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Not There Yet

Michael 1 Comment
“I may not be there yet but I’m closer than I was yesterday.” I don’t know who said that. I don’t know if anybody actually said it or if it has come to us like “Play it again, Sam,” a famous quote that was never said in the first place. But if nobody else ever said it I just did and I am closer, as we all are.
 
I’m closer to moving. Recent posts have alluded to the upheaval I’ve been going through. No offense to anybody out there whose lives have been interrupted at the hands of a pandemic virus, racial inequities, civil unrest, or a variety of other happening and pending disasters, but I haven’t personally been thus up heaved. My tribulations are from not quite having a home while my life and possessions are split between two residences. Yeah I know, first world problem. Sorry.
 
But … just because I’ve been a nervous and physical wreck doing a semi do it yourself move doesn’t mean I’ve been ignoring the pandemonia happening around me. Naturally I have a few words to say about it. First and foremost,  somebody better write to the dictionary people and suggest they pay more respect to pandemonium’s plurality. Most do not even bother to include it. In their defense it isn’t the norm for more than one pandemonium to occur concurrently but here we are. And if it seems I am making light of the crises (another plural we need to resurrect), it is because the world is treating them lightly.
 
For example, let’s consider the continuing saga of COVID, or As the Virus Turns. And turning it is – turning the world on its head. For anybody who thinks the worst is over, I’m talking to you Florida, record numbers of new cases are being reported, I’m talking to you Florida! And others. Around the world record numbers of new cases are breaking out, in fact, this weekend was the largest increase in cases worldwide. Really.
 
As if rampant disease and death isn’t enough we have protests (peaceful), riots (not so peaceful), weird apologies (Columbus Ohio wants to change its name to Flavortown?), and still no stable supply of soap on store shelves (what would Granny Clampett make of that? Lye soap naturally!).
 
Now, for my big problem, Moving. Monday (that’s today!) I am out of my current residence mostly because I’ve run out of places to put me. It has been overtaken with boxes! (Remember this 👇)
moving-boxes
But I’m not in my new residence with the requisite pieces to maintain this diversion, specifically internet access, until Wednesday. Therefore, you probably shouldn’t expect anything from me Thursday (like you haven’t been anyway) and if Comcast is as efficient with getting things set up and started on Wednesday like I know they will be, you might be best not expecting anything from me next Monday either. (Sigh) But I closer and closer is as closer does and eventually I’ll get to do it again.
 
Sorry if I was a little ranty today. First world problems get me bitchy.
 
 
 
 
 

Alive and Kicking

Michael 2 Comments
I’ve missed some of my “regular “posting days but not to worry, I’m still alive and kicking. You may recall I’m in the midst of preparing for a move and that has taken me to places filled with cardboard boxes and bubble wrap and tape that sticks to everything except cardboard boxes. But I am quite alive and desperately kicking. I haven’t always been here to write and occassionally I don’t even get to read as much as I’d like, but… well, as I said I’m still alive and kicking. Now just in case you might have missed some of the news, I took some time over the weekend to catch up on it and I’ve found I am not the only thing you might have mistaken as being out of your lives but in reality is still A and K.
 
Also very much alive is:
 
Working from home. I don’t know what the conditions are around you but around me quarantine orders are relaxing. Retail businesses are opening and some restaurants have either reopened their doors to half capacity crowds or have co-opted outdoor space, or both, to satisfy the eating out crowd at acceptably social distances. This has “resurrected” an early casualty of the virus, traffic. But office based businesses are still mostly still home based and you can tell by the way the group dog walks happen every day at 8:30, 12:30 and 4:30.
 
Spam calls: What looked to be another early virus casualty, unsolicited sales calls and robocalls have proved to be rich in COVID antibodies and are thriving once again. More likely the robo-coders got established in their home offices and the rest is weird history.
 
Greed: If you think really hard you might remember those early fund raisers, donations, food distributions, and loan/living expense forgiveness programs that were once all the headlines. It took less than a fiscal quarter for the layoffs, contract renegotiations, and bankruptcies to re-capture the headlines. 
 
Hatred: I’ll leave this to your nightly news.
 
Stupid memes: In typical American fashion we can’t let a crisis go by without demonstrating that we can overdo everything. Robert Orben, a professional comedy writer known for his work in early telelvision including the Jack Parr and Red Skelton shows and author of The Speakers Handbook of Humor, said: 
In prehistoric times, mankind often had only two choices in crisis situations: fight or flee. In modern times, humor offers us a third alternative; fight, flee – or laugh.
Unfortunately it’s the amateur comedy writers who feel they know just the right clip to exploit to keep is laughing through the crisis. They don’t.
20200615_201912That virus thing: Again, I don’t know what the conditions are around you but around me I’m expecting all heck to break loose in another week or two. Record positive results and hospitalizations have been recorded in Texas, Florida, California, and both Carolinas, where quarantines were lifted, beaches opened, and social distancing ignored. I know it is politically incorrect to say but you can’t not expect there to be some virulent response to the amassed masses no matter how righteous the cause. The virus doesn’t care.
 
Yep, all of the above are alive and kicking. In fact, the only thing that seems to be in short supply is some love for a fellow human. How about it, can you spare a cup of love?
 
heart

No Means No

Michael 2 Comments
The road to hell. We spend so much time on that road it should be paved in gold with diamond milestones. 
 
I’m not writing about the tragedy that befell George Floyd. It’s not about the tragedy that befell Tony Timpa. It’s not about Black Lives, All Lives, muted media, cops, robbers, killers, or racists. It’s not about how we spend so much time making, responding, defending, and demeaning knee jerk decisions that we forgot when and where we should be on our knees. It’s not about whether police should be defunded and it’s not about that police aren’t the problem. It’s not an argument that the black man has been subjected to racism or that the black man suborns racism. It’s not about who is right, who is wrong, or who has been wronged for 200 years.
 
The biggest back and forth argument since the phrase entered our lexicon is Black Lives Matter / All Lives Matter. Perhaps you’ve seen the clarification Black Lives Matter doesn’t mean Only Black Lives Matter. Maybe you’ve read the short article that a protest to save the rain forest doesn’t mean you are against other forests. Maybe you’ve scratched your head and wondered, perhaps aloud, what about all the other colors that aren’t white. The danger in those arguments is that emphasis is put on the exact thing that should never exist in a perfectly equitable society, a difference.
 
We are not going to undo whatever has been done. It can’t happen. The moving finger wrote it and the wall isn’t erasable. The horrible things people have done and the good things as well. They are. They won’t go away. They won’t go away if you shift money, if you shift thinking, if you shift positions. They will always be because they were and in real life you cannot undo. And unlike in the perfectly equitable society were there should never be a difference, in real life there are differences. They are as indelible, as permanent, as incapable of not being a part of our beings as our skin color. We will never see past that if we continue to highlight it.
 
Oh but we do know how to see past it. We know the answer as sure as we know our names. We preach it often enough with our ad slogan-ess, sound bite like, politically correct banners and hash tags and avatars. We just keep missing what those words mean. All of us. Missed completely. 
 
Unhate
 
You say you want to protest against racism. How about protesting for love instead. Maybe you want to support black restaurants in your area. How about just trying something new, maybe even outside your comfort zone and spreading the word if you really loved it. Maybe you want to mute your voice when it’s not going to be all the rage, but don’t mute it so loudly those who are amplified can’t be heard.
 
And most important, love. You can’t beat hate if you’re doing the hating. 
 
NoExceptions

Counting Chickens

Michael Leave a comment

As I write this, a few minutes before 4:00pm on May 28, it is a year to the minute that I was getting home from what I hoped would be my last dialysis session. In 12 hours, I would be waking up for a ride to the hospital to have a kidney transplanted into me from my sister. For months after the evaluation process identified her as a candidate and a date was set, the staff at the dialysis clinic would say to me, “it won’t be long now,” or “are you counting the days yet,” or similar words of what they certainly thought were ones of encouragement. I met each one with “I’m not counting any chickens” That last day I think I said, “thanks, you’ve all been nice enough to me you but I hope I never see you again.”

We’ve now made it to a minute after 4:00pm on May 28 and it is juat about a year to the minute that the phone rang with a call from the transplant surgeon’s office. “Doctor wants you to come in this evening so she can run a new CT scan and do as much site review as possible before you get to surgery.” Because of previous abdominal surgeries my insides did not conform to the textbook illustrations budding surgeons poured over in their early med school days. They didn’t even conform to the messy real life version most people walk around with that present to surgeons many years past the book learning phase. Even though I had been scanned and rayed and imaged from every imaginable angle (and 1 of 2 unimaginable) I saw her point. I called my chauffeur who doubles as may daughter on her days off and asked one of them to take me to the hospital. But I still wasn’t going to start counting any chickens.

You’ve read the tale. The operation was a success but the implant didn’t take. Nineteen days later I was finally discharged with instructions to resume dialysis. 

I never felt right at dialysis after that. Not mentally or emotionally not right but physically not right. In the best of times, and there are best of times in dialysis they just aren’t very good, one doesn’t feel right. It’s hard in the body and although it leaves you with sparkling clean blood (I used to refer to the dialysis unit as a bloodromat) it also leaves you with headaches, dizziness, tingking or numb extremities, a little bit of nausea, a lot of muscle cramps, and the need to sleep for 48 hours when you get to do it all over again. But this “not good” feeling was different. All of the above multiplied plus more and others and few etcetera. 

Discussions with the doctor led to new and different tests which led to yet another tale. The transplant didn’t work but I was getting better in spite of it and became one of the few who have successfully been discharge from chronic dialysis.

So, now on the eve of what would be my first kidneyversary celebrating a new normal I am celebrating 4 months of being relatively normally normal.

I still have blood drawn every couple of weeks and see the doctor every couple of months. I still watch my diet, my fluid intake, and my other medications. I still pray every morning and every night. But I don’t still go to dialysis. 

And I still don’t count chickens!

One other thing, my sister is still doing well also. Thanks Sis!

 

Uncontrolled Chaos

Michael 2 Comments
Here’s a news flash. I’m moving. Talk about challenges during a pandemic. Somehow I managed to review, tour, select, and sign for a new apartment without leaving the confines of my confining current compartment. Trust me, if it was up to me I would stay here forever but it’s my roommates, Myself and I, who are jonesing for new Joneses to keep up with.
 
You might remember for older posts that I spent 30 years in a sprawling, way too big on many levels (metaphorically and literally) for one person suburban house with the requisite yard, gardens and outside spaces. Five years ago I “downsized” into my now soon to be abandoned first attempt at retirement living. Not retirement living community, just retirement living.
 
I did pretty well with the first wave of downsizing, paring away about 3/4 of my accumulated possessions. After 5 years I’ve found that I’ve re-accumulated and am on the verge of “upsizing.” But it’s not for the newfound additional space I am pulling the plug on the present penthouse. That’s a tale for another day.
 
Today’s tale starts four weeks before I hit the drop dead date on renewing the current lease. Oh, how was I supposed to know there would be a global pandemic so close to my renewal date? Because I had resolved to drop dead before I would renew I had 4 weeks to find new lodging. Unfortunately that coincided exactly with the eve of the world shutting down. Oy! Or is that Oi? Whichever, it was a challenge. But I met the challenge and 4 weeks later I was not committing to a renewal. 
 
That was 30 days ago and I have 30 days to go. I have discovered that the challenge of finding a place while the world is isolated ain’t nothing compared to packing in isolation. To call this controlled chaos would be generous. Out of control pandemonium is not quite there either but it is closer.
..
First, there’s just me here! Me and hundreds of flattened boxes that need reconstructed, rolls of tape in a holder/dispenser designed by a mechanical engineer who was last in his class, pieces of bubble wrap in a variety of shapes and sizes saved from the previous move and various package deliveries over the past 5 years, and felt tip marking pens that keep disappearing. No matter how carefully I wrap and place items into an expertly reconstructed cardboard box there’s always a corner too small for the last item my mind believes should fit there and too large for anything I do find to put there leaving still an empty corner just even smaller than that last item my mind still believes belongs there and nowhere else. In the process of filling that box I’ve reconstructed another box (expertly, of course) with just one item in it, the one my mind is still certain belonged in that empty corner of the first box. It was easier the last time I moved.
 
The last time I moved I was convalescing in a recliner while I wrapped a glass or two and directed the relatives doing the heavy lifting, err packing. The time before that was 30 years previous and there were professionals involved. Hmm, I just realized this might not be the cause of the virus and the Governor’s quarantine order. I might just not be good at packing. Oh my.
 
I’ll try to keep you up to date on my progress. As long as I can keep a computer or tablet out of a reconstructed cardboard box (expertly).
 
moving-boxes
 
 
 
 

Wyizit?

Michael 8 Comments
Last week I was hit with a bad case of the wyizits. It started with a song that got trapped in my head and couldn’t find it’s way out. And all day long I was asking myself, “Why is it that only the annoying songs get stuck in your head?” Seriously, do you ever walk around all day with the comforting sounds of the opening movement of Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata? No, it’s always “Na, Na, Hey, Hey, Kiss Him Goodbye” or if you’re in that classical mood, the 1812 Overture but ending with a hearty “Hi ho Silver!” So I started wondering, quite unconsciously and seemingly unstoppingly, about other wyizits, howcomes, and hoosedsos with an occasional wydont and one random watzitcalled.
 
Why is it that people are now walking down the middle of the street eschewing the safety of the sidewalk for the chaos of life among motorized vehicles? Not only are they walking down the middle of the street they are doing it with eyes firmly focused on their hand held cell phones, doubly taking their chances among the cars being driven by likewise distracted phone gawkers. And to make it more challenging, every so often, the street walker (apologies to the professional ranks) just stops in mid stride (if it can be called a stride – perhaps mid-shuffle) until just as unexpectedly begins moving again.
 
There were many others equally well thought, mentally mulled, and eventually determined to be forever unanswered questions of life as we know it. Here is a sampling.
 
QuestionHow come a vegan or vegetarian thinks nothing of announcing “I haven’t eaten a piece of meat for 35 years” but then spends 20 minutes explaining what I’m missing out on when I just happen to mention that I tried kale years ago and just don’t like it?
 
Who said a quarter pound is the right size for a hamburger?
 
 
Why don’t cat owners take their pets out for a walk?
 
What’s it called when you eat breakfast cereal for a midnight snack?
 
Why is it that birds always know when I wash my car? 
 
Why is it that celebrities thinks the ability to memorize the lines of learned person character give them the knowledge of a real learned person without the need for 12 years of education, training, and research?
 
How come none of the people in pictures of Panama are wearing wide brimmed hats? 
 
Why is it that athletes think I care at all about anything they have to say?”
 
How come the printer always run out of ink two-thirds of the way through the One Important Document I have to print this year?
 
Who said pajama bottoms aren’t acceptable business casual attire?
 
How come nobody else recognizes my infallibility?
 
Why is it that in surveys, applications, and other instruments that bother to ask does a third generation Asian, Latin, or Pacific Islander get a box to check but a first generation Italian is “No?”
 
How come a tian and a tangine aren’t the same? Similarly but different, how came a tian and a ratatouille aren’t the same?
..
Who said all good things must end?
 
Na na na na. Na na na na. Hey hey hey. Goodbye.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

Gettin’ Crabby Out There

Michael 4 Comments
You may have noticed I didn’t post anything on Monday. Then again you might have a life and aren’t sitting there with nothing better to do than wait for my wisdom to fall out of the ether. Well, on Monday after I had gone back and forth on this post for a couple days I decided at the last minute I wasn’t going to post. I told myself that in a couple days I’d come up with some fluff in my life to exploit and that would be fine. Then the threat came and I had to have my say. Well, there’s nobody here to hear so if I am to be heard I have to get these words from here to there so you can hear them.
 
I don’t want to be the sad sack, the sourpuss, the moaner and groaner, but gee golly willickers, can we at least not resort to violence. Oh yes, actual threats of violence have been made. Homicide even. Read on.
 
With the full knowledge that I sound like a moaner or a groaner myself I just have to say, I knew this would happen. I mentioned last week Pennsylvania will be loosening isolation standards in phases by counties. There are roughly 12.8 million people living in Pennsylvania spread over 67 counties. As a broad statement, there are 134 versions on how the reopening plan will be implemented with about 12.8 million opinions on how to do it better. 
 
In general the state is establishing 3 levels of what I guess can be described as activity. “Red” is where we started with a stay at home order in place except for transport to and from the three Fs of essential business: food, pharmacy, and physician. (Yeah, yeah, I know, but you get the idea. Hey, it works on audio!) Restaurants are open only for takeout and delivery. “Yellow” removes the stay at home but if you go out maintain social distance and wear your masks, stores may open but curbside pickup and delivery is preferred, and no public gatherings greater than 25 people. Restaurants and bars are still restricted to take out and delivery and hair and nail salons, and gyms and spas remain closed. “Green” means you can now travel about and conduct business within CDC guidelines although there is still some question about large, large gatherings. 
 
The first phase shifted 24 counties to “yellow” on May 8. Another 13 counties turn “yellow” on May 15 and no counties go to “green” just yet. It is anticipated that there will be no further status changes before June 4. If you’ve been home schooling your kids in math the little tykes will have figured out that leaves 30 counties at “red.” Oh, and one of those “red” counties is actually surrounded by a bunch of “yellows.”
 
Because this system was developed by a government there are, as governments love to do, pages of specifics with a lot of whereas and wherefore sounding clauses but what I gave you is pretty much the down and dirty. And boy did people get pretty much down and very dirty.
 
In the “red” counties the biggest news stories have headlines that read like “District Attorney Will Not Prosecute Businesses That Open.” Comments to stories and posts on social media are filled with “statistics” about why somebody’s county left behind has lower infection or death rates than those moving ahead and should be declared “yellow” soonest. The talk on social media is of I’ll just cross the county and/or state line and get what I need there prompting yet additional outrage by business owners over the ingratitude of their “neighbors.” Lawyers are preparing class action suits against the Governor and Secretary of Health demanding full, unconditional reopening. 
 
In the “yellow” and soon to be “yellow” counties, after 6 weeks of hearing on the news and reading in the papers how much we need to reopen the businesses and get people back to work, the media is now reporting that business owners aren’t ready to reopen their doors. Owners are saying it will take weeks to get ready to accept customers and are asking what guarantees they will have that if somebody gets sick in their stores they won’t be held liable. Restaurants, bar, gyms, and spas are preparing plans to present to the governor demonstrating how they can function while maintaining social distancing and should be allowed to reopen. Hair salons are posting they are opening for business regardless of operating guidelines.
 
It seems there are more plans for defying the plan than there are plans to implement the plan. Not to be undone by the potential mutineers, the Governor has threatened revocation of business and professional licenses of those opening or conducting business contrary to orders to remain closed.
 
Then came the threat. This story was picked up by the Associated Press and reprinted in papers and on news sites throughout the country so you may have already seen it, but here, as first reported in the York Dispatch (12 May 2020) is the lead:
 
State police arrested a Greensburg-area man Tuesday for allegedly saying he and his buddies “have a bullet waiting” for Gov. Tom Wolf if the governor doesn’t reopen businesses closed for the COVID-19 pandemic.
 
Subsequent updates confirmed the accused who had made the threat by telephone to Wolf Home Products, a kitchen and bath cabinet manufacturer once owned by the Governor, was identified by tracking the phone he called from and located via a records search at the county probation office.
 
So our intrepid would be assassin would have been wise to spend some time during his period of isolation learning constitutional law, the state penal code, common courtesy, or at least not to use his own phone when making threats by phone. (Let that be a lesson to you future would be assassins.) I suppose that being an at least one-time loser, evidenced by the fact that he is known at the probation office, he is doing what he can to maintain a consistent Neanderthalian persona. 
 
Now I ask you, do you want to come out of isolation with a felony charge hanging over your head? Don’t be a Neanderthal! Be a neighbor instead. Maybe bake cookies to celebrate and eat them all yourself because you’re still a little unsure. Then when you do get to sit down with friends and neighbors you’ll have a funny story you can tell instead of reading transcripts from your bail hearing.
 
And don’t stop washing your hands. 
 
 
 
 

I’m Board

Michael 2 Comments
Long before the pandemic hit my corner of the world I was already spending more time indoors alone than probably healthy, exploring few opportunities that would take me to other places that a grocery store, or a pharmacy, lab, a doctors office or other medical facility, or outside for a solo walk. It’s like I was made for this crisis. But I will say that even I am getting a little bored. I’m sure I wouldn’t be so bored if I could only get a little board! You know I haven’t worked for quite a few years now. I had settled into the routine of, if not a refined retired gentleman at least one not quite as bad as a crotchety old fogie. That’s because I kept my brain young. Yes, I am using past tense. I believe I’m slipping.
 
Even though the forays to the outside world were not often and typically instigated by one if the aforementioned reasons, I almost always made some detour on the way home. Perhaps I would stop at one of the big time mega-marts and wander the aisles getting some exercise and often some deals from the clearance shelves. Maybe I would find a local diner and compare its grillmaster’s patty melt to the last visited diner’s offering. Maybe I’d browse a thrift shop because they are just fun to walk around in and I’ve found a remarkable selection of candy dishes in them over the years. Even if I was feeling adventurous today, and lucky enough to venture out where others may be, those places aren’t open anyway.
 
When extended outdoor time wasn’t desired or desirable like in times of freezing weather (which we seem to have 9 months out of the year) I would amuse myself baking oatmeal cookies or concocting a new marinade for something on the grill. Now though I’m limiting my flour to bead and pizza dough and experimentation time (not to mention counter space) has given way to knead, rise, knead, rise, rise again, bake, slice, eat repeat.
 
Then there is that portion of the day I called down time. That would be the time I’d spend watching an old movie, reading a book, or going through the whole of a newspaper following stories missed during the morning headline review, laughing at the funnies and doing the crossword puzzle. The papers have all stopped publishing hard copies, the library and bookstores are closed and I can read only so much electronic prose, and even I am getting tired of old movies (except for anything with Audrey Hepburn). (Nobody can ever tire of Audrey Hepburn.) (Nobody!)
 
Add to those losses the loss of Sundays with the Daughter. (Yes, yes, of course this should be at the top of the and indeed it is but I had to keep it for last one mentioned to build dramatic effect. If you don’t like it, go wrote your own post – sheesh!) (But don’t leave yet. We’re finally getting to the point of this post.) Sometimes after we cooked for a couple hours then ate for a couple hours we’d pull out a game board and play for a couple hours. But not just any old game. Our game was, and will be again, Backgammon.
 
If you’re a chess player there are apps and live sites and virtual games around very corner. I know first hand that there are indeed crossword puzzle apps that you can play all day long and not be interrupted by a single ad. For free! Word games abound, arcade games are electronic naturals, even “jigsaw” puzzles can be assembled without interruption on line or in apps. But backgammon…
 
Indeed there are some backgammon apps but every one I ever tried forces you into watching ads to earn tokens to build moves with. And there are a few backgammon live sites where you can play against AI or a distant opponent. These are few and the opponents are fewer. (And I think the AI cheats. Nobody can throw that many doubles.) Besides, backgammon needs to be experienced in more than two dimensions and with more than just sight. You have to hear the dice rolling in the cup before bouncing across the felt, you need to feel the smoothness of the tiles as you slide them along the points, you have to see you opponent slump when you bump her or him to the rail or bear off your last stone. The Mesopotamians weren’t thinking computer when they drew the first points and carved the first stones 3,000 years before Jesus walked the Earth. Backgammon is to be experienced, not pixelated.
 
But this isolation won’t last forever. Until then I’ll still take my set out each Sunday. Now I just polish it. Eventually I’ll get to play it. 
 
 
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