Respecting Our Journeys

"People take different roads.

Just because they're not on your road

doesn't mean they've gotten lost."

--H. Jackson Brown, Jr.

Copyright © 2020

by Ralph F. Couey

The pursuit of knowledge in defining the speed of light was primarily to try to define, in a universe where everything is in motion, an absolute standard for distance and velocity.  What was discovered was that light always travels at the same velocity, regardless if the object emitting or reflecting that light was closing, receding, or at a constant distance.  

There was also another search for a standard at that time, as to which society or culture would be held as the standard by which to measure others.  In a time of exploration and collision of cultures, this was deemed to be important.

That regrettable urge remains with us today.  Not only do we compare large-scale social, political, religious, or economic systems, we are always using the smaller picture of our own lives as a yardstick for measuring others.  The impulse for this lies in the often-fragile structure of the human ego.

Pride can be a valuable trait.  It is essential for our self respect that we should find value in who and what we are.  It is what gives us confidence to tackle difficult tasks, or willingly place ourselves in less than comfortable circumstances when we know we can do some good.  But like so many other things, the key to pride is in moderation.  None of us are as smart as we think (or wish) we are.  None of us are as skilled as we would like to be.  None of us have all the answers to the unanswerable questions.  Even though there are times when we can and should pitch into a situation, there are other times when it is wiser and better to stand back.  As Harry Callaghan once said, "A good (person) knows their limitations."

There is a part of us who always wants to the the source of wisdom, the "wise old sage" to whose door people will tramp to for lessons and wisdom.  All too often, however, the answer we have is irrelevant, ill-informed, or just plain wrong.  And thus advised, those who took our advice end up in an even deeper hole.  

The 65-Year Roller Coaster

Wayfair, Inc.

In the past I've always seen birthdays as a positive thing, particularly after a serious round of heart problems in the early 2000's.  After that, every year was a gift, always knowing what might have been.  But this year is a milestone. Or, perhaps, a millstone. 

Number 65.

It's always been a benchmark of sorts.  Once upon a time, it was the retirement age.  Now, thanks to the improved health of codgers like me, it's just one step forward to what is now the understood retirement age of 70.  But I'm old school.  And 65 just seems old.

I've thought about this over the past couple of weeks, and I think I've achieved a kind of rationalization in my attitude.  Actually, I'm healthier now than I've ever been.  I've shed the excess tonnage that did me so much harm over the years.  I exercise regularly, walking 15 to 20 miles per week.  My blood pressure is actually chronically low; my diabetes is under control without any use of insulin.  My heart is in such good shape that my cardiologist has given up on stress testing.  On the negative side of the ledger, my memory is slipping, muscles are stiff, and my balance is not good.  I won't bore you with the other, more personal issues, but when I look at my Dad when he was this age, I'm in way better condition.  And looking around at other men my age, I can see ways in that I'm better off than they.  No competitiveness here.

The Dark Cloud, and Making the Silver Lining

"Become a possibilitarian.

No matter how dark thing seem to be

or actually are, raise your sights;

 Always see possibilities

for they're always there."

--Norman Vincent Peale

Copyright © 2020

by Ralph F. Couey

There's a linguistic missive that's made the rounds for the past decade or so of how the Chinese character for "crisis" is the combination of two other characters, one meaning "danger" and the other "opportunity."  It's the kind of dualistic interpretation that abounds in Asian philosophy, one possibility readily apparent, the other more subtle.

Some people in history have guided decisions by that point of view, achieving in times of crisis.  Most people don't realize that millionaires were created during the Great Depression.  Charles Darrow created a board game which enabled players to at least pretend to be tycoons.  The game?  Monopoly.  It proved to be wildly popular, and made Darrow a fortune.  Michael Cullen in 1930 started a grocery chain that became a success, even during a time of economic disaster.  J. Paul Getty bought up depressed oil stocks that enabled him to create an empire.  Joseph Kennedy, Sr. made a pile from real estate speculation, and its rumored, successfully violated the Volstead Act.  More recently, during the Great Recession, WhatsApp, Venmo, Groupon, Instagram, Uber, Pinterest...all were startups between 2008 and 2010.  These are billion-dollar ventures today.

Now, this post is not about how to get rich.  I'll leave that to others.  But history has proved that even during the darkest of times there are those who find the light.

These days we are all suffering from cabin fever, or more accurately Quarantinitis.  We have plumbed the depths of home entertainment during this time when many have been required to stay home.  We are desperate to get out of the house, and even return to work.  But it won't be easy.  

Reading the news, a careful examination of reports will tell us that even when the economy starts to open up, it will still take a year or more before we see the robust level where we were just before the pandemic.  Small business, which is about 80% of the U.S. economy will take longer.  A lot of small companies will simply have ceased to exist in the past two months.  But entrepreneurs are by nature risk-takers, and it is likely that those same business owners will be back with something new for the market place.  But it will take time to attract attention and build clientele.  It's like turning on the shower and having to wait for the water to heat up.  

The Universe and a Mind Blown

A graphical representation of the expansion of the universe 

from the Big Bang to the present day, with the inflationary epoch 

represented as the dramatic expansion of the metric seen on the left. 

This visualization can be confusing because it appears as if 

the universe is expanding into a pre-existing empty space over time. 

Instead, the expansion created, and continues to create, 

all of known space and time. 

(Wikipedia)

Copyright © 2020

by Ralph F. Couey

Written content below only

I've been holding off on this post because I wanted to be able to explain the complexities of the science involved without losing you or confusing me.

As I said before, I've been a steady customer of the Science Channel's excellent program "How the Universe Works."  I've learned a ton, made easier by the eminent skill of the PhD presenters to make it simple enough to understand.  

About a month ago, there was an episode that dealt with the expansion of the universe.  Basically, since the Big Bang, everything has been expanding outward to form what we know as the observable universe.  Here's the first big idea.  I always thought that what was expanding was the component parts (galaxies, etc) expanding into pre-existing space.  Actually what is happening (see the image at the top of this post) is that space itself is expanding.  Outside the borders of the known universe, nothing -- nothing exists.  Not stars, not dust, not even space itself.  Mind blown.

Back in the late 1920's, A former mule team driver, Milton Humason, was working at the Mount Wilson observatory above, as Dr. Sagan put it, what was then the smog-free skies of Los Angeles.  He had been taking spectrograph images of distant galaxies.  Now, a spectrograph is a handy tool for determining the chemical makeup of distant objects by taking that light and focusing it through a prism.  The prism then breaks the light down into its component parts, identifying things like oxygen, calcium, and other elements, all which have distinct frequencies in light. But Humason discovered something more astonishing.  The telltale bands that identified those chemicals was shifted towards the red end of the spectrum.  

A Short History of Hawai'i, or Why Volcanoes Make Us Feel Small

Mauna Loa

Mauna Kea

Copyright © 2020

by Ralph F. Couey

Data from USGS

and Hawai'i Volcano Observatory

I thought it might be a good opportunity to take some time off from the current unhappiness and discuss something completely different.

Over the Holidays last year, we had most of our family in Hawai'i to help celebrate our son's retirement after 23 years in the Navy.  It was a joyous time, especially since the last time we all got together was for our granddaughters funeral.  

We spent the first week on the island of Hawai'i, locally called simply "the Big Island."  One of the things we did was to visit Hawai'i Volcanoes National Park.  Now, I've seen pictures of a volcano and it's usually a typical cone shape with steep sides and a caldera at the top.  I had seen two of them, Mammoth in California and Rainier outside of Seattle.  But I was never as impressed and awe-struck as the day we drove along the southeast coast of the Big Island.  We had stopped at an overlook to take some pictures of a beautiful deep blue and generously white-capped Pacific Ocean (the winds were really howling that day).  After a few minutes, I turned around and beheld an awesome sight.

There before me were three of the five volcanoes on the island.  Since the slopes are very clean, it was very easy to take in the incredible size of them.  Not that I was able to fully wrap my head around them, mind you.  It's one thing to think of a volcano, another to look at pictures, but to see them in person was mind-blowing.  To my left, Mauna Loa rose into a flawless blue sky, capped by snow.  To my right, further away, Mauna Kea poked it's similarly white cap above the immediate horizon.  We had just driven by Kilauea, south of the highway, a lower peak, but still massive in size.

Leaving the Vampire Life Behind

Copyright © 2020

by Ralph F. Couey

One afternoon, about eight months ago, I showed up at work and was told by my supervisor that I would be moving to the midnight shift.  This announcement caused me a lot of angst.  I was, and still am, the primary caregiver to my 93-year-old mother-in-law, who is a delightful person, very easy to love, but suffering the downward slide of dementia.  Working evenings, I was able to be home for her for most of the day, only leaving her alone for a couple of hours during a time of day when she was usually napping.  This meant a total re-ordering of my responsibilities, and not knowing at all how this was going to affect her care.

I've worked nights before, in the Navy and during any number of the jobs I've held over the years.  Never been my favorite shift, but I had signed a contract stating that I would be available for any and all shifts as assigned.  So, manfully shouldering my new schedule, I flipped my days.

Working nights means sleeping during the days, something I've always found difficult.  I get sleep after a fashion, but I never feel rested and alert, and that fatigue becomes cumulative over time.  My new supervisor has been on that shift for nearly 15 years, so its become second nature for her, a fact of which I was secretly envious.  The good news is that she was also a caregiver, so she knew how hard this dual life could be.

It took me a week or two to finally reach some kind of equilibrium, although I never really fully adjusted.  And I found that this new life did affect the care I could provide.  Now, having to retire by noon, she had to be left unattended for a lot longer time.  I worried constantly about what was happening with her while I was (trying to) sleep in the back bedroom.  

The Death of the Pub

©Timothy Gauger 2017

O'Toole's, on the south side of Chinatown

Copyright © 2020

by Ralph F. Couey

Written content only

Scattered across Honolulu are four Irish pubs, all very well known for live music, great atmosphere, and traditional Irish congeniality.  For over 20 years, the Irish Rose, Anna O'Brien's, Kelly O'Neil's, and my favorite hangout, O'Toole's have been instrumental in keeping Irish culture alive here in the tropics. In addition, for those in the Irish music community, they've been the places to perform, to watch and listen, and gather for informal music sessions.  Now, they may go away forever.

All four are owned by Bill Comerford, an entrepreneur who also is the driving force behind Honolulu's epic St. Patrick's Day celebration.  But like so many other small bars and restaurants, the Great Pandemic of 2020 has effectively killed them.

Honolulu's response to the growing pandemic was to issue shut down orders to a lot of businesses, including nearly all that were part of the hospitality industry.  Comerford had to close the doors of all four pubs, and recently said that despite the closures, that mortgage and tax bills kept coming.  He did qualify for government loans under two emergency programs, but at his age and financial situation, and with no indication when, or even if the government would allow the pubs to re-open, he pragmatically decided that taking on debt of that magnitude was foolish.  He intimated that he was rapidly approaching a situation where closing the pubs permanently was his only option.

Comerford represents millions of other owners of small bar and restaurants across the country who are facing similar critical decisions.  Of all the non-human casualties of the Pandemic, this might be one of the most serious.

I don't have to tell you that the economy is a mess.  With businesses closed and workers laid off, governments are feeling the loss of the sales, business, and property tax revenue that municipalities need so desperately to survive.  We were told that a national debt of $20 trillion was unsustainable even for an economy the size of the United States.  Now, it looks like that debt may soar to as much as $30 trillion. Some states and cities are re-opening, but cautiously and in very limited ways.  Everyone fears that the return of commerce will cause a spike in COVID-19 cases, and subsequent deaths.  It's the kind of choice that puts America in God's little acre -- east of the rock, and west of the hard place.  Either re-start commerce, or watch our economy go the way of Greece.

Those are the big issues.  But buried here are the smaller, more personal losses.

A pub is not just a place to drink.  You could do that in your basement.  It's a place, usually a small one, where people gather to share with each other pieces of their lives.  There is a treasured kind of intimacy that exists in these places, something that a larger chain operation just can't provide.  You understand that this is a place where a person has rolled the dice on an economic risk.  We feel a kinship with those brave souls, and I think that's what gives such places that sense of warmth and shared experience. 

Humans are social animals; interaction is necessary to our mental and emotional health.  Pubs provide those places to gather, where laughter is common and hearts are lifted.  Most offer live music on a regular basis.  For the Four Irishmen of Honolulu, it was almost every night.  For the musicians of Honolulu's Irish community, the loss of those performance opportunities threatens their livelihood.  They are professional musicians first and foremost, so these closures hurt.  None of them have gotten independently wealthy doing this.  After all, the love for the traditional music of Ireland is their primary motivation.

I don't drink, for reasons I won't go into here.  But I do love a good time, and I share a passion for Irish music.  For those reasons, and a weakness for Diet Coke, I went to those pubs.  I made friends, and out of those evenings, I collected a boatload of good memories.  I miss those times.  I miss those people.  I miss the music.  And I miss that sense of community.

When the Pandemic really hit its stride in late February, nobody expected it to last very long, or have the impact that it's had.  Now, two months later, the curves of infection and death are flattening, but nobody knows if this thing is close to being over.  People who need to work and earn money are becoming frustrated and agitated, a groundswell of emotion that nobody knows what to do with.  It is clear that we can't risk giving COVID-19 a new launching point now that we're finally beating it back.  More ominously, nobody knows whether this is a one-and-done thing, or if the corona virus has moved in to stay.  What is becoming clear is that life on the other side of this Pandemic will be very different. 

The loss of humans to COVID-19 is tragic in a way almost impossible to articulate.  I know this, and I am in no way minimizing those deaths.  But the shredding of our social fabric may result in equally tragic long-term consequences.

So, I know that life has changed, perhaps permanently and what may be gone forever are these small business operations that simply couldn't survive an extended shutdown.  Yes, there will be the large chain restaurants and bars that may survive, although I don't see how one can go to a bar or restaurant, wear a mask, and stay six feet away from everyone else.  But there's something endearing about that neighborhood watering hole where, as the phrase goes, "everybody knows your name."  To lose those places risks the loss of that sense of community so endemic to them.  That place where friends could meet, lower their barriers and shields and just enjoy each other may be fading away before our eyes. And our hearts.

For those lovers of traditional Irish music, including this writer, the resulting silence will be deafening.