PANDEMIC DIARY

MIASMA
JUNE 3, 2022

In its most elemental meaning, miasma refers to a highly unpleasant or unhealthy smell or vapor. Taken a bit further it defines an oppressive or unpleasant atmosphere besieging, enveloping, and hemming in. It is an uncomfortable feeling - a psychological coral, an emotional enclave - life circling the wagons to protect against the onslaught. I was reminded of this word reading today’s David Brooks’ column in the New York Times referring to opinion writers who “offer priceless life hacks to help you float effortlessly through the miasma of modern existence”. Yet, this was the second opinion piece this morning that utilized the imagery of ‘miasma’. The first was a Monica Lewinsky article in Vanity Fair Magazine (Yes! I read all sorts of things, and this is extremely well written) regarding the Johnny Depp-Amber Heard trial.

Lewinsky cites the science fiction author Greg Fishbone, founder of the microsite Mythoversal, “for the ancient Greeks, a miasma was a moral taint that hung over a person, family, or city after the commission of a crime. The miasma could cause crop failures, cattle disease, stillbirths, and other plagues until it could be dispelled by sacrifice, purification, or upon the death of the guilty party.” Lewinsky goes on to say, “What we have now, arguably, is a “cultural miasma.”

“Bingo”, I thought. That’s what I’m experiencing. Depp/Heard; Jan. 6th; Trump; Putin; Ukraine war; #MeToo; Inflation; Gun Control; and, kids being murdered in schools at the hands of ostensibly older kids; and, a two-party system that has one party acting like the Nurse Ratchet of politics with the rest of us wondering if we are in the Cuckoo’s Nest. Lewinsky points out “…I came to realize that distortion, not objectivity, has evolved into an acceptable lingua franca.” We have become so self-absorbed, so entrenched and drowning in social media that there is hardly a place to go for simple, straight-forward, unfettered news reporting. No one is any longer deciding, developing and determining from facts their own positions. We are awash in the opinions, commentaries, analysis, partialities and politics of others. Worse, all this taking place under the guise and cover of “reporting”. Lewinsky: “We are drenched in the taint of the dirt and aggression of the social media wars.”

Sadly, this today is what is called “the free press”. Can you imagine? Everything we hear or read is smeared with the corruption of bias and stink of partiality. Everything is filtered by the effects on readership. News is too bland, evidently. Our very physical survival…as individuals…as communities…as a nation…is insufficient unto itself to be newsworthy. Enhancement and augmentation are the filter by which stark existence sells. News is not challenging on its own??? - lives being lost on a battlefield; a nation invading another autonomous nation; a pandemic that persists; families falling into poverty; food supplies dwindling - it obviously requires additional color; a slant; an angle; added perspective, some so-called expert’s point of view to help us grasp the gravity of the situation.

On the May 24th podcast, Now and Then, hosted by Heather Cox Richardson, an award-winning historian, she spoke with Joanne Freedman, attorney and historian, about the American Founders interest in a free press, explaining how they drew a link between the importance of a free, unbiased press and its impact on government. The press was the only weapon that a people could employ to attack an unjust government. Thomas Jefferson: “A free press brings public officials before the tribunal of public opinion and thereby produces reform peaceably which otherwise must be done by revolution.” Unlike a monarchy, it is the public who determines what direction rule takes, but the public must then know what government is doing and therein lies the role of the free press.

Having become thoroughly exhausted and saddened with all that is going on in the world, I thought about a favorite couplet of mine by Edna St. Vincent Millay in her poem “Moriturus”:

“If I could have
Two things in one:
The peace of the grave,
And the light of the sun.”

May we discover our place of peace and light in this life.
See you all later.

PANDEMIC DIARY

A “HALLMARK” COVID
May 14, 2022

I tested positive for Covid this past Wednesday. For the three or so days prior I had been hacking, sneezing and wheezing. The Spring has been so fraught with allergies that I simply attributed my condition to the cruelties of changing seasons. On Wednesday I felt woozy. So much so that by afternoon it did not seem rash or over reactive to administer a home test that culminated in the pink line and not blue. (Odd that I associate pink with roses and toddlers. Most certainly not disease indicators. I’m thinking battle gray would be a more appropriate, if not ominous color to indicate what would in store for the next few days.) Adele jumped into executive function mode. I was sent upstairs like a misbehaving preschooler who was given a time-out.

“Stay in the room”
”Don’t come out of your room”
”If you need to come out of the room, wear your mask.”
”Don’t come out of your room”
”If you need something, I will get it for you.”
”Stay in the room”

I said that I felt woozy. In retrospect, it likely was the “brain fog” that has so often been described. Brain fog, not that I’m an expert, is a sort of combined breakfast plate of mild dizziness, lightheadedness, and a growing inclination towards, “I don’t give a fuck…my hair hurts.” Its mental mush, like cranial oatmeal. In this state of emotional desolation one may acquire a propensity for sentimentality and the banal. In the rarely utilized bedroom belonging to Alex, now converted into containment center, I inhale the ether of resignation. Unable to focus or concentrate, I relinquished all efforts at normal internal discourse. This miasma of self-pity was elevated to the point of having to supplant any empathy I might have had for my circumstance with the convenience of televised artifice.

I didn’t have the intention of watching the Hallmark Channel. I never have before. But, as I was scrolling the channels I saw a movie titled, “Paris, Wine & Romance”. It was starting in two minutes. What the hell! I love Paris, I love wine, and I need a little romance to quell the inexplicable longing I’m feeling. Maybe a cinematic coddling would do the trick.

“Paris, Wine & Romance” turned out to be like a two-hour long slog of a Barry Manilow song - commonplace, formulaic, and totally predictable. Did I change the channel? NO. I watched it to the bloody end. The handsome French winemaker of award-winning Burgundy wines (Jacques), falls in love with a gal (Isabella), from Oregon whose Pinot Noir earns a Silver Medal to Jacques’ Gold in a competition. The ending was a turn on the phrase, ‘He shows up on her doorstep’ to “He lights up her wine vats”.

I felt like I had raw string beans for dinner. You know you ate something because you chewed and have something stuck between your teeth, but are still starving for more substance. The Hallmark Channel seems to offer what need a romance novel fills without the ‘skin’ and writhing. And, without so many words. No analysis of character. People just show up. Anywhere. Anytime. Love is the common inevitable insertion. No difference between the movies. Simply a change in locale and accents. It reminds me of improvisational theater. Your sitting in the audience and the performers asks, “What is the most unlikely of places you can think of to fall in love.” Excitedly, members of the audience throw out the most implausible of scenarios: “Bumping into each other outside adjoining Port a Pottys”; “Meeting the caretaker of your invalid mother”; “Having the waiter spill Escargots on your dress”. No problem. He wears a colostomy bag and she suffers from Krone’s Disease. The caretaker is Premed while he is finishing his degree in Geriatrics. The waiter invites the lady to his home for dinner so she can pour Champagne down his pant leg. It always works out in the end.

It is certainly understandable that “happy endings” have a place in the world of film. However, It is one thing to portray a ‘normal’ story, both linear and mundane. But, normal is never without nuance and complexity. To leave that out is an insult to the viewer. And, life will never be less complex than it is now. I wondered who is the audience for this boilerplate corn? What is it they derive from digesting that the world is easy and not complicated. Personally, I am always suspect when things are purported to be easy. Ease can never be a goal. It is a state of being that reflects one’s comportment with reality. It is an indicator that you are in sync with your life.

So, there it is…I made judgments regarding the viewership of The Hallmark Channel. They would be more isolated from society, have more insular ideas (Conservative) about right and wrong. They would not be a diverse community having common views on politics, religion, social mores and, in general, be less tolerant. I, further, presumed, that Hallmark’s viewership would find solace in the plainly presented depiction of family values as they perceived them to be.

Sadly, I could not have been more right. First, I researched the popularity of viewership to determine if Hallmark was a serious player in cable television. What I discovered shocked me.

(from a cable rating site) ‘Riding high on the overwhelming popularity of the highly successful holiday programming, Hallmark finished the fourth quarter of 2020 as the most-watched entertainment cable network among Women 18+ years for the seventh year in a row. In Saturday primetime, the channel is the highest-rated of all broadcast and cable networks among the same demographic. Overall, Hallmark Channel regularly ranks as one of cable’s most-watched entertainment networks in primetime and total day ratings.

Then I scratched a little deeper to read viewer comments to get a sense of who watches Hallmark. (Please note that I did not cherry-pick these comments to benefit my argument. These quotes are in order from the most recent back and are not edited.)

May 12, Anonymous “I love how Hallmark does absolutely nothing to anyone with hatred towards Christians…”

What did they mean by this? Other comments answered that question:

May 8, Diane “ I am seeking another family-oriented channel for programming now. I am saddened by Hallmark’s disregard for us who wish to view family TV without having gay themes shoved down our throats.”

May 2, Julie “I love seeing the ratings each week go lower and lower for Hallmark. They are forgetting the fans who have been with them since the start…The continuing of casting Gay characters in every movie and having them kiss in every movie is getting a bit much.”

I love this one:

May 7, Liz “Hallmark USED TO STAND FOR FAMILY, QUALITY AND HOPE. The new WOKE themes DESTROY FAMILY.”

Really? And, finally Susie tells us what to do:

Mar. 26 “Let us pray for those actors who have faith in God to know how to navigate the current direction of Hallmark.

Far be it for me to draw a direct line between these criticisms, the viewers who wrote them and Nazi Germany. But, here it is all laid out like thousands of domino pieces that are aligned in a pattern, side by side, just waiting for someone to take the one step and tip the first piece that will cause a chain reaction that will tumble the whole structure. These same people who decry Islam, hate Muslims, believe in conspiracies, in the guise of family values and religious beliefs and personal irritabilities are more than willing to take their case to the court of authoritarians and dictators.

They are truly American Taliban with as much fervor, fever and fanaticism as those they despise. Except they carry the burden of the Cross as opposed to the Crescent and Star. They believe that they are the chosen. And, as a Jew, I certainly know has that’s worked out for us.

This argument is a generalization, of course. It does not apply to the whole of Hallmarks’ viewers. However, I went deep into the comments section and did not find one individual who praised the channel for its bravery, or fair representation or simply acceptance of those persons previously excluded from society. Hallmark was not applauded or lauded. No praise. No accolades. Just scorn. These comments reflect a complete absence of personal and societal self-awareness and yes, sophistication, as exposure to the world around you. The message to me was clear and not cloaked. “We wish to live in our bubble. We will support anyone who substantiates this fantasy.

If this fantasy becomes a reality, we are all in serious trouble.

PANDEMIC DIARY

TURNING OVER THE REIGNS
May 7, 2022

Heather Cox Richardson (HCR), the historian and political commentator worthy of your attention, re-published her blog from “Letters To An American” on Mothers’ Day two years ago: “If you google the history of Mother’s Day, the internet will tell you that Mother’s Day began in 1908 when Anna Jarvis decided to honor her mother. But “Mothers’ Day”—with the apostrophe not in the singular spot, but in the plural—actually started in the 1870s, when the sheer enormity of the death caused by the Civil War and the Franco-Prussian War convinced American women that women must take control of politics from the men who had permitted such carnage.”

And, so it continues - carnage, destruction, pillaging, rape, bombing, sex trafficking, arms dealing, religious extremism - the origins of which have been variably attributed to “Guns, Germs, and Steel” (Jared Diamond) to Yuval Noah Harari’s projections on human development in the book “Sapiens” such as human’s capacity to imagine leading to beliefs (god, money, nation, and rights) that thusly lead to prejudice and discrimination (racial, political, sexual). To my observation, the only reality that all these arguments have in common is that the theories are based upon men acting upon men. Men who have established themselves as dominant, controlling, violent, quick to judge, impulsive, threatening and ultimately dangerous to themselves and the societies within which they prevail.

Mothers’ Day may have precipitated the thinking about its significance and meaning. However, Heather Cox Richardson has clearly framed a worthy argument. Women’s Liberation is simply insufficient to move the needle in favor of what Julia Ward Howe said, (President of The Woman Suffrage Association and who penned The Battle Hymn of the Republic), “Men always had and always would decide questions by resorting to ‘mutual murder’. “ With regards to the Civil War, “Why do not the mothers of mankind interfere in these matters, to prevent the waste of that human life of which they alone know and bear the cost? ARISE WOMEN. We will not have great questions decided by irrelevant agencies. Our husbands will not come to us reeking of carnage, for caresses and applause.”

It simply is no longer a generalization that men not only are not the best leaders, but appear to be on a path to the destruction of civilization as we know it. Currently, it is decisively clear that amongst the world leaders of the last half century, the most powerful, potent, useful and rational persons of importance in world politics have been women including Erna Solberg, Prime Minister of Norway; Angela Merkel, Chancellor of Germany; Ellen Johnson Sirleaf, President of Liberia who received a Nobel Peace Prize in 2011 for her “non-violent struggle for the safety of women and for women’s rights to full participation in peace-building work.” Helle Thorning-Schmidt, Former Prime Minister of Denmark; Park Geun-hye, President of South Korea; Sonia Gandhi, President of India National Congress, who is advocating for a Woman’s Reservation Bill, “which seeks to reserve 33% of the seats in lower house of Indian Parliament to women.”

This may be a grandiose way of presenting a personal testimony to the necessity and value of women in my life, but also to the urgency needed to install more and more women in posts of power and influence. A 2021 article in Forbes Magazine states, “Over the past decades, scientific studies have consistently shown that on most of the key traits that make leaders more effective, women tend to outperform men. For example, humility, self-awareness, self-control, moral sensitivity, social skills, emotional intelligence, kindness, a prosocial and moral orientation, are all more likely to be found in women than men. Women also outperform men in educational setting, while men score higher than women on ‘dark side’ personality traits, such as aggression (especially unprovoked), narcissism, psychopathy, and Machiavellianism, which accounts for much of the toxic and destructive behaviors displayed by powerful men.”

—Narcissistic leader are too focused on themselves to care about others.
—Psychopathic leaders are cruel and immoral, lack empathy and engage in reckless risk taking.
—Machiavellan leaders will engage in callous manipulation and exploit their charisma and social skills to take advantage of their followers.

Meta-analytic studies show that women “are more likely to lead democratically, show transformational leadership, be a role model, listen to others and develop their subordinates potential, and score higher on statistical measures of leadership effectiveness”. And, it appears that everyone knows these truths. In 1953 a Gallup Poll revealed a 66 percent preference for a male boss - today that figure is nearly at 20%. In her position as CEO of “20-First”, a global ‘gender balance consultancy’, Avivah Wittenberg-Cox points to “The mountain of evidence keeps growing. Women leaders outperform. Especially during a crisis. Companies with more of them do better. Countries led by women are managing the Covid crisis far better than their male counterparts.”

This may be a long way of saying that our future may depend upon more mothers and women and the next generation of young women participating and leading our political process in far greater numbers. We need women’s energy, wisdom, sense of community, intolerance of violence and vision. And, it is to women at large that I dedicate today’s blog.

I also confess, and without any external coercion, that were it not for Adele, our home would not be as warm, sane, and ordered as it is. Thank you for all your leadership.

HAPPY MOTHERS’ DAY.

PANDEMIC DIARY

CONTEXT CHANGES EVERYTHING
March 23, 2022

Context provides meaning and clarity to the intended message. In a discussion, the context provides the container within which we are assured that we are all talking about the same thing. If it were a theater production, it would be the stage setting for it ‘sets the stage’ for the communications to follow. Context is vital, establishing a framework, intent, and direction. But, also, context can reveal subtexts and disclose nuances otherwise unrealized. I have experienced these phenomena in business and my personal life. We have all experienced this in sending emails whose intent was mistaken. Maybe you were attempting to be funny or serious yet totally mistaken. And, then sometimes we hear a phrase or refrain and appreciate the content but have no idea of the context until it is explained. And, then the whole experience shifts and it takes on new meaning. Even profound meaning.

The Drifters

Such was the case when a friend of mine sent me this synopsis of the origin of the song “Save The Last Dance (For Me)” made famous in the 1960’s by The Drifters:
The songwriter, Doc Pomus, was crippled, but his wife or girlfriend loved to go out and dance - so he would go with her to the clubs so she could dance. She would dance with other men while he sat on the sidelines and watched. But when it was time for the last dance of the evening, he would go out in his wheelchair and dance the last dance with her. Hence, the song. True story and very touching! That is how this wonderful song was written! Those were the days of good diction and you can actually understand the words!

Now the song has a completely different meaning and affect on me. It brought me to tears. See this version with Anne Murray and let me know what you think. (IMPORTANT:CLICK ON ‘READ IN BROWSER” THEN “WATCH ON YOUTUBE”)

PANDEMIC DIARY

A HOME SO NEAR - SO FAR
March 17, 2022

Adele and I moved into our home in Jan. 1999. A middle class neighborhood, the house was modest and what we could afford at the time. I wanted more land, but my eyes were often grander than what I could put on the plate. And, with 8-year old Alexander in tow, Adele was wise in insisting we move to a neighborhood where there were other children. I acquiesced, needless to say, knowing she was right despite my public demonstrations of shoulder shrugs and frowning dismay. We do not have a large backyard, but to our advantage we are bordered on two sides by community buffer zones which requires twice the separation from one community to the adjacent community.

Nonetheless, just on the other side of our house is another in the Spring Valley community. In the summer when the trees and shrubbery are in full display there is a layer of green shielding that prevents us from seeing our neighbor. In winter, the opposite is true and we can see the comings and goings of the owners, now elderly and frail. The wife appears to be restricted to a wheel chair. The husband, Jim, is likely 90+ years old and is stooped over in parabolic curvature like the arc of a vaulting dolphin.

I first met Jim when we moved into the house. He was immediately cordial but, as well, demanded a level of familiarity I had no desire to reciprocate. I found it strange that our inaugural conversation began with Jim telling me his age. I stood there hardly knowing what to say. I mean anyone who is 70, 71, 72 years old and brings his age into the conversation clearly did not expect to live as long as he had. Each subsequent meeting, by the fence separating our properties, elicited a chronological update as if his still being alive was a miracle of miracles. Jim was never at a lack for words having three children and wanting to tell anybody who would listen where they are and what they are doing in great detail. These stories could go on for a half-hour or forty-five minutes without his asking about me or my family. However, I dutifully listened wanting not to appear averse to his chumminess.

I sense that Jim has been old even before he got old. I was listening to someone talking about some earlier time in his life as if hypnotized down to the glazing, far away stare. An ethereal memory for his historical catalogue. I think his past has always been crucial to his present. He had no life that I could see. That leaves you with remains. He and his wife were persistent homebodies. I can count on one hand the number of times I saw he and his wife going someplace other than Harris Teeter. And now, given their conditions, they go nowhere except when driven to the doctor.

There is full-time day care for Jim’s wife. Helpers are in and out, wheeling her outside to sit on their deck, helping Jim around the house, and other chores I prefer not to imagine. They certainly do not need my help. But, as a neighbor, one who stopped meeting Jim at the fence nearly two decades ago, I wonder if it would be nice one day to bring over a box of biscuits. Maybe I should call out to Jim when I see him on his deck. What do I say? “How y’a doing”? I can only imagine what the pair go through on an average day. What real relief do I have to offer? What words do I have to offer?

I am guessing there is some biblical reference I could source for an answer to my behavior. Probably Emily Post once wrote an advice column on the subject. Or, possibly, The Ethicist, from The New York Times could help. For the moment, I am happy for them satisfied that their needs are being met. That selfishly relieves me of any sense of responsibility…or guilt. But, I shouldn’t have to like my neighbors to be neighborly. Should I?

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I saw a really perfect, small movie last night with Adele. It is called “About Time”. The premise is absurd. And, yet… The protagonist is one of the Weasley brothers from Harry Potter, along with Rachel McAdams who is the apotheosis of sweetness and beauty, and Bill Nighy, who can do no wrong in my book. A sci-fi, fantasy romantic comedy whose charm is irresistible. And, whose message will make you tear and make you cheer. Catch it on Netflix.

LOVE

PANDEMIC DIARY

NO ‘IF’S, AND’S OR BUTTS’
March 14, 2022

The ‘MP’s’ have arrived. No, this has nothing to do with the Ukraine invasion or military police. The MP’s I am referring to are the men and women of the “Morality Patrol”. They are next to you, around the corner, down the street and ready to report for duty. They are self-appointed, non-professional, and untrained, wear no badges or any other form of identification for that matter. They are watching you though you may not see them. They have the legal backing of several State’s governments that allow, no encourage you to spy and report on anyone, family, friend, or neighbor if they determine your life has crossed a line into a world of immorality which they have defined and determined to be unacceptable. They are creeping into our personal lives. They are peering into your private conversations with doctors. They are following you to observe if, having gone into the physicians office with a belly, you come out with a baby.

They also want you to stop reading books of a certain nature. What that is is anyone’s guess. In case you didn’t know it books can offend, and educational systems should not offend. Education is meant to be easy, kind of like K-Y Gel for the intellect. Never hurt the sensibilities of vulnerable students…or their parents. And, history? Well, re-write it if it is too painful. Better yet, whitewash it or rid ourselves of it completely. Truth can damage highly impressionable and emotionally susceptible youngsters. It is better to protect through beautiful lies and coverups than upset their sensibilities with ugly truths. To hell with reality.

This morning I read of a recent, actual case which also demonstrates the breadth of stupidity that goes along with these attitudes. The case is of a 20-year educator from a small town in Mississippi who read to a Zoom class of 4th graders the book, “I Need A New Butt” by Dawn McMillan. “

I Need a New Butt” which was published in 2012, is marketed to children ages 4 to 8 and tells the story of “a young boy who sets off to find a new behind after he sees a “crack” in his and fears it’s broken.” The teacher was called down to the administrative offices of his school district and summarily terminated. The school administrators told him they were worried they would get complaints from parents. “Do you think this is funny”? asked a school official. “I did until I arrived here” answered the teacher. (Enjoy the book reading [below] … if you dare!)

The teacher’s purpose was to inspire his students to read. Students in his impoverished community receive some of the lowest scores on national reading tests. After class the teacher received a barrage of texts and emails from students thanking him, telling him how much fun they had and that they would like to read more books. Parents also applauded the instructor because of the pleasure they observed their children having.

There is a current wave of self-righteous, self-appointed morality minders. And, what they don’t get is the same thing that the January 6th protesters did not get. And, that is, ‘be careful of what you wish for’ because “YOU ARE NEXT”. The very laws and limits, proclamations and decrees that get you what you want at this moment are the exact same means by which the MP’s will come after you. And, you will fall prey to authoritarian rule that got you there. Your wife may disagree and join a women’s right group. Are you going to report her? Your daughter may be raped and choose an abortion. Are you going to deny her? Your child started reading following a book reading of a child’s funny book about rear ends. Will you punish your child for laughing? Will you restrict your child from reading? What if you have a Jewish office associate. Will you be conspiring if you eat lunch together? What if the baby in the middle of the above picture turns out to be yours. What if the gun pointed is coming in your direction? Will you get it then.

PANDEMIC DIARY

H:O:M:E
March 5, 2022

COVID. Have five letters ever held such visceral reaction. Just about two years ago the world shut down - the daily distractions of work; kids going off to school; husbands and wives kissing spouses in a rush to catch a train; eating lunch standing at a food truck with the wind swirling; sitting at dinner with the family, each with a a day’s tale of opportunities won and lost; the usual angst, frustration, stress and disappointment of life, while none could imagine, in their wildest conjurings, a pandemic and its impact of what we once referred to as ‘normal’, that we now long for in its absence.

Of all the things living through a pandemic has altered for a worldwide population and despite the infinite varieties of stressors that uniquely define each of our experiences, the one thing we share is this: the pandemic has altered what home is and what home means to us. In thinking about this it occurred to me that the single quality of home that is almost totally subliminal but absolutely a requisite is that you can leave it. Yes, you have to be able to leave home to have a home. For it to be a home. If you cannot leave home it is a prison. There has never been a home, that one can call home, that cannot be left.

Life starts in the womb. It is home to a fetus where it is nourished and grows and prepares for what is next. And, when amply developed, the agglomeration of cells, have formed more self-sustaining being ready to leave its home. The child often has vague memories of home or, at least, diffuse feelings about the place they once occupied. But, once left, they move on. The mother’s womb is a human beings first home, which they rightfully leave when prepared and equipped. EXIT HERE.

The child is then a part of a family in a family home. The youngster may have siblings or be an only (not lonely) child. Nonetheless, after years of modeling and parenting the child is imparted tools (for better or for worse) for independent living, separate and apart from the parents…outside what has been home for that period. These memories are of a child having grown up during formative years and will represent a large chunk of one’s total life, and so, upon reflection have an enormous influence on us. Yet, it cannot be home unless we can leave it. And, we do.

Home becomes our universe. Our ‘first universe’ is the womb, an enclosure that has been, in a metaphorical sense, copied throughout history in architecture and intention - a place for safety and nurturing - the cache, the cave, circling of the wagons, shelters, walled villages - mother symbol. They were receptive enclosures like cloisters. Allegorical landscapes. And, all are temporal. We repeat the idea of home throughout our lives whenever we re-inhabit a space. Oddly, we imagine ourselves building walls that describe us and our uniqueness: not ramparts to keep people out, rather our replication of an earlier illusion of home as protection, safety, security and comfort. A place to return to…which, again, requires us the ability to leave. Here is where the pandemic has stricken us with grief. We have lost our affection for home because we have not been able to leave it. Being home has gnawed at us, trapped us, forced us to test our physical and emotional constitutions. We long for the home as it once was. When we have the ability to leave, we can choose to honor the place called home…and remain.

Thus, home is not merely nostalgia for the past as represented by a place, a house, a physical representation It is an idea. Moving from home to home is a journey that determines the direction of personal explorations and ‘pilgrimages’ throughout life. They are more than tangible rearranging; they are symbolic restructurings and in an effort to re-establish one’s relationship with home. That lost place is left behind and if correctly thought of is remembered as a launching pad. If it is more than in introduction to what’s next, that aspect of the search becomes ultimately futile. This is why we must move on.

That is why ‘home’ is as much a matter of time and experience as it is distance. “The 1960s song "Homeward Bound" by Simon and Garfunkel is really about an attempt to return to this past time of innocence. The home they sing about is really America of the 1950s. This homeward search has been a persistent theme of much American literature of the twentieth century and some of our greatest authors like Thomas Wolfe addressed this in his novel “You Can't Go Home Again”.

We are all in exile from the past. The novelist Czeslaw Milosz makes this point in his introduction to the book “Exiles” by Josef Koudelka. “…we may consider the life of every human being as an unrelenting movement from childhood on, through the phases of youth, maturity, and old age.” Time and place move us further and further away from our original home. “The past of every individual undergoes constant transformation in his or her memory, and more often than not it acquires the features of an irretrievable land made more and more strange by the flow of time.”

For the first time in contemporary history we are exiles from our homes without leaving them. We wish something of a time past without having departed. We are living concurrently in the place of our personal expansion and growth from our past and last home, while unable to live it as home as we knew it before the pandemic. One would think that since everybody shares this wrenching condition of displacement within one’s home that sympathies would bring people together. But, such is the mythology of home, that although on a metaphysical level our homes of origin are the same we each develop our own association with home that is unique and personal. Even mother’s wombs are unique.

What is left then for humans?
G-O-D?
Is God the manifestation of our most original home?
Is God a creation such that you can never forget home?
Is God a reminder that one day you will return home?
Is God the universal womb that pushed you out for a time so that you could travel in spacial circles only to reminisce on remnants of the past.

Or, maybe, you just have to move the furniture around.

PANDEMIC DIARY

BUSY IN MY HEAD
February 15, 2022

TRUE STORY: On Sunday, Adele and I along with another couple went for a walk along a harbor pier that extended into the shoreline rocks alongside wooden stanchions standing in the water reaching skyward and providing a perch for large gulls and pelicans. One pelican flew onto the rocks just below us so viewing could be up front and close. A family was already standing there watching the pelican and their son was chatting away with such clearly articulated thoughts I had to ask how old he was. Well, he just turned five years old. I went up to him and asked him, “What if a Peli-can’t?”. He turned wearing a kid’s smirk and shot back, “That’s not funny…DUDE”.

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A POEM:

Death is an acquaintance I nod at while passing,
without shaking hands or asking, “how y’a doing”?
like a neighbor walking their dog in the quiet of morning’s
dawn or a runner in the middle of a good sweat,
eyes rolling back in her head and heaving with exhaustion.
I don’t invite Death to stand still. I keep myself and
it occupied knowing that on one of the walks around
the block on some warm summer day or in the midst of
a maelstrom it will stop, notice me…and smile.

Death is like that. It has no plan, no design, no
date certain; neither is Death random or without
association with you and the life you lead. Its nothing to
perseverate about and yet, it may be something you
want to keep in mind as you go about your days.
As a child, I used to talk to Death, but Death did not respond…
although, it wasn’t completely silent either. It’s presence is such that,
like a phantom, or like Harry’s Potter’s Invisibility Cloak, one
feels its presence and is unsure of what one is sensing.

Indeed, its odd that as I age I feel more accommodating with
Death, which suggests something is operating other than time.
I imagine my psyche to be playing a role and although my
cellular structure is slowly failing, my brain capacity diminishing, I find
my attitude has settled. Resistance has yielded to resolution. Disparities
and contradictions pass without comment. I experience something
larger at work and I accept its Nature. This recognition has
conformed me to gladly compliant. Maybe this is what is meant by
being ‘One and With’. I’ll go along with this for now.

——————————————————————————————————

Well, here we go again. A time of year when the faithful assert their fidelity with pedestrian rhymes, stale sentiments and trifles of trite earnestness while the adulterous disguise their cheating hearts with poetry’s perfidy. Everyone considers Valentine’s Day a farce - an annual excuse to mollify bad behavior - whether to appease or tranquilize a relationship that is faltering or add richness and sustenance to re-nesting happy lovebirds.

But, today I am thinking otherwise. We can bring more to the idea and design of Valentine’s Day. Certainly, it can continue as a testament to love - love for a spouse, love for family, and love for friends. Indeed, “love for” describes the necessary adjunct of relationship. Love is relational. It is you and the subject of that love you feel. In that sense, love is so much more than a kiss and an embrace. It is the admiration and caring for another. It is the act of appreciation, more meaningful than infatuation; the intimacy of acknowledgement, more personal than distant admiration; much more than sentimental; it is abiding more than adoring, honoring and respecting more than acceptance; it is forgiveness in place of willful magnanimity.

All of this came to mind while writing a Valentine’s Day Card to my wife. All of this came to me while reading ‘Sapiens’. What a depressing book. Humans, to the author, are either ‘subject to’ or ‘incapable of’…you name it. The mess we’ve made is inherent to the specie - our urge to dominate; our reliance on Wheat; our inability to manage large populations; our belief in Gods; our interminable desire for and pursuit of money. Our innate framing of “Us vs. Them”. We will never get what we had. We never had what we wanted. And, now we cannot catch up to technology. We’ve created a game and don’t know the rules. I haven’t figured out yet if the game is corrupt or the players…or both. But, this can’t end well. If you can never get enough of what you want, you are always wanting for more.

Yet, I have never felt so much love. Has love become a privilege? Do you have to afford love? Is Love a stage of life? Does everyone pass through it? I don’t know. Honestly, I do not know. I don’t know anything anymore. All I can observe is the feeling spurred allowing myself to feel the love I feel for my wife. The card did not say it all. My thoughts in those moments did not say it all. I do not know if I am capable of saying it all. I am not going to try. I will just remain grateful that I can still feel in spite of all that is going on around me.

PANDEMIC DIARY

IT’S THE NAME THAT’S WRONG
January 3, 2021

On September 9, 1776, the Continental Congress formally declares the name of the new nation to be the “United States of America”. This replaced the term “United Colonies” which had been in general use. Richard Henry Lee, by resolution presented to Congress on June 7, and issued the resolve on July 2 1776, “That these United Colonies are, and of right ought to be, free and independent States…” John Adams conjured that July 2 would be the “most memorable epoch in the history of America”. He was wrong. For it is on July 4, (our now celebrated Independence Day) Thomas Jefferson’s edited version of The Declaration of Independence was adopted. “That these United Colonies are, and of Right ought to be FREE AND INDEPENDENT STATES.” (CAPS are replicated as originally written) These aims place a good-faith burden on States to recognize a benefit in acting firstly on behalf of the greater Union. Particularly in light of the “free and independent states” nomenclature, it would be difficult to be a ‘representative’ of a people (your people) and their local interests and disregard their pleas, assertions, alliances and support in lieu of a national program that may run counter to constituency preferences.

Herein lies the original sin that is now the basis and bedrock of our current problems. The founders created a country loosely united from an assemblage of colonies that were, in reality, unified in name alone. What the Founders got wrong was believing that the diverse motives, regional differences, philosophical divergences, and embedded prejudices could be successfully woven into a consolidated and homogeneous fabric whereby ‘the greater good’ of America could stand at the pinnacle of purpose and intention. That amalgam between local and State interests and national welfare and prosperity seem never to have congealed.

The American experience, as defined by its own genesis, lacked homogeneity. Indeed, it’s national and ethnic diversity were intended to be its strength, a kind of ballast against the exceptionalism which caused settlers to expatriate from their countries of origin. England and the rest of Western European societies were implicitly homogeneous with centuries of royalty in leadership, a unified Church, multi-generational wealth, long lineages of aristocrats with fabulous land holdings and a form of government that granted all-power to those of means and education. It wasn’t pretty, but it was homogeneous. That cultural adhesion insured that there was, before all else, national pride - a pride of place; a pride of custom; a pride of ethnicity; a pride of heritage; a pride of folklore and mythology; and, a pride of ritual - that coalesced a people. These were not, by far, perfect systems. But, even in an imperfect political structure under imperfect social rule, national adherence and patriotic fervor, in general, prevailed. For America, there never seems to have been a time of cultural coherency. There seems never to have been a symbol or marker or celebration so uniquely American that the average person feels deeply enough to support and uphold before and beyond their own local, political concerns and private aspirations. America has never been ‘de-factionalized’. Even July Fourth means different things to different people.

So, with the power vested in me, I set forth a declaration that changes the name of our country from the beleaguered title of The United States of America to:

THE UNITED AMERICA OF STATES

Furthermore, I propose a change to the flag which currently is comprised of “Stars and Stripes”. Fifty individual stars to represent each of the fifty states. Heretofore, the flag will retain its stripes and be changed to reflect a United America by having in its upper left-hand corner One Star, that star being segmented into 50 parts representing the constant compromise of 50 individual and free States on behalf of a national good.

In all ways States remain free and independent. In all ways except for National Security, the defense of freedom, and the cause of Social Democracy and Liberty. This starts with free, open and fair elections. Elections policies and procedures are to be managed and monitored by the Federal government, workers and officers and Election Day shall be a national holiday to allow for all peoples to vote without loss of earnings. There shall be a single voting methodology throughout our land while no state shall have the right to restrict, modify or change those regulations. Voting will be required of all citizens. Schools will re-institute Civics classes starting in the fourth grade. Children will be taught the distinction between consensus and agreement. In this way we alter the mindset, reference points and allegiances over time. To understand that principled movement takes us all in an allied direction over time even as it is a bumpier road.

If it is unity we want, we must act unified. There will be early doubt, disapproval, objections, opposition and resistance, perceiving that any change represents a usurpation of states rights and individual freedoms. Yet, over time, our citizens will realize that big “D” democracy depends upon this. The American experiment continues.

PANDEMIC DIARY

“THAT’S US” : AN END-OF-YEAR MESSAGE
December 24, 2021

Typically, the end of the year is deluged with ‘Ten Best Lists’. From Broadway to books, from song interpretations to technological innovations, attempts are made to ‘sum up’ the year’s events. Humans love to rate and rank. I say ‘attempts’ to sum up because these baptisms to most notable lists do not necessarily reflect what is occurring on the ground, as it were, where life happens. So few in numbers have the ability and luxury to care. Then, Christmas Eve arrived.

Christmas Eve was a special day this year. I experienced that odd effect when every article of news, each email I read, was speaking directly to me, each in its own way, and all woven into a singular, oddly unified message. So, I would like to pass along these fragments of thoughts, less to summarize the years events than to utilize thoughtful writings to maybe help me make sense of things at a time when everything seems so random and futile. Maybe these sentiments will open your eyes to personal insights…as they have mine.

First off is a poem I read in this week’s Atlantic. The poem is called The Unspoken by Ada Limon.

The Unspoken
If I am honest, a foal pulled chest-level
close in the spring heat, his every-which-way
coat reverberating in the wind, feels
akin to what I imagine atonement might
feel like, or total absolution. But what
if by some fluke in the heart, an inevitable
wreckage, congenital and unanswerable,
still comes, no matter how attached
or how gentle every hand that reached
out for him in that vibrant green field
where they found him looking like he
was sleeping, the mare nudging him?
Am I wrong to say I did not want to love
horses after that? I even said as much driving
back from the farm. Even now, when
invited to visit a new foal, or to rub the long
neck of a mare who wants only peppermints
or to be left alone, I feel myself resisting.
At any moment, something terrible could
happen. It’s not gone, that coldness in me.
Our mare is pregnant right now,
and you didn’t even tell me until someone
mentioned it offhandedly. One day, I will
be stronger. I feel it coming. I’ll step into
that green field of stoic, hardened, hoof first.

I think we are all experiencing trauma of one sort or another. For myself, its noticing how and when I withdraw from being vulnerable. After reading the poem, I realized what courage it takes to feel out of it, disengaged, even powerless and then re-engaging, getting back into the fray, arming yourself (literally and figuratively) for the challenges ahead…and, still maintain one’s center. To remain open, willing to be hurt, able to continue.

————————————————————————————————————————————————————————

Then, in the December 24 email issue of The Daily Stoic:

“You wonder why people don’t stand up and do something. The CEO of a large company. The elected official. The general. The athlete.

Aren’t these powerful people? They hold office. They have millions of dollars. They have large platforms. Yet, they stand silent. They look the other way. They hold their fire.

Its because they don’t see themselves as powerful - not yet anyway. The Congresswoman has an eye on a Senate seat, so she’s waiting. The CEO thinks that after their options vest, then they will be in a better position. The millionaire is trying to become a billionaire first. The athlete says after they sign their long-term deal, the general once they retire - then, they’ll do something.

The great Iron Maiden song (and album) ‘POWERSLAVE’ is all about what happens when one becomes addicted to power. It’s like a drug. Your first experience with it is utterly intoxicating, but from that moment forward you never feel like you have enough. And you never want to risk losing what you have, so you’re constantly chasing while simultaneously trying not to be caught out. You’re not in charge, it is.

Marcus Aurelius fought all his life against succumbing to this addiction. In fact, “Meditations” was really his treatment plan. Over and over again, he warns himself, to do the right thing - to not consider the consequences for his career. He tells himself to be good today rather than choose tomorrow. He refused to be a slave to power, and instead used his power to do things for other people.”

The Daily Stoic goes on to say that we need to fight this current battle together, whatever our position or station in life. We have to fight it NOW. Because there are things that need doing, now. Not later.

Then, I read Robert Hubbell’s daily email Dec. 24 - Today’s Edition. Robert is a reliable, insightful and realistically optimistic political reporter.

“Readers sometimes ask how I maintain my sense of optimism against the deluge of bad news. The answer is perspective. And there is no better description of perspective than the essay by Carl Sagan about a photograph taken by Voyager I as it left the solar system. In that photograph, the Earth occupies a single pixel in a vast darkness. [SEE PHOTO taken September 1, 1990] Sagan’s essay, “A Pale Blue Dot”, is an appropriate reflection on our place in the universe and deserves to be read out loud at family gatherings as we close the chapter on a challenging year.”

“Our planet is a lonely speck in the great enveloping cosmic dark. In our obscurity, in all this vastness, there is no hint that help will come from elsewhere to save us from ourselves…It has been said that astronomy is a humbling and character-building experience. There is perhaps no better demonstration of the folly of human conceits than this distant image of our tiny world. To me, it underscores our responsibility to deal more kindly with one another, and to preserve and cherish the pale blue dot, the only home we've ever known.”

I realized that the thread that weaved these three, same-day issuances was the acronym CAP - Courage; Action; Perspective. Not a bad way, at all, to ‘cap’ off the year. I sincerely love you all for lending me your time and intellect and your critical appreciation. I don’t know what I would do without the ability to communicate with you. Have a healthy and productive New Year. May we realize one small thing in others we meet that will lead on us a path of discovering what is common to us all.
PEACE.

PANDEMIC DIARY

LEANING
December 4, 2021

All things lean. To complete the process of photosynthesis, trees and plants lean toward the sunlight.

Infants lean toward their mother’s breast to receive nourishment and bio-essential elements. Toddlers to teens lean into a parent’s embrace gaining a sense of belonging, trust, and autonomy.

Roots lean toward a source of water literally searching and sending far-reaching tentacles that absorb moisture necessary for growth. Above ground and beneath the surface, all things lean toward what feeds and sustains them - sustenance for the body, mind and spirit.

These are, what I call, “Essential Leanings” or “Biological Leanings”. However, there is another kind of leaning that derives from the tendency, of a very different and distinct sort, that appears at first glance as hunger. The leaning toward “EASY” based on a compulsion to ‘feed off of’ - an unconscious, irresistible need to ingest, take in, to saturate ones self with the satisfaction of fullness - and to have that available automatically and at all times. For it to be total and sating. This is the easy of the appropriately infantile experience where one’s sense of autonomy and power is aptly derived from a demand to be fed and that need met. However, at a rather early age in development that immediate need is no longer age appropriate. The denied adult no longer cries like a baby for its symbolic supper. This is the easy of entitlement or the sense that “I deserve” because I exist - “I want what I want when I want it”. This is the easy where the goal is not receiving nourishment rather receiving attention; of not being fed rather, the act of taking in and being glutted.

The manipulation of Easy is the basis upon which authoritarians derive their power. It is how politicians have historically won majorities. Autocrats give voters what they want to hear. They possess the “formula”, the pabulum for the masses of “True Believers”. They instinctively know what a vast public wants, giving voice and representation to their needs, then taking it away leaving you more wanting and more dependent. “Vote for me and I will ensure you get…ensure you have…promise you won’t have to…vow to provide you with…”. “I will be your daddy and/or mommy”. It is the linguistic soil from which political dependency, party reliance and popularity grow. I call these “Faith Leanings”. These latter inclinations are powerfully addictive. The ruler now has complete control and those begging to be fed are left to starve.

In the Twelve Step programs there is a saying, that “at the heart of every alcoholic/addict is the desire for it [life] to be easy.” (“We should all get a free pass and forego life’s pain and suffering.”; “Why is this happening to me.”; “No one is listening to me”) This explains a great deal. Yes, alcohol and drugs provide a very temporary sating or euphoric relief, but relief from what? Is it relief from the reality that life is hard work; that life commands us to be conscious; that life is uncertainty; that life, for all and for a time, demands we live with physical pain and emotional loss. The “masses” that believe there is a ‘way out’ hang on to their faith, on to promises not actions, on invisible deliverers, on elixirs and quick fixes. They are not any longer neurologically /psychologically inclined to long-term solutions preferring public performance not work “behind the scenes”, preferring simple statements not complex resolutions.

This vast sea of true believers want little or nothing to do with change and its implications for their living experiences. They would prefer to accept the promises not receiving the benefits of what they wish for, what is to their benefit. Anger and rebellion make them feel in control. Military gear excites and titillates their sense of power. Ironically, these folks who pride themselves on independence fall prey to leaders who gather the camaraderie of other like-minded people. Being part of a throng provides a sense of belonging and righteousness. They are part of a cause greater than themselves which provides justification of their beliefs. (Take a look at the thousands of people that traveled to and lined the streets in Dallas, Texas where John F. Kennedy was assassinated and stood for hours commiserating while waiting for poor, dead Robert Kennedy to appear as Donald Trump’s running mate) Does it get any crazier than that?

Our current political leaders are nothing more than drug lords. They hang out at corners of legislative and congressional halls and plot how they can remain in power. They come up with new arguments that foment their supporters like variants of a virus. They spawn new representatives who are brasher, louder, and infinitely more insane, to spew messages and conspiracy theories which are slightly more extreme each time. Extreme enough, irrational enough, unlikely enough, implausible enough, un-f__cking believable enough to keep the show on the road…and on TV and the media.

I often hearken back to the concept most clearly elucidated by Alan Watts in one of his greatest works, “The Wisdom of Insecurity”. Odd, that in a world of random forces acting in persistently unpredictable synchronicity, we have not yet, as a specie, overcome our fear of the unknown. So needy are we, so great our demand for answers that we have famously relied on “snake-oil salesmen”; “quick-acting” remedies; an endless array of “wellness” solutions, medications and ‘neutraseuticals’ that cure whatever ails you with “side effects” that can kill you. That is when easy is pathological.

I told this story before, but it is worth repeating. Met a gentleman in Berlin. His father lives in the portion of Berlin that was in East Germany, where Adele and I had an Airbnb. I asked him if his father had a choice, would he return to the way it was? Would he accept the old regime? The man said, “Absoutely”. “Why?, I asked, What does it offer that he does not now have?” His answer was chilling. “CERTAINTY”. He once knew what he had, what to expect…and what not to expect. He did not have to compete. (This is a huge factor in authoritarian regimes) He felt more equal not on merits of achievement, but because everyone was treated the same regardless of ability and achievement. Furthermore, to “get ahead” you worked for the autocratic State, the embodiment of control and rigidity. The fundamental source of nourishment. The place where you go for certainty. The people who are committed to no change. Those who see change as a threat: a threat to their stability; a threat to their jobs; a threat to what is otherwise falsely propagated and propaganda. This is the perceived safety behind Fascism and all forms of dictatorships and autocracies. Make it easy.

PANDEMIC DIARY

THANKSGIVING
November 24, 2021

To all my friends and readers, I share with you a wish for consciousness, empathy, peace, sanity, wisdom and love. May light overcome darkness. May the desire to give of yourself become a greater measure of our human essence than the desire to own, possess, accumulate, cherish or display. May the only god be the multitude of possibilities and opportunities for all humankind. May we hold on to naught beliefs, neither in any way limit ourselves, constrain or constrict or contract our enormity of spirit. May the density to which we were born loosen its death grip; and, may negativity be freely transformed to expansive energy…which is love and laughter. Importantly, know that who you are, realizing your own personal nature as your birthright, is enough…and a contribution to the world of magnitudes.

And, friendships? Friendships. Adele and I attended a wedding in New York. Sitting at the honored ‘family table’, I listened to tales of trial, separation, disparagement, resentment, accusation, blame, finger pointing and shaming. A panoply of pain. A circus of sarcasm, snideness and excuses. Families…what can we do? We are manor born. But, just as the vegetable soup of cynicism was about to vomit out of me, off we went to our friends homes. Greeted with such shared love and affection, these are the people to whom my heart is dedicated, so appreciative am I that we are equally available to caring in the present and all that may befall us with the passing of time.

It is not a secret that life is a journey. Every mythology has some analog journey associated with a passage. We journey to gain knowledge of ourselves and our surroundings. We journey to learn about and appreciate that the stories may differ but at their core is a common desire to make sense of our presence here on this Earth, only to discover that meaning resides in the moment. Nothing else. So, to surround ourselves with the faces of friends and dear ones is to give meaning to the moment.

That is what I wish for you on this Thanksgiving. Spend your time with the abundance of warmth, the tenderness of being close, the fullness of love, the joy of laughter and the preciousness of friendship.

These are some of the faces of friendship in random order. [If you are not included it is simply due to the fact that your picture may not be on my iPhone]

The absolute salt of the earth. No one finer. Marsha.

How time flies. I worked with Ron forty years ago. Each time we meet its like yesterday.

There is Karen. X-roommate. Hardly separable. The two of them just floating along.

Friends ever since our kids were born three days apart, Barbara and Michael.

Adele’s goodest buddy from way back in High School, Esther.

My brother’s wife, Nawal. So gracious and giving and funny.

So close to our hearts, Karen and Craig.

My brother’s son and wife, Hatim and Hadil during their visit to North Carolina all the way from Daliyat al Karmel, Israel.

Our dear friends, Lily and Howard. The universe had to have us meet.

My oldest buddies from grade school. That’s Robert in the center, and Bruce to the right.

Our neighbor and charmed friend, Bruce.

Our friends and co-Havurah members Stanley and Marion during our extraordinary trip to the Loire Valley - Chateau Chinon in background.

Aya. We are the adopted aunt and uncle of this young lady.

My brother, Emad (right) and his friend Abu Safi - Daliyat al Karmel, Israel

The turret of The Gaudi Cathedral - Barcelona. A great trip for the both Alex and I.

Abu Rafik - Daliyat al Karmel, Israel. Died from Covid this past Spring. He will be missed. That smile!

All we seem to do is laugh…and eat. Frank and Carol.

The look of contentment. My brother Emad’s sister.

Dearest Yasmin who flew here from Daliyat al Karmel on her own to spend the holiday season with her aunt and uncle.

Alex introduced us to his friends (and brothers) and brothers who have allowed us into their lives. Marc (left). Stefan (right)

It all would not be possible without the extraordinary and loving courage of Adele.

DO NOT WAIT. Make friends of yourself as soon as possible…

…in all forms of truthful expression.

PANDEMIC DIARY

AUTUMN RELIEVES THE SPIRIT
October 18, 2021

Autumn Relieves the Spirit
The earth coats with fallen memories
As befitting heavens annual keepsake
Of passing days. Autumn is not melancholic, simply
Tinted with age. A mature time.

Spring’s budding anticipation; summer’s sunny
yielding turns to Fall’s Plenty and repose. Contentment
clears and heals the soil. Feeding Earth and
nourished by life’s nutrients. Soul food.

A gladdening relief is Autumn. The perfect
season for back porch slumber in a
favorite rocking chair. Or, a walk in wooded,
leaf laden paths, in warm ebbing sunlight.

There is less thought of tomorrow’s in
Autumn, so peaceful the dropping, drifting and
reveal. What remains? Remnant imprints. Listen.
Sound the sigh of solitude that rests within.

PANDEMIC DIARY

“SCARED PEOPLE ARE SCARY”
October 14, 2021

[A note to all: Much of the information provided was initiated and sourced from last Sunday’s New York Times Book Review, by Virginia Heffernan entitled, “Tech Mogul Provocateur”, a review of a book titled, THE CONTRARIAN written by Max Chafkin about the life of Peter Theil, a multi-billionaire, right-wing political kingmaker, and repentant white supremacist.] The ideas are wholly mine.

"He didn’t know much about death. Only that it could be as unpredictable as a lightning bolt and infinitely quieter after it arrived” from the novel “The Keeper of Lost Causes” by Jussi Adler Olsen

Heffernan opens her review recalling a podcast she listened to some years ago, “This Is Actually Happening”, in which a white supremacist recalled an incident and “formative childhood experience”. One night his mother asked him: “You enjoying your burger?” She continued, “Did you know it’s made of cow?”
”Something died?” the boy, then 5 years old, replied.
”Everything living dies,” she said. “You’re going to die.”

Is there a better way to imbue a fear of death in a youngster’s soul than this mother’s premature, procedurally incisive scalpel. This young child was plagued and afflicted with death. His particular handling of his abiding terror was affecting a “fear-concealing swagger” which quickly developed into more of a fascist high-step.

The author of the book’s review then reads “The Contrarian” and observes that Peter Thiel experienced a similar background story. “When he was 3, according to Chafkin, Thiel asked his father about a rug, which his father, Klaus Thiel, explained was cowhide. “Death happens to all animals. All people”, Klaus said. “It will happen to me one day. It will happen to you.” There is no simple way to address the subject of death. It is, most assuredly, not intended as an introduction to life. There must be an appropriate time to speak of death to your child. But, we can agree, not as the child’s consciousness is just beginning to bud into awareness.

However, this is not a discussion of parenting skills. What is common, and to me not just or merely applicable to these individual children, is the affect of fear, terror and self-loathing at such an early age. Peter Thiel also adopted a swagger never recovering from the the mind’s repetitive bulletin that death lingers in the daily background. However, his was not only physically manifested, he became bold, brash, intolerant, a bully, and all these later evolved into a “hodgepodge of libertarian and authoritarian beliefs.” He could not control death, yet he found ways to control an overactive brain and compensate for his fundamental fears.

The border dispute, as an example, [and here I will play the role of 5-cent psychologist] is less about the obvious objection to an influx of immigrants, or their being drug addicts, criminals, or those who drain Americans of jobs. It is a border in their minds - a symbolic line that if crossed the ideological internal pain would be too great. Too much giving in; too much acceptance of others telling us how to live; too much invading our land and homes. Just like the intolerable rush of a child’s unending horror. Death.

Thiel spoiled for a fight, choosing to collide with those he identified as liberals, “meaning anyone who he suspects of snubbing him". Their offense being a non-recognition of his self-proposed superiority, attention to his blatantly wounded vanity, and assertion by the absence of any recognition that Thiel mattered at all. Despite the fact that he aced the SAT’s, his strutting arrogance and transparent bullishness won him no friends or accolades. A classmate at Stanford reflects, “He viewed liberals through a lens as people who were not nice to him. He’d chosen [and I would add consciously or unconsciously] to reject those who’d rejected him.” [Does any of this sound familiar?]

INTOLERANCE OF DEATH IS INTOLERANCE OF LIFE ITSELF [That’s me speaking]

In any case, Thiel’s youthful life proceeds subjected to his father’s complicit acceptance and approval of apartheid as owner of a uranium mine in the Namib desert and the support of conjured evidence of a superior race. His literary favorite was Ayn Rand; he supported Ronald Reagan; he excoriated liberals at Stanford; and, short-stinted work at an old, well-established and prestigious law firm that disappointed and bored him because there were “no liberals to fight.”

Suffice it to say, well-defended and brilliant, Chris Thiel had all the right stuff to create and amass a fortune. As creator and founder of PayPal he made billions. He partnered with Elon Musk in an unholy alliance which, through some bumps, stops, and starts, led to PayPal going public and billions of more earnings. As Chafkin states, “Whereas (Steve) Jobs viewed business as a form of cultural expression, even art, for Thiel and his peers it was a mode of transgression, even activism.” That subsequently included investing millions of dollars in Facebook in the mid-2000’s, latching on to Mark Zuckerberg admiring of his information war and manipulation of data for financial gain. Today, he is the founder and CEO of Palantir, an international, ultra-high digital security company.

I want to be clear, I am projecting and conjecturing from this point forward so this may sound overly simplistic. Yet, even generalizations contain a modicum of truth. So, here we are at a point where a growing population of Americans are publicly decrying liberal politics. Their beliefs, I would assert, formed at early childhood must have inclined a large swath of our citizenry to grow up with feelings of inferiority, inadequacy and dejection leading to not only a panoply of fears but, more importantly, to a line-up of compensatory behaviors which laid dormant until, via the previous administration, given permission to spew lies and hate like a knife cut to a main artery as a consequence of their unconscious fears. DEBILITATION AS DEBATE.

I used to joke that it was hard to tell who were the patient’s inside the mental facility, and who were the doctors and nurses, the analogy made famous by Ken Kesey in “One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest”. And now, we find ourselves in a situation where, however reasonable aspects of their complaints may be, the ‘crazies’ are a growing, even dominant force in our nation’s politics. Having said that, it is important to realize that fear is inherent to and a result of child rearing in general. So, this phenomenon is not restricted in any way to this population. It is though reasonable to assume, I would contend, that the degree of illogic, stupidity, rigidity, scorn and violence is representative of a population so deeply hurt and marred that their demands are neither rational or realistic and represent a total rejection of any ideas, evidence or lifestyles that lie outside their limited and highly constrained order.

The question arises, then what is to be done? My response was and is to repudiate. Repudiate instantaneously. Repudiate with certainty of its right, its humanness, its consistency with The U.S. Constitution. Repudiate utilizing all aspects of the law. Damn the blow-back. To hell with surveys and public opinion polls. As far back as 2015, I encouraged commentators (screaming at the television screen) to forcefully rebuff our former President (I still cannot believe it as I write). Not to dismiss his stated policy differences, not to pay attention to his verbal idiosyncrasies, not to conjure along with his sexual exploits, rather to renounce his hate, venality, and dishonesty and with strong and immediate consequences.

I know, as many of you do, that it is easy to hate. Hate purges the mind of all gray. It makes all things black and white, right and wrong. There is no middle ground. Hate is repressions aria. The extent to which enmity exists today in a minority population is dangerous, and more so because they are in possession of more armaments than ever before and nearly equal to our professional military, save for the atomic variety. We are on the cusp of an authoritarian and autocratic takeover. We have reached a point of normalization of heretofore behaviors outside usual boundaries. Fair play is a quaint nod to the past. Civility, a lost contract between old men. The unacceptable is acceptable. Everything that could not be said has been said. Whether you are a Native American, if you are identified as a not attractive woman or man, if you are physically challenged, if you are speech impaired, if you ar LGBTQ or ‘Trans”…or if you simply disagree, you are the enemy. When that happens there is no defense of innocence. It becomes, ironically, more difficult to identify and address, in our land of ‘free speech’, what is simply legislative opposition, from what is nationalistic extremism.

The majority populous, as in pre-Nazi Germany, also did not know what to do. They waited. Too long! “Maybe Hitler would not be so bad.” “Let’s see what happens.” “It won’t get that bad. Will it?” We are waiting. And, I ask why? What are we waiting for? We should be on the streets marching in lock step…not waiting for a goose stepping army. Not for some idealistic wish list of desired laws. No. We must garner the whole of the population that opposes hate, lies, deception and the illegal use of one’s position to do as he pleases. There is an enormity to the opposition’s pent-up anger. These objectors, though, have no claim to be legally, legislatively or otherwise treated unfairly. They seem not to have accepted that they are part of a rapidly changing society and, like the rest of us in varying degrees, learning how to keep up. The problem is real but their issues and radical exceptionalism is uncalled for. And, they are white, wish to keep the country white, and claim it as if that is inherently a truism for America. Were these issues and beliefs held by our Black brothers, there would have been armies standing against them have rivers of blood in the streets.

I wonder if that was how the German SS, Schutzstaffel (literal meaning “Protection Squad” began. We now have men and women participating in an ex-military army that rivals or exceeds most fighting forces throughout the world. And, like the SS, these groups are being encouraged to act on their own in support of a charismatic leader. Will their new roles be little toy soldiers defending the corrupt institutions and leaders who rob the natural resources and wealth of a country who own multiple estate dwellings on coastlines and on mountaintops. The popping of Dom Perignon as a daily ritual. The dining on goose and caviar. The attending of theater and events where those in power can be rushed by crowds wishing to view his or her excellency panting to receive a wink and a nod. The most scary thing is to consider that the U.S. has the most powerful military in the world. Who then possesses the capability of assembling an opposition that could defend democracy once it has slipped into irrelevance, if not oblivion. One has to wonder where do we go from here?

The reality of a horror scenario is sinking in. Its pertinence unavoidable and urgent…if too late. A takeover of legislative bodies replacing elected officials with “hacks”. Appointing Supreme Court Justices who are “ideological cronies”.

We no longer only suffer the usual and, by comparison, fanciful familial abuses, but additionally are subjected to societal trauma. The consequence is that ‘normal’ society becomes imbued with fear, like atmospheric white noise or electromagnetic waves, unseen, unheard but affecting the neurology of the body. The fear, in fact, is logical and a rational response to events. But, to live wary, suspicious, vigilant and distrustful is hardly a life. Hardly the freedom we have come to blindly accept. We have too long dangerously rationalized the dangers. We have too long accepted the unacceptable. We have too long justified the unjustifiable. We have too long excused the inexcusable. We have too long marginalized the worst in us. We have for too long lost ourselves in hope of a savior. We are well past that hope. If we do not act, it is then that death will move to the forefront of our minds.

PANDEMIC DIARY

TIME
SEPTEMBER 13, 2021

TIME
Time is the essence of everything -
the backdrop of existence, the
hum of universal evolution, a parade of
creation and destruction. Time has no direction,
no inference, does not seek to achieve or accomplish.
There is no persuasive purpose to Time.

Time knows not [nor anguishes] of our existence.
It is detached from any claim of its presence.
It is not sympathetic, congenial, apathetic, or
antagonistic to life. Time need not assert its
impartiality. Time is neutral. Play with time as
you will; it is the ‘Play Dough’ of space.

Time is not measurement. It possesses no forward or
backward. It embodies all but takes no accounting.
All is free to interact. Time asks no questions, pursues
no answers, and bothers not with results, calculations,
outcomes or resolutions. Indeed, time allows capable
beings of manipulating it. A deception time would
laugh at…if it cared at all.

Time is blind to the condition of humankind
or for that matter Earth, our solar system,
our Star, the Milky or any other ‘Way’.
Its indifference is a feature of a
loving Nature. It isn’t phased if you are
with it, in it or out of it. Time has already
mastered Endlessness.

Time is constant - not moving ahead or
getting behind, not speeding or slowing down,
is unawares of seconds, minutes, hours,
days, years, centuries, or eons. It does not
parse even as we are free to order time.
Oh, the tick and tock of folly.

Time seeks not to overseer, control or
dominate. It is neither wasteful nor efficient.
It will not ‘leave things on the table’ or rush to
get things done. Time does not allot,
estimate, calculate, or total. In fact, do with
Time as you will. Time is disinterested.
Have at it.

————————————————————————————————————————————————————————He laid there, his body like a bloated shipwreck, his breath causing an ever so slight rising and falling like faint waves keeping him afloat. His great white and gray beard added to the allusion of the sea as if he arose from its depths to command the surface - a passing Poseidon - taking his place one last time at water’s helm as all sea creatures awaited his last words. Will was not a god; he would soon die.

There were no words as I entered the vacantly occupied room of scarce life - white walls, white sheets, wires and tubes and white machinery counting time in persistent, nagging beeps. I am not sure why the living approach the dying slowly and with care, as if a misstep might trigger an early death. Maybe its out of some strange regard for the moment, how we step forward representing the somber, serious and austere mood. I moved to his bedside at a funereal pace not wanting to wake Will if he was sleeping.

Will’s body was a bulwark of masculine volume - his barrel chest enormous; his arms set apart lying atop the sheets were the remains of his primal muscularity; and every exposed part covered with woolly body hair. His presence a testimony to his youthful force. It made me immediately think of those times when we would argue over the meaning of art. Our disagreements were always a quarrel, friendly but contentious, the memory initiating a regretful smile knowing I would never sit over coffee quibbling with him again.

I leaned over him and just above a whisper said, “Will, it’s David”. He lurched. I stood leaping backward in that moment not anticipating he could hear me. Had he actually responded. I knew he was present. By god, he was in there, somewhere deep inside of him was consciousness. I turned toward the door to see if anyone witnessed this arousal. No one was present and I thought to myself, “I cannot speak of this. They will think that I am crazy. He was comatose. I felt like I had just witnessed a fleeting UFO, sure of its presence but not willing to testify because I would never be believed. His reaction would certainly be attributed to a reflex of the nervous system and not awareness. It certainly didn’t change anything. He was not going recover. He was not ever going to pick up a brush and paint another scene or fashion another sculpture.

I only had a few minutes with him before I was to be asked to leave by the members of the family who were waiting on the other side of the door. So, I began to talk to him. “Oh, you’re awake. Do you remember the time…” Will’s body moved, heaved at times like a paltry laugh. I began to cry believing he was responding to me in some distant way. His mind somewhere in the remote cosmos of time. His message seemingly communicated over the scratchy interference of space. I felt privileged to be by his side. But, I did not want his last moments to be one of dread. I wiped my tears and contrived a cheery demeanor.

It was almost time to leave. What are the appropriate parting words, I wondered? How does one say goodbye? I took his hand in mine. I told Will I love him. I expressed what he means to me. It felt so banal and inadequate. There was more to relate, more to tell, but the words were buried by the immensity of feeling. Finally, “Your family is waiting to see you, Will. I will leave now, my friend.” He yanked my hand with an assuring, near undetectable strength. Will gestured his final goodbye for me.

PANDEMIC DIARY

WHY?
August 24,2021

“Be kind for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle.” SOCRATES

[What is neurosis if not the adaptation to a desire to avoid reality. This blog is my self-help dialogue, an attempt to address somber, bitter, and sad feelings; a bid to speak to a reality I recently became aware of. Your comments would be appreciated.]

There he sits…a one-quarter turn on my left…at the dining table sipping our first cup of morning coffee with our wives. I have known this man for the better part of thirty years. Conscious and kind, generous and ‘fatherly’ in nature, Tim and his wife, Cathy, have been lasting and constant friends.

Our children, who were born three days apart. We lived one block from the other in Brooklyn Heights. Each of our full-time caretakers were friends and would spend their days together, the children sharing adventures, lunch, ‘boo-boos’ and birthdays. It is through them that we met and became friends. This was in 1989.

A discussion ensues. Three of us chatter away. Tim sits quietly appearing to listen…apparently listening…until, “What are you talking about? I missed it.” We keep our eyes straight ahead without any gestural reaction or verbal inflection. Nothing is out of place. Conversation continues. “Gerrymandering. How the Repub—-” Honestly, I let his wife’s response pass unattended rather observing my friend’s eyes’ disoriented gaze unable to prevent his mind’s wafting like puffballs of blown dandelions disperse and drift into air. I last saw Tim this time merely years ago. He was alert and present. Then, at age 72, he decided to wind down his exceedingly successful business as an investment counselor, accept a retirement program offered by his firm for which his portfolio was taken over by a group of young Turks that Tim trained and who would pay Tim for his clients over a four year period. He would be, thankfully, financially secure.

David * Adele * Cathy * Tim in Norway Summer, 2019

Over the course of their two careers and forty years in business, Tim and Cathy would purchase a house in a community famed for its educational system, bring up three children, send them off to college which demanded they refinance their house three times, and finally pay off their mortgage setting them up for retirement. This year, within four months, both their middle and youngest children are getting married. Despite the expense, they could not be happier or more proud. Still, in stinging contrast to the whiteness of their daughter’s wedding gown, there exists a silent pall of unspoken darkness. Tim’s light is fading.

“I am seeking, I am not lost. I am forgetful, I am not gone.” – Koenig Coste

Tim and I went to pick up the Sunday New York Times last Sunday. As he was coming down the stairs earlier, I asked if he wanted to drive with me to get the paper. He turned around and went upstairs to change from his pajama bottoms to jeans. When we got into the car he asked where we were going. I assumed he meant where are we going to get the paper. So, I answered there is a gas station just beyond town that sells the paper. When we arrived, I pulled in to a spot and Tim asked, “Are you getting gas?”. “No. I’m getting the newspaper here”. “Oh”.

TIM

Yesterday, the topic of the daughter’s impending wedding date came up, the fitting of the bridal gown, the last minute arrangements, etc. Tim and I decided to watch John Wick 3, a perfect distraction for the father of the bride who did not need to be reminded of what the whole affair was costing. Of course, for anyone who has watched the John Wick series, it is not what you might call compelling cinema. And, not feeling as we would miss much of anything, our watching was interrupted by regular viewer commentary. Tim again mentioned the wedding asking, “It’s on the 19th? Right?” I called into the kitchen, “Cathy, the wedding is on what day?” She said the 8th of November, which I conveyed to Tim. “So”, said Tim, “September is almost over. A little more than a month.”

Over the years of our relationship, Tim, always solid, sturdy, serious and strong, displayed little emotion. He didn’t speak much about himself even as he spoke endlessly about the stock market. At first, his silence was merely consistent with who I knew him to be. But, this was different. He is now slow to ascribe, identify, name, relate, and link. For the moment, I watch as he applies enormous effort to these tasks taken for granted: remembering he just ate three squares of chocolate; remembering the story behind the TV series episode just completed. I can see his self-awareness and personal struggle, like placing a foot in an intractable and inevitable pool of quicksand, slowly watching more and more of your presence sink into a fated oblivion from which you cannot escape. In the absence of encouragement, one day on the deck Tim offered the following, “I am more quiet these days. If I speak people may think I’m crazy.” But, he won’t discuss his condition. It was a surprising, blanketed comment about a specific truth not mentioned.

I have not known what to feel. That’s not to say I am without feelings. Quite the contrary. I have an abundance of feelings - deep hurt, sadness, frustration, anger, fear. Fear. The fear is not for myself, per se. It is that generalized fear that such a thing could happen to anyone…without warning. Such a thing. A thing, to me, worse than physical disease or a plethora of severe medical conditions. The fear of not ‘being’ yourself. Living a life of nihilistic extinction.

Tim now follows Cathy around pretty much all of the time. I sense he is feeling insecure in her absence. She was reading on the balcony, so Tim decided he would step out onto the balcony and join her. The heavy glass sliding door was open and the sliding screened door shut. He stood at the precipice unable to figure out the circumstance he faced and necessary order of events to get outside. My heart cried. Who are we but for our consciousness and self-awareness? Who are we but for our choices and decisions? What is time to the non-functioning experience? How will he love in the future? How will he know love?

I want to be there for Tim as best I can. I have spent time researching websites that inform family and friends as to how to act and behave with dementia patients. Their advice, as stated in the Koenig Coste quote, is to answer the questions that are asked with patience and love. Cathy has acted exemplary, tossing answers to a single question asked three times consecutively like a batter in a batting cage. Smack, swack, whack, bam, boom. Nothing to it. But, how long can that last? Hurt chips away at strength. The weight bares down. One life can consume another. They will both need support.

“Think of the life you have lived until now as over and, as a dead man, see what’s left as a bonus and live it according to Nature. Love the hand that fate deals you and play it as your own, for what could be more fitting?” – Marcus Aurelius

Is life fair? Is life just? I no longer question ‘why’ random things happen? That would be a contradiction in terms. Random is a defining term for Life. An IED explodes between the feet of two war buddies. One survives and wonders, “Why him and not me”? The mother of a baby discovers her child has an incurable disease - “Why my baby and not me?” Why? Random happens all around us all the time. It has to be dealt with. We cannot simply ignore or fail to acknowledge the existence of Life, [with a capital ‘L’] and all that is encompassed. Or, as is often the case, we cannot attribute ‘bad’ events as occurring to others…until they happen to us. That will deprive us the opportunity to prepare ourselves. Marcus Aurelius, an early Stoic, remarks, “Let us prepare our minds as if we’d come to the very end of life.” Today I will follow the dictum of the Sage, and let the mountain air enter and fill my lungs with freshness and gratitude. I will allow myself to feel the spectrum of emotions inspired by this journey. I will offer up my help to my friends when they are ready to receive it. I will stand by and be counted. But, I will not ask myself WHY? There is no legitimate answer to that question.

PANDEMIC DIARY

DO NOT SUFFER FOOLS
July 7, 2021

Two nights ago on “All In with Chris Hayes”, he previewed a soon-to-be released documentary produced by New York Times journalists about the January 6 insurrection. The film is composited by extracting videos from the phones of those accused or charged with various degrees of acts of violence during the breach and penetration of the Capitol Building. The filmmakers were able recreate exactly what was happening from all sides of the building at the exact same times isolating time stamped phone video sequences of events. This has produced a frightening, logical procedural of just what occurred, how it took place and by whom. It is a formidable piece of investigative journalism.

In the film, the producers were able to ask questions of the insurrectionists. “Why are you here”? “What do you hope to accomplish?” The stated goals and desired outcomes varied and reflected some of the conspiracy theories floating around, and likely generated by the very groups participating in the assault. More consistent was the fact that each person felt that once achieved they would be able to install some political framework that would restore integrity to our ‘corrupt’ system. They appeared completely naive or totally blind as to what it takes to run a government. Furthermore, and this is the point I wish to make, they each believe that they are vital to the cause. Indispensable. I find this absolutely incredible. And stupid.

I have watched and wondered about this phenomenon whereby these right-wing extremists truly believe that their contribution matters in some grander scheme, and that they will be a lasting participants and contributors to what’s next for some enduring length of time. Not one of these zealots has ever, to my knowledge, expressed remotely any doubt or concern as to what follows the deposing of our Democracy or hesitation about whether they would be of any lasting consequence to a movement. So I did some research, basically to determine whether and to what degree faithful adherents are expendable in the fluid circumstances of an overthrow of a government by an authoritarian, cult leader.

I used Hitler and the Nazi party as the example. But, before I go on, I want to introduce you to a term you will likely be as unfamiliar with as I was, and a fact that I did not know about that shifted the whole of my thinking about this subject. Firstly, the term is Democide: a label created by R.J. Rummel in 1986 and author of the book, “Death By Government”. Rummel realized that however an abomination genocide is, that it is, by international law, only one kind of act against humanity that has become singularly prevalent to the exclusion of other state and non-state sponsored acts. Whereas genocide is “the killing of people by a government because of their ‘indelible group membership’ (race, ethnicity, religion, language)”; democide is the murder of any person or people by a government, including genocide, politicide, and mass murder.

The distinction becomes important in light of other acts that do not fit comfortably in the dominant definition. Would the massacre of helpless villagers in the Sudan by government forces fighting a rebellion fall into this category; the Indonesian army’s purge of communists; the assassination of political opponents by the Nationalist government of Formosa; the “land reform” execution of landlords in the Soviet Union; or, the rapid death of inmates in Vietnam re-education camps? What about non-killing which has been called genocide such as in the absorption of one culture by another? Would Israel’s displacement of large populations of Arabs within its territories be a form of systematic genocide? If not, Rummel proposes a solution by re-categorizing those acts which do not possess legal international standing even though the actions taken are horrible and heinous. Democide is this classification. All genocide, politicide and mass murder would fall within the definition of democide.

Now, for the fact. On July 7, 1986, The Wall Street Journal published an article by R.J. Rummel entitled, “War Isn’t This Century’s Biggest Killer”. A methodical survey of democide, Rummel was provided a grant by the United States Institute of Peace to perform a more in-depth study. The culmination was the publishing of his book, “Death By Government”. In his article for WSJ, he later revealed that his original pilot article underestimated the number of deaths that fall outside the standard definition of genocide and mass murder by 42 percent.

“Our century (21st cent.) is noted for its absolute and bloody wars. WW I saw nine-million people killed in battle, an incredible record that was far surpassed within a few decades by the 15 million deaths of World War II….In total, this century’s battles killed in all international and domestic wars, revolutions, and violent conflicts is so far about 35,654,000.”

But wait, what is missed are the staggering numbers of killings by governments that inspire hardly a murmur, while a war killing ‘mere’ thousands of people can cause a world outcry and global reaction. An example of this misdirected focus is The Falkland Island ‘War’, a minor skirmish between Great Britain and Argentina occurring while Burundi’s were killing or acquiescing in killing about 100,000 Hutu in 1972; and, the slaughtering of likely 600,000 “communists” in 1965 by Indonesian military, or Pakistan’s well planned massacre, eventually killing from one to three million Bengalis in 1971.

As a Vietnam protestor, I also offer a double standard that I find relatable, even as I deplore the Vietnam War. The International Community was outraged at the attempt to militarily prevent the North Vietnamese from from taking over South Vietnam and, if as claimed, eventually Laos and Cambodia. An inexcusable effort. The “Stop the killing” outcry, the pressure from foreign and domestic forces impelled an American withdrawal. The total death toll on all sides was 1,216,000 people.

Subsequently, and with the United States refusing to provide aid or military assistance to the South Vietnamese government, the North, as predicted, swallowed up South Vietnam while Cambodia was taken over by the Khmer Rouge. In their attempt to restore a primitive communist agricultural society they slaughtered from one to three million people. Rummel points out that if we take the middle figure of two million killed, then in four years the government of this small nation of seven million alone killed 64 percent more people than died in the ten-year Vietnam War. But this was hardly a blip on the screen.

These examples repeat themselves throughout time. The first takeaway is relevant to today’s right-wing extremists. “ABSOLUTISM IS NOT ONLY MANY TIMES DEADLIER THAN WAR, BUT IS THE MAJOR FACTOR CAUSING WAR AND OTHER FORMS OF VIOLENT CONFLICT. IT IS THE MAJOR CAUSE OF MILITARISM. INDEED, ABSOLUTISM, NOT WAR, IS MANKIND’S DEADLIEST SCOURGE OF ALL.”

The second takeaway has to do with who are the subjects of these killings. When we think of the Nazi killings we automatically refer to ‘genocide’ and the killing of 6,000,000 Jews. But, the Nazis killed for other reasons (and non-reasons) other than religion or race. The Nazis killed anyone who hindered or opposed them, actually or potentially. [Please note that this is relevant to my point of how current day insurgents believe they will be part of a loyal opposition] Hitler assassinated hundreds of top Nazi SA’s or storm troopers. Over 5,000 citizens were executed after an assassination attempt on Hitler’s ife. “Indeed, it is why critics, pacifists, conscientious objectors, campus rebels, dissidents, and others of different political persuasions were executed or disappeared, or were sent to concentration camps. The Nazis killed some 288,000 Germans, not counting Jews, homosexuals, and those forcibly ‘euthanized’. It is estimated that the Nazis murdered at least 762,000 Germans. Along with the extermination of Jews, the military and non-military death toll increased the likelihood of dying to better than 1 out of 11 German citizens - low odds for survival.”

Most killings are not war related but are akin to administrative devices. They are tools used to terrorize society and opposition, to conduct mass reprisals, to maintain control, prevent sabotage, and safeguard their soldiers. What that can look like is if one man is accused of underground activities a whole village can be rounded up and executed, the village burned, and women and children sent to concentration camps. The long-term strategies of authoritarians rarely take into consideration the tactical necessity of killing. Murder and annihilation are a means to an end. In this sense, Hitler was, admittedly, different and saw an easily defined group of people as easy targets whose elimination he could get a population to rally around. But the necessity of ancillary killing along with the power to execute without restraint happening within a paranoid environment ended killing an estimated 31 million people in total.

NO ONE IS SAFE OR SECURE IN A TOTALITARIAN SOCIETY. THERE ARE NO ALLIES IN TOTALITARIAN RULE. YOU ARE EITHER COMPLICIT OR DEAD.

They are fools who believe they are expressing loyal opposition. They are fools if they believe the person standing next to them does not think him or herself more right than you. They are fools who hold to the notion that what follows is anything but chaos, more violence and endless rebellion. And, those who think that what they impose and inflict on others cannot happen to them, they are really foolish.

PANDEMIC DIARY

THE PRIVILEGED MUST PARTAKE
JULY 2, 2021

When Alex was a child, maybe five or six, Adele and I decided to teach him about kindness, generosity, and care for others. Yes, teach. Other than modeling desirable behaviors and attitudes as best we could, we felt that there existed a part of society where lessons learned deserved to be witnessed rather than merely described. We wanted Alex, by first-hand experience, to realize and appreciate that not everyone lives the life he is living. We set upon this educational, experiential pursuit during which we would expose and introduce Alex to those less fortunate without, of course, frightening him, or depressing his life’s outlook. In New York City, it was not difficult to discover examples of how unfortunate and unfair life can turn out - homelessness, PTSD, hunger, mental illness, etc.

At the time, we were not by any means rich or well-to-do. We were not what one would call ‘financially privileged’. Both employed, I was making a modest income and Adele was doing very well in her consulting business. Yet, we were still aware that Alex had everything a child could need: he was always exceedingly well fed; always had a roof over his head; wore clothing that was new and when worn replaced; lived in a New York suburb; was provided toys and tools for learning, and had resources that supported his well-being. Maybe the simpler way of saying it is that he was never wanting or lacking.

That reality, the mere presence of, if not abundance, adequacy might be for many or most a state of privilege. That is not to say that middle America escapes the anxiety of monthly bills or surprise expenses, and the burden of wondering how to grow their ssets and make life more manageable. But, there is a difference between struggle and needing to contend with deprivation. It is one thing to live within a plan and adhere to a strict budget. Quite another to be destitute, merely surviving having to wonder where the next morsel of food will be found.

It was winter, and the three of us were walking along the streets of the upper West Side of NYC when we came across a homeless person who was asking for money. We encouraged Alex to ask the man if he was hungry. I held his hand as we approached and Alex muttered the question in a somewhat shy and garbled manner. The man said he was hungry and Alex and I told him we would be right back. We stepped into a nearby delicatessen and together order a turkey sandwich, a bag of chips, an apple, and a drink. If I am not mistaken, we also purchased a muffin for dessert. We brought back everything in a large paper bag and Alex gave it to the man. The gentleman smiled in appreciation and thanked us both although looking solely into Alex’ eyes. We wished him well and moved on. To this day Alex remembers that episode.

I questioned this within a very short time of our arrival on Martha’s Vineyard. The morning after our landing on the island and somewhat settling in we decided to take a walk into Edgartown, the nearest village to our rental, about 4 1/2 miles round-trip as the crow flies. It was a lovely walk with brief views of ponds and marshes from the walking path alongside a major road into town.

Along the way and in the winding streets of shops and restaurants we alternately nodded, smiled, said good mornings, to complete strangers who mutually acknowledged our being here together enjoying what is special about Martha’s Vineyard. One woman in particular, caught our eyes, because our eyes were captured by her momentary flicker of acknowledgment, like the pressing of the shutter of a singe reflex camera, the quick flick of the shutter that contains all the information in the lens. We passed one another and Adele and I mentioned how friendly and open she was. After perusing the town, we went to have coffee at ‘Behind the Bookstore’ - a local, ‘secret garden’ location…behind the local bookstore…that had a long line of “first cuppers of the day”. And who was sitting there, but the woman we had passed and to whom we said good morning. We smiled at our second meeting and she asked if we knew each other. We chatted for easily fifteen minutes before finding a perfect table for two in the corner, as I stood on line to get served.

Cappuccinos in hand, we lingered happily while at the table alongside sat a vivacious lady who just greeted a young woman outfitted in tight exercise pants and a cut-off shirt who clearly was as fit as she was attractive. Upon her departure, the woman addressed us revealing that the young woman was Peliton’s # 1 instructor. She was one of the original exercise instructors and was gifted shares of the company’s stock which has made her very well off, to say the least. The woman was so friendly and generous of nature. We talked about the Vineyard, changes over the years, local traditions, the influx of ‘new’ people, etc, until it was time to leave. We shared parting words and warm smiles.

On our walk home, it struck me how sincerely friendly people were to us. Chatty. Spontaneous. Interested. But, I felt a tinge of sadness, wondering what it would take for those so privileged to step outside their own lives [our lives] of comfort to not simply acknowledge but act on behalf of needs of those a whole lot less fortunate. Don’t misunderstand me. I don’t know if they do or don’t declare or concede the reality outside their world. I also wish to confess that Adele’s and my world have changed to bring to bear further questions about how to impel ourselves to work on behalf of people otherwise so easily forgotten.

The point is that no matter how difficult it is for us, and now I am not only talking about Adele and I, who have striven and worked hard to build our futures into a present day level of comfort and satisfaction, we feel compelled to not forget what the world is like outside our privileged bubble. Adele and I are privileged now for sure, but I realize we were privileged even back when. Our ‘normal’ middle class upbringing was still privileged. Our years of personal and professional struggle were privileged. Privilege is actually more the absence of struggle rather than the presence of ease. And now the responsibility falls harder on us to take stock of all that we have accomplished in the larger context of greater societal needs and how we may be a part of positive change.

I am not saying we are responsible for what is happening all around us. But, we are responsible for asserting and claiming our Present that will become our kid’s future. Neither is it guilt that drives me to simply declare the more subtle ways I have been less available, more passive as a result of our abundance and prosperity. This is natural. It takes conscious effort, like the walk in the streets of New York, to allow oneself to ‘see’, to combat complacency, to overcome satisfaction and contentment on behalf of something more deeply gratifying and rewarding. I concede and affirm that I will work harder. There is much work to be done.

HAPPY INDEPENDENCE DAY AND HAVE A GREAT LONG WEEKEND.

PANDEMIC DIARY

WHEN I’M 64…NOT!
June 21, 2021

Who would deny the absolute genius of Lord Paul McCartney? At the age of 16 he wrote with utmost intuition and prescience the lyrics and music to “When I’m 64”. But, what if he wrote the lyrics to the song, “Now I’m 75”. How would those lyrics track? I wondered about this just moments ago when I stepped out onto my screened-in porch to read my book and smoke a celebratory Father’s Day cigar. With wooden match in hand I stroked and stroked and could not get the match to light. Realizing that I was attempting to light the match on the ‘box’ side of the box and not the ‘striking surface’, I contorted my face in mild self-revulsion while reversing the box to expose the rough, gravely striking surface, but unconsciously also reversed the match so that I was stroking the striking surface with the wooden end of the match. Only then should you have seen the face I made.

Have you ever wanted to cry at your own stupidity? That’s when I thought about revising the song lyrics to the classic opus, “When I’m 64”.

[The audio of the song is just below…lyrics follow.}

When I get older
losin’ my mind
A few days on from now
Will I still remember my address at home?
Will they find me out on a roam?

If I imagined
my tub was a boat
splashin’ while I dive
Would you then scold me?
Would you just hold me?
Now I’m seventy-five.

I could cook a dinner
Make you peppermint tea
And rub your back at night
Then I’d fall asle-ee-ee-p, sle-ee-ee-p
When I wake I would say ‘good day’
Fond memories you’d have to keep.

————————————————————————-

We could watch T.V.
Home on our screen
I’d kiss you in the dark
I could light a fire; we could watch the sparks
Making love like two little larks.

If we got lost
Climbing Jiminy peak
How might we survive?
Would you then chide me
Or would you guide me
now I’m seventy-five.

If I slipped my pants on
back to front all the time
And asked you the time of day
While reading your historie-ie-ies; ie-ie-ies.
I would pour you a glass of wine
And serve you on my knees.

———————————————————————————

We could still travel
Here and abroad
For many years to come
We could take a cruise along the Isle of Mann
I would cool you down with a fan.

You would remember
All that we did
While I was alive
Will you recall me
when life befalls me
Now I’m seventy-five?

PANDEMIC DIARY

FOR LOVE’S SAKE
May 31, 2021

FOR LOVE’S SAKE

I want to love for love’s sake
I want to love for the sake of loving.

I want to be love
gooey, gentle, sentimental love;

dedicated and devoted and
committed love;

moon, spoon, croon
kissin’ in the dunes love,

wet, just met, each day, every
day since we met love;

walk in the park, among the trees,
pee in the weeds love;

enigmatic, ambiguous, inscrutable,
puzzling, perplexing love;

“You’re wrong” “You’re right”
who gives a damn love;

cuddly, snuggly, ‘bear-
huggilly’ kind of love;

no holding back, all in,
balls to the wall love;

cozy, posey, day-time
dozy in my arms love;

everlasting, never-ending, beyond
death do us part love.

no half way, part way -
you’re either in or you’re out love.

ask nothing in return and
reap the world love…for love’s sake.