Coronavirus19 Diary - A Right to Bear Arms

 Another mass shooting. They become ubiquitous. They lose their ability to shock. They become commonplace, a part of life in the U.S.

People speak of their right to bear arms yet fail to understand the reason for the 2nd amendment. Our new country had no army or police. Law enforcement and national defense were dependent on individuals  forming  "well regulated" militias to protect life, property and newly declared rights and liberties. They ignore the primitive  nature of firearms at the time the amendment was written. It took 90 seconds to load a single, inaccurate shot from a musket. The concept of a firearm being able to release scores of shots in seconds would have been unfathomable to our country's founders. 

Politicians offer thoughts and prayers yet no sensible solutions. We watch, powerless, as those we voted into positions of power refuse to use it for the common good. 

Self described Christians attack a woman's right to choose yet are silent regarding guns. It is, at best, a questionable moral stance. 

I have no answers. Contacting my representatives in Congress is pointless as I live in the progressive stronghold of Chicago, itself a victim of the patchwork of gun restrictions, surrounded by states with gun laws more lax than ours. 

I wonder if this madness will end. I wonder if liberty means the right to live free of fear. I wonder what it will take, or if it is possible, to restore a bullet riddled nation's soul.

  

Coronavirus19 Diary - A Few Words on Writing

 Sometimes the words come easily, tumbling out of my brain almost faster than I can write them down. Sometimes I am stuck mid sentence, I scroll through my mental dictionary searching for the words to convey my point. Sometimes the point itself seems elusive. I watch as a concept coalesces and strengthens into something that can be conveyed.

 Sometimes my hand seems to act independently. I observe in amazement as posts seem to write themselves. Sometimes words and ideas pour into the margins of the page after my initial thoughts have already been set to paper. 

Sometimes, for various reasons, sizable periods go by when I don't write. I begin to feel almost guilty, feel as if I am denying myself the structure and emotional and intellectual outlet and exercise afforded to me by writing. 

The act of writing is intriguing to me. I am curious by nature. So I write.

Coronavirus19 Diary - A Year in the Life

 It was the day before the 1st anniversary of the Illinois covid lockdown and I am in a chair at a Walgreens in Chicago's loop pulling up the sleeve of my tee shirt to receive the first shot of the Moderna vaccine. A year that proved my resiliency, that proved to myself, once again, my ability to move through the obstacles that life and fortune, good and bad, confront me with. 

I feel both hope and empowerment. I see the promise that we will move past this crisis and we, as a global society, will be able to confront the problems this pandemic has left in it's wake. Exacerbated wealth and racial inequality, job and business loss, desperation and anger. The anger searches for a target, a place to focus. In the early days of AIDs I remember friends speaking of anger, yet not knowing where to direct it. 

I understand it, I sympathize, yet I try not to carry it with me. From a glass half full perspective I attempt to turn anger into positive action. At work I attempt to assure people that we will soon be through this. That we will soon be able to put this painful, sad and debilitating moment in history behind us and move towards a future, changed from what we may have envisioned but bright with the possibilities of lessons learned.

Coronavirus19 Diary - A Field Trip

I try to reman patient. Chicago's Art Institute, a cultural and civic treasure that has been shut, opened, shut and now open again, offers an opportunity to spend a few hours renewing one's soul. Needing a field trip, a break from our current abnormal routine, I and my ex roommate from my San Francisco days masked up and bused downtown to spend some time in it's art and antiquity filled galleries. 

In the modern wing a roomful of works by Rothko, an artist I enjoy in spite of my better judgement, awaited us. Two were borrowed from private collections. I always relish the chance to see privately owned pieces, usually hid from public eyes on the walls of wealthy collectors. The soft, mottled blocks of color soothed me, transporting me to a place distant from the still strife filled times we are living through. We walked through a room of Warhols and strolled past Hoffmans and Lichtensteins. 

We moved to the gallery of ancient Roman artifacts. Inspecting a heroic sculpture depicting Hercules we discussed whether, in a pre steroid era, there were men that thickly muscled, or if the sculptor had taken the physique of an athlete or hard laborer and exaggerated the proportions to mythic levels. I have also wondered this about the caryatids adorning the Baroque buildings that line the streets of cities like Vienna and Prague. Although if the present day men we sometimes saw in Prague are any indication, they may have been sculpted from real life. 

We roamed through the museums awe inspiring Impressionist collection stopping for a moment in a gallery focusing on the work and times of Toulouse Lautrec. 

We descended the marble grand staircase and exited through the museum's massive glass doors. Bright sun and cool temperatures greeted us as we headed down the front stairs past the two iconic lion sculptures that flank them and walked down Michigan Avenue. A young man in a form fitting Spiderman costume crossed in front of us on his way into Millennium Park and for a moment, despite the masks and weariness of mitigations, I could envision the beginning of an eventual return to normal.  

Coronavirus19 Diary - Will Covid Matter?

It has been almost a year since Chicago's initial lock down. A year since my 3 months of furlough, followed by 3 months of unemployment. A year since all our lives were upended in ways I never would have imagined possible. The year has not been lost. In fact, it has been one of the most tumultuous ones in my 60 plus years. Lacking direction we were left adrift, left to make it up as we went along. For many "we are all in this together" turned into "every man for himself". 

We have been fortunate. Financially we have come through this relatively intact. Despite periods of unemployment we have avoided the desperation and food lines experienced by others. In our house we have discovered that we can manage to, in fact managed to, weather a storm as intense as this one. 

During the initial lock down I remember, perhaps making the best of a bad situation, remarking how unpleasant the cold spring weather was and how we probably wouldn't be spending much time outdoors anyway. Now Chicago is going through one of it's worst winter period in several years. Once again we can say "Well we wouldn't be going out much anyway" as the options in terms of outside the home activities are still somewhat limited right now.

Even though I have a job to go to, which gives me a day to day change of scenery, I do find myself suffering from fatigue. I long to meet friends at a restaurant or bar. I long to attend a play or just take an impromptu trip to Chicago's free Lincoln Park Zoo. 

Things are reopening again. We hope this time it sticks. The Art Institute has reopened after having to close twice. Restaurants are allowing limited indoor dining, although I will admit that I, personally, am not "there" yet. My hope is that we will have a mild spring and outdoor dining will return sooner rather than later. 

Our lives will return. But I wonder what follows. What lies ahead. Will we learn to be more grateful for experiences we once took for granted? Will the consideration I have seen among some of my fellow citizens continue going forward, after the crisis has passed? What lessons have I learned, what will I take with me from living through these times? Time will tell.

Coronavirus19 Diary - A Historic Day

 The day began bright and hopeful. One of the run off races in Georgia had been called for the democrats, the second democratic candidate had a promising lead. Biden would have the majority, however slim, of both houses, something necessary to advance his agenda and move our country forward out of it's 4 year long nightmare. Work was routine, goods were delivered and put away, customers were assisted. I took a break and turned on my phone.

The sense of hope began to unravel. There were messages and alerts. A mob, thousands strong, had, under the instigation of the President and other speakers at a rally, marched to and stormed our nation's Capital building. Members of our House of Representatives were forced to lie on the floor for safety until they, and members of the Senate, could be evacuated. Several said later they feared for their lives as the frenzied mob roamed and ransacked what is sometimes referred to as the temple of our Republic.

Although some fought valiantly, 60 were sent to hospitals with injuries, several members of the police seemed complacent as the mob, mostly white, rampaged. The National Guard had to be deployed by the Vice President as the President phoned Congressmen during the melee, still asking them to overturn the election and tweeting "I love you, You're very special" to the rioters attempting to stage a violent coup. 

Only once before has our Capital building been defiled in this way, in retaliation for our actions in 1814 when we were at war with another country. Now, it appeared, we were at war with ourselves. Followers of an obviously insane "messiah" battling those who honor decency and peace, those who want to live in a country that values kindness, a country where many want to work for the good of all it's people. 

That night, as Congress reconvened, some that had sought to contest the results of the election had stepped down from their bully pulpit. They had witnessed, first hand, what awaited the country if they continued forward with their platform of division and hate. 6 dead, one of them a police officer murdered by a blow to the head from a fire extinguisher, the Capital littered. A poignant photo went viral of a member of the House picking up refuse from a hallway at 1 a.m.

Still, over 100 members of Congress voted in the aftermath of the attack to contest the election, refusing to recognize or take responsibility for their actions. Say their names, do not forget. 

Coronavirus19 Diary - The Beginning of the 3rd Act

 With vaccines on the horizon I have remarked over the last few days that we are at the beginning of the last act of this saga. Unless it is Shakespeare in which case we would be in the middle of the 4th act with a 5th act to follow, but I digress. In speeches and interviews I am heartened to hear members of a incoming administration speak in full, coherent sentences, who appear to have the ability to create and, hopefully, if congress does not get in their way, enact plans designed to move us through these final months.

There are, however, many who still harbor the hate and division created by the present administration. Once we control the pandemic and right our covid ridden ship we will still have that to deal with. If the country is to survive we will need to bring as many citizens as possible into the fold. 

I no longer, as I once did, fear civil war. I realize the people on both extremes are greatly outnumbered by those tired of chaos and disagreement. I feel many, for the sake of lives marked by peace and calm, are willing to come together to talk about our national troubles and possible solutions to them. It is a strong and important first step forward. Yet is is only one of many steps our country will need to take. Chaos breeds chaos and over the past 4 years chaos has reigned supreme.

It is like a  river which, after a  heavy rain rages, leaves destruction in it's wake. Yet, once the deluge ebbs, returns to a beautiful pathway, home to a mixed bounty of life, moving peacefully forward.