Painting the Restroom--Really?

I don't mean to come across as flippant or unconcerned, for the current epidemic is indeed serious business, and it does indeed worry me.  Nevertheless, I think  that maybe an occasional offbeat diversion helps ease the strain.

For instance, I made a morning drive today to the American River Parkway for a diverting and restful view of a beautiful stretch of the river.  At the parking lot, one of the restrooms was closed, a sign over the door advising, "Restroom being painted."

Painting the restroom?  How can they?  At a time like this!  Don't they know there's a crisis?

Ah, yes, but that ordinary activity of painting a restroom is a reminder that life goes on regardless of news media bombarding us with grim stories and body counts and frightening guesses of what could come.

Or maybe we're going to win this one with a cliche.

"Your actions help 'Flatten The Curve,'"  Kaiser Permanente emailed me.  I guess, that here in the New America, we've moved away from dramatic battle cries like "Remember the Alamo!" and "Give me liberty or give me death!"  Instead, the order to flatten the curve seems to be the marching order for the fight against COVID-19, judging by the millions of hits on search engines. 

And then there's Dr. Anthony Fauci, the director of the National Institute of Allergy and Infectious Diseases (NIAID), who in Newsweek (April 3, 2020) turned loose of a  sports metaphor:  "We're not even at halftime . . ." Fauci, a prominent member of President Donald Trump's coronavirus task force, said.

Fauci went on:  "What would be really nice, to continue the analogy, is 
that if we can just hold our own and then when we get back in the
second half, just come out, like, blazing. And that's what we really need
to do; otherwise, this stuff is going to be really, really very harmful to us
as a society." 

Give him credit. He didn't say, "Win one for the Gipper."

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"Welcome to the New America"

Let me see if I can get this blog restarted.

I took my wife's car (she's not driving because of illness) out for a drive this morning.  It's a hybrid (the car, not my wife), and its batteries seem to thrive on activity.  That plus the one-time mechanic in me says that precious mechanical fluids should be kept sloshing around the seals otherwise they'll dry out and leak their fluids onto the garage floor and the dog will come along and slurp them up and only God knows what'll happen then.

My route took me to the American River Parkway, the parkway's Disabled Fishing Access picnic pavilion to be specific.  I didn't see any crippled fish there, but there were a few magpies, some wild turkeys, and a lot of Canada geese.  I got out of the car and ambled around to get a wider view of the geese.  A few flew in from time to time, and a few left.  Otherwise, the grassy areas were blanketed with geese pecking for seeds, greens, fiber, who knows.

How could so many birds be so blind to the crisis we've got going on?  They seemed oblivious to the smell of human panic (?) anxiety (?).

On my way back to the car, my path set me on a collision course with a man striding in from my left.  The six-foot social distance rule was about to violated if one of us didn't do something.

I stepped back and remarked, "I 'd stand closer, but I don't want to breathe on you."

He grinned and said, "Welcome to the new America."

Well, there you have it.  The New America should provide plenty of topics for blog posts.  And as a nonessential guy doing nonessential stuff, I should find something to say.

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Bloggal Dormancy

This blog is dormant.

In the meantime--

For words of encouragement, click here.

And remember, there is only one Donald Trump.

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Bad Housekeeping re Stuff

My wife is slowly and with great purpose going through possessions and getting rid of stuff in a certain category.  It is stuff for which she now has little or no use.  It is stuff that, after our demise, will have to be removed by a cleanup crew, most likely our children.  Hers is a noble and well-intentioned effort.

I am not participating.  You see, after I'm gone I want my kids to truly know what their old man was like.  I want to give them cause to say:  "Why would he save this?"  Or--with a look of disgust on the face--"What would anybody do with this?"  I want them to realize that I took great delight in some simple doodad that any sane person would toss in the trash.

Not to be concerned.  I have already disposed of items packaged with language such as "enhance pleasure," "shipped with discreet labels," and so forth.
You won't find any such stuff in my leftovers.

But you will find that I wanted to incentivize (ugly word but I felt compelled to use it) the cleanup project by hiding here and there packages of Hostess Ding Dongs.  Bon appetit!

And to start searchers on the right foot, here is a short piece on "Stuff," by George Carlin.  (Sorry, but I could not get the link's timeline to start at zero.)

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A Scary Moment

Had a scary moment this morning.

Went to the barber for my usual haircut--short, #3 blade all over.  When finished, the barber held a mirror for my approval.

I looked like Rudy Giuliani.

Came home and looked in a different mirror.

All okay now.

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Don’t Just Sit There! Do Nothing!

Here is where I sit and do nothing. 

Actually, I do nothing in a lot of places, but this is my favorite--the Disabled Fishing Access on the American River Parkway.  There are a few picnic tables here on a bluff, shade trees and a small pavilion, and a wheelchair ramp down to water level. 

I’m usually here early in the morning and often have the place to myself.  Other old men visit the place, and for some of them it’s a last waypoint. Their passing is noted when a new memorial is etched into the concrete base of a picnic table.  The table I’m sitting at while I scribble a few notes has at its base the name of a man who “found beauty, joy, and solace in this place.”

I rarely see a woman here, just old men.  I guess that by the time we get to be this age the women are glad to get us out of the house for a while.

I should really be posting more, but I get busy, often doing nothing.  It’s okay to do nothing, beneficial even.  In the realm of health and wellness the next big thing could be doing nothing, in the manner of the stress-reducing practice from the Netherlands labeled by the Dutch word niksen.  

Of course, it’s impossible to do absolutely nothing, to flatline the activity curve. We have too many things to do when awake, and when asleep the brain continues to turn and churn, sorting out tasks or mischief for when we wake up.

Therefore, the experts on niksen say that the thing to do is do nothing with a purpose, such as daydreaming.  That I’m good at.

Articles on the internet say a lot about niksen.  Please read them if you need any advice on how to do nothing.  As for me, I'm about to do . . .

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Museum of Flight / Wonder Woman's Invisible Plane

All text and the photograph of Wonder Woman's Invisible Plane are from the website of the Museum of Flight in Seattle, Washington.

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Wonder Woman’s Invisible Plane was designed by the enlightened Amazons of Paradise Island using highly advanced Amazon engineering.

Originally referred to as the Silent Invisible Plane, this propeller driven aircraft can fly faster than 2000 mph (3218.69 km/h) and can make trans-Atlantic flights without re-fueling. The plane features navigational devices such as a robot control pilot, a locascope and an electronic mist beam. Wonder Woman also commanded course and flight paths with telepathic signals and electronic devices in her tiara.

BARNSTORMING

Wonder Woman retired her invisible plane in the 1950’s—upgrading to a jet-powered version. The original plane has been stored in a barn outside of Washington D.C. ever since. The Museum of Flight acquired Wonder Woman’s Invisible Plane from Lt. Diana Prince on April 1st, 2013.

THE WONDER OF FLIGHT

The invisible plane’s replacement, the invisible jet, is believed to be either an incarnation of Pegasus, the WINGED HORSE or a morphing robotic substance called "Dome ." Use of the invisible jet has become increasingly rare ever since Wonder Woman gained the ability to fly on her own.

AHEAD OF ITS TIME

Amazon technology demonstrated advanced stealth and speed capabilities more than 20 years before comparable human-built aircraft such as the Lockheed YF-12A, which reached a speed of 2,070.1 miles per hour on May 1, 1965 and the YO-3A, the nearly silent observation aircraft created in 1970.

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