If Music Be
In My Bloodstream: Lisinopril, Amlodopine, Omeprazole, Tamsulosin
On The Stereo: The Song Remembers When: Trisha Yearwood
Covid 19
There are many lessons to be learned from this pandemic. People are dying. More each day. Our health care workers have been under unimaginable stress. In doing their jobs, they put themselves and their loved ones at incredible risk. But they continue in their chosen profession. Fearless fighters, to save the lives of strangers. How can we possibly give them the thanks and praise they deserve.
Anyone who still must go out to serve customers, also deserves our gratitude. I am never sure whether or not they all truly understand the circumstances into which they insert themselves. When you see the young staff at Publix, one would be hard-pressed to see concern or fear on their faces. A job is a job. Day in. Day out. Sun. Rain. Pandemic. Just doing their job. Heavens.
Perhaps erroneously, I would guess that many do not recognize the danger and its severity. Such is the power of youth. Being young one feels invincible. That is why beaches are closed here in Florida. Before closure, spring-breakers partied like there was no tomorrow. There was not a hint of concern. There was no visual enemy. No one felt pain or sickness. Why would anyone be afraid? It is hard for any of us to fear something we cannot see or feel. If you are out in public every day, are healthy, and see no evidence of Covid 19, why would you believe there is a problem at all?
In hospitals, you know. The evidence is incontrovertible. Doctors, nurses and staff all know. There is no question. The sick and dying are factual. Inside the walls.
Outside, in our world, corroboration of sickness is through television, on filmed reports, and on published graphs showing the numbers of the sick and dead. It is provided by newspeople, politicians and political hacks. And that type of news, my friends, is not convincing to the majority of people. I don't believe the media has embodied trust in itself over the last too many years. We are more likely to have faith in what we, ourselves, see and touch. Media does not stay with the story of what is happening, without the addition of who is to blame. We would be so much better off if the question was always "what" and not "who".
I even receive notes from my Canadian friends, some who were seasonal neighbors in Fort Myers, who are convinced that we are in terrible trouble, all because of our politics. Canadians and Americans are not mirror images of each other. Different beginnings. Different problems. Different views on freedom. Americans have a robust belief in personal freedom and self-sufficiency. I love that. It is unreasonable to judge a country of which you have limited and/or biased knowledge.
Trying to turn people against their own government is a dangerous thing. Most especially in times like these. If that is your intent, China and Russia might be better places to start. They may provide you a larger opportunity. They do not get to vote for their leaders. Choices are not theirs to make.
You know, we all need to be supportive of each other in these strange times. No good comes from political criticism from a foreign source. Apparently we already get that from the Russians. We Americans should, and will be united, in getting through this virus and getting the country and its economy running again. Messages of support and hope are most welcome. American voters will express their own political agenda on election day.
As a Canadian of many years, having left for a new opportunity, I have never derided my friends on anything done by the Canadian government. Either to, or for its people. Why would I? It is no longer my business. I do not live there and I am in no way dependent on their decisions. As a former Canadian, I would consider it impolite to be critical. Actually, un-Canadian. I still love the country and I love its people. My friends. What happens in your country is your business. Not mine. I wish you only good things. I would hope that is your wish for us.
Kathy and I were discussing the fact that so many people in this country have been through some sort of war. Some of our elderly have been in concentration camps. Many have represented our country in battle. Some have seen the ravages of the AIDS epidemic. In fact, we were in the midst of the opioid epidemic when this virus was released on us. The foe for all of them was tangible. You could see it and touch it and knew it existed. This is a difficult enemy.
Therein begins the problem of truth. How can we be afraid of an invisible, airborne virus, when we are not personally affected? We cannot fathom an unseen enemy.
Where the hell are the zombies when you need them?
Covid In The House
On March 31st, I awoke with sore muscles. Mostly in my shoulders. To the point that I had difficulty turning to sit up, turn my body, and slide out of bed. I was not very active for the remainder of the day, and showed no further significant issues, eventually going to bed that evening, as per normal.
The next morning, April 1st, I was pranked. And it was not much fun. I could not get out of bed. I had lost muscle. Everywhere. I could not get up on one elbow. I could not move my legs. I thought it must be like polio. I started to think I would not walk again. My upper body was aching and my quadriceps felt like I had just finished a hundred squats. They were jelly.
I slowly managed to get up. My balance was shaky, and I was barely able to move around the house. I almost fell trying to step down the 4 inches into the sun room. Eventually I ended up on all fours, crawling, in an attempt to get to a chair.
Kath reminded me that this was not the first time that I had been beset by leg problems. Twelve years ago, I had to have a series of injections in the discs on my lower back. Several of us were having the same problem at that time. Bob Siekman and I were in competition to see who had the worst condition. There was no winner. Time and old wounds eventually unite to cause you considerable and unwanted pain.
I had the same type of issues at that time, and while Kat and I talked, I convinced myself that I was having more of the same. I was told, way back, that the needles' effect would not last forever. Time's up, I thought.
So I called my doctor, initially to ask if I might have the virus. By the time we video conferenced, later that day, I convinced him that this was an old problem in recurrence. He agreed with me, inasmuch as he also thought it was a muscle related problem. He stopped short of exploring the possibility of anything else.
Then, after the call, I gave myself a shot of truth. This was not the same thing at all. It was not just my lower body that was suffering. Every muscle in my body was aching. I could not even lean on a piece of furniture, and expect to be stable. I was under attack from something. To my mind, this was something altogether different than a disc issue. These problems were not listed as early symptoms of the virus, according to the internet. At least where I was looking.
I slowly, over the next few days, made a comeback. I now have no trace of a problem. In the interim, my bride had been coughing - a dry hack. And it went on and on. So did we, or didn't we? Who knows. But I, long ago, have committed myself to never going to a hospital. Unless, of course, the situation was dire. In case you are unaware, there are sick people in those places. It is best not to be near them. Maybe we were also sick, but we would stay at home and wait it out. And here we still are. Until testing is more readily available. If the availability of toilet paper is any example, we might have to wait a long time.
Laughter
Making my life better every day, are a legion of crazy people. Friends who still find laughter inside problems. People who fight battles with humor. The myriad jokes, cartoons and videos, which come into my mailbox each day, make me smile. Chortle. And many induce laughter. Loud. All by myself. Laughter. A distraction.
Thank you to all who have helped others, like me, find hope and fun in a terrible time.
Music
Music. Most of you who know me, know my love of music. I usually can find something worthy, in almost all types. I listen to pop, Reggae, opera, classical, country, seasonal, oldies, musicals and instrumentals. Rap would be my biggest stumbling block.
My daughter, a few years ago, wisely told me that I need to give rap music a chance. She explained to me that I just did not understand it. And she provided me tutelage. She gave me an M&M song to listen to and helped me understand the lyrics, and get to the story. I did listen, and she was right. I still do not go out of my way to listen to the genre, but I do have some appreciation. Something I did not have before. Last week I told her about a TV special with Garth Brooks and Trisha Yearwood. They were holding a free concert from their home, with lots of hit songs and silliness. My Little Girl quickly retorted that she did not like country music. Somewhere in this story, there is a message. I can only find laughter. And that is more than ok.
My Music
I burst into song. I burst into the song I hear. And sing along. I burst into song when Kath says anything that reminds me of a lyric. From any song I have ever heard. I burst into song when I am happy. Or when I am sad. I might sing badly. My family might say very badly. And that might, itself, be an understatement. But I sing. And I am joyous.
God's greatest gift, I believe, was music. A melody can haunt you forever. A lyric can give you a blow to the heart. An instrument, played well, can stop a conversation. A voice, with pitch, clarity and soul, is an undeniable and beautiful gift.
Movies are recognizable by their score. Commercials by their jingles. Television shows by their musical introduction. Music pervades your life. And you might be totally unaware.
Music is everywhere. It is the beat of our lives. The rhythm . The cadence. It plays in the background of your every day.
When children laugh, it is music to your ears. Every breath from your lips has a metronome's pace. Every memory is accompanied with a song of that time. It is a gift. And we should be thankful.
I am fortunate to have collected several thousands of songs and music. No day is complete without some time spent, listening to my music. Alone or with my bride. There is always music.
I begin every blog entry with a reference to music. I try to take care to ensure it has meaning and a relationship with some part of my writing. Hopefully you will have taken the time to find the music and listen to its story, especially if you find yourself unfamiliar with my recommendation. I have old favorites and new. Some lift my soul. Others break my heart. I love that music's power can shake me to the core.
The music of my life is essential to me. I could not be without it. In my youth, I wrote a song that a sweet young girl claimed to be the best song she ever heard. And years later, she recently told me, it still plays every day, in her mind. (Thank you, Ann.)
A piece of music, if heard at the right time, in the right place, at a time of need, will be yours forever.
A date to see and hear the musical Jesus Christ Superstar, ended with Kat and I driving out of the city, and into a future, together.
We left on our honeymoon with Cat Stevens singing Foreigner's Suite, on the tape deck of our TR6.
Kat's mother died when Placido Domingo and John Denver combined on Perhaps Love.
My Mom's go to song was John Lennon's Give Peace A Chance. She believed in that song with all her heart. After all, she had lived through the war and was a war bride. She wished for peace. Every day. The song gave her hope.
The Boy, keeping music alive. On his deck, in Raleigh. Kristin's hand and cocktail in foreground.
And lately, Maroon Five's "Memories", brings back my friends. And makes me cry. But I need those friends and those memories. I want them to be with me, always. For that, I am thankful to the song.
Listen to Trisha Yearwood's song - listed above.
Thank you, God, for your gift. I am eternally grateful.
If music be the food of love, sing on. Shakespeare.
On another note, our prayers are with our friends in Tuscaloosa. And especially our neighbors in North River. We know you have received a terrible blow from two tornadoes, a week apart. We have been in contact with some friends there, and we have heard of no injuries or deaths. Thank goodness.
Sometimes grief piles on. It is difficult to remember Covid 19 and social distancing ,when your world is shattered, with trees ripped out of their roots, undriveable roads, and living without power for days. You realize what a tough day it is when you have to prioritize your catastrophes.
Stay strong. I know you will.
With love in my heart and a song on my lips, I burst with the joy of the day.
Signing out from Florida.
jrobinmullen@gmail.com
There are many lessons to be learned from this pandemic. People are dying. More each day. Our health care workers have been under unimaginable stress. In doing their jobs, they put themselves and their loved ones at incredible risk. But they continue in their chosen profession. Fearless fighters, to save the lives of strangers. How can we possibly give them the thanks and praise they deserve.
Anyone who still must go out to serve customers, also deserves our gratitude. I am never sure whether or not they all truly understand the circumstances into which they insert themselves. When you see the young staff at Publix, one would be hard-pressed to see concern or fear on their faces. A job is a job. Day in. Day out. Sun. Rain. Pandemic. Just doing their job. Heavens.
Perhaps erroneously, I would guess that many do not recognize the danger and its severity. Such is the power of youth. Being young one feels invincible. That is why beaches are closed here in Florida. Before closure, spring-breakers partied like there was no tomorrow. There was not a hint of concern. There was no visual enemy. No one felt pain or sickness. Why would anyone be afraid? It is hard for any of us to fear something we cannot see or feel. If you are out in public every day, are healthy, and see no evidence of Covid 19, why would you believe there is a problem at all?
In hospitals, you know. The evidence is incontrovertible. Doctors, nurses and staff all know. There is no question. The sick and dying are factual. Inside the walls.
Outside, in our world, corroboration of sickness is through television, on filmed reports, and on published graphs showing the numbers of the sick and dead. It is provided by newspeople, politicians and political hacks. And that type of news, my friends, is not convincing to the majority of people. I don't believe the media has embodied trust in itself over the last too many years. We are more likely to have faith in what we, ourselves, see and touch. Media does not stay with the story of what is happening, without the addition of who is to blame. We would be so much better off if the question was always "what" and not "who".
I even receive notes from my Canadian friends, some who were seasonal neighbors in Fort Myers, who are convinced that we are in terrible trouble, all because of our politics. Canadians and Americans are not mirror images of each other. Different beginnings. Different problems. Different views on freedom. Americans have a robust belief in personal freedom and self-sufficiency. I love that. It is unreasonable to judge a country of which you have limited and/or biased knowledge.
Trying to turn people against their own government is a dangerous thing. Most especially in times like these. If that is your intent, China and Russia might be better places to start. They may provide you a larger opportunity. They do not get to vote for their leaders. Choices are not theirs to make.
You know, we all need to be supportive of each other in these strange times. No good comes from political criticism from a foreign source. Apparently we already get that from the Russians. We Americans should, and will be united, in getting through this virus and getting the country and its economy running again. Messages of support and hope are most welcome. American voters will express their own political agenda on election day.
As a Canadian of many years, having left for a new opportunity, I have never derided my friends on anything done by the Canadian government. Either to, or for its people. Why would I? It is no longer my business. I do not live there and I am in no way dependent on their decisions. As a former Canadian, I would consider it impolite to be critical. Actually, un-Canadian. I still love the country and I love its people. My friends. What happens in your country is your business. Not mine. I wish you only good things. I would hope that is your wish for us.
Kathy and I were discussing the fact that so many people in this country have been through some sort of war. Some of our elderly have been in concentration camps. Many have represented our country in battle. Some have seen the ravages of the AIDS epidemic. In fact, we were in the midst of the opioid epidemic when this virus was released on us. The foe for all of them was tangible. You could see it and touch it and knew it existed. This is a difficult enemy.
Therein begins the problem of truth. How can we be afraid of an invisible, airborne virus, when we are not personally affected? We cannot fathom an unseen enemy.
Where the hell are the zombies when you need them?
Covid In The House
On March 31st, I awoke with sore muscles. Mostly in my shoulders. To the point that I had difficulty turning to sit up, turn my body, and slide out of bed. I was not very active for the remainder of the day, and showed no further significant issues, eventually going to bed that evening, as per normal.
The next morning, April 1st, I was pranked. And it was not much fun. I could not get out of bed. I had lost muscle. Everywhere. I could not get up on one elbow. I could not move my legs. I thought it must be like polio. I started to think I would not walk again. My upper body was aching and my quadriceps felt like I had just finished a hundred squats. They were jelly.
I slowly managed to get up. My balance was shaky, and I was barely able to move around the house. I almost fell trying to step down the 4 inches into the sun room. Eventually I ended up on all fours, crawling, in an attempt to get to a chair.
Kath reminded me that this was not the first time that I had been beset by leg problems. Twelve years ago, I had to have a series of injections in the discs on my lower back. Several of us were having the same problem at that time. Bob Siekman and I were in competition to see who had the worst condition. There was no winner. Time and old wounds eventually unite to cause you considerable and unwanted pain.
I had the same type of issues at that time, and while Kat and I talked, I convinced myself that I was having more of the same. I was told, way back, that the needles' effect would not last forever. Time's up, I thought.
So I called my doctor, initially to ask if I might have the virus. By the time we video conferenced, later that day, I convinced him that this was an old problem in recurrence. He agreed with me, inasmuch as he also thought it was a muscle related problem. He stopped short of exploring the possibility of anything else.
Then, after the call, I gave myself a shot of truth. This was not the same thing at all. It was not just my lower body that was suffering. Every muscle in my body was aching. I could not even lean on a piece of furniture, and expect to be stable. I was under attack from something. To my mind, this was something altogether different than a disc issue. These problems were not listed as early symptoms of the virus, according to the internet. At least where I was looking.
I slowly, over the next few days, made a comeback. I now have no trace of a problem. In the interim, my bride had been coughing - a dry hack. And it went on and on. So did we, or didn't we? Who knows. But I, long ago, have committed myself to never going to a hospital. Unless, of course, the situation was dire. In case you are unaware, there are sick people in those places. It is best not to be near them. Maybe we were also sick, but we would stay at home and wait it out. And here we still are. Until testing is more readily available. If the availability of toilet paper is any example, we might have to wait a long time.
Laughter
Making my life better every day, are a legion of crazy people. Friends who still find laughter inside problems. People who fight battles with humor. The myriad jokes, cartoons and videos, which come into my mailbox each day, make me smile. Chortle. And many induce laughter. Loud. All by myself. Laughter. A distraction.
Thank you to all who have helped others, like me, find hope and fun in a terrible time.
Music
Music. Most of you who know me, know my love of music. I usually can find something worthy, in almost all types. I listen to pop, Reggae, opera, classical, country, seasonal, oldies, musicals and instrumentals. Rap would be my biggest stumbling block.
My daughter, a few years ago, wisely told me that I need to give rap music a chance. She explained to me that I just did not understand it. And she provided me tutelage. She gave me an M&M song to listen to and helped me understand the lyrics, and get to the story. I did listen, and she was right. I still do not go out of my way to listen to the genre, but I do have some appreciation. Something I did not have before. Last week I told her about a TV special with Garth Brooks and Trisha Yearwood. They were holding a free concert from their home, with lots of hit songs and silliness. My Little Girl quickly retorted that she did not like country music. Somewhere in this story, there is a message. I can only find laughter. And that is more than ok.
My Music
I burst into song. I burst into the song I hear. And sing along. I burst into song when Kath says anything that reminds me of a lyric. From any song I have ever heard. I burst into song when I am happy. Or when I am sad. I might sing badly. My family might say very badly. And that might, itself, be an understatement. But I sing. And I am joyous.
God's greatest gift, I believe, was music. A melody can haunt you forever. A lyric can give you a blow to the heart. An instrument, played well, can stop a conversation. A voice, with pitch, clarity and soul, is an undeniable and beautiful gift.
Movies are recognizable by their score. Commercials by their jingles. Television shows by their musical introduction. Music pervades your life. And you might be totally unaware.
Music is everywhere. It is the beat of our lives. The rhythm . The cadence. It plays in the background of your every day.
When children laugh, it is music to your ears. Every breath from your lips has a metronome's pace. Every memory is accompanied with a song of that time. It is a gift. And we should be thankful.
I am fortunate to have collected several thousands of songs and music. No day is complete without some time spent, listening to my music. Alone or with my bride. There is always music.
I begin every blog entry with a reference to music. I try to take care to ensure it has meaning and a relationship with some part of my writing. Hopefully you will have taken the time to find the music and listen to its story, especially if you find yourself unfamiliar with my recommendation. I have old favorites and new. Some lift my soul. Others break my heart. I love that music's power can shake me to the core.
The music of my life is essential to me. I could not be without it. In my youth, I wrote a song that a sweet young girl claimed to be the best song she ever heard. And years later, she recently told me, it still plays every day, in her mind. (Thank you, Ann.)
A piece of music, if heard at the right time, in the right place, at a time of need, will be yours forever.
A date to see and hear the musical Jesus Christ Superstar, ended with Kat and I driving out of the city, and into a future, together.
We left on our honeymoon with Cat Stevens singing Foreigner's Suite, on the tape deck of our TR6.
Kat's mother died when Placido Domingo and John Denver combined on Perhaps Love.
My Mom's go to song was John Lennon's Give Peace A Chance. She believed in that song with all her heart. After all, she had lived through the war and was a war bride. She wished for peace. Every day. The song gave her hope.
And lately, Maroon Five's "Memories", brings back my friends. And makes me cry. But I need those friends and those memories. I want them to be with me, always. For that, I am thankful to the song.
Listen to Trisha Yearwood's song - listed above.
Thank you, God, for your gift. I am eternally grateful.
If music be the food of love, sing on. Shakespeare.
On another note, our prayers are with our friends in Tuscaloosa. And especially our neighbors in North River. We know you have received a terrible blow from two tornadoes, a week apart. We have been in contact with some friends there, and we have heard of no injuries or deaths. Thank goodness.
Sometimes grief piles on. It is difficult to remember Covid 19 and social distancing ,when your world is shattered, with trees ripped out of their roots, undriveable roads, and living without power for days. You realize what a tough day it is when you have to prioritize your catastrophes.
Stay strong. I know you will.
With love in my heart and a song on my lips, I burst with the joy of the day.
Signing out from Florida.
jrobinmullen@gmail.com
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