Corona Virus Thoughts #13

I caught thirty seconds of a high school football game in Alabama. Astonishing. Half the people in the stands weren’t wearing masks of social distancing. In Oregon, all fall high school sports are postponed (probably canceled). Why the difference between the states? Alabama is different because it wasn’t crushed after the Civil War and the racist ruling class was allowed to remain in place and NOT suffer for its treason. Had the work of Reconstruction continued, and it was working, America would be a totally transformed nation. But it wasn’t and look where we are.

I keep feeding a crow with a broken wing who hangs out in the parking lot of the grocery store where I shop. I need to name this bird.

My chipmunk buddy is AWOL. I miss him. We were friends for well over a year.

Another member of my family has cracked (somewhat) because of the strain of living in the Pandemic. It wasn’t the Pandemic itself, just the extra pressure that comes from isolation and the terrible, selfish, arrogant behavior exhibited by many Americans.

I grow weary of conspiracy theories about the Pandemic from both the left and right. What has happened to us?

More strange people along 101. The latest: a man proclaiming the end of the world with a sign on his grocery cart and another man on a suicide prevention mission, or so the sign read on his wheeled contraption.

While driving home, I saw a case of large cans labeled Pork Products on a sidewalk. The ancient graphic design indicated they contents was most likely well beyond expiration date. I drove back around to see it up close an hour later, and all the cans were gone.

I saw a peregrine falcon atop a Sitka spruce. I heard its distinct call and watched it for ten minutes.

The guitar man emerged from the willows again, a few mornings ago, accompanied by the same strange tweaker woman. (See photo) He asked me if I had smokes. I told him I did not. He was wearing a long black coat right out of Johnny Cash. This is the fourth time I have seen the man. He has never actually played the guitar.

The Western is finished and ready to be sent out. Does anyone want to read a Western right now? The writing I am doing right now feels futile at times, but I forge ahead with this project, because there is nothing else to do. I really have no idea what to write next.

I am going to apply for writing instructor position inside a correctional institution. I still have something to give with my teaching life, and someone who found this blog has reached out to me and encouraged me to apply, and provided a sterling recommendation.

Speaking of the blog, I close in on 1000 posts since it launched in April 2017. At times I thought it was coming to an end, such as in recent weeks. I really have no idea who is reading it anymore, if anyone really is. But then I hear from a reader and something magical happens. If you are out there, let me know. I sense my number of posts to the blog will decline in the coming weeks or months, but one never knows. Whenever the blog seems to be dead, it takes another direction, one that I did not foresee.

Such is life.