“Men are so insecure”

Note: I have sat on this piece for nearly a year now, and in that time the entire social and romantic scene has change fundamentally because of the coronavirus pandemic. If I were single, I would have no idea how to attempt to hook up, since I don’t want to spread The Rona. Maybe The Rona just gave us the push we needed to become a society of impotent thumb-twiddlers.

Correction: to finish becoming a society of impotent thumb-twiddlers.

I was talking with a couple of friends recently. We chatted for nearly 30 minutes, and it was really fun. The topic of dating came up somehow, and the not-married one of the three of us talked about her bad experience with single men.

“Men are so insecure,” she told us.

It seemed like a valid assessment despite its obvious blunt generalization, one I was in no position to dispute, since I have have only dated my own wife since 2003, and have no idea what it’s like to court men.

I can also positively say that in my days of dating, I might have seemed insecure, since I was the butt of rejection time and again, often in favor of far lesser men. It seemed like an adjudication of my entire identity, and after a while, it wore me down.

I also really love women, and when I was single, there was nothing I wanted more, which filled me with a hunger that was hard to distinguish from insecurity.

It wish it were easier to love each other. I wish people didn’t hate other people for who they love or what they want.

I know. I wish, I wish. Whatever.

More recently, an attractive, single, female friend of mine was bemoaning the fact that married men sometimes leer at her. I told her without hesitation that my wedding ring means something to me, that it is an outward symbol of my devotion to my marriage, and something I wear proudly every day.

Connecting some of these dots for me, a good friend of mine recently told me that her best friend ghosted her, adding that this best friend who ghosted her “has a lot of insecurities.” I’d already surmised that based on her facial expressions, inability to feel empathy, and attention-seeking attire that always featured her large breasts.

So, my friends, are men and women just as insecure and in just as much turmoil as you are? It’s an odd dichotomy that we fight this fight together, but alone.

I made this gloomy image earlier this summer, but it remains something of a visual representation of the world right now.
I made this gloomy image earlier this summer, but it remains something of a visual representation of the world right now.

Don’t Change for the Better

A disturbing trend in the news and on social media is to crucify someone for their long-ago misdeeds, especially if those deeds were in the bullseye of whatever is trendy to take offense about.

The message is clear: you have never been allowed to make mistakes, you are not allowed to grow and mature, and “Now I’ve got you, you son a bitch.”

How dare you have been imperfect 30 years ago. How dare you be young and foolish. How dare you fit in. How. Dare. You.

Of course, there will always be some know-it-all in the comments who will explain how wrong it was, so wrong that there can be no redemption, and their friends will rally around them.

This is all part of a bigger constellation of taking offense to everything, all the time. It comes from an angry, empty, spiritually bankrupt society. It reflects a culture of moral supremacy populated by the immoral. It is entirely one-dimensional on all fronts: you’re a sexist! You’re a racist! You’re a liberal! You’re a bully! You’re a label!

There is no redemption or forgiveness. There is only punishment.

Choke on this all of you, from the social justice warrior to the most strident Reaganist:   I am all those things. I have done all those things. I made all those mistakes. I blundered through my youth, my young adulthood, my middle age, making and repeating mistakes, saying things that were cruel and petty and selfish.

He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone.”

Go ahead. Cast it. Where? There is a mirror in the next room.

"They did it without judgement, because it's judgement that defeats us."
“They did it without judgement, because it’s judgement that defeats us.”

The Delicate Arch Paradox

It’s not exactly a paradox, and it’s not exactly ironic, but it is frustrating.

How do I justify my love of exploration and photography in spectacular places like Antelope Canyon, Arches National Park, Yosemite, and White Sands, yet still feel contempt for the way these places have become desperately overcrowded?

You can't elope with an antelope's cantaloupe, and you can't really have fun in Antelope Canyon any more.
You can’t elope with an antelope’s cantaloupe, and you can’t really have fun in Antelope Canyon any more.

Part of my problem with this issue is that I feel oddly outmatched by the crowds photographically, not because they have more talent, but because they have diluted the landscape so much with geotags and armchair photographers, squeezing professional photographers and naturalists into an empty corner.

On the third hand, shouldn’t Abby and I have special Delicate Arch creds, since, after all, we got married there?

Am I being whiney because I don’t want to share its specialness, or has it been made universally unspecial by its discovery and overpopulation by the Instagram crowd?

I’ve been sitting on this post for a month, yet can’t quite solidify it. Help me work this out.

I photographed this passel of visitors at Delicate Arch in October 2005.
I photographed this passel of visitors at Delicate Arch in October 2005.

Just to Break the Tension

I’m not pushing this one to social media for inobvious, murky reasons.

I read, and I blew.

My sister says she despises the phrase “these uncertain times” and the word “unprecedented.”

Newspapers struggle to survive, and soon we will get all our news from Snapchat. All reporters will look like puppies and baby deer.

A baby deer is called a deerling.

I despise the idea that corporate America is selling it back to me, and that our culture crashes when we can’t have the things I happen to think we don’t need at all, like indulgent entertainment and indulgent products, indulgent technology, indulgence.

All things are held in balance by circumstances we might never understand.
All things are held in balance by circumstances we might never understand.

Assuming you don’t have a real excuse (asthma, bronchitis, copd, ect.), you have no excuse for complaining about the mask. Can’t breathe? Look in the mirror. I’m surprised your lungs can lift all that fat off your heart.

Ouch. So cold and dismissive. Why can’t we all be perfect like Richard?

The racist name for the pandemic is “Kung Flu,” but I prefer, “Flung Pu.”

Fortunately, all covid news is fake, so we can go back to our gun shows.

If I could sneak headlines into newspaper? (Can I? Whoa. I guess I could.)…

  • Local dickhead steals Christmas
  • Oaklahoma changes name to Tinesee
  • Private parts now pubic (pube lick?)
  • Forecasters predict it will snow assholes all day
  • Sneeze guards added to pocket pullers
  • Deranged goat attacks two ex-presidents in one day
  • 15 college girls killed in tickling accident
  • Renegade vegan farts on supreme court nominee
  • A personal look at author I. K. Malloveru
  • Anus management clinic to remain open

Maybe The Rona is Oxlong Penal Camp 2.0? (Now regretting letting that URL expire.) The grey jumpsuits and dusty sunglasses are just one executive order away.

I am amazed by how many people really like me, and how many people really hate me.

Explosive decompression of my colon.

A “fortice machete” if you will…

  • It was a mistake to trim her coochie with a fortice machete
  • Fortice Machete had been named in the fraud case just a month earlier
  • Fortice Machete was Nicarango’s fifth underground nuclear test
  • The wolfhound cornered a raccoon trying to steal his dog food; I chased it away with a fortice machete
  • Fortice. Not fartus. Although, fortis machette literally translates to “cut the fart.”
  • The fourth Matrix, the one that overheated all the time so they had to stop for water at every other Texaco, was coded with fortice machete
  • Fortice machete is a video game centered around making your opponents orgasm
  • The fortice integument was stronger than sea panels for bulge control

When did being monstrously racist and sexist go from funny to unacceptable? I know it did, but I never got the email announcing it.

I think most people thought the end of the world would be a lot quicker, like a nuclear war, or a lot more fun, like the zombie apocalypse.

What is this, anyway?
What is this, anyway?

The Story of the Mask

Abby and I pose for a photo after getting our hair cut. Her hair looks amazing.
Abby and I pose for a photo after getting our hair cut. Her hair looks amazing.

My wife Abby and I got our hair cut today. I gave her a lift into town at lunch time. When she was done, our haircut professional, Layce, cut my hair. On the way out of the house, Abby and I grabbed the mail, which included a small padded envelope. When we saw it was from China, we excitedly ripped it open. It was a face mask I ordered way back in March when the COVID-19 crisis began. It says, “Photography is Truth.”

Is photography truth? Well, no, of course not. Truth stands above it all; above opinion, above research, above even journalism.

My photography is often the truth, but not always. For example, there is a small red spot above my left eye which a dermatologist told me is a vein very close to the surface of the skin. It’s harmless, but somehow it feels like a flaw. I use to clone tool to remove it all the time.

I recently met our de facto office mascot, a chocolate skunk named DaeDae. A day or two later I photographed Abby’s pony tail on a fluffy pillow. She immediately quipped, “I’m a caramel skunk.”

"I'm a caramel skunk," Abby quipped.
“I’m a caramel skunk,” Abby quipped.
Summer Time Lane steals a cucumber. I was so proud.
Summer Time Lane steals a cucumber. I was so proud.

Despite the roughness of 2020 and the bad news that feeds bad news, we still remain, and try to find our way. I know, for instance, that our young friend Mac recently deactivated her Facebook profile, and I am with her all the way.

The mirrorless experiments continue, and my intuitions about it have merit. For example, the SMC Pentax-A 50mm f/1.4 lens is quite an amazing lens, especially since it got its start as a reporter’s camera at small town newspaper. A lot of those lenses were sold as newsroom pool cameras because they were so basic. The 50mm f/1.4 is at the top of any heap you’d be willing to pile; it is sharp, well-built, smooth-focusing, and delivers nothing short of spectacular bokeh. It is a sublime lens.

Your host makes a self-portrait with the excellent 50mm f/1.4 from Pentax.
Your host makes a self-portrait with the excellent 50mm f/1.4 from Pentax.

The Masked Man

For much of the ongoing coronavirus pandemic crisis, I have been thinking even more than usual about human immunology. I have, over the years, read with fascination about smallpox, polio, plague, ebola, hantavirus, dengue fever, malaria, Spanish flu, tuberculosis, and on and on.

Along comes coronavirus in an age in which we should be able to handle it. Or, now that I type those words, maybe the idea of an extremely technologically sophisticated society being able to hand difficult problems is a conceit.

Wearing a mask is simple and can help stop disease, but will it have long-term consequences?
Wearing a mask is simple and can help stop disease, but will it have long-term consequences?

We all have concerns, but I have yet to talk to anyone who shares my own exact perspective. Some of scared to death of getting sick. Some think the whole thing is a scam. Others express suspicions, but are on board with measures being taken. Almost everyone seems to understand the economic and social consequences of shutting down the country again like we did in March.

In my thoughts, there is another consequence: overall immunity in humans. We build our immune systems through exposure to pathogens. Who will we be, immunologically, in six months or a year of obsessive mask-wearing and hand washing? Will we be more and more disease-naîve, until one day we will have to gown up just to survive the common cold?

Where would we be today if a less-lethal version of this virus made its way through the nursing homes and daycares three years ago, instead of being killed again and again by bubblegum-scented foaming hand sanitizer?

It is entirely possible that humanity’s difficulties with coronavirus is a consequence of obsession with not getting sick. Commerce is full of hand sanitizers and antibacterials. They interrupt the path of germs into the immune system. I would love to hear from an immunologist about this idea.

I will immediately concede that I am not a doctor or a researcher, and that I don’t have the answers, but now, nearly seven months into this crisis, no one seems to have answers.

A Narrative about Rights

Our neighbors the Nipps have begun raising chickens, and last night they gave us a dozen eggs, and refused to take money for them. That's the way it is in the country. We do for them, they do for us.
Our neighbors the Nipps have begun raising chickens, and last night they gave us a dozen eggs, and refused to take money for them. That’s the way it is in the country. We do for them, they do for us.

During the recent months of the coronavirus pandemic, we have seen an increasing number of social media posts claiming that requirements to wear a mask in public to help reduce contagion are a violation of our Constitutional rights.

It got me thinking about a few years ago when I was watching a prepper’s YouTube channel. He was showing us his gear. AR mags, single-point slings, body armor, ham radio, c-rations… wait, ham radio?

If I made the mistake of chiming in (which I did once) about the fact that to use amateur radio frequencies, you need an amateur radio license, I was set upon by foul-mouthed, angry, selfish jackasses, whose entire point seemed to be that they could do whatever they want.

I’ve written on this theme many times before, but the mask thing brought it all back into focus: far too many people in our society never grow up. They are like the two year old who grabs anything he wants from the candy aisle while his mother isn’t looking, because he wants it. Fine. That’s a reasonable survival strategy for an infant.

The collision occurs when adults behave in this way. They want, and they grab, but as adults, they have a much longer reach, and since so many people are grabbing, conflict will happen.

This is the essential opposite of patriotism. “Ask not what your country can do for you,” Kennedy said.

But what can my country do for me? Feed me candy? Feed me trite tv fiction? Feed me the idea that I have rights I want, or worse, imagine the Constitution gives them to me. Oddly, the Constitution has nothing to say about facemasks. Nothing.

Let me ask it this way: why would it be an important right not to wear a disposable surgical mask in public?

Let me ask it this way: it is mostly illegal for women to bare their breasts in public. Is this harmful? In fact, no, not at all. It is not illegal to publicly expose your nose and mouth. Is this harmful? Presently, yes! (Don’t get me started on the ridiculously of decency laws.)

From a friend I was forced to unfollow on social media recently…

“I’m reading so many conflicting reports on Facebook. I’m sure that’s by design.”

And

“I can’t find any good news sources on Facebook.”

Smooth, “Leslie.” Very smooth.

Also, preppers: the shit is hitting the fan right now, but your guns won’t save you. The splattered mess is far less cinematic and violent than you had hoped. In your grade school dreams, you would “lock and load,” then march down to the riot and … you know what happens next. You fantasize about doing it, but meanwhile you can’t stand the site of your awful wife, and can’t even get it up to jerk off about it because you are obese and diabetic.

I won’t to be that way.

These very cheap, very cute handheld two-way radios are potentially one of the most dangerous tools in America. Through a technicality, these radios don't just transmit on amateur radio frequencies, they transmit on any public safety and business frequencies in the spectrum.
These very cheap, very cute handheld two-way radios are potentially one of the most dangerous tools in America. Through a technicality, these radios don’t just transmit on amateur radio frequencies, they transmit on any public safety and business frequencies in the spectrum.

Is it time to panic yet?

This was my column for July 2, 2020

I read a comment on social media recently that said, “XX new coronavirus cases. It isn’t time to panic yet.” Fun fact: panic is never the correct response. Action is.

Panic is what led many in our community and our nation to hoard toilet paper.

So, no. It’s not time to panic. But is it time for action? I know that sounds like a dumb question, because if we think about it, it’s always time for action. Why? Because today is all we have. We hopefully learned a treasure of lessons from the past, and we hope our future is wise and prosperous, but today is all we have in our hands.

The next question becomes, what action do we take?

We all have things in our lives that require action. We should all have our spiritual house in order. We should all have our financial house in order. We should all have our family house in order.

What action would I recommend? I’m not a pillar of wisdom, but I can recommend some action without hesitation.

All roads lead to a place of truth, without every knowing that truth.
All roads lead to a place of truth, without every knowing that truth.

• Be kinder to each other. A subset of this would be to be wiser and less angry on the web.

• Try to realize that no one has a monopoly on wisdom. Yelling “2+2=5” doesn’t make it true, and calling someone an idiot in the comments section of their photos of the news doesn’t mean they are an idiot.

• Remember that illiterate, thoughtless, hostile and abusive comments on social media, just like in real life, reflects on the commenter, not on you. Hostility and abuse are the actions of bullies, and bullies are always cowards.

• Don’t be afraid to be courageous on social media, including being courageous enough to ignore and delete comments from bullies. You aren’t obligated to to listen to people who hate you or your ideas without justification. But we are all obligated to the truth.

There is a group of people who will read this, purse their lips, shake their heads with a huff, and mutter, “Well, he’s not talking about me.”

You might not be ready to hear what I have to say. You might go to your grave believing 2+2=5. But I know so many people who have turned away from that mindset, and have learned to listen, learned to be kind, learned to be civil and, bit by bit, wiser.

Bring Balance to the Force

It was my honor to cover and photograph an energetic and dynamic Black Lives Matter rally and march in my hometown of Ada, Oklahoma earlier this month. This image didn't make the final cut because it would have make some of our readers very angry.
It was my honor to cover and photograph an energetic and dynamic Black Lives Matter rally and march in my hometown of Ada, Oklahoma earlier this month. This image didn’t make the final cut because it would have make some of our readers very angry.

At a Juneteenth celebration Saturday, I interviewed a few people about how Donald Trump’s handling of racial issues would affect how they will vote. They all said they were already going to vote against Trump, but there was no shortage of criticism of him.

After talking to one person who repeatedly called him a racist, I turned off my recorder and said to her, “He’s a sexist, too.”

Her response surprised me.

“Yes, but racism is our issue right now.”

A bit of discourse on the right and wrong of the current narrative.

  1. “The police should have just left George Floyd alone.” It’s important to note here that George Floyd was committing a crime when he was arrested, and the police were called to the scene by members of the public.
  2. “George Floyd deserved what he got because he had a long felony record.” This is never how criminal justice is supposed to work. Police aren’t judges.
  3. “George Floyd deserved what he got because he resisted arrest.” Killing a subject who is resisting arrest is a function of incompetent policing, not suspect behavior. If you and your fellow officers can’t contain a resisting subject without killing him, you shouldn’t be in the police business.
  4. Black Lives Matter vs All Lives Matter vs Blue Lives Matter. I saw a meme that clarified this for me recently. Saying that “all lives matter” in response to “black lives matter” is like asking the fire department to hose down all the houses on the block when only one of them is on fire. Black Lives Matter addresses a crisis unique to the black community.
  5. Cause of death: when investigators find drugs in the systems of black subjects in these situations, or that these people died from causes not related to police actions, it’s untrue, “because medical examiners and/or prosecutors are protecting the police.” This is a mish-mash of logical fallacies and wishful thinking, and is seldom asserted with evidence.
  6. Far too many of these cases involve people who encounter police while drunk or high, and while that’s not any kind of an excuse for police abuse, it is appalling. Do we not, as human beings of any race, owe it to ourselves to be strong, upright, healthy citizens? I know, though, that it is much harder when right and wrong isn’t always obvious when you live amidst poverty, abuse, neglect, and racism. I know I am asking a lot, but I am asking the right thing: love and respect thyself.
  7. Why “defund the police” won’t work: like it or not, the police have been protecting you every minute of every protest, and although they get out of hand sometimes, it mostly works. You can’t protect yourselves from armed robbers, drunk drivers, burglars, and a myriad of other criminals like you think you can. My response to this is rightfund the police.

So. One day it’s Black Lives Matter. One day it’s school shootings. One day it’s LGBTQ+ pride. 9/11. Animal rights. Climate change. Ebola. Poverty. Covid-19. Pollution. Overpopulation.

Every single-issue issue is temporary and destined to fail, because it disregards the wisest and calmest words we ever recited as children: “…and justice for all.” You will never succeed in building a better world until you realize that we all live in it.

When my sister, who lives in New Orleans, saw my Black Lives Matter coverage, she asked, "Doesn't Ada have any black people living in it?" The answer is yes, but not nearly as many as live in New Orleans. In any case, I thought our rally crossed racial lines and expressed unity.
When my sister, who lives in New Orleans, saw my Black Lives Matter coverage, she asked, “Doesn’t Ada have any black people living in it?” The answer is yes, but not nearly as many as live in New Orleans. In any case, I thought our rally crossed racial lines and expressed unity.

My Black Lives Matter Rally Experience

Black Lives Matter protesters kneel in silence for eight minutes and 46 seconds, the same amount of time George Floyd was held on the ground by the knee of a Minneapolis Police officer, killing him May 25.
Black Lives Matter protesters kneel in silence for eight minutes and 46 seconds, the same amount of time George Floyd was held on the ground by the knee of a Minneapolis Police officer, killing him May 25.

I had a rather remarkable weekend, connected to the Black Lives Matter movement and a rally in our hometown, Ada, Oklahoma.

It really kicked off late Friday morning when got a report that some camo-wearing  redneck-looking men were hanging out downtown, which fit the social media rhetoric about agitators and radicals bussing in protesters. I talked to them and even tried to bond with them. They interrupted my first sentence with “And you are?” despite my press pass in plain view, then declined to identify themselves, though they did say off the record that they were there to “guard” a local business. If they were armed, it was concealed.

My conclusion was that they were not from Ada, and were there as a provocation by racists. But there wasn’t really a story there. Sure, you and I know who these guys are, but what could I say? Men in a variety of clothing similar to hunting or military attire stand on a public sidewalk? Within a couple of hours, they were gone.

After talking to the camo guys and deciding they weren’t really a story, I walked next door to Gunrunners, our favorite gun store, to see if Darrel Teel, the owner, had anything to say about the situation. The guy behind the counter said, “Darrel passed away last night suddenly.”

I’d known Darrel for 15 years, and Abby had known him for 50 or more years. We liked him, and he knew his guns. Shocked and sorry to hear about this.

I went home and got lunch for Abby and me, and got a few other things done, expecting to work late.

I had some vague ideas about how our Black Lives Matter march would play out, and felt like I was prepared. In addition to my wide angle and telephoto zooms and my phone, I mounted an extra phone (from my office) on the hot shoe of my wide angle camera for video, which worked pretty well.

My Ada News video from last night's Black Lives Matter rally…

Posted by Richard R. Barron on Saturday, June 6, 2020

 

A lot of journalists have been caught up in violence connected to these recent events, and my wife and a couple of coworkers were nervous about my presence, but I could already feel in the air that it was going to be a positive, peaceful, and meaningful event.

My longtime friend Dylan Cunningham had "Fuck Trump" on his Rona mask. It caused quite a stir on social media with conservatives saying it "didn't create unity," and although I couldn't say this in print, I agree with it completely: fuck Trump.
My longtime friend Dylan Cunningham had “Fuck Trump” on his Rona mask. It caused quite a stir on social media with conservatives saying it “didn’t create unity,” and although I couldn’t say this in print, I agree with it completely: fuck Trump.

The march started at the “whittling tree,” but as I explained this to my coworkers, they all seemed dumbfounded. Am I the “old man” who remembers stuff from back in the day? You can see the whittling tree in the early parts of the video.

How I felt once it got going really took me by surprise.

It was very hot and humid out. I wore shorts and my “The Ada News” shirt with “PRESS” on the back. As I worked, I would stop and make photos and video, then, because the march was moving at a fair pace, I would run a block and a half to catch up and get in front of it, and do the whole thing all over again. Despite the heat and being loaded with gear, including wearing a Rona mask, I was very pleased with how easy it was, and how quickly my heart rate went back to normal. I’m about to turn 57, so this is significant.

Longtime friend Christine Pappas asked on social media afterwards, “Can I nominate Richard R. Barron for a Pulitzer for this photo?”…

The five young organizers of Ada's Black Lives Matter rally lead the way down Main Street.
The five young organizers of Ada’s Black Lives Matter rally lead the way down Main Street.

It’s a lovely and flattering sentiment, but the truth is that thousands of journalists like me are making great images of this bellwether moment in history just like I am, and I am honored and humbled to be a small part of it.

Thus the surprising part: at one point during the march, with thousands of human voices, many my friends, crying out in unison for justice, I felt like I was going to break down and cry. I had to take several long, keep breaths just to keep myself in the game. I was just so proud of Ada.

It was also a moment of self-doubt: am I getting to old, too emotional, too vulnerable to do the job of news photographer?

In the end, I found the experience to be one of the most moving and significant I have ever covered.

I look at this image and think of a day not all that long ago that this couldn't have happened. I am proud of my town and everyone here who had the courage to do this.
I look at this image and think of a day not all that long ago that this couldn’t have happened. I am proud of my town and everyone here who had the courage to do this.

Thinking About What We Have

A mighty earthworm coils up in the loose soil of my garden this week. It's been rainy, so I am seeing a lot of these.
A mighty earthworm coils up in the loose soil of my garden this week. It’s been rainy, so I am seeing a lot of these.
Your host prepares to donate blood Friday, May 22, 2020.
Your host prepares to donate blood Friday, May 22, 2020.

Here’s a piece of good news: I recently donated blood at the Oklahoma Blood Institute, and they will test it for coronavirus antibodies. My first -blush guest? Yes, based on my sickness in February.

Sure, I could high-five myself into a sprained rectum, but the truth is that disease moves in mysterious way. If I DID have The Rona, my blood could potentially be part of the medical process that creates a coronavirus vaccine.

My thoughts today: most people don’t have what they need and don’t need what they have. What do they need? Purpose. Goals. Love. Creativity. Truth. Purpose. What do they have? Sugar, entertainment, a distorted worldview, suffering.

And then there are things we all have that we take for granted, like blood. There is no other source of any kind for human blood but us, and I will continue to donate for the rest of my life.

Marigolds are among my favorite things to grow, both because the scent on my fingers when I tend them takes me back to my childhood, but also because it's one thing I can always bring to my wife Abby. If I get the Rona and don't make it, please tend me marigolds.
Marigolds are among my favorite things to grow, both because the scent on my fingers when I tend them takes me back to my childhood, but also because it’s one thing I can always bring to my wife Abby. If I get the Rona and don’t make it, please tend me marigolds.

At the moment, despite a fair amount of financial hardship around us, we almost all have a place to live under a roof, and enough to eat.

My garden grows, but with a mysterious development: several of my plants have just vanished. They weren’t eaten to the nub like bugs might, and I haven’t seen any animal tracks. The most recent was a nice cherry tomato plant that actually had some green fruit on it. It was 14 inches tall, so it wasn’t vulnerable seedling. Ideas? I’m halfway inclined to cite pranksters, but it’s an odd choice to steal individual plants and not trash the whole garden.

Small green tomatoes take hold in my garden this week. If they make it and aren't stolen by... okay, sure, aliens... they will be ripe and ready to harvest in another three or four weeks.
Small green tomatoes take hold in my garden this week. If they make it and aren’t stolen by… okay, sure, aliens… they will be ripe and ready to harvest in another three or four weeks.

 

What Did I Want to Be? What About You?

This was my column for Wednesday, May 13.

This is me making pictures of rocks in a lot behind our house in 1978, using my then-new Fujica ST-605N film camera.
This is me making pictures of rocks in a lot behind our house in 1978, using my then-new Fujica ST-605N film camera.

I was recently honored to once again help jury some East Central University Mass Communications students’ senior presentations, specifically those students who emphasized visuals like photography, graphic arts and design.

It got me thinking about my college days and earlier, and about what I imagined I wanted to be as an adult – “what do you want to be when you grow up?”

This is a painting my parents had of my sister Nicole and me, painted when we were very young. I wonder what these two kids would think about what they wanted to be when they grew up.
This is a painting my parents had of my sister Nicole and me, painted when we were very young. I wonder what these two kids would think about what they wanted to be when they grew up.

In 1974, I was absolutely sure I wanted to grow up to be a pilot. I had a beautiful model of a Pam Am Boeing 747-200, an aircraft known as “the queen of the skies,” that inspired a whole generation of young people. Although I never did it professionally, I became a pilot in 1993.

In sixth grade, a teacher we all liked and admired, Mrs. Gerber, asked us what we wanted to be when we grew up. When no one volunteered an answer, Mrs. Gerber got out her roll call book and started calling our names in alphabetical order, so I was first. I blurted out, “Farmer,” and the class laughed and laughed. But the next kid didn’t have an answer either, and also said, “Farmer!”

Eventually we had a room full of 26 would-be farmers.

That summer, my mom got me a part-time job working for an oral surgeon for whom she worked as an office manager. My job mostly involved mopping and cleaning, but I also learned how to clean stainless steel dental instruments and sterilize them using an autoclave, so for a while I had dentistry in mind.

For most of my life, I have loved flying and airplanes, and got my pilot's license May 1, 1993. Everything I thought would be great about flying was great.
For most of my life, I have loved flying and airplanes, and got my pilot’s license May 1, 1993. Everything I thought would be great about flying was great.

In 10th grade, I was fascinated with the weather, and even wrote down watches and warnings on my journal, so there was a short period when I wanted to be a meteorologist.

Made during the transition from film to digital in about 2003, this is the essential me: a professional photographer.
Made during the transition from film to digital in about 2003, this is the essential me: a professional photographer.

By 11th grade, I’d been keeping a journal for a while, and imagined I could one day be a novelist, albeit one without a plan for writing even my first novel.

As a senior in high school, I was taking pictures for yearbook, and got addicted to that. Around that same time, I started hanging out with guys who loved hi-fi stereo, so there was a period when I dreamed of working in a stereo store.

I asked my wife Abby what she wanted to be when she was young.

“I wanted to be a cowgirl when I was four,” she told me. “But not like Dale Evans. I wanted to be Roy Rogers.”

She wanted to be a mechanic, and actually did a fair amount of that kind of work as a hobby. She knows pretty much everything there is to know about internal combustion engines, even rebuilding one with her brother-in-law, Ralph Milligan, which she raced.

She played with being a math teacher, a child psychologist or a veterinarian. She worked in a veterinary clinic in the 1990s.

By my late college years, I had settled on being a photojournalist, in part because I was good at it, and in part because the equipment is pretty sexy.

What did you want to be when you grew up?

Abby and I pose with a Cessna 152 I was renting in Shawnee in 2003. This was very early in our relationship.
Abby and I pose with a Cessna 152 I was renting in Shawnee in 2003. This was very early in our relationship.

Who Am I: The Idea of Identity

Street trash speaks directly to me.
Street trash speaks directly to me.

“Everybody in this town knows you, and knows who you are and what you do.”

Most people are accustomed to seeing me like this, behind a camera, and that's not going to change. Just don't be surprised when I ask you for a quote to go with the photos.
Most people are accustomed to seeing me like this, behind a camera, and that’s not going to change. Just don’t be surprised when I ask you for a quote to go with the photos.

The 2020 coronavirus crisis has had a crippling impact on the entire world. Entire industries have collapsed. One that comes to mind is the airline industry. Travel has plummeted beyond crisis levels. Some airlines have parked 95% of their fleets, and laid off thousands of workers.

My profession, print journalism, has struggled for more than a decade, and the outbreak has ripped away much luxury, and even some necessity, to the craft of delivering the news.

Readers might notice that in print, I have a new title, Senior Staff Writer. The reason for this is that corporate entities don’t see a need for photographers at struggling, small-market newspapers. Our hope with this title change is that they see me as a multi-role staff member with feature writing, column writing, internet, videography and photography skills, which I absolutely am.

I don’t anticipate taking fewer photographs, and I am already writing quite a bit at my paper. It’s a move intended to do more with less.

No one in my community will think I am no longer a photographer, their photographer.

Fellow photographer Courtney and I are married to our identities as photographers. But she and I have more duties that just taking pictures. Her's is running a business. Mine is writing features and columns.
Fellow photographer Courtney and I are married to our identities as photographers. But she and I have more duties that just taking pictures. Her’s is running a business. Mine is writing features and columns.

Openings and Closings

Water bubbles in my kitchen sink. We still have clean water.
Water bubbles in my kitchen sink. We still have clean water.

There is an effort underway to reopen the world after shutting everything down due to the pandemic. Is this going to work?

I’ve been mute recently. I encourage my friend Mac to write more on her blog, but at the same time, I don’t. Maybe I’m discouraged.

Abby had a couple of dangerous health scares this week that I had to deal with rather urgently, and my office wasn’t happy about it. But Abby will always come first. She’s okay now.

The weather is weird tonight. The forecast was for sunshine, but the atmosphere was turbulent. In the midst of it I walked both dogs, then walked down to photograph the irises.

We are all turbulent.

Summer the Chihuahua stays close to Abby, but certainly loves to be with me, too.
Summer the Chihuahua stays close to Abby, but certainly loves to be with me, too.

Silently Out Loud

I had to put in two more peppers and two more tomatoes after a hard freeze April 15. Nature is broken.
I had to put in two more peppers and two more tomatoes after a hard freeze April 15. Nature is broken.

I’ve never hated hand sanitizer more.

What level of perverted fetishism does it take to imagine that toilet paper will solve anything?
What level of perverted fetishism does it take to imagine that toilet paper will solve anything?

My mental health has been contaminated by the pandemic. In my head, everything is “covid.” Did you try the new covid oranges? Would you like covids with that? Look Hawken, that covid tree is covering the ground with covids. The covids are in bloom this time of year. Who’s hogging all the covid sauce? That’s a lovely covid you have on. Is that a covid in your pants, or are you just glad to see me?

Journal, March 16, 2020: What happens to a population under stress? The world implodes under the inevitability of its arrogance, its greed, its ignorance, its pride. Institution like public school, air travel, sporting events, and tourism wither in ghostly retreat because they considered themselves untouchable. No one is untouchable.

Journal, March 31, 2020: Something inside me doesn’t trust the reality of this situation. Simulation? Biowarfare? Invasion? Alien invasion?

Nature is equally delicately beautiful, and completely indifferent.
Nature is equally delicately beautiful, and completely indifferent.

Journal, April 11, 2020: I got my seeds in the ground today. Tend them when I am gone.

Journal, April 13, 2020: If you don’t come out of this crisis stronger and more grateful, maybe you don’t deserve to come out of it at all.

I am close to madness because my hair is getting so long.

That's me on the right, covering a press conference last week. I am dressed very nicely, and well-masked.
That’s me on the right, covering a press conference last week. I am dressed very nicely, and well-masked.

Compartmentalization and Integration

Mom and Dad kept this shadowbox in the breakfast nook at their home in Florida until they passed away. It contains nicknacks representing everything from their travels to Alaska to their swap meet visits after they retired. When Mom died in 2009, Abby and I took it, and have it on display in our home.
Mom and Dad kept this shadowbox in the breakfast nook at their home in Florida until they passed away. It contains nicknacks representing everything from their travels to Alaska to their swap meet visits after they retired. When Mom died in 2009, Abby and I took it, and have it on display in our home.

We have all faced stress in our lives. My sister Nicole, for example, lost almost everything she owned when Hurricane Katrina destroyed New Orleans. She seemed to handle it well, and bounced back to be the first to rebuild in her neighborhood, but I know it must have taken an emotional toll beneath the surface.

I thought of this on this Easter Sunday as I watched a video from a fellow professional photographer Nic Coury (from whom I bought an 85mm last year), who came to us via Facebook live video from his henhouse with his pet chickens, encouraging us to do what we have to do to survive, but also to pay attention to our feelings and how this unprecedented situation must be effecting them.

I have always been pretty good at deferring and compartmentalizing my feelings. I do that partly so I can do my job when it gets rough (just this week, I covered a double-fatality car crash that killed a two-year-old), and as a pillar for my wife Abby, for whom I must care.

Nic’s video and the ever-increasing bad news about the pandemic got me thinking: am I just going to fall apart one of these days? I can’t just switch off compartmentalization and fully integrate my feelings; I’m not constructed that way. I guess time will tell.

One thing that keeps this crisis bearable, and for which I am so very grateful, is my marriage to my amazing wife Abby. Mac Crosby made his image of us in March just before the coronavirus crisis exploded.
One thing that keeps this crisis bearable, and for which I am so very grateful, is my marriage to my amazing wife Abby. Mac Crosby made his image of us in March just before the coronavirus crisis exploded.

The Jellybean Analogy

I am not firstly a political writer, but sometimes I fee I must speak my mind about politics. One meme that made the rounds this week is about candy (in this case Skittles, a kind of jellybean)…

What If?
What If?

This is what we call in the real world a false equivalence. It implies that you are willing to take a small but real chance of dying in exchange for something that is essentially worthless, candy.

But alas, we live in a real world of hard choices. Does a battalion commander send his unit to capture a ridge, risking two percent of his troops, for a handful of candy? No, of course not. But his attack might save 50,000 lives. That two percent is potentially traded for something valuable.

The question is centered around the current coronavirus pandemic, and some have suggested that we need to allow, or at least accept that, two percent of everyone who gets the disease will die. People are not Skittles, of course, so the question is an absurd and overly simplistic view of a very daunting task ahead of us.

Sure, they look like jellybeans, but in truth they are something far more complex and important.
Sure, they look like jellybeans, but in truth they are something far more complex and important.

 

 

Real Shortages

In the current pandemic climate, we are constantly hearing about shortages, mostly on social media.

There is a scene in the not-very-good 1965 epic The Battle of Bulge in which a German tank commander, played by Robert Shaw, speaks to his general.

“General, do you know what this is? It is a chocolate cake. If you look at the wrapping, you will see it is from Boston from two days ago. General, do you know what this means? It means the Americans have fuel and planes to fly cake across the Atlantic Ocean.”

One generation’s privation is another’s luxury. Think about that this week when you can only find vegetable soup or rye bread.

I don't appreciate that people can look at a display like this, which I photographed today, and say we have "shortages."
I don’t appreciate that people can look at a display like this, which I photographed today, and say we have “shortages.”

Did I Already Have The Rona?

I have gone back and forth about this issue as more information becomes available about this disease. At first I thought I sure had it. Then a blood test indicated I did not have antibodies to it. But the news is very complex, and many of those who had the disease do not show antibodies to it. We may never know.

This is a coronavirus antibody screening result from a blood donation I made in May.
This is a coronavirus antibody screening result from a blood donation I made in May.
The Rona desiccated this pumpkin with the help of bullets, rain, and sunshine.
The Rona desiccated this pumpkin with the help of bullets, rain, and sunshine.

There is a substantial growth of conversation on social media claiming that a round of coronavirus already passed through us last winter. Yes, I know that chatter on the web is hardly scientific, but I also know that life and pathogenesis are confoundingly complicated and inconsistent.

Readers might recall that I was very ill, as ill as I have ever been as an adult, in February (here) and (here).

At the time, I saw my doctor twice. On the first occasion, he did a test for influenza that involves a nasal swab, which is read in a few seconds. It is a cheap, bottom-tier diagnostic that, in some ways, is intended to reassure patients that they know what they have and they will hopefully recover.

The second visit was four days later when I not only didn’t seem to be recovering, I could feel rales or rhonchi in my right lung. Pneumonia? He ordered a chest x-ray, my first non-dental x-ray since a car crash in 1990.

In the middle of it, I experienced a mild shortness of breath. It wasn’t difficult to breathe, but I found myself for hours on end making every breath a deep breath. My cough didn’t seem “right” either, and I noted in my journal.

Viruses are invisible and difficult for even the best scientists to understand. We tolerate them because we have no other choice. Could I have already had coronavirus in February? What are your thoughts?

Few emblems are as crassly exploited as the image of a tattered U.S. Flag. Does it symbolize the end of civilization?
Few emblems are as crassly exploited as the image of a tattered U.S. Flag. Does it symbolize the end of civilization?

An Entertainment Crisis?

"I'll tell him how the cow ate the cabbage!"
“I’ll tell him how the cow ate the cabbage!”

I keep hearing about various organizations and companies make stuff like photographs of the cosmos or music files free while we are all hunkered down in our obedience caves. Wow. Did we really need a jump start on being spoon-fed entertainment through the internet? My wife and I already have thousands of songs, movies, apps, games, books, ebooks, old junk to sort, laundry to do, gardens to dig…

Yes, we have ton and a half things we can do while cloistered. But the one we’ve been enjoying the most … er, well, um, second most … is talking to each other.

“I’m bored.” Wow. Maybe you need to read Little House in the Big Woods by Laura Ingalls Wilder and find out what boredom might be like. You work 14 hours a day winnowing grain and maybe Pa will play his fiddle for you. If he doesn’t have smallpox.

Among the jilliondy seven things to do around the house in your time of sequestration is that long, long list of chores you've been ignoring. Last weekend, I washed the propane grill and the truck. It felt pretty good to work in the sunshine.
Among the jilliondy seven things to do around the house in your time of sequestration is that long, long list of chores you’ve been ignoring. Last weekend, I washed the propane grill and the truck. It felt pretty good to work in the sunshine.

Consider Pen and Paper

As someone who’s had his name in print thousands of times over the years, and as someone who has always made an effort to curate something of a creative legacy, I believe it might be more important than ever to try to express our thoughts with pen and paper.

I know I’ve said this before, but it’s worth hitting again: when we write something on the page, it activates and liberates parts of our brains that are somewhat dormant when we watch television or surf the internet. Plus, writing on paper isn’t as vulnerable as other expressions like social media; your journal can’t be stolen by hackers, and no one can delete your account.

I’ve got lots of empty paper journals, and I should make more effort to put more ink in them. I’d like to see you do the same, and one fine, sunny day when society has recovered from 2020’s mess, you and I could meet at the coffee house and share.

I've been putting pen to paper since 1978, and I've always, always been glad I did. When I see blank journal books like these, I see one thing: potential.
I’ve been putting pen to paper since 1978, and I’ve always, always been glad I did. When I see blank journal books like these, I see one thing: potential.

Potatoes for Abby

I shared this image on social media this week. I am kneeling next to "Frog Rock," an anonymous art installation on Lightning Ridge near our home.
I shared this image on social media this week. I am kneeling next to “Frog Rock,” an anonymous art installation on Lightning Ridge near our home.

In the midst of this pandemic , I heard from panic-stricken social medianites that potatoes were sold out everywhere. This did not encourage me to panic-buy potatoes, but it did remind me how much Abby and I love these nutritious tubers. So I went to the store to find them plentiful and cheap, and bought a reasonable amount, our usual amount in fact (five pounds of red ones, five pounds of white ones, and four sweet potatoes), for some upcoming meals.

Potatoes are more nutritious than most people think, since most of the ways people consume them have been deeply corrupted by gluttony.
Potatoes are more nutritious than most people think, since most of the ways people consume them have been deeply corrupted by gluttony.
Food for Thought
I want to know how, in just a couple of generations, we go from a society in which some people didn’t see fresh eggs or fresh fruit in a year (The Great Depression, both World Wars) to a generation that rides electric scooters in big box stores to buy 500 rolls of toilet paper. How do we go from a single 13-inch black-and-white in the living room to 20 high-definition devices in every corner of our homes? Who have we become, and what will we look like when we emerge from this crisis?

Cooking for my wife is wonderful, since she often has no appetite, worrying me that she might be malnourished, and when I can get her to eat, especially when I can get her excited about eating, I feel I am taking good care of her, which is more critical than ever right now.

Few things add more nutrition to a meal than broccoli.
Few things add more nutrition to a meal than broccoli.

Abby and I live in relative isolation most of the time. Our house sits back about 100 yards from the road, which is situated in a somewhat sparsely populated small town. I still work, and that puts me in contact with the public. As a result, I have never hated hand sanitizer more, and I am practically washing my hands off. But I am well, we are well.

Our baked potato lunch is ready.
Our baked potato lunch is ready.

Then, Springtime

I was feeling pretty grim for much of the day, weirdly motivated by caution and advice to keep my distance from my fellow humans, worried more about the social and economic consequences of our situation.

Hills of fresh-cut grass and weeds sit in the yard near the old walnut tree.
Hills of fresh-cut grass and weeds sit in the yard near the old walnut tree.

When I got home, Abby sneezed, reminding me that we both were aware that the weeds in the yard have grown pretty tall all the sudden.

I fired up my push mower, then my riding mower, then finally the power washer, and they all worked fine.

I mowed and mowed, and even had a chance to power wash a spot on the front of the house.

The smell of cut grass and weeds and dandelions and wild onions was the opposite from the rest of my day, opposite from the smell of disinfectant and surgical masks.

I felt happy.

The redbud tree in our front yard catches last light tonight. I made this image deliberately chaotic, soft, and dreamlike to reflect my feelings about the evening.
The redbud tree in our front yard catches last light tonight. I made this image deliberately chaotic, soft, and dreamlike to reflect my feelings about the evening.

The Self in a Time of Crisis

“No longer were there individual destinies; only a collective destiny, made of plague and emotions shared by all.” ~Albert Camus, The Plague

I miss my indulgences. I want to get back to my self pity. I want to walk the wolfhound and think sweetly about my napping wife, or hear a song on my phone that brings me back to high school, or summons nostalgia about a first date or a breakup.

I want to smell the flowers in spring and think of hope.

I wonder when we will start to feel like we are walking out of this instead of walking into more of it. When can I get back to expressing myself instead of expressing myself under stress or in a crisis?

The old truck way back at the back of the property has always been a sign of my long winter walks with my wolfhound. But now, is it a portend? Is this us in ten years?
The old truck way back at the back of the property has always been a sign of my long winter walks with my wolfhound. But now, is it a portend? Is this us in ten years?

The Rabid Badger in the Room

Nobody wants to talk about or even say this: some generations of human beings have to accept that some of us have to get sick and die to ensure the survival of the human race. The survival strategies of every species are never meant to ensure the survival of every individual.

The concept is called “herd immunity.” Vaccines are one way to create herd immunity, and if we can develop a vaccine for this disease, we can create herd immunity with less suffering and loss of life. But if we can’t, we set ourselves up for a return of this pathogen.

Think about the chicken pox parties in the 1990s. Parents would get their together with sick kids to deliberately infect them, since chicken pox is relatively mild during childhood, but potentially life-threatening to an adult.

As an individual, I don’t want to get sick, and I don’t want to get anyone I know, especially my wife (who is not in good health), sick, but I also know that I might not have a choice. Sure, I can wash my hands and stay away from sick people. But the survival strategy of pathogens is simpler and more insidious: hide. By the time a pathogen like this actually makes someone sick, the virus has spread and spread.

The essential difficulty of the current coronavirus situation is that human beings are not immune to this pathogen. So the hard truth of the matter is that some of have gotten sick and died, and more of us will. Eventually, hopefully, there will be enough movement of this disease in and out of the population that a generation will have some immunity.

By the time this is all over, we may all be frightened animals, scurrying around in the dark.
By the time this is all over, we may all be frightened animals, scurrying around in the dark.

Now More Than Ever

This rain soaked dandelion pod was the most elegant thing I photographed all day.
This rain soaked dandelion pod was the most elegant thing I photographed all day.

What can you do to stay healthy in this crisis?

Well, first, get healthy.

Why is everyone so scared of getting sick from a pandemic virus, but those same people make no effort to actually be healthy? They don’t eat right, they don’t exercise, they don’t control their blood pressure, they don’t take care of themselves. If you really need to be worried about something, worry about getting your Type II diabetes and your rampant obesity under control.

For me, the elephant in the room isn’t people’s bad choices affecting them, but their bad choices affecting people like Abby, whose immune system gives her no choice.

Today I walked my wolfhound twice, then I spent some of the afternoon dragging branches to my brush pile, which I might burn later tonight. It is hard work, but I feel very certain that hard work makes us stronger, and better able to stay healthy anytime.

Hawken the Irish Wolfhound would walk ten times a day if I took him.
Hawken the Irish Wolfhound would walk ten times a day if I took him.

What Are You Writing?

This is a couple of pages from my journal in November 1979. Of note is that you don't see any dates on these pages, meaning this was all written in one day. When I was young, I thought writing a lot meant I was a good writer, but the truth is that most of this is unreadable dreck.
This is a couple of pages from my journal in November 1979. Of note is that you don’t see any dates on these pages, meaning this was all written in one day. When I was young, I thought writing a lot meant I was a good writer, but the truth is that most of this is unreadable dreck.

When I was young, I thought I wanted to write novels and short stories for a living. I imagined, as young people sometimes do, that it would be easy and that everything I wrote was solid gold. In reality, I penned a quippy, smart-assy journal that often ignored or missed the mark, and when I look at it now, it seems like a giant waste of my potential.

Flash forward to today, and my writing has matured, though I’m not sure it is where I want it to be. I just finished a short story, Agua Fria (link), but it feels incomplete. My short stories tend to be shorter than most because I am not writing to an audience like my wife or some of my fiction-loving friends who like to disappear into long, involved stories, but to myself, and to say what I want to say in the most economical fashion.

I am also actively engaged in writing more things on paper, which to me seems to evoke a more primal sense of what I’m trying to say.

Maybe my takeaway could be that it’s okay for me to write what I want to write, how I want to write it.

One of my favorite pen-to-paper projects at the moment is this book which is a handwritten record of our travels over the years. It presents itself so differently than the source material, our travel blog.
One of my favorite pen-to-paper projects at the moment is this book which is a handwritten record of our travels over the years. It presents itself so differently than the source material, our travel blog.

Legacy Strategies

Last night I found this Zenith Trans-Oceanic shortwave radio in the garage, and discovered that it still works. The most amazing thing about this is that I could "find" something like this in my own garage with no memory of seeing it before. I listened to some news on it about the pandemic.
Last night I found this Zenith Trans-Oceanic shortwave radio in the garage, and discovered that it still works. The most amazing thing about this is that I could “find” something like this in my own garage with no memory of seeing it before. I listened to some news on it about the pandemic.

Holy moly what a dry title. Note to self: think up better blog post titles. “Man’s ear found in dishwasher!” “Elephant rescues puppy from storm drain!” “Dolphins finally let us in on the joke!”

Anyway.

In the midst of a global crisis, things get strange. Stranger, I mean. Most of us know how to wash our hands, and many of us know why to do that. But a far smaller slice of that people pie have any idea what a virus is, and a vanishingly fewer number know how they work.

Mac Crosby came to see me again yesterday. We kept our distance, which is difficult for tactile people like us.
Mac Crosby came to see me again yesterday. We kept our distance, which is difficult for tactile people like us.

We worry needlessly. Worry doesn’t help outcomes, and unlike caution, worry stresses us and affects outcomes negatively. At one point, I let my mind wander far enough that I asked myself if I should open the gates before I died so the dogs wouldn’t be trapped and starve. Wow, Richard. Calm down.

An article I skimmed today talked of psychologists hearing about worry and anxiety about the current pandemic more than anything else.  Suddenly, your dumb little problems are pushed out by bigger, smellier fish to fry.

But, I rant. My friend Mac came by again yesterday to ask me some questions about journalism ethics and possibilities. She later wrote about it (link), since she’s trying to write every day while we are all “social distancing” in hopes of slowing the spread of the disease.

Today is the first day of spring, and no human can stop that. Where will we be in six months or a year? What will be our legacy of the great pandemic of 2020? Will I still be around to write it? To photograph it? Will it be one of dignity?  Of wisdom?

These aren't covids. They are Bradford pear pedals. Spring is here.
These aren’t covids. They are Bradford pear pedals. Spring is here.

I See You, and I Like It!

Our friend Mac has been “sequestering” herself in the midst of the “outbreak.”

Wait. Let me step back. I hate the current use of the word “quarantine.” Everyone is using it, and it’s usually not correct. Quarantine is methodical and academic. Keeping to yourself to avoid catch a cold or the flu is better called “sequestering” or even “cloistering,” which has elegant spiritual implications. But as usual, I split hairs.

Mac never hesitates to pose if I ask her, like in this image from Open Mic Nyte last August.
Mac never hesitates to pose if I ask her, like in this image from Open Mic Nyte last August.

Oh, to split another hair, “outbreak” and “epidemic” aren’t really the right words for our situation. Technically, it’s a “pandemic,” but I’m going with “panic.”

I am also sick to death of the name of the current situation, so I’m not even really using it. You can look it up.

Anyway.

Our friend Mac has been “staying in” as much as possible this week.

It’s true that our situation is historic, and it is key to record and remember it. Make analogies. Who remembers where they were when 9/11 happened? When John F. Kennedy was assassinated? When Pearl Harbor was attacked? Not many remain who remember that, but just imagine the insane level of fear and uncertainty of going to war with a world power, not knowing if Japan might do to you what it had been doing to China in the 1930s.

Can I not stay on topic? Mac, our young friend who came to visit, photograph and interview Abby and me recently, has been blogging about her efforts to cloister herself (link), and I like what I see. I hope she decides she loves blogging long after this crisis is over, and I promise her I will read every word.

Opportunity of a Lifetime

It doesn't matter if you stock up on canned soup. It makes no difference if you buy more hand sanitizer. No one will know if you have enough ammo in your gun safe. The sun will still shine, still set, still look beautiful in the springtime.
It doesn’t matter if you stock up on canned soup. It makes no difference if you buy more hand sanitizer. No one will know if you have enough ammo in your gun safe. The sun will still shine, still set, still look beautiful in the springtime.

There is a strong current of pessimism around us right now as a disease is endangering humanity, and we the people are not handling it very well. Social media has become a consistent source of bad news for me, so I think I will slow way down on checking it.

All I Have to Say...
My comment on social media this morning: Imagine that the current epidemic matures into a global catastrophe like the 1918-19 pandemic? Do you really want your legacy to be, “I bought a lot of toilet paper”? Not me. I want everyone to remember my work, and mostly how well and much I loved my wife Abby.

I will add that even if we got sick and died tomorrow, I am not ashamed of my life, and I feel like I have done a lot with it, that it was a gift, whether I have one more day or 50 more years.

So, why is this an opportunity?

I know I talk about walking our dogs a lot, but now is a perfect time to up that game. Maybe I could walk the dogs three times a day.

How about writing? Now might be the ideal time to set aside the quips and squabbles of social media, and sit down and write something on paper or, as here, a blog, maybe something with more substance and thought than just memes and links?

How about photography?  I know it sounds odd to hear a photographer talk about making more pictures as a hobby, but the possibilities abound. Is there an imaging project you’ve been putting off? Something creative you keep putting on the back burner?

Any of these things and a zillion more are better than fretting about something that might not happen, or worse, being part of the panic about it.

We’re all facing the same fate, sooner or later, so maybe now, in the shadow of the scare of a lifetime, is our opportunity to be who we really want to be, create what we want to create, love who we want to love, and, finally, find happiness.

What would it be like if we could all be as carefree as a little dog sleeping on Daddy's pillow?
What would it be like if we could all be as carefree as a little dog sleeping on Daddy’s pillow?