Author: srj641

This writing is not intended as a political informational, rather a look at the America we have become. We are surrounded by a deep, narrow eyed, visceral kind of hatred that moves less disciplined people to react in ways that are patently destructive. As a professional police officer, I have witnessed the damage that hatred can do firsthand, however; never have I seen it sweep so many folks so fast.

America is fed up with the political establishment in Washington. It is what propelled Mr. Trump into office. If Mr. Trump loses this election, it will not be as a result of a deep sense of love and respect for Mr. Biden, it will be because about one half of the nation despises Mr. Trump. This is evident in any serious reflective conversation with an honest liberal who will immediately change the thrust of a conversation about Mr. Biden to a deriding commentary about Mr. Trump. Hatred may decide this election, not policy or accomplishment or Covid…..hatred.

It has become quite fashionable to challenge the so called “white privilege” with destructive activity in our cities. Burning down our cities, destroying historical artifacts, defacing the graves of our military is the result of pent up rage or hatred. You see very few accomplished, successful, employed folks on the front lines of the destructive wave that has us buying guns at an unprecedented level. Somehow, our educational institutions are convincing our kids that socialism is the answer and the redistribution of wealth will guarantee a chicken in every pot. In our society, to date, wealth is accumulated by hard work, discipline and character. Successful middle class America enjoys a life they worked for, it is that simple. When you see hordes of folks, mostly non-achievers, storm into a middle class neighborhood and raise hell, that is hatred of the people who have things the hordes don’t have and think they are “entitled” to.

A very visible faction of our society hates authority. The progress we have made over the past decade or so is down the tube. The media, ginning up hatred for the institution of policing, is on full display. Every time a threatening, likely sociopathic person, brandishing a weapon or resisting the police, is hurt or killed, we cry for justice in the form of castigating the officer(s). Police work involves split second judgements and swift reaction. The mounting toll of officers killed this year points to the necessity of the use of force, sometimes deadly, in this profession. Polls conducted within Missouri in regard to the public perception of my old agency, have consistently shown very high levels of appreciation and acceptance. Hatred has not arrived here, but is knocking on the door. Like cancer, hatred is always on the lookout for a new place to settle in.

When you watch the evening “news” you will note the disturbing trend of children carrying often obscene signs and posters as they join the parents on a crusade for or against some American institution. It is appalling and counter to the decency that we were once known for. This is one way we keep hatred alive. I mentioned “news” in this paragraph. Network media, as an institution, deserves much credit for fanning the flames of dissension. Social media is front and center in this discussion. They have tremendous power over the message and are guilty of buying into the hatred game. The media hates Mr. Trump and have a very high pulpit to preach from. When you take on folks who buy ink by the barrel and paper by the ton, you will have a tough fight on your hands.

I am ending where I began. Tuesday, America will go to the polls. This is not an election where the winner will be decided by their record, rather it will be an election where hate is the central theme. I enjoyed past political seasons, spirited debate, discernible truths and policy differences on display. This has been a hellish season and when the dust settles, we have much to consider going forward. I have watched hatred kill family members, neighbors, businesses and even pets. The only time in my lifetime that I have seen hatred reign supreme is in combat…….where you are trained to hate and kill. Hatred is lurking everywhere in America and we had better understand it’s compelling nature. It is far more dangerous than Covid…of this you may be assured!

Have a great weekend and be safe with the kiddos as they do the Halloween thing!

SR

Some time ago, I bowed out of the mask controversy, I suppose because I have many friends who are intelligent enough to see both sides of the issue and respond responsibly, and quite differently to the issue on a personal basis. In a few days, we are going to the polls to elect a President and the election, in large part, hangs on the nation’s response to management of the the big “C” or Coronavirus. The world, in it’s entirety, is facing a resurgence of this virus at a time when we need it least, the winter flu and cold season. I am not writing today to provoke argument or attempt to persuade. Instead, I simply want to offer an opinion to my friends to put my conscious at ease.

Chris Christie, a politician from New Jersey is recovering from a severe case of Covid. He has written an OpEd in the Wall Street Journal about his experiences in an ICU ward where his doctors offered absolutely no guarantee that he would not soon experience what doctors are calling a “Celestial Discharge” from the hospital, that is an entry into the afterlife as opposed to convalescence at home. The title of his piece is “I Should Have Worn a Mask” at the Rose Garden announcement of our soon to be newest Justice on the Supreme Court. Christie was a mask wearer, but decided against it at the ceremony. When admitted to the hospital three days later, he was running a fever, in extreme pain, chilling and utterly exhausted. He was soon in ICU, hanging on to that tiny thread of life that has parted for so many. He was fortunate, but has no idea what damage has been done to his body.

You wouldn’t know it, but the mask is more than a political prop. It has become a symbol of virility, machismo, cultural significance, weakness, strength and the freedom to do as one pleases, like wearing a motorcycle helmet or sun block or not. We are still learning about this virus and it’s implications, and after all the fanfare about vaccines and curative applications of old medicines, the best avenue to approach it is to keep it away from your eyes, nose and mouth, and to wash your hands. Pretty simple in a world that is far from simple.

A recent survey has shown that 86% of Americans believe that a properly worn mask is preventative. Yet, in America, only 50% of the population wears one, about 90% of the time. That is all we need to know about numbers, beyond the escalating numbers of cases across our country.

Now, for the arguments. A mask that is dug out of your nasty work pants pocket, un-balled and casually strapped on to enter a venue where masks are required, is likely compromised. Sharon and I rely on a system that I have dubbed the “Mist and Mask” protocol. We use very good fitting cloth masks that we religiously mist with alcohol each time we take them off. We carry a little mister with us and saturate the mask and straps after gelling our hands in the car, and place the mask on the dash to dry. We bring our mister to the table (dining out) and spray our hands when we sit and when we mask up to leave. We carry a supply of sealed, paper masks with us for use if our cloth masks are still damp with alcohol. There are those who have a fatalistic approach. “If I am infected, it is in God’s hands”. There are those who think the whole thing is a hoax and not serious. I have a number of friends in the medical community who can, in fifteen short minutes, explain the realities of the disease and the lonely deaths that are tearing at their very souls. My life is in the hands of my medical team and they, without reservation, recommend wearing a properly fitted mask.

So, those are my thoughts on the matter. You may consider them, or not. Either way, I hope we remain friends. After this election cycle, win or lose, we are still going to deal with Covid for a good while. November 3d is not the end of a cycle, rather the beginning of another era of discord, viciousness and polarization, no matter who is in the White House. Gov. Christie has offered a stark reminder about the sinister aspects of Covid 19, from a personal perspective. As my old Sergeant was fond of saying, “Bought learning is the best learning”. We can learn from both the Sergeant and the Governor………or not.

Have a great weekend and thanks for reading..

SR

Okay. I am going to deviate a bit from the seriousness of the world around us and talk about something that is the foundation of our existence. Ladies, you may find this of particular importance as it is reported that women buy 60% of this product for the men in their lives. I am talking men’s underwear here, where I take a tongue in cheek look at this booming industry (pardon the pun.)

It you are a Social Media consumer you know what I am talking about. Who lately hasn’t seen the Facebook add featuring a young man wearing a pair of the latest Tommy John drawers. He is either an out of work porn star or desperately needs attention to address what has to be a painful hernia. But wait…as they say in the informercials, there is more!

Industry experts say the average man buys his own underwear for 17 years of his life. That leaves a lot of time for moms and wives to do the shopping. Thirty years ago it was easy. You wore boxers, briefs or Army drawers. They came in white, white or olive drab. Back in the day, go to the gym and drop your jeans to reveal a “red soft modal, copper infused thong” and you would be dressing alone or stuffed into a locker. Cotton was the order of the day, which modern manufacturer’s say is comfortable but loses it’s shape over time. No kidding, so do the wearers! Don’t think it matters? Think again. Your chances of ending up in a doc’s office or the ER standing around in your soothing paper gown are better than ever. Don’t get caught without a sleek pair of designer drawers when they decide they need to look in places that don’t see much sunlight.

Mack Weldon says he has devoted 10,000 hours to the development of his silky Lycra and Modal underwear. This brings up another point, gone is cotten and Modal is the new fiber of choice. Modal is derived from the Beech tree and Lycra is a chemical concoction that can expand up to six times it’s original volume. This expansion is important to middle aged men and the aforementioned guy with the hernia. Wait, there is more!

Everybody has gotten into the underwear game. Tommy John, Mack Weldon, Duluth Trading, Sax, Calvin Klein, and Bonobos come to mind. They offer copper for odor control (replaces washing machines) cool zones for the boys and super secure pouches that breathe when you are short of breath. (The pouches should be mandatory for ball players to keep them from constantly rearranging their junk) The colors are breathtaking and the styles are limitless. You can choose old school boxers or briefs, or…..hold on, boxer shorts, short boxers, long boxers or boxer briefs, thongs, slingshots (don’t ask) or cute little socks that resemble the handle protectors on a cast iron frying pan. No fly, button fly, or horizontal fly are additional options. You can get them with copper filaments or for the discerning, silver threads, anti-microbial infused and organic fiber constituted. You can even order a “hammock” style pouch and guaranteed no roll waistband. The discriminating shopper can also find his and hers sets of undies where form eclipses function, I am sure……

Why does this matter, you ask? Harvard says that men who wear boxers produce 25% more sperm than guys who wear briefs. So if you are in the baby making business, this might be helpful. Guys who go commando are 30% more likely to have chaffing and to injure themselves while physically engaged. It matters because many wives and girlfriends will see the Tommy John guy and think they have been short changed in life. (Another pun, sorry). It matters at the doctor’s office or gym where staff won’t be able to recall your name but will long remember your neon Star Wars shorts. We have come a long way from worrying about whether to button down or use a collar stay.

Good luck ladies as you navigate the world of men’s underwear. Odds are you’ll spend a lot more time buying his foundation stuff than he does yours. That, my friends, is a shame…….

Have a great weekend!

SR

I read an interesting and very compelling article in the local paper this morning. This article detailed the soft blue walls of the Covid ward in one of our two major hospitals and the plight of the nurses and techs who are immersed in the business of death, dying and prayer. The article reminded me that hell is all around us in America, the greatest nation on earth. It also reminded me that it is okay to rely on a living God when we are surrounded by Godlessness.

My first experiences with God, not the concept but the reality, occurred in Vietnam. When you are walking artillery in very close to kill an enemy that is determined to kill you, your attention turns, instinctively to God. It is a rare individual who is flirting with death that doesn’t ask for the Lords help. That I am sitting here, writing this piece, is the result of tremendous good fortune and the Lord’s generosity. My next intimate visits with the Lord occurred when I was tasked with providing some degree of certainty to the families of folks killed in car accidents, by criminal acts or at their own hand. I relied upon the Lord, often in silent prayer, to give me the strength to add dignity to the otherwise undignified death at hand. Death in these circumstances is a multi-sensory experience and is often accompanied by many vivid colors, each representative of the hell that is surrounding both the families and the first responders. I shall never forget an experienced Highway Patrol Captain, on his knees tearfully praying with the family of another trooper whose son was killed in front of them as they stood in their front yard. The child rode his bicycle across the road and was struck and killed by a good neighbor. Hell that day was a bright bluebird sky with white puffy clouds holding forth over a cold, asphalt gray road. This family was strong and yet relied upon the God that we are tossing out of America to provide the strength to endure their taste of hell.

The caregivers in the hospital mentioned in the beginning of this writing are living testaments to the strength of a God. When medical science is failing the patients, a regular occurrence with this invisible hell that has been unleashed upon us, they turn to prayer. They are experienced professionals who have joined the fight to keep their patients alive. Friendships develop and often, these providers are in a position to know when survival is unlikely. They are tasked with staying in the fight and acting as surrogate family, as the patient is most often relegated to a death without family present. They call upon the Lord to help the patient and themselves deal with the inevitability of a final, lonely demise in the powder blue room referred to as a Covid ward.

From experience, I can tell you that circumstances do exist where you call upon a spiritual being to help you avoid suffocation and panic when death is close enough to smell. If you are fortunate, you have the time to call upon the Lord before you breathe your last breath on earth. Many times you are not and an eleventh hour save is useless when you are taken in the tenth hour. Please take a moment to look around you and decide where you stand and who you want in your corner when the bell tolls. Are we going to sit idly by and let “progressive” America pitch God out of our lives? Are we going to let a political persuasion that believes it is okay to snip the spine of a newborn infant be our conscious? Are we helpless in the face of this same political persuasion that is going to make a faith a litmus test for a seat on the Supreme Court?

Back to where I began. My hat is off to folks who take on the responsibility of not only the maintenance of life, but a dignified exit from the life we have been given. Combat has an effect on everyone who experiences it. Police service has an effect on everyone who takes on the responsibility. Providing medical care, for folks who are afflicted with a scourge on a scale with Covid 19, will forever haunt the providers. If you have ever uttered “God help them” or “God bless them”, you are acknowledging the existence of the Master. We are taught that you deny the presence of God at your own peril.

Denying God is denying the reason America came into existence. He is not a statue to be torn down……and one way or another, he will be there at the end……How do you want the meeting to go?

SR

We recently completed a “glass” getaway through the great state of Kansas and Colorado. By glass, I mean little contact with people as we viewed the countryside through the glass in our car. A visit to the Mining Museum in Leadville, Co. filled in many of the blanks as it relates to mineral and metal from Mother Earth. With the lyrics from the popular television show “The Beverly Hillbillies” streaming through our minds we were determined to become familiar with the lure of oil, wind and prairie as we travelled. The answer lies in money. Let’s have a look.

I am fascinated by Kansas topography, and amazed at how quickly we go from the ruggedness of Missouri to the gently rolling plains of Kansas. No sooner than you cross into Kansas, you begin to see small oil wells scattered about the countryside. Looks easy, drill a hole, install a pump and sell your black gold to the folks driving from well to well while you count your money. Actually, it is a tremendous risk. The average well produces 3.5 barrels of crude every 24 hours. Today, Brent crude is trading for 41.93 a barrel in these days of fracking and Keystone pipelines. The average well is 3,000 feet deep and costs about 500,000+ to drill and set up. If you hit a dry hole, a possibility even with todays seismic capabilities, you owe the drilling company 150,000. If your well is productive, you can expect, on average, 20 years production. You are advised to NEVER borrow money to speculate in this enterprise. On the other hand, some landowners have many wells churning out oil every day and are doing quite well. The size of the rig denotes the depth of the well and it’s productivity as compared to the averages. So, before you sink you inheritance in a well, consider the prospect of shoe sales at a discount shoe store, a real possibility if the well is or soon runs dry.

Wind is up next. All of us have driven by the “Wind Farms” some of which stretch for miles along the high plains. First, you need wind, at least 9 MPH to turn the turbines. Almost all of the turbines you see are owned by large investment conglomerates, and at least in Kansas, most of the electricity is going to California. The financial considerations attendant to a turbine can be complicated, but the average turbine pays the land owner 8,000 a year, and typical leases are 20 years. There are spacing requirements and the soil must be of the right composition to hold the thing upright. The developer must front about 2 million to erect and bring on line each turbine. The math tells you that if your ground is just right, and you have enough of it, you will be well served to choose wind over crops or cattle. I should mention that if a turbine(s) on your property is in a great wind zone, you may also negotiate a financial reward based on a kw/hr basis.

The Tri-fecta. We drove by a number of ranches that were truly blessed. They had wind turbines happily supplying electricity to the west coast, a number of oil wells covering their operating expenses and either cattle or irrigated crop land to keep them happily belted into first class as they winged their way to Europe or South America for a get away. Or you could emulate the late T. Boone Pickens, a legendary oil man who understood risk. Mr. Pickens was broke when he borrowed money and formed a company to find and produce oil. He died just short of being a billionaire, as he, like all wildcatters, did not always come out on top in a speculation. He did however, understand America’s energy needs and was not lazy.

Mr. Pickens died last year, and left an interesting philosophy on the table when he said, “I’m a Republican. I don’t want to go to heaven and have to face my family up there and tell them I voted Democratic”

I’ll bet you didn’t see that one coming!

Have a great weekend, stay safe and VOTE.

SR

We are back from a getaway to scenic Colorado that had much to offer beyond skis, snow and spandex. Finally after 70 years, I was able to see the fabled Aspens in their peacock splendor and wind generated whispers. They are beautiful. Folks write about the Million Dollar Highway, and it is a treat, but examples of this kind of cliffhanging motoring abound within the state. The ride through Independence Pass was complicated by bicyclists that were pedaling both up and down as if they were on the Katy Trail. We wondered what it would be like to have a resting heart rate of around 3. Colorado has a well earned reputation for personal health, an attribute they are justifiably proud of.

There are thought to be around 600 ghost towns in Colorado, vestiges of the glory days of gold and silver mining. To understand their magnetic appeal, one needs to spend a couple of hours at the Mining Museum in Leadville, high in the Rockies. You can understand the magic of gold, silver and other metals that drew folks from a depressed eastern seaboard to the freezing mountains of this beautiful state. The mining activities and lust for riches have resulted in 24 Super Fund sites being declared by the EPA through out the state. Toxic wastes are still leeching from the mining sites as Superfund status is not a guarantee of restoration. The superfund is currently woefully underfunded. There are many ties to Missouri in Colorado mining country, not the least of which is the plethora of mining experts turned out by our own University, formerly known as the School of Mines in Rolla, Missouri, now referred to as Missouri S&T, for science and technology.

Let’s talk cliffhanging for a minute. Colorado has a number of roads leading to the crests of it’s tallest mountains. Folks who have negotiated them have an appreciation of heights and white knuckles. Your car or motorcycle requires a diligent, focused effort to operate as you both ascend and descend these peaks. We drove to the Continental divide at Independence Pass on a sunny morning, sharing the road with bicyclists in both directions. The bicyclists, and there were many of them, started at the base of the mountain and rode, non-stop to the divide. Had I not watched this with my own eyes, I would have told you no way. The harrowing consideration is sharing the road with vehicles, around hairpin curves, sans guardrails, and chugging bicyclists going up and hurtling down. It is no wonder that Colorado enjoys a stellar reputation for robust personal health and conditioning. I talked, through a mask, and briefly, with a passenger who had just made the ascent to the divide who declared the trip was “terrifying”. She had a point!

Colorado’s history is well preserved. Every mountain town, through preservation and restoration, has a story to tell. These villages and ramshackle whistle stops are becoming very popular and expensive as folks are relocating back to these quaint environments in great numbers. Consequently, real estate prices are eye opening and the properties in great demand.

Every pancake, no matter how thin, has two sides. We drove through scenic Aspen where the rich and famous casually stroll through town in spandex and fur. Their town is a far cry from Leadville, where we were most comfortable. The town was wrapped in an aura of opulence and wealth. We did not feel unwelcome….nor did we feel welcome either. We love the Dillon, Breckinridge vibe, places we know and skied once upon a time. We are jeans and flannel folks and pride ourselves on never meeting people without a smile and greeting. Good old boys would be well advised to seek the ski country on the “other” side of the tracks, where cold beer and strong drinks are all readily identifiable. Places where designer shirts come from Duluth Trading or Carhartt and jeans are cut for a loose, high waisted fit………

Time for another coffee and additional reflection on the ability to ride a bicycle up a mountain….

Have a great weekend, pray for our President, and remember to be civil….

SR

Two days from now marks the beginning of my favorite season in Missouri. A years work in the fields will soon be ready to go into the bins, the gardens are in Mason jars and our critters begin fattening up and grooming their coats for what is promising to be a cold winter. WWII had just ended days before this poem was published by A.H.Hindman in the Kansas City Times.

Every line captures a facet of fall and my hope is that if you have not experienced each one of these sublime considerations, you do so before you go to your reward. Missouri, my adopted home, never fails to enchant me. It has been my privilege and good providence to settle here as a boy. It is my intention to be here for eternity.

We have held onto this for many, many years. It was given to Sharon just before we were married by a teaching colleague. Fall is such a multi-sensory experience. Grab it while you can!

Have a great week!

SR

We are entering my time of the year. My agricultural roots, deeply imbedded in the soil of the South Carolina low country, sharpen my anticipation of the harvest season. It is just that the rewards of all the work and worry of the spring planting and summer nurturing delivers it’s bounty in the season of shortened days, cool nights and vibrant colors. People who love the outdoors, also love the moderating weather that fall brings. Fall marks the beginning of the end of another year on planet earth. A year significantly impacted by a microscopic, colorful bug that refuses to walk a straight line.

Our world has become one of negotiating a rapidly shifting pattern of what is safe and what is not. We are forced to deal with uncertainty as to what is open and what is not, usually verifiable by actually stopping by and reading the door. Slowly, America is coming to terms with this opponent, the virus’s terms, not ours, and dealing with it on a personal level. The freedom to make our own decisions, often conflicting with the attempts by government to keep us safe from ourselves, has delivered a scene reminiscent of Sherman’s march to Atlanta. Instead of scorched earth, we have destroyed relationships, endured political viciousness, and hours of watching bad movies on the cable carriers. To replace fun trips into the retail world, we have a constant stream of FedEx and UPS trucks navigating our streets and neighborhoods. Thousands of good hard working folks are not working yet and we need legal counsel to help understand the policies of our educational institutions. We are conflicted in our spiritual world as well. Churches are feeling the impact of low attendance, and our tendency to rely on spiritual assistance has been replaced by governmental assistance. All courtesy of a little virus with sometimes deadly implications.

Yesterday, we stopped at a chicken house here in Springfield for an order to go. I was up, so on with the mask and into the store to pick up our chicken, taters and gravy I went. Hostility chilled the air at the counter. A family was having trouble keeping the kids on the social distancing spots and decided to wait outside. They viewed me with some degree of disdain, and you can’t smile your way out of tension through a black mask. A man came in to pick up his order, looked at me and suggested that I could dispense with the mask on November the 3d, as this whole thing was a “political hoax”. I wanted chicken not a political science class, and suggested cheerfully, “we’ll see”. I did not turn my back on this man, as there existed no trust between us.

If this virus could just stay on a straight line, we could plan our way around it and establish a new order of existence. It has not and we are forced to contend with the most formidable opponent you can engage, and that is one that adheres to no rules and thus confounds the brightest minds we have. All is not lost. We have sought out eateries that offer outdoor seating, learned the basics of smoking meats at home and are becoming rather clever at buying online. (Online shopping is an art….but that is a story for a later discourse.) There are hundreds of ways to social distance in the great outdoors and the virus, most agree, cannot catch an automobile at 70, a motorcycle at any speed or a bicycle at 10 MPH.

If the virus went away today, we have learned from it. We are adaptable and far more self sufficient than we thought might be the case in this age of modern convenience. So, on this foggy Sunday morning, grab a cup of coffee, seek a little spiritual solace and dwell on what we have gained rather than lost. Soon enough we’ll either beat it or rope it off….it is what we do in America. At the very least, our generation will have a story to tell, like those before us who talk off the Great Depression and dust bowl….that is if we are still recording history in the future.

Have a great week.

SR

America is more mobile today than at anytime in our history. We move around a lot and nuclear families that live in the same town are becoming rarities. Trips to our parents home in rural or small town venues often involve drives or flights of many miles and the rigors of working in today’s demanding market tend to dampen one’s enthusiasm for a thousand mile drive to attend a picnic on a Sunday afternoon. Enter covid. The impact of this virus is felt in many ways not related to being physically sick. Are you a victim of strained or destroyed relationships as a result of this malady………if so you have plenty of company.

First the malady. We know more about this virus and it’s implications than at any time since it’s grand entrance on the world’s stage, and yet there is much we don’t know. Self proclaimed experts have us wearing masks, or not. They want open schools, or not. The virus was handled, politically correctly, or not. The folks who have challenged the authority of political mandates to open or close businesses are hero’s, or not. Folks who err on the side of caution and mask up with a gel bottle in their bag are germaphobic zealots, or not. Pro maskers display disdain to those who do not wear them, and those who do not wear them ask why you are wearing the stupid mask. When you are 70, you view a bout of Covid with a great deal more respect than when you are 20. Kids are basically immune, or not. Depending upon your view, Covid has killed thousands in America, or not. The popular rage today is that underlying conditions cause the deaths, conveniently ignoring that death, from underlying conditions, might have been avoided had you not contracted the disease.

Let’s cut to the chase here. Covid has become the hottest political issue in America since Vietnam. One’s view of this disease is shaped by one’s political view in general. Either I have been asleep, or we are experiencing the deepest political divide in our country’s existence. The hatred that is the hallmark of political campaigning today loves a contributing circumstance. Covid is just that circumstance. Depending upon your political perspective, the management of Covid has been a disaster or the work of the best minds in the country, who have adjusted to the ever increasing knowledge base relative to the disease. Under no circumstances will one side of the political spectrum concede the other side did something the right way. We should shut the economy down, or not. We should build thousands of ventilators, or not. We need thousands of hospital beds, or not. In combat, when time permits, you develop a plan and attack. The wise warrior understands your plans may go to hell in minutes and you had better be ready to adapt. Combat with Covid demands the same respect.

America’s problem is not so much with Covid as it is with pride and taking a stand on one side or the other of an issue that really has no sides. Friendships have been destroyed in the murky waters surrounding Covid and it’s implications. Family relationships have been strained because of this microscopic little virus from the depths of hell. Medical professionals differ dramatically on the implications and management of Covid. Why shouldn’t we form opinions as well? We should, but the smart individual doesn’t push the envelope when arguing for or against a position on the management of this malady. Why?

Because there is no way of knowing who is right or who is wrong until that day in the future when history and the rear view mirror provide the answers. If you have wagered a friendship on one of the implications of this malady, I am sorry. Your wager will become one of your lifelong regrets when you summarize your wins and losses in the end.

From experience, I know this.

Have a great holiday!

SR

Unless you have moved a lot, or are a wannabe hoarder, as you enter the golden years you acquire a lot of stuff. Most of us are old enough to have cleaned out a dear relatives house after they have gone to their reward. These efforts are usually accompanied by wide eyed amazement at the stuff they have accumulated and, importantly, what in the hell to do with it. I recently came into possession of a set of very nice belt buckles from a dear Patrol widow, as she no longer had any use for them. I was fortunate as many Patrol employees collect such things and a home was easy to find. We tend to not dwell on such matters unless we are needing something not in daily use and stumble on a cache that would make a cocaine importer green with envy. We have moved around a lot, still I am concerned from time to time the county health inspector is going to show up. If you are smiling at this point, you know exactly what I am taking about.

In the last 15 years or so, I have established a relationship with a number of health care providers. I have always believed in preventive maintenance, and the practice of medicine is pretty well the province of specialists these days. On my “team” is a great podiatrist, who has been collaborating with me in the care of arthritic feet that were abused in early life until and through the vacation in Vietnam. I stopped in yesterday for a minor procedure, one that requires a little home care to see the project through. This necessitated a trip to our medicine CLOSET, which has long since replaced the medicine CABINET of the younger generation who generally keep a bandaid or two and bottle of Advil in their otherwise empty cabinet. I was shocked…..

Sharon is well organized and I am certain that she can immediately find any kind of bandaid, compress, wrapping, tape or antibiotic that has come out in the last 15 years. Rx medicines are yet another embarrassment. We take a few (well below the national average according to AARP) but docs are fond of changing and adjusting dosages. After paying our share of the drug costs, it is hard to pitch bottles of Squibs best out the door or down the porcelain throne (not good for the environment, I know). Every surgical procedure over the past years has resulted in a new RX for pain control, resulting in a few, or many as the case may be, left over heavy hitters in the opiate class. I could treat the aftermath of some terrible calamity, if I knew what I was doing. I don’t, which begs the question yet again, why do you keep this stuff? We are able to take a temperature a variety of ways (grandchildren for the curious!), measure blood pressure in about thirteen body parts and turn the average adult into a mummy museum piece. We have heat pads and ice packs. Over the counter analgesics, check. We have it in brand name and generic form, for the less discriminating. Ate something bad, we can cork you up. Ate too much of something good, we can increase the urgency to find the throne. Now let’s move into flu and cold. There is not a patent medicine, decongestant, vaporizer dope or antihistamine that we do not stock. The problem today is that a sneeze sends you scrambling for the long Q-tip up the nose to make sure you don’t need to make arrangements with the nearest funeral home. We have pillows, neck braces and two kinds of back wraps. Somewhere in the attic we even have a walker for those of us that dive off ladders with a running chainsaw in their hands. (That is a whole other story). We have around 30 toothbrushes, vomit trays in multiple colors, water jugs that measure your intake and cute little plastic containers to measure your output. If you need to stick it, swallow it, smear it on or drink it, we have it. We can make you cough or stop you from coughing.

By now, you see the point.

I remember the days on a farm in rural South Carolina when the outlay in medicinals was a bottle of merthiolate or mercurochrome for the less sadistic and a bandage torn from a piece of old bedsheet. If the injury was serious, you got the strip of cloth dipped in the fuel oil barrel. Seemed to work fine, and the mosquitos left you alone. For everything else, it was a dose of castor oil or paragoric.

I have come to the conclusion it is easier to run out and buy a new tube of Polysporin than look for one in the closet….unless the inventory specialist, Sharon is on duty. To those of you laughing….I can guarantee you are laughing with me and not at me!

Have a great week!

SR