All of a Sudden...Home

 

Copyright © 2021

by Ralph F. Couey

Life changes. That simple two-word statement sums up the real truth of human existence.  And the only truly consistent thing that exists.  Sometimes change approaches slowly, politely; begging your pardon for interrupting the even tenor of the passage of time.  You can see it coming, and are ready for when in finally arrives.  Other times, change roars in from around the corner, or behind a bush, like a stalking tiger.  When it arrives, it does so, at times, with damaging effect.  Or, perhaps a sudden windfall, a providential change in luck.

Several months ago, it came out in conversations that Cheryl's Mom's long-term care plan would be unequal to the task for which it was designed.  She used to have an excellent one.  Then some shyster of a salesman sold her the current junk plan for the sole reason that her monthly payments on that plan would be less.  That created a problem.  After some discussion, and a long, searching, thoughtful consideration of the matter, we offered to buy Mom's house from her.  She would get just about all the equity, which would cover all her long term care costs for a pretty long time.  

Mom's dementia is getting worse.  She can't feed herself (forgets to eat), can't properly bathe herself, and requires help whenever she visits the facilities.  Caring for her has gotten increasingly difficult, and what we hoped would never happen, placing her in managed care, now appears more substantially on the horizon.  So this was something that had to take place.

We had figured that once we were no longer caring for her, we would return to the mainland to be with our grandkids in Virginia, Colorado, and California, all of whom are growing up entirely too fast.  Having no location there we really considered "home," we hadn't been able to settle on a location.  Now, it seems we have determined to put down roots in this stony, volcanic soil.

Insights and What Comes Next

 

Copyright © 2021

by Ralph F. Couey

A number of years ago, I had a singular experience, arising out of a heart catheterization procedure.  During the cath, my heart stopped and I...went away.  The experience is recounted here if you care to take the time.  Since then, I have continued to process the experience, and have realized new insights into what happened.  It still remains what it was, a life-altering experience, one that has re-shaped me and the way I view life.  And death.

I have shared the experience with just a few people, mainly because I am sensitive about other people's opinions of my sanity.  I have also read many books and articles written by others who have shared the same kind of experience.  While there are striking similarities, each one seems to be intensely personal to the one who made the journey.  

Many of those folks recount incredible stories of tremendous detail and vast perspectives, seeing earth and its people from the point of view of floating above the fray, tremendous celestial "cities" lit with divine light.  Also, they recount times when they communicated with personages -- or maybe "entities" would be more accurate.  They also report glimpses of Hell and darkness.  Reading these accounts I realize that I got only the 15 cent tour before I was sent back.  But I also realize that in the context of my life and spiritual needs, I received exactly the experience that I needed.

In the time since, I have lost family, friends, and acquaintances.  I miss them.  But I also recognize the beauty, peace, and joy that is theirs now.  I have also tried to honor my current associations with my care and attention, not putting off some kindness because of my schedule.  One of the profound insights from that experience is how precious this gift of life is, and that it is finite.  Time can only be taken from us, never given back.  I've learned to use time wisely and purposefully, especially with my relationships.

That's kind of old news, I know.  But lately, some other bits of knowledge have sifted through that I believe are important to share.

You are free to accept, reject, question, or doubt.  I've had some science-oriented people tell me that what I experienced was merely the actions of a brain desperately trying to survive.  Whatever.  I was there.

I knew someone who had lost a relative to a particularly merciless and painful form of cancer.   Their last weeks were spent in indescribable agony that even the best drugs would dent but never subdue.  I was asked what I think the afterlife was like for them.

Aftermath of the Aftermath: A Cold Assessment

 

Copyright © 2021 ESPN

Copyright © 2021

by Ralph F. Couey

Written Content Only

It's been almost a week, and the exquisite pain of Super Bowl LV is starting to become almost bearable.  My last post was, shall we say, succinct, reflecting my stark emotional response to what could charitably be described as a total humiliation.

As in every battle, someone has to lose.  And the loser has to be able to answer the inevitable questions of "why?" in response.  In the Chiefs' case, it can now be said, with a fair amount of honesty that the loss to Tampa Bay involved two major failures.  

First, the offensive line, a patchwork of out-of-position players, none of whom were opening day starters had been adequate during the 14-2 regular season, and for the first two games of the playoffs.  But up against a ferocious defensive line, this gallant group had no chance for success.  From the opening possession, Patrick Mahomes was running for his life.  In past games, these sprints invariably resulted in unbelievably dynamic plays downfield.  But the Buccaneers had a great scheme, which prevented the Chiefs receivers from getting open underneath, and getting behind the defenders downfield.  Mahomes was heroic in his efforts to make something happen, only to see his receivers blanketed, and when he on several occasions threw perfect bullet passes saw the ball slip past their hands to doink off their facemasks.  Even the Bucs, mic'd up on the sidelines were blankly astonished at the throws Mahomes made.  But in the end, even Patrick was not enough to change the result.

Oh, yes; the receivers.  Several analysts, most of them former NFL players, have been unanimous in their verdict that the Chiefs usually formidable group of receivers substantially let their quarterback down.  It's still too painful to re-watch the game, or even to view the..<ahem>...lowlights.  But still etched HD-sharp in my memory are the many times Hill, Kelce, Robinson, Watkins and the rest utterly failed in contested situations.  Mahomes made vague references in his post-game interviews about people not being where he thought they would be, which has to be interpreted as poor or error-filled route running.  One of the concerning incongruities at play has to be that even when the deep routes were covered, the intermediate or check-down routes were also unavailable.  Up to Sunday, Mahomes and his receivers, particularly Travis Kelce, seemed almost to be able to communicate via brain waves.  Not in this case.

Penalties.  No team can win championship games while committing them.  And there were some real doozies.  But in the endless analysis since, even those who were vehemently pro-Brady spoke repeatedly of the questionable nature of several of those calls.  Defensive Pass Interference called when the throw was clearly uncatchable.  And the one called on Tyran Mathieu that sent him into dancing histrionics.  Brady chased Mathieu across the field to deliver an angry message, but was not flagged.  Mathieu, however, was.  The analysts pointed out numerous times during that game when similar infractions were NOT called on the Buccaneers.  Did the penalties make a difference in the final score?  Possibly.  The timing of many of those calls killed promising drives by the Chiefs.  Since Sunday, a narrative has emerged that the history-making female, first one on a Super Bowl officiating crew, is a rabid Brady fan, even naming her dog after the Bucs QB.  This could be apocryphal, but noteworthy are the very loud calls for an overhaul of the standards for NFL penalties rising around the media.

Aftermath

Copyright © 2021

by Ralph F. Couey

They played ugly.

They lost ugly.

'Nuff said.

The Night Before

 

Copyright © 2021

by Ralph F. Couey

Tomorrow's a big day.  It's a day upon which most of America rallies around a common theme.  It is the day of the biggest event of the most popular sport in this country.  The final game of a tournament that played out over 20 weeks during which time some 30 teams were eliminated; left by the side of the proverbial road.  Tomorrow, the last two left standing will take the field to determine who will wear the crown of Champions of the National Football League.

For two cities, Kansas City and Tampa, it'll be a day of great pride.  Sure, the players will be on the field, taking and giving hits, grinding through any injuries.  But fans also share the ride.  All who tomorrow will wear the jerseys, hats, shirts, fly the banners and cheer - and suffer - through every moment, it will be a day like no other.

I am a Chiefs fan.  Have been since they moved to KC from Dallas in 1963.  I reveled in the wins, groaned through the losses, and suffered every one of the 50 years between Super Bowl IV and last year.  This year, our team is playing for a second straight championship, a feat only accomplished by a team, whose former quarterback now plays for another team, a championship team.  Nobody has been to more, or won more Super Bowls than Tom Brady.  He has rightfully earned every single superlative sent his way.  There is also the added spice that the games between that old codger and the shiny new superhero, Patrick Mahomes have been classic contests.  There is an enormous mutual respect the exists between the two, which only adds to their individual desire to win.

It's hard to describe my feelings on the eve of this historic contest.  Part of me, after assessing the massive weight of offensive weaponry at the Chiefs' disposal, and the growing toughness of their defense believes that they will win.  Decisively.  But there's another part that eyes with concern the patchwork offensive line that is tasked with keeping young Mahomes upright.  Across the line will be what is reputed to be the most dangerous front seven in the NFL.  This part of me acknowledges that there's no way to predict what might happen in the trenches tomorrow.

I'm not all bound up in worry like last year, because as I wrote the other day, the Chiefs were expected to be here, and a lot of people firmly believe that it will be they who hoist the coveted Lombardi Trophy by this time tomorrow night.  But, as they say, any team can beat any other team on any given Sunday.

We will be in church in the morning, but home in time for the start of the game at 1:40 pm, Hawai'i time.  I have to work tomorrow evening, which means timing my commute carefully so as to miss as little of the game as possible.  Since the game is also being carried on the radio, this will not present too much of a problem.  There is anticipation, to be sure.  But another part of me realizes that time for old people passes all to quickly, and before I am aware, the three to four hours will have passed, and I will be face-to-face with the result, for good or ill.

And the next day, Monday, will be just another day.

Super Bowl Sunday has morphed into an unofficial holiday.  It has been a day of gathering, celebrating, eating, like Thanksgiving without the turkey, or Christmas without the presents.  A lot of folks feel that the day after Super Bowl Sunday should be a holiday, if for no other reason, time off to heal the inevitable hangovers.

Sunday Afternoon Magic

 

"Sunday afternoons are filled with long, lovely hours

that fill the soul to repletion

and which pass all too quickly."

--Ralph F. Couey

Copyright © 2021

by Ralph F. Couey

I should tell you up front that I am fully aware that a major winter storm has marched across the United States, and is right now in the process of burying the Mid-Atlantic and New England states.  Having lived through four blizzards and shoveled up to 39 inches of snow more than once, trust me, I do feel your pain.

However.

For the first time in 20 weeks, there was no football today.  The excitement and tension of the season-long tournament and the frantic "one-and-done" nature of the playoffs was notably absent today.  The opponents in the Super Bowl have been set (GOOO CHIEFS!!!!).  Much of the folderol accompanying The Big Game has been eliminated by COVID requirements.  So, there remains for us fans, merely to while away the hours until next Sunday. I had good luck with traffic and found myself at the east end of O'ahu about 15 minutes ahead of schedule on my commute to work.  Rather than report **too early** I decided to engage in some vegging out time.

When I worked nights, I did my walks in the morning, starting at Kapiolani Park and walking all the way to Ala Moana and back.  I did this not just for the exercise, but to avoid the torture of traveling Honolulu freeways during rush hour.  By the time I completed my 6-mile jaunt, the traffic was clear enough to ensure a timely return home.  During that time, I acquired a real affection for the area.  I would park in a free lot on the north side of the park, and after rounding the eastern point, walked through Waikiki on Kalakaua.  Waikiki is what you'd expect, tons of tourists, a sky shrouded by high-rise hotels and apartments relieved by the stunning stretch along that legendary beach.  I don't have the time available to do that walk very often any more, but I have gone back to that parking lot on occasion when I have some time to kill.

Kapiolani Park was originally a horse racing track, to indulge King David Kalakaua's passion.  The wide-open space remains, and if you look carefully around the west end of the park, you can still see the berms that supported and leveled the track.  Nowadays, it's a magnificent greenspace, sitting between the loom of Diamond Head, and Kuhio Beach, the eastward extension of Waikiki.

Today was gorgeous.  The temperature was a delightful 77 degrees with a gentle northeast trade blowing.  The sky was a dome of deep blue, broken by a few cumulous clouds.  This is my favorite time of year here in Hawai'i, so much better than summer's humidity enhanced by the powerful rays of a sun shining on a latitude 1,600 miles closer to the equator.  

I parked the Mustang, and walked around to the front of the car where I (carefully) leaned on the hood.  As I looked across the massive greenspace, I relaxed and took in that singular Sunday afternoon feeling.

Winning, and a Sense of the Inevitable

 

"Winning takes precedence over all.

There's no gray area. No almosts."

--Kobe Bryant

I'm experiencing a curious kind of mild euphoria tonight after watching the Chiefs dispatch the Bills and pave the way to a second straight Super Bowl.  Last year was different.  The record was 12-4, we had watched in terror as Patrick Mahomes lay on the field with his kneecap on the side of his leg, and the path to The Game was swathed in thrilling comebacks and last-minute heroics.  So, when the Chiefs got to this point, the feeling was...well...giddy.

This year, the record was 14-2, and the march through the season was infused with a sense of the inevitable.  The Chiefs were the favorites out the gate, and remained so for the entire season.  There was concern that the last few games were closer than many thought they should have been, but tonight sitting on the precipice of a second straight Super Bowl, the feeling is that we expected to be here.

That sounds arrogant on its surface.  But this is one of the most powerful teams in recent memory, one that seems about to become a dynasty.  Anything less than this moment would have been a failure.  And not securing the Lombardi Trophy in two weeks will still feel like that.  In the post-game interviews, the players attitudes reflected joy and achievement to be sure.  But beyond that was the look in their faces, the inflection in their voices which stated loudly, "We're not done yet."

Last year, just getting to the Super Bowl after 50 agonizing years was a huge treat.  Now, the Chiefs have repeated.  They expected to be in The Game, and they expect to win.  It's not arrogance so much as knowing how good they really are, and knowing that there's no situation they can't turn into a W.  Last year, down by 24 to the Texans and going on a 51-7 run.  Down to the Titans by 10 twice and 17 once and still winning.  Against the 49ers, the Chiefs were down 10 halfway through the fourth quarter...and still won.  This is a team that was built by overcoming that kind of adversity repeatedly.  They are apparently convinced that they cannot be beaten, unless they beat themselves.  This year, the big target was on their back and teams brought their absolute best against the Chiefs.  The result?  14-1 (the last game against the Chargers being a throwaway with most of the starters on the bench), and a very real sense of invincibility.  That was the Patriots for most of the last two decades, and we roundly hated them for that.  But now it's us, and what was irritating about New England now becomes just the way it is.

The next two weeks will pass with exquisite slowness, as we await the game in Tampa.  A lot will be made about this being a virtual home game for the Buccaneers.  But in the end, it won't matter.  The game will be won or lost based not on the location of the field, but what happens upon it.  The Chiefs are already three-point favorites, and the game will be a great one.  But there can only be one winner.

It would seem rash for me to predict a Chiefs win.  Certainly, there are a lot of things that can happen.  The offensive line, iffy for most of the year, now has suffered a crippling loss in Eric Fisher.  That's a big hole to plug for a group that had already lost three of their starters since the pre-season.  They are what makes the offense go.  They open the holes for the running backs, and protect Mahomes from the depredations of big, angry men.  But even with that small cloud, my own sense of confidence remains high.  I don't think the Buccaneers can win this game.  I don't think Tom Brady can win this game.  I do think that Mahomes and the Chiefs will win this game, even given the weakened front line.  

So, I am thrilled to find my team back in the Big Game.  But there doesn't seem to be the need to dance and launch fireworks.  

Because this was supposed to happen.

Two Wheels, One Heart, and Many Perfect Days

Copyright © 2021

by Ralph F. Couey

In the spring of 1993, I had landed a job at a Caterpillar plant in Boonville, Missouri.  We were living in the south part of Columbia, which gave me about a 60-mile round trip commute.  Although I had a fairly efficient car at the time, the gas (at a confiscatory $1.12 per gallon) was eating us up.  After years of unsuccessful lobbying, Cheryl, out of the clear blue, suggested I look into buying a motorcycle.  

Once I recovered from this considerable shock, I began my search.  I was fortunate in that I worked with a guy named Mike who knew a lot about bikes.  He taught me a lot about all the ins and outs of not just riding, but maintaining such a machine.  After a considerable search, and some help from some co-workers, I found my first bike, a Suzuki GS-550.  It was a very basic bike, but with enough engine for freeway commuting.  It was on this bike that I learned, first riding around the neighborhood, then some cautious forays around town.  It was a good bike, although afflicted with the electrical problems for which Suzukis of that era were notorious.  I fell a few times, not at high speed, but usually trying to execute an ascending right turn.  The only casualties were the handlebar mounted mirrors.  Fortunately, there was a motorcycle salvage yard not too far away which provided a reliable supply of replacements.  

                         

As time passed, I gained skills and therefore confidence.  On Mike's fervent recommendation,  I attended a Motorcycle Safety Foundation-sanctioned beginning rider's course.  Over that long weekend, I learned a ton of valuable information as well as skills that the experienced instructors assured me would help keep me alive.

I passed the course and a week later took my motorcycle rider's test for the state license.  It was pretty straightforward.  First test was to be able to locate all the switches on the handlebars without looking for them.  Then, I rode a straight line at low speed, making sure I took all of the allotted time.  There was a test where I accelerated quickly, and brought the bike to a controlled stop within a specified distance.  The last test was a slalom through some tightly-packed orange cones, which I had to complete without stopping or putting a foot down.  Between the class, my own practice, and Mike's sage advice, I passed the test with flying colors.  I took the written test, and received a temporary license.  A couple of weeks later, I got the real thing, actually my regular drivers license with a motorcycle endorsement.  

I got better with practice, and I began to expand my rides, taking on some twisty roads and finally, the Interstate.  At that point, I felt ready to turn my commute over to the bike.

I had that bike for about a year, when I was able to acquire an old Yamaha 1100, a kind of chopper-looking machine.  A few months later, I bought the bike I had always had in mind, a BMW 750.  Eventually, I was able to sell the Suzuki (having gotten tired of fixing electrical issues) and the old Yamaha, but at one point, I had three bikes in the garage at the same time.  Man, did I feel wealthy!

A Round of Haiku

Copyright © 2021

by Ralph F. Couey

A second try at Haiku...

The moon rises full 

Over the sea, calm and smooth 

The wind, warm and soft. 

The sound of grandkids 

Laughing, shouting with joy 

Is missed by my heart. 

The sound of the waves 

Gliding across the white sands 

Brings peace to my soul. 

The days pass so quickly 

The gift of time, here and gone 

Age steals the future. 

I stare in the dark 

What did I do with today? 

Did I make a friend? 

I sit down to write 

Will inspiration help me 

Fill empty pages. 

Remember the past 

The memories sweetly flow 

From a simpler time. 

Driving late at night 

I see another driver 

Wherefore are ye bound? 

Stars fill the night sky 

They shine across the light years 

I look at the past.

Sitting on the couch 

Her head rests on my shoulder 

This love has blessed me.

Life...And Taking Stock

"If all men are brothers

then why are the winds and waves

so restless?"

Hirohito

Copyright © 2021

by Ralph F. Couey

Since I retired in 2017, our lives have moved from one upheaval to another.  We actually enjoyed the constant changes for awhile.  We sold our home in Virginia and lived for brief periods in Aurora, Colorado, Casa Grande, Arizona, and San Dimas, California before returning to Aurora for awhile.  All these moves were connected to Cheryl's work as a travel, or contract nurse.  After being anchored to one place for so long, the moves were in a way exhilarating.  There was always a new adventure on the horizon, a new place to get to know, each with it's own particular, even peculiar charms.

Then in 2018, Cheryl got an assignment at Tripler Army Medical Center in Honolulu.  She was ecstatic, for she was finally going home.  

Before leaving Colorado for the last time, we made the tough decision to sell or donate nearly all of our possessions, including some beautiful furniture we had hauled around through our many moves since the late 1970's.  It was hard, but at the same time liberating.  We were no longer chained to 11,000 pounds of "stuff."  What used to fill a 2,400 square foot house has been pared down to a single storage unit, containing mostly winter clothes, Blu-Rays, and some legal documents.  At some point when travel becomes less cumbersome, we intend to go back and clear out that last space, especially since after my surgery, none of those clothes fit me any longer.

Upon our move to Hawai'i, we undertook the primary care for Cheryl's aging mother.  As the months have rolled past, that care has gotten more challenging.  She is 94, and her memory and cognitive abilities have continued to decline.  The family has given us a lot of help, and that has made things less stressful.  But as time has passed, a kind of routine has finally established itself, a kind of existential train that carries us through the week.

Monday, we have a private caregiver come in for eight hours.  She has been wonderful, and cares for Mom like she was her own.  This enables me to exercise and run errands before leaving for work in the mid-afternoon.  Tuesday, Irene takes Mom for the day, this despite the daunting task of caring for her husband who had been ill and had to begin dialysis.  For me, this is laundry and house cleaning day, one of my two days off each week.  If I get everything done, then there might be a couple of hours for me to retreat to Hale'iwa beach where I sit, empty my brain, and just listen to the waves.  I get home in time to cook dinner for us.  Wednesday is my other day off, and usually Cheryl's as well.  In the morning, we take Mom to adult day care, after which we either play pickleball or ground golf in the morning, and run errands in the afternoon.  

Thursday is my Monday, work-wise, and I get up early to take Mom to day care.  I walk around Ewa, preferable because unlike Pearl City, Ewa is flat with lots of shade.  After logging my four or five miles, I return home, clean up and hopefully catch a nap before going to work.  Friday is a repeat of Thursday.  Saturday, Cheryl spends the day with Mom, and after doing my walk and puttering around the house, its back to work.  Sunday, Merle picks Mom up for the day and we go to church.  After lunch, I get ready and go back to work.  Cheryl meets some friends in Kaneohe for pickleball, getting home in time to be there when Mom returns.

And that's pretty much our week.  Some things have changed, after having two slow-motion falls in the bathtub, Cheryl and her two sisters now bathe Mom, despite her strenuous objections.  This had to be done, not just because of the fall hazard, but repeated infections made it apparent that she was not able to clean herself.  We have to watch her carefully in the evenings because she gets restless and begins to wander around the house, which sometimes results in falls. Caring for an aging parent means there is no status quo, there are always changes, and always negative.  Even more distressing is the much more frequent comments that she wants to die.  None of us want that, or are even remotely ready for that.  But lurking out there is the sad knowledge that any day could be the last day.  

A Journey Half-Done

Copyright © 2020

by Ralph F. Couey

First off, I have new windows going in today, so I'm wearing a mask in the house while the workmen are here.  While they began setting up, I jumped on the computer, only to discover that the facial rec software didn't know me.  Then I remembered.  The mask.  It was such a 2020 moment.

Anyway, Cheryl is finishing two weeks of vacation this week, and it's been fun to have her around during the day, and not just seeing each other when one of us is completely fogged in with sleep.  Tuesday, we drove over to Kaneohe to play pickleball.  This game, played primarily by people in our age group, is a hybrid of tennis and ping pong, is played on a court about 2/3 the size of a tennis playing surface.  The ball is sorta like a whiffle ball, plastic with holes all over and the paddles are hard-surfaced, about twice as big as the ones used for ping pong.  Cheryl has fallen in love with the game and I went through a beginners course with her last year.  At the time, I couldn't "hook" the game.  The rules were, to me, strange, counter-intuitive, and confusing.  I've played a ton of tennis over the decades, and it was hard to set aside those habits for this new endeavor.  I went a few times, but never really understood the game, so she ended up going by herself, usually when I was at work.  

But yesterday, we went together, for me not without trepidation.  I'm a guy, and therefore have little tolerance for looking foolish in front of others.  But after watching a couple dozen YouTube© videos, I felt game enough to give it a go.

It wasn't as bad as I feared.  I remembered most of what I had been taught.  The biggest challenge for me is staying out of the no-volley area just in front of the net.  In tennis, you charge the net and get right up next to it to (hopefully) intimidate your opponent into playing a more defensive mode.  I can't tell you how many killer shots I made, only to find out that I had trespassed into that area, called by players "the kitchen."  Still, the ladies we played with were tolerant of my errors, and despite some light-headedness caused by having to run, actually sprint for the first time in...years?...under the hot sun. I walk about 15 miles per week, but running is a whole new level of exertion.  I managed to survive the day, earning a high complement from my spouse, who said, "Good job, Honey!"

So...This Was Christmas

 

Copyright © 2020

by Ralph F. Couey

This was Christmas Day, certainly one of the most quiet and subdued in memory.  Banned from large gatherings, families nevertheless sat in front of Christmas trees while children eagerly tore into the carefully-wrapped packages.  There were still the squeals of joy, the best Christmas music, in my view, but so many of the cherished traditions of the holiday were set aside because of the Pandemic.

For us, it was just Cheryl and I and her mother.  There were just a few gifts, several for Cheryl to unwrap and enjoy.  My big gift this year was parked in the carport, waiting for my commute to work.  We were able to link with family via video calls, and enjoyed interacting with our grandkids, who are growing up entirely too fast.  Still, I missed being there; getting the hugs, wading through the sea of wrapping paper, actually talking face-to-face, the lack of for which I feel a growing sadness.  Children are fluid creatures.  They change minute to minute, and being away for months -- or years -- at a time leaves us with the inescapable sense that time is leaching away, the one thing nobody can ever get back.  They'll never be this young again, and we will have missed it all.

I suspect many of you are having some of the same feelings.  This COVID Christmas was hard, but I think there is a bit of wisdom being dropped upon us.

Safe, Warm, and Surrounded by Love.

Image Copyright © 2015

by Ralph F. Couey

"Christmases past tend to blur together,

with occasional memorable moments making themselves visible.

There were good Christmases and lonely Christmases

and Christmases that came and went entirely too fast.

But when I look back over the years, and all those memories,

there is one image that rises above all the rest.

Seated before the tree, my loving wife beside me

two posts in a protective circle of our grown children and their spouses

surrounding a herd of excited grandkids on the floor, tearing open gifts

with excited squeals of joy. seeming to swim through a sea of discarded wrapping paper.

For me, this will always be Christmas, because Christmas is about family

sharing that most precious of time, and the rarest and most durable love."

--Ralph F. Couey

 I've been idle with my writing of late, mainly because I've been in a kind of funk and I really didn't want to share that with all of you.  But as Christmas approaches, I have found myself looking back over the decades, to those more conventional holidays in simpler times.  In those journeys of the mind, I have found a way to rekindle that sometimes elusive thing we call the Spirit of Christmas.  I found it was far too easy to focus on the tough times that are now, and thus opening myself up to sadness and despair.  But in the past were better, happier times.  These were memories made and carefully stored away in that priceless treasure chest we call the human heart for just such a time as this one.

One of my earliest Christmas memories involved the arrival of a small dachshund who would be a part of our lives.  I suspect he may have been a little frightened by the hugs he was getting from my sister and I, but we grew up together, the best kind of companion.

One winter, my parents decided to go north for Christmas.  They both hailed from Wisconsin, he from Milwaukee, she from Madison.  Weather forecasting was still a struggling science at the time, and by the time we hit Moline, Illinois, the snow was coming down thick and fast.  I remember looking over my Dad's shoulders (no seat belts or child seats back then) out the front window to see that the road was rapidly disappearing.  Fortunately, we were in a long line of cars, so we continued to push on.  I became mesmerized by the huge snowflakes dancing in the headlights.  I wasn't driving, so of course I thought it was great.  Eventually, we arrived in front of that grand old house on Erie Court.  We piled out of the car and I rushed through the unshoveled snow up the front walk into the arms of my grandmother, and my six cousins, with whom I would subsequently join in many nefarious activities.  We sledded in the nearby parks, built snowmen, had snowball fights, while my grandmother, who had been the head chef for the University of Wisconsin, prepared some of the best meals I can ever remember.  We played until we couldn't keep our eyes open, then ascended the interminable stairs to the large dormitory-style attic where we retired for the night.  I felt safe, warm, and surrounded by love.

Post #800

 

A place of unbearable pain;

of indescribable beauty.

"Every secret of a writer's soul, every experience of his life,

Every quality of his mind is written large in his works."

--Virginia Woolf

Fourteen years ago, almost to the month, I signed up for a blog, having no idea where that particular journey would take me.  I remember that I had ideas banging around inside me between my heart and my head, and I felt that if I didn't get them down in some recordable form, I'd either go crazy or spontaneously explode.

Tonight, I sit here contemplating the 800th addition to this blog.

I named the blog "Race the Sunset," a small piece of inspiration borne out of a motorcycle trip.  I was cruising across Kansas -- the long way -- and as afternoon began to turn into evening, I watched the sun ease its way towards the horizon.  The wheat fields I had been endlessly passing all day began to take on that warm pallet I can only describe as "evening colors."  My goal was the town of Liberal, the end of a very long 650-mile day, on the far western border, and as the miles-to-go wound down, I saw that my arrival would be very close to sunset.  In a sense, I was racing the sunset to my destination.  I remember a lot about that evening, how peaceful it was as the sky gradually darkened, and the weary anticipation of a long day coming to an end.  It was the first of what would be a nine day journey across the American west, perhaps the nine greatest days of my life.

Except, of course, any nine days I've spent with my beloved (and long-suffering) wife.

In beginning the blog, I certainly didn't have any particular agenda.  I wanted to write about life, how I experienced it and the impact it had on me.  I deliberately stayed well away from politics.  I don't know everything about writing, but I do know better than to enrage half of the potential audience.  

That first effort, posted on November 3, 2006, was a post about Ben Roethlisberger, the Steelers quarterback, who had bought a motorcycle, the fastest production bike available at that time.  He promptly wrecked it, putting him in surgery for some seven hours.  It was also the first of my essays to be published, finding its way into the pages of the Johnstown (PA) Tribune-Democrat the previous July.  I continued to write for the paper, at first only once per month, but eventually given a weekly slot.  The editor paid me a high complement, saying, "Your stuff was just too good to leave out."  I eventually learned that a complement was as rare and savory as a perfectly done prime rib, and should be treasured.

Laughing

Johnny Carson hosting Don Rickles

NBC/The Tonight Show

Copyright © 2020

by Ralph F. Couey

Written material only

 So I had an evening when time was hanging heavily on my hands, so I turned to that incredible piece of technology we euphemistically call a phone, but is actually more aptly described as a hand-held computer.  I went to the YouTube© site and started by looking for the best John Wayne scenes from his movies.  At one point, I happened across a piece of video taken from one of Don Rickle's many forays into network television (all unsuccessful, as it turned out).  Rickles was hosting a variety show and one of his guests was The Duke.  Well, as these searches sometimes go, that turned into a lot of video from Rickles' career.  But while he was a superstar on the stage circuit (he was huge in Vegas), I think so much of his best work came from his interaction with the legendary late night talk show host Johnny Carson.

I pretty much grew up watching Carson.  His monologues with which he opened his show were fabulous, and even when he had a joke that went flat, he had a way of rescuing the moment in a way that was incredibly funny.  Carson had a universal appeal that went beyond the glitz and glamor of Hollywood and New York.  A big part of that was his roots.  He was a Midwesterner, born and bred in Nebraska, and even in the presence of such legends as Jack Benny, Frank Sinatra, and Dean Martin (I'm undoubtedly dating myself here), he struck the perfect balance between folksy and sophisticated.  Even after he finally retired, the affection of his audience never faded.  On one occasion, just a few months before his death, he was invited on the Letterman show to do a Top Ten list.  He came out on stage, and the audience erupted in cheers, standing in tribute.  The adulation went on so long that Carson abandoned the bit and eventually left the stage, I suspect moved to tears by the crowd's obvious affection.  In the years since, there have been successors and wanna-be's, but in the minds of those who watched him all those years, there was only on Johnny Carson.  And there'll never be another.

Anyway, as I began to scroll through the videos of Carson's unquestioned reign, I came upon one compilation that covered just about every appearance Don Rickles appeared on The Tonight Show during the decade of the 1970's.  Rickles was known as primarily an insult comic, that is, getting his laughs through apparently putting down other people, even Carson himself.  But those who knew Rickles privately were unanimous in their assessment that offstage, Don Rickles was a humble and gentle man, who treated people with unquestioned warmth and dignity.  The schtick of insult was merely for the stage.  The end result of his act was a kind of mad hilarity.  Watching those snippets, I was transported back in time to a different era, where we were not nearly as obsessively sensitive about what people were saying.  We still had the ability to laugh at ourselves, especially laughing at comedians laughing at us.  The compilation lasted over an hour, and before it was even a quarter over, I had laughed myself into tears and rib pain.  It felt wonderful.  I hadn't laughed that long or hard at anything for...well, longer than I could remember.  I felt something shake loose inside me and fall away, that dark shroud over my spirit put there by the events of the past year or so.  

Now, I know that Don Rickles is, at least by today's standards, very much an acquired taste.  And if you weren't around during that time, it probably won't mean anything to you.  But his humor was never meant to be taken seriously or personally, and everyone knew it, especially his friends (very much including Carson) of which he had legions.

"Sailor Man"

 

Originally published in the Eugene, Oregon Morning Register, February 2, 1929, author unknown, but I feel reflected in these words.

Sailor Man
--Unknown

He was one who followed
Dreams and stars and ships;
They say the wind has fastened
Strange words upon his lips.

There was something secret
In the way that he would smile,
As if he could remember
The laughter of a child.

Wayward as a seagull
Lonely as a hawk;
Yet he believed in angels
And heard the dolphins talk.

They speak of him as careless
A whimsical salty stray;
Nothing ever held him
Longer than a day.

I truly think he swaggered
Playing the sailor’s part;
But the rock of his exterior
Hid a gentle heart.

He spent his life a-roaming
With this hope he did contend
That the other side of nowhere
Led him somewhere in the end.

The Year Without

 

An empty Waikiki at the height of the shutdown.

Image © 2020 by Ralph F. Couey

Copyright © 2020

by Ralph F. Couey

In the year 1816 there occurred what has been known as "The Year Without a Summer," a climatological and agricultural disaster on a global scale.  The precipitous drop in temperatures was the result of three influences.  First, there was the eruption of the Tambora supervolcano in Indonesia that dumped about 60 cubic miles of debris and gasses into the atmosphere.  On top of that was the ongoing climate event known as the Little Ice Age, a period of global cooling that lasted from the 16th to the 19th centuries.  Those two events coincided with an historic low solar minimum, during which the sun's irradiance lowered significantly.  Some paintings survive of this time, showing people skating on the frozen river Thames in London during June, and other art depicting the garish sunsets caused by the ash, dust, and gas in the atmosphere.  What doesn't make it into the art of the period is the story of the collapse of agricultural growing season and the resulting famines around the world.  It was one of those moments in time when the human race survived on its sheer stubborn toughness.

The Pandemic of (plug in whatever reference you want here) has been a part of our lives now for nearly a year.  During that time, we have seen the numbers the ill and the dead climb steadily.  Now that the weather is colder and more people are staying inside, the numbers are skyrocketing, even as the welcome news of vaccines begins to trickle in.

That life we once called "normal" is gone, possibly for good.  We lost most of our summer activities, although some stubbornly continued to travel.  Baseball was a foreshortened season, and other sports, notably basketball and hockey, suffered impacts.  The NFL soldiers on, although playing in front of mostly empty stadiums with piped-in crowd noise.  We waded through those changes and now face a new round of shutdowns as governors and mayors try to stem the advance of the disease.

But now we are facing the most heart-rending loss:  The Holiday Season.  

Thanksgiving and Christmas were always eagerly anticipated as times when families, however far-flung, would traverse the miles and gather.  There, in that bubble of love, affection, and way too much food, we would be able to emotionally recharge each other.  For nearly all of us, the most precious and heart-warming memories revolve around these two months of joy.  These events, these gatherings have been celebrated in poetry and song, cementing those golden memories within us.

But this year will be different.  

Peace, Healing, and Places

Photo © 2020

by Ralph F. Couey

Copyright © 2020

by Ralph F. Couey

"I go to nature to be soothed and healed;

To have my senses put in tune once more."

--John  Burroughs

 I found a few free hours this week to steal away from everything.  The collective division and angst over the election, along with other things of a more personal nature, had pushed me to the point of just wanting to unplug.

Fortunately, I have a place to go where this can happen.  Just north of Hale'iwa Ali'i Beach Park, the shoreline curves seaward.  There, a number of trees have taken root, their graceful branches arcing across the sand.  It's a quiet place, away from nearly all of the tourist traffic.  Swimmers don't come here much because the exposed lava rock beneath the surface make it a hazardous place for feet, hands, and elbows.  But I don't go there to swim.  Under the shade of those trees, I sit in my beach chair, stretch out my legs, and rest.

It was a mostly sunny day, a bit of a relief from the spotty showers that signal the onset of the wet season here.  The trade winds were back, bringing a refreshing breeze which lowered the heat and kept the flies away.  After getting settled, I leaned back and listened to the steady roll and wash of the surf, a sound that always relaxes me.  Pretty soon, I began to see sea turtles floating among the rocks at the water's edge, occasionally sticking up a head to look around.  The steady breeze crenelated the surface of the sea, but not harsh enough to raise whitecaps.  It was a perfect, peaceful moment.  

I sat there for several hours, not thinking about anything.  I had brought a pad a pen along in case inspiration proffered, but I was content to sit quietly, and just...be.

I need this time.  Unfortunately, the vicissitudes of life make it less available than I'd like, so when the opportunity presents itself, I head north.

I kind of lost track of the time as the afternoon passed.  Above, puffy clouds slowly passed, only occasionally blocking the sun.  I felt myself slowly relaxing, my muscles gradually relaxing to the point where scratching my nose felt like a major effort.  I could hear the birds in the trees, singing their songs, occasionally descending to the sand where they wobbled past, giving me an inquisitive sidelong glance.  Little insects skittered across the sand, always zipping landward when a wave got too close.  With my mind empty and undistracted, all the details of life became visible.  

The View From Orbit; The Perspective of Eternity

International Space Station

NASA

Copyright © 2020

by Ralph F. Couey

A few weeks ago, I was standing outside in Diamond Head Crater, taking a few moments for a breath of fresh air.  I was using a new app I had downloaded which when pointed upwards, allows the user to identify stars and planets in the night sky.  As I was scanning, a new object entered the screen, moving rapidly.  The app identified the object as the International Space Station, or ISS.  I lowered the phone, and sure enough, I found a point of light streaking across the sky.  It was an interesting moment, finding something man-made in a vista where I had only seen the stellar and planetary residents of the universe.

I watched the tiny speck until it dipped below the walls of the crater.  Up there, about 260 miles up, a group of humans were busily working on scientific experiments, folks who had forsaken earth and family for months working in that most inaccessible of labs.  There were people there, not so different from me.  For a moment, I felt a small connection.

Last summer, I found another app called "ISS Live Now."  There, anyone can access an HD camera that is always trained on the planet below.  As most of earth is covered in ocean, it can be kind of boring.  But when the station does pass over land, the vistas are tremendous.  I accessed that app tonight, perhaps looking for an off-planet escape from the mess here on earth.  I had read once that astronauts described the most profound moment of their lives as that first time they saw their home planet from space.  That perspective, they said, was life-changing.  When I opened the app, the station was passing over the Pacific southeast of Australia.  A little while later, it crossed the terminator into night and passed over southern Europe.  I was hoping to see the glow of great cities, but all I saw were small bits of light. Occasionally, I saw other lights streaking through the camera's field going in the opposite direction.  I puzzled over that, until I realized that they must be aircraft.  Their apparent speed was the effect of the ISS's orbital speed of 17,100 mph while they were zipping along at 600 or so mph.  That meant they were passing each other at a combined speed of almost 18,000 mph.  Nights and days in orbit pass quickly, so it wasn't too long before the terminator was crossed again, just prior to the station passing southeastward over the Arabian Peninsula.  The app allows you to grab images from the display and I got these:

About November 3rd...

Copyright © 2020

by Ralph F. Couey

I promise I will not write about the election.  I promise I will not write about the election.  I promise I will not write about the election.  I promise I will not write about the election.  I promise I will not write about the election.  I promise I will not write about the election.  I promise I will not write about the election.  I promise I will not write about the election.  I promise I will not write about the election.  I promise I will not write about the election.  I promise I will not write about the election.  I promise I will not write about the election.  I promise I will not write about the election.  I promise I will not write about the election.  I promise I will not write about the election.  I promise I will not write about the election.  I promise I will not write about the election.  I promise I will not write about the election.  I promise I will not write about the election.  I promise I will not write about the election.  I promise I will not write about the election.  I promise I will not write about the election.  I promise I will not write about the election.  I promise I will not write about the election.  I promise I will not write about the election.  I promise I will not write about the election.  I promise I will not write about the election.  I promise I will not write about the election.  I promise I will not write about the election.  I promise I will not write about the election.  I promise I will not write about the election.  I promise I will not write about the election.  I promise I will not write about the election.  I promise I will not write about the election.  I promise I will not write about the election.  I promise I will not write about the election.  I promise I will not write about the election.  I promise I will not write about the election.  I promise I will not write about the election.  I promise I will not write about the election.  I promise I will not write about the election.  I promise I will not write about the election.  I promise I will not write about the 

That Time Change Thing

 

Hashed areas are where DST is not observed.

from NationAtlas.gov

Copyright © 2020

by Ralph F. Couey

Well, its that time again, that twice-a-year misery that marks the onset and end of Daylight Savings Time.  Here in Hawai'i, the shift is not observed, but I remember what a burden it was when I lived in the mainland.  The system's genesis is rather murky, and it's continued existence has depended solely on its own momentum.

The first person to come up with the idea was a fellow named George Hudson, an entomologist in 1895. Yes, a bug guy.  You can probably guess why he wanted an extra hour added to his summer evenings.  It wasn't until 1916 that the first nationwide implementation of DST was done by the German Empire and Austria-Hungarian, two political entities which have both been consigned to the dustbin of history.

Today, the system exists in multiple countries, but even in the United States, there are states and parts of states that refuse to go along with it.  As to the basis for continuing to do it, well, that's a difficult thing to find.

A Different Kind of Holiday Season

"After all the angst, anger, and sorrow that has been 2020,

It is my sincerest, deepest hope that when, or if, families gather

for Thanksgiving and Christmas that everyone remembers this year

and how precious is that joy that accompanies the season

and the love which has always been there.

For if 2020 has taught us anything at all,

it is that nothing is certain

and whatever moments we have must be cherished

before they slip away."

--Ralph F. Couey

Copyright © 2020

by Ralph F. Couey

Cheryl and I were sitting on the couch the other night, watching yet another joyful replay of Super Bowl LIV, when I asked, "What are we doing for the Holidays?"

Her response was almost automatic, that we would gather with family for food, fun, and Mah-Jong.  I accepted this at first, then asked, "But what if we can't?

This is not an idle question.  For the first time in modern memory, the traditional family gatherings around Thanksgiving and Christmas have been thrown into a kind of purgatory.  While the numbers here in Hawai'i are flattening to the point where the government has started a phased re-opening, in the mainland, the numbers are spiking alarmingly.  The tourist industry is ramping up, and the response was almost immediate.  Almost overnight, the daily arrivals went from around 100 to 18,000.  While we are delighted to have that revenue stream restored, some of us are concerned about people coming from places where the numbers are once again out of control.   Gatherings of any kind are still restricted to five people or less, but we have 16 people, and maybe more, so unless the restrictions are eased, it's hard to imagine how to have a traditional type of holiday.

But this is the Pandemic, after all, and Pandemics are where traditions go to die.  I don't know how you folks on the mainland will manage this without adding to your sadness.  No doubt some, perhaps many, will throw caution to the winds and gather anyway, accepting whatever consequences ensue.  That is, if the neighbors don't call the police on you.

"Getting to Know You, Getting to Know All About You..."

Copyright © 2020

by Ralph F. Couey

Tomorrow marks the first week with my Mustang, and in those first days, the car and I are beginning to know each other.  To quote Bogie, "I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship."

The first day or so, I drove it carefully, getting used to the feel, which is world's different from the SUV I've been driving for the past four years.  Go figure.  The biggest adjustment has been the steering, which is quick and responsive and requires far less movement of the wheel.  It's easy to over steer, especially when just changing lanes on the freeway.  Speed limits being what they are here, I've had very little opportunity to engage the turbo boost, but when I have, the response is...well...thrilling.  It's not the Saturn V feeling of the V8 GT model,  but more than enough for around the island.

The seats are fabric, and well ventilated, a nice thing in the tropics, even though the interior is dead black. The edges come up around my thighs, ribs, and shoulders, ensuring that I will be firmly planted in the drivers' position regardless of what's going on outside.  The Kona Blue Metallic paint is breath-taking in the day, as the tropical sun highlights every single metal flake in the paint, making then sparkle and dance as if the car were painted with diamonds.

My only mild complaints involve the outside mirrors, very tiny after the SUV, and the lack of a rear window wiper, although honestly it would probably ruin the look.  Getting in and out is...not smooth, given my age, but I WILL make it work. Changing lanes involves actually turning my head and shoulders to check the neighboring lanes because the tiny mirrors are very insufficient for safe viewing.  But, if I recall my driver's ed training from 47 years ago, this is something I should've been doing anyway.  

But these are very small things.  Folks, I LOVE THIS CAR!!!  Every commute, every errand, even taking Cheryl's Mom to her daycare in Ewa Beach is too much fun.  

The Context and Perspective of "Home"

 

One of the most famous optical illusions.

It's either a young woman looking away,

or an old woman looking down.

"Its amazing how our perspective of life can change

simply by moving ourselves a few inches

or a lot of years."

--Ralph F. Couey

Copyright © 2020

by Ralph F. Couey

There is a scene in the film "Dead Poets Society" where a teacher, played so brilliantly by Robin Williams, invites his students to the front of the classroom to stand on top of the teacher's desk, and thus look at the room from an entirely different perspective.  Leading teenagers on an exercise of this type can be frustrating, but the looks on those boys' faces as they took in this new point of view showed that they "got it."  I've seen similar reactions in speech classes when a student went from their desk to the front of the room.  They were comfortable at the desk.  But in front, with all those eyes on them, the familiar was suddenly frightening.

The image at the top of this post is an exercise in perspective we call an optical illusion.  There are actually two images there.  One will occur immediately, the other not before several minutes spent in deep thought.  Its the same artwork, but exists in two different points of view.  There are many such kinds of things in life.  There are basically three different perspectives.  How we see things, how others see things, and how things really are.  One of the most painful shifts a person can make is from seeing something with which we are familiar to the sudden realization that it was never that way at all.  Or as Mark Twain put it, "It ain't what you don't know that gets you into trouble. It's what you know for sure that just ain't so.”

Perspective is kind of a funny thing.  It's not just a physical change, but could be a philosophical one that could forever alter one's view of the universe.

A Dream, and the Horse it Rode In On

"Dreams that you dream really do come true."
--Yip Harburg

Copyright © 2020

by Ralph F. Couey

It's been a day of emotional contrasts, a ride up and down the proverbial roller coaster.  It was one of those days that was both memorable and forgettable.

After falling asleep about 1:30 this morning, I rolled out of bed just before 7 am.  I don't make a habit of this kind of schedule, at least not since my 20's.  This was Raiders week, and my Chiefs were kicking off at 7:05.  I figured I would have time for a nap later.  Oh, the best-laid plans...

The game was a bust.  The Chiefs iffy style of play finally caught up to them.  I knew they wouldn't go undefeated, that a loss was inevitable.  But to the Raiders???  It was worse than a root canal, or a colonoscopy, and just as uncomfortable to sit through.  But, it's just one game.  Last year (Super Bowl year, remember?) they won their first four games, then lost four of the next six, and almost their unicorn quarterback to boot.  This year, it appears that NFL defenses have cracked the code of the Chiefs' offense, and some sloppy play at key positions has exacerbated the problems.  But, there are 11 games left, and the hope, not yet ephemeral, exists that they will still win out.  Clearly, there is work to be done before they play the Bills next Monday.  Or Tuesday.

But that was the low point of the day.  After losing to the Raiders, things could go only one direction.

About two weeks ago, Cheryl and I were on our way to Costco when we drove by a local mega-car dealer.  Parked along the edge, visible from the road was a beautiful blue Ford Mustang.  It had been there for awhile and for me, hard NOT to notice.  As we drove by, I said wistfully, "My Mustang's still there."  

Cheryl, who really should know better, asked, "Want to go drive it?"

"Don't tease."

The Power of the Ballot

 

My Freedom Ticket

Image Copyright © 2020

by Ralph F. Couey

"Voting is the right upon which

all other rights depend."

--Thomas Paine

Copyright © 2020

by Ralph F. Couey

This election will be like no other in American history.  This is so obvious, it almost seems silly to make that statement.  The Pandemic, the widespread violence in the streets, a continual train of hurricanes in the Gulf of Mexico, scandals, both real and imagined, impeachment, and other problems too numerous to mention have left a general feeling that America is on the brink of its own destruction.  That may be true.  It would also be true to remember our past, when events and actions created dire national situations, and didn't result in our ruin.  Its probably closer to the truth that every election feels like the last chance to lance the world's biggest boil and save our future.

But perception, for many, is reality.  And there's no denying that the United States is awash with a multitude of very dark perceptions.

But we're now looking down the barrel of the 2020 elections, not only for President, but a third of the Senate (think treaties and judicial nominees) and the entire House of Representatives.  On the local side, there will be governors, legislators, mayors, council people, school boards, county executives, judges, prosecutors, county clerks, and probably somewhere, dogcatchers.  There will be issues as well, like bonds for schools, highways, tax hikes, new laws and regulations -- anything and everything that can be squeezed onto a ballot.  All important stuff.

But despite the bountiful lessons from around the world of how special and precious this right to vote is, far too many of us will decline to participate.

Let's try to put this in historical perspective.  At the birth of this nation, those who had brought us through the agony of revolution and thirteen years of sometimes rancorous debate, it was decided that ordinary citizens of the United States would be given power over their government.  The British thought this was laughable, perhaps even dangerous.  Despotic leaders watched nervously, hoping this particular disease would not cross their borders.  Eventually (and far too slow, IMHO) the vote was expanded to racial minorities and women.  While the right to vote is not enshrined in the Constitution, the requirement of government to be responsive to the will of the people is.

The Limp of Fear

 

Centers for Disease Control

Copyright © 2020

by Ralph F. Couey

For much of the eight or nine months of this Pandemic, we've been taken on a road full of twists and turns, and even double-backs.  For several weeks, it was growing exponentially, then came a time when we all thought the thing was almost whipped.  Then, it came roaring back.  People were told many contradictory things about the best way to protect themselves, and there were those who were convinced that the whole thing was a gigantic conspiracy, and refused to undertake any mitigation at all.

Early this morning (late yesterday evening, Hawai'i time), a bombshell broke out of the nation's capitol.  The President of the United States and the First Lady had contracted COVID-19.  Early this evening, we were told that he had been airlifted to Walter Reed because of some breathing issues.

There was, of course, the inevitable well wishers and gleeful haters who spoke up and flooded social media.  I'm not going to get into that, mainly because, as I've written previously, I'm pretty much disgusted by both sides.

The point here is that the President is one of, if not THE most well-protected person on the planet.  He is surrounded by multiple layers of security, and subject to immediate displacement into any one of a number of secure bunkers, or a convenient jet.  Any attempt to violate that security and do harm to the President is likely to result in the violent death of the assailant.  

But despite gates, locks, police, Secret Service, electronic surveillance, dogs, the most advanced home surveillance system ever conceived, and sheer odds, the virus scored a direct hit.