Bacilli -- The Whole Set

 Virus

Part 18 of 30

I may as well confess, it’s been a long time since I did coursework in bacteriology and immunology. But when I did it -- a solid 10 semesters plus a half-page essay -- I was good. I went from bar to bar and party to party and never caught a thing, truly while having my way with the best and worst of them. You might remember my thesis: "If We Can't See It, It Ain't There -- Why Is Society So Damned Stupid?"

Of course I knew that viruses are real. One particularly bad strain of pneumococcus was going around and I followed the directions to a T: “Put a banana peel in your shorts before the party.” Nothing vague about it. That was the year the banana flu killed virtually an entire generation. My saving grace was I had the caution to wrap the peel in plastic. I needed it to keep my shorts clean, but it also kept the fatal absorption in my tender undercarriage at a harmless minimum, sparing my life while leaving me in the hospital until a healthier shipment of bananas arrived from down south. Now I’m immune.

It’s really an exciting field to be in, getting the latest lowdown on disease bacilli, especially if you load up on life insurance. I had my entire family as beneficiaries, and you wouldn’t believe the various strains they were setting by my napkin at the dinner table. But I remained well-read on the subject and thwarted all murder attempts. I developed such a confidence that I could tell you precisely how much of the most dangerous things you could eat and keep in your stomach till they needed to be expelled to save your life. But all fun things come to an end, like when friends try to go for the world record and end up dying. Unfortunately, I was never their beneficiary, keeping me as poor as ever.

These days, now that I’m much older, it’s harder to keep up on the latest specimens and research. But I keep up on it as much as I can. See the one that looks like a purple seahorse? It looks fairly benign, but it’s as dangerous as they get. Then look at the large-mouth orange blob at the top. Looks like it might eat you alive, but it’s relatively harmless, living on dandruff! So just comb your hair near it and it’s your friend for life. But let’s say you’re one of those unfortunate people without dandruff. That angers it and it’ll crawl up your nose. But don’t fret quite yet. A friend with dandruff can still save you, although, absent a friend, it explodes in 10 seconds and goodbye head.

Looking around the gallery I’m filled with lots of memories. They’re not all dangerous, you know, if you catch them out of season, if you don’t breathe too heavily, and if you have a lucky charm, like one of those pennies that’s smashed into a Lord’s Prayer. Anything like that, while not foolproof in saving you, is still better than nothing. As you’re passing on -- just like with our current virus -- the prayer and a touch of faith might keep you from burning. But your time on earth is certainly over.

The Great Bacteriums

Virus

Part 17 of 30

Right up front I need to put out a disclaimer on this one, that, perhaps, what I seem to recall as “The Great Bacteriums of Old” may not have existed. They're telling me that. Yet I seem to remember the elders talking about them when I was a kid. But this other guy I know, whose great grandparents were a prominent fixture in the 1800s supposedly never told their children and their children’s children about such affairs, because this other guy never heard of it.

I’ve been mulling it over, googling to no avail, and I always thought they had such a reliable service, but so far it’s all coming up empty. And yet it just seems to me that my grandfather, who was born in the late 1800s, had said something about something that his grandfather reportedly mentioned in some context, the exact quotation now lost. As I can put it together -- and there are blanks -- I’ve got the syllable “-teriums and the fact that one of my grandfather’s cousins died of bacteria. Poo poo it if you like but it’s ballpark close, close enough to go with.

So there it was. When people were lucky to live into their 30s and would often defer marriage till they were 35 just to be on the safe side, thanks to inheritance issues and whether ladies or guys were marrying each other for their money, they had these bacterium exhibits. With my understanding being that loving couples used these sideshows to settle inheritance issues for their combined wealth, killing two birds with one stone and hoping neither lover would die in the process. But if they did die too soon, you understand, one family would be left destitute and the other family (his) would make off with the loot. A little complicated.

I based my artist’s depiction of the bacterium based on other sideshow exhibits, leaving out, of course, women with stockings up to their thighs because our tastes these days are less carnal than they went with back then. Personally I have no issue with it, but sometimes there’s issue if I view it long enough. Depends on how hot it is, and some of those east European ladies -- thighs as big as a horse’s -- were immediately hot. Our grandpas had it made, making me wonder why all the grandmas I’ve seen, including my own beloved grandmas, had more modern thighs. My family obviously didn’t range far, or have as high of standards when it came to mating. And I guess it’s still that way. I like most things that move.

Imagine though, getting back to the bacteriums, how tough the folks of old were when it came to viruses. They weren’t fooling around. The showed the virus who was boss, and those who weren’t pushy enough, presumably, died. We could draw a certain parallel with today, too, and probably be pretty accurate. Although one of our modern prejudices is not to easily accept responsibility for our problems. But it’s definitely something to think about, how tough we are, and how supposed tough the virus is.

O'Topsys On The Dead

Virus

Part 16 of 30

Looking back over my life -- the whole range of experiences, everything from baptism to premarital fooling around -- I’ve lived a good life. I suppose if I were to come down with something, say the Virus, I’d be completely bummed out and given to thinking about my life even more, the good, bad, and worse. Including this blog. I suppose the Smithsonian would want it. But my main focus has to be on not getting sick.

And, yes, I am very sympathetic to everyone who suffers, whether it's all the various infections, viruses, congenital diseases, etc., itself a huge range of things, everything from dog breath to Italian breath to game toe, really the sky’s the limit, something falling from the sky and killing a guy in a freak accident. It might be a plane, it might be the engine falling off a wing, a tire, a bird sucked in the turbines and shot out the back. It falls and wraps itself around your neck and you choke to death. For me that’d be terrible for my family, since we used to go out hunting for birds (pheasants, and partridges at Christmas), and what kind of karma would that be with a bird falling out of the sky and killing me?

They’d likely do an o'topsy on the situation, which they always do when it’s critical to know the cause of death. If you’re an old guy at a nursing home and die quietly in your sleep at the age of 192, naturally they forego the o'topsy, or if they do one there’s no charge, usually a newbie doing his first o'topsy as part of the practical training at o'topsy school. The way I understand it, though, and my understandings of things tend to be accurate, they keep it lighthearted so no one gets sick. “If you need to turn away,” the old doctor says to the young, “don’t be embarrassed. And remember, that plastic bag dispenser on the side of the bed isn’t just for looks.”

By the time you’re in o'topsy training, of course, you’ve mastered all the preliminary courses, passing with at least a 70% score. Everything from draining to manicures. Again, if you’re old, 192 or up, you won't need an o'topsy, so there’s some benefits to living to a ripe old age. It is obviously a benefit lost on the patient, but it’s of real comfort to the family that their loved one’s passing was without controversy.

You may recall that I mentioned in the past some of the tours I’ve taken, and one of them actually was to a school for morticians. I wasn’t queasy, nothing to that degree, and made it fine. It was for a class. It was interesting, but more interesting for the creepy/funny reactions of the others in the class. There was one guy who was so eager to see it and get the full scoop on everything they did. They took us to a closet, maybe bigger than a closet but not much, where a body was kept, and that guy was so excited about seeing a dead guy that it amused the whole class!

No! No! No! Mad With Virus

 Virus

Part 15 of 30

Ha, ha, forgive me, I always chuckle when I see this picture. I had it for my screensaver for about a year and used to see it all the time. I’d go to the kitchen to make a cup of cocoa, then come back and the screensaver would be on, and I'd about spit my pants, dribbling cocoa on them when I sat down. Then I thought, you know what, I'm going to save this pic for the future, like if I ever do a series on something lighthearted, a virus or something. Well, today’s the day!

And we’ve all known someone like him. He has the world's greatest sense of entitlement, by cracky, and if anything or anyone thwarts his expectations, Katie bar the door! He’ll be on you in a flash, like stink on doo doo, barking out complaints, shaking his meaty fists in your direction, and apparently quite the fearsome complainer, with most people easily able to get his way. They see the derby and formal wear and assume he’s among the upper crust, better than you and me. But he knows how life goes; you complain with authority, that’s the biggest secret to getting your way. One day I did it and reduced the clueless clerk at the thrift store to jelly when she didn’t know about the 10% senior discount on dollar books. I was so upset, stomping like this guy, having the 90 cents cash in hand and this clueless clerk -- clueless! -- objected. Terrible stuff.

I also love the stars around him, clouds of dust, lightning, and the various symbols of his contortions, along with enough anger wrinkles to scare his own mother. He shrieks, “No! No! No!” Like “I’m here, I’m the Big Man on Campus, and I’m not taking any crap off anyone!” If I saw him coming -- say I was the thrift store clerk -- I’d pull the old “It’s time to take my break” ruse and put him in his place. Then he’d be like Rumpelstiltskin, so irate he might put his foot through the floor, perhaps breaking his foot, but for sure rolling up a huge bill on getting the floor fixed.

Anyway, picture him as you will. You might see him as the average guy who thinks he has the virus. He goes to the doctor, and they’re all standing back against the wall in full gowns and masks. And he, His Royal Highness, expects them to roll him in for an immediate test. The rest of the waiting room is cowering in the corner, not knowing if they’re more afraid of the virus or the simple fact that he actually could be Rumpelstiltskin. He continues complaining, on and on, and finally the orderlies come to lead him out. They’re immediately stricken by the virus and fall dead. So now it’s serious. They get him to a room and get him cured. But they get the final laugh, not billing his destruction of the floor to insurance but putting it on his tab, every last cent. And hospital floors, like everything else there, are over a thousand dollars!

One helpful note: If you’re going to the hospital with the virus, there’s no benefit in putting on a fancy suit. If fact, if you can find the old winding cloth like they used in the plague in the Middle Ages, they'll truly take your case seriously. First in line or in the back, they will get you in.

Grandpa, Is That You?

 

Virus

Part 14 of 30

Here’s the problem with too many killer diseases, too many people getting killed all at once. It’s sort of the opposite of killing, like too many people being born at the same time or taken. We remember hearing about the Baby Boom, of course. It wasn't that long ago but it’s receding more and more into the vastness of the distant past. You get enough people doing humpa-humpa without protection and next thing you know there’s another million people going “Here I am, deal with it.” Then one by one dropping off.

I don’t think, on average, that more and more people being born is a huge problem. It might be a bigger problem if there were all born the same day. Say there was a big conspiracy of a million couples to plan and plot to have their babies all born on the same day -- December 25 -- just to put a famous birthday out there. With enough math skills and maybe some computer help, you could figure out precisely the best day for their common conception. It’d take someone smarter than me, and of course that pool is minuscule.

OK, let's assume that’s all accomplished and a million would-be mothers are taking care of themselves, not lifting more than 500 pounds at any one time, etc., eating right, getting all the nutrition they could, bulking up in the various ways, the right foods, the fetus waxing stronger and stronger, taking up his or her given room and encroaching even further to be ready-teddy out the chute when the time’s right. The hospitals are at their wit’s end, complete facilities tearing their hair out, doctors calling in sick but then compelled by an act of government, all hands on deck, whether right or left handed. Going by your personal preference.

The hospital parking lots are full to overflowing. There’s doctor’s cars illegally parked through the neighborhood, which is often a big problem at the hospital metroplexes we have today. But given the nature of the crisis, and an edict put out by the president, affirming the governor’s consternation, the illegality of parking for any length of time on these side streets is negated, sidetracked, overturned, and maybe just simply ignored for the sake of those precious ones, the baby boom to end all baby booms, millions of little crying mouths, families overrun with new responsibilities, and while not given to putting their hands out, are embarrassed by their lack of planning and receiving stipends.

I like it. I always like it when we’re working together, with decent ends in sight, the common good, mutuality and goals. What’s that have to do with Grandpa’s ghost? Just as it’s hard to keep track of millions of souls -- computers would help -- so it’d be tough keeping track of the millions of people who’ve died, were they to start reappearing. It’s a tenuous thing, identifying those you haven’t seen for 40-50 years once they’re passed on. I worry about it a little, What if Grandpa or even Grandma showed up in my bedroom. I’d have to wonder, Is it really you?

Midnight, Where's My Gun?

 

Virus

Part 13 of 30

I may have touched on this theme -- my every other thought is on guns and my right to pack heat -- and it may come up again. Because we’re such a gun-happy society. If it threatens us, let’s shoot it, that kind of attitude. It’s long been my argument that we’re better off without so many guns, but, on the other hand, don't take mine. If I needed a gun and didn’t have one, that’d be bad. Even as it is, with the whole rack of guns in the back window of the truck, and those locked, it'd be hard to get one in the event of an actual shootout. But no matter, we had countless societies going back to the Garden of Eden when we didn’t have guns, so who knows. I can well imagine, though, in the old days everyone was a lot more trigger-happy, like back when continental drift was a big thing, they might’ve said, “Pa, the continent’s 5 foot farther out than it was yesterday, where’s the gun?”

With this virus scare, though, who knows? People get desperate and know you have a bottle of aspirin or paper towels or a couple garbage bags and they want it. You cry out, “I have no aspirin!” And one of the mob finds the receipt from yesterday in the garbage. You think fast, “I took them all!” Then they point out the side effects, you would’ve bled to death by now. So the jig’s up. You step out with the gun, your short wife holding you back. You even look at the gun and down at the wife and say something like, “I knew the gun was sawed off, but what happened to YOU?!” (Really, a little height would come in handy against the virus, since it’s my understanding that even germs are subject to gravity.)

Anyway, whether she’s of adequate height, there’s nothing you can do about that when the crisis is plum crazy. Whether she comes to your knees or the top of your shoes, it’s too late to worry about it now. She’s better than nothing, and maybe half the mob will trip over her, although their own lack of height could be such that you’ll both trip over them. The gun goes off and accidentally blows away their leader, they disperse and you’re both saved, which is about the best you can hope for.

They do know something, though, that the virus is no way to die, nothing anyone wants for themselves. And that’s the way it is today. Each one of us, holed away behind our door in our homes, knows that a crowd perplexed can go plain loco if they think you have an edge on survival that’s somehow escaped them. And one thing is certain when it comes to the human race, Without the good sense of some species, giving up when the jig’s up, mankind wants to hold on to survival against all odds, even if it means taking someone else out to do it. Is that the way I’d be? I’d like to say no, no, hell no! But probably, at least maybe. I’d try to do right by everyone, but, I guess so, I might rush your door and take a bullet through the head.

It’s nothing to brag about, naturally, but it’s better to try to save yourself than die like a dog, no offense to them.

Super Criminals & This Virus

Virus

Part 12 of 30

This virus -- are you with me so far? -- is not just happening, OK? That’s a big statement, and probably one I'll get a lot of flak over. I understand that. And I can deal. But I’m just concerned about those out there -- a lot of people -- who won’t deal with it if we don’t take it completely seriously. So I’ll put it out there again, it’s not just happening.

Is it a huge conspiracy? I don’t believe it's that huge. It’s just like this, that in particular localities there are agents -- it’s tough to prove because a lot of these shady characters stay in the shade. But it makes complete sense how these agents are acting. Doing their dirty work (1), then slinking back into the shadows to look out from the shadows and behold the evil fruit of their doings.

And you see how effective their plans are, at least in the short-run. Because we will get them. This is something f I can see it, our leaders can see it, and they'll shut down the whole thing.

So we are indeed looking at local agents and national agents and probably global agents at their filthy task, whoever they might be in the particular places. It's a lot easier to see in local situations because the networks on the larger scale, while like the local in many ways, have a lot more ways of disappearing, and shifting blame.

And I haven’t merely been sitting here writing this, OK? I’ve been out, particularly at night, listening at doors in alleys, exchanging certain goods for certain information. Then filtering it through the software in my massive VIC-20 brain. It takes a lot of doing, but I've got all the time in the world (to do good).

So far, then, I’ve narrowed the local scene down to four agents, perhaps one of whom is the biggest threat, while taking into account that if they're in cahoots they’re even more powerful. I’m going to sketch them out with the helpful apparatus of four aces, and we’ll be going the typical left to right in the all important list of their identities and motives. First, we have the town drunk, Skidrow Sal. There’s nothing that’s not observed by Sal. Sal sees the weak links in every scene and gets his booze by reporting to Mr. or Ms. Big.

Second, there’s furniture store owner Martin Van Bureau. Who's really the point man on information, very useful in the ‘hood. It seems that Bureau has run up quite an electronics bill for eavesdropping equipment; he shut down the last few electronic stores in the area. If you’ve said anything about anything, or have bought furniture in the last few weeks, Bureau has you pegged.

Third, we can't leave out the owner of the Third Reich Bar, Alois Himmler, aka “Big Al,” who started out a WWII re-enactor but is now head of the local Nazi protectors. Not only is there a lot in it for him, the virus, the virus is this ace’s ace in the hole.

And lastly, we can't leave out Baby Face Walter and his child bride Lucinda. Baby Face isn’t just a baby in the face, but baby all over, wiry, slippery, able to show up unnoticed, always keeping his crying down lest he be caught. With Lucinda satisfying him continually, his mind is completely free of carnality, making him a super computer of information.

So there we have it. Sal and Bureau have their necessary role in this cabal, but it’s Himmler, virtually bottle-fed by Baby, who’s the number one purveyor of the virus. I’d say bring the pillars and walls down around Himmler and we’ll finally catch a break, spelling the last days for his viral reign of terror.

Crowds Looking At Crowds

 

Virus

Part 11 of 30

This is the before picture, before the virus took hold, but to be perfectly frank it could easily be confused with the after picture.

Of course it was entirely safe to be in the public concourse before, when we dwelt in ignorance, the virus fully present, infecting the first few crowds.With that taint, however, it was immediately obvious that we should shrink back, with the crowds to be diminished and possibly never restored, depending on the scope of the pandemic.

But anything that’s anything has to be witnessed, otherwise how would we know there was no one there. I know when it happened, my first thought was I should stay home, but then I thought, "How will I know if everyone stayed home unless I go see?" Well, great minds think alike. And the neighbors saw me pulling up my truck's anchor and shoving off. They all know how careful I am, probably, so they figured, ‘If he’s going to see it, it must be safe.’ And really, how will you have bragging rights in the future unless you're bold now? Who wants to rely on secondhand gossip?

Just the sight of the concourse, the pavilion, filled to overflow proportions gave each of us a renewed confidence. It was just another false alarm. The word went out, “It indeed IS another false alarm!” Meaning, anyone paranoid enough to stay hunkered down with their little supplies of toilet paper and canned soup is a sucker of the meddling government! When you put it like that, what choice do you have? Plus, the wind was blowing the germs out to sea, or whatever islands there are betwixt hither and thither.

You can sort of see it in the way our noses work, filtering out the germs of our immediate presence with the tiny hairs. On the macro scale, that’s what trees are, nose hairs without a nose. The wind blows from one tree to the next, each with its marching order -- germs incoming! -- and the filtering both begins and ends like inhalation and exhalation, the next breath cleansing the previous breath.

That day has passed by now, of course, and we’ve had some iffy days since. A number of the people I knew that day have fallen victim to optimism or stupidity, even now flitting about in the afterlife, living with regrets on those virus-free shores. It may not have been the best behavior but I’m still alive, my nose a little plugged up but my left leg's fine. I’m still kicking...

I implore you -- my entire healthy left side implores you -- be socially responsible in this time of terrible virus. You may live to see tomorrow, or, equally possible, you might not.

Serial Killer's Regrets

 

Virus

Part 10 of 30

Full Disclosure: I’ve never been a serial killer, not even a suspect. I’ve never known a serial killer, and I’ve never known anyone (knowingly) who’s known a serial killer. It's possible just by the phenomena of coincidence that may have unknowingly been in the same place as a serial killer, because I go out in society, to the grocery store, other stores, parades, and other events, and a serial killer, unknown to me, may have been there. Hell, he or she may have stood right next to me, and for all I know may have sized me up as a victim in a particularly desperate spree. I just don’t know, although I definitely hope not. Oh, if only serial killers were a little more open about their intentions and their whereabouts, without actually killing us it'd still be useful for law enforcement. Note: I do live in The Big City, so it could be that every other person I see is a serial killer, but so far they’ve been apparently very secretive.

Even now, I could look up online for the basic character and methods of operation that the typical serial killer has or uses. But that would not fit the purposes of this blog, since that’s information anyone could also look up if they’re interested. If you’re the type of person interested in such things, and maybe a little too interested, I will offer a friendly request to you not to try to get to know me. Let’s just part as friends, and not really even friends, two strangers bound to stay that way. I’m happy on my own with my own interests, and the fact that I’m writing this blog doesn’t mean that I have any abiding interest in the subject.

One could, however, well imagine some of the personal distinctions of a serial killer. Whose personalities would no doubt have quite the range, everything from the newbie serial killer, who meant merely to be a one-off killer but it got the best of him and he went too far, to the more hardened hombre, who watches scary movies while laughing, then goes on his rounds much like a plague but with a human purpose and drive. Scary stuff.

The virus is a kind of serial killer, but naturally, insofar as we know, without a purposeful drive to kill. It’s a combination of factors of that which kills coming into contact with that which can be killed. Bacteria, chemical combinations, body parts susceptible to molecular conflicts, a quick-acting or slow-acting agent that attacks without discernible purpose but appears to have but one goal, the complete break down of tissues, sinews, vessels, bells and whistles, and the other body parts that doctors know about but the rest of us are clueless concerning. It’s disgusting at one level -- body parts on the fritz -- naturally, but it’s technically nothing other than the breakdown common to beings with finite life, where eventually one thing or another gets you.

The big difference between our misunderstood friend, the human serial killer, who may have at least fleeting regrets such as “Why? Why? Why?” and nature, is nature has no qualms about doing its thing, regardless of how we feel about it. And probably usually the human serial killer -- being a nasty sort -- is more like nature in that regard.

Drive Carefully, Should Go Viral

Virus

Part 9 of 30

Are you traveling the fatal track? For sure, I hope my trajectory isn’t on the fatal track, although of course we’re all going to die. (This is an unproven statement that still could be false, but don’t bet on it.) I myself have missed many of life’s pitfalls and troubles, and sometimes against all the odds, but I’ve noticed old age is inexorable and when they say, ‘It’s only a matter of time till you’re worm-food,’ I've come to believe them.)

The key thing on the fatal track is just to avoid wrecking as long as you can. Just like driving a car on normal roads. You can be on the interstate and make a fast, drastic right hand turn and take out yourself and any number of other victims, but usually there’s not a good reason to do so, and certainly no great call for it to happen. When I go somewhere, helping friends to the hospital or whatever, I drive responsibly and with the best awareness I have, making sure we make it there safe and the same going back. It's a thing that comes with old age.

But in fact, it always seems like people are intuitive enough even when they're going 70 mph to notice my good example and emulate it right then and there in real time. I can easily imagine them saying, “Wow, that guy’s one heck of a driver. I think I’ll be more like him.” I notice them thinking this and double down on my game, very vigilant with the turn signals, tapping my brakes when called for, and so forth. One of the things I’d absolutely love, and it’ll probably never happen, is for my car insurance agent to just happen to be on the road at the same time, see my carefulness and complete maturity behind the wheel, signal me to the shoulder and cut my rate in half right then and there. These are the things I yearn for.

But there’s plenty of incentives to be a careful driver. If you’re incautious and reckless, you know that if you collide with someone they can sue you for everything you have? We’re always hearing people complaining about the number of lawsuits there are -- and some of them are superfluous, entirely unnecessary -- but I have to concur with legal experts on the validity of most lawsuits when it comes to traffic fatalities. Running someone off the road, squarely colliding with someone pulled over with a flat tire, or even seeing people on the sidewalk and willfully leaving the road to track down and take them out, these are things good people don’t do. And if they sue you down to your last pair of underpants, you deserve it.

There’s similarities with the virus, which are probably so elementary and obvious that to explain them would be a clear waste of space and time. But the prize is often withheld from the timid, so I'll get into it. The virus is always looking for victims, so are psychotics behind the wheel. The virus could affect anyone, so could psychotics behind the wheel. And the virus, as terrible as it is, will someday fade away. Would that it were the same for psychotics behind the wheel! My one plea, Don’t be like psychotics behind the wheel. And don’t be like the virus, for that matter. Instead of fading away, if you’re doing something wrong on the road, please stop it immediately or sooner.

Note: I may have gotten a speeding ticket yesterday. I still don't know. The guy had one of those speed guns tracking everyone, and I was at least a smidgen fast.

The Chair's Chair Virus

Virus

Part 8 of 30

Anyway, as I said yesterday, my once-nice-brown-haired Pa had the virus known as cancer and died. Immediately having gone to heaven, his soul, we later buried him on the hill back home, with his mortal remains remaining there with his hopes of being resurrected someday. My own thought on the religion of it all is that the body will likely remain there till the end of time but that his soul/spirit did indeed majestically flit-flit-flit its way to his reward, a fast flit and more or less instant.

He also had a nasty cough. I seem to remember it was in his lungs, a terrible way to die. Which might be like the virus today, since we’re all afraid of being touched, having the breath of strangers or loved ones on us, I think. I know they put up plexiglass dividers at the grocery store to keep the nastiness of customers off the checkout people. It’s all extremely serious business, and even when the virus is no more, I would guess the plexiglass dividers will remain forever. They're industrially fastened. So no more handshaking even after this is over. The new greeting upon meeting someone will be to step back three feet and bow, but not such a deep bow that we’re breathing on anything that’s settled near the floor.

So Pa died, with his light brown hair, around 20 years ago, leaving behind a bunch of furniture that Mom (still alive at the time) wanted to get rid of. Dad’s personal den had a chair and ottoman that were gorgeous in their time, procured by my family after another guy died and they were on sale at a garage sale where he lived. Dad knew they were used but accepted them anyway, having no scruple at that time about sitting in a chair that a potentially infected person sat in. (These days, with the virus, we’ll avoid all floor models that aren’t sold or even sitting in them for a test.) As for Pa, it was never known definitively whether his lung cancer was a result of a prior infection of his chair or something to do with an old ashtray he used to use.

Once Pa flitted off to his heavenly reward -- my inspiring post yesterday, and I’ve already heard that a few souls have been saved based on it -- that left us with the quandary of what to do with his filthy old chair. You sell it at a garage sale, you’re open to legal action if someone gets lung cancer from it. Or who knows what other kinds of cancer! I do remember one of the dogs sleeping on its back, then wriggling around in a dream, and falling out and getting hurt. The dog's attorney tried to make a federal case of it, but they settled for a few biscuits and a red squeeze toy.

Sorry to tell you now the chair’s gone. We did indeed put it on the curb with a sign, and it was snatched up actually before the ink on the sign was dry! So there’s someone out there -- no doubt now dead -- willing to live dangerously, with basically nothing left to live for.

My Heavenly Visions

 Virus

Part 7 of 30

I do a lot of meditation. And I’ve had vivid images of heavenly glory, most of them involving gigantic tables of great food, spread out as far as the eye can see: big roasts, salads with lettuce that doesn't wilt, and of course spaghetti, the most delicious cheap thing you can make. Mostly I see things from when I was a kid, when I was learning about life: Wars, plagues, cleaning fish, Grandpa clearing his throat, Grandma talking flea market dealers down on canes, and of course vivid dreams of Heaven.

The last one, I’d love to have dreams like that now that I’m old, but it just never happens. One of the reasons, probably, and I’ve mentioned it before, is that like Jimi Hendrix I might have a vision and slip into the alpha jerk state and slip into the hole and die before my time. Although, whereas he no doubt had future classic albums that were never made, what have I got? Nothing, just this blog, which, while it’s extremely influential on all seven continents, I'm “just not fed” by the constant acclaim. My time is near.

Still, if I could recapture the glory of my youth, these dreams of Heaven, I think I’d appreciate them now even more. Back then, they were so vivid -- I saw the whole judgment! -- I’d wake up with cold sweats and my mom thought I was peeing the bed. I told her no, I wasn’t, and tried to blame the sweats on God, but, you know moms, the supernatural always escapes them.

The graphic today portrays something of Heaven without quite showing it in its fullest accurate detail. I do concur with the graphic on one point -- and this is a major truth -- there are no broom closets in Heaven. You don't see a single one. So nowhere to hide. The rest, except for nonessential details is basically true. And who’s this I see? Pa! The old man, his cancer a thing of the past, with even his bald head covered with the light brown hair. That’s so good to know, illustrating what is clearly portrayed, Justice, sweet Justice, among the other golden trappings of the grand hallways.

It’s a great vision to have in these days of the virus. That filthy thing, that devilish virus, seen under the microscope in its full hideousness, a lot of jagged edges and tiny little infecting handles, has no place in this grand vision. The fear that people have -- including me, naturally, in my weaker moments, almost 24/7 -- will not be sustained in that vision's fulfillment. The way it brings people low and just outright kills them around the world cannot stand in the grand vision. I see the numbers. And more importantly I can picture in my mind the terror -- again, 24/7 -- and know that it’s no good. Like the cancer that took down Dad. And whatever it was that took down Grandma and Grandpa, heart troubles and miscellaneous, respectively, these filthy devils shall not stand.

Please be encouraged, the comfort and best wishes are real. But if reincarnation turns out to be the afterlife, buckle down next time and set a few goals for the next go-around. Buy paper towels early, toilet paper, cheese, whatever.

Softening My Image

Virus

Part 6 of 30

These viral times are indeed trying times. I went out to mow my yard for the first time since winter and it took 30 pulls at the handle, nearly to no avail till, finally, it turned over and started. I was starting to sweat from embarrassment, not wanting the neighbors to see me in such a state of futility. Then there’s the virus, and children perhaps in all kinds of trouble, I don't know the full extent of the danger, but, forget about it, it's not good.

But it's not all bad. I give thanks for my neighbor, one of the Pavlona sisters from the old country. She used to travel quite a ways, not just around the three county area but out in the pretty far flung areas in a carriage. Her dad was one of the good old traveling minstrel types who could con the gullible out of their life savings, a fascinating thing. So Marie's one of the few neighbors I trust intrinsically, because she was totally upfront about her scheming thieving past and said indeed it was past. I put a 5 dollar bill on my dresser once in a while to test her, but of course she’s on to that old ruse.

These are the people, some of the neighbors -- the children and Marie Pavlona -- I have in my heart in these depressing days of this terrible virus. The children, naturally I want them to walk freely and to run and play freely. And Marie, she holds me in her prayers, she says, and someone with such a checkered past, if she says she’s praying for me, I believe it. That’s really the way it goes with folks like her. They may lie through their teeth when it comes to conning someone, but when they’re your friend they’re as good as gold. And kids can be the same way, usually conniving little monsters, but these kids, her extended family -- they’ve had nothing for so long -- they’re simply good. But offer one of them a fudge brownie and you better have one for the others! Fudge brownies are always a hit.

I mention all these children and Marie not so much for their own goodness, etc., but to soften up my image for you the readers. A few of you, according to the comments, think I appear to be “cold and aloof," I guess when it comes to stuff like that, and things about the virus, which I do take seriously. I have a mask, true story. And I want to assure you and put your mind to ease that I’m really an old softie. Which you about have to be when east European Roma are your friends; they’ll do anything for you. And then, naturally, the kids, every one a born thief but lovable as pumpkin pie.

Anyway, in these sad days of the virus -- dire days! -- it’s good to keep your friends close, etc., and look out for one another. Remembering, it should be remembered, to wash your hands and use about a gallon of antiseptic on everything they touch. It’s actually better to keep the kids outside or at least at arm's distance, wiping down any touched surface and all the rest to keep them from infecting me. These are things I’ve learned at the grocery store, which just recently put up an industrial strength plexiglass wall between the cashier and the customer. Prayers for them too.

Politics Rears It's Ugly

Virus

Part 5 of 30

For such a tragic affair and life as we know it up in the air, it was wonderfully inspiring to know that some things are locked in place, secure, and just as we knew them to be. Part of the inspiration is having certain things we can count on, no surprises, the foundations we take for granted securely set.

After all, what would it be like if we couldn’t count on anything staying the same? It’s hard to imagine, really, that anything could be in such disarray that all of our suppositions would be in question. The facts of life as we know them. Were it that bad we would’ve given up, thinking there’s nothing we can do about it, the foundations have crumbled.

But as it turns out, we needed not fear that all hope was lost. Those among our betters came through just when we needed them. Throwing off all restraint -- and they could’ve been so tightly held down as to be unable to breathe -- they muscled their way through the pain and suffering toward, perhaps one last, free-for-all for their most ardent supporters, not to mention themselves, putting Number One ahead of all and reminding us how things stand.

This was great, because the crumbling foundations -- aforementioned -- might not have held long enough for their great task to be accomplished. And to think of them going at it with the diligence they had, we’re reminded of what a potential sacrifice it was to muscle their way through -- with all the stick-to-it-tiveness of baby pigs seeking those life-giving nipples of the mother sow that their nourishment should not be denied. I used to see it at farms in the neighborhood, actually to great extremes. Did you know that if you slip in a pigpen you can be eaten? It’s true, I lost two classmates like that, a downer for the birthday boy who had us out to his farm for the party.

But when you have a party -- getting back to our topic -- that’s when you can really have a party. “These are desperate times! If we don’t act now -- and I mean with everything we have -- it’ll be too late.” And God forbid anyone get in their way. If the confusion of a viral plague isn’t enough cover to suck up whatever there is to be had, there will never be cover at all. This is the time to rise up, and with everyone’s sight obscured from the confusion of seeking shelter, managing the ins and out of quarantine, and scheming to get just one more roll of toilet paper, the time is right for government to quench their thirst (temporarily) for more more more.

Stand back, there’s more incoming, a turgid blast, nothing held back, obscuring the way, and like we said, providing cover for whatever rapine there is to be had, basically whatever is left to claim.