Fiends: I’m test-driving a new comment plug-in. Could you give it a go if you have something to say today? Thanks, and sorry for the problems of late…

The first eight went by pretty quickly, filled with lesson planning, house cleaning, dealing with contract negotiations issues, laughing on text and Facebook with family and friends, catching up on some TV shows, playing with Remy, missing my grandsons, watching the daily press conferences by the governor, cooking, and reading. Lots and lots and lots of reading — mostly about COVID-19.

I keep the coronavirus live updates page on CNN running 24/7 on my browser; it’s become somewhat of an obsession. If I see a number next to the tab, I know there’s a new story to read. Unlike some of my friends, I never tire of reading about this crisis. It doesn’t wear me down at all. Rather, with each story, I’m re-energized to keep doing my part, and to encourage others to do theirs (don’t get me started).

FYI — I’m calm, and feeling fine; no symptoms of any kind. I’m confident that so far, I’m dancing out of the way of this thing.

The downside, besides no contact with my sons and grandsons? I can’t ride my new bike. Devin, one of my students (and a 2020 graduating senior for whom I’m heartbroken), came over and put it together for me, for which I’m eternally grateful. Since that day, I’ve just looked at it. I got on it once and tiptoed around the garage floor on it, but it’s been either raining or cold (or raining and cold) almost every day since, so no ridey-ridey. Blah.

You mean you’re not leaving?

Remy and I have had a great time bonding through this. I think he can’t believe I’m actually not walking out the door every morning. His routine has been disrupted, but I’m pretty sure he likes it. It’s worked out well, since my sons aren’t visiting, and sister Mavis (his adored caregiver while I’m at work) is unfortunately laid up in the hospital with pneumonia right now.

Into the great wide open (of the park)

After dinner last night, we ventured to the park for a walk in the windy, 29-degree temps. It felt more like -29, but he loved it. Wore him out and paralyzed my face. I’m not sure what the weather calls for today, but I think we’ll give it another go this afternoon. It’s good for both of us to get out.

I can’t remember a time when I was alone for this long. Isn’t that funny? Even when I’m traveling solo, there’s always company of some kind, on a train or plane, or in a taxi or bus or restaurant. I don’t mind it, but it does highlight the Thriller’s absence in a big way. What I wouldn’t give to be kicking his butt in Scrabble right now (after which he’d kick mine in chess).

I hope you’re all handling things as well as you can, and that everyone in your world is healthy and safe. Let’s try to keep it that way!

Much love.

He cares not what your opinion be. He scoffs at your wrong-headed “it’s just the flu, people!” vociferations. He pooh-poohs your complaints about how this is going to hurt the economy and cause horrible hardships to families.

That’s the way of a soul-crushing epidemic, fiends. It’s a never-ending, relentless assault on everything we take for granted: mobility, choice, certainty, even hope. It’s a wake-up call of the worst order. So…time to wake up. I implore you to consider the following:

1. Getting mad at state governments closing stuff down is pointless and a waste of your energy.  I live in Ohio, where the governor, absent any cogent leadership from Washington, took matters into his own hands and started issuing shutdown orders after consulting with doctors and public health experts. He took no prisoners; thousands of people’s livelihoods were instantly affected — especially those in the service industry. But what do you do when your job is to serve the greater good? You shut it all down, and then address how you’re going to help people survive.
2. It’s cliché, but true: Science doesn’t care what you believe. Our opinions, as our days, are as grass. For many, our faith keeps us going, but science rages on in the lane beside us. And keeps up. Don’t ignore what the CDC says because you think you know better.
3. Fuh cripesake, think of other people. I know people who are continuing to party like it’s 1999, because they’re A) unafraid, B) not at high risk, and C) staying away from old and sick people, so it’s fine. I submit that all three of those reasons are foolish and dangerous. We’ve all seen the infection models and medical projections. Go home and stay home, unless you have to be at work, in which case your employer should be allowing you to take maximum precautions for your own protection, and that of others.

I feel terrible for my seniors at school. We have to come up with an idea whereby prom and graduation can still happen. I just don’t have any ideas myself yet. But I will. That, and I’m surrounded by smart people who will come up with something. In the big scheme of life, rescheduling a prom and a graduation ceremony (and my show, oy…) are small things, but they are very real and loom large to every 17- and 18-year-old I know. My shriveled, black heart hurts for them.

So, while our epidemiological Honey Badger don’t care, I am convinced we can get through this crisis together, all doing our part. I’m starting with the attic today, and working my way down, slowly and without much urgency. What all are you doing on this lovely Tunesday? Anything I should know about?

Chipotle is offering free delivery. Hmmm….might think about that for dinner.

Edit: My comment counter seems to be broken. You’ll need to click on the title of each post, then scroll to the end to read or write a comment. I’m on it…

As I sit here working on Dinner Theatre arrangements and thinking about the last two years, my thoughts, of course, turn to Michael, and all that’s happened since his death on Christmas Eve 2017.

I suppose I’ll think these thoughts for a long time:

• I miss his smart-aleck sense of humor, and how he drove us all crazy with his nonsense on the regular. I miss our talks and bantering, with me telling him he’s so full of crap, it’s a righteous wonder he has blue eyes, after which he’d laugh himself into a coughing fit.
• Sometimes I resent having to make all the decisions myself.
• My sons and sister are wonderful, of course; I don’t know what I’d do without them. But they do have to go home, and and as much as I tell myself — and everyone else — that it’s fine being alone, many times it’s not.
• At times, I feel cheated out of the plans we had for when I retired from teaching: the traveling, the acquisition of more Aussies to love and raise, enjoying our grandchildren, spending time with family, and maybe picking up and moving to an exotic locale someday.
• I still occasionally vacillate between self-pity and anger, albeit with periods of absolute joy and fun with my family, friends, colleagues, and students. I just wish he could be here to share it all.
• I wonder if he can hear me when I talk to him, or if he’s frustrated that he can’t answer me.
• I miss how he loved his own children, and remember fondly how he also loved my two sons — and their sons — like they were his own.
• I will always marvel at how, during the six months between his diagnosis and the end of his life, he never once complained or gave up. There was one incident around Thanksgiving 2017 — and only one that I remember — when I walked into his room to check on him, and found him on the edge of his bed with his head down, struggling to breathe. I sat next to him and asked him what I could do for him, and he whispered, “I don’t know, sweety; I think this might be it.” But that was the only time. He was and remains the strongest person I ever knew.

I think I’m still trying to figure out this “moving on” thing. I’ve tried stuff that definitely didn’t work, and I’ve tried just letting things go and endeavoring to find joy in whatever time is left to me. Not sure I’ll ever master my thoughts during the alone times, when everyone’s gone home. Remy still provides me with snuggles and laughter and companionship; I don’t know what I’d do without him, either. I sometimes wonder if he remembers Michael. I hope he does. I hope many people do; I know I will forever.

There will be joy for me in the holiday season again. There is joy now, actually, as long as I’m busy and doing my thing. I don’t want my family/friends/students to ever think that I don’t enjoy their company and all the crazy things we do together, because I do. It’s probably the singular thing that keeps me on the rails. But it’ll never really be the same, and I guess I don’t want it to be, because it would mean I’ve shut a door. Can’t do that.

I plan to visit him at the military cemetery next week. I hear they’ve put beautiful wreaths on the gravestones. I’ll take a photo.

Meantime, I will enjoy my family at this special time of year. I hope you do, too! Hold everyone close. Tell your spouse and kids you love them.

I’ll also try to write to you more often. I miss it.

Until next time…

There are very few events I’ve experienced whereby my first thought upon leaving was getting in line to buy a ticket again. LOVE by Cirque du Soleil probably ranks #1 on that short list. But I’d have had to recover first. What a visually stunning, musically impressive, sonically amazing, and emotionally draining (for me, at least) production that was. I’ll never forget it.

My view of the right side of the stage

First — the visual component. Everything was blue. Nice choice, and no doubt deliberate. After all, blue is known for covering the basic spectrum of the human condition. According to color psychologists, blue can represent serenity, happiness, peace, and calm, but also loneliness, melancholy, sadness, and inner pain.

The costumes were straight out of an LSD trip. Unbelievably unique and fun. From tricycles pedaled by nothing but a pair of yellow rain boots, to suspended, floating transparent jellyfish that made it difficult to tell there was a human inside, to outrageous circus getups — it was not to be believed.

My view of the left side of the stage

The acrobatics were like nothing I’ve ever seen. They had it all: tumbling, flying on trapezes and bungee cords, jumping up from beneath the hydraulic stage, ballet, and even rollerbladers who totally smashed it on “Help!” I read recently that the average Cirque performer’s salary is $27,000. That’s a crime. What these folks do to their bodies six shows a week is incredible.

Volkswagen got lots of free press; the show featured two full-size Beetles and an old Van. And the lighting effects were second to none. You can see a bit of everything in their updated commercial:

The reenactment of John’s mother Julia getting hit by a car was devastating. Julia was dressed in all red. So much emotion…

And the super swirly, dizzy visual during “Within You Without You” was one of my favorite moments:

The sound — I was perhaps most impressed by this element. First, I know there were speakers behind the headrests of the seats. From the most hushed whisper to chest-vibrating low end, you were immersed in the music, and it in you; an absolute journey in sound.

I enjoyed hearing studio banter that this old Beatles war horse had never heard before. Fascinating! I’m sure some of it was from the newly-discovered Abbey Road tapes. I plan to see the film next year, as painful as it will be.

Most of all, the music was utterly transcendent. And not just the selection of songs (which, I understand, underwent an update, and I loved every choice), but their arrangement. So so SO clever.

The overlapping/medley-izing of Beatles tunes isn’t necessarily a monumental task. A sample (incomplete) breakdown is as follows with regard to how many songs the Beatles recorded in each key:

• G major – 36
• C major – 30
• E major – 29
• A major – 25

That’s easy enough. But the genius behind the actual connecting and threading and overdubbing/overlapping of the songs was absolutely brilliant. Using harmonies from one song over the intro to another; exchanging drum patterns, melding guitar solos…it blew this musician’s mind. And someone had the bright idea to blast the songs through the giant sound system 30 minutes before the show started – but with all vocals removed. Instant karaoke while you wait.

There’s a dozen more paragraphs I could write, but it’s time to shut down and get packed and ready to meet the shuttle to go to the airport. I had a beautiful time in this crazy place, and I’ll remember it forever as my first trip to Vegas without the Thriller.

Now it’s back to reality — getting ready for school to start, complete with Sound of Music rehearsals starting. Oy…

Thanks for coming along on this “Odyssette.” Hugs…