Now what?

With all the pandemic news flying around, I bet this little nugget slipped under your radar:

According to Space.com (and other sources) a "giant potentially hazardous asteroid will fly safely by Earth in April."

Huh? Whut?

The asteroid, known affectionately as Asteroid (52768) 1998 OR2, will approach within 3.9 million miles of Earth before moving on with its orbit (yes, it will be back). It's been measured to be about a mile wide and two miles long, traveling at about 20,000 miles per hour, and it will be making it's closest approach to Earth on April 29 at 5:56 a.m. – or about the time you're headed to work, if you happen to be essential. (See here)

The good news is that despite its size, speed and orbit, it is not – repeat, it is not – on a collision course with Earth. Even so, I'm still trying to justify "potentially hazardous" with "fly safely by" in the same breath. I guess "potentially" is the key word here.

It turns out the flying rock has been classified "potentially hazardous" by the Center for Near Earth Objects (yes, there is such a thing) because it meets its guidelines of a deep-space object coming within 19 lunar distances from Earth. A lunar distance is how far the moon is from the Earth (about 260,000 miles). OR2 will come within 16 lunar distances. You might feel the breeze as it hurtles by.

And in case you miss it (or if it misses us), OR2 will be back in 2079, coming within a hair-raising million miles of Earth (or a chilling four lunar distances). The fact is, OR2's orbit has been charted for the next 200 years. So there.

Is Asteroid OR2 wearing a face mask? Looks more like a bra.

 But apparently you can't relax. Wikipedia tells us there are 22 Potentially Hazardous Asteroids out there, just biding their time, taking up space. None is calculated to be on a collision course with our hopes and dreams any time soon.

The current global COVID-19 pandemic also is a factor here. Snopes.com, a fact-checking Internet site, has had to quell a Facebook rumor or two that the pandemic actually was created by conspiracy-minded deep staters as a distraction from the fears of an impending extinction collision.

Fighting panic with panic, I guess.

And there's actually a digital image of OR2, apparently in profile, showing slipstream flares, that has been interpreted by some as the asteroid is wearing a face mask. I'm not even going there with that one. Paranoia strikes hard.

And, besides, is there a slipstream in the vacuum of space? That's beyond my pay grade.

In the meantime, wear your face mask. And wash your hands.

Quality quarantine

Kim and I went for a walk last evening, as we have usually done during the stay-in-place mandate as we endure the COVID-19 pandemic.

It's a way for us to get some exercise, to get out in the fresh air, to enjoy quality time together, to break our cabin fever, even though we walk less than two miles and less than 45 minutes. Sometimes we only do a mile or so and maybe it takes 20 minutes. Depends. Our walks usually take us down Main Street, but it also incorporates two significant hills: Post Office Hill on Second Street (which I named for the Post Office) and Judy Hill, on Payne Street (which I named for a friend of ours who lives near there).

Those hills don't look like much when you drive them in a car. But when you actually walk them, they become cardio events.

Anyway, the point I'm getting to is that I've noticed the world – even our small two-mile portion of it  – seems to have gotten, umm, friendlier?

People, some complete strangers, wave or talk to us from their porches. People, some complete strangers, wave to us from their cars. People, some complete strangers, say "hi" to us when we pass them on the sidewalk. This is unusual stuff. I'm pretty sure this didn't used to happen back in the good ol' days when we had to dodge cars, bicycles or skateboards that were trying to beat pedestrians to an intersection.

I know I'm not imagining this because Kim has commented on it, too. "People seem to be friendlier," she said, confirming my suspicions.

I'm not sure how a pandemic figures into this new etiquette, especially when nearly 40,000 Americans have died in the past six weeks as a result of the coronavirus. And maybe that's it. Maybe we see more clearly that our time is measured. Or maybe social distancing – keeping people away from us – is actually bringing us closer. I don't know. Call it pandemic perspective.

One thing that's amazed me is how quickly the planet seems to be healing itself of pollution. Before-and-now comparison shots of Los Angeles or New York are revealing. City dwellers are saying the air quality has improved so much, they can tell the difference while breathing clean air through their face masks. People in India can see the Himalayan mountaintops from more than 100 miles away for the first time in 30 years. If anyone needed empirical evidence that climate change is, at least in part, man-made, then this might be it.

The question remains, once the pandemic is gone, do we revert back to our pre-pandemic ways? I suspect so, human nature being what it is. But I hope when we see an open door ahead of us offering new opportunities for social justice, economic reform and planetary stewardship that we're wise enough to walk through it. We'll see.

 •   •   •

Just a comment about the One World concert last night honoring healthcare workers.

I thought Paul McCartney (age 77) and Elton John (73) sounded like the old men they are as they performed in unenhanced musical environments (this is just an observation. I can never be critical of Paul McCartney).

Conversely, Mick Jagger (76), Keith Richards (76), Ronnie Wood (72) and Charlie Watts (78) sounded like they missed the time machine altogether while singing "You Can't Always Get What You Want."

I thought Stevie Wonder's (69) performance of "Lean on Me" was strong, too.

And Keith Urban's three-part harmony with himself singing "Higher Love" (although probably counter to the "live" aspect of the evening) was pretty impressive.

It all went well with my wine.

Day 623

It's getting a little weird now.

I feel like we're deep into the COVID-19 quarantine, even though "stay in place" has been, what, three weeks? Maybe four?

See? I can't even tell you. It seems like it's been years. Every day has blended into the same day (Groundhog Day?), unless you happen to be deemed essential, in which case you go to work looking over your shoulder wondering if that's the virus that's shadowing you instead of your child.

If you still go to your work station, I'm going to guess that you know what day it is. I'm not sure about working remotely. You're home, but you're conducting business, so there might be a sense of normalcy for you – except for the fact that you're working from home. That's not normal.

But for a guy like me, the routine that marks the time has become too much routine and, consequently, time is passing, not marking. I have to think what day of the week it is. I mean, there's no church. There's no school. For many of us, there's no work.

So we putter around in the garden. Go for a walk. Make the occasional run to the grocery store or pharmacy, wearing a face mask to hide our faces. Our faces are our individualizing trademarks, and now we cover them up. We talk to our neighbors from across the street. We're social animals who can not be social.

And it's every day. Evvvv-errrr-reee day.

But we cope.

My room-rater backdrop

 I'm kind of getting a kick out of watching live TV shows where most guests are shown speaking remotely from their homes instead of from the broadcast studio. Inevitably, it seems, the remote guests are sitting in their home library, in front of book shelves. I find myself cocking my head sideways to read the titles of the books behind them. Sometimes, I find, we've read the same books.

So, to give you a sense of perspective and, hopefully, a little humanity as you read this blog, I used my book shelf as a comforting backdrop as I write to you.

I actually have read all of those books behind me. They're books about the Civil War, a field of history in which I have an interest. I have more than 100 of them, and some of those books I've read more than once.

And now, in quarantine, I'm reading some of those books again.

Man, I miss going to the library.

I think I understand now why prisoners marked each day of their incarceration with daily slashes on the walls of their jail cell. I understand the desperation of that.

One thing I've noticed on Facebook is some of my favorite musical performers are live streaming from their homes. The technology to do this is amazing, and I'm grateful for it, but again, the musicians are performing at home. If they are in a band, they are now soloing. And while familiar songs can be comforting, distinctive harmonies are missing.

But we do the best we can.

These are weird times. Wash your hands. Stay safe.

Pandemic paranoia

My paranoia has reached epic (or epidemic) proportions.

I saw this musing on Facebook the other day, which made me feel like I wasn't alone: Every time you cough or sneeze, does the thought suddenly flash through your mind: "Oh my God! Do I have it?" (The 'it,' of course, being COVID-19).

Apparently, I'm not the only one who feels this way. It's kind of ironic how in this time of quarantines and lock downs meant for the sole purpose of isolation that you can feel so much a part of a community. Alone together.

My paranoia (I'm thinking this is a kind of paranoia that even psychiatrists might approve) reached the point where I learned how to make my own cloth face mask out of a bandana and elastic hair ties. It was easy peasy. The one I made for Kim kept slipping off her left ear, so I connected the elastic ties with a chain of paper clips, and that seemed to work.

The cloth face mask likely will not prevent you from getting COVID-19, but it might help prevent you from contaminating someone else with sneezes and coughs, which seems to be the whole point.

All of which leads to other musings.

A month ago, we were told face masks for non-essential healthcare personnel were unnecessary. Now the Center for Disease Control has reversed itself, recommending each time you go in public to wear a cloth face mask. I guess this has become a learning experience for everyone, including the CDC.

These are confusing times.

But the fact that we have to make our own cloth masks, months into the pandemic, living in the richest nation in the world, is perplexing. Why can I not get an N95 mask for myself without competing with the healthcare community? Where's my Lysol? Where's my Purell? Good Lord, where the hell is my toilet paper?

And if these things are being mass produced 24/7, then where did they get lost in the supply train? Why are grocery store shelves still empty of these things?

Why must states bid against each other for ventilators and personal protective equipment (PPE), driving up prices in the middle of a pandemic? Who's profiteering off that policy? A 70-cent face mask is now $7. A $20,000 ventilator is now $50,000, and rising.

No wonder I'm paranoid. Things I need are not readily available.

I'm getting myself worked up. I need to stay calm and watch another old movie on TCM.

Wash your hands. Practice social distance. Right now, it appears those are the only things we've got in supply.

Get on with it

With the Covid-19 pandemic seemingly spreading as rapidly as a California wildfire, I find some of the measures to slow, or mitigate, the virus' damage to be somewhat perplexing.

The other day, I ventured to a local small specialty business, only to find the door locked to customers even though the building was staffed. I knocked on the door and an employee answered, asking how he could help. But he told me what I wanted was out of stock and likely would not be filled anytime soon.

I understood completely. I liked that the business was trying to protect itself and its customers. Good job.

Moments later, I was in a grocery store. It was open to all and, indeed, there might have been 30-40 or so customers inside, doing their best to keep a physical distance from each other.

In this case, I salute paranoia.

But I'm still trying to reconcile how one business attempts measures to contain the virus with restrictions while another business just minutes down the road functions as if we are living in normal conditions.

I don't have an answer.

We are about to live with statewide shelter-in-place mandates, which distinguish between essential and nonessential businesses. The nonessentials will be closed until further notice – some have already – putting their futures in jeopardy.

Grocery shopping seems to be the weakest, most vulnerable link in this chain. We need food. We need to get food. We need to venture out. There's no real choice. I suppose there could be online shopping, where a store employee fills out a shopping list for you. But not everybody has access to a computer, or owns a debit card, and not every store can offer online shopping. Or delivery.

So I guess we do the best we can. I've tried to stay at home as much as possible, but maybe I have to tighten my own restrictions on myself. Not so much to protect me but to protect you.

Wash my hands more. Sanitize more. Lower our risk as best as we can. Flatten that curve. And, in the crap shoot we now find ourselves in, roll the dice and take our chances.

Stir crazy

I don't think I've ever enjoyed weeding my garden as much as I have during these past few days.

I mean, in the midst of the COVID-19 pandemic, where restaurants are offering take-out only, where social distancing puts an unusual arm's length (or more) between you and your closest friends, where once teeming cities – and the entertainment options they once offered – are now ghost towns, and where mostly being shuttered inside is the new normal, weeding the garden is a nice distraction and no longer a chore.

Especially when the sun is out and the temperatures are spring-like, which is a good thing for Spring.

It's good to get outside and breathe the fresh air.

It's an escape.

In my case, I have to take an extra precaution or two. I'm still just a few weeks out from two major surgeries since last September, and lifting 25-pound bags of mulch or weed and feed are not good ideas for me just yet. Fortunately, Kim has stepped in and does the heavy lifting. You should see her biceps.

But mostly, I'm inside. I watch even more television, if that's possible. But now, instead of live sports, I'm watching movies on HBO or TCM. Most of them are obscure. Many, on TCM, are in black and white.

I'm having a hard time watching replays of sports championships. I know who's going to win. It seems kind of pointless.

Sometimes I surf the Internet and try not to get into arguments on Facebook. This is not a time for arguing, I reckon.

All of this is a by-product of cabin fever, I guess.

I usually try and allot myself a couple hours every day to read. I always have. Reading takes my mind to places where other modes of transportation cannot. But even the library is now a take-out service. I can't peruse the shelves of books, which is part of the total library experience for me. I like when a book jumps off the shelf at me and shouts, "Read me. Read me."

The good thing about weeding – which I limit to just an hour or two per day – is that there's so much of it to do. And the weeds keep coming back, so there's stuff to do for, well, perpetuity.

 It's time for coping.

And wash your hands.

A world without sports

My reflexive instincts told me that, on this particular Saturday afternoon in March, to turn on ESPN to catch somebody's – anybody's – college basketball tournament.

I've done that for as long as ESPN has been televising sports. Years. Decades. That's what sports junkies do.

That's all changed with the expanding coronavirus pandemic. Everything requiring a crowd has been canceled. No NBA. No MLB. No NCAA. No NHL. No NASCAR. No MLS. And, soon, no Masters.

We've entered a different kind of March Madness.

When I did turn on ESPN, I got 24-hour coverage of the Ultimate Fighting Championship: sweaty bald guys with beards and tats mostly wearing black boxing shorts and knocking the poop out of each other while using mixed martial arts.

Kinda like hockey without the puck.

But, no thanks. Not for me.

Curiously, my Spectrum guide was telling me this televised coverage was new, which suggested that if it wasn't actually live, it was recently taped and never aired before. And it was originating from Brasilia, Brazil. Odd. Wasn't President Trump recently photographed with a Brazilian presidential aide who ended up testing positive for coronavirus? Hmm.

Anyway, it looks like we're going to have to suck it up for a while. I suspect the MLB network will show endless loops of Field of Dreams and Major League ("The American Express card: Don't steal home without it.") and the Golf Channel endlessly airing Tin Cup and The Legend of Bagger Vance.
But I'm OK with that. Gives me options.

What I'm not getting is the vilification of the media in its pandemic coverage. Everything I know about coronavirus has come through the media. I know to wash my hands frequently with soap and water and to keep measured, social distancing in gathering places. Makes sense.

I have no fear of restaurants, which now might be the cleanest spots on Earth (which raises the question, why weren't they before this? Nobody I know of was disinfecting menus before this outbreak).

I don't see how the media is responsible for the tanking stock market. The stock market is capitalism at work, responding to the events of the day. That pretty much makes the virus a real concern. So is the shutting down of major leagues, collegiate sports and other entertainment options. There's big money out there, and even greedy capitalists don't want to endanger that cash cow, so they correctly err on the side of caution while taking in worst case scenarios. The media, to me, is serving its purpose by disseminating information from health care specialists and government officials. But it's a two-way street. It's up to us how we process that information. A case in point: No media outlet that I know of has suggested hoarding toilet paper for what is essentially a respiratory ailment. Where did that absurd panic come from?

Clever little memes on Facebook suggesting that the best cure for coronavirus is to shut down the media for several weeks smacks of fascism. Shutting down the media is really a way to keep the populace in ignorance.

The media is an easy, non-moving target and always has been. The media is historically a whipping boy for people looking for someone to blame. And yet, can you imagine a free society without a free press?

The pandemic (a designation as declared by the World Health Organization and not the media) will eventually play itself out, deadly enough as it apparently has been, especially for the older population. Maybe we should consider this event a practice run for the next pandemic, which could be even deadlier.

We really are in this all together. We ought to act like it.