The Great Escape

Far from the madding crowd, as the saying goes, I haul the 30 pound anchor to shore and force one of its flukes into the sand, hoping for a solid hold.  We have beached Muddy Waters on a long stretch of sand south of La Crosse.   Behind me on the boat, Sue and Liz are laying out food while Mark secures the anchor rope to the boat's rear cleat, preventing the boat from floating downstream

"I think that will do it," I say, watching the boat hold ground despite the rise and fall with each wave that comes onshore. 

The river is absolutely alive with boats today --  like a hatch of mayflies during the 4th of July -- racing in all directions to get a prized sandbar.  For some, they will join the beach party at Crater Lake, while others hunt along pool 8's twenty-three miles of open water and silted islands for the perfect stretch of sand.  

Our sandbar is a deserted patch of dirty sand gently sloping up toward tall grass and a collection of cedar and silver maple trees.  To our right, a large tree has fallen, uprooted in the soft sand with dead branches extending into the river, where they collect debris moving down stream.

"Have we been on this sandbar before?  It looks pretty nice,"  says Mark, his body a silhouette against the bright mid-morning sun. He stands and looks toward a muddied dark shape ten yards from the boat.  "What is that over there in the water?"

I wander over to what appears to be a cement anchor for a channel marker.  Its shape is a lot like the traffic barrels you see in construction zones.   Only it's not orange, and it's made of concrete, not plastic.  I had read somewhere they can weigh up to 1500 pounds.  If the anchor's adjustable chain is still attached, I can't see it.  Maybe it's buried in the sand.  

For some reason, it is beached on the sandbar, like an unexploded torpedo awaiting detonation.  Reminiscent of the siren songs of dangerous wing dams submerged throughout the river, this anchor would crush anything that hit it.  Fortunately, the majority is above water and can be seen by approaching boats.

"I'm guessing it's a cement barrel that holds a buoy in place.  But I don't know what it's doing here."  I bend down to see it it will move at all.  Not a chance -- it would take a crane to life this out of the water.  With a shrug, I turn back to the boat, kick the sand from my feet and climb aboard.   Brunch is about to be served and nothing beats food on the river.  Except maybe the drinks.



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It's July 2020, and Liz and I are not waiting for company anymore.  My previous posts longed for visitors who would ring our doorbell, announcing the start of socialization again, something that was stopped in mid March.

Although we don't get unannounced visitors, we have had out-of-town friends spend a couple weekends with us.  To be honest, there are times when I feel like I should pull the shades so the neighbors don't see us socializing with other people.  You never know when the next Karen may appear.  And when we go out with friends in the car, we make a quick get-away before they can call the county health department.

But while the lockdown in Wisconsin is officially over, most things have not returned to normal. Far from it.

With the increase of the three B's --  bars, beaches and bad behavior -- cases of the Wu flu are increasing in 20 states, with dramatic spikes found in places like Florida, Texas and California. Which is bad.  Despite the increase in cases, the death rate continues to drop.  Which is great.  We have a friend who reminds us of the daily damage by posting percentages of deaths, infections and recoveries.  It's all recorded in a little black book, where she keeps her calculations based on reports from state and national government agencies.  Impressive, as Darth Vader would say.

Some people on the left think avoiding the Wu Flu is the same as getting over the flu.  A typical response from the media is that if you don't support the continued lockdown, you are part of the problem.  You're selfish and think only of yourself.  We must avoid spreading the virus to others.  Which is false -- isolation only delays the process needed to gain immunity.  I remain skeptical of claims that promise a vaccine.  We don't have a vaccine for HIV, malaria or the common cold, why do people think there will be one for this virus?

Schools remain closed, and it's questionable whether they will reopen in the fall.   Despite multiple reports -- from actual doctors -- indicating children have little to fear from the pandemic, and are less likely to transmit the virus to parents or teachers, many schools continue to believe the doom and gloom from CNN, CBS or ABC.  I've heard the school district in La Crosse talk about how teachers are scared of going back to school.  What are they afraid of?  Don't critics of Trump always use science to validate their arguments?  Science is saying, send the kids back to school.  The risks of NOT sending our kids back to school, with its learning, structure and purpose is far greater than the virus.  So maybe it's not the virus after all.  Perhaps teacher unions just hate Trump more than they love students?

Speaking of being afraid -- aren't you glad the health professionals didn't feel the same way as teachers when this pandemic started?

Sports remain suspended or cancelled.  The NBA is in flux, with playoff teams going to Orlando to determine the league champion.  An attempt to place all teams, coaches and media in a bubble, where living quarters, food and contact with the outside world is limited, is a very strange way to finish the season.  Baseball has yet to start training camp, and the NFL is holding its breath that a shorter pre-season allows America's game to be played.  College sports have been cancelled, with little hope that football will be played this fall.  At best we may see falls sports played next spring.

A full out assault on summer fun remains intact.  Swimming pools, baseball diamonds and tennis courts remain empty.  Movie theatres remain closed (except drive-in theatres) partly because people are afraid to sit next to someone, partly because there are no movies to show.  Vacations remain cancelled because states are either banning tourists or telling visitors to quarantine for two weeks. Teacher to student: What did you do on summer vacation?  Student:  I stayed in my hotel for 14 days and watched Netflix.

Wearing a mask has become a worldwide debate, with many wearing homemade masks, hoping they are either protecting themselves or those around them.  Politicians choose to wear them when on-camera, not so much when the media disappears.  One of the great mysteries this summer is why people are driving around (by themselves) wearing a mask.  Or watering their flowers wearing a mask.  Or walking their dog wearing a mask.

The internet is full of jokes about masks like this one:

"Today I was in the bank when two men came in wearing masks...  Everyone felt a huge relief when they told us it's only a bank robbery."

At times like this you have to find time for a good laugh or some other kind of escape wherever you can.  For some, it's a bad joke, for us with a pontoon boat -- it's a day on the river.



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The stern of the pontoon boat and motor loom above us as we cool off in the water.  This sandbar extends maybe 20 to 25 feet into the water, allowing us to walk out without having to worry about the current taking us down river. We can wade up to our waist or go deeper to our chest.  My feet can feel the ripples in the sand from the constant wave action, although Sue says she doesn't like the feel of a thin layer of mud on the bottom.  But it doesn't stop her from joining us in the water.

We have finished our food and drinks and are relaxing in the cool water coming from a backwater slough that eventually enters the main channel.  At the mouth of the slough is a skinny sandbar that stretches for at least 100 yards.  It is packed with people and the pontoons, flat bottom boats and cruisers that brought them here.

It's a common sight on this Sunday afternoon.  Now more so than ever -- with the pandemic robbing people of alternatives, they are turning to boating as a great way to have family fun.

"I've decided to put everything in God's hands," Sue says, who is always proud of her strong faith.  "The election will either go our way or not.  I hope he's listening because with this election goes the country."

 

"I don't know if I'm ready to leave everything in God's hands," replies Liz, taking a handful of water and splashing it on her arms.  "But I do feel like Trump could use a little help.  With the media, Hollywood, our education system and Never Trumpers against him, I feel like it's going to take a miracle."

I decide to join the conversation. "That miracle is Joe Biden.  The man can barely carry on a conversation, and when he does the media does their best to say "that's just Joe being Joe."  Everyone on the left wants him to stay out of the public, and a few have even called for him to avoid the upcoming debates.  Can you image electing a president without televised debates?  What does that tell you?" 

"That they hate Trump?"  Sue laughs... the insanity of it all.

My eyes wander to the American flag we have on the back of the boat.  It is gently flapping in the early afternoon wind.   There's something about a flag on a boat that just brings joy to my heart.  Do boats in other countries fly their flags?  I don't know, but there's nothing better than to see the stars and stripes flapping in the wind as a boat heads down river.

"Sue, you talk about faith -- I have faith in the American people.  Not everyone has swallowed the Marxist Kool aide.  Not yet.  This country still bleeds red, white and blue.  So I'm hoping patriotic voters who don't want to see their country destroyed get out and vote."

It's a conversation that dominates way too much of our time together.  With less to do because of the virus, it's hard to avoid watching it on television.  Or movies.  Or Facebook.  Or the radio -- our alarm clock wakes us to an early morning show that leans decidedly to the left.   You can't get away from the constant drumming of new virus infections, hospitalizations and the growing number of people dying.   

 It's just everywhere and can really get depressing. 

Liz and I have said many times how thankful we are that we can escape to the slow rhythms of the river, adding chapters to a book that includes majestic bluffs, red and gold sunsets and sombre shadows that fall from tree lined shores.

I'm reminded of the Corona beer ads that feature people stepping back from the busyness and stress of work.  "Find Your Beach,' the ads implore.  Well, for us and our friends that beach is right here on the shores of the Mississippi River, where life is good.  Grab a glass of your favorite adult beverage, add some ice and you're ready to go.  Before you know it, many hours have passed and you haven't thought of CBS, the New York Times or NPR once.



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As if the Wu flu isn't bad enough, 2020 has unleashed two new hounds from hell -- Black Lives Matter and Antifa, radical leftist groups bent on destroying our country.

Seizing upon the horrible death of George Floyd, Black Lives Matter screams systemic racism, while Antifa burns buildings and destroys historic statues.  Not wanting to miss out on the fun, city council members and mayors demand cities "defund the police," or allow police-free "autonomous zones" to take over city blocks.

As Seattle's mayor said, sounds like a summer of love, doesn't it?

Ironically,  Black Lives Matter has never been about black lives (little b) since they don't fit the racist narrative.  I could get behind a movement that actually valued black families and unborn babies.  I wonder how many people realize the number one killer of blacks is abortion, not the police?  But Black Lives Matter has no interest in strengthening the family.  If they did, they would do something about the young children shot or killed in Chicago, Philadelphia and New York.  Or the black police officers who are killed in the street defending everyday people.

The current embodiment of BLM (big B) looks to pressure corporations into donating big dollars and recognizing white privilege and systemic racism America.   I don't get it.  Systemic racism?

In the late 1960's and 70's, the federal government changed national policy from one of equal rights for all, to one of racial preferences for blacks and other minorities.  It was called affirmative action.

Since the 1960's there have been boocoo dollars spent on the "War on Poverty."  These programs were designed to lift blacks out of poverty. 

In the 1980's affirmative action was supplemented by "diversity" as a legal justification for giving preferences to non-whites over whites.

If there is any systemic racism in the United States, it is the legal discrimination against whites -- officially sanctioned as affirmative action and diversity.  The idea that white supremacy exists today is a joke.  Our top athletes, earning millions of dollars, are black.  We just had eight years of a black president and a black attorney general. 

A strange way to discriminate against blacks if you ask me.

Antifa is nothing more than a destructive force, whose aim is to destroy western society.  They rebel against any authority, established order or ruling power and advocate violent means to do it.  The more destructive and violent the better.  You see them burning buildings in Minneapolis and pulling down historic statues that represent a part of America's past -- like it or not.  Antifa's not interested in knowing anything about these statues, which is why they destroy slave owners AND those who freed slaves.

For you readers who support this destruction, you only need to look at history to know what comes next.  Some day, Antifa is going to run out of books to burn.  Eventually, there will be no more statues to tear down.  And soon there will be a ban on movies that don't follow a prescribed culturally appropriate message.  And when they do, they will come for you.

As Rush Limbaugh likes to say, don't doubt me.

The cancel culture, which isn't part of Antifa, but just as intolerant, is already getting people fired from jobs because they ask "Don't all lives matter?"  Or because someone believes there are only two genders -- a view contrary to the "luminaries" that populate newspapers and tech companies.  Better known as the woke crowd. 

For these groups, it appears that efforts to defund the police and destroy opposing views are the only ways to redeem America.  God help us if Black Lives Matter and Antifa succeed.



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"I've got it!"

Liz sounds so proud as she leans back and brings her feet to the surface, trailing sand and mud.  Nestled between her feet is a fresh water clam.  It's shape and color is rather drab -- brown and gray.   It resembles a smooth rock with semi-circular striations of a lighter color.  I take the clam in my hands and try to pry it open, but with no success. 

I lower my hands into the water and let it slowly disappear into the brown water.  "Believe it or not, I have a client who told me about her grandmother who used to go toe clamming in Stoddard.  She would walk along the shore in shallow water feeling for clams with her toes.  She said her grandmother had a pearl ring from one of the clams she found."

The conversation reminds me of an exhibit in a river museum in Davenport that clams actually have a long and colorful history on the Mississippi River.  In the 1800's the pearl button business thrived -- so much so that Muscatine, Iowa was known as the pearl button capital of the world.  Recently, more than a million pounds of shells were removed from the river in Wisconsin and shipped to Japan for use in their cultured pearl industry.

"Speaking of finding things, I've found the horn on your boat," Mark is on the beach bent over looking underneath the deck between two pontoons.  "It's right here."

I leave the ladies and wade through the water to look to where Mark is pointing.  Sure enough, tucked up next to one of the pontoons is a small black box.  A simple L bracket holds it securely in place.  For over a year, the horn hasn't been working on the boat, and I've tried to find the problem by checking wires (which fortunately are located right next to our stash of liquor), checking fuses and  hitting the reset button below the horn switch.   But nothing ever helped.

Mark says, " The problem is that the horn probably catches a lot of spray and wave action.  From what I can see, there is no shielding to protect the opening of the horn from catching a mouthful of water."

Perhaps an answer to my problem?  

"Great!  I'll just buy a new horn and it should be good to go.  It should still be covered by the warranty."  I smile thinking I can't solve all the problems of the world, but at least I can get my horn fixed!

Which is the way of the river.  When the world is going to hell, an afternoon wading in the muddy waters of the Mississippi does something to the hardwiring of your brain, allowing you to look at things and find solutions.  You're not overwhelmed by the weight of the problem, instead you're reminded that this river has been here for millions of years and will be long after Black Lives Matter, Antifa and the Wu flu pandemic are gone.  "Old Blue" has seen our struggles and hardships since the founding of this county.

Undoubtedly, we are experiencing hardship with what's happening to our country.  And we are facing cultural changes that will alter what it means to live in America.   But like Sue said, we need to put our faith in God. 

And to focus on the important things in life --  like beached anchors, fresh water mussels and broken boat horns.

All Smiles (and few tears) For Daddy's Little Girl

"100, 99, 98, 97, 96,... 95"

Whenever I can't sleep I count down to zero from one-hundred.  It focuses my mind on the next number, rather than what's keeping me awake.  Tonight, my mind is acknowledging a sad reality -- Bailey, our miniature schnauzer is dying.

The doctor informed us yesterday that her kidneys are failing, and we had agreed that the best thing to do was to put her down -- the long sleep, he had called it -- Saturday morning.  It's the fear all pet owners dread, hitting you in the pit of your stomach like a body blow from Mike Tyson.  Your mind struggles to comprehend life without the daily intrusions that remind you to slow down and appreciate the little things that really matter in life.  A greeting at the door, a lap to rest one's head on, and watchful eyes that never wander when you are feeling ill.

Bailey entered our lives in the spring of 2008 -- a few short months after our first schnauzer passed away.  Liz had heard of a breeder near St Joseph Ridge from her hairdresser.  As I anticipated, a casual visit to look at a new litter ended with the selection of a three pound, black and white female pup.  What she lacked in size she made up for in spirit and courage.

A struggle with a minor stomach issue delayed her arrival to our house until May, when she showed up at the bottom of our front steps.  Her little ears barely reached the first step, but with a little help, she mounted those steps and into our house and more importantly into our lives.

We had decided on naming her Bailey, after discussing it at length with the family.  Picking a name was something new.  We had bought our first schnauzer from a family who could no longer keep her, so she came to us four years old with a name intact.  I don't remember why we chose the name, but it seems today like it was a good name for a fun, excitable and caring pet.



"75, 74, 73, 72 ... 71"

I am struggling to maintain my count, as my mind refuses to slow down.  I had agreed to sleep in a neighboring bedroom so Bailey could sleep with Liz one last time.  From the bed, I could hear Bailey's labored breathing, slow but steady.  In a selfish moment, I wished for Bailey to die next to Liz, where she would feel safe and loved.  Later, I found out the Liz was wishing the same.  But her breathing continued.  She always slept noisily, perhaps from the long, bearded foreface and muzzle, bred through the generations to locate rats and vermin on family farms.

The name schnauzer comes from the German word muzzle.  The breed features a unique mustache and beard, with big bushy eyebrows.  We always joked about Bailey's beard the first time we saw her.  It looked like a firecracker had exploded in her face because the beard hadn't fully grown out yet.  So the short hairs would grow out to the sides, up and down.  Today, those long hairs are perfectly layered, but tinged with a mature silver and grey.

As a rule, schnauzers are not fighters, but they will stand up for themselves if needed.  The female is stubborn, will dominate smaller dogs and fiercely stand her ground.  During World War I, they were used to carry dispatches and aid red cross workers.  They were also used in Germany for police work. They are seldom addicted to wandering, they love their family and home and are very good as a guard dog alarm.

Bailey was true to her breed as she always seemed most comfortable in the back yard or in the house, lying on the couch watching and waiting.  Her barking was incessant -- unbreakable by training or punishment.  Ask any young child walking to school, or couple walking their dog who made the innocent mistake of wandering within her view or hearing.  Her curiosity was on display during our daily walks when she would stick her nose into bushes or long grass, hoping to find some unsuspecting animal or candy wrapper.


"50, 49, 48, 47 ... 46."

Liz comments regularly on Bailey being "daddy's little girl."  Perhaps she is right.  We are blessed with two fine boys, I mean young men.  But we never enjoyed having a daughter, apparently thanks to my genes.  Although I think many of our foreign students are a good substitution for one.  So Bailey is the closest I can come to in having a little girl of my own.

Of course, it's not the same -- she's not the center of the universe, she doesn't think I am responsible for her happiness nor is she a drama queen.  I know those are such stereotypical traits of teenage daughters, but I have to believe there is some truth to them.  Liz may think she plays favorite to me -- she insists on sitting on my lap --  but I think it is because I have spent more time walking her, feeding her during lunch and staying up later in the evening with her.  Nothing more.

It is impossible at a time like this not to let memories flood through your system.  There are reminders everywhere.  Her toy box near the piano.  A picture in the bathroom for schnauzer candy bars.  Her dog dishes in the kitchen.  Her cushion in our bedroom.  Her wool walking jacket hanging by the front door and her favorite resting spot beneath my feet when I'm writing my blog.

Liz and I laugh when we think of her younger years.  Her aptitude to find a discarded pair of socks and run with them throughout the house.  Her (temporary) like for Liz's brand new shoes and sandals which were quickly destroyed by her sharp tiny teeth.  She would charge the back yard fence whenever someone would walk by.  Her "ferocious" bark and jumping on the fence surely put the fear of God into those who didn't know how small and harmless she was.

When I first met Bailey I told her that she was the luckiest dog in the neighborhood.  I told her she was lucky because she was going to get lots of walks.  An earlier post, "My Mornings With Bailey," shows how true that was.  I had estimated Baily and I would walk over 400 miles each year.  In dog steps I figured it was 3,360,000 steps on Bailey's short little legs.   I will miss out stops to bark at Willie and the Big Boys down the street.

I will never forget her rotational spin during our walks, trying to fool me so she could reach a tree on my side of the sidewalk.  I never let her know she could just walk up to the tree if she wanted.  But then again, if I let her stop at every tree on our walk I never would have accomplished anything else during my day.  That earlier post mentioned how our walks around the neighborhood helped me discover our neighbors and the neighborhood in general.  Like all pets, they enrich our lives and allow us to explore unknown  places with the confidence of a trusty companion.

During her early years, our breeder wasn't happy with how her ears folded, so I remember going to a horse barn at the West Salem Fairgrounds to apply glue to her ear flaps.  From what I can tell it helped one ear, but the other was stubborn and refused to lay flat.  To this day, her left ear will flap in the wind, rotating like a radar dish, searching for whatever sound she can find.

Liz and I will always remember our times on the river.  She was not a water dog.  I leave those august  claims for owners of American Water Spaniels and Labrador retrievers.  But she did enjoy her time on the pontoon boat cruising the Mississippi River, resting her head on our legs, with the breeze blowing her beard and ears back.

Her exploits in the kitchen are legendary.  At least to us.  There was not a food that existed that she would eat.  Her favorites were bananas and eggs.  Until the end, she could have eaten one or more a day.  It wasn't until she turned her nose to eggs in her food that we began to suspect something was wrong.  And for the first time ever, she refused a piece of banana today.  All of her eating didn't make her fat -- she was a muscular dog with legs that enjoyed pulling on a sock or her Ellie and George toys.  Liz often referred to her having the build of a wart hog, as in the Lion King.

I am in tears when I think of how much weight she has lost, and her legs are barely strong enough to hold her upright when standing.  She was unable to finish her last walk on Thursday, so we carried her home.  But this is not a story of tears, but smiles, so enough of that.


"24, 23, 22, 21 ...20"

Our last night with Bailey came on a beautiful day, with the temperatures in the low seventies.  A gentle breeze keeps us cool, but not cold.  A good friend was retiring from La Crosse County and we had originally made plans to be "hanging up the spurs" with him and friends, but the morning's sad news meant we would have to reschedule our celebration for the following night.  Instead, we went for a ride in the boat -- stopped at a sandbar upriver near the locks and dam near Dresbach, MN.

What better sendoff could there be?

Bailey laid on a blanket as she always does, occasionally standing to express interest in some passing sound.  We shared small parts of our sub sandwiches and gave her water before heading down river again.  As the shadows lengthened and the temperature dropped, we wrapped her in a blanket and continued our journey past downtown and up the Black River.

There were boats coming and going, and sounds of people laughing (happy for the end of Wisconsin's state lockdown). The riverside parks were filled with cars and people waving.  We watched eagles soar through the pale blue skies and discovered their nests perched amongst trees lining the river.  The celebration of life, it's ebbs and flows, was on display everywhere we looked.

Through it all Bailey rested.

I notice the light coming from outside my bedroom window has lightened.  There are touches of light filtering its way onto the trees lining the street.  I can hear a mourning dove singing its sad song, announcing the start of another day.  A day when the house will be quiet and missing daddy's little girl.  I think, what are we going to do without you?  Will the neighbors notice anything different?  Will the mailman miss your barking?  And the most painful question of all -- who will greet us at the end of the day by the back door?

With a final determination at sleep, I toss in bed to another position, and lay my head down as another tear runs down my cheek.   Closing my eyes, I make a final countdown, hoping for a restful sleep that will not come.

"5, 4, 3, 2, 1...."

Waiting For Company, Part 3

We are at war.

I've heard that declaration many times when there is talk of meeting the challenges of the Wuhan virus.  This pandemic is described in wartime imagery, with words like "under attack," "invisible enemy," "front line warriors," and health care workers as "troops."

It's easy to see why our politicians and media use such imagery -- it promotes national unity and adds to the gravity of the situation, plus it encourages personal sacrifice from its citizens.  And it has been used many times before, with a war on terrorism, a war on poverty, war on drugs and a war on cancer to name just a few.



 

But being overly alarmist can have a negative effect on people by breeding fear, anxiety and panic (look at the empty shelves in supermarkets and the record sales of firearms).  So it's best to be careful when using the phrase "we are at war."

We already know that this emergency will be costly in terms of our economy and to those who die.  It will require extraordinary measures, even if we act quickly.

We as Americans, British, Italians and French (to name a few) must come together and solve this.  And if we don't act like we did during World Wars I and II, the world will have not only lost the war, but our future as well. 

In response, someone who loves  The Lord of the Rings put it perfectly when he said,  "It is time to light the signal fires and muster the Rohirrim!"




Having said that, I believe our country is at war with other enemies.  Ones not containing a single-strand of Wuhan virus, but ones that shares our television channels and spend taxpayer money:  the media and government officials.  For those of you who think I'm reckless in calling them my enemy, I don't know what else to say.  They're either ignorant, or on the other side.

Anyone who has listened to the media during one of Trump's coronavirus task meetings has to ask the question -- whose side are they on?  It may be rhetorical, but is their hatred for all things Trump so virulent that they will throw the country's future under the bus just to watch him fail?

Here's how shameful the media has become --

Some media outlets have refused to show the task force press meetings, claiming they are Trump campaign speeches.  Like always, they would rather you listen to their biased talking heads, rather than figure it out yourself.  Rest assured, if President Trump was making a fool of himself, it would be shown 24/7.

The media relentlessly pits Trump against his team physicians, trying to ridicule his comments as not being based on "science" as though that alone makes it true.  The President has asked for and been given advice from Dr. Fauci, Dr. Birx and Admiral Adams.  My fear is that he has put too much faith into pandemic models that have been proven wrong from day one.   To a fault, Trump has remained faithful to his medical experts and not questioned the models being used for the nationwide shutdown.  It's time to act on data-based proof, not the original China supplied numbers.

Nonetheless, when the media is rebuked by Dr. Birx or Admiral Adams, they scream racism or sexism, which is laughable considering how both physicians fall into the liberal's realm of identity politics.

I still view social media sites as part of the same bias.  How else can you explain censorship of videos and comments made by those who support the President or who provide potential cures for the virus?  Recently, UTube removed a controversial video by two urgent care doctors from California claiming it violated their community guidelines, including content that explicitly disputes the efficacy of local health authorities.  What a pile of you know what.   So doctors dealing with this virus everyday are wrong, but medical experts squirreled away in some academic school or bureaucratic government position are right?  Apparently only if you favor censorship.

The media refuses to give Trump credit for anything he has been right about.  Trump was right about the origins of the virus.  It has been mentioned many times and by a number of doctors in China that the virus came from Wuhan, with the likelihood of a lab, not a wet market, as being its source.  The President was also right about stopping flights coming from China, not to mention closing our Mexico and Canadian borders.  He's also right about touting hydroxychloroquine as an effective virus-fighting medication if issued under strict medical guidance. 

And lately he mused about using light, heat and disinfectants as potential treatments for fighting the virus.  Ultraviolet light is already being used and we commonly use disinfectants like hydrogen peroxide as a mouth rinse.  But of course the media twists his words to claim "Trump wants you to drink Clorox."

I don't know what's worse, the media twisting Trump's comments or people actually believing it.  So in the interest of those not smart enough to know the difference, please don't mix bleach with your salad dressing.  Not a good idea.

The media  -- on a national, state and local level -- continue to post daily death totals.  Did they do that with President Obama during the H1N1 pandemic?  Of course not, (so let me remind you -- 60 million cases in the United States alone)!  These tallies allow them to scare ignorant people into remaining compliant and permits the media to equate the death totals to gross negligence by the government (i.e., more deaths than the entire Vietnam War).  In other words, this current administration is so inept, out-of-touch, dangerous and untruthful that they must be removed as quickly as possible.  Or, at the latest, in November.

So while enemy number one remains the Wuhan virus, other stealth forces are at work.  They are welcomed into our homes every night under the guise of objective journalism.  What they are doing today is a far cry from what I learned going to journalism school.  This country and every small business -- be a restaurant or family run painting business -- is ill-served by our current agenda-driven media.  We all deserve much better.



 

Another front in this war is the actions of Congress and state governors to limit our civil liberties and control our daily lives.  Like some politicians have said -- "Never let a good crisis go to waste."

Early on, our government was saying "We must flatten the curve!"  It was an effort to reduce the number of people infected so hospitals could handle the sudden influx of patients.  It would also give our medical world a chance to find treatments or cures, further lessening the virus's effect.  Flattening the curve was based on the premise that until a vaccine was developed, nothing would stop the spread.

Well, flattening the curve has worked -- the number of infected and dead has been minuscule compared to the early model projections.  We've dropped projections from over 2 million deaths to under 100,000.  Like I said, that's great.

But now we are being told it's not enough.  Now we must prevent people from dying.  In the words of New York Governor Cuomo, "even if we save one life, it will be worth it."  I'm tired of hearing how one life is worth the costs of staying home.  Or how someone who doesn't stay home is selfish and risks killing innocent people.

What Cuomo and other elitists like him are ignoring is the health care costs of crushed lives and dreams, the human costs of lost jobs and careers and of nest eggs broken on the ground.  Have they anticipated the lives lost to depression, drug and alcohol addiction, suicide and despair in a country where abortions are considered essential, but heart stints and CT scans are not?

I fear not.  Or worse, if they have, then how do they justify one loss over the other?  I doubt their arrogance allows them to see the damage they are responsible for creating.

So we've managed to flatten the curve.  Unfortunately, we've flattened the economy as well. 

Today's unemployment report showed 30 million people without jobs over the last 6 weeks.  In just a few weeks we have gone from 3.5% unemployment to the worse unemployment numbers in our country's history.  It's probably not fair to compare the Wuhan virus's effect on America by comparing 60,000 deaths to 30 million unemployed, but it raises some serious questions.  Chief among them is does our government have the "moral authority" to lock us down?  Can they fine us or throw us in jail for public and private gatherings?

Democrat governors from Michigan, California, New Jersey and New York seem to think so.  The governors of New York, Michigan and New Jersey are showing their full, authoritarian tendencies by closing gardening centers and fining citizens who are not wearing masks or getting too close when in public.

Does keeping someone "safe" permit our elected officials to take away our rights? 

I've said this many times to my friends -- this is the first time doctors can remember when we quarantine healthy people.  Not the sick.  Not those at risk.  Proponents will argue that there's a difference between isolation and quarantine.  I don't see the difference when you are forcing the vast majority to isolate themselves from others in the interest of "remaining safe."

In addition, many medical professionals are saying isolation is actually hurting us.  I hate to repeat myself, but there are only two ways to defeat the Wuhan virus -- a vaccine (not coming anytime soon) and herd immunity.  Hiding in our houses will not accomplish either one.  So we are putting off the inevitable by isolating ourselves from others.  What we're not putting off is the destruction of so many people's dreams and aspirations.  For many restaurants and small businesses that make up the 30 million unemployed, that destruction is well underway.





So we are in a war with emergency measures in place.    Never in the history of our civilization have we so willingly given up so much without a fight.  Why did so many die in World War 1 and 2?  Or the Korean War?  Or Vietnam?  Had we lost, would America be much different?  The problem we have as a nation fighting this war is that too many authoritarian, "play it safe" politicians and members of a corrupt media are on the enemy's side. 

For us to survive we all need to be on the same side.

The Best Day of the Year

My shoes leave a trail of wet prints on the patio as I reach down to empty the planter of rainwater than had fallen overnight.  A slight breeze blows yellow heart-shaped leaves from the two lynden trees painfully positioned on the boulevard to my right.  Painfully because they continuously drop pea-sized fruit that attaches to a yellowish bract that litters the yard and garden beds all summer long.  For anyone in love with fall, and layers of clingy, hard-to-rake leaves, the lynden tree is your dream come true.

When I think of fall, I think of cooler temperatures, campfires, apple pie and football.  I also think of a few things that aren't so nice -- shorter days, dying flowers and putting the pontoon boat away for another winter.  Of the three, putting away the boat has to be the worst...



I had written those words last fall in anticipation of putting Muddy Waters to bed for another six months.  Fortunately, I didn't have it in my heart to finish writing the post, which I had titled "The Worse Day of The Year."

 

Most writers have a short list of reasons for not writing -- fear of rejection, fear of inadequacy and fear of criticism among them.  I think I found another one:  fear of doing something unpleasant.  And there isn't anything more unpleasant than putting your boat away, high and dry, for almost 180 days.  People have built houses, or gotten married and divorce in less time.  So it can be a big deal to not do something for half a year.  This horrible pandemic has only lasted two months, and it feels like forever.

My brother and I always remind each other how long we have to go before we can put the boat in the water.  Snow can be swirling past the window, with a forecast for more than 10 inches, and we will ask each other, "How long before we can put the boat in?  This blizzard can't last forever."

I didn't always love boating.  In fact, it took a while for Liz to convince me that we should buy a pontoon boat.  I'd always heard the worn out expression about owning a boat -- the two best days of owning a boat are the day you buy it and the day you sell it.  But since owning our pontoon boat, I can honestly say that's not true.  For us, the two best days of owning a boat are the day we bought it, and the week of April 15th when we can take it out of storage.

I think that means we'll be boaters for life.

Every year I make a Shutterfly photo book of my favorite memories.  Many of them include pictures from our time on the muddy Mississippi, enjoying sunsets, taking friends out for dinner on a sandbar or jumping in the boat during early fall mornings to go looking for white pelicans and tundra swans migrating their way south. 

They say pictures tell the story of a thousand words.  While that may be true,  they don't always tell the whole story...



The smell of grilled steak hangs in the air like the humidity clinging to the northern red oak and sugar maples above us on Wildcat Bluff.  As one of the highest points along the Mississippi River, the bluff overlooks Lawrence Lake Marina where a cluster of pontoon boats, houseboats, ski boats and cruisers are tied down haphazardly wherever there is room.

The acoustic sounds of Joe Cody and Dominic Orrico can still be heard as I back the pontoon boat away from the dock, careful to avoid the two boats on either side.  On board is a motley crew if ever there was one -- Paul, Kelli, Doug, Peggy and Liz.  We are scattered about the boat, with Liz pulling in the bumpers, while others retrieve their drinks that were left in their cup holders.  I aimlessly grab the iPhone and select an early evening playlist, including the Cranberries, Zach Brown Band and maybe a little steel drum music from Jimmy Buffet.

We have spent the last three hours enjoying the start of our weekend -- leaving work early to beat the mass migration of boats and people that will arrive between 4 and 6 o'clock.  That migration continues on Saturday and Sunday mornings as fast boats full of bikinis, inner tubes and cold beer rush to find a tiny patch of sand on one of the many sandbars between Dresbach and Genoa.


One of the best parts of the summer is coming down by boat to Lawrence Lake Marina to eat steaks on the grill, drink a few beers and listen to live music.  I'm sure there are many things to enjoy in places much bigger -- Chicago and Minneapolis have their rooftop bars overlooking city views, free music in the park or hitting microbreweries after work -- but I honestly don't know how anyone could have a better time than we do by grilling steaks and buttered french toast, indulging in adult beverages and meeting some of the nicest people you will ever know.  

 If you own a boat or know someone who does, it is the essence of a good life on the upper Mississippi River near La Crosse. 



I refocus on the business of driving the boat, which is challenging when you are surrounded by laughing people and trying to decide on dessert being handed out by Liz.  The boat has reached the main channel of the Mississippi where we pass a large mile marker jutting from the water.  Throughout spring, summer and fall, barges mark their turns by locating these green and white buoys.  At night, you can watch a barge's powerful spot light searching the river for these reflective markers.

From the front of the boat I could hear Peggy saying, " ... so Doug thought really hard, looked at the cards and said whale!"  The boat erupts in laughter, much to the discomfort of Doug, who looks skyward and shakes his head.  I had missed most of the joke, but vaguely remembered her telling this story before.  It had something to do with the letter "r" getting confused with a pirate's pronunciation of "arrr!"  It is a pretty funny story, one I'm sure Doug is going to take to his watery grave.

"So when are you and Liz getting a looper boat?" asks Paul, taking a sip of bourbon from his red solo cup.  

It's a question he's asked many times before and my answer is always the same.  "As much as I'd love to do, it's not going to happen.  I've been watching those videos you mentioned and I'm not so sure I'm ready for that."  I glance to my left to watch a ski boat speed by, its wake barely noticeable as our center pontoon cuts through the chop and keeps us riding high. 

Paul never gives up.  He says, "Come on, how fun would it be to travel down the Mississippi to the Gulf then cruise east to Florida?  We can follow you in our RV, then together we can float up the Intracoastal Waterway to New York City.  You and Liz could continue up the Hudson to the Erie Canal, then across to the Great Lakes."

"Yeah, we'd be living the dream!"  I agree, thinking how nice it would be to retire, buy a looper boat and take a couple years to make the trip.  It would be a great adventure and I could do some writing  along the way.  Stay in marinas, maybe take some time RV'ing with Paul and Kelli.  Drop anchor in the Florida Keys.  Enjoy the barrier islands near North Carolina and float by the Statue of Liberty in the Big Apple.  

Then I think about everything that will go wrong along the way -- storms will roll in, tanks will leak, engines will die, lightning will strike and fires will start.  In addition, I'll have to fix a broken part, unclog the head and investigate another strange sound.  I'll have no choice but to blow hundreds, even thousands of dollars on a suddenly flooded engine.  It's the price you pay -- the colossal ingredient -- for living the dream.

And like that -- POOF --I'm back to our perfectly good pontoon boat, and I feel pretty good about everything.  I notice Liz is keeping an eye on me, so I say in a loud enough voice that she can hear above the wind and motor, "It's just not going to happen, Paul.  But don't let that stop you from buying one yourself!"

I throttle the boat faster before Paul can answer.

As we hit our cruising speed, I trim the motor up a little to give us a nice smooth ride.  Liz and Paul keep everyone's drinks filled and more dessert is unloaded -- this time chocolate covered blueberries.  Since the sun is not setting until 9:00 tonight, I decide to head south toward Genoa.  It's the perfect evening, with temps in the upper 70's and very little wind.  At times like this I imagine myself standing in the bow of the pontoon and yelling "I'm the king of the world!"  I don't care if Leonardo DiCaprio beat me to it...   At least I'm not going to hit an iceberg and sink to the bottom of the Atlantic. 

Instead, I stand and bump hips with Liz to the sounds of Bon Jovi singing "Livin' On A Prayer."   Soon the whole boat is singing together,

"Whoa, we're halfway there
Woah-oh, livin' on a prayer
Take my hand, we'll make it, I swear
Woah-oh, liven' on a prayer!"

(It could be the rum, but I don't think I've ever heard us sound better.)


Eventually, we are past Brownsville and into the Upper Mississippi Wildlife Refuge, consisting of 129 acres of islands, among them Horseshoe, Turtle and Boomerang.  These islands -- home to the great blue heron, great egret and ring-billed gull -- are little more than sand and mud, with a little topsoil and ryegrass built in to hold them together.  But it works.

It is here, where the Mississippi widens to over four and a half miles wide, that  I find my love for the river at its greatest.  The busyness to our north, where the river snakes its way between La Crosse and Brownsville, has given way to the serenity of fewer boats, more wildlife and an occasional barge delivering grain, coal and oil.

Making the experience even better tonight is the sight of the  Queen of the Mississippi, a modern paddlewheeler taking passengers from Minneapolis to St. Louis.  I slow the boat and everyone grabs their phones to take pictures of the steamboat, inspired by Mark Twain and his wonderful stories of life on the Mississippi River.  

As if to acknowledge our pesky presence and perhaps to warn us from getting too close, the captain grabs the whistle handle and send a couple of long, low blasts.  A moment later, the echoes come from the surrounding bluffs as if the whistle has awakened the ghosts of previous steamboats that traveled this river almost 175 years ago.

A half hour later, we can see the towering power plant that marks the city of Genoa.  We've been discussing the possibility of driving to Door County next summer.  "We can stay at an Airbnb, rent a pontoon, kayak and explore the Green Bay shores we've never seen before," Liz says excitedly, her face flush from drinking wine.  "Sister Bay or Ephraim?  Or we could try Bailey's Harbor?"  

Her conversation fades as a train roars past, a reminder that we have approached the Great River Road and the railroad tracks that share this side of the river.  From our vantage point, we can see the train stretching for what seems like miles.

I gently throttle the boat down, the stern of the boat lifting as the wake overcomes the boat.  I then swing it to the North and back toward La Crosse.  Despite being the same river, we are about to  encounter a completely different ride.  Sometimes, when it's hot and windy, and we have been traveling in one direction, the simple act of turning the boat can suddenly bring instant relief from the heat and humidity.

Tonight, against this current, it should take us almost forty minutes to get back to Pettibone.    Plenty of time to enjoy the long ride home, watch the setting sun and re-tell stories we've told to each other many times before.

The bimini isn't really much use anymore as the sun is low enough that I need my sunglasses to shield my eyes.  By the time we are past Crater Island, the sun will be behind the bluffs and we will enjoy a nice orange and yellow glow tracing the tops of the trees before it gives way to a darkening cobalt blue sky.  

As we continue north, a quietness has settled over the river.  There are a few boats heading back to La Crosse, but they are spread out and don't infringe on our solitude.  As is typical on a warm summer night, tree swallows are darting, pirouetting and diving -- snatching bugs from the air like a second baseman nabbing line drives at Miller Park.  I'm reminded of a military air show where the Blue Angles aerial maneuvers are astounding.  Yet the jet's daring dives and banks pale in comparison to these swallows.


I drop my arm over the edge of the boat and with my hand I catch the warm water as it splashes up along the side of a pontoon.  It's my "dog sticking its head out a car window" moment, and it feels like I'm a part of the river.  It's amazing the water running through my fingers originates from Lake Itasca in northern Minnesota before mixing with other rivers that converge and fill the Mississippi River with their own stories and adventures.

As the conversations quiet and everyone settles into the realization that the evening is drawing to a close, we are reminded in our own private ways just how lucky we are to live near this great river.

 
And so the story goes.

Like I said, I haven't always loved boats.  Liz and I moved to Michigan after college and quickly fell in love with the eastern shore of Lake Michigan.  Like the love we had for each other, we also fell in love with the natural beauty of towering sand dunes, fire engine-red lighthouses, sandy white beaches and glorious red sunsets.  But as wonderful as it was, our admiration for the lake was always from the shore or crowded boardwalks filled with tourists.

It wasn't until we returned to La Crosse years later, that the idea of owning a boat became a possibility.  And with the boat came an understanding of the history that runs with this river.  A  reminder that tugs at you like the current does when you are up to your waste in the flow and you know that it would be far wiser to not venture further out into deeper water.  It is out of respect for our part of this river's history that I appreciate the opportunities we have while boating with friends or putting through the locks near Dresbach and Trempealeau.

While we are not making history on the river, we are a part of the history of this river.  For better or worse, our experiences become part of the same history where 29 sunken civil war ships lie near Yazoo, Mississippi.  Or part of the passage between the Fox and Wisconsin rivers where the first Europeans reached the upper Mississippi.

Christians believe we all came from Adam and Eve.  For many, you can say the same thing about the Mississippi River.  From its inauspicious beginnings in northern Minnesota to its sprawling river basin near the Gulf of Mexico, the river has embraced millions, if not billions of people by boat or land.

The best part is this experience is that it's never the same.  No matter how many times we go out, with friends or by ourselves, it is always different.  It's why I look forward to pulling the boat out of storage,  connecting the battery, cleaning its pontoons, wiping down the cushions and restocking everything we will use this summer.

Unlike the fall, when the rains begin and darkness comes too soon -- today is truly the best day of the year.

Waiting For Company, Part 2

I've never experienced an event quite like the Wuhan virus.  It has me going in one direction today and the opposite direction tomorrow. 

I feel like the character in Robert Louis Stevenson's 1886 novella Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.  One moment, I'm in full agreement with the government's assessment of a very serious threat to people of all ages.  Yes, the majority are older, but I've been reading reports about children, college students and middle age people being infected with the virus.  I watch what is happening in New York City right now and I see fear and overwhelming conditions where people are being left to die in the hallways of hospitals.  The daily briefing from the White House has medical experts telling us to expect between 100,000 and 240,000 deaths in the coming weeks.

 

If I'm honest, my fear and anxiety (Mr. Hyde) show up after watching the evening news.  It doesn't matter where the news is coming from -- print or television -- 95% of it is bad news with daily banners (A FOX NEWS ALERT followed by ominous music)  showing the number of dead and infected.  It's quite depressing, and can drive a sane person, much less someone with actual depression, over the edge.  I may not physically change and become violent like Mr. Hyde, but my personality certainly changes from someone who is optimistic to one who feels like locking the doors and crawling into bed.

The next moment, I'm struggling with  the impact this virus is having on our economy.

This transformation occurs, without pain and disfigurement, when I am asked to take the same precautions in Wisconsin that someone in New York City is taking.

I think, do we really need to shut down the entire country?    All the medical experts tell us, yes.  Businesses must be shuttered, many with little hope of being re-opened.  Ten million people are unemployed because our government has told us it is in our best interest.  Honestly, the economic hammer is falling faster than people dying from the Wuhan virus.  And we're supposed to take it all in with a smile on our face and to color our sidewalks with a box of chalk.  Puppies and coloring books are coming next week.

Common sense (the Jekyll transformation) tells me the majority of people who become infected suffer only mild symptoms, such as cough and fever.  La Crosse County has reported only 20 cases with no deaths.  I talk daily to friends and co-workers who are doing fine.  Working from home, maybe, but other than dealing with communication delays and learning how to video conference, most are doing fine (thank you Lord).   I suspect many other communities are the same.

We are treating the whole country as one huge "hot spot." Applying the same extreme measures to every town whether it's a small, sleepy Mississippi River town or a Mardi Gras infested city like New Orleans.  By doing so, we have shut down vital businesses in many places not overcome by the virus.  Making it worse, the media is chastising American employers for "thinking of money at a time like this.  Why are they putting profit before people?"

As I said, my mood changes day to day.  I wonder which personality will win out -- Dr. Jekyll or Mr. Hyde?  We all know how the book ends.


*        

And now, "Tales From The Pandemic":


Despite the poor weather, Liz and I are standing outside City Hall under a tent, listening to rain drum on the overhead yellow and white canvas material.  One by one, people are being issued into the building by a big burley police officer, wearing light blue surgical gloves.  He holds the door open for one person, then shuts it, until allowing another person inside.

As we wait, I look at Liz who is wearing her HealthyAire cotton mask (made in China!) and gloves she wears when shopping for groceries.  I am braving the weather and early in-person voting without the benefit of either protective device.  I am less comfortable wearing masks and gloves than I am limiting what I touch and washing afterward.  Although, with the temperature in the mid 30's I wouldn't mind a pair of gloves.

I am ushered into the building and told to "go right ahead to the left."  Despite the confusing instructions, I turn left and am told to wait by someone sitting behind a desk wearing the afore mentioned mask and gloves.  The floor is marked with yellow stripes marking a six foot safe zone.  A lady before me goes up to the desk and I move up one spot to the next yellow stripe.  I am reminded of the ending sequence in the movie "Men In Black," where some giant alien is playing marbles with the planet Earth.  Only this time someone is moving us like chess pieces on a board marked with yellow stripes.

Finally I move another spot and am told to take a pen from the table to my left.  Next, I am asked my name and address, then given an a slip of paper with a number on it.  "Please keep your pen and follow the yellow line into the next room," the female poll worker says, somewhat muffled by her mask.  "They will tell you what to do next."

I quickly find myself in another line with more yellow stripes.  As I approach another desk, with more people sitting behind boxes, I glance around the room.  For the first time in my life, I am standing in the Common Council Chambers.  The city's bright yellow seal, mounted on black fabric paneling, serves as a backdrop to the council chamber dais and reminds me of the importance of why I am braving the pandemic, even if it is just for primary voting.

"Next?" asks the lady sitting behind the desk to my left.

I walk forward to the last yellow stripe and extend the slip of paper I was given earlier.  She shakes her head, then says, "You can throw that piece of paper in the basket over there."  She regroups, then continues, "Your name and address please?" 

Next comes my driver's license, which I hold in my hand for her to see.  Without touching it, she confirms the name and address match the information in her book,  and hands me a narrow envelope with instructions on where to go next.  "Please keep your pen, take this envelope and go into the next room to get your ballot."

Following another yellow line, I am greeted by another lady, without a mask,  who hands me a ballot with further instructions.  In a serious tone she says, "When you are done voting, fold the ballot into thirds and put it into the envelope.  Do not seal it!  Another lady will take the envelope and wet it with a water stick.  You will then be done and can leave.  Please keep your pen."

"Thank you," I say and follow another yellow line to the polling booth, where I vote a straight ticket, fold the ballot, stick it into the envelope and walk another twenty feet -- at all times making sure I don't deviate from the exiting yellow line.

Finally, I hand the unsealed envelope to another woman who announces for the up tenth time that she is sealing the envelope with a water stick and that I am allowed to leave.  With one final nod from the police officer who let me into City Hall, I am escorted out of the building into the rain.  

In my hand is the blue pen I selected when starting.  A souvenir of the pandemic, I think tucking it into my coat pocket.


*


Despite the ominous threat we all find ourselves living through, there are bright spots helping us through this tough time.

One of my favorites is seeing the pictures drawn using chalk on sidewalks by children.  Since we don't have small children anymore, I don't know what is going through their minds.  If I suffer from stress and worry, it must be very worrisome for those who don't have the maturity to realize what is going on and when it will end.

Despite it all, they are giving us everyday messages of hope and love from little hearts, sunbeams and rainbows.  It serves as a reminder -- for me at least -- that we will find a way through this pandemic.  As one child wrote, "This too shall pass."

Another bright spot -- a Facebook post encouraged the entire state of Wisconsin to tune into their favorite radio station on April 4th at 2 PM and do a "Jump Around" -- a fourth quarter tradition done at Badger football games.  It will never replace the actual fun we have at those games, but it does remind us that we are all in this together if we bleed Badger red.  Rock on Wisconsin!

Because of social distancing, there are now Google Hangouts, ZOOM and Netflix parties, FACEBOOK LIVE and virtual happy hours.   I'm not usually one to embrace new technology, but I have to admit it's a lot of fun to hang out with friends and family all at the same time.  One of the things I miss most during these times is getting together with people.  And while it's not the same as sitting around the table playing cards, it's pretty nice seeing the smiling faces of those you love and miss.

Last but not least is the thought that this could have happened sometime in November, before Thanksgiving and Christmas -- when the days were getting shorter and the night colder and longer.  Instead, I have been out raking the yard, tilling the flower beds and watching the daffodils, irises and lilies emerge from their winter sleep.  I don't think I've ever seen so many people out walking their dogs.  Or raking their lawns, which is nice.  But one thing is consistent -- people will wave or stop to say hi.  Neighbors I've never talked to before come out of their houses to see how you are doing.

One of the more unsettling things about the last month has been how you look out the window and everything looks the same.  Your mind tricks you into thinking that nothing is changed.  You should be able to leave the house, jump in the car and pick up some hamburgers, tomatoes and buns.  But while everything looks the same, it's not.  You drive down empty streets, you walk into the grocery store and encounter empty shelves, people wearing masks, and a check out counter with yellow lines and plexiglass.  From your house, everything looks the same,  But when you get out a little ways from home, everything is different.

If this was France, England or Germany during World war II there would be collapsed buildings, others bombed into obsolescent while others were destroyed to cover one the reminder of the atrocities of the war.  When the "smoke and fire" of this war finally clears, we won't have to rebuild damaged buildings, streets and homes.  My hope is that we won't have to rebuild our damaged lives either.

To all of us waiting for company to come ring our door bell, remember the words of a little child with chalk in her hand.

"This too shall pass."

Waiting For Company, Part 1

I've mentioned many times my reasons for writing this blog, but the main reason is to chronicle my thinking about politics, sports and family.  Some day I won't be here and I want my family and friends to understand my thinking on things that happen to me. 

So, with that understanding, my views here aren't meant to judge or criticize people.  I'm not trying to tell people what to do or make them question the value of what they are doing.  Just to give someone who want's to understand me better the opportunity to do so.



I feel like the world has gone completely insane.

For those of us old enough to remember, there was a comedy movie released in 1963 called "It's a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World."  It starred some of my favorite movie stars, including Spencer Tracy, Milton Berle, Sid Caesar, Buddy Hackett, Ethel  Merman, Mickey Rooney, Phil Silvers and Jonathan Winters.

While it didn't involve a worldwide pandemic, it did involve irrational fear, absurd behavior, traffic jams and, in the end, mindless mob mentality.  Fortunately, it was a comedy, and everyone's reaction to  Spencer Tracey's actions survived to see another day (and star in another movie).

Unfortunately, what's happening in reaction to the COVID-19 pandemic's spread, isn't funny at all, and too many people are going to die.  It's unlike anything any of us have ever seen, with every day bringing a new understanding of the virus's rapid spread and its unbelievable impact on our daily lives.  No March Madness (still having trouble with that one), no new movies, no church, cancelled vacations, no wine tastings, delayed planting of spring flowers and worse of all, no visits to family and friends.

But not everything with this virus has been bad.

In addition to bringing a better understanding of the difference between a pandemic vs. epidemic, quarantine vs. isolation, and respirator vs. ventilator, I have expanded my useable vocabulary to include asymptomatic, community spread, contact tracing, wet market, "flatten the curve," herd immunity, essential businesses, apocalyptic surge, "social distancing," patient zero and "shelter in place."   When I'm really frustrated I use words like covidiots, "Let the experts talk!" and blue plague.

It has also spawned an epidemic of a different kind -- toilet paper -- and bringing out some of the funniest memes and social media posts in the history of the internet.  I'm sorry if you are upset by jokes about such a serious subject -- but they're not really about the virus itself.  Instead, these funny memes are about stupid human beings doing stupid things like hoarding a commodity unrelated to the virus.  I have not yet talked to someone who hoards toilet paper, but if I did, I doubt I'd get a good reason, beyond "I don't want to run out!"   I suspect some of these people also think Trump stole the election by colluding with Russia.  Or worse, that Trump wants people to go back to work by Easter so he can be re-elected in November.

Which leads me to ask -- must we kill the economy to kill the virus?

Washington D.C. has, for the most part, recommended shutting everything down.  State governors have follow along.  With the exception of some essential businesses, people are working from home or have been laid off.  Dr. Anthony Fauci (a member of Trump's COVID-19 response team) feels this is necessary to contain the spread of the virus.  Dr. Fauci is an American physician and immunologist who has served as the director of the National Institute of Allergy and Infectious Diseases since 1984.  So it stands that he is THE expert when it comes to virus pandemics.  And his advice, with Trump's support, have saved hundreds, if not thousands of lives.  Of which I am thankful.

But do we just assume these people are always right? 

I'll be the first to tell you government officials and experts have been wrong over my lifetime.  They have hurt the American people through government regulations, taxation, healthcare and deficit spending.  Could they be hurting us with their reaction to COVID-19, as well?

Yes, doctors are experts -- but aren't economists experts as well?  In less than three weeks we've destroyed much of the growth we experienced over the past three years.  Was it really necessary to shut down so many businesses to contain COVID-19?  I don't have an answer, and I doubt anyone else does either.  We are being proactive in our response, because no one wants to harm people we love who are susceptible to the deadly virus.  At some point we will learn enough to answer that question.  If my prayers are answered, the infections and deaths will be much lower than reported by the press. 

But what if the "benefit" of closing so many businesses causes more damage than if everyone kept working and we protected those most vulnerable?  EVERY DAY, heart disease or cancer takes 3,000 loved ones,  63 are lost to the common flu, car accidents kill more than 465 people, and more than 129 succumb to suicide.  If we use the same method to determine the number of deaths attributed to COVID-19, we'd be at 3 per day.

Our solution to COVID-19 guarantees an increase in poverty, promotes poor social interaction and other community factors.  Even before our decision to shut down and shelter at home, researchers at Columbia University found poverty and poor educational support contributed to as many deaths in the U.S. as heart attacks, strokes and lung cancer.

So how many more are going to die because we want to remain safe?

Again, I don't have the answers and I don't mean to upset anyone who thinks staying at home is the right thing to do.  By all means, do so.  And we must protect those in danger.  

I just fear our government has taken our economy and damaged it in a way I'm not sure will ever be the same again.

 

How do we flatten the curve on panic?

Earlier today, The New York Times became the epicenter of the Blue Plague by stating people in hospitals throughout the city were dying, as desperately under-prepared and under-equipped doctors and nurses could not find ventilators for thousands of arriving patients in a state of panic.  This is incitement at its worse.

This week's newspaper's had these headlines on their front pages -- "Atlanta hospitals overwhelmed by COVID-19 cases;" Governor Cuomo slams feds - "You pick" who's "going to die;" and 14 million job's at risk.  Are we entering another Great Depression?"

Last night's CBS Evening News lead off the broadcast by highlighting "skyrocketing" unemployment numbers exceeding 3.3 million.  In the "highest unemployment numbers not seen since the Great Depression" questioned its impact on President Trump's re-election bid.  Next was a story on the U.S. surpassing China with the most confirmed cases of coronavirus at 85,000 and counting. 

Does anyone really believe anything coming out of China?   Earlier this year we had one of our Chinese students say how the Chinese government would always use the same number for fatalities no matter the tragic event being reported.  She knew it wasn't true, but what could she do?  If China can't tell their own people the truth, why would they tell the world the truth?

Another breaking story highlighted the "surging" anti-Asian hate -- a result of Trump's use of "Wuhan virus" during his daily press briefings.  And finally, for good measure, there were interviews with unemployed people "feeling very, very afraid." 

Apparently CBS had no time to spend on this good news from today --  the stock market (and many people's retirement accounts) was up more than 6%.  This marked the third day in a row when the market posted gains.  The last three days saw market gains of over 2000, then 500 and now 1300.  I'm sure the market will rise and fall over the next few months, but isn't it note worthy that they only report on the market's freefall, but not its rise?

Nonetheless, the bad news went on for 20 minutes, before I couldn't take it anymore and turned it off.  A quick change to Pandora and a little rock n' roll from Journey and Foreigner had me in a much better mood in no time.

So is there some way we can report the news without constantly hyping worse case scenarios, and without using doom and gloom adjectives to describe daily results?

Of course there is.  During the 2009 world pandemic, resulting from the H1N1 "swine flu,"  more than 60 million U.S. citizens were infected by the flu which caused pneumonia and acute distress syndrome (ARDS).  Most patients needed immediate respiratory support with mechanical ventilation.  The virus was spread mainly from person to person, through coughing or sneezing.  Sometimes people became infected by touching something such as surfaces or objects containing the virus.  Unlike the current pandemic, it affected younger people and was not an issue for people over 60 years old.  But on the whole, it sounds very familiar doesn't it? 

The numbers I have read for swine flu the U.S. are eye-opening -- 60 million people infected, more than 11,000 people died.  That's just the United States!  Compare that to COVID-19.  As of the end of March, we had 85,000 infected and 1,300 deaths according to John Hopkins Hospital.  I realize the numbers aren't final, and the virus may be more deadly than the swine flu, but isn't it interesting that in 2009 we didn't cancel sporting events, stop all international flights, order restaurants and bars to close, cancel schools (even though it affected the young, including children), or put "stay at home" requirements on all of us?

What was different in 2009 than in 2020?  The media's response.  And which political party was in power.

When the media wants to drive a narrative -- and you know what I'm suggesting -- it's easy to see why the New York Times and CBS News are spending so much time accelerating the panic curve.  In the words of the New York Times, be very afraid...

I thought I would end on a high note, as I've never been one to stomach bad news, so why should I contribute to it?

A coworker sent me a link to a comedy special called "What's Wrong With People," starring stand-up comedian Sebastian Maniscalco (he played Johnny Venere in the movie "Green Book", if you saw that movie).  It's a hilarious skit about people who ring your doorbell.  In this small bit, he remembers how forty years ago, family and friends would come over to his parent's house and eat cake and drink Sanka.  They were called company, and everyone looked forward to seeing them and spending time together.

Fast forward to today, where if someone rings your doorbell, everyone hits the floor and turns out the lights.  Instead of welcoming people into your house, you avoid them like the plague.

It's really funny and you should watch it.  You can find it here:   just copy and paste https://youtu.be/0Swzvm-gXHg

My wife's suggestion was that when this COVID-19 nightmare is over, we should plan on ringing a few doorbells again.  It's time to spend time with company again, and I think we are all looking forward to it being sooner than later.

Thanks Liz and Pat, you've made my day.