Baseball in the time of Coronavirus w/u

So many good causes in this time of COVID-19. Health professionals need PPE. Local small businesses need us to buy their wares so they can survive the pandemic. Elderly and disabled need neighbors to bring food and meds.

Speaking of food, there are those who have none and rely on food banks to survive. Food Bank of the Rockies serves those facilities in Colorado and Wyoming.

On Friday. The Colorado Rockies Baseball Club Foundation joined with Food Bank of the Rockies for the Stay at Home Opener. On what was supposed to be opening day 2020, the Rockies broadcast nine innings of opening day highlights dating back to the team's first game in April 1993. Highlights included the first inning of the first match-up at the old Mile High Stadium vs. the now defunct Montreal Expos (now the Washington Nationals). Attendance was 80,000-plus, an MLB record that still stands. There was rookie Trevor Story's two home runs in 2016 and some fine pitching in 2018 by Denverite Kyle Freeland. On opening day 2014, Charlie Blackmon tied a hitting record held by Hall-of-Famers Ty Cobb and Jimmie Fox.

While the highlights played, donations rolled in for FBOR, the first $300,000 matched by the foundation. During commercial breaks, players urged us to stay at home and stay well.

Opening day in Denver is a holiday. Its absence, due to the Coronavirus, created a void that the Rockies tried to fill. Baseball seems insignificant when compared to a pandemic from a virus unknown on opening day 2019. That really sunk in when Friday's broadcast featured the player intro from last April. So much is promised when baseball starts. Dreams of a World Series, home-run records shattered, some 9th inning nailbiters.

But the big thing is sitting in the stadium on a warm summer night. You are with family and friends who may love baseball as you do or at least pretend they do. Added bonuses include beer and hot dogs, pricey but necessary.

Opening day begins the possibilities. It also gives me something to dwell on beside COVID-19. Baseball highlights took Chris and I away from bad news for awhile. We all need that. It also gave us an opportunity to make modest donation to FBOR.

We need food for the body and food for the soul. And a home run or two.

Updated 4/8/20: A Colorado Rockies press release:

Over 1,100 individuals made donations during a “Stay at Home Opener” broadcast and “Feed the Rockies” fundraiser, as the Rockies Foundation provides funds for two million meals. 

The Colorado Rockies Baseball Club Foundation announced today that a total of $502,425 was raised for food banks in Colorado and Wyoming during the “Stay at Home Opener: Feed the Rockies” event that aired on AT&T SportsNet and on Rockies.com on Friday, April 3 at 2 p.m. MDT – the date and time of the originally scheduled Rockies home opener.  

A total of 1,134 Rockies fans and players made online donations throughout the weekend, totaling $102,425. Additionally, it was announced Friday that the family of Rockies first baseman Daniel Murphy had donated $100,000 to the effort. The Rockies Foundation, which had pledged to match all donations up to $300,000, donated the entire $300,000 pledge, bringing the grand total to $502,425.

Hunkered down, somewhere in Wyoming, part 5

I've started two blogs with Coronavirus stats. By the time I finish, the figures are outdated. Just shows how fast this thing is moving.

I've been hunkered down for two weeks or so. I'm retired so time stretches and contracts anyway. Insert a stay-at-home order (in WYO, it's more of a suggestion) and who really knows what day it is?

My most recent abandoned blog began by wondering how many Coronavirus cases there really are. I've been checking stats from a variety of reliable sources but nobody really knows exact figures. Due to equipment shortages, testing is sporadic or nonexistent. Some states, New` York for example, are testing thousands every day but still require a physician's order. Cuomo, not really a guy who likes Trump, had nice things to say about him and Pence in one of his impressive early press conferences. The D.C. duo had answered New York's call for more test kits. Maybe it was Cuomo's desperation. Maybe Trump still has feelings for his home state. Maybe it was good PR for a bungling administration. It happened, The state leads the nation in all categories. Cuomo said the other day that 21,000 medical workers from out-of-state have responded to pleas for help. New York City is the epicenter. Reminds me of the response to 9/11 when Americans answered the call to the World Trade Center attack. We can respond in an emergency. We're just not that good at taking care of each other on a daily basis.

On the other end of the scale is Wyoming. We have the same brand of Coronavirus -- COVID-19 -- but our numbers are much lower because our numbers are always much lower. Our population is sparse (580,000) as is COVID-19 testing. As of this morning, WYO has 162 active cases after some 2,000 tests by the state lab. No deaths, thank goodness. Our hot zones are Laramie, Teton and Fremont counties. My county of Laramie leads the list with 37. We're the capital city with the largest population so that makes sense. Fremont includes Lander, Riverton and the reservation. Teton is gateway to the national parks, which are closed along with ski areas, so it gets many travelers from all over. Colorado also closed ski areas when Eagle County became a hot zone with as many cases as Colorado Springs.

But how many are there really? I read in the Gillette News-Record that there are 131 possible COVID-19 cases in the county who have been asked to shelter at home. The Fremont County Incident Management Team has directed 608 people to self-isolate. Most of these people show symptoms but can't be tested because there are no test kits. That makes it even more important to stay home.

Colorado, our neighbor with the largest population, reported 3,728 cases as of yesterday. Those stats come from the Colorado Department of Public Health and Environment. On Thursday, neighboring Weld County listed 329 cases, twice as many as Wyoming's state total. It's a bit daunting to see a map of the COVID-19 hot spots in Colorado and see two of them (Weld and Larimer counties) clustered at the Wyoming border. There is an incredible amount of travel between Cheyenne and Laramie, Wyo., and Fort Collins and Greeley, Colo.

Colorado has tested eight times as many people as Wyoming. No surprise there, as Colorado has about eight times the population of Wyoming, most of whom are on I-25 the same time as I am.

Numbers are important. But what we'll remember are the stories spawned by Coronavirus. I will remember that my family declared its own quarantine when things started getting bad about two weeks ago. I'm a cardiac patient, Chris has diabetes and our daughter Annie had elective surgery the day before the hospital cancelled all non-essential operations. We have ventured forth a few times to get take-out or just to take a drive to nowhere.

On the afternoon of March 31, as I was applying 2021 stickers to my license plates, I saw my neighbor Mike in his yard and asked if he had any toilet paper. He was on his way out to buy some and said he'd see if any was available. An hour later, he came to the door with two four-packs he had found at Dollar Tree. He left them on the porch. My wife wiped down the shopping bags and the two TP packages.

The next thing we will lack are cleaning wipes. We started the lockdown with five rolls of those and we're down to one. I tried to order some yesterday with my groceries. Not available, the King Soopers site said. I ordered groceries to be delivered by Instacart, the contractor that selects and delivers from KS. Instacart employees on the East Coast went on strike for more pay and better working conditions. I hope they get it, and hope they seriously consider unionizing after seeing how little the bosses care about their safety. Ditto for amazon.com employees who run ragged trying to fill our orders for TP and sanitary wipes and Fitbits.

Most talk show personalities are broadcasting from home. You see family members meandering by in the background. TV personality and philanthropist Bethany Frankel was being interviewed on Good Morning America when her dog entered the scene and licked her face. Andrew Lloyd Webber is taking requests to perform songs he plays from home on his piano. YouTube is filled with homebound people singing or playing an instrument. We are watching a lot of YouTube videos. Chris was overjoyed to discover vids of Jane Fonda workouts, the same ones she did in our living room when they kids were little. Sitting at my desk in the office, and the Fonda soundtrack came on, I flashed back to the eighties.

I am impressed by the major and minor contributions to the cause. Since today is payday, the family is donating to several good local causes. Cheyenne crafters have been making masks for doctors and nurses. Police officers deliver groceries to shut-ins. Students at Newcastle High School are making masks for the volunteer fire department. Cheyenne Botanic Gardens staffers deliver soup to their elderly volunteers. New England Patriots owner Robert Kraft flew his own plane to China to fetch equipment for medical personnel. This blog has no love for the Patriots but it was a great gesture.

It's odd to be at home watching the world go by. It's in pretty sad shape but we find ways to be human. And there are ways to contribute, both in money and time. I will list some of those resources in my next blog.

Hunkered down, somewhere in Wyoming, part 4

I suddenly wondered if I was using "hunkered down" correctly in my headers. Is it redundant to use the two together? Is it enough to say that I am hunkering in my house during the pandemic? And, yes, I do have too much time on my hands to wonder and ponder which, for some reason, are pronounced differently.

Hunker is a Scots term, first noticed by linguists in the 18th century. An online dictionary described it this way: "squatting on the balls of one's feet, keeping low to the ground but still ready to move if necessary."

I haven't hunkered since my spinal injury two years ago. I can neither squat on the balls of my feet, keep low to the ground, or move if necessary. I can crouch, if necessary, but struggle to get back up again. I could say that I am "sitting down, somewhere in Wyoming." But that doesn't quite capture our present plight. Hunker implies that I am responding to a threat, something that makes me want to take cover instead of stand or sit.

Other languages recognize "hunker." In Dutch, it is huiken. In Old Norse, huka. Germans say hocke. The Scots have even turned a verb into a noun with the phrase "sitting on one's hunkers." All civilizations, it seems, have had to huka down at some time in their history.

Ben Zimmer explored the history of "hunker down" in a September 2017 Wall Street Journal feature. Hurricane Irma had blasted through the Caribbean and U.S. and Zimmer noticed the many times that TV reporters used the term "hunker down." Orlando Sentinel editor John Cutter noticed an uptick in "hunker down" as Irma approached Florida. He invented a drinking game in which every mention of the now-cliched phrase prompted listeners to take a shot. A neat idea but probably redundant as Floridians are pretty good at taking shots during hurricanes, especially monstrous ones such as Irma. A hurricane and a pandemic share a lot of qualities. Hunkering seems appropriate in each case as does a few shots of Jack.

Our neighbor Colorado found this out the hard way. Denver Mayor Michael Hancock announced that liquor stores and marijuana dispensaries would be closed to thwart the spread of COVID-19. This caused a furor and the ban was lifted. The Governor tried something similar with his order to close all bars and restaurants. He later agreed to let businesses sell booze as takeout along with the tacos and sushi.

We don't have marijuana dispensaries in Wyoming. We do have lots of liquor stores. Our Governor has spared closing establishments with full retail liquor licenses. A good thing as it's inconceivable to have everyone hunker down for weeks or maybe months without the proper beverages.

For accurate updates on Coronavirus in Wyoming, go to the page for the Wyoming Department of Health's Infectious Disease Epidemiology Unit. As of 11 a.m. Sunday morning, Wyoming has 86 reported cases. Fremont County leads the pack at 23 with Laramie at 19 and Teton with 14. The Wyoming Public Health Laboratory has tested 1,203, commercial labs have tested 436 (they are bound to only report positive cases), and the CDC lab has tested 1.

Notice how these last two links take you to state government offices. Some sites may not be maintained by state employees but their info comes from people who regularly get kicked around by GOPers in our state legislature. City and county employees pick up our trash and maintain infrastructure. Federal employees will be working overtime to make sure millions get the checks stipulated in the recently-passed stimulus bill. They also maintain Social Security, Medicare and Medicaid, so crucial in this time of plague.

Hunkered down, somewhere in Wyoming, part 3

I've used three video-conferencing apps in the past week. Before that, I had used exactly no video-conferencing apps. Didn't need to. I was never quarantined by a pandemic before. I  attended public events with other humans. I dined out with the family. I volunteered in a public place where germs circulated freely.

None of that is possible now. It is possible, as Wyoming has no mandatory shelter-in-place order as of yet. We've been advised to stay at home. As I reported in my previous post, I have ventured outside to tend to business at drive-through facilities: library, post office, credit union. Last weekend the family went hunting for ice cream and we joined the queue at Dairy Queen's window. Yesterday Annie went to a physician's appointment. When she arrived, a nurse told her to leave because an earlier nervous patient had admitted that she was afraid she had coronavirus because one of her relatives had a cold and they had been together the day before so maybe she was contagious.

Paranoia is the new normal. But, as the old saying goes, you ain't paranoid if someone really is following you. Millions of us are now being followed by COVID-19. It's OK to be a bit paranoid and a lot careful.

I've read first-person accounts of the 1918-19 flu pandemic. It killed millions of young people. It killed older people too. But researchers believe that the virus hitched a ride on the revved-up metabolisms of youth. Doctors and nurses told stories of people in their prime hemorrhaging from the mouth, nose and eyes. They turned blue as lungs ceased to work when they filled with pus. Toddlers starved to death as parents wasted away in their beds.

Most of these gory details went unreported because of wartime restrictions on publishing bad news that might frighten the populace and disrupt the war effort. The fact that the flu might have originated among soldiers at Ft. Riley, Kansas, was hidden. Soldiers continued to come and go, infecting the population along the way. A little more governmental openness would have saved thousands, maybe millions. The final worldwide tally of pandemic deaths is estimated between 50 and 100 million. 

As author John M. Barry concludes in "The Great Influenza: The Story of the Deadliest Pandemic in History: "The final lesson of 1918, a simple one yet one most difficult to execute, is that...those in authority must retain the public's trust. The way to do that is to distort nothing, to put the best face on nothing, to try to manipulate no one. Lincoln said that first, and best. A leader must make whatever horror exists concrete. Only then will people be able to break it apart." 

Barry wrote in the March 17 New York Times that he served on pandemic working groups after the bird flu plague of 2005. The groups recommended the usual non-pharmaceutical interventions, Barry wrote: social distancing, washing hands, coughing into elbows, staying home when sick. Sound familiar? If followed closely, those techniques could go a long way in curtailing a pandemic. But people are people, politicians are politicians. We stray and the bug spreads.

I keep thinking that our first-person accounts of COVID-19 might be read 100 years from now. People may be shocked by the quick spread of contagion, the many senseless deaths, the lackadaisical, even criminally negligent, attitude of POTUS and his minions. Those poor people, our descendants might say. Such a tragedy. It's a good thing it can't happen now, here in 2120, with our sophisticated knowledge and our advanced medical techniques.

COVID-19 might be the pandemic to end all pandemics, just as World War I was "the war to end all wars."

Latest update: Wyoming Department of Health Epidemiology Unit reported this afternoon that 73 people in the state have tested positive for COVID-19. Laramie County had the most at 18. Fremont was next with 17.

Hunkered down, somewhere in Wyoming, part 2

A week later and so much has changed.

Chris was laid off from her job at the YMCA. The place is closed except for childcare for essential personnel such as doctors, nurses, and military members who can't be spared. She applied for unemployment on the same day, On Tuesday, she received notice that her claim had been approved and she will receive about 58 percent of her weekly salary. With my pension and Social Security, we should be able to make it. We're fortunate that we live in a sparsely-populated state. Also fortunate to have a responsive state government. Am proud to say I worked for that government for 25 years. Some unemployment web sites in big cities have crashed due to the rush of applications. So many businesses are shuttered and many suddenly out of work.

When I started this blog Tuesday morning, the U.S. Senate is working on a bill that would pump a couple of trillion bucks into the economy. Here's what I had to say at the time:

Unfortunately, Republicans have loaded up the bill with giveaways to corporate America. Democrats have stymied its passage because there is a provision that the names of recipient corporations will be kept secret for six months which, coincidentally, is after the 2020 election. The Senate bill still does not have enough remedies for working people such as my wife. It does call for checks of up to $1,200 be sent to individuals. Even in Wyoming that won't get you very far. Other provisions call for a 60-day grace period for student loans, increases in unemployment benefits, etc. All good. But they pale in comparison with a $500 billion secret slush fund for Trump's corporate pals ( and possibly even Trump himself). The Dems are fighting the GOP on this and I hope they carry the day. Bernie Sanders proposed monthly checks of $2,000 to Americans until the crisis is over. I saw a proposal yesterday to add $200 a month to SSI, SSDI and veterans' benefits for the rest of the year. That would benefit me and my family. I'm for it. I also want businesses to get help as long as some of our largesse goes to employees. Remember -- rich business owners (Trump included) already got a generous tax cut from McConnell's Senate.

See how quickly things change, even on Capitol Hill? The Republicans and Democrats have agreed on a $2 trillion relief bill. Don't know all the details yet but anxiously await them.

Trump said at his daily spiel yesterday that he wants America to get back to work sooner rather than later -- by Easter on April 12. He said that "we don't want the cure to be worse than the problem itself." Indeed. Sending people back to work before the coronavirus has run its course will be a cure worse than the problem itself. We already have a president making the problem worse than it should be itself. Still wondering why we have a shortage of necessary medical supplies. Our doctors and nurses are going above and beyond the call treating coronavirus patients without the necessary protections.

We still are sheltering at home. Latest cases of COVID-19 in WYO is 37 with more than 700 tested and no fatalities according to the according to the Wyoming PBS Facebook post today. Gov. Mark Gordon's press conference is available at 1 p.m. today on WY PBS. My county has eight known cases awhile Fremont County as the most with 12. We are pretty lucky. As one wag pointed put, Wyoming has been practicing social distancing since statehood in 1890. We've been doing it a lot longer than that, as the wide-open-spaces have been here for millennia. Sure, at some points in our long history the place was mostly underwater. An occasional pleisiosaurus would swim by, looking for a snack, and a pterodactyl might fly by. Humans weren't around but you can assume that viruses were. Life was brutal and short. We now live long and mostly happy lives. One day you wake up and realize that a critter you can't even see has stolen into your body and is hijacking it. If you are over 65 as I am, your prognosis will not be good. What we want we cannot have, which is more life. But as my father used to say, "who says that life is fair?"

Chris and I drove to the post office late yesterday afternoon. The car is a place where you can practice social distancing from others. You can drive up right next to a car filled with active coronavirus cases and, even if they sneeze at you out of open windows (it's nice enough for open windows) and your windows are up, you should be OK. Not advisable to go around coughing on Wyomingites, some of the most well-armed people on the planet.

The arts world is under a lot of stress. Many art forms are enjoyed in groups. Music especially has been hit hard. Most venues have already lined up their 2020 artists. The local music scene been lively lately and it would be a shame to see that stop. The Lincoln Music Hall is getting ready to open and everyone I know can't wait to see their favorite groups on stage at the historic performing arts space and movie theater. There are ways to support the state's artists and arts venues. Some were outlined on Wyoming Public Radio. The Wyoming Arts Council has some helpful links on its web site. Some musicians are staging online performances. And, in the non-participatory arts category, there are books. Revisit your favorite or take a chance on a new title.

Hunkered down, somewhere in Wyoming

Homebound. For a week. Only ventured outside to drive to credit union drive-up and library book drop-off. Never left the car. Never interacted face-to-face with another living creature. A new way of living in the time of coronavirus.

I'm retired so I don't have to be anywhere on a regular basis. I'm at high-risk during the current crisis because I'm 69 and a heart patient. I am also writer and reader so long stretches of indoor time is not a hardship. Annie and Chris are here with me. Chris, 64 and a diabetic, is off work for the foreseeable future. Annie underwent surgery on Monday and is recuperating. From my office, I can hear Chris exercising to YouTube videos. Great part about 2020: YouTube exercise videos. I do chair aerobics with Hasfit duo Coach Kozak and Claudia. I could go to the YMCA, which is still open, but I'd be paranoid the whole time that I would inhale a spiky COVID-19 germ. No use risking it.

I cancelled this morning's appointment with my podiatrist. I no longer travel to my acupuncture appointments in Fort Collins. Medical appointments have been postponed or cancelled. I won't be volunteering in March at the Cheyenne Botanic Gardens. The city ordered that all volunteers 65 and older and those with serious medical conditions to stay away. Yesterday, the Botanic Gardens announced the closing of the conservatory and children's village. This gives kids out of school fewer things to do but parents are probably keeping them home anyway.

One aspect of the pandemic I hadn't counted on was a mad dash to the grocery store for everything from toilet paper to milk to boxes of mac and cheese.I had those very things in mind Sunday when I shopped King Soopers online. Toilet paper not available. Deli was closed. It listed the rest of the items I ordered groceries to last us at least until the next paycheck. I opted to pick them up but no times were available through Tuesday. Instead, I opted for a delivery on Tuesday afternoon. As my shopper reported Tuesday, many of the items I requested were gone. She texted my photos of empty shelves in the toilet paper and pasta aisles. When she finally left the groceries on the front porch later that day, some items were missing and some substitutions were a bit sketchy. A First World problem, to be sure.

As for sports -- spring training is cancelled and the MLB season is delayed two weeks. March Madness has been cancelled as has the NBA season. A bummer but they both take second place to the pandemic. High school tournaments have also been cancelled. As of this morning, our county now has two confirmed coronavirus cases. That puts Wyoming's count at 15.

The local community college is on spring break but is still deciding what to do when the kids return as pale as when they left -- No Cabo this year kiddos! Actually, some students are at beaches for spring break. A few were interviewed at Florida's Clearwater Beach. One young guy was asked about the risks associated with major partying and much touching. His answer was priceless. He and his cohorts were spending all their time in the sand so they didn't have to worry about touching doorknobs and other nasty things. I had this image of the kids spending day and night in the sand, all alone but for the crabs and the sand fleas and sandpipers which we know aren't COVID-19 carriers.

That's not how I remember spring break.

Levity is welcome relief during these trying times. Lord knows we've had enough bad news. If you listen to the president and his lackey Mike Pence, all is well in the U.S.A. as we have two such capable people in charge. No advice from Melania lately, not even BE BEST!

Rest easy, America.

The pandemic comes to Wyoming

I awoke in the middle of the night and had the strange feeling that this week had been a nightmare.

But it’s real. A plague has been loosed upon the world. Like something out of an apocalyptic novel. The run-up to the post-apocalypse featured in novels and films. The Road. Dawn of the Dead. The Book of Joan. 28 Days Later. The Stand. Children of Men. Mad Max. WaterWorld. Something in us that loves these "what if" scenarios. What if a zombie plague erupted in our hometown? What if climate change turned the earth into one vast ocean? What if a medical experiment goes awry and wipes out most of the population except characters imagined by Stephen King?

But the Coronavirus is real life. It looks mean and nasty in artist’s renderings. A sphere with spiky red nodules. Once it’s inside your body, it plants itself in your lung tissue and begins replicating in your body’s healthy cells until it takes over and shuts down your systems.  What if these microscopic orbs were human-sized? They might be almost comical. Zombies might even laugh at them. Its lethality depends upon its miniscule size. It allows it to migrate into our nasal passages and mouths and start its dirty work. It’s brand new and we have neither antibodies nor vaccines.

No wonder I’m awake at 3 a.m.

I’m in the high-risk zone. I’m 69 and a cardiac patient. My wife Chris is 64 and a diabetic. The virus makes quick work of those over 60 with chronic medical conditions. So we hunker down and survey the fridge and pantry to see if we can hold out until the Albertson’s trucks make their next deliveries. And toilet paper? Go figure.

I've been reading about the Spanish Flu Pandemic of 1918-1919. Research for my novel set in 1919. As many U.S. soldiers died from the flu as they did in combat in WWI. Experts estimate that up to 100 million worldwide died. Young people were hit hard, just the opposite of what we see now. Katherine Anne Porter may have written the best fiction on the pandemic with "Pale Horse, Pale Rider," a novella or, if you prefer, a long short story. 

Wyomingites should take a look at the Wyoming Department of Health’s Epidemiology Unit COVID-19 page. Good info and guidance there. 

Prayers in the dairy section

Praying in the dairy section

I have nothing against prayer in the grocery store.

Yesterday, as I headed to the dairy case, my legs tired from piloting the cart through the aisles, a woman asked if she could pray for me. My face had revealed the pain, a crease in the eyes, a grim set to my mouth. She picked it up, this gray-haired woman with a kind face. She asked about the cause of the pain. Spinal surgery, I replied, my exercise regime included pushing this cart from produce to bakery to dairy.

She -- her name was Diane -- pressed one hand into my cervical spine, at C-4 and C-5 where metal meets bone. She raised her other hand is supplication and prayed. Short and to the point, a plea to God to heal. I looked at her raised hand, small and slim, so as not to look at other customers who might wonder what was going on among the coffee creamer and almond milk. Diane wrapped the prayer. I expected a Bible tract from her, an invitation to her Jumpin' Jesus church. She just asked how I felt. I said we should give it time, don't you think?

We parted. No change in my pain or stuttering walk.

But there were a few moments when my soul left body and sailed around the store.

March of the Red Caps

A young man in a red cap opens the heavy convention center doors for me, an old guy propelled by two legs and four wheels. I thank the man in the red cap, so polite he is. He nods. I see the writing on his cap: Keep America Great. I shake my head and power through. Keep America Great? Initials KAG, cousin to MAGA. Red Cap is a fool to think that Trump made America great and will continue the greatness. I am a fool to think that Trump can't be reelected to KAG for four more years or maybe more. Once inside, Red Cap struts down the carpeted hallway and is joined by other Red Caps who march to the local GOP Trumpfest. I head to an evening to celebrate the arts in the reddest of red states. The arts can save us, so says this man who moves with difficulty. He believes that a Brahms concerto or a Joy Harjo poem can save us from the Red Caps of the world.

When all else fails, the arts help make sense of the senseless

Every so often, I pick up a book that I can't put down. "The Winter Soldier" by Daniel Mason is one of them. I hadn't heard of it until I came across it on a table of trade paperbacks at our local Barnes & Noble. The title grabbed me as did the cover art of a city that looked like it could be the Vienna of 1914.

The back cover blurb said it was about a Viennese nobleman and doctor who goes off to serve the empire during World War I. He falls in love with a nurse.

That's pretty much all I needed to know: medical personnel in WWI. I just finished a draft of a novel set after the war with medical personnel as main characters. Research! I didn't count on being drawn into a story that wouldn't let me put it down. But that's what happened.

In "The Winter Soldier," Lucius Krzelewski is about what you'd expect from a privileged product of the decaying Austria-Hungary empire. A talented but self-absorbed med student. He works hard to establish credentials that will lead to a cushy practice. He's an understudy to a prominent but old-fashioned professor. He prefers his books over contact with ill humans.

War comes. Lucius takes his time joining the army. He does, finally, and his father wants him to serve in the Austrian cavalry and his mother wants him safely in Vienna.

He joins the medical corps and is sent to a little army hospital tucked into the Carpathian mountains. When he arrives, he finds that he is the only doctor. He has never operated on a living human. He does not know the first thing about trauma medicine, amputation, or anything else. Head nurse Margarete, a nun, has to teach him about battlefield medicine. The nun may or may not be a nun. A soldier who arrives near-death in the midst of winter plays a key role.

That's the set-up. No spoilers here! I started to read it for background on war-time medical practices. But the human drama is what captured me. It's thrilling and worth the read.

The author is a medical doctor and this is his third book. I look forward to reading the others.

I read other books too. During the last four years, I've discovered some fine World War I books. I've read "A Farewell to Arms," "All Quiet on the Western Front," "Johnny Got His Gun." I've read "The Good Soldier Svejk" by Hungarian author Jaroslav Hasek several times. A novel of the absurdity of war and a precursor to "Catch-22." and other darkly humorous novels. "The Daughters of Mars" by Thomas Keneally tells of two Australian sisters who go off to war as nurses. Their trial by fire is the ill-fated Gallipoli invasion. And then they are off to France. Great  novel.

What about women authors? Vera Brittain, another well-to-do Brit, signed up as a nurse. She witnessed lots of bloodshed and lost both her brother and her fiance. She wrote about her experiences in "Testament of Youth."

Another memoir, "Goodbye to All That,"  is by English poet and veteran Robert Graves. And speaking of poets, Siegfried Sassoon and Wilfred Owen wrote some devastating work, antidotes to some of the more celebratory verse from the war's early years.

Monty Python's grandfathers-in-humor found a printing press and published The Wipers Times on the Ypres (Wipers) front. The brass was not fond of their efforts. You can read some of the issues online and see the blokes in action in the film, "The Wipers Times."

There's an amazing amount of war-related work out there. It's even recreated in the Oscar-winning film "1917." After immersing myself on the subject for four years, I understand the era better. However, I'm not willing to forgive humankind for embarking on such a slaughter. That may be the key element of my book. Young people return from war as changed and damaged creatures. Yet, life goes on. Why and how? Can they forgive their elders for sending them off to the killing fields? That may be the most difficult task of all. What if war-making is not a forgivable crime? "Thou shalt not kill" is 10 percent of the Ten Commandments. So is "honor thy father and mother." What if they were the ones who sent you off to kill? Are they as guilty as the politicians for sending you to war? It's the worst kind of betrayal. It seems to be coded in our DNA, this sacrifice of our children for nebulous aims. It continues from generation to generation.

When all else fails, the arts serve to make sense of it.

The subject may be roaches but, if you look closely, you see so much more

My latest piece for Wyofile's Studio Wyoming Review has the header "The subject is roaches," a review of Laramie artist Shelby Shadwell's exhibit at Blue Door Arts in Cheyenne. Pretty good header for an arts review as cockroaches and bugs in general don't come up that often. For good reason -- nobody likes a roach, at least the kind in the animal world (none of the other kind in WYO, at least not legally). I have never seen a roach of any type in WYO. Bugs prefer the hot sweltering climes of the South.

I grew up in the South and have seen hundreds of cockroaches. You turn on the kitchen light at 2 a.m. for a snack, and you hear them skittering back to their hideouts -- you might even catch a quick glimpse of one. You can wake up on a sunny Florida morning and see one staring at you across the pillow. You might be driving along and see one riding shotgun in your rusty 1972 Ford Torino. It's not merely bad housekeeping, although I have been guilty of that. Roaches will inherit the earth. It's not too much to imagine that roaches and their pals in the insect world will be running the show in the year 5020. Of course, we may be living in Kevin Kostner's Waterworld by then. But if I know my roaches, they will find ways to backstroke their way into your giant catamaran or floating fortress or wherever our soggy future relatives live.

Shadwell's show is a small one in a relatively small gallery. The art is big. Blue Door Arts proprietor Terry Kreuzer cracked me up when I asked her how she got a rising star such as Shadwell to show in her gallery in Cheyenne's most famous downtown building that would be deserted if it weren't for the enterprising artists on the ground floor.

"I asked him," she said.

Later, I was puzzled by the fact that the artist has shown rarely in Wyoming. He's been at The Nic in Casper and at the Jackson Art Center. Never in Cheyenne, according to his artist resume. Ironic since I note in my SWR piece that he has received two visual arts fellowships from the Wyoming Arts Council headquartered right here in Capital City. It just shows there are few exhibit spaces for contemporary artists in Cheyenne and Wyoming. You might say that is fitting in a state where artists are more interested in quaking aspen and the Grand Tetons than in abstractions and gigantic roaches. Au contraire, I say. I worked at the Wyoming Arts Council for 25 years and came to know plenty of artists who walk on the wild side in their work. For artists, it makes it tough to survive in an already tough place if there are no places to show your work,

It's not all about artists and galleries. It's never been more important to express yourself. That goes for everybody. Members of the ruling junta, Trump and his cronies, have no aesthetics. Art is just a commodity to them, like a yacht or a 50-room garish Shangri-la on the beach (any roaches at Mar-A-Lago?). It's no accident that Trump wants to review all government architecture, make sure it is "classical" instead of some crazy-quilt modern architecture that doesn't imitate the Parthenon. Trump and his GOP pals are working to defund the arts, humanities, and museums. The creative world is what threatens their destructive impulses. No accident that artists have worked to transform Trump's No Brown People border wall into something artistic. The odds are stacked against them as they are up against the monoliths of power and money. But you gotta try.

Their daily assault on our democracy is also an assault on our senses. It's important to create to counter that. It doesn't have to be a direct blast at No-Nothingness. The creative act itself is a blow against negativity.

Go make something. And vote. Get involved. Participate in your community. Be kind. And get out and view some art. It might inspire you to do all of these other life-affirming acts.

Can't wait to see how this book ends

I am coming to the end of a first draft of a novel set in 1919 Denver. I wasn't around then so I've done a lot of research to get a feel for the time and place. I know the Denver of the 1950s and '60 when I spent my childhood in various Denver south side neighborhoods. I know Denver from 1978-88 when I lived and worked there as a young man. My soon-to-be wife and I lived in apartments in Aurora, SE Denver near Evans and Monaco, and City Park South. We rented a house in Cherry Creek North (before the first wave of 1980s gentrification) and bought a house in Platt Park where I walked to my job at Gates Rubber Company.

None of this really matters when writing a book set two generations earlier. Nobody alive in 1919 could envision the Denver of 2019 unless he or she is 100-plus and in possession of their faculties.  My Uncle Bill was in his 90s when he passed. He was born in Denver in 1924 and told some great stories of the city in its pre-WWII days and after. Most were true, I suspect. My parents told good stories of their youth and young married life.

World War I was my grandparents' war. Each generation gets to have one (or several). My grandfather Shay was a cavalry officer with the Iowa National Guard. He served on the Mexican border with Pershing and later followed the general to France. He didn't know my grandmother then but she served as an army nurse in various base hospitals near the front. My sister Eileen unearthed her war diary and transformed it into a family book project. While trying to put some context to Grandma's story, I developed a fascination with the teens and twenties of the last century. Not only the war and flu pandemic but what came after. Prohibition. Women's suffrage. Labor unrest. The First Red Scare (Bolsheviks!). The rise of the KKK. The heyday of U.S. railroads. Automobiles taking over the streets. Passenger travel in aeroplanes and zeppelins The tens of millions of deaths by war and disease gave everyone an acute sense of mortality. They also seemed to put Americans in motion. Unmoored from farms and small towns, they left to find work in cities as industry boomed. Cities were where the action was.

All four of my grandparents arrived in Colorado in 1919. A farm boy from Iowa, a nurse from Baltimore, a farm girl and small town postmistress from Ohio, and an Irish immigrant from Chicago. They were all in their twenties. In my book, I decided to place four young people in Denver in 1919 and see what happened. That was 450 pages ago. I have changed the storyline several times as my characters come alive and muscle me out of the way. This is what writers hope for and what all writers dread, especially those who outline their books. There's a good reason for outlining. If you have a multi-book contract, it keeps you on track. You may have a story in mind but are uneasy about its end. For some, that structure makes sense.

For me, I like to get the story started and see where it goes from there. I have no book contract although will entertain offers. It's exciting not to know where the story is going. Thing is, I have written my final chapter three times when it looked as if I knew where it was headed. It's chapter 38. I'm not writing chapter 36 and 37 to link things up. I may revise the final chapter again. I like the art of revision. It's a puzzle.

That's enough about the book. The old belief among writers is that it's bad luck to discuss a book while writing it. The fear is that you'll get tired of talking about it, that it will lose some of the magic that goes with making up a story. As for my book, all you know is that it's a novel featuring four or more characters who all end up in Denver in 1919. My hope is that you will buy the published book just to find out what happens.

Stay tuned...

Here's to all the decent people

What makes me most angry about Donald Trump as president of the U.S.A.?

All of the kind and decent people who live in my country. They deserve better. We deserve better.

I remember Dr. Kobayashi of Denver who made house calls and rescued me from extreme pain when I was 8 years old. Dr. K served his country, the one that locked him an internment camp at war's outbreak, and became a doctor in a city that wouldn't lease a space to him and his Nisei partners outside of The Red Line.

The group of young LDS members who picked up my girlfriend and I from the side of the highway along the Bonneville Salt Flats in 1972. The two drunk gamblers who gave us a ride in their Cadillac from Elko had been busted by the cops and we were left to fend for ourselves. The teens took us to SLC, bought us dinner, and did some mild proselytizing but I didn't mind.

My mother and father who voted Republican who now rest side-by-side in a Florida cemetery. They would have been shocked by Trump's behavior and by the curse words I use to describe him most of the time (sorry, Mom).

My friends I surfed with at Hartford Approach in Daytona Beach during my high school years. They weren't all angels but would lend a hand when you wiped out and your board surfed alone to shore. This was the 1960s, the big board days before leashes.

My Never Trumper sister who drove 650 miles round trip this weekend to help my Always Trumper brother celebrate his 60th birthday.

The retired African-American preacher who I mentored at a tutoring class run by a nun. He was learning how to read after decades pretending to read scripture from a Bible which he memorized as a youngster in church. He came to the class after his little granddaughter called him out when he couldn't read her a bedtime story.

My college calculus professor who tutored me for hours in a lost cause.

The Latino marine who saw me, recovering from surgery, struggling with a full grocery cart and loaded them in my car and assisted me to my seat. He's a fellow YMCA member who, for reasons known only to himself, always salutes me in the gym. I should have been saluting him this whole time.

The nuns at Mercy Hospital who got me to the nunnery so I could watch my favorite Saturday morning shows ("Mighty Mouse," "Sky King," "Fury"). No TVs in hospital wards in the 1950s.

There are scores of others. Small kindnesses and huge ones. You have your own stories -- feel free to share them here. I urge you, in their names and millions like them, to get to the polls on election day and vote out the narcissistic blowhard who occupies the White House. All of his acolytes, too.

A dry spell comes into the life of every blogger

It's been more than a month since I posted here. I guess I could say that I'm in the midst of a dry spell. That wouldn't be accurate. I've written some blog posts on healthcare and politics that bored me so much I couldn't finish. So, I turned my attention elsewhere. wrote five feature articles for Artscapes Magazine. I started a piece for Studio Wyoming Review on Wyofile. I revamped the last section of my historical novel and almost finished it. I discovered halfway through the last section that the narrative didn't make sense in its present form. Maybe I should have waited until I actually finished because finishing is the goal. But no -- I had to be different. I do have most of a final chapter, my third attempt. I have read about other authors who begin the book and write the final chapter so they know where they're going. Those are the same writers who outline the book before they write. They're called plotters.

Writers like me are called pantsers because we write "by the seat of their pants," making up the story as we go along. I believe I'm in that group due to my early training in daily and weekly newspapers. Sports reporting, especially, makes writers write down what they know because there is 20 minutes to deadline. It's a handy way to learn writing as you always have the score to fall back on. "Cheyenne Central shellacked Cheyenne South Friday night 52-0 to cinch its record at 10-1 and win a trip to the high school boys' football regional playoffs." All the 5Ws are in there. I used fun action verbs -- shellacked and cinch -- that aren't usually seen elsewhere in daily news writing except in election season. That lede gives you a gateway into the rest of the story that you will keep writing until time is up. Often the ending can trail off into noweheresville as you throw in stats or add a lame quote from the winning coach or quarterback. You're finished. On to the next game!

Ledes aren't always easy to come by in feature writing. You're lucky if some attention-grabbing quote or fact can be fished out of your notes. You really have to dig sometimes, depending on the pizazz of the interviewee. In fiction, I usually start with an image. In my novel, I wanted to put my two main characters on a train together. Nothing too exciting about a passenger rail car in 1919 Colorado, although there are train fans out there who might disagree. My characters, however, are so different that they clash in interesting ways that might (you never know) lead to romance somewhere in the middle of the book. It works for me. No telling if it will grab the interest of editors.

I began writing this because writing is something I am invested in. Not so politics and healthcare. I love to read and talk about those topics. Debate them, too, as long as its a two-sided contest. But tackling these topics rally requires some research. The Internet is key to that. I know which sources to turn to for facts and which to turn to for snark. I like both, so sometimes I turn to opinion pieces in newspapers such as the New York Times, Washington Post, and the Miami Herald. Carl Hiaasen of the Herald is the best columnist in the USA. I also look to conservatives mouthpieces such as the Wall Street Journal, Forbes, and others. For liberal snark, you can't beat Wonkette. I often wonder where Hunter S. Thompson would have plied his trade on the WWW. The Trump Era was made for him.

In conclusion, let me state that I needed to write and post something that interests me so I can move on to the next things. Finishing the novel. Watching the NFL conference finals. Eating lunch.

See you in the funny papers.

Profiles in courage: The men and women who fought for civil rights

"Did you say that President Trump wrote a book?"

The questions came from a middle-aged African-American staffer in the Martin Luther King, Jr., room at the National Center for Civil and Human Rights in Atlanta. I had just turned away from the replica of MLK's library that lines the wall to the gallery. My collegian nephew Morgan, pushing me in a wheelchair, had spotted a book by Nixon on the library shelves. "Nixon wrote a book?" he asked.

I told him that all presidential candidates write books. They're campaign tools, a chance to outline their philosophy and goals should they rise to the highest office in the land. I pointed out a paperback copy of JFK's 1956 "Profiles in Courage." I had devoured that book in the months leading up to President Kennedy's election. I was a voracious reader at 9.

"Trump wrote a book," I replied to the question from the museum staffer."They don't always write them. Some use  ghost writers." It was an attempt to explain the inexplicable.

She seemed bemused by the concept. I was too. Trump's book, "Crippled America: How to Make America Great Again," was published in November of 2015, a year before the election that changed America for the worse. A glowering Trump adorns the cover, reflecting the ugliness that waits inside. He looks like your angry old neighbor, the same kind of person who flocks to Trump's white-power rallies.

"They just threw 200,000 people off the food stamp rolls," the staffer said as Morgan, my sister Mary and I exited.

"Can we be any more cruel?" I replied.

The answer, of course, is yes they can be more cruel. Trumpists demonstrate this every day.

We were in a museum that remembered some of the cruelest chapters in American history. The South's Jim Crow laws, lynchings, murders, sundowner ordinances, miscegenation statutes, segregation.

The exhibits remembered those outrages. And also celebrated the response of outraged Americans involved in the Civil Rights struggle. You know some of the names. Those mostly unknown faces look out from the exhibits. Freedom Riders, college students who came from all over to register black voters, priests, ministers, and rabbis who left their flocks to administer to the dispossessed and disenfranchised in the rural South. There are the murdered and the martyred. Four little girls killed when the KKK bombed a black Birmingham church. Emmett Till, tortured and killed in 1955 by redneck vigilantes for allegedly whistling at a white woman. Medgar Evers, the World War II veteran who challenged segregation at the University of Mississippi and was shot down in 1963 by a member of the White Citizens' Council.

Millions now know the names and faces of these brave people who challenged the  status quo.

The most frightening exhibit recreates the sit-ins at the Greensboro, N.C., Woolworth's. You sit on a lunch counter stool, place earphones over your head, and hands flat on the counter. For the next few minutes, you experience what those black college students went through in the name of equality. Name-calling, threats, slaps upside the head. The lunch counter stool vibrates with the kicks from racists in their jackboots. I was shaken when I stepped down. I've heard the same invective coming from 21st century racists.

On the way to the gift shop, we passed a large mural by Paula Scher that features protest posters from around the world. I really liked it so bought a few items in the shop that celebrates that work of art. Christmas is coming, after all. And I want to always remember this place. I also urge everyone I know to visit it.

Welcome to the Poetry Hotel

Write short, said all the experts. Be concise. 

I first heard this advice as a student reporter for my university paper. Give me 500 words. Give me 750. Later, when I covered high school sports for a big city daily, I sometimes had to rush back to the office and knock out a piece in 15 minutes or file by phone or via the Jurassic fax machines of the 1970s. Keep it short. And for God's sake, get the score right. 

Naturally, I went on to write a novel and a passel of short stories which weren't very short. It was nice to have all those words to work with. A well-crafted short story can still be a challenge. You have to limit the number of characters and set the story in a few scenes. Still, a 5,000-word story gives you some room to breathe.

I've reached 106,000 words in 424 pages on the historical novel I'm writing now. I am not finished with the draft. Not sure what the final count will be before I query publishers. Much revising to do.

My latest published works are much shorter. They're prose poems featured in YU News Poetry Hotel, Paul Fericano prop. Five pieces. The longest is "Flying Nurse," which comes in at 340 words. The shortest is "Welcome to Zan Xlemente, Zalifornia" with 182 words. Each tells a story and might be labelled flash fiction if they were on another site. I don't see how it makes much difference if people read and enjoy them. Maybe not enjoy so much as make you think about worlds not your own. Read them at https://www.yunews.com/mike-shay-poetry-hotel.

A writer uses different techniques with each form. A novel requires expansion while a short-short involves winnowing. If a traditional short story is a slice of life, a short-short is a slice of a slice. Some of mine start life as a short piece and stays that way as I've said what I wanted to say. "Zan Xlemente" is an example. Some, however, start life as longer pieces that I take the scalpel to. "The Future of Surfing in Wyoming" started  as a multi-part story, "The History of Surfing in Wyoming." In it, I imagined the surf scene 1,000 years from now if global warming does its worst. I added rewritten versions of surf songs and turned it into a performance piece I presented at readings in Casper and Sheridan. It wasn't easy to transform a 4,000-word piece into one with a mere 252 words. Check it out on the Poetry Hotel site and see what you think. I'm in Room 66.

It's not always a beautiful day in the neighborhood

Chris, Annie and I saw "A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood" on Thanksgiving Day. Walking down the corridor to the theatre, I was almost trampled by a rampaging mob of tykes on their way to see "Frozen 2." We have neither tykes nor grandtykes as excuses to see animated films. You could call them movies for children's but I like the term family films. Disney and Pixar know that the under-10 crowd needs parental accompaniment. The filmmakers throw in enough inside adult jokes and jibes to keep us interested. A good thing because these films will be watched dozens of times at home. Our daughter Annie saw "Charlotte's Web" at least a hundred times.

I knew that "Neighborhood" was a feel-good movie because Mr. Rogers was a feel-good guy. So is Tom Hanks. My younger self might not have gone to this movie. If I did, I would crack wise about it on the way home. I could never resist. When visiting from college, I gave my sisters grief for watching "Little House on the Prairie" or "Mr. Rogers." I thought I was funny. I always thought I was funny. In my youth, I teased family members and friends. I outgrew it, thankfully. Being a wise-ass has its uses. But it's not conducive to forming relationships, That takes vulnerability and humility. You know, Mr. Rogers' traits.

That's what hit me as I watched Tom Hanks as Fred Rogers. He was a humble soul, a friendly man who sought out people like Lloyd, the acerbic Esquire journalist assigned to do a short profile on the children's TV star. Lloyd was a broken man, hobbled by his hatred of the father who abandoned his family. He is struggling to be a partner to his wife and father to his baby. When his father reappears, he is so pissed that he punches Dad at his sister's wedding. When his father is hospitalized with a heart attack, he refuses to see him, opting instead to go to work. Mr. Rogers helps him to heal by being himself and asking the right questions. I  won't say what happens next as I don't want to spoil it.

I left the theatre with a warm feeling. Chris liked the film but Annie did not. She grew up with Mr. Rogers and liked him. But the movie didn't have enough oomph for her. She is a Millennial who avoids network TV and spends her Roku-fueled spare time with life looking for horror films, oddball YouTube videos, and funky indie films. She is kind and creative but impatient. We enjoy a lively banter and has picked up wiseassery from me. My son Kevin has a quick wit, too. He has always had a sensitive soul and I hope that remains. We don't see him much as he lives 900 miles away. I want my kids to be good people. Bad people seem to be on the ascendancy, at least in the public sphere.

I would love to be Christ-like in my behavior toward others. My writing style sometimes allows that, as does my daily behavior. I crave Mr. Rogers' understanding nature. I've long admired Elwood P. Doud, the rabbit-conjuring soul in "Harvey." I would wander the town introducing my pooka Harvey to strangers. I would hand them my card and ask them if I could buy them a drink. I would hope that people tolerated my quirky nature and and invisible companion. Unfortunately, those who wander from acceptable social behavior tend to be discounted even vilified. Americans, bless their hearts, like to believe they tolerate the eccentric among us.

I know a man who's a fixture in our downtown. He has a mental illness and works full time. He tells jokes when he shows up at events. He writes poetry as he hangs out at a local coffee house. On one chilly fall evening. he spotted me pushing my walker along a downtown sidewalk. I saw him scribbling on a sheet of paper as he made his way to me across the street. Before I could even greet him, he handed me the paper. On it were "get well soon" wishes. It was nice and I thanked him. I wish I would have told him it was the best card I had ever received. It was the best because it was the nicest gesture. I could see Mr. Rogers doing this. I could also imagine good wishes from Mr. Doud. He, of course, would have invited me into the Paramount Ballroom for a warm drink on a cold night.
And I would have accepted.

Are those radishes growing out of your ears?

Last weekend, I had radish seeds in my ears.

It had nothing to do with hygiene or gardening. Instead, it's an extension of my acupuncture treatments.

My acupuncturist Savannah conducted a standard treatment Friday and then asked if I wanted to extend it over the weekend. No needles, she promised, but plenty of radish seeds. They are attached to tiny sticky pads. She put four of them on each ear. She said they have the same effect as the needles. I can gently massage them a few times each day to duplicate acupuncture. Thus far, I can't tell if they make a difference. Acupuncture itself is working, though, which is a pleasant surprise. 

I used to group all alternative medical treatments into the New Age Netherworld of crystals, aromatherapy, chanting. I always put my health care into the hands of the medical establishment. Its members had done a pretty good getting me to 68. I think of antibiotics, which may have saved my life multiple times in childhood. Those inoculations against smallpox, measles and polio. All the miracle drugs of the post-war period that kept a generation alive into obnoxious old age. Our children and grandchildren, too, whom we rely on to explain tech to us.

Minds can change.

I fell in the spring of 2018. A stupid fall, but aren't they all? Four days later, I had terrible back pain. A few days later, I experienced some trouble walking. First I needed a cane and soon after, I was using a walker. A month later, I underwent spinal surgery.

My problems were just beginning. Recovering from spinal surgery takes a long time. Sixteen months, so far. I recovered the feeling in my hands and right leg within a few months. The left leg was a problem. My balance was off and the nerves in my ankle and foot didn't respond to two rounds of physical therapy. I had hoped I could retire my walker by the beginning of this summer but that didn't happen. The bottom of my feet were numb and my toes, traumatized, so said my podiatrist. My bowels and bladder misbehaved and I developed a prostate infection. A urologist conducted some tests and prescribed some antibiotics and prostate pills. I found a new neurologist. She conducted some tests and diagnosed me with neuropathy. She did some blood tests and said she had no idea why I had neuropathy but it could be an outcome to my spinal surgery. She suggested I return to physical therapy, work out in the YMCA pool, and wear compression socks. She suggested that I change my diet and take food supplements with nerve-energizing properties.

I did all those things and still have trouble getting around. I decided to try something new. I contacted acupuncturists in Cheyenne and none of them accepted my private insurance. And forget about Medicare -- acupuncture not covered. I found a clinic in Fort Collins that does take CIGNA. I am five treatments in, and I'm beginning to make progress.

Which brings me back to the radish seeds. I haven't noticed much difference in my gait. But it's no worse. Next week, if the weather allows. I return to Fort Collins for more acupuncture and possibly an earseeds' recharge.

After 16 months letting traditional medicine have its way with me, I am open to all new venues. A writer friend in Louisiana said he was attended to by a witch doctor during a recent injury. He said her treatments helped. He also gave me her email. It's been tempting to contact her. I know up front that witch doctoring is not covered by Medicare. CIGNA, or other traditional health plans.

But who knows?

My eyes (and ears) have been opened to alternatives.

"OK Boomer!" is a good retort. A better one might be "Go, Boomer, Go!"

OK Boomer!

It's a thing now, a quick retort by members of a younger generation when a Baby Boomer rambles on about the good ol' days and why youngsters are causing the USA to go to hell in a handbasket.

First question from a Millennial: What's a handbasket?

Baby Boomer: A basket carried by hand.

Millennial: We don't believe in hell.

Boomer: The hell you say.

We're always talking around one another. That may be the case until every last Boomer goes to his/her/its heavenly reward.

Millennial: We don't believe in heaven.

OK Millennial, what I'm actually pointing out is that the Baby Boomer Death Clock at Incendar shows that a Boomer dies every 18.2 seconds and that already today (as of 11:47 a.m. MST), 4,746 Boomers have died. As of right now, 64,914,430 Boomer are "still alive" and 20,443,571 are "dead." Percentage-wise, this is 23.9503896% of available Boomers. In the world of demographics, this is known as "cohort replacement."

A better Millennial chant might be: Go, Boomer, Go!

Meanwhile, we waste precious time in clashes with each other instead of concentrating on the real threat which, of course, is Donald Trump and Trumpism. We can find common ground here. I am a Boomer Liberal and many Millennials are liberal, much more liberal than their parents and grandparents. This is especially true if you are an urban dweller. Wyoming is much more rural than urban which partly explains Trump's continuing popularity. I live in the state's largest city, Cheyenne. But even here, I am an anomaly. Cheyenne is located on the cusp of blue-state Colorado, but it is almost as conservative as the rest of the state. County Democrats were devastated in the 2016 legislative races. MAGA hats are not everywhere but there are enough of them to make a Liberal pause before launching an anti-Trump tirade in public. Being a blowhard is a Trump thing. But liberals can be obnoxious, too. When I was part of a Democrat/Republican panel interviewed on radio the night of Obama's 2008 win, the radio host said the worst thing about Obama's election was having to listen to remarks from his liberal friends for the next four years. Eight years, as it turned out.

And then came Trump. His diehard fans haven't STFU since.

OK Millennials, listen up. I won't give advice to, or cast aspersions on, your generation if you do just one thing: get out and vote in 2020. If Millennials registered and voted for the Democrat a year from now, Trump would be history. I realize that I am an elder giving advice, and that it's appropriate to roll your eyes and then say "OK Boomer." I can handle that. What I can't handle is another four years of Trump.

Can you?

Democrats hold Chili Cook-off Fundraiser Nov. 14 in Cheyenne

When I tell people that I make a killer no-sodium-added red chili, they are dubious. To compare, your average canned chili on grocery stores shelves packs a thousand kilotons of sodium, maybe more. And I've eaten my share, no doubt contributing to my 2013 widow-maker heart attack. Most recipes don't skip on the salt. So I took it as a challenge to make good-tasting chili sans salt. That means salt such as that found in nature and that found in cans of beans, chopped tomatoes, tomato paste, etc. If I was a more dedicated cook, I would use fresh ingredients. Soak the beans overnight (without salt). Use my own tomatoes, onions and peppers. Butcher my own meat.

But I'm not. When you think about it, it's easier today to be a lazy cook that ever before. My local Albertson's stocks salt-free cans of nearly everything. Low-sodium foods, too, such as Amy's Kitchen soups and some Progresso offerings that for some unknown reason are always on the bottom shelf. The Salt Lobby -- handmaiden to the Illuminati!

I use fresh herbs and a variety of spices to exorcise the blandness of the saltless. People like it. So I'm making a batch of it for the Nov. 14 events explained below. At past events, cooks have brought in vegetarian, vegan, beef, chicken, turkey, and varieties of green chili. While I have not followed this path, a few cooks add fire to their recipes causing watery eyes and much munching of chips, tortillas and cornbread. Not for the weak-hearted! And neither is being a Democrat in the reddest state in the union.

Read on...

Democrats hold Nov. 14 Chili Cook-off fundraiser at IBEW Hall

The Laramie County Democratic Grassroots Coalition invites you to a Chili Cook-off Fundraiser on Thursday, Nov. 14, 6-8 p.m. at the IBEW Local 415 Hall, 810 Fremont Ave., Cheyenne. Tickets are $15.

Attendees may enter their homemade food items in three categories: chili, salsa, and dessert. You can enter one, two or all three categories. Vote tickets will be available at the door for $1 or six for $5. Framed certificates will be awarded to the winners. People can also bring other side dishes.

The LCDGC planning committee will provide all the condiments for the chili, homemade cornbread, and beverages including iced tea, lemonade and coffee.

LCDGC will raffle a bottle of Maker’s Mark Whiskey. Tickets will be $5, 5 for $20. Must be 21 to win. There also will be a 50/50 raffle.

The night’s speakers include Ben Rowland, president of the Laramie County Democrats, and Rep. Sara Burlingame. There will be time for any Democrat who has announced a 2020 campaign.

All proceeds from the night’s event go to Democratic Party candidates running in the 2020 election.

For more information, contact Michael Shay, 307-241-2903, or go to laramiecountydemocrats.org