When Normal Feels Abnormal

 

Copyright © 2022

by Ralph F. Couey

After two very long years, the long claws of the Pandemic are finally loosening their grip.  Over the past few months, states and municipalities began to relax the stringent requirements, such as masking, public gatherings, even the number of shoppers that could be in a store at any given time.  Hawai'i was the last state to drop the mask mandate, which they did on March 25.  This was a major concession by the state which had, hands down, the strictest controls in place.  That was followed this month by the ending of the mask mandate on airliners, buses, and other public transportation.  This was met with a lot of dismay, and an attempt to extend the mandate was struck down by an appellate court.  It would seem that "normal", however one might define that, was finally making a comeback.

The transition was abrupt.  At least it seemed that way.  The first day, March 26, I had occasion to visit the local WalMart.  So ingrained was the need for a mask that as I approached the door, I began to feel like I was missing something.  Entering the store, I slowed, expecting to be accosted by one of the blue-vested workers, but no such entreaty was heard.  I went deeper into the store, maskless, feeling...well, weird.  Looking around, I saw about an even mix between the masked and unmasked.  But nobody complained, so I completed my shopping uneventfully, except for noting with excitement the return to the shelves of my favorite breakfast cereals, Special K and Rice Crispies.  A problem at the Kellogg's plant produced a shortage of those and a couple other cereals for several months.  

Since that day, I've been trying to get used to the new situation.  It was hard, going through the McDonald's drive through, to not reach for a mask.  Even filling gas had required a mask, even though it took place outside.  At work, in a meeting with our boss and other supervisors, at one point in the middle of a serious discussion about the approaching hurricane season (yes, we get them out here), I began to chuckle.  The boss looked at me and inquired what was so funny.  I replied, "Sorry, I just haven't seen your face for two years."  That brought a laugh from everyone.  At church, we can use hymnals and sing again.  Still, it all feels strange.  And why should normal not feel...normal?

Over the past two years, we have been living with a virus that proved to be serious, and deadly.  The fear was sold hard by the government and the media, and we all walked around scared that this unseen enemy could at any moment leap out and grab us, like a mountain lion lying in wait along a hiking trail.  We became accustomed to living with the fear, like learning to walk with a limp.  Now, with the Pandemic on the wane, the fear remains.  I still see a lot of people using masks, even to the point of wearing one while driving with the windows up and A/C on.  I don't have any problem with that.  It's up to us as individuals to choose the level of risk we live with.  I followed the rules, got all the shots, and survived without ever getting sick even though my job with Hawai'i Emergency Management Agency required me to be at work while everyone else was locked down.  The thing is, I don't want to live with fear.  Life requires us to challenge it, pushing back against adversity and conquering our fears.  I have enough baggage without adding fear to the load.

Time, Tides, and the Really Important Things

 

Copyright © 2022

By Ralph F. Couey

Sixteen years ago, I wrote the first piece of this blog, an essay about Ben Rothlesberger's motorcycle accident.  Ben was new to motorcycles and some misguided salesman sold him a Suzuki Hayabusa, a 1300 cc rocket ship, and at that time was the fastest production motorcycle in the world with a top speed of 194 mph.  Predictably, within a month of that purchase, Ben was speeding, lost control, wrecked the bike and very nearly ended his life.  

Since that initial effort, the blog has grown to 833 posts, many of them newspaper columns that were published in various newspapers across the country.  So much of what I wrote involved the recounting of everyday experiences with just a bit of a twist.  Even when committed to writing as many as three per week, I never lacked for subjects.  It seemed that in my daily slog through life, there was plenty of interesting things to write about.  Of course, that was when "normal" existed.

After reviewing my work over the past five years, I realized that my writing reflected the mood I was in, usually dim, dark, and depressing.  Recently, I made myself a promise that I would seek out subjects which were, at the least, neutral, if not uplifting.  I recognize that the Pandemic affected me in ways which were not necessarily healthy, along with several million other people who suffered various forms of depression while isolated behind walls and masks.

Now that the last of the mask mandates have been lifted, that of air travel, it would seem that "normal" is making a comeback.  And not a day too soon.  Next month, Cheryl and I are taking a real-life vacation, three glorious weeks with some of our grandchildren in Virginia who are suffering a tragic lack of spoiling.  The instigation of this journey began one day when Facebook, as they are wont to do, re-posted a video of our oldest granddaughter at age three or four singing a Christmas carol at church.  It's an inspiring thing to watch, as she belts out the song loudly and confidently with absolutely not a shred of self-consciousness.  When we realized that that darling little girl would be driving soon, we decided we had to go.  

Children are precious things.  The days of their youth seem long, but pass all to quickly.  The pictures and videos helpfully posted by their Mom made it all too clear that we were missing the best part of their lives, those pre- and early-teen years when their joy and innocence remains utterly free of cynicism.  While it was a sense of filial duty to Cheryl's aging mother that brought us here to Hawai'i, we are all too aware of the ocean and continent that separate us from all ten grandkids.  

Time passes quickly as one reaches their 60's.  For reasons which remain mysterious, a day, a week, a month, even a year represents an increasingly smaller fraction of life, and therefore seems to fly by.  Sometimes that's good, like when you're enduring something like a root canal.  But mainly, I have become a bit more frantic because the vehicle I'm in is flying down the road of life at increasing speed, and will not stop or even slow.  And yes, I know how that particular trip ends.

Riding the Pony, Living the Dream

Copyright © 2022

By Ralph F. Couey

18 months ago I began a relationship. No, not with a human, but a magnificent automobile, the fulfillment of a dream that began in the fall of 1963.  That was the time when the new car models were introduced to the public.  It was a big deal back then when creativity seemed to be more important than the cookie-cutter models today.  Ford introduced a new vehicle upon which they hung the name "Mustang."  Each year, it got bigger and faster, culminating in the testosterone-generating 1969 Mach 1, also referred to as the Boss 429, with an enormous 429 CID (7.0 Liter) engine.  This powerplant was rated at 375 horsepower, but a lot of experts will swear on any religious book you choose that the actual output was closer to 500 HP.  This was a car you didn't just hear coming, but felt it as well.

Being a normal teenage male at the time, I lusted for that car, probably as a way of concealing my inadequacies in other areas.  As my life progressed through the years, prudence put me into other less-appealing vehicles.  But still in my heart was that longing that had not diminished.

In October 2020, in a moment of weakness, my wife suggested I should go look for a Mustang, if that's what I really wanted.  It was like throwing gasoline on a fire.

I searched assiduously for a period of time until I pad a visit to Honolulu Ford.  The first thing I saw was a parking lot full of Mustangs.  After talking to the salesman, he tossed me the keys to a used Mustang I4, also known as the EcoBoost.  Pulling out of the parking lot, it drove like every 4-cylinder car.  Then, I pulled on the ramp to H-1 (Our Interstate Highway).  Glancing at the traffic, I punched the accelerator.  

Ohhh Myyyy...