time sounds corny and dated but it still works.

DEAR DIARY: DAY 58

Day 58: My favorite radio station is one of several public venues that affiliate with NPR, 90.9 The Bridge. It offers an all music format that explores all forms and styles. The local DJ’s make up the play list and do live or prerecorded interviews with artists who are in town to help promote their concert schedules. If the music doesn’t suit me I can always play something from my I Tunes library. This morning they read my mind, knew what would please me. 

Kansas City’s big time NPR station is trying to keep us informed with stories and reporting on the virus and with what leadership either is or isn’t doing. In either case, a little bit goes a long way and to spend much time with them is a lose-lose, self inflicted wound. There is no good news other than we woke up this morning. So music that soothes the weary soul is welcome. 

I only make coffee a couple of times a week. Today was one of those days and everything felt a little less stressed. The Bridge was playing story songs, like you get with song writers playing their own stuff in small venues. The name, Margaret Glaspy was new to me but her song put me at ease. “Stay With Me” pretty much fit the pandemic feel. You don’t know what will happen but here in the moment, you do what you can. I listened, then got on You Tube and listened to it again. Feeling good about my discovery; I can download her song for $1.29 and add it to one of my many play lists. At breakfast’s end I was glad that with all of the bad news I had skipped over, I had reason to feel no so bad.

In quarantine I discovered, not a surprise but still noteworthy, how much comfort I take from the birds that frequent my feeders. Just outside the kitchen window I have two peanut feeders, two suet cages and a squirrel-proof sunflower seed feeder. I require food but it ain’t what it once was. What makes food wonderful now is the company you keep in the process. Otherwise it’s just fuel. I find my woodpeckers, titmice, finches and cardinals to be wonderful breakfast companions. 

For several days I’ve been fretting my short supply of bird seed. If I don’t set the table, they don’t come around. Today I called the local supplier; asked if I could transact business without coming inside the store. I made my order over the phone, like online grocery shopping and he filled it. At the loading dock I slid the cheque in a crack between the glass and the window frame while he loaded my bird food into the back of my pick up. No contact, not even close. I’ll leave the stuff in the back of the truck for a few days to be sure any contamination has dissipated. Come the weekend I’ll reload the feeders. I would love to be sharing coffee and a scone with friends at Panera’s. Those days are only a few months past but our coffee klatches are now virtual and online. I don’t think they can be recreated, not for a long time. Our Zoom get-togethers are the best we can do and I’m happy to get that feed back. I haven’t touched another human or held a door open or shared coffee and cookies over a friend’s birthday since February. I’ll just have to make do withy my birds. 

DEAR DIARY: DAY 54

Dear Diary; day 54. The grim reality of Covid-19 is beginning to sink in. After three months we realize that we are still in the early phase of global pandemic. Time has a way of dulling memory and minimizing things that hurt us and have passed. Look forward  to possibility rather than dwell in the wreckage of that other memory. “We’re going to whip this thing soon and come back better than before. Trust me!” DT doesn’t have to make it through the pandemic. All he cares about is winning in November. In 1918 the Spanish Flu did pretty much everything that Covid-19 has the potential to do. It took two years to run its course. The big difference as I see it is that we have a century’s worth of new knowledge and technology that they didn’t have. Still, we were unprepared and will be playing catch up until the window closes.

Even though we know the demographics of who is at higher risk, we don’t know about the long term aftermath of the infection. If only 5% of those infected die immediately, there is no way to know how the other 95% will fare over time. Mother Nature would say, "The gene pool needs stirring." As this story unfolds we become characters in the plot with no say in the script. 

I write to understand more so than to be understood. I am not preaching, just trying to get my head around this and to process my feelings. I can manipulate any rational approach but feelings have always overruled logic. My influence on my own feelings is indirect, the result of collective experience and what I make of it. I can mitigate some of it with brain-washing but that result is temporary and loses potency over time. In the end, the brain’s Amygdala, ’Fight/Flight’ makes the call when fear and anxiety are involved. 

As long as I stay busy I manage. But under house arrest, living alone, it’s easy to default and lose your way. Keeping social (physical) distance makes it hard to acquire things like garden plants and tools. If I want to grow green things this year I’ll have to solve that riddle soon. My wood shop is at hand and I’m sure it will turn to glue and sawdust rather than fret over what I can’t control. I remember when I planned next week and next month but getting through the day is about all I can handle in the  present. 

I’ve never been a flag-waving patriot. From my Army days I could neither ignore nor justify the fractious, arrogant side of nationalism and its self righteous exploitation of the underclass. What passes for freedom is a cleverly distorted matrix of privilege and license. Still, as Coronavirus demonstrates, nature does not discriminate. I feel sad and helpless as the whole world, as my country is reeling from this storm. Most will survive but nobody is immune. I never identified as an old man but I feel all of it now. All at once I’m at a new beginning and I hadn’t planned for that, it is scary. One thing that hasn’t changed with me is the belief: we do spectacular things when viewed through our own gilded lens but baboons would make the same claim if they had a few more neurons and language. Our leaders and wanna be leaders are more concerned with coming out on the other side with more power and wealth than they are about what happens to ordinary citizens. What happens to people who don’t contribute to their campaigns doesn’t matter. Reminds me of, Lord Of The Rings. Frodo, where are you when we need you?

DEAR DIARY

April 28, day 42 of strict social (physical) distancing for me. I have a good network of friends and family. We connect by telephone and internet regularly and waving to strangers has even filled a little niche in the need to be human. But the past few weeks have been difficult. Covid-19 is like a snake with two heads. It kills people who have been weakened by compromised health or old age. My health is sound enough but there is noting I can do about my age. On the other end, the civil construct that we take for granted, fresh water, electricity, grocery stores, jobs, and an economy that is tailored to meet our needs; it slows to a crawl. In both cases, being human takes on risks that we never prepared for. So I am anxious by way of the risk for infection and equally, I fret over precarious times. 

When you need to know something and don’t know what it is that you don’t know, it’s easy to be caught unawares. How do you plan for a never-before, not a clue emergency? I don’t think you can. With good luck and good instincts, versatility and cooperation can be godsends. But all of our invention and smarts seem to be focused 0n politics. Pandemics are not new but with short memories, we think we think and the survivors have to reinvent a new normal. Who knows what that will look like? 

May 3, 2020:day 47. I went to virtual church today. My internet connection at the house is so weak it fails about every 10 minutes and it can take another 10 to get it back. So I transfer everything to the truck cab and drive up to the shopping center parking lot. I get 3 bars there and did the whole service with no interruptions. The sermon was about ‘Grace’. Christians have some pretty narrow beliefs when it comes to Grace but the whole idea is older than Jesus and it’s incorporated by nearly every religion. Unitarians have no trouble getting their heads and arms around Grace. Grace, by definition is an unexpected gift. It doesn’t have to be about salvation, it doesn’t need a god. Today our Intern Minister did a nice job with it. The fundamental premiss for the 15 minute oratory was; the only appropriate response to an act of Grace is, Gratitude. Then, Gratitude expressed with action gives birth to a new form of Grace. It’s sort of like paying it forward. I liked it. Sitting in the truck with towels draped over the window and sun visor to keep glare off the screen and out of my eyes; I must have been a weird sight but it was a big parking lot, far away from the few stores that were open. I don’t think anybody noticed. 

Out of the need to create a ‘Tribal’ sense of identity, religion relies on all forms of ritual and liturgy. Stand up together, sing together, responsive reading together, Lord’s Prayer together, sit down together, kneel together; you get the picture. Absolute conformity to fundamental ritual does that. Even Unitarians use ritual and liturgy. In every service we recite our covenant: “Good will is the spirit of this church and service is its law. This is our great covenant, to dwell together in peace, to seek the truth in love and to help one another.” Isolated in my truck, in a deserted parking lot, we recited our covenant together and I felt the connection with over a hundred other Unitarians, scattered around the city, attending virtual church. I know exactly how, “Hail Mary full of grace” centers Catholics and how it bridges the space between them. I’ll not convert but then, neither will I insult their intelligence or snub their traditions. 

BRAVE NEW WORLD

Aldous Huxley wrote “Brave New World”, a futuristic novel about scientific progress and oppressive government run amok; it was 1931. Only one human, the novel’s protagonist could both resist and push back. Thus the title. Against all odds a single soul stood between a humanist culture and a dystopian, artificial intelligence based society. The whole thing makes me think of the television series, Star Trek. Patric Stewart was the protagonist, captured by the “Borg”, a bionic cross-breed race. The sole purpose of the Borg was to subdue and subjugate everyone, everywhere. In this new century 2020, futurist-historian Yuval Harari has been reading the same tea leaves with concerns about artificial intelligence replacing the brain’s ability to guide  human affairs. Incredible: along comes a microbe, an extremely contagious virus that upends everything. Even if it proves fatal for only a small segment of humanity, human constructs like economics, commerce, transportation, etc., they become inefficient and what’s worse, unprofitable. So I’ve made the bridge, from Huxley’s brave new world to another new world, the Covid-19 pandemic. 

In my brave new world, I would be the protagonist but I have no leverage against virulent biology, greedy economics or tribal governance. I’m just an old (expendable) human being. This pandemic is not the first but it’s been a long time since we experienced one and the human footprint has changed drastically since the Spanish Flu in 1918. 50 million fatalities in a world of less than 2 billion souls. Since 1918, global population density has roughly quadrupled and individual mobility around the planet is both rapid and easily facilitated. Nobody old enough to remember the flu pandemic first hand so Coronavirus might as well be a new paradigm. 

My journal, this blog; they have been a way for me to process and share ideas but in my brave new world, nothing relates to the user-friendly world that I was so accustomed to. At this point I’m going to start documenting my day to day feelings and concerns as they stray from one concern to another. Off the top, I am preoccupied with how divided and diverse we are with the way global risk and its fallout are experienced. For the moment, I am well and safe. For the moment, my retirement benefits shelter me from a raging economic storm. For the moment, my health is good. I have a safe, secure place to hunker down, isolated from people who carry the virus. But the ultimate truth is that the margin of error for me is zero. It goes without saying, as an octogenarian, the reality of one’s own mortality is never more than a thought removed. You can’t get this far and not see the dark behind the light at the end of the tunnel. But it’s like acrophobia, the fear of high places. How close to the boundary can you get without feeling uncomfortable? I have to admit, I can see over the edge. 

I went to virtual church this morning. We are Unitarians, a Humanist community where each member is responsible for the shape of their own particular belief system. Not many, if any traditional sons of Abraham worshiping there. But religion casts a big shadow. Like any community that ponders human origins, our purpose here on earth and how people should value not only our Mother Earth but also how we treat each other, it comes out religion. Our service is pretty sophisticated considering the makeshift technology. We have responsive readings where it feels like, sounds like we are all together in the same room. Singing has the same collective effect. Today we celebrated Earth Day. Together we sang “Blue Boat Home.” There are several powerful verses, all provocative but the chorus left me feeling like a Jehovah’s Witness at Pentecost, emotionally charged and totally humbled. It goes; I’ve been sailing all of my life now: Never harbor or port have I known: The wide universe is the Ocean I travel: And the Earth is my blue boat home.

Sundays have been pretty good while Mondays have not. I am slow to chart my way through this global mine field. I am part of a high risk demographic. At my age if I contract the virus the odds are against me, it may very well kill me. At the same time, I grieve for all of the world. The wonderful side of free market Capitalism has left us defenseless to an attack on its vulnerable under-belly. Strength has become a weakness and fiscal feasibility would seem an oxymoron. We didn’t know what we didn’t know. We are supposed to learn from history but leaders can't remember history's lessons and can't see beyond the next election. Some experts had been predicting pandemic for years but those concerns were received like Chicken Little’s warning, the sky is falling. I think it was Chief Joseph who cautioned the U.S. General at the treaty signing, “You can’t eat your money.” 

Sleep is tricky. I never know if I’ll get what I need, only that I will get what I get. Physical work and talking with friends and family seem to be the best medicine for my necessary quarantine. It’s been 6 weeks now and the future looks like more of the same, a whole lot more. It is not about, ‘When do we get back to normal?’ There will be a new normal and that is scary when no one is in control. 

IT HAS BEEN A WEEK

It has been a week since I felt, even remotely, like sitting down to write. When I feel brave enough to be a risk-taker I switch the radio to the NPR station where the first soundbite can be both heart breaking and spirit crushing. So I leave my hand at the dial, ready to switch back over to music. You can sense the emotional weight by the tone of voice if it is a sad tale of loss and bad news. Likewise television; My t.v. gets its news from an antenna rather than the cable or satellite. That signal often breaks up with no usable audio or video. I would switch to cable if I could but that would put a stranger inside my house with new technology and necessitate a learning curve on how to operate the controls. I’ve decided against that for the present. 

In my journal I often pontificate. Pontificate; great word. Moralize would serve as well but without the annoyance of a pompous, self righteous bigot. I try to be subtle with my moral bias but it is what it is. I know enough psychology and brain science to connect the dots but then, on my best day, I think I think. At this point there isn’t much to moralize. Politics in particular have been supplanted in the need to endure and survive. Ideological bigots see pandemic as an opportunity to spread a polarizing message but I think, I think; most people see through that smoke screen. The message is  coming through loud and clear; we are all in this together and we will come through on the other side. 

I have not had a direct interaction with another human being for over 3 weeks. I see them. We wave and shout support from across the street or from passing cars but that wears thin. Telephone contact, Face Time, online (Zoom) meetings all help to keep connected and I do that whenever I can. I understand there is an element in every culture that flaunts a cavalier attitude but I am sensing a heartfelt, I love you, be safe, do the right thing. I take comfort where I can, with physical exercise and hands-on activity. Today, this writing is more therapeutic for me than anything else. It’s the first time in a week that the keyboard feels inviting. 

It is Good Friday. All three major religions celebrate this week, one tradition or another. I like Passover, the story is so long lived. Judaism is the oldest branch of Abraham’s deal with Yahweh, or Elohim, whichever suits you. But sons of Abraham all over the world are a little more tolerant of their sanctified  cousins this week than usual. My Jewish amigos, my friends celebrate more from a cultural coming together than as a religious expression. Historically, they have been singled out and persecuted more so than any other ‘People’. Their resilience models life’s longing for itself. I am sympathetic with that story without embracing Israel’s national agenda. But it is Passover and that’s a bigger deal than angry men, all sons of Abraham, fighting over scrublands and hating what the other holds dear. 

Easter in a couple of days; believers will join in spirit if not in the flesh. Their story is unbelievable as well but that’s how Faith works. With a deadly virus stalking every human on the planet, some would gather as a show of faith while others rationalize; God gave me a brain to use in emergencies and it tells me to stay home this Easter. If I had Faith it would make me feel better but Coronavirus and God are, I’m afraid, preoccupied with their own priorities that leave us all expendable. Good Friday: it surely must be a holy day. Today is the day at hand, the only day I can put my hands on. Tomorrow will be holy too, nothing  less. 

WASH YOUR HANDS

I woke up with an idea instead of a bad dream. It was almost 6:00 a.m. so I got up. I have a recumbent trike that I ride for exercise and I thought about making a stand so I could ride it in a stationery mode. But at best, it would be makeshift and less than adequate. Then it dawned, why not just fashion a workout station in the garage. I either have or can get bungie cords, rope and pulleys. Then, for not too much expense, I can get a simple stationery bike. In the pre Covid-19 world I wouldn’t have cared much for the idea but now it seems like a socially distanced avenue to some needed exercise. 

I’ve never been a conspiracy theorist but neither have I been a naive main-streamer. Right now, the experts tell us to keep a 6 ft. cushion from other people. But everything has changed in recent weeks and with nothing to hang my hat on, it wouldn’t surprise me if things change again. If the CDC & WHO come up with new/better, safer rules, you can’t very well fault them for not being better, sooner. So I take the 6 ft. rule as a best guess. At this point, it will be better to err on the side of caution. So I am rethinking going out walking or for bike rides. After all, for octogenarians the margin of error is zero. I’m also taking the predictions about flattening the curve in a month or two and restoring safe travel (interaction) as a best guess. So my garage looks like my most reliable, best guess. 

The hand washing and wiping down, alcohol, bleach, ammonia are starting to feel natural and sanitizing groceries/mail is also falling into the new norm. The gravity of navigating this viral mine field is sinking in. For me, retired, my day is a full time endeavor. I can’t imagine how it must vex young families and those who have lost jobs. History will certainly identify the heroes and culprits but that will come with hindsight. Human nature is the curse they all share. When 3rd World countries suffer from famine and pestilence it is easy to point out where they fumbled the ball. Placing blame is the first skill that any leader must master to survive. Western Civilization fumbled the ball seriously here. In a capital driven, free market culture, nobody wants to invest in a safety net against something dreadful that might happen, maybe, someday. The average human life span is short. With a history that goes back to Gilgamesh, man’s memory is even shorter. “Don’t fix it if it ain’t broke.” Accumulating unprecedented wealth and then hoarding it makes perfect sense; now there is a testament to unpreparedness. But the hook line is clever and a dash of conservative bravado is always well received. 

I don’t need to watch television to sense the panic. World health experts were not surprised. They petition their governments constantly for funds and staff that would allow for ongoing research and a means of rapid response. Anticipating the worst; if something horrendous is possible, sooner or later it will come to pass. I feel like the fly on the wall. National and local leaders are wrestling with the dilemma, to sacrifice the economy for human lives or lives for the economy? I’m glad I don’t have that weight on my back. Excuse me, I have a bar of soap and it’s time to wash my hands. I have some rope and bungie cord. If you come over to share a dose of human nature, I’ll have to ask you to stay at the curb.