Short stories
Short Stories
In My Bloodstream: Lisinopril, Amlodopine, Omeprazole, Tamsulosin
On The Stereo:Cheeseburger In Paradise: Jimmy Buffett
I started writing a few years ago, to talk about cancer. About its diagnosis. Its treatment. Its maliciousness and its surreptitious nature. But mostly, my intent was to offer hope and to thank those who give care and love to the affected. Many who have genuinely enriched my life.
Today, I digress. Current events are on the table.
For the last few months, Covid 19 has dominated the news. We have learned more and we know less. There has never been a consensus on its cause or its handling. I have heard, from one report, that over 60% of the people who have tested positive, had been sheltering in place. If so, what are we doing staying in? It does not seem to help. As I have said before, there will not be any clean ending for us. We will have to decide for ourselves how we want to continue our lives.
It will be messy, as we see from the outbreak of new cases here, in Florida. Our Canadian friends, like those in many other countries, are more likely to follow orders, having more confidence that their politicians will do what is best for them. Americans are of a more rebellious nature, with a healthy distrust of politicians, and a strong sense of self sufficiency. Neither is perfect. We are who we are.
There seems no end to the turmoil.
And now Black Lives Matter has taken a pandemic off the front page. Who would have believed that? Each new day presents another inflammatory story. Every morning now begins with an update on another shooting, on the previous evening, of a black man by the police. I am in no position to judge, but several cases appear, on the surface, to be utterly irresponsible.
A drunk man sleeping in his car, is awakened, given a sobriety test. Fails. And ends up shot, while holding an officer's taser. As much as a taser might be dangerous, it is certainly not deadly. Why, in Heaven's name, would the police shoot the man? They have his car. They know who he is and where he lives. He is going to end up going to the pound to claim his car at some point. Nobody needs to be shot.
In older days, the cop would have taken your keys, advised you to call a friend for a ride home, or given you a ride home, and you would return the next day to claim your car. The police were hired to protect the public, and their job would be effectively complete, with no harm done. They would have protected the man from harming himself and kept a drunk driver off the road. No one had to draw a weapon. Nobody was arrested. Jails were not filled with drunk and/or stupid people, who would not normally hurt a soul. I know this to be true. At least in my home town. No names are mentioned here, to protect the guilty.
I understand things might be more complex, these days, but still, guns need not be drawn when there is no violence committed. When guns are unholstered, situations dramatically change - often for the worst. A police friend of mine (retired) told me that in 19 years on the force, he drew his weapon only a handful of times. His most memorable happened on his first night on the job. He never shot anyone. Maybe he was lucky, or perhaps he found better ways to handle his job.
In any case, the media is bombarding us with racist stories. Some true and some, sadly, meant only to enhance viewership.
A few weeks ago, I read an interesting article by Gerard Baker, an editor with the Wall Street Journal. He referenced the recent shooting of Ahmaud Arberry, a 25 year old black man, by a father and son, who claimed they believed him to be a thief. They followed him and then killed him. Clever boys? Idiots. They have been rightfully charged with murder. Justice will be done. End of story. Oh yes, the shooters were white. That story dominated the news for a week.
That very same day, Paul and Lydia Marino, a white couple in their mid-eighties, were in Bear, Delaware, visiting their son. They were at a Veterans' cemetery, where he was interred. They were shot to death at the gravesite. The killer was found and died in a gunfight with the police.
My guess is, like me, you have never heard that story. The news outlets did not believe it to be newsworthy. The shooting death of an old couple at the gravesite of their son, who served his country was not a newsworthy story. Why? That should have been plastered on TV and on front pages of newspapers across this country. At least in my mind. Baker contends it was not reported because the killer was black. It might neutralize an already toxic situation. Emotional response might be leveled. We are fed what the media wants us to eat.
The article is available online, and contains statistical evidence on the reporting balance of news stories, whenever race is involved. Baker believes that media is actively involved in stirring racial unrest, and they go above and beyond to create a most uneasy atmosphere. Walter Cronkite must be shaking his head in disbelief at what his profession has become.
Enough of that. Let me get back to my life. The really important stuff.
Professional golf came back this week. Real golf - but without fans. It was so good to take a break from spelling bees and corn hole championships from years gone by. Actual, live golf. And it was a good match, as well. Down to the last putt on the last hole. A break from all that surrounds us. A trip to fantasy. Reality on the back burner - if only for a while.
With my arm still in wrap, I continue to play too much golf. But I enjoy those days with my Relic friends and my Kath has finished teaching, so it is my duty to keep them all happy. They love me. They really do. My presence is mandatory. My game, however, is crap. Most importantly, all of us - friends and companions - are free to enjoy our time, together. It is our tiny slice of society, and our community.
On Sunday, after our regular pancake breakfast, Kath realized that we were, all of a sudden, running late, and we both began finding and putting on our golfing clothes. Kath was now in the lead, and was getting us water and snacks. I put on a pair of blue slacks, but found, as hard as I tried, I could not get the front to come together at my waist. They must have shrunk. Crap!
So I picked out a pair of shorts, blue, as well, and pulled them on. Time was now against me, and a touch of frustration was showing up. These shorts are well-made, and have a series of buttons at the waist, which must be done up, prior to pulling up the zipper. The first button is sewn on a strip of material, and actually faces inward, towards the tummy, and I had some difficulty as the button-hole was quite small, and I could not get the button through the stupid hole. I did not give up. Even with the shouts from my friend, telling me that we were going to be late. There was precious little room inside these pants, for my two hands to work out this button problem. These pants did not want to be worn. I knew this. But I won. Eventually. Finally.
Now the regular button needed my attention.
Done. And I have learned something from this struggle. I have gained the Covid 19 pounds. There is much work to be done to undo the effects of this virus. I did not even know that eating too much was symptomatic of the illness. I must have it bad. Good grief.
Later, at dinner, we were laughing at my weight problems and my ridiculous struggle to get my pants on. It was funny. A neighbor had brought us some chocolate cake. Very nice of her. Kat had already made a peach pie that day. She had been shopping and purchased rhubarb, to make another pie, despite still having an untouched pie on the counter. Vanilla ice cream in the freezer.
Peach pie, fresh from the oven. Soon to be a la mode.
Well. As soon as we finish the chocolate cake and ice cream and the peach pie and ice cream and then the rhubarb pie and ice cream, we will need to go shopping again, won't we?
I am now wearing three bandages. In addition to my arm wound, I towel-rubbed a long lasting head sore from an old skin graft and I carelessly allowed a sharp part of my bike to pierce my right arm. I look ludicrous. What else is new?
Hope you are making the best of your lives. We all could be in trouble for a long, long time. There is no use in despair. Find the good. In people and in living - every day. Our civilization has been through much worse and we have fared well. Make sure to laugh. Make certain you tell someone that you love them. So easily done. We all need that assurance.
Real love and virtual hugs from Florida.
As always your comments are welcome.
jrobinmullen@gmail.com
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