New Low, Politicians Taking Care of a Disease

COVID-19 is a worldwide pandemic now and is a serious threat to us all. It may well be unique in more ways than one, but it is certainly unique in that it is, to my knowledge, the first disease that is being managed by politicians and economists. Of course we all have become amateur virologists, but the real epidemiologists are now being usurped by the lay public.

This virus is likely to mutate with a variety of speeds. Like the influenza virus, it will be around in some form on a long term basis. Any vaccine will probably need to be developed on an ongoing basis.

One of the primary reasons for this pandemic seems to be that most of the world has not had a common enemy since WWII. In the USA particularly, this is true. The citizenry is now made up of largely a populace demanding instant gratification. The politicians are all hoping to get elected or reelected with their behavior in a crisis. The economists are being guided by what they and their seniors think the public will tolerate. This leads to mediocre measures. It is hard to come up with a more inept group than the people "leading" the way.

The real experts, the epidemiologists, should be making the policies of containment. Their advisory role is not accepted unless it is politically expedient. The general public has little idea about this unless the media comes up with an expert that is not fearful of his reputation, research grants loss, and damage to his position in the scientific community. Our "leaders" are afraid of the public opinion. Some of them are beyond ignorant. Martial law with a qualified czar on health matters might do the trick, but that is pie in the sky thinking for now.

There is little solidarity of public opinion now. In WWII, the country was combined together with almost no exception against the enemy. Few people are alive from that period today. Attitudes have changed. In the long term, this disease may be beneficial if it corrects some of these attitudes.

Vaccine? Questionable. Herd immunity? Possibly.

Ruminations

I started this blog hobby years ago for just what the title says. As I continue to approach the age of dirt, rumination seems to be more and more of my cogent day. No complaints about that except one; I wish that I had done more of this activity as a younger man. Youth equates to wisdom? Perish the thought! I will not twist your arm to believe that.

Anyway, rumination can be productive at any stage in life, and I hope we all will do this until the shades come downward.

Today, among my ruminations, there has been one on the anniversary the death of a friend.The older I become, the more death means to me. I suspect that is true of all us older folks. I do not consider myself as unique in any particular way. I guess it is well beyond the time for me to come out as being an agnostic. That is a big jump for a guy who once thought of being an Episcopal priest. Circumstances change, and I was about forty when it became evident to me that I just did not know enough to embrace religion of any sort. 

Now, I have no interest in proselytizing anyone on this, or being the subject of such activity. My parents and grandparents belonged, at least in thought, to various conventional religious groups. I was always told that with such a personal thing, it was hoped that I would make my own decisions about religion. So almost forty years ago, I did that.

Am I an Atheist? What is Atheism? I look at them as non-believers in any higher power or theism. I believe that I do not know about such things. Agnostic, broken into its derivations means not knowing. I fit in that group, whereas to me, an atheist believes he knows that there is no any higher force. It is impossible for me to convince myself that nothing such exists. One only has to consider the events through evolution and the genesis of a universe, not to wonder about "something".

Many years ago, my father and I discussed his father's death. I was about five years old.. My dad gave me a view on death that really stuck with me. He said we all live in a building called a body, a spirit lives in there also. That is the "us" in us. When we die, the spirit leaves the building, but remains with us. That spirit is eternal as long as we remain alive and is all pervasive. A single thought brings it into your consciousness and is with you. Now what happens when the living die? Who knows? That is where the agnosticism comes in, I guess. I do not know. Some of us believe we know, but I don't think that belief is more than a supposition. Again, I don't know. I also don't know where that spirit was before I was born into consciousness.

In defense of my dad, I must say that he was always supportive of my thoughts about religion. He did his office paper work on Sunday mornings. In fact, it was on a Sunday morning, when I met him there to ride home with him from my church visit that the subject of granddad Roy came up. My father did indeed want me to make a decision about my beliefs at the right time. He was dead before that happened.


I suspect that my dead friend who occasioned this blog, thought along these lines also. I do find comfort in feeling the spirits of such people as parents, friends, others that I have loved in such a way.

I hope we can agree that I am beyond stubborn to such a degree that I hope you all can see my logic, and you are not to be challenged by some agnostic like me. In return, I will ask that you not try to change my thoughts.

Eau du Schweiz

I think this title is a good example of Swiss humor. You will not find this in a perfume store. One of my first German teachers was from Heidelberg. I believe it was her who introduced the word "Misthaufen" to me. As my times in CH increased, I found her description of this entity evident on many occasions both in CH and in Germany. "Misthaufen" refers to a (hopefully large) pile of cow manure intermixed with hay that sits outside a farmer's barn. Some years ago, a law was made that it must sit on concrete I believe. Supposedly, the larger the pile, the more prosperous the farmer.

I am uncertain of this, but knowing the Swiss penchant for detail, I suspect that somewhere in the Swiss agricultural archives in Bern, there is some sort of quantification regarding Misthaufen. Staying on topic here, this leads to the above title. After the grass is cut, as previously described, the fields are left relatively bare. Two things then happen. First, all the barnyard cats are immediately evident in the fields in watchful poses and scrutinizing the ground. They feast on any field mouse that happens to venture out without the benefit of overlying grass protection. The second thing that takes place is "misting". "Mist" is manure from the Misthaufen. This is applied in two ways; the usual is mixed with water and sprayed from a truck apparatus similar to a street cleaning vehicle. Sometimes, there is a hose attached to the truck which allows for more precise placement of material along roads, driveways, or sidewalks. The second application process is placement on the mist out of a truck with a fan blade arrangement that flings a more solid manure onto the fields. My own description of this is "flinging" or "plopping". Two things are important here. This activity is closely related to a forecast for rain. Rain promotes good absorption of the manure and prevention of burning the newly mowed grass shoots. The other thing less common is that it is illegal for misting to take place onto snow. This applies to spring when a sudden snow can occur especially at higher altitudes. I expect this law was passed to curtail the likelihood of tourists being exposed to fields covered with brown and fragrant snow.

OK now, the topic approaches exhaustion. By now, one can imagine that "Eau du Schweiz" refers to the unique odor briefly enjoyed by all. I have know people who, without fail, can sniff and tell which farmer's product is out there. Cutting grass, misting, and following rains go together, so take a umbrella (for the rain).

Spring has Sprung Again!!

Yep, correct. Just today. No big surprise.

This morning and throughout the day, my grass got cut (not my grass but my farmer neighbors' pastures. Our house is surrounded on four sides by pastures of grass used for fodder for farmer's cows in the winter. The only exception is the one used for the sheep who are here in the summer ( a lot better to watch than goldfish, as they breed, birth, and grow). That one is out the kitchen window.

Today, from dawn to late dusk, the guys have been cutting the grass. I knew this meant our weather is going to be good for 2-3 days. farmers here are so much better than TV weather guys/girls. They are not pretty but accurate.

Cut grass lies in rain and produces gas. In the open that is no problem, but if it is put in a barn, the gas collects and explodes. Swiss tax people are not so kind to casualty losses, so you can be flat out of financial luck in that venue, when your barn blows up and burns. Grass is cut when a few days of sunshine will follow. The next day, it is flipped over by machine or by hand with rakes. This dries it out, so less gas forms.

The third day is when it gets interesting, and gender comes into play. Custom has it that the men cut the grass, both men and women flip it, and the women collect it with the men. In the old days, that was a hell of a lot of work. Now, mechanization helps. Mowers are driven to cut (some even have air-conditioning in the cabs. Flipping is done with tractor pulled machines, and lastly comes big collector machines. The collected grass is then trucked to the barn for silage to be used in the winter. The most advanced technique is a machine that collects the grass, wraps it in plastic covering and then ;eaves it in the pasture or allows it to be stored on the farm for later use. These huge ball-like shapes can be seen in most barn yards. One year, the breast cancer awareness groups got the farmers to use pink plastic to call awareness to the cancer.

On rare occasions one can still see a grass cutter using a scythe for edging jobs. Old fashioned but precise. Machines and robotics has come to town. Next blog will be on "Eau du Schweiz".

Another Woman In My Life

A few of you may have read my blog about the woman in my life (March of 2006). I wrote that some time ago. Now, in response to a belated and somewhat hostile occurrence from yet another woman, I had better mention and elucidate this other lovely period in my life.

After leaving the USNR in Boston, I moved to Alabama. A large (1 mile by 18 miles) TVA lake was near my new home. While in Boston, I had taken a coast guard course in sailing. This was a didactic class and not on the water. I had an interest in sailing nonetheless. A friend offered me the use of his sleek little 21 foot day sailor. It was impossible to capsize, had a small cabin for sails, a self bailing cockpit, and a small outboard engine. I jumped at his offer, and before long, I was on the water putting theory into practice. Thus, began a love affair of some years. The sloop was easily rigged by one person, and did a fine job sailing with only minimal attention.

A six pack and a portable radio was all that was needed to enjoy a day on the water listening to a ball game and traveling back and forth in the lake. Two or three others could join me. The boat was broad minded about others sharing our time together. Of course, I did a bit of work on her appearance and bought her some new clothes in the form of sails, etc. My mind also turned to reading sailing magazines, and I fancied myself as a novice racer. I was even elected to be vice-commodore for sail at the club where we slept. Sailors are an open minded bunch, and we never heard a word about our cohabitation.

My head was turned by pictures in the magazine, "Sail", of larger and more beautiful examples of sailing mistresses. As a former president of the USA said, "I lusted after them in my heart". With passing time, I yielded to temptation. This vixen was called "Hedonist". She was drop dead gorgeous, 31 feet long, and without being crude, she was fast! She was custom made and a bit wild. Like a lot of beautiful women, she could be tempestuous. An inboard Diesel engine,  galley, head, and bunks for at least four were a few of her physical attributes. It was love at first sight, and I abandoned my first love to a friend. Then we drove her through town on her trailer with many locals aghast, and floated her bottom in the lake.

I had visited the boatyard in NY before possessing her. All seemed in order except there were few people who spoke English. This was New York, so I assumed that was a local oddity. It became clear later that many of those workers, did not have a clue as to what they were doing. More on that comes later. A friend with some sailing knowledge agreed to come with me to the launch. Then we spent the night waiting to travel through the lock on the river the next AM. The boat yard left the slings under her tummy that night (good move on their part). Before we left the next morning, I gave the bilge pump a couple of swings. Guess what? The bilge held a significant amount of water! Enough so the lift was used to raise her, and a leak in the hull shot out a very thin stream of water. Now, I knew already that girls are said by some to have an imperfect plumbing system, but this woman was brand new! When the water stopped, one could see a half inch or less screw hole that had not been sealed. A nickel's worth of epoxy cured that in a hurry.

OK, so all evidence of domestic abuse cleared, my friend and I made our way to the Wilson Dam Lock, tooted our horn, went into this cavern that filled with water, and motored out into the lake. Thereafter began a decade of bliss (almost) with this beautiful and only occasionally fussy woman. She never won any racing trophies but was still acclaimed the best looking woman in the area. She taught me several lessons. With a girl her size, she needs attention on a frequent basis. Things like baths, bottom scrubs, lines renewed, winches polished, etc. were part of our loving rituals. If a single person could rig her, the air for sailing had to be pretty poor. A second person was needed to help her with her clothes. Twice, we had a problem. Once, a humorous one and later a real crisis. The first could have have been serious but was not. My son saved the day. On a beautiful Sunday afternoon with some nice air about, my son and my best friend's wife went for a sail along with me. It was October I believe. The best winds and no summer's boats to run about made it ideal. Cruising slowly along, we suddenly STOPPED!  I knew we were in the mud immediately. Three PM on a fall afternoon, and it would be dark soon. I tried the things the coast guard had suggested to free a boat that was aground. Shifting weights, engine reversed, sails up to blow us off the bottom, etc. Nothing helped. My wife and my friend's husband knew where we were. Help would eventually show up but when? The lake was deserted, and we were stuck! I was marooned with another man's wife on the lake. I thought both our spouses would be understanding, and thank God, my son was there to chaperone us. Then I spotted a nice looking power boat half mile away. With great noise and bodily gyrations, they finally made out that we were not drunks and motored over. With a quick tow off the mud. We made it home without any problem.

Another ailment afflicted my dear lady later on in her life with me. In winter, I always drained her engine blocks and kept a burning light in the compartment with her engine. One particular winter we had several days of temperatures in the teens. Two or three times a week, I would leave work and visit the boat to make sure the light was on, the sea cock closed, and the bilge was dry. This particular evening, all seemed in order EXCEPT the two engine blocks seemed to have a thin line of rust over their painted surface. They were both cracked. Diesels are simple engines but with cracked blocks there is no compression. Compression, fuel, and air are all that a diesel needs. Two out of three won't do. The next weekend, I drove a hundred miles or so to pick up a couple of new blocks. While in the store, a nice young man said, "doc you might want to pick up one of these two dollar manuals on how to install blocks". I am sure that this young man made a great CEO or board chairman for that insight. I grabbed a book and headed home. She was in no pain, but I was in distress. I spent two months working on her nights and weekends with book at hand and new metric tools. Some of those nights were cold and filled with exhortations to a higher power best heard on the golf course only. A dear (since departed) mother in law gave me a torque wrench for Christmas that year. With that, the book, and requisite knowledge on the importance of shims in diesel engines. I did not know a shim from a shiminsky until then. I finally fired the engine up that spring. To my amazement, the thing purred like a kitten. It had never run as smooth. The foreign workers in NY failed to get the concept of shims and diesel compression. I, and the book, had done that with great results!

As with a lot of relationships, changes occur. My lady and I remained together until it was time to make a move where there was no open body of water. With a tear in both of our eyes, she was surveyed and wound up in the arms of another man. A man who I knew would care for her. Since the day he first laid eyes on her, he had extended an offer to buy her favors when the time came. Several years later, I saw her still in the lake, obviously changed with age, but seemingly happy.


  

A Godson Goalie

Some of you know that I have a Swiss Godson. My only Godchild. He is 23 years old now and was ten days old when I moved to CH. He may not be perfect, but he is a good imitation of it. He was always sociable from day one and won all who met him as a toddler by stretching out those small arms to have you hold him.

His father taught him how to ski when he was learning to walk. He has been an athlete since then. With a father who was a goalie and a brother who also played goalie for a local team, he couldn't miss at being on the soccer fields and between the posts. He started as a pee wee, and I think he was always a goalie. Goalies are best if tall and sleek. J is both and deadly serious about goal keeping. He always looks mad at the ball, and I suspect he sees it as his enemy. His development has always been to be the best goalie the area has ever seen.

A few years ago, he had occasion to travel with his team to another area in Germany for a camp or some such. While there for a few days, he partied a lot with his friends. He woke up one morning, and had an epiphany of sorts. He asked himself, if he was going to be serious in his ambitions or not. To the present, he has concentrated on soccer first, and his lovely girlfriend, O. She jerked a knot in him about the same time as the above epiphany. A party with J is a lot of fun. He has a wit that will not quit and has an innate dry humor. He always has a lot of friends.

Last year, he took me to a game in which he did not play. From the time we entered the stadium grounds, it was evident that J had a bunch of friends who greeted him. No surprise to me. J has always been my Godson, and he has always acted like he enjoys that, as much as me. Of course he has a lot of people proud of his success, and they are hopeful for his future as a man and as a goalie. No matter what happens, he will be a success in this game called life. Now, he is close to the "Big Time". He could become a member of Switzerland's national team. This akin to the world series teams in the USA. He could play for other countries anywhere in the soccer world. He could be injured or otherwise reach a level of competition less than the top.

To his credit, he plans for a future away from soccer, if he is unable to continue. After all, the player he replaced is only ten years his junior. Time will tell.......

Christmas, my dad, and JWS

One of my most memorable Christmas experiences was with my dad. He died when I was 18. He was in the Lion's Club as a charter member where we lived in Jackson, Tennessee. This club sponsored a Christmas paper sale every December to raise money to furnish food and toys to those in poverty. Families were selected and screened as to composition, special needs, number and sex of children, among other things. All bags were filled with canned goods, among which was a canned chicken or turkey. Everyone was going to have a fine Christmas dinner!

Some toys were bought, and a lot of acceptable used toys were refurbished by the local firemen in the weeks before Christmas. These were matched to age and sex of the kids in a family. Every kid got a toy.

My dad and I went very early on a Sunday morning to pick up our papers for the team. Early AM for an 8 year old on a Sunday was 5 AM. We met at my dad's office where he had a shot of whiskey for his team. The weather was always winter cold and this was for medicinal purposes. I never got a shot (it would stunt my growth??)

Then we took to the paper routes with the newspapers than were being sold as a donation to the Lion's drive. One learned at my age how some people reacted to an early morning doorbell. In another scene, it was your paper being delivered by a person with his hand out for a donation. 90 % of people knew it was coming anyway. A Christmas tradition. It worked well.

Once the funds were collected, the rest was in the hands of the Lion's Club and the firemen, the remainder went forward. It was always a done deal.

Then came Christmas Eve. A late day (not up at 5 AM but around noon). We all gathered downtown, loaded into big open trucks, and began the deliveries. 

This is where it gets personal! My dad was a believer in many ways, but most importantly, he believed that you got pleasure from what you gave to others. He would call  the police if you ignored his bill and could pay it, but he would give you your glasses, if you were broke.

We drove around on that Christmas Eve to areas that were "poor blacks and whites", and we delivered burlap bags with food and toys to specific addresses. We did this because my dad said "You will feel very good on Christmas morning because you helped us with this". He was absolutely correct. I hauled the bags, along with some of my other buddies on the trucks who did the deliveries.  

That done. I did see that we had done something good. I later learned how much.

JWS was a classmate. He was not a bad guy. His clothes were not so good as mine, but in the 5th grade, boys were not fashion plates, so who cared? We were classmates. At some level, I knew JWS was less well off financially than my family. Again, as a 5th grader, who the hell knew about financial statements?  He was a classmate and a friend.

So, on a given Christmas Eve,  I was on the truck that stopped at JWS's house. We dumped a big burlap bag full of food and toys off to a grownup who took it over to the front door. I think that I knew that we were on to JWS's street then. He had several siblings. In the bag was a year old WW II wooden rifle that I had given to the fireman to renovate. We were all still fighting WW II then, and I had moved onward to other fields of effort. The rifle looked good, and I had killed many bad guys with it.

We moved onward in the area with many more burlap bags that were well received. The day moved forward, and on Christmas Day, as expected, I was happy to have given"back". 

A ten day vacation went by, and I went back to class. The first day, JWS saw me in class. He said, "I knew when I saw that rifle, it was your rifle, and I knew you were my friend".

Boys my age did not ever cry. I did not then, but I do now. JWS now?? I know not after the 5th grade. I do know that he had some joy from my rifle, and my dad proved again that  people should do good things!

Whoa Look at This!

You birds thought:
a. I had the big A and was out to lunch permanently.
b. I had become an introvert.
c. I did not have anything else to say.

None of the above. Just life reminding me that I am getting older. Honestly, I think that I just got tired and was doing too many other things. I still saw many things that I thought worth a blog, but I just did not write them down. If nothing else, this past election put many blog worthy things before my eyes.

Don't think that I am going to launch into political blogs over and over. I do think that it has been long enough now to peek up over the edge of the trenches. I even watched CNN the other day. Everyone will, I think, agree that we live in interesting times these days. I was raised by two parents that voted in every election but never discussed politics with me or each other as far as I know. I went with them to the polls and followed their example.

Am I a conservative or a liberal? I am a mixture of both philosophies. Neither democrat or republican in thought consistently. There is too much lee way between two rather rigid schools of thought. I really believe the voting citizens in our country are largely bi-political and vote a mixed choice most of the time. Where I grew up, a democrat was always elected. People spoke of being "a yellow dog democrat", meaning that before they voted republican, they would vote for a yellow dog. Things have changed now. To have a good chance of election now in my old neck of the woods, you have to court the republicans big time.

I do not think the whole two party system is worth a hill of beans (and I like beans a lot more than politics). So, who did I vote for??? I am not going to tell you because a secret ballot is just what it says. I will tell you that in my immediate family, I am exposed to rabid schools of thought on each side. With that in mind, I did what my dad did the only time he ever told me his vote. I don't know why he did tell me, but I do know when. It was in 1948 when Truman was opposed by Dewey. He had no good opinion of either man. Now, 60 years after his death, I could give him a good argument if we debated on those men now. In any event, I asked him who was his choice between the two. Surprisingly, he told me that he was voting for Senator Strom Thurmond. He said, there was no chance that Thurmond would win on the Dixiecrat ticket, or any other, but my father could still vote and not have to abstain. Does this give a clue as to how I voted this past November? 

My wife, Barbara, has always been about 180 degrees opposite of me in many things. We do discuss politics. This election was no exception, but she is a dear. I have always said that we had a nice life together in many ways, especially in politics. We usually cancel each other out. In 2016, we melded our choices, but they were not the same, still they were otherwise. The main candidates lost us, and two lesser favorites got our votes. So, I guess we still cancelled each other.

Now, it is done. Providence be blessed!  What comes next? Some of my acquaintances are really disturbed both in CH and the USA. Most are not moving to Canada, but I know of one Canadian who refuses to come to the USA while the current president is in office. I think it may be very interesting and possibly advantageous to have a business man run the federal government for a change. I don't envy any person the job no matter sex or color. I know of others of different color and sex that would have been my choice. Refusal to run can be a real indication of intelligence.

I just am going to wait and see. The two year mark is my guide for now. If the opposition does well at that point, then we all should have a better idea. In the meantime, I plan to do the same as with the last president. I will honor the office but reserve judgment on the holder. This is what I tell the anxious europeans. They have enough to worry about at home.