Author: TommyJudt

Knock, knock

Who’s there?

Pants

Pants who?

Pants or no pants I’m going swimming.

This was the favorite joke of a darling woman that was once in my life. Even though I (obviously) knew the punchline, it made me crack up every time she told it. Mostly because it gave her such great, simple joy to tell it. Humor is an elusive beast. It is subject to perception, surprise and the random moments in life. I cannot recount, the countless times I tried to relate a funny story and half way through I stopped and said, “Oh, you just had to be there I guess.” Other times a story is born to live a life that exceeds that of the subject.  I have one such story to share with you now.

It was perhaps 5 or 6 years ago, sometime towards the end of summer. The Perseid meteor shower was due to arrive the following week and so 3 of us decided to take my truck and drive up to Yosemite, passed Half Dome and up to Tuolumne Meadows, a great flat expanse in the high mountains.  Now to tell you, we are 3 sizable men and our provisioning for that trip demonstrated well the reasons for it. Half our stock was beer, a third was food and the remainder camping gear. My truck was a fairly new Ford 350 Super Cab with an 8 foot cargo bed.  So for 3 of us, for 2 days of camping, we filled the bed high with supplies with a few more items stuffed in the back seat to share with the odd man not driving.

We left at night to arrive early in the morning at the gate of the campground just before it opened. Upon registering for a campsite we were given a disclaimer to sign.  Now I am going to stop at this point to explain something to my non-American readers. There are 4 basic ways to make REAL money in the U.S.

1. Build a better mouse trap – By this I mean invent something like, you know, Apple or Tesla, like that.
2. Invest in the Stock Market – a la Warren Buffet style.
3. Win the Lottery –  Every poor person’s retirement plan
4. Sue somebody – The American way

So in an abundance of caution regarding #4 above, the park rangers made me sign a disclaimer about the bears that were in the park. (Maybe I should restart this piece with: 3 bears go into the woods.) Anyways, we were all cautioned that in the event that we came across a bear that we should make loud noises, you know, bang a pan, clap one’s hands, etc., in order to scare them away. Okay sure, me, a bear and a singularly loud applaud. Sound like a recipe for success. Like I said, 3 men go into the woods. But truly, how many come out?

After assuring the park ranger in triplicate that we understood the risks, we popped off to our campsite. Oh another caution that I forgot to mention is that all of our consumables, toothpaste included, must be placed in the metal “bear box.”  The bear box is a metal locker of a certain discriminate size. I will hand it to my companions as they were able to, after a bit of reverse Jenga puzzle making, manage all of our foodstuffs into this small container. While we were sorting through our belongings a young, earnest park ranger came through to check on us. We chatted a bit and asked him if we could hang some of our belongings in a bear bag? A bear bag is a bag, attached to a rope that has been flung over a branch so that the bag, when hauled up, hangs suspended in midair beyond a bear’s grasp.

“No,” he said, “all of our things must be in the box.” So in the box it all went. After a bite of lunch and a few beers to wash it down, we all thought is wise to seek a little quiet time, read our books and take a nap. The meteors would not be out until dark so we rested comfortably in the peace of the forest.  What I remember next started out in a bit of a haze. Like my friends, I had dosed off for a bit of a snore. Something must have made a sound or gotten my attention because the next thing I remember was lazily opening my eyes and seeing two baby bear cubs walking through our campsite.  “How cute,” I said to myself. Beat . . . beat . . . beat . . . “Wait, if there are two BABY bear cubs here, then there must be a . . .”   I got up out of my chair and peered around the corner.  Now I fancy myself a bit of a wordsmith but in this moment I was at a complete loss for words. The only thing that came out of my mouth was,

“BEAR! BEAR!”

I kept repeating myself over and over and over.  My two friends, in full Keystone Cop fashion flailed about clambering out of their chairs. One friend scurried about the makeshift kitchen in desperate search of a pot to bang, while the bravest of us dived into the tent. So there I was left standing face to face with Momma bear. I had nothing, and for some reason had completely forgotten how to clap my hands. The only thing that came to mind was to try and make myself big, you know like those funny lizards that pop out their hood when frightened. So, arms out to my side, I make myself as big as I can Then I starting moving my arms up and down like I am trying to take off or something. And as much to my surprise, as anyone else’s, this noise starts to emanate from my nasal area. It was a blend of grunt, moan and vocal warming exercise.

Nuah! . . . Nuah! . . . Nuah! . . .

I repeated myself over and over again all-the-while flailing my arms methodically. (Question: Can one flail methodically?) Momma bear and her two cubs, took instantly to my point and ambled off.

A short time later the earnest, young park ranger came around as we were drinking our 16 ounce aperitifs and said, “I heard that you had a bear come through.” I shared my story, and my technique, with him. I tell you, he honestly seemed impressed. Feeling a bit shy and not being used to accolade, I dug my big toe in the dirt and replied,

“Don’t be, I’ve been scaring away single mothers with that technique for years.”

Ba-da-boom!  Hand to God, that is a true story.

Until Tomorrow,

Tommy Judt

Monday, Monday, can’t touch that day.   Songs have been written about it. Moan-day some people call it. The Eagle may fly on Friday, but to so many Monday is the absolute opposite, in terms of favored days. I think that I have shared with you already that I actually like Monday. I like the excitement of another day full of challenges. I relish that first cup of coffee at 4:30, and the second cup at 4:35.  Come on Monday, I got you.

I am almost 60 years old. (I know, I know, sometimes I write like a teenager. Thank you 😉 Not too long ago I was listening to NPR and With A Perspective came on. It was a man talking about his father having cancer. And the phrase he used caught my attention. He said, “ . . . that his life was being measured by subtractions instead of additions.”  Being a bit older, I can assure you, that the list of things I am no longer able to do is beginning to surpass those challenges left which I feel that I can accomplish. This understanding has given me something which I hope now, to give to you. Even though I am no longer able to scuba dive, or go sailing, or win the tequila drinking contest where I once was KING!, there is one thing that I can do and take joy in it. I love Mondays. I love the hard things because I know that I can outlast them. I have already outlasted so many hundreds of Mondays and I plan to outlast at least 1000 more.

“Tom, you sound so wise”  (Well *cough* I suppose.)

This is not about wisdom . . . or maybe it is. If wisdom is born of reflection and experience then let me share that small portion of it that I own. Today may be Monday but rest assured, Tuesday will come, as will Humpday and the all the rest that follow. It is true that for some, it may not. Some of us ‘World Citizens’ may not survive until summer. In my heart and in my head, I am sad. We may lose their uniqueness, but we will remember them. We will remember them in that certain turn-of-phrase they employed, or the way they walked when in a hurry, or that stupid Dad joke they always told, or maybe just the way they made us feel when they smiled at us. In any, and all events we will remember them and, we WILL survive.

Doctor Fauci has, in what I term as the most gentle and fatherly way, informed us that Home Quarantine will last until the end of April. Almost forever and a day. Nope, not true, I say.  Not forever. So many Aprils I have is seen come and go, and I venture many more will do so before I am gone. But now we are in the thick of it for sure. Now we have to knuckle down and work our plans, our routines. It is said that it takes 3 days to kick the sugar craving habit, 14 days to create a habit of behavior and 66 to 67 repetitions of a new skill until it becomes second nature. Not many things in life happen all at once. Things take time. The road of 1000 miles begins with the first step, and then the next step and then the next.

As I am want to live from poem, to precept to speech; I will share one of my favorite Let’s-dig-in-and-get-this-done speeches. It was delivered by Al Pacino in the movie, Any Given Sunday. His team was down at half time, the owner of the team was betting on them losing so she could move the team and make a fortune. The team moral was in shambles. Everything was against them. The only thing left to do was to fight. Fight for every little inch. Fight until at the end of the day all those inches add up to a win.

We are now in a battle for inches. Getting out of bed. Getting dressed. Cleaning the house, doing the dishes, answering emails, working in the garden, preparing meals, calling friends, going to sleep to wake up and do the same all over again. Inches. Every day just a few more inches. While we must be cautious for sure, we cannot let fear grab hold of us. We must trust in the knowledge that good hygiene, avoiding concentrated gatherings and practicing proper social distancing will carry us through.  These techniques are not the flashy Hail Mary passes that are thrown in desperation at the end of losing games. No, this is the ground game. The hard game. The one where we fight for inches. The opponent? Boredom and Despair. Formidable allies to be sure but proven to be, defeatable.

Now is the time to make the full adjustment to this New Normal. Take this time to enjoy the lack of commute, the freedom in your daily routine and the amazingly blue and fresh sky.  Take this time to invent.

Until Tomorrow,

Tommy Judt

Any Given Sunday Speech: https://youtu.be/9rFx6OFooCs?t=3

It has been said that: Music soothes the savage beast.

I am not sure if this was initially intended as mockery from one class to another but I have found that listening to a few songs on You Tube will calm my inner, battle of the ‘who-is-the-loudest-voice-in-here’ band. There seems to be so many voices in this brain that can rarely take a full night’s sleep any more. This, this is the fruit of my half century of labor. I awake in the morning and Automaton pulls on my pants, starts the coffee and feeds the dogs. In there, somewhere, he starts the computer but nothing more. Morning Joe kicks in with the third sip of Moschetti blend. (A blatant plug for Fabrice here: https://youtu.be/MknA-PD6WOA ) Now, depending on what lies ahead in my day, either Working Walt or Lazy Larry will make a debut. Working Walt generally requires more coffee than a single press pot can produce. Lazy Larry usually takes just one but sometime later in the day may wish another.

In either case, sometime during the day, Ear-Ringing Randy will make an appearance. Ear-Ringing Randy is the voice that appears before Miffed Matthew, who shows before Irritated Aaron. As it turns out, having spent over half a century with these man-boys, I have worked out a system to slow, circumvent and even redirect the internal changing of the guard. And that system relies heavily on  . . . You Tube. Who knew? So when Ear-Ringing Randy makes an appearance, You Tube comes on. Sometimes just a quick song, other times a full coffee break worth of action.

My fascination with You Tube began over a decade ago. It started off slowly, with the occasional social use.  Then I found myself sneaking off, sometimes avoiding social contact altogether, to get my fix.  Now, never a day goes by with-out at least a solid half hour to calm me. At night, when I go to bed, I click to it on my phone and let it play so that I can go to sleep. Now there a 3 distinctly different types of videos I watch . . . okay maybe 4.

1. Singers – Singers on BGT and The Voice. I especially love it when young children walk on stage and sing with amazing voices. True gifts. The one video that got me hooked on You Tube, the one that I have watched countless time now (and just watched again), is Susan Boyle on BGT: https://youtu.be/RxPZh4AnWyk
2. Technical – Here is where people I know and love mock me.
   1. For a period of time I was fascinated with Ram Pumps. If you do not know what a ram pump is, let me explain . . . Better to share the link: https://youtu.be/zFdyqTGx32A?t=65
   1. Tree Felling – Now this topic is rich with both professionals and amateurs alike.  I recommend starting off with the Proper tree felling lessons and after you have moved through those seek out the falling failures so that you can criticize the latter’s technique: https://youtu.be/yFOVgH8OOCM
3. British Comedy – This actually all started with:
   1. Craig Ferguson: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCyGzp9qxI4tJqXT62h54CTg
   1. Moved on to Graham Norton : https://www.youtube.com/user/OfficialGrahamNorton
   1. Stumbled upon WILTY (This is fricking hilarious): https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCFZO6aPugMrZjUOobX7IQDA
   1. Finally landed with Mock The Week: https://youtu.be/BCPnpXvlpVs
4. Then there are these guys (don’t judge): https://www.youtube.com/user/whoisjimmy

By far my favorite are the singers. I especially love to hear Tom Jones stand up and bust out a tune on The Voice UK.  Real talent grabs my attention and will yank a tear or two from my eyes.  I have often said that I find pure joy watching someone do what they are born to do. There is a palpable Zen state as the master attends to their craft. It does not matter what the field, each one of them brings a sense of music, dance, and poetry to their work.

With almost 60 years under my belt I understand my need to interact with interesting people. When I find these people I gravitate to them and seek to share whatever time they will share with me.  In this Times of Covid, when I am not making coffee, or writing, or organizing a socially distant cocktail hour, I do two things: I work, and I find sustenance in watching the gifted share the gift they were given.

Until tomorrow,

Tommy Judt

“ . . . for there is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so.” 

• Shakespeare, Hamlet, Act2: Scene 2

I have been thinking about this. Now I cannot say whether I am right or wrong but I will say this: This thing is bigger than each of us, but it is not bigger than all of us.  (You may quote me if you wish, just please, spell my name right.)

It is true that this virus is virulent. It travels fast, far and can be long lasting. We can’t see it, touch it, smell it, hear it or taste it. It comes stealthily in the broadest of daylights and the darkest of nights. It does not pick and choose willingly, it drops in randomly. You know, like that old college friend did for years. The one who you could never figure out why he liked you but there he was again, drinking your beer and smoking you pot. The CV is like that. Just dropping in unannounced.   The difference now is that we know that:

1. He is in town and
2. We can hide out.

The hiding out part seems to be occupying the minds of quite a few FB posters out there. I know that this all seems scary, yet we have tools to fight a good fight. Of course I refer to the bevy of new songs and videos that encourage us to employ good hygiene. My current favorite, for which you will thank me in the morning:

Basically, the question is not IF we face this thing but more-so HOW we face this thing.  It is in the thinking ABOUT the thing that we must master. Is it bigger than us, or are we bigger than it? And WHEN we survive the question will become: How harshly we judge ourselves will depend on the MANNER in which we survived?

We can fuel our fears with numbers that, and I sincerely promise* you this, are not accurate. OR, we can thoughtfully understand the science behind the situation, develop a plan and then work the plan.

For there is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so.

Work your routine, stay in touch with your friends, employ good hygiene and take the news with a grain of salt.

Until Tomorrow,

Tommy Judt

*Let us look at what we know for sure:

1. There are not enough kits to test everyone for the virus.
2. The number of cases reported only represent a selection of the people who have been tested and they do not represent the number of negative test results.
3. The number of deaths may be accurate but there is no relativity to the number of cases reported for there are many, many more people who will never be tested.
4. Practicing social distancing and good hygiene and flatten the curve.
5. Worrying will not change the outcome but your positive approach will: for you.

Wait . . . that’s not what I meant.

Those of you who know of Aaron Sorkin will recognize the following line: “America is not the greatest country in the world. That’s my answer.”   In classic Sorkin fashion, Jeff Daniels rants on about what people think is so great about America. “Freedom! . . . Belgium has freedom.”  Halfway through his diatribe he picks on a lonely, young coed who asked what makes America the greatest country on the earth. After listing off that America is only number 1 in three categories: The number of people incarcerated per capita, the number of people who believe in angels, and the first in defense spending. He streams on and finishes his reply with, “ . . . so when you say America is the greatest country on earth, I don’t know what the Fuck you’re talking about . . . Yosemite?”

(https://youtu.be/wTjMqda19wk)

Guess what, Yosemite just dropped down the list. America is number 1 again. But in this case we are number one for a particular reason. I believe that reason is the one that truly makes us a great country. We are a melting pot. We are group of gatherers, a cohort of cultures. We define diversity. Other countries mock us, make fun of our growing pains and the bravado which hides our shyness and shame. They envy both our initiative and abilities. People from around the globe risk their lives daily to come here. They come here to be a part of something great.

The Tangerine man wears a red hat and dances at the end of the grinder’s leash. This is not greatness. This is a distraction. The novelty of his performance is fleeting and the organ grinder’s music has become repetitive, tedious and out of tune.  It is most definitely out of tune with the times, these times, I assure you. Our strength, our very greatness lies in our diversity. It lies in our endurance, in our optimism, and in our faith. Faith that tomorrow the sun will shine. Faith that the skies will be clear and the organ grinder’s monkey will stop dancing.

But faith, most of all, in ourselves. These times are hard, very hard. I live a life alone by my own choosing and even so, I have begun to see the edges of my psyche fray. (Routine, remember your routine Tom.) One part of my routine is to write to you each day. In essence my love letter to you all. My attempt to woo you. This is the thing I do when I am happy or sad, anxious or calm, melancholy or manic. I write. I write to reach out from my loneliness and share who I am. I write that my voice will not be lost. I write to share what I see. It is the closest thing to art that I have to offer.

We, the human race that is, have seen this before. We have seen great times of strife. We have seen death tolls rise by the thousands, tens of thousands, millions even. Yet humanity has survived. This time is interesting though. This time we are not waiting for bombs to drop on us. For each time they drop we can seek shelter underground, and if they miss us, by even just a little, we still survived. Those who did not, never knew it. Each day we wake and are met by hunger. (And an extremely uncomfortable urge to use the facilities.) Our sense of survival kicks in, and other thoughts slip away, however briefly. We begin and make our way through the day. This time there is no air raid siren wo warn us of the bombs. No anti-aircraft barrage to warn us that danger is coming. This one is silent, and the silence makes us fear even more. We fear so much that we physically avoid the ones we love. This separation is hurting us all.

But, and I rarely like to use the word but, but here it is. This time is different. This time we have the internet. This time we can connect. This time we are not alone in our cabins, in the back woods, waiting for the wolf to come to our door. This time we DO have each other. But most importantly we have ourselves. Remember, it is in times like these that the greatest works are born. This is a time to search for and develop your best self. This is the time.

MAGA is a joke. Will McAvoy (Jeff Daniels) was wrong. We already live in the greatest country on earth. We have the basics: food, shelter, and friends. But we also have opportunity. A thing that most nations do not, not in the way we have it. Now is the time to seize that opportunity. Tom Hanks uses a typewriter. Liberty Pierson made a You Tube video to teach us how to draw a self-portrait. (https://youtu.be/c2nq4zTsdjY)  Peter Brooks, as brilliantly insane as he is, is giving us Love In The Time of Covid, a podcast. (https://anchor.fm/peter108/episodes/Love-in-the-Time-of-Covid-319-ebmkvr)  Nicole Hodge is working tirelessly to make sure that we all have amazing, and inspiring food. (https://www.leagueofchefs.com/)

Now. Right now is a time of greatness. Right now, is the time for each of us to be great . . . and to share it.

Until Tomorrow,

Tommy Judt

Now, I warrant you that I am by no means the smartest person on the Internet. I am, by-no-means, the smartest person in Vallejo. I would never ever refer to myself as the smartest person in the room when sitting with my friends . . . or  even alone with my dogs.  I self-describe as Okay-smart.  I have enough smarts to wake up, make coffee, get myself showered and dressed, and basically . . . get along.

I just read the title to an article in the news: Preacher Says OK To 1000 People To Come To Church.

 Let us let that one sit for a moment.

It is said that ignorance is bliss. Okay, I will buy that. As I have commented before, the more I read the more fatalistic I can become. I literally can get headaches sometimes thinking about all the . . . stupid stuff that is going on. It should not be this way. Research, study, intelligence should be rewarded with bliss, and . . . well . . . stupid should hurt. I mean it hurts when you touch a hot stove, right?  Should there not be a similar response to stupid?

If you have found some offense to your religious beliefs in what I have just written, I sincerely apologize. I do ask a small favor of you: Please read about Intelligent Design and get back to me. The Laws of Physics were written by someone.

Let us look at this again: 1000 People, crunched all together, singing hymns and bringing in the sheaves, positively rejoicing. May God protect them.  Here is where Darwin got himself in trouble with the fundamentalists. (Now feel free to chime in, in the comments section, if I misplace a comma, period or fact in this next statement.) His book, The Voyage of the Beagle, simply records his observations and theories about evolution. (Read Science here.) There was so much backlash, upon his presenting his findings, that he was forced to recant or be excommunicated from society. (Again, correct me in the comments if I got this wrong.) One thing that I look forward to every year are the Darwin Awards. A version of which may be found here: https://darwinawards.com/.  This website has a summation of things gone stupidly wrong, year by year. 

I get that worshipping together may be a very powerful communal experience, and being only okay-smart, I am unsure of the existence of a divine being. That being said, please remember what Matthew said, “Love your neighbor as you love yourself.” Take care of them, and yourself, by . . . thinking.  One award you really do not want to win is: The Darwin.

Until Tomorrow,

Tommy Judt

In sailing terms, the Point of Departure is not the port from which you set sail. It is the last sight of land you see as you head into the open ocean. This is significant in that, prior to this moment one would sail along the coast, or land, as a reference. In times of trouble you could always turn in to, or away from, land as you needed. Once out to sea that no longer became an option.

At home, alone, we find ourselves similarly placed as if we were in a boat at sea. At sea, all that you have is the boat and your shipmates. At home, it is the same. Some, like me, sail with their furry companions. Others sail solo, and not from their own accord. This time, I feel, is hardest for them. During my social hour, I mean when I scroll through Facebook to see the latest culinary creation or to watch the Governor’s address, I happen upon those few messages-in-a-bottle. Those conscious attempts to connect to someone, anyone. Some of our friends are having a tough time navigating this ocean alone.

Please, if you are reading this, I promise you have not reached the Point of Departure. Land is, your friends are, still in sight. We are all here. You can reach us by Facebook, by text, or even a call. Sailors at sea take great joy in greeting passing ships. Whether by flag or by radio, they reach out and share the news they know. This should be us too. We should take the extra minute to reach out to those whom we know. Maybe, especially those we do not touch base with too often.

Sailors, who must constantly fight the boredom of the sea, rely on one very important thing to keep their minds distracted. That thing is routine. While we complain about work, the routine of getting up every day, getting the household ready, and pushing ourselves out the door to work is part of what saves us. British sailors would holystone the oak decks of their ships, basically sanding them with soft stones, to keep them clean and white. This was done as much to keep the crew occupied as it was to prevent splinters.

I read a story about an artist who finally had enough time to commit himself to his passion full time. He cleaned out a room of all the junk, took down everything from the walls and painted the entire room white in preparation to create great new works. You might imagine what happened. He was not able to create anything that satisfied him. It turns out that our creative minds crave inspiration and we find it in every day experiences. He filled his walls, and room, with all of his favorite art. Immediately he felt more creative.  Even in the blankness of this unknown, we can fill our rooms.

I cannot offer much more than these last few words but I hope that you might find something in them.

• Develop a routine: Be it coffee on the deck at the same time every morning, reading for an hour day, doing all the dishes, etc.
• Seek inspiration: Share your work for others to see, tell your story on FB, and look to others who will share with you.

As with all things, this too will pass.  Look to yourselves and to your friends and family.

Until Tomorrow,

Tommy Judt

The talk on the street . . . sorry, from across the street in this time of social distancing, is that they say that another baby boom will come of all this. (No pun, just punny.) How many will compete for the title of first Covid Baby of 2021, I wonder?  All cooped up and left to our own devices, this may very well be a thing. Babies born, just for the fun of it. If this does not “jump start” our economy, nothing will. (Okay, I meant that one.)

For myself, I am going to lie to you and tell you that a cup of coffee, a good book, a bit of work, a walk with the dogs, a sip of wine and a good meal will suffice. What to do with the remaining 23 hours? Sleep, I am good for a solid 8. Okay, down to 15. Work, the get a full 8. Only 7 hours left. 1 Amazon movie, a movie FROM Amazon, not about Amazons . . . that is unless, you have a recommendation. 5 hours left. A bit of manic cleaning. 4 hours. Some-time in the Garden. 3 hours. Throw the ball for the dogs. 2 hours, 45. Hmm, starting to get dicey here. Laundry! Sweet! Got it down to 2 hours.

Question: What did I use to do when I had a free 2 hours?  Hmmm . . . . Well I would hang out with friends . . . or A friend. Hmm . . . Social Distancing (does not equal) time with just A friend.  So much for love in the time of Covid. Sure I can text, or Zoom, or even old school a call but . . . not the same. The early days of AOL are gone and there-in-lies-little-appeal for me.

I wish there was a test to see if you had already contracted the virus or not.  One that proved whether your immune system was fending off that little spik-ed devil. Then, those of us who had “Immunity” could selectively gather for less-than-legal social distancing. But alas, any such forethought about pandemics was tRumped some years ago. Other than the fact that they could be spreading death by the thousands, does anyone really blame the Spring Breakers? I mean, kids will be kids right?  Alright, okay, I hear you. No really!  I get it! . . . sorry.

What to do, what to do, what to do?

(At this point I would write a line or two of lyrics from I Drink Alone by George Thorogood and the Destroyers. Oh well, what the heck.)

The other day I got invited to a party,

But I staaayyed home instead.

Just me and my pal Johnny Walker,

And his brothers: Blackie and Red,

And we drank aloooneeee

(Sorry Johnny, writing about you was bound to happen sooner or later. But you knew that, didn’t you?  The whole song can be heard here on You Tube: https://youtu.be/lpzqQst-Sg8)

I have had a drink or two with Johnny. I know him to be a very nice man who does amazing things for our community. A distant, virtual, cocktail toast to you my friend.

Wait, there is one more thing to do. But . . . it will only take about 5 minutes. Hardly worth the time. Except if you like to out and out laugh. What I am referring to is a plucky new podcast by our own, insanely, talented Peter Brooks.  Love In The Time of Covid. Which can be found here: https://anchor.fm/peter108/episodes/Love-in-the-Time-of-Covid-319-ebmkvr/a-a1ns38r

Last night I all but spit out my milk listening to this. Peter Brooks, for those who do not know, is the man who saved us from Orcem. I guess knocking about for the last few months, with no windmills for-which-to-tilt, Peter has decided to unlock a corner of his imagination oft left for the cat or other lone companions. 

Peter, I thank you, you made me laugh out loud. Looking forward to future installments From Downtown Vallejo, It’s Love in the Time of Covid. (Oh, could you please repeat that Gin and milk recipe please?)

Until Tomorrow,

Tommy Judt

I remember going to a dinner party, some years ago now, where the host asked me how I was doing.  I told her that I was not feeling too optimistic about the future. I began to cite the futility of life as we know it, etc. She asked why I felt this way. I responded, “The more I read, the more fatalistic I become.”

“Whatever you are reading, you should stop!” she pleasantly replied. The remainder of the dinner party went off without a hitch.

I cannot say enough about Kathy, Shannon, and Angie O’Hare. They have done, as they always do, set out to keep us entertained with both back, and down, stage entertainment. Last night I was thrilled to stumble upon their brand new You Tube channel.

(https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCcbLWK_GxxUY3jLs1viayYg)

Charming as always, led by the forever social Angie, the couple invited me into their home, via You Tube, and shared some of the inner workings of Obtanium Works. For those not-in-the-know, Obtanium is roughly defined as . . . well . . . junk.  But not junk. Somebody else’s junk that the masterful O’Hares turn into ART. Yes capital letter ART.  Little or nothing is purchased, so I am told, so everything that gets used has been remediated, recycled and renewed. The 3 R’s of a happy planet.  I won’t share any more but I do advise checking out there You Tube channel and subscribing for updates. In truth, it may be some time until we are all able to gather on Georgia Street again to watch the fire breathing dragons. So get it while it’s hot!

It feels like our new normal is starting to really kick in.  More cases of COVID-19 are expected so the Federal Government is sending to us, here in California, temporary hospitals with extra beds and tons of supplies. The President has also authorized National Guard Troops to assist here as well. Of course they will remain under the Governor’s control.  (Is anyone else just a little nervous that Federal National Guard troops are going to heavily Democratic States, or is it just me?)

I also noticed something else and I am wondering if you have too.  There are 7 stages of grief, and I think that I am in the middle of them right now.  Let’s look together and you tell me if this fits for you as well.

(The following is copied from https://www.recover-from-grief.com/7-stages-of-grief.html )

• SHOCK & DENIAL-
  You will probably react to learning of the loss with numbed disbelief. You may deny the reality of the loss at some level, in order to avoid the pain. Shock provides emotional protection from being overwhelmed all at once. This may last for weeks.

I was definitely is Shock when I first heard about the Shelter in Place orders.

• PAIN & GUILT-
  As the shock wears off, it is replaced with the suffering of unbelievable pain. Although excruciating and almost unbearable, it is important that you experience the pain fully, and not hide it, avoid it or escape from it with alcohol or drugs.
  
  You may have guilty feelings or remorse over things you did or didn’t do with your loved one. Life feels chaotic and scary during this phase.

If you read my weekend posts then you know I was surely feeling Pain & Guilt.

• ANGER & BARGAINING-
  Frustration gives way to anger, and you may lash out and lay unwarranted blame for the death on someone else. Please try to control this, as permanent damage to your relationships may result. This is a time for the release of bottled up emotion. 
  
  You may rail against fate, questioning “Why me?” You may also try to bargain in vain with the powers that be for a way out of your despair (“I will never drink again if you just bring him back”)

Bargaining is the way I make it through life. I did that too, with my Social Distance Driveway Cocktail gatherings.

• “DEPRESSION”, REFLECTION, LONELINESS-
  Just when your friends may think you should be getting on with your life, a long period of sad reflection will likely overtake you. This is a normal stage of grief, so do not be “talked out of it” by well-meaning outsiders. Encouragement from others is not helpful to you during this stage of grieving.
  
  During this time, you finally realize the true magnitude of your loss, and it depresses you. You may isolate yourself on purpose, reflect on things you did with your lost one, and focus on memories of the past. You may sense feelings of emptiness or despair.

Thankfully, my writing to you every day has mitigated some of the depression. Loneliness, even though I am happy at home, is starting to become a thing.

• THE UPWARD TURN-
  As you start to adjust to life without your dear one, your life becomes a little calmer and more organized. Your physical symptoms lessen, and your “depression” begins to lift slightly.

With the O’Hare’s example. Let us all find the tools, the ones that each of us already has, and create something beautiful to share, with the Obtanium Opportunity with which we have all been provided.

• RECONSTRUCTION & WORKING THROUGH-
  As you become more functional, your mind starts working again, and you will find yourself seeking realistic solutions to problems posed by life without your loved one. You will start to work on practical and financial problems and reconstructing yourself and your life without him or her.

Now here we go, it is time to work through. We have local businesses that are coming up with amazingly creative ways to keep us fed and entertained. Here’s a link to a list of some local businesses. Let’s spend our money here, in Vallejo.

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1T1nQ3G8pEVqdux_q1r2cIvX4KOtGjiCYl-maQx6EbjU/edit?fbclid=IwAR1lo0zGju9rThu39NTMqo3AnPopK6VHu9MG9GM4BIOk0i1XdUd7tzwSmpY

• ACCEPTANCE & HOPE-
  During this, the last of the seven stages in this grief model, you learn to accept and deal with the reality of your situation. Acceptance does not necessarily mean instant happiness. Given the pain and turmoil you have experienced, you can never return to the carefree, untroubled YOU that existed before this tragedy. But you will find a way forward.
  
  You will start to look forward and actually plan things for the future. Eventually, you will be able to think about your lost loved one without pain; sadness, yes, but the wrenching pain will be gone. You will once again anticipate some good times to come, and yes, even find joy again in the experience of living.
  
  You have made it through the 7 stages of grief.

We all need to stay informed. We all need to enlist best practices when it comes Sheltering in Place and to do our part to Flatten the curve.  In a speech in Cape Town in June 1966, Robert Kennedy said: There is a Chinese curse which says ‘May he live in interesting times. ‘ Like it or not we live in interesting times.

My question to you: So what are you going to do about it?

I’m going to write. The O’Hare’s will Vlog.  Your turn . . .

Until Tomorrow,

Tommy Judt

 . . . is in quarantine.

I have 2 dogs. Both German Shepherds.

I had had two dogs before these. A white German Shepherd mix and Wally: three parts long and one part tall. My first dog came to me when I lived in a converted warehouse in Oakland. It was the 4^th of July in the year 2000. My neighbor and I were assembling a new barbecue so that we might burn-some-beef and visit with our other neighbors. As we were kneeling down set in our work, this sweet, little, skinny girl walked up and pressed herself against me. True, I had put out some food and water for her the day before. You see, where I use to live in Oakland was about 2 blocks away from the old pound. The old pound used to have lockers outside where one would take animals after hours and leave them for the staff to collect the next morning. The old pound moved and the lockers were welded shut. I am sure that many people did not know that this pound had shuttered and suspect that they just dumped their animals on the street since I had seen many strays in the neighborhood before.

So the day before I put out food and water, since I had seen her wandering two days in a row now. She was a bit skittish and would run away when I approached her. So I left the food, outside by the fence and went about my worldly ways. The next day, when the gate was open, she walked up to us and pressed herself against me. For the next few years she rarely left my side. When I moved to Vallejo she loved the open grass of the yard and this soon became our new home. Shortly after we moved in, I noticed that she was becoming more withdrawn. Some days she would wrap her paws around my leg when I was heading out the door for work. I never had a dog before but suspected she was becoming very bored. I was married at the time and I said to my wife, “It’s time for another dog.”  She said little perhaps assuming that the burden of care would be hers. The next day I came home and she handed me one of those little advertising magazines.  You know the ones that come to your door once a month full of dry cleaners and new windows for you home advertisements. In it was a picture of Wally. This happy-go-lucky, brown faced, smiling dog.

That weekend we went to Tony LaRussa’s Animal Rescue Foundation (ARF.)  We asked about the dog in the magazine and were pointed to an observation room around the corner. We walked up to see a sea of dogs running, jumping and falling all over each other. In the middle of this puppy mosh pit was Wally.  He was happy, chasing his tail and the tails of others. My wife and I looked at each other and asked, “Where are his legs?” He was short. Super short. But amazing. Pound for pound probably the best dog ever.  It took no time at all for my girl and Wally to be best friends. I can still feel the joy I experienced the first time I looked out the kitchen window and saw them chasing each other. Instant fast friends.

Some years later, after my wife and I split up, my old girl passed away. 14 years, long time for a big dog.  Wally was older too but he stepped right up and we kept each other company. Then it happened. Wally grabbed my leg one day before I left for work. Uh-oh. That night I start to put out feelers.   In hindsight, for Wally’s sake, perhaps I should have gotten an older dog. One closer to his age. But there came along  this puppy who needed a home. I took my girlfriend, her dog and Wally to meet him. He was only a few months old. The whole gang got along from the start. The next thing I knew, I was the father of this weet little thing. Wally did like to play but as it turned out the puppy had way too much energy from him. Wally’s mood did improve but rather than being the smiling happy dog he settled quietly into curmudgeonly old age. Kinda. The puppy would love to chase the ball inside the house. Wally would lie on the edge of living room while I would toss the ball for the young upstart. The puppy would chase and Wally would snore. Occasionally the ball would land somewhere near Wally. The puppy would approach and Wally would raise one lip give the youngster his alien face.  The closer the ball landed, and the puppy drawn in with it, the intensity of the alien face grew and more of a growl rolled forth. One time I caught Wally doing this and said something, he just turned his head, wagged his tail and smiled at me with a knowing smile. Wally was just messing with the puppy. An old man’s game.

Wally passed and before my puppy boy, now 3 years old, could grab my leg when I left the house, I began the search for another companion. Having become more familiar with the Humane Society of the North Bay, I decided that a shelter dog was the way to go. I called to see if they had any female Shepherds and they did. A poor girl who was just distraught. My puppy and poor girl seemed to get along fine in the get-to-know-you pen. No great love, but no great dislike either. She was distracted but would play chase the ball with us. This one was going to be work but puppy and I were all in.

An anxious urinater, scared of everything new around her, the puppy and I set about making her comfortable. After the pain of her spaying had worn off, new girl was feeling her oats. I was saddened by the fact that she had not taken to the puppy the way Wally had to my old girl. She was jealous and aggressive and nipped puppy boy more than a few times. 2 years of constant love, consistent training and moderate discipline, a steady meal source, plenty of walks and lots of ball throwing later, she has become a very good dog. I will never know why someone would throw away a perfectly good dog. The long and the short of it is, they play, a little, right after meal time when they both have full bellies. They are committed to each other but do not share the same bond as my previous two. I sometimes thinks it is my fault, but then I remember that the world is much bigger than me, so I just do what I can.

Puppy boy is very social and is prone to running off to greet new people. In doing so he is apt to not heed my command to return. We have worked on this and he is better. Yesterday I was sharing gardening supplies with my neighbor and the puppy followed the neighbor out the gate. Puppy was so happy to see another dog, their dog, that he immediately got the zoomies. I laughed as I watched him express pure joy running up and down the street and through both of our yards. I turned my back to let him play. He was happy, so was I. A few moments later I go to call him in and he is gone.  Just up the street it turns out. Off to visit someone else, with their dog, out for a walk.

My dog’s whole life is in quarantine. We walk, almost every day and sometimes twice if the weather is on our side. They both like Wardlaw to chase their balls, but Wardlaw is closed.  Today, puppy barely came to get breakfast. It seems one minute of freedom versus a lifetime of lockdown has saddened my baby boy. Today, we find open fields. Ticks or no ticks. Today we break out.

Until tomorrow,

Tommy Judt