The Northwest Files

Pajamalama

Locked down. We’re now in the 14^th week of self-isolation, venturing out only occasionally to shop for essentials. Otherwise, we have nowhere to go and nothing to do when we get there.

This, stretched out now over more than three months, has completely changed the shape of our days.

No laughing, now!

We’re out of bed at about 7 am. That hasn’t changed, that’s been our usual time since we retired.

I wander into the kitchen, turn on the coffee maker. I unplug my iPad and start reading the news while Laura heads outside to get our daily paper.

So far, so good, right? But at this point, we’re still in our pajamas and that’s what’s been different about our routine since the coronavirus started scaring the shit out of us.

As I said above, we have nowhere to go, nothing to do when we get there. No Central Oregon Center for the Arts meetings, no choir rehearsal, very little shopping, no going out to lunch.

The one bright spot is that on Wednesdays, when the housekeeper comes, we head out to see if we can find a minor adventure, one that does not involve being around other people.

Otherwise, we pretty much live in our pajamas, at least for most of the morning, while we consume the news. We sometimes stretch this until 10 a.m. or so, long after we’ve run out of coffee. Being in one’s sleepwear past that point just somehow is unseemly, suggestive of decadence, don’t you think?

That’s OK, we can do decadence, as long as it extends no further than staying in our PJs until 10 and eating an occasional piece of chocolate cake.

That’s another thing. Laura, never one to be still for long, has been baking chocolate-chip cookies. This is good. She does about a batch a week. These batches never, ever, overlap. Why is that I wonder? The thing is, she’d never done this prior to the lockdown.

Like the rest of you, we have no idea how long all this will last. Longer than we’d like, certainly. The news today is that Oregon, our state, has 278 new cases and at least 100 new cases eight of the last 10 days.

Here in Deschutes County, we’ve had 137 cases, total, but no deaths. Bend, population about 100,000 and 15 miles south, is by far the largest city in Central Oregon. It is a blue city. That’s important because blue folks seem more likely to wear masks than folks from red areas.

I think that’s probably one of the reasons our case count has remained relatively low. But Redmond, the closest town to us, about 6 miles to the west, is red. People we see out and about in Redmond tend to not wear masks.

We wear masks. We will continue to do so. We also probably will remain in our self-imposed isolation. That’s because we don’t see this ending anytime soon.

Second wave? Hell, I don’t think we’re done with the first wave.

I just hope we can all stay safe. That means us, and it means you, too. And please, wear a mask! It’s not that I’m sick of wearing pajamas. But I would like to get out and around without the risk of this awful illness. I’m sure you’d like the same.

Enough with pajamalama, as nice as it’s been!

-JFT

A Hard Rain

Dylan told us this was going to happen with his song, “A Hard Rain’s Gonna Fall.” Now that hard rain is falling, both metaphorically and in reality.

The first part of the storm came in the form of the coronavirus. We were monumentally unprepared for that, thanks to government ineptitude and stupidity.

The second part of the storm came in the form of resounding and righteous protests in the wake of George Floyd in Minneapolis. Another Dylan song seems to reference these troubles. It’s called “Blowin’ in the Wind” (“How many roads must a man walk down before you call him a man?”).

While all this is happening, here in Central Oregon, we’ve been on the receiving end of our own hard rain, the third part of the storm. It’s come with high winds, lots of rain, thunder and lightning, and hail. Did I say lightning? Lots of it. The cats have been hiding under the bed. I’ve been tempted to get under there with them. It’s the middle of June but the weather is that of our rowdy fall season.

To say that I have been distracted by all this would be an understatement. Never mind that at the best of times, I have a short attention span.

So, when my pals Mike Kicenski and Larry Roberts reminded me that I’ve not posted in The Northwest Files since May 11, well, I was shocked. I had no idea I’d been that lazy.

Except it’s not exactly laziness. It’s more like I’ve been caught up in the dramas that surround us.

First, the coronavirus and Covid-19. As seniors, Laura and I both are at risk to this awful disease. We have been almost completely preoccupied with the task of self-isolation. As I write this, our 13^th week of hiding out is ending. New cases continue to appear in our county and throughout Oregon. So, we don’t go out much. Laura plays a bit of careful golf and we both sneak out once in a while to buy groceries. But with this week’s uptick in cases here, I think we’re going to revert to Instacart for food. We will continue buying wine through the mail. Thanks for that tip, Larry.

So far, we’ve been well. Can we stay well? We plan on doing just that. But you never know.

If all this wasn’t sufficiently disruptive and frightening, along comes the murder of Mr. Floyd and with it, the righteous anger of what seems like most of the American community. At least those with an ounce of compassion.

I watch very little television, but I read newspapers and magazines. It’s tough to not be touched in all this, tough to not be angry, impossible for me to not support the Black Lives Matter movement.

The result of all this is that I have been frozen by concern and outrage. Sit at my computer to try to write something? I completely forgot about doing that. I didn’t mean to, not least because writing is, for me, a way to scrub off a bit of anger and concern, a way to feel better.

As I’ve mentioned to my pals Mike and Larry, I get very little response to these posts. That’s OK, I write them mostly for myself. But apparently Larry and Mike, and perhaps a few others, do read them. Mike tells me that the posts he likes best are the ones written when I’m pissed off.

I’m a pretty mild person so rarely am I truly pissed off. Nevertheless, I promise to write more frequently, pissed off or not. Right now, I’m very angry indeed about police brutality and about the way we treat black people and other people of color.

If I can figure out a way to write about that isn’t condescending and stupid, I will. In the meantime, I think I’ll listen to some Bob Dylan.

-JFT

Bach or Bluegrass?

Choral music anytime soon? I don’t think so.

I saw a post recently that covered a talk presented to choral conductors in Maine, I think it was. It said that because of the pandemic, rehearsals and concerts would not be safe for choral singers, and I guess, by extension, for audiences, for at least two years. 

Most of my friends know, I think, that my thing is high-end choral music. Along with folk/bluegrass, I’ve participated for decades. Now, without it, I am bereft.

But I’ll have to cope because these days, working in choral groups is dangerous. Here’s why: When we sing, we breathe deeply, often sing at fortissimo, exhaling great lungfuls of air over long periods of time. It is very physical. 

We sometimes/often produce an aerosol of saliva as we sing. Sometimes more than just an aerosol. We’re in very close quarters, usually standing shoulder-to-shoulder, so in today’s reality, this is dangerous. 

Back in olden times, if one us as much as had a cold, we would sit off on the side during rehearsal, as far from the other choralists as we could get. These days, that’s not far enough. 

There is nothing - nothing at all - like being up there on stage where the music is being made. Being in the audience at a live performance is wonderful. But being on-stage, where one is surrounded and immersed in sound, is much better. Even in the worst of times, it fills one’s heart.

I sometimes become frustrated with the choral experience. Choral ensembles can be political and conductors can be huge pains in the ass. Never mind. I still miss it desperately. I’m really going to have to find something with which to occupy myself until this passes.

Maybe GarageBand? Hm. You know GarageBand, right? The recording app on iPhones and iPads? I understand that is quite popular and easy enough to use that maybe, perhaps, even I can use it.

Oh, look! There’s my iPad! Oh, look! A banjo sitting right over there in the corner of our den! 

See? This pandemic may force me to new, undiscovered, levels of antisocial activity.

“Duelin’ Banjos,” anyone?

-JFT

"Four Dead In Ohio"

Been thinking about this ominous and incredibly sad date in history. Today, May 4, 2020, marks the 50^th anniversary of the murder of four college students and the injuries to nine others by the Ohio National Guard.

Students had gathered to protest – mostly peacefully, though some rocks were thrown – the incursion into Cambodia by American forces during the Vietnam war. The Guard’s General Robert Canterbury – let that name live on in infamy – ordered his Guardsmen to load and lock their weapons. Armed soldiers later said they fired on the unarmed students because they feared for their lives.

Of the four dead, two participated in the protest. Two did not. Didn’t matter. “Four dead in Ohio.”

This awful incident was of course commemorated by Neil Young’s powerful anthem, “Ohio,” recorded by Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young.

I was just about to graduate college when this happened. In solidarity, I wore a peace sign on my graduation robe. I think I still have it somewhere. It’s hidden away far better than is the rage I still feel about this.

A small digression: Our state’s governor said a day or so ago that she expects to open Oregon, closed because of the coronavirus, on July 6. That’s a long way off.

How long? I don’t know, as I’m calculating this lockdown’s duration in terms of hair length. Today marks the beginning of the eighth week that Laura and I have been practicing isolation. The day we started was also the last day I had a haircut. I do not expect to get another haircut until everything is opened and I can do so safely.

My hair, what I have left of it, isn’t anywhere as near as long during the early ‘70s. But it’s getting there. So how long has our isolation lasted so far? About two inches.

How much longer will it last? We shall see. Probably at least another couple of inches.

But at least I’m alive and my hair still is growing. That’s more than be said for those four students who were murdered 50 years ago today. I think that I’ll go and stoke the rage I continue to feel about this despicable act by listening to “Ohio.” Turned up loud.

-JFT

Silver Linings

We’re midway through the seventh week of our self-imposed quarantine and so far, we’re doing pretty well.

Well, almost. There is one thing. I pretty much get my hair, what little of it I have left, trimmed every four to five weeks. It’s been almost eight weeks. It’s been a little longer than that for Laura.

Now, here’s the thing. We may be retired and living in the back of beyond in Central Oregon’s high desert, but Laura still turns herself out every morning looking like a million bucks. I mean, makeup, hair, jewelry, the whole nine yards. Not that she has to try all that hard in the first place. So she’s a little distressed that her hair, her gorgeous abundant hair, has grown longer than she likes for it to be.

She usually keeps it quite short. It isn’t now.

Though I think that it looks terrific, I’ve suggested that she just go with the flow, let it grow to her shoulders or beyond. She’s been noncommittal about that, but I suspect that she’s not going to let that happen.

Me, on the other hand, I’m all too happy to go with the flow. I also turn myself out each morning as well as I can, given that I’m much closer in appearance to Sasquatch than I am to Brad Pitt, but I’m not horrified by the lack of a haircut. Usually, I get one, begrudgingly, when Laura reminds me that it’s time.

She recently said to me, “You know, I can cut hair.”

I’m positive that she can. Her talent is so broad, her abilities so immense, that she excels at anything she puts her hand to. But this is an offer upon which I shall pass.

There was a time, decades ago, when I let my hair grow. This mess in which we find ourselves is my excuse to do that again.

It won’t be quite the same thing. When I was younger, I had lots of hair. Now I don’t. At least, not on top. Oh, I still keep it as nice as is possible, I still shave, and I do not let my sideburns go Neil-Young crazy. I keep them trimmed. And no beard, either. Laura always looks terrific, so my looking like a bum just wouldn’t be respectful.

But this hair thing – it’s not really a rebellion, even if Laura does contend that I have a problem with authority. No, it just feels right.

It’s my little silver lining, a very small one, to this black cloud of illness and uncertainty with which we all contend. Well, that and the availability of mail-order wine. That’s also an important silver lining.

It is my sincere hope that you have your own silver linings. Even if they are as insignificant as mine is.

-JFT

Interesting Times

“May you live in interesting times” supposedly is an “old Chinese curse.” But apparently it isn’t. See this for something approaching confirmation:

https://quoteinvestigator.com/2015/12/18/live/

Chinese curse or not, certainly we now are living in interesting times, thanks to the Coronavirus and COVID-19, the illness the virus causes. 

It's Monday, April 13, the beginning of our fifth week of almost total lockdown. We do not go anywhere, except to take advantage of the curbside delivery being offered by a couple of the shops from which we get some of our essentials. The frequency of those trips seems to be working out to something like once every two weeks.

We do our basic grocery shopping online and have the delivery done by Instacart, which drops our orders on our front porch. So far, that has worked out very well. We take care to tip the delivery people a bit extra. They’re taking a risk, I think, to help keep us in supplies. We’re grateful for that.

The prevailing view here seems to be that the lockdown probably will last until at least June 1. We’re preparing for that by trying to make sure we maintain a supply of the things we most frequently use for meals. Nothing fancy, for sure, but a few more cans of tomato sauce, bags of rice, etc., than we usually keep on hand. And, of course, toilet paper.

The amazing thing is that time seems to fly by. I think that’s because there’s lots to do around here. Laura continues to work in her garden, something that keeps her very happy. I goof around reading and writing, playing a bit of banjo, and working on woodcarving projects. The days seem to race by. It’s uncanny. Others have noticed the same thing, they tell me.

For company, we have each other and the cats. We also have Zoom and Facetime. We use both to keep in touch with friends and family. Actually seeing someone when you talk to them is way better than a plain old phone call.

What we’re not doing: Laura is not playing golf, neither of is going fly fishing. Sure, it’s possible to maintain social distancing when you do those activities, but what happens when you buy gas or require the services of emergency personnel? Or even just encounter a course marshal or fish/game ranger, or maybe someone who comes to give your car a jump-start? The risk skyrockets. So, we’re staying in.

The weather here finally has taken a nice turn. It’s warm, with clear skies. Laura gets to garden, I get to cut the grass, and when we’re done, we get to spend time out on our deck, which adds a good bit of living space to our home. Laura also has what we call her Zen Zone, a beautiful meditation area in which she loves to spend time.

While we’re out on the deck, we mostly read and watch the birds cavorting at our bird feeders. Or we watch the huge owl that periodically shows up to scare the crap out of the birds, squirrels and rabbits that populate this place. It’s great entertainment.

In short, one day is exactly like every other day. The time is flying by.

How long can we maintain this? As things now stand, we can maintain it indefinitely, I think, or at least until madness sets in. Of course, if food supplies crash, as some suggest could happen, that changes everything. Should that happen, we’ll wish that we had a large freezer packed with stuff. We don’t.

There is of course the joker in the deck, a second wave of COVID-19 that some experts say could break in August. Here’s a link:

https://www.washingtonpost.com/opinions/global-opinions/the-danger-of-a-second-wave/2020/03/19/02e878be-6a00-11ea-abef-020f086a3fab_story.html  

This raises an interesting question: Will we, in order to stay well, have to remain quarantined until the end of the year?

It’s a serious question that requires serious thought. At least, that’s what I think.

Living in interesting times, indeed.

-JFT

Quarantine!

How are you and yours doing so far? If you can answer, “As well as can be expected,” that’s good enough. If you can answer, “Fine,” that’s even better. If you have to answer, “Well, we’re not feeling so hot,” we’re going to worry about you and hope that you get the care that you need.

Laura and I are doing fine. We’re entering our fourth week of lockdown with no end in sight. We do go out for drives occasionally and have twice ordered food items online and stopped at the respective stores, while on those drives, for curbside loading.

For groceries, it’s less complicated. We order our food through Instacart. A couple of hours later, our stuff shows up. At least most of it does. We’ve ordered brown sugar, cheese, and a couple of other items that for whatever reason didn’t show up. That’s OK. We’re glad to get what we get. We’ve had three deliveries now and are pretty well stocked up, at least for now.

I’ve just seen a video about the need to sanitize/sterilize the items one brings into one’s home after shopping. A wake-up call. We’re going to much more militant about doing that.

Interested? Here it is: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zmoBI5m2_uw

We’re serious about staying in, so we do miss talking with our pals. One way we’re getting around that is with phone calls – and, even better, apps like Facetime.

But this sort of thing is useful for more than just schmoozing with pals. I had my first experience with Zoom, the online meeting app, last week. This was for an appointment with a physician.  That also worked surprisingly well. Laura uses Zoom to talk to her pals. It’s a cool deal.

The reality, for me, is that since we’ve been here, I’ve been a bit of a hermit. The only difference now is that now I’m a bit more of a hermit, which suits me just fine. I pick my guitar and banjo and I do a great deal of reading – nice to have books on my iPad, nice to get the important ones in hardcopy.

Laura has had to lay off from golf, which is not optimal for her, but she spends a lot of time pursuing online art classes, which she greatly enjoys.

We’ve been streaming movies, which up to now we’ve done infrequently. We usually just stick to our favorites – Masterpiece Theater and such. At least there is no shortage of stuff to watch, thanks to Netflix and Amazon Prime.

Some of our friends apparently are not taking this as seriously as we are. I’m not going to lecture anybody, but this does worry me. If we’re 60 years old or older, we’re supposed to isolate. I hope everyone gets that message.

I have noticed a couple of things during this isolation that interest me. One is that my dreamlife is really crazy. Nothing exotic, mind you, just weird. For instance, trying to rider a tiny motorcycle too small for a small child. Weird. Also, I get a bit disoriented and lose track of time, both micro and macro. I forget, for instance, which day of the week it is – oh, today is the day I’m supposed to put the rubbish bins out? Oh, today is one of the days I cook dinner?  It’s good that Laura reminds me of this stuff.

Things here in Central Oregon aren’t too bad. So far, we’ve had 36 cases of the virus here in Deschutes County, with no deaths. Part of that, I think, is that social distancing is environmental. This is farm and ranch country, so there’s very little population density; social distancing is how folks live.

What density there is, is in the Bend/Redmond metro area, which has a population of about 197,500. Both towns are pretty much shut down, as you might imagine. Good for public health, terrible for the economic health of businesses and workers.

One thing that’s nice for us is that it looks like the weather will warm up a bit as the next week passes. It’s been surprisingly cold and damp here for the last few weeks so sitting out on the deck hasn’t been possible. We’re looking for that to change because it’s nice out there – yes, and very private – and because we so enjoy watching the birds congregate around the feeders in the yard just below the deck.

Food for the birds? As with supplies for the cats, not a problem: Order online, it gets delivered.

What none of us can know is this: How long can this last? How long will the supply chains upon which we rely for supplies stay full? What happens when agricultural workers and truck drivers and store folks get sick?

And in the longer run, what happens when we get deeply into election season? How will this awful mess affect the democratic process that we all are counting on?

Stay tuned, I guess.

-JFT

Sea Change

I’ve lately been thinking about how the Covid-19 pandemic will change us at a societal level. I’m sure that the changes will be in ways we can’t imagine. But the one thing of which I’m certain is that those changes will come, that they need to come.

How odd, and how incredibly dangerous, that the need arises in an election year, a year when so much is at stake.

Here in our house, we’re both elderly and retired. We trundle along on a fixed income. Thank the lord for the safety net of Social Security!

Those that are experiencing job loss as a result of Covid-19 don’t have that safety net.

Yet we’ve known that something like this was coming. In the face of potential heavy job loss at the mechanical hand of robotics, for instance, there has been a great deal of discussion about the need for a guaranteed annual income for everyone. How else will we keep people from becoming homeless and hungry?

What we’re seeing right now, right this minute, is that sort of heavy job loss, caused by plague rather than technology. People and businesses are going to be unable to pay rent, car payments, utility bills.

Suddenly, the fixed income provided by Social Security looks damned good, like a ray of sunlight through dark, foreboding clouds. Why should that sort of ray of financial hope not be extended to everyone? Wouldn’t something like that allow people, our friends and neighbors, to at least keep their heads above the financial waves?

In the face of potential medical disaster, huge numbers of people are going to require sophisticated medical care. How are they going to pay for that? How can people avoid being buried in medical bills?

But wait, there’s a better question. In the face of what is a public health disaster, a disaster that will affect us all, how are we going to pay for the preservation of public health?

For some of us, that potential will be ameliorated by the presence of Medicare. But what about the rest of us?

Medicare, or some form of public health care for all, has been part of the platforms of several political candidates as we’ve careened toward a presidential election. It’s been all but abandoned, except by Senator Bernie Sanders, one of two Democratic candidates.

But in the face of this unprecedented health and financial challenge, isn’t some form of public health care for all, a retreat from the selfishness and greed of for-profit medicine, exactly what we need?

In the face of these and other questions, it’s time for a sea change in the way we do things.

It’s time for us to hit the brakes on convention, on same-old, same-old.

It’s time to hit the gas on new, different, better.

That’s the sort of thing that will be top of consciousness for me as we go to the polls this year. Perhaps you will give it some thought too.

-JFT

For What It's Worth

“Something’s happenin’ here, what it is, ain’t exactly clear.”

That’s of course a line from “For What It’s Worth,” the iconic song performed decades ago by a band called Buffalo Springfield. You know, Neil Young, Stephen Stills, a couple of others.

Certainly, something is indeed goin’ down. Certainly, what it is, ain’t exactly clear.

As I wonder about that something, here are a few of the questions that I find interesting to ponder.

1 – It’s looking like hundreds of thousands of people, some perhaps without health insurance, could be about to rack up some medical debt. What, if any, impact will this crisis have on the debate for medical coverage for all?

2 – We know that medical care, for-profit or otherwise, is getting much more difficult for people who live in rural areas. What impact might this crisis have on that sad fact?

3 – What impact might it have on the hundreds of thousands of small businesses that are in jeopardy because their customers are locked down?

4 – What impact might it have on the millions of individuals who work on contract or in the gig economy? What will happen to bartenders, wait staff, musicians, and others who work in restaurants?

5 – What about those of us who are getting used to buying groceries on-line? Will any of us want to return to fighting our way through our local grocery stores when we can shop for our stuff on the Web and have it delivered to our homes?

6 – As a part of question number 5, with companies large and small hustling to build infrastructure to support home deliveries, when this mess is all over and done, will anyone want to shop person-to-person again, except when absolutely necessary? Will the result be an all-new level of the gig economy that we could never have seen coming?

7 – What will the level of unemployment be when we emerge from this mess? Will those laid off during this crisis be quickly rehired?

8 – Will the markets bounce back to their previous stratospheric highs?

9 – With nobody working and paying into their Social Security accounts, how soon, if a lockdown continues, will the Social Security Administration run out of money to send retirees every month?

10 – With people worldwide locked down, traffic is almost nonexistent, so air pollution is almost nonexistent. Are scientists in their labs measuring the differences between today’s air quality and air qualities worldwide a month, or two, or six, ago? Will anyone want to go back to what we had?

11 – As we all cut back on our driving, will our reliance on petroleum, the automobile industry, and the subservient industries, be so greatly diminished that many of them go bankrupt?

12- Is massive and lasting disruption happening right under our noses? Is it so big that we scarcely notice it? Or will things snap back to normal?

13 – Finally, do the American people want government that looks after business first? Or do we want government that looks after people first? Or is there middle ground that would allow both sets of values to be equitably served?

I doubt that any of us will be able to guess the answers to these questions. But it is indeed time for us to, “stop, people, what’s that sound, everybody look what’s goin’ down.”

It might be time to ask, “what it’s worth,” pertaining to our daily lives and the ways in which we conduct them; then find some answers that will help us all survive in whatever new reality awaits us.

-JFT

Quarantine

We’re approaching the end of our first week of almost total quarantine. I thought I’d list some of the ways in which we’re coping with this.

(Yes, we’re taking this seriously. I gather that some folks are not. Fine. They get sick, it’s on them. They make others sick, it’s on them. We’re not going to do that.)

I drove a car this morning for the first time since Monday, when I cruised into town for a haircut. It will be my last haircut while this is going on. By the time it’s over, I expect to resemble Sasquatch even more than I already do.

My drive this morning involved a trip to the recycle dump here where we live. I needed to get rid of four big bags of wine bottles. It’s an amazing thing. Either they reproduce out there in the recycle box on the deck or some dastardly neighbor is adding to our collection of empty bottles when we’re not looking.

I think it’s the latter. Why do I think that? I think that because the supply of full wine bottles in the rack down in the den seems never to grow.

That nearly unbearable situation will end Monday when we receive a mail-order shipment of wine that won't last long enough.

We just got a big mail-order box of food for Rio and Vivian, our two cats, who seem unperturbed by what’s going on. They’ll be happy as long as they are fed. Should we run out of food and die of starvation, they’ll be quite content, I’m sure, to take bites out of us. Starting, perhaps, with our lips. Revenge, I should think, for all the kisses they get from us.

I think that for now, at least, as long as the supply chains remain healthy, that we are not in danger of starving. We have discovered Instacart, which probably you know about. You shop online and your stuff is delivered to you in a matter of just a couple of hours. As long as you don’t ask for toilet paper.

We’ve discovered something else, too. The restaurant here where we live, which shall remain unnamed to protect the guilty, just announced that it will prepare meals for pickup or delivery.

To this news would we ordinarily exclaim, “Bah! Humbug.” The place has been that dreadful. None of the residents here use it. It stays in business because, I think, it has a captive audience in the form of those who come here for the three golf courses, the hotel, and the convention center.

But a few months ago, a new owner took over. The new owner seems to have hired a new chef and revamped the menu. We are going to give it a try tonight through the pickup-option. Laura and I are optimists, so we do not expect to be poisoned. If we are, I hope it’s not transferrable to the cats when they nibble on our remains.

Nothing at all going on in the world of music. No choir rehearsals, which along with performances, have been canceled. It’s the same everywhere here. Bend is a resort town that is filled with craft breweries and clubs that have live music. The clubs are all closed. The musicians are having a terrible time, as you might imagine. This makes me very sad, but also very happy that I did not major in music when I went to college. That’s what I set out to do. I was dissuaded. That seemed unfortunate at the time. Now I recognize it as an enormous boon, an escape from the jaws of financial death.

From financial death are we saved by the fact that we are old folks who live on a fixed income. That used to be not such a good thing. Now, with so many workplaces closed and so many people laid off, it looks like a very good thing indeed. Isn’t perspective interesting?

The snow nearly is gone from our golf courses, which means that Laura soon will resume one of her favorite pastimes – chasing a little white ball around a lawn. She’s looking forward to that, and to resuming gardening.

The lore here is that planting anything before the snow on Black Butte melts is fruitless. Literally. That will take a few more weeks. But she’ll be out on the course, celebrating golf and spring, soon.

Me, I will celebrate spring my own way. I will pick a little banjo.

If that isn’t a foolproof key to social distancing, I don’t know what is.

Stay safe and well, my friends. Talk all this seriously. You can’t afford not to. I’ll see you all when this is over.

-JFT