America - Still # 1

Do you want to know the most telling statistics of this pandemic? The United States has 4% of the world's population and approximately 32% of the reported cases of Covid 19. We are, as of April 26 quickly closing in on a 1,000,000 infected and 50,000 dead.

We have almost five times the cases as Spain, number two on a list of the best of the worst. But even more astounding is that New York State, at almost 300,000, has far more Covid 19 patients than any other COUNTRY in the world. 

By any metric we have failed miserably in our attempts to control the spread of this disease. The reports are replete with our missteps, our lack of vision, our inability to marshall assets, to restrain movement early enough, always two steps behind, always reacting instead of acting.

As we watch some of those other nations halted in their tracks by this virus begin their first steps towards reemerging, in America we are left to contemplate how the exceptionalism we have taken for granted our entire lives has now completely vanished. 

How our understanding of our superior capacity was but a mirage. That no matter the size of our army, or the monies we are capable of spending, we are far weaker, far more lumbering than we ever admitted. Far less prepared for the unimaginable that we ever imagined.

Donald Trump has exposed the vulnerabilities in our system through his petty grievances, his hubris, his ignorance, his incompetence. And a disease which understands nothing about America's supposed greatness, which distinguishes not between poor and rich, has made us look terribly small.

America still #1 by orders of magnitude. Only on the wrong chart. Exceptional now for all the wrong reasons.

Missing In Inaction

("Fifty Thousand Americans Dead from the Coronavirus and a President Who Refuses to Mourn Them")

We have witnessed his response to the cascade of mass shootings, to the sight of children in cages. His muted words, a few random forced tones of empathy, rung out of him, hollow and meaningless. His is a soul without home, compassion for the plight of others not within his emotional vocabulary. His universe consumed with concern for the well being of a population of one.

So why would we possibly anticipate anything different now? 

He is morally bankrupt. Inflicting pain on the downtrodden, on those in the most dire need, has never even caused a flicker of remorse in Mr. Trump.

Flying a flag at half staff, providing a day of national mourning or even a moment of national silence to recognize our loss would never even be within this man's contemplation. 

Death has descended upon our country in suffocating numbers, a relentless foe immune to our cries. We will have to grieve, have to heal, on our own. We have no other choice for our President is missing in inaction.

A Close Shave

I shall be shaving shortly. I thought you would want to know.

Over the past four decades or so I have periodically grown a beard, mainly as a way to lessen the possibility of anyone counting the hair follicles on top of my head. My one and a half year old granddaughter, who can only reach the number three before giving up, could successfully conclude this exercise if she undertook it. Follically challenged is how one of my friends describes me.

In addition to my efforts at distraction having been wholly unsuccessful, my mother and sister always told me I looked better clean shaven (and I have forever believed everything they stated). Even at 68, and despite the fact my mom passed away more than 3 years ago, I still don't want to upset her. Thus, the beard has never been more than ephemeral companion.

Yet, with the self isolation of this pandemic, I, along with seemingly half the universe, have put my razor into hibernation.  I was relatively late to this game, now but about two weeks removed from removing previously unwanted hair. Unlike my son, who can apparently grow a beard just by thinking about it, my progress is painstakingly slow. Only now is the hint of my effort first taking shape.

So, it was more than a little disconcerting when I awoke this morning to the text message from my son "some bad news." Underneath was a headline from a recent article in the NY Times, "Maybe Consider Shaving That Pandemic Beard."

I already knew that having facial hair was a problem in that it prevented proper fit of an N95 mask. But I have had no occasion to utilize one, as my last true public exposure was about the time the President was informing us this would all magically disappear one day.

However it turns out that my habit of rubbing my new growth several hundred times an hour is also fraught with potential peril. And who really needs one more reason to worry these days? I already wash my hands every time a car passes outside or the sun disappears behind a cloud. Is it truly necessary to add my face to that equation?

So, as this piece now mercifully meanders to its conclusion, I will take my face into the bathroom and deposit my new growth into the sink (taking necessary precaution to prevent clogging the drain). In that manner, I will give Covid 19 one less chance to have its way with me.

And, as further benefit, I will make my sister and my mother very happy.

Do We Even Remember Robert Mueller, Kids in Cages, the Impreachment Hearings?

Robert Mueller. Anyone remember that quaint little episode? The North Korean verbal war to see which leader had the bigger weapon? The children locked in cages?The withdrawal from the nuclear agreement with Iran? And what about that perfect phone call and the President's resulting impeachment? Do we even mention his blatant disregard of the Constitution with his executive orders and his tweeting mandates, no more stark than his declaration that none of his underlings produce a single piece of paper or utter one syllable in response to demands of the impeachment investigations?  Each repulsive action certain to be a defining moment for the November 2020 election. Now they are all almost forgotten, mere footnotes or asterisks in the bizarre alternate universe in which we find ourselves

And so where will the President's current lies, his missteps, his adamant refusal to take responsibility for lives forever altered, for deaths piling up across this nation, where will his preening and blundering on Covid 19 rank on the Richter scale this November?

We are all so certain that THIS ONE will be the bellwether when we vote, IF WE VOTE this year (who could possibly say with certainty that Mr. Trump will not declare a national emergency such that a changing of the guard is not something we can sanction at this critical time). 

Yet if there is one absolute certainty in this three ring circus of a presidency it is that nothing is certain. One could never imagine the succession of calamities and near calamities caused by the incompetence, the arrogance, the bending of truth and logic, by this President. And thus, as with all other disasters or near disasters over the past three plus years, the straight line we think we see between some horror, even this latest one, and the fall of Donald J. Trump may not be that at all.

For in this world nothing is certain except death,(which we are now desperately trying to ward off with every collective breath), taxes (which for the time being are on hiatus) and the next all consuming distraction just around the corner, compliments of the charlatan who would be king if only he could figure out how to turn a democracy into a monarchy.

November is a lifetime of the unfathomable  away.

Collateral Damage

("Trump Is Asking Us to Play Russian Roulette With Our Lives")

Donald Trump is an inveterate gambler. Six times he has had hotel or casino businesses owned by him declare bankruptcy. He has shown a propensity to bet the house, taking chances on matters where logic and sound judgment would inform that the odds are long and the likely results disastrous.. 

Yet, in the end, he has outrun his bad decisions. He has continued on, for the most part unscathed. The same cannot be said for those who invested their monies with him, for those employees who found themselves on the wrong end of Mr. Trump's quixotic decisions. But Donald Trump never cared about those harmed or destroyed by his errors. HIs focus only on his own survival.

So why would we possibly be surprised by his cries to LIBERATE? Donald Trump is once again putting all the chips in the middle of the table. It just so happens that this time you and I are those chips. If he wins, and if only a few thousand more of us cease to exist because the President wants to shore up a leaking ship and increase his chances of victory in November, that would be perfect in his eyes. And if not, well...

This latest potential loss would be counted in the currency of a wholly morally bankrupt person. Our deaths but acceptable collateral damage.

When Will It Be Alright?

When will it be alright?
How will I know?

Will you tell me?

Or will the sun?

Or maybe the night sky?

When will it be alright?

Will I learn it in a dream?

Will I hear it in the wind?

Or in a neighbor's laugh?

Or from the scent of a flower?

When will it be alright?

Will I find it in a smile?

Will it be splashing in a waterfall?

Or maybe sung as a lullaby?

When will it be alright?

Is it just around the corner?

Is it in front of me now?

Will I know it when I see it?

When will it be alright?

Will it be wrapped in a package?

Will it come in a letter?

Will it be addressed to whom it may concern?

When will it be alright?

Will it arrive with a knock on the door?

Will it climb in through a window?

Will it be seated at the table?

When will it be alright?

I believe I already have the answer

It has been residing inside me all along.
I just have to discover its hiding place.

Neither rain, sleet, nor snow. But they forgot to mention Covid 19

Is it just me or is it time to bring back the carrier pigeon?

Approximately one month ago I put in my request to the post office to forward both my business and personal mail to the location where I would be housed until the all clear siren sounded. I was certain that within but a few days my mail would catch up to me. In the interim, I would just be patient.

Now, I sit daily at the window waiting silently for that little truck to appear. And when it does, my tail wags wildly in anticipation. I rush outside and open up another dose of disappointment.  I can count on my hands, with a few digits unused, the accumulated number of items that have taken the journey to their ultimate destination. And who was really longing to read the Jewish Standard anyway? Or get another notice from the Census bureau?

Almost two weeks ago I began advising those with whom I do business to send mailings directly to where I now sit writing this piece. If you have received anything from any of them please let me know, because the next item I receive will be the first.

In this the moment of our greatest crisis, this issue ranks somewhere just below lint in one's navel. I dare not hint of complaining, for inconvenience is a word that should not even be permitted in one's lexicon now. 

And I well understand that the post office is near bankrupt, having been starved by a Federal government more than eager to cast it asunder so that private enterprise can pillage and plunder the public. The volume of its workload ever dissipating in the face of megacorporations.

But it surely would be nice to have something I have taken for granted the entire time I have resided on this planet be something I could take for granted now. 

Neither rain, sleet nor snow. But they forgot to mention Covid 19.

Radiohead To Head - Trump v Limbaugh - The Battle That Never Was

("Trump Wanted A Radio Show, But He Didn't Want to Compete With Limbaugh")

Rush Limbaugh was recently awarded the Medal of Freedom. From competition by the President for radio listeners.

It would seem bad fiction, but Mr. Trump turns fiction into reality every day. As a pandemic was closing in and Mr. Trump, attempting to both assuage a fearful nation and feed his massive ego, contemplated a daily FDR fireside chat, he retreated because, what, he didn't want to go head to conservative head with his comrade in lies? And run the risk of losing a ratings battle?

We are now daily assaulted with the image of a trumpeting President. Could it have been any worse if he had instead done two hours "off the cuff" and out of sight?  At least he would not have subjected us to strutting his hour upon the stage in full view, his postulations, pronouncements and prevarications  broadcast directly in our collective, distressed faces.

There are no good tales involving Donald Trump but some, like this one, seem particularly, obscenely, headshaking. It feels like there is a punch line waiting to happen here. But really, this presidency is but one continuing punch line to a very, very long and disturbing joke.

Open Up - Shut It Down (to the tune of "You'll Be Back" from Hamilton

("As States Make Plans, Trump Says His 'Authority' Is Total")

You say, the cost of my grace's not a cost you can ever afford

You state, the state is the only one who can be overlord

Don't you try

Remember that I'm the ruler with ultimate say

That's no lie

Remember it's my game and I will decide who can play

Open up

Shut it down

Just acknowledge that its up to me

Open up

Maybe now

Just remember only I know how

Death tolls rise, death tolls fall

But I'm the only one to make the call

And when I say it's right

I will hold a full press conference to remind you of my might

Da dada da da

Da dadada dayada

Dada da da dayada

You think that I am just riffing without underlying power

You say I reign like a king, but the White House is no ivory tower

Open up

If I choose

I don't care how many more we lose

Open up

When it's right

Or it's wrong, for I've got the might

A few more gone, why so sad

Don't huff and puff, don't be mad

And when I make the call

I may kill your friends and family but I won't take the fall

Smile

She chases after the neighbor's dog, who has decided, in his tail wagging ways, to spend  part of the afternoon with her. It makes me smile.

She holds a basketball,almost as big as she is, in her arms and rolls it a few inches away. It makes me smile.

She runs down the driveway, tilted towards the ground, her fall and tears inevitable. But soon it is a forgotten moment of unhappiness. It makes me smile.

She climbs up the rocky cliff in the backyard, really just a five foot  hill. And when she finishes, she does it again. She beams with pride. It makes me smile.

She eats as I do, two fisted and in a great hurry. It makes me smile.

She picks up a wrench, then sits in her daddy's lap as he tries to assemble something that momentarily defies completion. She says one word to him, "help". It makes me smile.

She calls my name. It makes me smile.

She picks up a pebble and throws it into a puddle. It makes me smile.

Her day is a thousand moments each one typical, every one spectacular. And whatever she does makes me smile.

She is my oasis.. This little girl who makes me smile.

And she is wholly unaware of the mad swirling universe just beyond her gaze. It makes me smile.