The 2020 Coronavirus Pandemic

As I write this, it is late March, 2020. It’s been a while since I last shared my thoughts. And If the truth be told, it’s been a depressing few years, here in the desert. My life has taken some turns which I would not have wished for; the job I now have is not the one I was hired for, almost two years ago. Over the intervening span of time, it has been changed, tiny bit by tiny bit. The conditions under which I am required to perform it continue to become more demanding, and I have had to learn to live with the repeated threat of it being taken away from me if I do not find a way to do it both faster and more perfectly. Soon I expect I will be required to work from home. I have not had to do this before, and I resent being forced to allow my work to intrude into my home, my sanctuary, my retreat. This will make it even more difficult to do this job.

And yet, I name the Name of God, and try to live my life as my Master tells me to. I fail, of course, but I am forgiven. I have accepted this disappointing chapter in my life because it is a tenet of my faith that God is in control, and He has a plan for me. Since time began, He knew I would be working here, at this time in my life, at this time in the lives of those around me, and in the history of my country and my planet. And so my faith requires me to believe that, like Joseph and Paul and Daniel, I must walk the sometimes-difficult path which has been set before me by my King, and find a way to live as He commands, or as closely to it as I can manage, so that I may be obedient to Him and to bring him such glory as I am able. So I do my best to accept it, and pray every day for His Will to be done in me, and through me, and not my own will.

Some times, some very dark and very early mornings, that prayer is harder to pray in my heart than at other times, other brighter, sunnier afternoons.

I recently came to realize that as miserable as this job is, at least I still have one. Right now the Coronavirus Pandemic, CoVid-19, has gripped the world. It swirls invisibly around us, threatening us, intimidating us with it’s unknown aspect. Because of the nature of the infection, and because of the poor choices of our current President, Donald Trump, we have wasted 2 months of valuable time, and are just now beginning -beginning- to prepare for this test of our nation which is already upon us, and among us. We are being told to practice something entirely new: Social Distancing. I suspect as you read this in the weeks and months to come, you will be quite familiar with it, but right now, it’s new, and we are as a nation (and a world) grappling with how to wrap and bend and twist and wrench our lives around it. We are, many of us, finding ways to adapt to the idea of spending week after week after week, stretching into an unknown number of months ahead, physically separated from other human beings.

No gatherings of more than 50 people are allowed, and most recently even groups larger than 10 people are being discouraged – or simply prevented form occurring at all by police and authorities, depending on which city or state you happen to live in. This means no professional baseball, basketball, hockey, no March Madness, no audiences at TV shows, no evening news teams on the same set with each other. It means many, many radio and TV programs are being broadcast by formerly high-gloss hosts and anchors and reporters from their basements, or their living rooms, or their kitchen tables.  No schools, no high school proms, no graduations, no St. Patrick’s Day celebrations. In many states most places where people formerly gathered like bars, restaurants, stores, coffee shops and clubs are all but closed. Stores limit the number of patrons who can be inside to handfuls at a time. Restaurants and dining establishments offer drive-thru and pick-up orders only; their lobbies are locked, the tables and chairs stacked mutely in the corner, or out of sight entirely. Businesses large and small will go under. And the people who formerly staffed these places, stocked the storerooms, waited on customers, rang up their purchases, cleared their tables and cleaned their glasses…they don’t have jobs anymore. By the grace of God…I do.

But despite all of this….we have yet to see the full effects of the virus. Statistics guess that before the virus is through with us, maybe a month or more from now, perhaps as many as two-thirds or more of America will eventually become infected. Due to timing and luck, I am in one of the most at-risk categories: 60 or older, with underlying health issues. These same statistics estimate that the vast majority of folk in my group will survive. But approximately seventeen out of every hundred will not.

That’s a frightening percentage. The kind that can keep you awake at night.

I’m used to seeing odds expressed in chances of winning the contest as one in a million or a hundred million….not in seventeen out of every one hundred other humans just like me – gone.

No funerals, either.

Part of me wonders what life will be like over the weeks and months to come, as Spring slowly turns to Summer, because that’s how I’m wired. I want to learn new things, to watch history unfold. How will our government adapt to this New Reality? How will we? What will go back to “normal”…and what will not? I’m on the front lines again, as I was for Watergate, and 9/11, and the dawn of computers and the Information Age. But part of me also longs for less – less details, less complexity, less fear. Simpler times where I can deal with what I want to, or am able to, and then let the rest go where it will. But -at least so far- I haven’t been offered that choice. So I continue with a job I dislike more each day, and at the end of the day I head home to watch the slow-motion train wreck that my nation and my world have become. And I will try and maintain my faith in God, that He is in control, that He has a plan for me, that He loves me and will not forsake me. May His Will be done.

Ending Points and Starting Points

My teenaged son left home this morning.

I got up early, before the sun came up, to see him off. I watched his mother organizing his departure, the two of them trying to think of everything he should bring with him. After too short a time, we hugged, and then the two of them drove off into the night to deliver him into the care of others. It wasn’t an overly emotional parting.

Until after he was gone.

He didn’t join the military, or head off to college. He rode out to take an unpaid accountant-cum-manager position with five other young men; a rock band, embarking on a national tour of mostly local dives, in a stretch van, pulling a trailer filled with musical instruments. On their own for a minimum of a month. Possibly for four months, if things go “well”.

. . .

When I was a young man, a year or two older than he is now, I took off on a somewhat similarly hare-brained adventure. The woman who would later consent to be my wife and I drove across the country one cold January. We took nearly four weeks to do it, out and around and back. We were young and crazy and in love. It was an adventure, and I do love adventures. I expect our parents were quietly horrified then in much the same way I was this morning, although they weren’t my first concern back then, any more than I suppose my fears were in my son’s mind this morning.

I understand the allure of the open road. I have heard that call many times myself. I still hear it. Though my ability to send up an answering cry has been muted by age and the weight of responsibilities, I understand his young desire to see what’s out there. But the times in which we’re living these days are not as open and welcoming as they were thirty years ago. There wasn’t the fear then, or the desperation with which we all live and even take for granted now. People weren’t constantly afraid of losing their jobs, didn’t wonder where next month’s rent or mortgage payment or grocery money was going to come from, hadn’t yet begun to feel the constant queasy stress that grows out of continuing to fight the good fight because you don’t know any other way, even while a part of you knows you’re not winning anymore, and you haven’t been for some time. We didn’t see each other as potential competition, or even as enemies, back then. Times are different now.

My son’s version of this journey differs from my wife’s and mine in at least one other important way: We were the masters of our own fate, as much as two people can be. We were in charge. We shared the driving, we shared the decisions, we shared our souls, and we answered to no-one. We were all we had. But we were also all we needed.  We didn’t have a large amount of money, but we had planned and budgeted so we had enough for gas, food and lodging each day.  My son and his mates have ten dollars per person, per day, to pay for all of these things, an amount obviously insufficient for the task.  My son is intelligent, but he is still young enough to place no value on experience.  His fate is largely in the hands of the band members, people he hadn’t even met until four days ago. They are all involved in a business relationship; while friendships may grow out of their shared hardships, none exist now at the beginning of their odyssey.  Once upon a time, I was a member of a band. I understand the lifestyle. The thought of my son’s fate intertwined with the choices and preferences of these footloose musicians, still young and bulletproof, none of whom knows him and any of whom could potentially harbor ill will towards him…..frightens me.

In addition to the possibilities for adventure, my son took advantage of the opportunity offered to him as a potential career step.  He knows he will learn an incredible amount, both about himself and about the business of touring and managing a band.  There is no better teacher than experience, and he will gain an enormous amount of that.  At times, I fear he will gain more of it than he wishes, but that, too, is part of the adventure.  It has been said, and I also believe, that we learn more from our failures than we do from our successes.  I have prayed many times in the past week, asking Almighty God to protect him.  If it be His will, bless him with success also, but first and foremost, grant him protection, as he has now both grown out of and physically passed out of my ability to protect him from the hardships life can inflict on him.

And this is the other emotion wrapped up in this parting, for me.  I recognize that this trip will most likely signal the end of my son’s childhood, certainly in the way he views me as his parent.  No longer will I be Dad, the protector, the buffer between him and the Real World, the arbiter of what he can and cannot, should and should not, do.  Once he returns…..if he returns………….I will be a fellow adult.  My role will have become that of adviser, and no longer that of middle-of-the-night comforter, tosser of balls, chauffeur to league games, vocal supporter from the sidelines, provider of video games, slayer of orcs and leader of the hunting party, prodder to take his schoolwork more seriously, questioner of whether he’s been drinking tonight………….

I will be none of those things, anymore.  I will no longer be his hero.  I will be something less.  Less capable, less wanted, less consulted, less needed.  I will no longer be his teacher; I may be the one who taught.  Or I may be the one who failed to teach.  But my role, in those ways and so many more, will be for most intents and purposes…..

Ended.

It is a truth that tears apart the heart.

It is a truth, though.  It is the way things are supposed to progress.  You raise your children, and then you don’t.  You set them free, and then they have their own life to live, their own course to chart, their own mistakes to make and triumphs to achieve.  I understand this, and I accept it.  But it greatly saddens me to live through this transition.  I know that my overall relationship with my son isn’t over (God willing).  We will continue to be part of each others lives for many years to come.  But my role will have changed.  I will see him less and less, and I will be diminished by that emptiness, that growing distance.

And so, I strive to grow past my aching sadness. I sense that change is in the wind.  My role with my son, in many ways, is moving through an ending point.  But also a starting point, as I embark on the journey to find my new place in his life, and as he works out the questions of, as George Carlin once put it, what he’ll do for fifty bucks, and what he’ll do with fifty bucks.  I also begin a new and different post-child-raising era in my own life.  As I find new activities, new pursuits, to fill the spaces that raising a child used to occupy.  My relationship with my wife will change, and that is also a starting point.  My son is of course passing though ending points and beginning points as well.  The educational portion of his life has ended, and now begins the experience portion.  His career is beginning, possibly the first of many different careers.  He’s learning how to live and get along with other people in an (extremely) intimate environment, something he’s never had to do before.  He may have many things he has to give up in the weeks to come, many new choices, habits, skills he picks up along the way.  Decisions he must start paying the price for.

Change is in the nature of all things, save for God.  We usually have little choice but to go through the changes that are presented to us.  We learn, we grow, we may mourn what we leave, or are forced to leave, behind.  But we change.  And so my son and I are changing.  I wish him the very best the world has to offer, and hope I can help him through the times when he has to face unhappiness.  Because dealing with both is a part of being an adult, and that is now his lot in life.  In the fullness of years, I have learned that as both a father and as a person, there are times in life where I must step back, and let fellow adults about whom I care make their own choices, for better or ill.  My son is now a member of that group.

I was blessed with a first-born son, I have had the privilege of helping to raise him, and I am now proud to know the young man he is becoming.  The very best of luck to you, son.  I love you.

Sedona, Arizona

There’s a very small town in north-central Arizona, with which you may not be familiar.  Blessed with a spectacular location, the town is called Sedona, and it’s an Arizona treasure. Let me tell you a bit about it.

It all begins with altitude.  The terrain and vegetation of Arizona reflect its varied elevations, which in turn are a result of the various geologies present in the state. Generally speaking, altitudes go up as one travels northward through the state, moving from lower deserts in the south upward onto a series of ever-higher plateaus to the north. The apex of this climb in Arizona is the 9,000-foot forests of the Grand Canyon’s North Rim, but we aren’t traveling that far. If one flies into the state’s capital and largest city, Phoenix, one would begin the journey at about the 1,200-foot mark. Not terribly far into the sky, but enough for the home ballpark of the local professional baseball team, the Diamondbacks, to claim the title of the second-highest home field in baseball.

Sedona sits nestled in the mouth of Oak Creek Canyon, named for the rivulet which tumbles off the Colorado Plateau, nearly half a mile above the town. The edge of this plateau forms the massive cliffs which surround Sedona to the north, and the spectacular rock formations which both inhabit and shelter the town. The rock itself is layered into bands of red and white; the red comes from rock with a high iron content, and which oxidizes when exposed to the elements.  The upper surface of the Colorado plateau (and the successive plateaus both above it and below it) is composed of a harder rock which provides a protective covering for the softer rock beneath it, which in the case of Sedona is sandstone. Cracks, opened by an earthquake or volcanic eruption (there are volcanic cinder cones a few dozen miles north of Sedona) allowed Oak Creek to begin eroding the sandstone.  Over the course of the next few million years the creek gradually washed away the soft stone, a process which continues today, and which has left behind the canyon and the small pocket of spectacular exposed red rock which cradles Sedona.  Although this banded sandstone layer is present along the entire southern edge of the Colorado plateau, it’s hidden below the surface.  Only near Sedona is it exposed to view.

Following the I-17 interstate highway north out of Phoenix for a couple of hours takes the traveler through several major changes in elevation, up nearly a quarter of a mile onto Black Mesa, back down into Verde Valley, and eventually to the nearly 4,500-foot elevation of Sedona. But getting up there is only part of the tale, and not the most interesting part.

Take the Route 89-A exit off the interstate, and you drive off into what seems like more of the same vacant desert scrub brush through which you’ve been passing for some time. But fairly quickly the brush gives way to scrub pines, subsisting on the increased rainfall forced out of the sky by the nearby hills. These pines grow taller and stronger as you go, afforded a more trustworthy grip on life by the hills which also continue to grow larger as you approach the southern edge of the plateau. Once you enter the Village of Oak Creek, you get a glimpse of the wonders to come with a view of Bell Rock and Courthouse Butte. But you ain’t seen nothin’ yet, trusting traveler.

These monoliths serve as the gateway to Sedona. 89-A passes a mere stone’s throw to the west of iconic Bell Rock, and once it sits in the rearview, the pine forests erupt in earnest.  The road you’re on becomes a thread, weaving in and out of a carpet of needled green, punctuated here and there by breathtaking monoliths of amber, cream and rust.  You swoop and dive, into and out of verdant arroyos and the closer to Sedona you get, the more you realize that you are passing from the real world into…somewhere else.  Sheer cliffs tower thousands of feet above the town, watching in silent guardianship as their youthful charges gather to hike, to paint, to swim and play, or sometimes to just contemplate.

Sedona is a collection of artists, eccentrics, the very wealthy and the very lucky.  With barely ten thousand inhabitants, it used to be simple and charming; it’s grown up since then, in the unfortunate way that a young girl does when she realizes that she’s beautiful.  But it’s still a wonderful place to spend time.  We’ve visited Sedona many times, and have discovered a number of special, favorite places.  Hidden amongst the Cottonwoods along Oak Creek is the captivating collection of artists’ shops called Tlaquepaque (“Ta-LAH-ka-PAH-key”), where local craftspeople sell jewelry, sculpture, paintings, and other original creations.  Slide Rock State Park allows visitors to do exactly that ~ slide with the flowing creek as it moves across broad stretches of flat rock.  But bring an extra pair of pants, because the rock is very tough on bottoms.  The Coffee Pot Restaurant serves breakfast so many different, delicious ways that it’s often difficult to even find a place to park there in the mornings.  Uptown Sedona is lush with tourist traps that hawk the usual kitsch, but also sell some things you just can’t purchase anywhere else in the world.  With it’s reclining seats, single screen, impressive interior design and intimate atmosphere, the Mary D. Fisher Theatre offers a unique, relaxing venue in which to watch the very best in motion pictures.  And no matter where you go or what places you visit, the savvy visitor will always keep a camera handy with a large memory card and lots of batteries, because there are few places on Earth more photogenic than Sedona, especially at sunset.

Speaking of sunset views, one of our favorite places to visit in Sedona is Shugrues Hillside Grill.  Located across the creek from Tlaquepaque, Shugrues offers one of the finest dining experiences in Sedona.  But it’s more than just a great place to enjoy a meal.  If your schedule permits, have dinner on their rear deck at sunset.  It overlooks uptown Sedona, and the view at dusk is sublime.  An excellent meal, a bottle of wine, a soothing breeze, and the opportunity to enjoy it all at your leisure, as you watch the last light from the setting sun paint the majestic red cliffs above the town with gold…  It’s a memory to last a lifetime.

There’s one formation just outside Sedona that you may already be familiar with.  It’s called Cathedral Rock.  These timeless stones tower a thousand feet over beautiful Oak Creek as it flows through Red Rock Crossing in the valley below.  They’re a staple of calendars, they’ve been featured in many Western movies, and are among the more photographed locations in Arizona.  That’s quite an achievement, when you consider that their competition includes the Grand Canyon.  You can visit the state park along the creek at it’s feet for a small fee, but the rocks’ grandeur can be enjoyed and photographed from anywhere in the vicinity.

You can enjoy Sunday champagne brunch at Enchantment in nearby Boynton Canyon, or take Airport Road up the side of the mesa for a lovely view of west Sedona and Coffee Pot Rock.  There are hiking trails throughout the area, and if the New Age movement interests you, there is a thriving community in Sedona.  You can continue northward on 89-A for a scenic drive up Oak Creek Canyon towards Flagstaff, up into the largest single stand of Ponderosa pine in the world, or take winding Schnebley Hill Road up onto the rim, past places where Jeep and Wrangler Jeans have photographed and filmed commercials.  But a word or two of warning; most of 89-A’s steep climb is at the very back of the canyon, and takes place along cliff faces and switchback turns.  Those with a fear of heights might wish to take another route.  And while Schnebley Hill Road isn’t nearly as steep or intimidating, it is a dirt road into back country, and depending on weather or conditions it can sometimes be rough.

If you find yourself in Arizona, attending a conference in Phoenix, or perhaps visiting the Grand Canyon, consider adding a trip to Sedona to your itinerary.  If there is beauty in your heart or poetry in your soul, I think you’ll find Sedona worth your time.

There’s A New Sheriff InTown, pt. 2

Continuing the previous post about Arizona’s new law, Senate Bill 1070, which empowers law enforcement officers at the state level to arrest illegal immigrants under certain circumstances, there are other issues associated with illegal immigration.  You probably won’t hear these issues discussed by talk show hosts.

One is education, and the dropout rate.  Every parent wants their child to be educated.  So when immigrants travel north for the growing season, and later, in larger numbers for the harvest season, they bring their children with them.  When the work is done, many will return to their more permanent homes south of the border, but while they are here in Arizona, they enroll their children in the free public education system.  All it takes is an original US birth certificate, and proof of residency here, which can be a simple as a friend or family member’s utility bill.  But when the work goes and the parents leave, the children of course go with them, and they leave with an incomplete education.  The child is listed as a drop-out, the state appears to have a ferocious drop-out rate, and it’s educators and education system is castigated. Arizonans pay a fair chunk of money to teach and print and publish on-line in a second language, most commonly one of the dialects of Spanish.  Somebody has to pay for that, and it’s rarely the person not speaking English.  Can you imagine going to almost any other country in the world, and expecting the government to speak to you in English?

The wait at hospital Emergency Departments in Arizona is extremely long, due in part to the large number of illegal immigrants who use the Emergency Department as their physician, because they have no health care.  According to the Press Ganey 2009 Pulse Report, Arizona ranked 48th in the nation for total time spent waiting in EDs, almost six hours on average.  That’s nearly two hours longer than the national average.

Some folk have stated that they oppose being forced to carry proof of citizenship around with them, or to be forced to produce it on demand.  But the law states that a valid Arizona driver’s license would be acceptable proof of citizenship, since it can only be issued to a US citizen of the state of Arizona, and who among us of driving age doesn’t carry their driver’s license with them? To me, being asked to carry something I already carry all the time is no imposition at all. Perhaps some object to being asked to prove their citizenship at all.  I have to say I can identify with that.  I don’t like it either.  But then how do we separate those who have a right to be here from those who have no such right?

Greater minds than mine have pointed out that the 14^th Amendment and 1798 Naturalization Act establishes who is a citizen of this country, and there has never been any federal law requiring a citizen to carry proof of their identity as such. Also,  the 5th Amendment famously provides protection from self-incrimination, and the 5th and 6th Amendments  together form the basis of the Miranda rights, and the right to counsel. Taken altogether, these are the laws that allow you to say absolutely nothing to an officer who questions you.  And these are also why the Arizona law will probably never be enforced.

But that doesn’t mean passing this law didn’t need to be done, that the national attention didn’t need to be focused once again on securing our nation against those who seek to do it harm.  And yes, I do believe those who enter this country illegally, take advantage of what it has to offer, and in return offer nothing, do our country harm.  Those free services and economic advantages aren’t free.  They didn’t come into existence at no cost.  They were paid for by the work and the taxes of law-abiding citizens.  Those freedoms were paid for in the blood of those citizens’ children.  The wealth of this country was paid for in precious coin, and those who come here illegally to take advantage of it, to suck on it like leeches, are wrong.  They are criminals in the eyes of the law, and they should be treated like criminals.

Only one week after SB 1070 was signed into law, a deputy was shot in the Arizona wilds by a man with an AK-47, who is suspected of being a drug smuggler bringing marijuana into Arizona from Mexico, and an illegal immigrant.  The officer was found by his fellow law enforcement officers after an hour-long search of the desert, and he is expected to recover from his wounds.  But as of this writing, the man who shot him remains at large, a threat to all of us who live here.

It’s easy to carry signs and say that the new law is wrong.  To those who are out in the streets right now protesting this law, I have three things to say:

1) Thank you for being politically active. You make our democracy stronger.

2) Did you vote in the last national or state election? If not, was it because you aren’t allowed to vote in this country, or was it because you’re too lazy?  Either answer is unacceptable.

3) What’s your better idea? There’s nothing wrong with protesting something you disagree with, but we already have plenty of people who are willing to do nothing but complain.  What we need now are people willing to work together to solve problems.  Be one of them instead of just a complainer.