The world won’t end in a whimper,
and not with a bang,
and probably not with fire and ice.
It’ll end with them shouting, “You lie,”
and others shouting back,
oblivious to the death and dying,
that’s rendering life a wreck.
Monday’s Theme Music
Computer issues drop-kicked my Sunday into Sourday yesterday. Naturally, I blamed 2020. Made more sense than blaming myself, or HP, Microsoft, Kaspersky, or anything else. No, this was 2020’s fault. Because, 2020 has been a helluva memorable year for all the wrong reasons, from my perspective.
Like, yesterday, I went for a short walk. Golden leaves were flaring bright against the sky blue. The air was warmish at seventy, but clearer than a new 4K television picture. Yet, given my ‘puter issues, my mood was sour. Walking out of the house and up the hill, I remembered the four small, beautiful cats who used to greet me when I came out. Pepper, Buddy, and Mimi (aka Princess) all were neighbor cats. Quinn was my own. None were big. Three were long-furred but all were sweet and happy. All were here last year, last fall. Now, all were gone, victimized by life and death, as we all will be.
Yeah, some mood, right?
It’s natural for my mind to provide theme music, background to whatever I’m doing. Yesterday’s chosen song stayed with me for today. Probably did this song as theme music before; I didn’t bother to look. Frying other matters in my head, you know?
Here is Green Day with “Wake Me When September Ends” (2005). In place of September, feel free to insert anything else. I inserted 2020, as in wake me when 2020 ends.
Cheers
Mimi Update
Mimi is the neighbor’s beautiful little gray and white cat. She had a close call with a car the other day. Turned out, she’d been hit.
I wrote about her close call in Friday Fragments. I saw Mimi streak away and reported it to the neighbor. I’ve seen cats streak away from accidents only to succumb later.
Such was the case now. Mimi’s back end was injured. She dragged herself into the house and hid. My neighbors searched for her but couldn’t find her. Midnight that night, Mimi made a noise and she was found, along with the extents of her injuries. They rushed her to care.
Mimi could be saved. The price would be high. Her injuries were extensive, and the quality of life and her future would be very uncertain. Grieving at 2:30 AM, the people made the decision they thought best for themselves and their cat.
Coronavirus restrictions were broken as the vet allowed them to say good-bye.
It was the humane thing to do.
Just Another
My friend passed away this week. It’s the polite way of saying he died, an easy way to express and digest it without harsher emotions and pain attached to it. He passed away. It’s like a boat sailing into a sunset, going on a journey, out of sight beyond an horizon, but really still there.
Ed was eighty-nine. He had a brain tumor. Actions were taken, but the body is the body.
He had a spectacular intelligence and a sharp sense of humor. I was flattered to know him and pleased that he sought my company. We always had lively conversations. Since I’ve known him, he’s had white and gray hair, with a receding hair line, and a gray and white riotous beard. His daughter included a photo of him from his youth. Turned out he used to be a blond, handsome man, a far reach from the fellow I knew in appearance. Yet, the resemblance beyond the superficialities of hair and beard was clearly there.
After gaining his PhD from Stanford, he joined NASA in the mid 1960s and was with them until he retired a few decades later. He was less involved with manned space exploration and more engaged with sending satellites out to find information and send it back.
In one sense, we’ve been expecting Ed’s death, in one form or another, since he was born. In another, it took him sooner than we hoped, and we wonder if it’s the curse of 2020.
I know that he’s not the only one who died this week, and that his life and death was much better than what many experience. His daughter informed us of Ed’s death on Wednesday.
“So last night mom went in to chat with dad. His breathing for 48 hours had been in the labored, raggedy stage. But he opened his eyes and they sparkled and he smiled. Mom chattered to him and told him it was ok if it was time for him to go. They had walked a lifetime together. She loved him but could let him go. I came in after to sit the rest of the evening not realizing what mom had said and told him “You’ve climbed a lot of mountains, and this has been a grand adventure of a life, it’s time to finish this final climb. We will walk it all the way to the end with you.” One tear rolled down his eye and about two minutes later I watched him hold his breath, carrying what had become a common pause in breathing, just a little further, and he was gone. He took it before it took him. And that’s the way he wanted it.He set the tone for all of us all the way along this last one year+. And I promise you he spent a lot of time over those 6 days, mostly pain free, sitting as an observer to this final unfolding, with his always enthusiastic and curious mind. He showed no struggle, no despair, no sadness. He fully leaned in to the enitre journey. I think he just would have liked it to go a little longer. But no regrets.”
I always wonder what happens after death, spiritually, but also along the lines of quantum existence. If there is something more, I’m sure Ed will make the most of it. If not, he led a life here worthy of being emulated and celebrated.
Either way, damn, I will miss him.
Sunday’s Theme Music
So…
Contrary to world expectations, I’ve been, um, feeling good? How else can it be put, but I’ve been experiencing a rising sense of hope and optimism. It permeates everything I’m doing and thinking.
Rationally, I can’t account for it. I can say that I’m less stressed because I’m not out there socializing and fighting traffic. I can attribute it to kind weather gods; May, June, and July have been pleasantly mild for the most part, keeping anxieties about wildfires and smoke tamped.
But then there’s COVID-19 and what it’s doing to the world. And there was the death of a sweet, shy cousin, too young, just fifty-one, dead from cancer, leaving two sons behind, succumbing to the disease after a four year struggle. In my mind, she remains bright-eyed and smiling with an impish impulse.
And there was Dad, being rushed to the hospital mid-week, Dad who is rarely sick but has a full metal jacket of stents (installed a few years ago) and moderate CPOD. He is almost eighty-eight, though, so there’s always expectations and worries. We are talking about the life train. It always pulls in at the same final stop.
Writing, though, has been a wonderful escape, of course, taking me on an unexpected ride as the characters evolve and the story goes in directions that I didn’t expect. That’s always a pleasure, innit? A good writing day can propel you over many obstacles.
So…
Feeling good. Optimistic, hopeful, even joyous.
Against this backdrop, I’m hearing “Bell Bottom Blues” by Eric Clapton (1971). Two aspects of the song stay on a loop in my head: “I don’t want to fade away,” and “I don’t want to lose this feeling.”
No, I don’t want to lose this feeling. It’s too good. I wish I could package it and share for free with everyone in the world. Others should know these sensations. They’re powerful stimulants.
Enough of my babbling. Here’s the music, a later live acoustic version that I think does more justice to the song.
A Life
She’d wrestled and cried
and purred and loved,
and was loved
and bit and clawed
(mostly in play)
(mostly)
and then gave a sigh and closed her eyes
just for a moment
just to rest
(just for a moment)
before giving up the fight to live
started seventeen years ago.
Memorial Day
With 97,000 plus deaths attributed to COVID-19 in the United States in 2020 and states starting to re-open, I believe we’ll probably start seeing a new meme about ‘Memorial Day’ as we’ll certainly cross 100,000 deaths before Memorial Day.
Which prompts me to recall Trump’s February 26 comment. “You have 15 people, and the 15 within a couple of days is going to be down to close to zero.”
Today, three months later, we’re at 1,637,593 cases in the United States, which is a long way from zero.
Tuesday’s Theme Music
Trump’s comments about people dying were infuriating to hear. He couldn’t do anything about it. So powerless, isn’t he?
Yeah, infuriating. Watching him, thinking about that, and remembering children in cages, and the way he seems to think — certainly the way he acts in general — an old Foreigner song, “Cold As Ice” (1977), came into my mental music stream.
Not like the COVID-19 deaths (or the children in cages) is the first time he’s demonstrated a lack of empathy. Remember his call to the family of the U.S. soldier killed? “He knew what he was getting into.” Jesus wept. There’s also the lack of caring demonstrated in dealing with Puerto Rico and their issues. Unless it’s about him (and his numbers) or, lordy, the economy, he just doesn’t give a shit, demonstrating nothing but contempt, anger, and hatred as far as emotions go.
Yep, cold as ice. He’s willing to sacrifice anything to make himself look good.
The Surviving Dream
I was out with others. We were in endless stores but outside, in rolling, emerald green hills bathed in sunshine. I was happy but I was aware that it was a dire situation. Everyone was aware. What measures did we need to take? How could we survive?
Then, boom, all were dead.
Then I was getting back up. I was aware it was a dire situation. What measures did we need to take? Okay, I’d just died, so what we’d done didn’t work. We needed to do something else. Then, boom, something was coming, and we all died.
I was back after a second, in the same situation, trying to figure out what to do, then it all happened again.
I spoke with others. How can we stop this cycle? Others were certain that it couldn’t be stopped, they saw no way that it could. But a man in uniform stepped forward.
He was dressed like a WWII Nazi officer, grey uniform and hat, black epaulets, knee-high shiny black boots, in a movie. “Actually, it can be stopped,” he said. “You just need the right place to hide and the perfect timing.”
Before I could question him more, he said, “Ah, here it comes again.”
I saw something coming, or more correctly, looking down and across the stores on the grassy hills, I saw its effects on the people and world. I warned others that it was coming as I took cover with a cat. I died.
Born again after that, I joked with the cat, “Well, that didn’t work. Did you die, too?” The cat didn’t answer. Then, knowing the cycle was short, I began hunting for the next place to hide. This time, I seemed more aware of the threat coming toward me. It rippled through the people and fields like a light breeze blowing through a rows of wheat. Watching it come up, I timed my move and stepped aside.
I’m not certain if I died or not. There wasn’t a moment of awareness of dying, but I was again considering the situation, the German officer beside me. “No, it’s not that easy,” he said in a jocular voice.
I was dubious of him. “I think you’re trying to distract me. Who are you? Why are you even here?” I had the sense that he was there for misdirection. He was there to stop me from seeing and thinking.
An event was coming again. Picking up my cat, I turned my back and hunkered down under a table.
The dream ended.
Mask Up
Sharing a story. Yeah, anecdotal, about a bus driver, a coughing passenger, and a COVID-19 death. The bus driver is the death in this tale. He was fifty years old.
Wear masks, people. Wear masks. They can save you. I was out yesterday, had to make a supply run. While I was masked and gloved and practiced social distancing. We’d ordered online, and the purchases were delivered to the car’s trunk. While sitting there, I watched the scene. First, I was dismayed by how many were out, looking as if it’s business as usual. Social distancing? What’s that? Counted twenty-seven people as I sat there, awaiting my delivery. Counted five with masks. One with gloves and masks.
When a twentyish employee brought the order out, she wasn’t wearing a mask or gloves. Her arms were bare. I cringed with speculation about her condition.
Oregon — my state (yes, I bought it a number of years ago, so it’s my state — still have the warranty) has over eight hundred cases. Jackson County, where my experience took place, has almost thirty.
First case in Oregon was announced Feb. 29. My wife and I took measures after the possibility of the first case emerged in our area, March 14. Since then, more evidence of the value of masks has emerged as data has rolled in, showing how poorly people are responding to social distancing. My county got a C. I could see why when I was on my supply run yesterday.
Lot of folks were out. Not as heavy as a normal day, no. But less people would’ve been out if Oregon U. were playing a football game.
Yes, I know, some are essential. Thank you to all of them. To the rest, think about why you’re out. Sometimes, we have a need. But if you’re out, take precautions, for your sake, my sake, all of our sake.
The groceries are in the car’s trunk (boot, if you need a translation). There’s nothing perishable. They’ll stay in the trunk for three days. After that, I’ll fetch and clean them, and clean the car. We bought them for the long term, deciding to stock up now rather than waiting for when there are more cases in our area.
Changed clothes in the garage when I returned home, too. Yeah, given all the vectors possible for transmitting something to us (my wife and me), we’ll probably contract it, if we haven’t already. We’re trying to buy time for the world to come up with the resources and vaccines to combat this thing. We’re also trying to keep from spreading the thing.
Hope you’re all doing well at there. Take care. Wear masks. That is all.
Michael Seidel, writer 