Night (The Long Dark Teatime...)

Sitting outside this evening, as the darkness deepened and the mosquitos were biting, I listened to the neighborhood slowly quiet down. Gone now are the quads (4X4/ATV) and the kids shouting, the cars comming and going, the signs of ordinary life.

There's no birds now, and with the clear sky I can see some stars (I'm in town, so many are washed out by the glow from the nearby city), and the ocassional jet flying high overhead, headed ... who knows where?

I'm writing on my old tablet, listening to music streaming on my phone to a Bluetooth speaker, and the phone is connected to a WiFi extender which is connected to a second Ethernet router, which is connected to my main router which uses slow DSL to be my bridge to the world. (I'm in a cell phone black hole, at the low spot on my side of town.)

I enjoy reading "what-if" fiction, and both fiction and pundits sometimes take a look at doomsday scenerios. What if there was a more serious pandemic? What if the culdera of Yellowstone erupted into the 10,000 year volcano? What if? 

And recently, some wise compassionate politicians in New York City chose to make a Public Service video, reminding many of us of how life was lived into the 1970s. In the event of a nuclear attack, go inside, get away from the windows, and wait for further instructions!

Sure, in the event of a nuclear attack, the danger  to many is the fallout, not the blast itself. Of course, if you're in the direct blast zone, like Heroshima, your chances are poor. But many would be outside the immediate threat, and the danger is the radioactive dust cloud. Staying inside, away from windows, gives you some chance to avoid the worst danger as the dust settles. And hopefully, it'll rain soon, washing the worst of the radioactive danger into the storm sewers and the waterways of the nation. 

And  then what? I suspect that many of our dystopian nightmare of a collapsed economy, collapsed infrastructure, loss of freight and goods incoming into the city, loss of power and water and telecommunications... all of this might come true, either directly because of the atomic blast, or indirectly from fear or gradual systemic failures.

I personally wouldn't expect to live too long, as a diabetic,  and many others would also die within the first month, first quarter, first year of the super disaster. Doesn't matter much which scenerio summons the death angel, it'll still wipe out a large portion of the population, even far from the direct impact of the disaster.  

On a cool quiet summer night, one can get a sense of what it might be like after the world effectively comes to an end. 

And then a car turns the corner, shedding a brief bright glare into my eyes, and I think it's time to go inside. 

(I need to find the spell check tool in Blogger! LOL Plus, I'm not used to this compact chicklet Bluetooth keyboard.)

A Change in the Weather

Another day, and I'm sitting outside again. We're still under "social separation," so I'm about 20 feet from the street. And I've lost the sun that was warming my body and washing out my tablet's screen. And the wind has resumed, bringing a wind chill that is about to drive me to grabbing my hoodie, if not actually to go inside!

Yesteday, I noted that "Spring's Sprung," but in this part of the world, spring is a tempermental lady. The forecast for tonight is rain, and in a few days there's snow expected within a few hundred miles of here. We joke that northeastern Pennsylvania can have all four seasons within a week, if not even inside a single day!

Living under rules of isolation isn't all that much fun, is it? Actually, I am wondering when I should head to the post office to check my mail. Can I wait a few more days? What if there's something urgent awaiting my attention, but by staying home I'm missing a fast narrowing window of opportunity? And I'm looking at my groceries, and realizing that it won't be too long until I need to get milk, at least, and maybe two gallons, and a few cans of fruit, and maybe more frozen vegtables. And surely it won't be too long until the pharmacy tells me I have something ready for pickup.

I am slow to adopt new technology in some ways. Sure, the guy who ran a "pirate" radio station from his dorm room, is nervous about shopping Walmart online and doing curbside pickup? Yeah, that's me. And the pharmacy will probably deliver, if I can figure out the payment system.

I thought I had rubber-type gloves on hand, like one might use for cleaning the oven. Not where I thought they were! Did I give them to my daughter last year? Or do I need to search another location or two?

What about masks? What do I have that I can fold in layers, lacking any bandana? I think I can find hair elastics, which I bought for a different purpose several years ago (think how some microphones are mounted to isolate them from the mic stand). But even with gloves and a makeshift mask, is it safe for me to venture out of my driveway?

I actually don't feel all that worried, but I'm being careful. We have to think about these things, because there's such a big delay between infection and symptoms. And even worse, a good number of us will never get sick, but instead will be asymptomatic carriers. And it's those who think they can go party (a recent raid of about 100 teenagers in the woods, underage drinking!) who are the most likely to bring home the virus, most likely to transmit it, to their elderly aunt, their immune-compromised neighbor, their high-risk brother or parent or cousin or friend.

So as the clouds overhead thicken ahead of tonight's rain, I'm about to pack up and go back inside. Not because I'm afraid, but because I'm fairly reasonable. With sun hidden by the clouds, it's not enjoyable sitting outside. And yet I've lingered, because as spring has sprung, it's also tempermental, and it might be days again until I can enjoy my relative freedom in my own driveway.

Be safe, my friends! God set the universe in motion, "his eye is on the sparrow," he gave the lillies their glory and cares about us, too. But He loves us too much to compel our obedience. And sometimes we have to choose whether to obey the very leaders whom, at least conceptually, he placed over us. Will you be safe? Will you maintain social separation outside your household? Will you disinfect and wear masks and gloves where appropriate?

I'm trying! I'm not technically "high risk," but I have an elevated risk, as my age and medical concerns suggest, and I don't want to end up in the hospital at a time when my city, a hotbed of viral infections, is not even near its peak along the bell curve of contagion.

Give me your thoughts.

Spring's Sprung

Early April, and I'm sitting outside. A few weeks ago, 60 degrees was a very warm day! But how quickly our bodies respond to the shift of seasons, welcoming the warmth of the sun and soaking up the fresh air, the breeze, the ... yes, the pollen!

I have two other public blogs, one is much more general where over the years I've written about books I've read and technology and everyday life. The third blog, via Wordpress, is much more about my spiritual life and thought. Here on Blogger, I'm trying to write more of my everyday experiences and observations, without being overtly or overwelmingly religious. Naturally, my faith will peremeate this blog, just as my life will creep into my "Musings on Things That Matter" blog on Wordpress.

Today, after too much time searching for answers to the lost key to my "Musings" blog, I finally dug out my printed notes, and found not the original email confirming the account, but at least a password reset from that seldom-used email account, and was finally able to go back to where I had left off five years back! So now, I'm sitting outside, trying to enjoy the fresh air in social isolation, and trying to organize my thoughts before I retreat to the climate-controlled upstairs apartment I call my abode. (I did write a post on Wordpress; you might be able to find it if you search.)

I suppose that one thing I could do here is discuss how my Autism affects my everyday life. How "executive dysfunction" delays my accomplishing anything beyond the minimum activity of living. How Autism causes a degree of generalized anxiety, and how anxity can lead to a form of intermittent depression.

Actually, because of an Autism group on Facebook, I've become online friends with a young married woman in the American midwest, whose autism experience is more steep than mine. I've become kind of a coach via chat, and she is writing a blog about her experiences. Her desire to share her journey, both the struggles and the successes, in prose, are part of my recommitment to my own blogging efforts. We both are frustrated by those who seek a cure, thinking we're broken; we're frustrated by those who only dwell in their misery and suffering and are unable to find ways to cope and find a degree of contentment in life; we also are frustrated by those who insist that we only celebrate the better aspects of Autism, feeling that admitting the pain and struggle diminishes who we are as a group of people. She and I agree that we must accept the bad with the good, and be honest with ourseleves and the world around us, because it does affect the world around us. And so, because of my online friend Dorothy, I'm returning to writing, not because I'm anything special of myself, but because the gift of writing gives me a special way to reach the world.

With 55 years of life under my belt -- with a spiritual journey that has had its zigzags and course corrections; with a marriage and divorce and a few failed attempts at romance; with a 25 year career; with a Bachelor's Degree in Mass Communication; with somewhere over 1,400 Facebook connections; despite my frequent feelings of failure -- I have accomplished what many have not. People turn to me for advice, not because I'm especially wise, or knowledgable, but because I am willing to share what I know and admit when I simply don't know. Somehow, words come easy to me. Sometimes I'm able to string together a few phrases, or rhyme a few words, and in my own way reflect what others are also feeling. Or I'm able to convey my heart in a way that resonates in their own heart.

I'm nothing special -- and yet, just a common man, I'm also quite special, beloved, with friendships that span the globe. Just a common man, with common thoughts, and uncommon thoughts. This blog itself turns my thoughts into uncommon thoughts. I hope that you'll journey with me, as I continue to find my voice, and find ways to cope with the issues of life and my inherent Autism insights and outlooks.

Just a common man.... that's what I am.

Social Separation and Friends Afar

Well, it's been awhile since I last posted here. Life has changed a lot, and my friends and followers on Facebook know what I've shared there, so I won't rehash old stories.

But then, after I retired, after my employer tried to shut down my last workplace in an ivory-tower idealism, then the seasons began to change.

I watched the news, or rather listened to it, the audio newscasts, from around the world, and heard how an essentially invisible storm had rocked first one region, then a number of sea cruisers, and finally the world.

I expanded my world as my world shrunk, social separation instructions leading to almost total lockdowns here and there, and in some places, full lockdown. Will social isolation work? It's too soon to know. But my thought is, we're all going to contract COVID-19 eventually,  and the need isn't to stop the infections, but to slow it down so we can develop treatments, so we can improve outcomes, so we can "flatten the curve" so we as a society can survive.

So what's improved? Friends on Facebook, at first, more friends, deeper bonds with friends I've had. And then more international friends, and especially friends from the Phillipines. And now, a very significant friend, a story that will last years, a story that is just beginning, a story that will have to wait for another time. But, a story full of hope, a getaway, anticipation, separation, connection.

Stay tuned!

Rainy Days and Morning-After-Mondays Blues

We’re supposed to get a bunch of rain over the next few days. At least we’re not getting all this rain inside just one day, or worse, within a few hours. But we’ve been there, and probably so have you. Seeing all that rain come your way, so quickly, is not just intimidating, it’s literally overwhelming! And many places simply can’t cope with all that water!

Rain is a mixed blessing. Many of us remember that old saw, “God makes it rain on the just and the unjust.” Actually, that’s from the Bible, worded a little differently than that, but it’s still there. When you’re in the middle of a wet season, like my region had last fall, a day of heavy rain like this doesn’t seem like a blessing at all! Levies were breached, river banks overrun, bridges either under water or washed away completely, communities cut off… it was a mess in a good bit of eastern Pennsylvania and New York State. And many parts of the Midwest seem to see floods like this every spring, and it seems like parts of the New England states and mid-Atlantic region have been repeatedly flooded over the last few years. Los Vegas has been nearly washed clean of its sins (OK, that’s not happening, but some of the trash got swept by floods out of the city streets) in the last year or so. Parts of Californian get soaked pretty often. Georgia, Florida, Louisiana, Mississippi…. who can forget Katrina and the other hurricanes that have flooded the Gulf coast or major parts of the east coast?

But actually, when you live in the desert, or an arid region, rain is usually a real blessing. Even in moderate climates such as where I live, the gentle rains of spring are very welcome, and even the thunderstorms of summer, with their quick soaking load of water, are usually greeted happily by the farmers. Much of the Middle East is arid, if not actual desert, and that’s the context of the proverb. Rain is a blessing God shares liberally and without prejudice over the region, as the seasons come, and both the sinner and the religious are blessed by it.

Rain is often a matter of perspective. We may get upset when our weekend plans are rained out, but a farmer who has gone days without rain rejoices. And somehow food ought to be more important than our day at the golf course or amusement park!

Sometimes, as I alluded to before, rain can be “too much of a good thing.” We learn that as we age, our lifestyle slows, but our appetite does not. Our stomachs start to bulge, we put on the pounds, we lose that trim shape we once took for granted. Oh, some have always had to work at it, but we all one day find that what we could get away with when we were younger is not so careless a pleasure any more!

Rain is like that. “When it rains, it pours,” is often said when we are struggling with things in life. “We just can’t seem to get a break,” we might be heard to murmur. And the Jews in the desert, after leaving Egypt, did a lot of complaining! Not always under their breaths, either, and God could always hear them, no matter how much they tried to whisper! They murmured about water. They murmured about no food. Then it was about no meat. Then it was too much quail, but God warned them they’d get sick of quail when they wanted meat! Maybe they should have asked politely for a little variety in their diet, instead of just manna – which was a perfect food, by the way – and since they couldn’t ask nicely, but complained about it, God was “exceedingly generous”! Watch what you ask for – or demand!

So what’s up with Monday? Nothing much, really. Just wanted a catchy title for this blog post. I was thinking of the song, “Rainy days and Mondays get me down.” Actually, I often like rainy days. I work at night, and sleep comes a little easier when the sky isn’t bright and there is that gentle patter of rain in the background…. And people often have a “morning-after” blues… the day after something goes well, or they’ve won a big game, gotten special recognition…. then comes the morning-after blues. And isn’t there a song, “Blue Tuesday”? (Or is that “Blue Monday”? No matter, really…) Yeah, Tuesdays can be a tough day of the work week for many people. When I work overtime, it’s not the first night that is the hardest, but often the second night – and after my weekend off, it’s not Monday night that’s the hardest to work, but the Tuesday night.

Yesterday – a Monday – wasn’t that bad of a day for me. Oh, I’ve got what seems like a little cold. Once I went out in the morning and bought some cough syrup, and took it, I slept well for about six hours. Then I woke up, and when I got up, the coughing returned. A dry, intermittent cough, and that slightly sore tickly uncomfortable throat. Slightly sore eyes. And I lost my grogginess, and couldn’t fall back to sleep. Too drained to read, I finally decided to put on a movie. One of those shoot-em-up special forces soldier action flicks. I’ve got a bunch of them in my DVD collection, mostly cheap bundled sets.

Then I watched a second movie, more of the same, and as the day faded I finally was able to take a nap. Just a short one, before I got moving on this and that again, and didn’t get much of anything really useful done, I guess, but then it was time to go to work. And I’m still not sure if I was glad to get back to work after four nights at home, alone, except for my cold… and now I’m home, it’s Tuesday morning, and I need to post this and get off to bed.

If you’d like to comment, well, I dunno…. I don’t remember what my settings are for BlogSpot. On Facebook, you can comment below the post. But you probably already knew that. You can always send me a personal message if you must – you probably have my e-mail address already!

Hope your Tuesday isn’t a cold, soaking, dismal day, but a thirst-quenching, refreshing one! God blesses you just because He’s that Good! Isn’t that great?

"Pappy"

So, my daughter and her boyfriend invited me to sup with them the other night... several topics came up, but the important one came to the surface when she handed me a greeting card. Enclosed was a small picture.. a sonogram. I'm going to be a grandfather!

The timing is a bit off, I said, but I didn't get angry. Why she thought I might get angry, I'm not sure. She knows my belief about premarital sex, about teen pregnancy, about unwed mothers. But it never is the baby's fault how it was conceived, and every child is still a gift from God. And when we consider how highly God values life, and when we consider the potential inherent in every person, clearly we must celebrate each new gift of life.

The reality of this new life will take a while to sink in. Even with an ultrasound, this child is still just an idea to me. Perhaps as the pregnancy progresses, and the "baby bump" shows itself, it will become easier to grasp. Too, time to think about the baby will help me make the mental adjustments. It's a good thing for humanity that pregnancies take nine months in us, because over the full term we can reflect on it, and as the reality becomes obvious we can prepare ourselves.

Especially for a father, a first-time father, the whole process is a real mystery. The woman declares she's pregnant, and yet for quite some time there are only a few signs for the father to notice. Most obvious are things like morning sickness, new appitetites for foods (sometimes unusual choices at that!) and the "nest-building" instinct of a mother-to-be.

It is still early, and still quite unreal for me. Perhaps Christ, the father, has a greater appreciation of the reality of this pregnancy. Somehow, I doubt it. Still, I'm not worried about his perceptions now, but mine.

I'm going to be a grandfather. A grandfather? How can that be? In many ways, I don't see myself as a grandfather. I'm not old enough, I'm not mature enough.... It's been said that most guys, no matter how old, mature and "macho" they seem to be, feel inside like they are little more than twelve years old. We don't really feel like the grown-ups we claim to be. We are "acting" like adults, as best as we can, and trying to be mature, making wise decisions and facing life's challenges. Yet, inside us the little boy is screaming, "I can't do this! I'm not old enough to do this!" and we hope that nobody can see through our mask and find us out.

It's been said that the difference between boys and men is the size of our toys. And as we look around us, we see that Donald Trump is playing Monolopy and, instead of castles in the sand, is building with steel and marble. Bill Gates kept playing with computers, as did Steve Jobs. Some guys play with dump trucks and big machines, other creative people imagined worlds and entertained the rest of us with their stories, movies, even paintings and music. But to some degree, we're all playing with toys. And sadly, some guys treat women like toys, too, swapping one out for a new model every so often.

So, I struggle myself with feelings of inadequacy. What does it mean to be a grownup? A father? Or now, what does it mean to be a grandfather?

My memories of my grandfathers were of older men. My maternal grandparents waited to get married and have children, choosing to have a good financial footing before starting. In fact, my Granddad always paid cash for his cars, and kept them as long as he could before replacing it. He was not young when I was born, and as I became a teenager he was late in life and great in years. My paternal grandparents didn't wait so long to begin their family, but they were also well into mid-life as I entered my early teens. Pappy retired and was working honey bees most of my teens, as I recall, and as I entered college he was winding down that second "career" and as I ended college he had cancer that took him only months after I graduated.

My image of a grandfather is of somebody a good ten or twenty years older than I am --- yes, many today are grandparents by the time they are forty, but I was nearing thirty when I married. And I thought -- hoped, expected -- that I still had time before my first grandchild.

And so, I am unprepared for the title of Grandfather -- "Pappy" ....

Yet, here it comes... the future is now!