Author: frankisemptiness

May 22nd, 2020

“But who can endure the day of his coming, and who can stand when he appears? For he is like a refiner’s fire and like fullers’ soap. He will sit as a refiner and purifier of silver, and he will purify the sons of Levi and refine them like gold and silver, and they will bring offerings in righteousness to the Lord.” – Malachi 3:2-3

The pandemic is a crucible. Every person on the planet is being refined. Each individual is finding out who they really are, and they are getting a better understanding of everyone else.

It’s not pretty.

I am thinking specifically about how the COVID-19 virus is affecting our personal relationships. In a way, the current situation reminds me of how it felt thirty years ago when HIV and AIDS were ravaging the country. Prior to the onset of the HIV infection, there was a consensus of sorts that a person could have sex with anybody (or anything) and not have dangerous physical consequences. AIDS changed that idea in a hurry. Suddenly, people were aware that an intimate relationship had possibly lethal costs. There were serious risks involved.

COVID-19 has upped the ante. Now, just a handshake could mean illness or death. Each man or woman has to re-evaluate what is the danger to themselves, and what is the danger to the other person, whenever they meet in the flesh. We live in a new world, where every physical encounter requires a roll of the dice.

It helps when scientists and competent government officials can give people guidance on how to deal with the situation. Sadly, we are getting confusing messages. We are learning that there is no such thing as perfect safety. We are discovering that continued separation also has health costs. I know this from painful experience. Now, in an effort to revive the economy, various restrictions are being relaxed. Many rules no longer apply, and those that still exist are not enforced.

The lockdown forced us all to withdraw from a number of interpersonal relationships. We were required to be away from most other people. A couple months of that gave me a sense of what people were really important in my life, and how much I wanted to be with them. I have also got a sense of how important I am to other people. There has been a sorting process, separating casual acquaintances from true friends. Sometimes the depth of a relationship is defined by risking physical contact. Sometimes a real friendship shows itself through the willingness to remain apart. Every human connection is different, and there is often the potential for hurt and misunderstanding.

I wrestle with these relationships, and how to maintain them. Sometimes, the question is not about maintaining a bond with another person. Sometimes, the question is about how to let it all go.

Yesterday I drove across town to talk with a friend of mine from the synagogue. We pulled out a couple chairs and sat in his driveway, basking in some rare sunshine. Could we have spoken with each other using Skype or Zoom, or some other electronic means? Yes, we could have done that, but it wouldn’t have been enough. I am by nature an introvert, but even I need to be near a friend at times. Perhaps our meeting was selfish on my part, but it was good for my mental health. I was told before I left that our talk was also important for my friend, and by extension, for his wife. My friend’s wife told me this. Were there risks ? Yes, of course. The three of us, by mutual agreement, accepted these risks. We kept our separation, and did our best not to exchange germs, but nothing is 100% safe. Nothing.

I want to visit our oldest son in Texas. We talk on the phone nearly every day, and that is a very good thing. I know that sometimes his PTSD from the war gets the best of him. I feel the need to go down to Texas and just sit with him, and listen. I fear for him. Once again, I feel that using electronic means to communicate is not sufficient. My son and I need to connect in a close, human way. I need to look him in the eye when he speaks to me. He needs to physically see me too.

A few people have told me not visit until there a vaccine, or some other guarantee to prevent infection from the virus. I translate that to meaning: “Don’t come. Ever.” Perhaps I am misinterpreting the message. That could very well be. However, I truly believe that COVID-19 is here to stay. It will move around the earth’s population, and mutate. A vaccine that works this year may not work in the next. If a person tells that they don’t want to be close to me until they feel completely safe (and that is absolutely their right to say that), then I have to conclude that I may never see them again. We’re done.

I don’t want to get sick, and do not want to infect anybody else. I wonder how to do that and still retain my humanity.

 

May 16th, 2020

I walked out of the Home Depot yesterday afternoon, carrying some parts for a plumbing repair that I really don’t want to do. Seriously, all I plan on doing is fixing the stopper on a sink in the bathroom but, based on previous experience, I will probably break something important and also get water all over the floor. I will first watch a You Tube video about doing the repair. That will no doubt confuse and depress me.

As I walked across the parking lot of the hardware store, I was accosted by a young man asking for money. This was odd, partly because the Home Depot is in the City of Franklin, which is a relatively affluent area. I have in the past been hit up for money by people in downtown Milwaukee, but never in the suburbs. This was something new.

The man was thin. He had long, lank hair, and he had a mask hanging over his neck. He did not seem to be high or drunk. He just seemed a little lost.

He said, “Can you spare me some cash? My family is living in a motel right now, and need to scrape together some money, so that we can stay there for another night. I lost my job and I don’t know what else to do.”

I reached into my wallet and handed the guy a five.

He kept talking. I found that to be strange. Usually, a panhandler will take the cash and move on. At most the person might mumble a quick, “God bless you, Brother”, or something like that. But this guy wanted to speak to me. So I listened.

He looked at me and said, “I like your beard, man. I grow my hair long, but I got it cut a while ago. How long have you been growing that?”

I told him, “Five years.”

“Wow. Really, That’s cool.”

I asked him, “What’s you name?”

“Derek.”

He went on, “I have been walking through this lot. I don’t like doing this. I have even asked people if I can help them to load up their cars or trucks. I don’t want to beg. It’s hard. People yell at me and call me a loser.”

I asked him, “Who is calling you a loser?”

He replied, “Lots of people! They get mad and say, ‘Get a job, Loser!’. Some of them even throw garbage at me from their cars.”

I looked at him, “Nobody is a loser.”

Derek didn’t hear me. He wasn’t really listening. The man just wanted to tell his story. It was pure flow of consciousness.

I asked stopped him and asked, “How did you lose your job?”

Derek answered, “I was working at this local car dealership. I worked in the parts department. I packaged parts for delivery. I did some detailing too. Then they furloughed some of us. I was supposed to still working part time, but they never called me back.”

He continued, “I put in for unemployment. They let you do that once a week. I haven’t heard nothing back yet. I haven’t got any money yet.”

He was on a roll. “I have a four-year-old boy. He’s with his mom right now. I mean, I don’t know what to do.” If we get thrown out of the motel, where do they go? Where do we go? There is nothing open where a mom and her kid can hang out for a while.”

He told me, “Another gentleman gave me five dollars, but I need more than that. I am willing to give people my information. I’ll show you a picture of my son.”

He held out his smart phone which had a very cracked screen on it.

I shook my head. I sighed.

I pulled out my wallet again, and found another fin. It was all the cash I had. I handed him the bill.

He said, “Thanks. I appreciate it.”

I told him, “Take it a day at a time. It will work out.”

I’m not sure I actually know that it will work out for Derek, but I want to believe it.

I started to walk away.

Derek said, “Thanks again. Have a good day.”

“You too, Derek.”

I am certain that, in the coming months, I will have more conversations like that one.

 

 

 

 

 

 

May 14th, 2020

Yesterday afternoon the Wisconsin Supreme Court struck down the “safer at home” regulations that had been imposed by Governor Evers in April. In a way, the court’s decision doesn’t matter much. The lock down was scheduled to end on May 26th anyway. The state’s highest court made a completely partisan ruling. The Republicans running the Wisconsin legislature filed a lawsuit against the Democratic governor, and our very conservative Supreme Court voted in favor of the Republicans. The decision was not at all surprising, and perhaps it was even the right thing to do.

However, there is a problem.

The Supreme Court wiped out nearly all of the directives set up by the governor for the containment of the COVID-19 pandemic. These edicts have been replaced with…nothing. Basically, the court told the residents of Wisconsin, “There are no rules! You are on your own!”

Welcome to Lord of the Flies. All of a sudden, with regards to the pandemic, we no longer live in the State of Wisconsin. Now we live in a state of anarchy.

It can be argued that I am exaggerating. That may be true. However, if anybody would take the time to look at some of the photos of the people gathered in the newly-opened taverns in Wisconsin, the person would notice that these places are packed. There is no social distancing. There are no masks. People are getting sloppy drunk in crowded, unsanitary environments just like they did back in February. It seems likely that some of these folks will be infected by the virus and get really sick, but that’s okay, because now they have regained their God-given right to hold down a bar stool and drink a cold beer.

The government of the State of Wisconsin, all three branches, have failed to cooperate in order to protect the health of the state’s residents. Nobody, not the governor, not the legislature, not the courts, could find the moral integrity to put aside politics for even a little while. The powers in our state capitol have completely abdicated their responsibilities. They have shoved the burden on to the local municipalities, the cities and the counties. So now, instead of having a coherent statewide policy about the pandemic, we will have a crazy quilt of various rules and regulations. Ye gods…

One thing that I learned when I was in the Army was that, although the rules may be unfair and inane, people need to know what the rules are. People want to understand what they are expected to do in certain situations. These individuals may decide not to follow the rules, but they still need to know them. People get very edgy when they don’t know what is going on. They get especially nervous when they suspect that nobody knows what is happening.

That’s where we are now in Wisconsin. We have no consistent rules for containing the virus. We have nobody in authority to enforce rules, even if they existed. It’s every community for itself. Every man and woman for his or herself. Law of the jungle.

It is probable that, at some point in the future, this mess will get worked out. In the mean time, as Governor Evers stated, it will be chaos.

What a goat screw.

 

 

 

May 14th, 2020

I made soup yesterday. In particular, I made an organic, vegetarian bean soup. I am not a vegetarian by any means, but the recipient of the soup definitely is. I cooked the soup for a friend of ours who has been sick for quite a while. She’s been really sick. Cancer kind of sick.

Karin and I have known this woman for probably over twenty years. I’m not sure any more. That’s the odd thing with friendships: it is hard to remember how they begin. I do remember that we met the woman at a Lutheran service that was being held at Germanfest in Milwaukee on a sunny Sunday morning. Germanfest is a massive outdoor festival that is annually held on the Milwaukee lakefront in July. If a person comes on Sunday morning with a donation for a food bank, they get in for free. We came on that Sunday morning with a cans of food in our hands.

Karin and the woman are both from Germany, so they hit it off. They are both from  wine-growing regions. The woman is from the Mosel area, and Karin grew up in the Taubertal. The young woman had a small daughter. Our kids were little then too. We exchanged contact information (using pen and paper: old school). I think that Karin met up with the woman once or twice after that. Then we lost track of each other.

Sometime in 2001 our friend from Germanfest contacted us. She wanted to know if we were interested in joining a German-language Bible study group. Karin and I agreed to come. I was leery about this at first. I had good reason to be. With the exception of one feisty Catholic nun, Sister Diane, everyone else we met was some sort of Baptist/Evangelical. Seeing as Karin and I were part of a tiny Catholic minority (Karin had just converted to Catholicism a couple months before we started going to the Bible study), there were often strong differences of opinion in the group about the meaning of Holy Scripture. We had many spirited discussions. We spent six months just talking about the Beatitudes.

We met with the Bible study folks nearly every weekend for almost a decade. We got to know the other members of the group intimately, and we grew to love them. We got to know their families. We began to understand their struggles, and they sympathized with ours. At some point, the members of the group drifted apart. That’s just how things happen. We all tried to keep in some kind of contact, but our lives moved in different directions.

Our kids grew up. Our eldest son, Hans, went to war in Iraq. The woman’s daughter got into heroin. The girl gave birth a baby boy. The daughter ran off with her boyfriend, and our friend from Germanfest was left to raise her kindergarten-age grandson.

Then the woman got cancer. It was in her neck and on her tongue. She tried to natural remedies and a strict organic diet, hoping against hope that the tumor would shrink.

It didn’t.

The woman went to the Mayo Clinic for surgery a couple weeks ago. The operation went well. She is at home now. I texted her to find out if she wanted me to bring her something to eat. She called me back, which surprised me, considering she had surgery on her tongue. She said that I could stop over whenever I wanted.

I drove to her condo yesterday afternoon. I took the soup along with me. It was a taco bean soup, but I didn’t know if the woman could handle spicy foods, so I left taco seasoning in the package. She could add it if she want.

I rang the buzzer to her home. I saw the woman’s husband looking at me from their  doorway. He unlocked the gate to let me inside the courtyard. I saw a little boy standing next to the man. It was the grandson.

I walked to their front door. The husband said “hi”, and another Bible study friend greeted me. She was there to watch young boy.

The grandson looked up at me and asked,

“Who are you?”

“I’m Frank.”

“Are you here to see Oma?”

“I nodded, “Yes.”

The youngster gave me a hard stare. “I’ve seen you before. Was it at Oma’s birthday?”

“I don’t remember. It was a long time ago.”

The boy thought, and then he asked me, “Are you going to walk in the woods with us?”

I paused to think. I didn’t know the situation at their home, and I wasn’t comfortable with inviting myself in.

Our other Bible study friend told the grandson cheerily, “Frank isn’t wearing his hiking shoes today. He probably won’t be walking in the woods with us.”

The boy looked at me and said, “Oh.”

I walked through the threshold of the house. It was dark inside. The curtains were all drawn shut. I handed the container of soup to the husband. I watched him place it on the kitchen counter.

I turned around and I saw the woman. She looked much smaller and much thinner I had ever seen her before. She was in a bathrobe, standing in the dimly lit hallway.

She said in her German accent, “Frank, how are you?”

“I’m alright. Just tired. And you?”

She shook her head. “I just woke up from a nap.”

She walked slowly toward me and gave me a hug.

I hugged her back as gently as I could. She was so frail. I worried that she might break.

She stepped back a pace. I looked at her throat. She had a ragged red scar on her neck. It was shaped like a giant fish hook. It hurt just to see it there.

I gathered my thoughts. “Karin has got a cold, so she didn’t come. She wants you to know that she is praying for you. She put you on our church’s prayer list. Okay. I remembered what she wanted me to tell you.”

The woman gave me a wan smile, and said “Are you going to stay?” She was struggling to get the words out of her mouth.

“Uh no. I’ll just head back home.”

She looked at me more closely, “Are you sure? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m tired. Just tired.”

I said goodbye to her, and walked out.

I felt exhausted.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

May 10th, 2020

The Milwaukee Journal Sentinel is printing a letter from me in the paper today. I don’t often get into the Journal, so it will be interesting what effect the letter has, if any.

My short essay is as follows:

“I have found the recent demonstration against the “safer-at-home” lock down to be disturbing. I sympathize with some of the grievances of the protesters in Madison, and, like them, I am concerned about losing my constitutional rights. However, I think that we need to balance our individual rights with the needs of the community as a whole. With rights go responsibilities. I may have the right to expose myself to COVID-19, but I do not have the right to expose others to an infection I may have.

I bothered me that people showed up at the demonstration carrying firearms. I am an Army vet, and I am familiar with weapons. Sometimes, I go shooting with my eldest son, who also happens to be a veteran. I understand that those persons who showed up at the event with guns have the right to do so. However, that decision does not seem smart or safe to me. Why bring a weapon to a gathering where emotions are running high? Just because a person can do something, does not mean that they should.”

We live in such strange times. Maybe every generation lives in strange times.

I am certainly not bored.

May 10th, 2020

The phone rang yesterday. It was Hans calling from down in Texas. I was glad that he called. I have been thinking hard about going south to visit with him. I miss him a lot, and I miss his wife, Gabby, and their little boy, Weston. I wanted to ask Hans if it would be a good idea to make the trip. I don’t know what the rules are like in Texas, seeing as every state does its own thing.

I asked him, “How are you?”

Hans drawled, “Welllll, Ahm just waiting for the shit to hit the fan.”

That is never a good start to a conversation.

I replied, “Uh, so what do you mean?”

“Well, they opened up the state a couple days ago, and people here have just gone crazy.”

“How so?”

Hans said, “I went to Academy today to buy some work boots, and hell, I had to park at the back of the lot. The store’s parking lot was full.”

“What were all those people doing?”

“Buying stuff. I went inside and the place had lots of people.”

“Were they keeping distance from each other? Did they have any masks on?”

“Some were trying to keep their distance. I was, but there wasn’t enough room to keep apart. About a quarter of the people had masks. The store owners are supposed to monitor how people are in these places, but they don’t care. They have nobody enforcing the rules.”

“And the State of Texas doesn’t care?”

“Not really.”

Then Hans asked me, “Dad, do you remember that restaurant we went to? Solodak’s in Bryan?”

“Yeah, that was the place with the deep fried bacon. That stuff was kind of nasty.”

Hans verbally shrugged, “That’s what they are famous for.”

(Note: Solodak’s is a family run steak house. They have two locations, one of which is in Bryan, Texas. It’s a carnivore’s paradise. A person can get deep fried anything. My heart hurts just writing about it. Also, the waitresses wear t-shirts with Bible verses written on them. I couldn’t make this up.)

Hans went on, “Well, I went past Solodak’s and the parking lot was full there. It was loaded with Harley’s.”

“So, it was full on the inside too?”

“Well, yeah. The restaurants are supposed to be operating at 25% capacity. These places have blocked off every other booth. That’s more like 50%.”

“So, what’s going to happen?”

“People will act stupid for a couple weeks, and then everything will be locked down again.”

“Nice.”

Hans told me that at his work, they were supposed to wear masks.

“When we are out pumping concrete, they want us to wear masks. I do. Some guys don’t. Some of the guys have them hanging down around their necks, or have them up on their hard hats.”

“That doesn’t help much.”

“Nope.”

Hans wrapped up the call.

“Well, Dad, I just wanted to let you know how things were going down here. I love you.”

“Yeah, love you too.”

I think I’ll stay home for a bit longer.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

May 5th, 2020

I hate plumbing repair projects. No matter how simple they are (or should be), they always turn into a minor disaster for me. I never fail to get the floor awash with water. Yesterday’s effort was no exception to that rule.

We have two sump pumps in our basement. We live in a soggy part of the world, and it is not unusual for both pumps to be working simultaneously. One of the pumps quit on me a couple days ago. The motor still worked, but the on/off switch was shot, so the pump wouldn’t turn on automatically when the sump crock filled with water. The pump had been running almost continuously for about ten years, so this problem was not completely unexpected.

I have replaced sump pumps in the past. It’s not really that difficult, so I figured that I could handle the job yesterday. I bought a new pump at Home Depot, and took it home. I rounded up the tools that I thought I would need, and started dismantling the hook up in the rear corner of the basement. I was careful to keep track of the various fittings and clamps that held the old pump together with the PVC pipes. Two clamps were nearly impossible to release. The screws had corroded in the cold water of the crock over the course of a decade, and they were to the point of being immovable. I also discovered that the original pump had an attachment that the new one did not have, making it impossible for me to hook the PVC pipe to the new pump.

I managed to separate the two PVC sections from the one-way valve. When I did so, the built up water in the upper pipe section sprayed all over the basement floor, and all over me.

I found several old, torn bath towels to soak up the deluge. Then I texted Stefan.

Stefan is our youngest son. He’s twenty-six years old. He is a welder by trade, and he is an apprentice in the Iron Workers Union. Stefan has an uncanny knack for fixing things. I can figure out how to repair something, but it takes me a while. Stefan, on the other hand, can look at a mechanical problem and know exactly what to do within five minutes.

For instance, I used to have a cheap, crappy lawnmower. A tiny metal spring kept the throttle adjusted properly. The spring broke and the mower ceased to work. Stefan came to the house, looked at the mower, and found an old fashioned ballpoint pen. He pulled the spring out of the pen and attached it to the throttle. The mower worked fine again. The pen, not so much.

Stefan came to our house about an hour after I texted him. He saw the wet basement floor and the pieces of PVC pipe scattered around. He made no comment. He is used to this sort of thing. He told me that we could get the missing sump pump attachment at Kortendick Hardware in Racine. We drove there in his pick up.

While we drove to Racine, Stefan frowned and said,

“My chest has been hurting.”

Uh oh.

“Any idea what’s wrong?”

Stefan replied, “No, not really. Maybe it’s from work.”

“Have you thought about getting an EKG?”

“Not yet. I didn’t sleep well last night. I was up at 2:30. I wonder where I get that from?”

Stefan gave me a hard look. I have a lot of trouble sleeping. It is apparently hereditary.

Stefan went on, “I guess I could cut back on the energy drinks. That might help.”

“Yeah.”

When we got back home, Stefan rummaged around the garage for the proper tools to complete the sump pump replacement. Stefan has a couple very large tool boxes stored in our garage. He knows what is in them. I don’t. Stefan rigged up the new pump in about ten minutes. It worked fine.

Stefan asked me, “You want to go to Grant Park?”

“Yeah, sure.”

Oak Creek flows through Grant Park all the way to Lake Michigan. It had rained a couple days ago, so the water in the creek was moving fast. Stefan pulled a rod and reel from the back of his truck. He likes to fish. I didn’t know that. We wandered along the bank, and he cast a few times. There were only to other men fishing. The weather was cold, grey, and windy. People were sheltering in place.

I asked how it is now that he got laid off.

“It’s okay. I got some money. I’ll be all right for a couple months.”

He told me that, as an apprentice, he is “on call” every morning, just in case there is work available. Sometimes, if a contractor wants a specific worker, they will call the night before. That doesn’t happen too often.

He told me, “Once I get my journeyman’s book, then I can take time off and travel.”

“When do you graduate to journeyman?”

“Two years. I’m halfway there already. With the certifications and hours I have, I’m well on my way. I even have a crane operator’s certification. Some guys go their whole careers and never get up in a crane.”

“That sounds good.”

“Yeah”, Stefan replied, “then I’ll go to Europe.”

“Take the train while you are over there?”

“Yeah. I want to go back to Germany and see what’s there.”

I told him, “I have a friend in Spain. If he is still there in two years, maybe you could meet him.”

“That would be cool.”

I said, “When I was living in Germany, before I met Mom, I went by myself on the train from Frankfurt to Zürich in Switzerland. I knew enough German to get by. I remember going alone to some outdoor market at night. It feels like a dream now.”

Stefan nodded, “Cool.”

Stefan reeled in his line for the last time. He said, “You want tacos?”

“Sure.”

“We’ll go to Taco Stop. How about steak chimichangas?”

“Yeah.”

We got back into his truck.

As we drove to Taco Stop, I thought that it was good that we had been together for a little while. Stefan and I hadn’t done anything exciting, but we had had a chance to talk. We don’t often hang out. I tend to lose track of who he is. I lose track of where he is in his life.

I’m glad I had trouble with the sump pump.

 

 

 

 

 

 

May 2nd, 2020

There is such a thing as sacred space.

What do I mean by that? I guess I had better define the term.

To me, “sacred space” is anywhere humans allow themselves to come closer to the Other. The “Other” can be Jesus or the Buddha or the Tao or whatever. For my own convenience, I am going define this undefinable thing as “God”. So, a sacred place for me is any place where I open myself up to experience God.

Let me say upfront that I am not necessarily talking about churches or synagogues or mosques or temples. Some of these buildings truly are sacred, but not all of them. A site is not holy simply because a priest or imam or rabbi or shaman blessed it in some arcane ritual. The ceremony might confirm the fact that the spot is already sacred in some way, but a person cannot make a place holy. It doesn’t work like that.

A certain location is not always holy for all individuals. One person can encounter God up close and personal in an ashram. Another person might find the Divine in a Walmart check out line. Who can say? Moses talked to God in the Burning Bush in the desert. Buddha became enlightened under the Bodhi Tree. It’s different for everyone. That being said, I think that there are certain locations on the earth where it seems easier to access God.

I’ve been to a few.

San Stefano, Assisi, Italy

The home of St. Francis radiates peace and beauty. Karin and I were there with our kids back in the summer of 1998. We got there by train late in the evening, and had supper at the Ristorante degli Orti just before they closed. Actually, we got to the restaurant after they closed, but they still let us inside. A couple old women in black were sitting at a side table counting up the day’s receipts. They looked at Karin, me, and the three tired children with compassion, and they found somebody to serve us. We were fed well with pasta and love.

The next day we wandered around the town. Assisi is built on the side of a steep hill, so two lane streets turn into one lane streets, which turn into alleys, which turn into staircases. Along one of these winding, twisting side streets was the medieval church of San Stefano. Next to the chapel was an enclosed garden. The garden had a gate, and the gate had a sign. Written on the sign, in several languages, it said:

“If you think it will do you good, come inside.”

We did. Inside the garden was a picnic table, shaded by a large tree. A nun and a laywoman greeted us enthusiastically and offered us glasses of ice water with lemon slices. It was a hot morning, so we all drank deeply. Then we rested in the shade and spoke with the women. They asked us where we were from, and how we were. They were in no hurry, and neither were we.

God was with us in that garden.

Dome of the Rock, Jerusalem

One might think that Jerusalem is packed full of holy places. Maybe it is. I visited there in December of 1983, and I thought some of the sites were overrated. The one structure that impressed me was the Dome of the Rock. I was in Jerusalem a long time ago, back when things weren’t quite so crazy. In those days, non-Muslims were allowed into the shrine. It was well worth seeing.

I couldn’t stop gazing at the inside of the dome. The interior was covered with an intricate pattern of mosaics. The geometry was such that I had the illusion that the dome was moving upwards and away from me. I felt an involuntary sense of wonder because the dome seemed to ascending to heaven, and I was going along for the ride. It was like being part of the story of the Prophet Muhammed.

Mary House, Catholic Worker, Manhattan, NYC, USA

Mary House is easy to miss. It is a nondescript address on a nondescript street. The windows are covered with a metal grill. We had to press a buzzer to get anybody’s attention from inside the place. A street person came to the door and invited us to enter. The interior of the Catholic Worker House is rough. Every wall could use a coat of paint.  We arrived just as lunch was wrapping up. People are busy there. There are always more hungry folks to feed, more of the nearly naked to clothe, and more homeless persons to shelter. That hasn’t changed since Dorothy Day ran the operation many years ago.

However, we were warmly welcomed. Carmen stopped what he was doing to show us around. We saw their small chapel. We saw Dorothy’s old office. We saw where they work and work and work. Love doesn’t take a break at Mary House.

If there is any place on earth where people really try to live the Beatitudes, it’s at Mary House. God bless them all.

Nipponzan Myohoji Dojo, Bainbridge Island, Washington, USA

The Buddhist temple is tiny, built in a Japanese style, and surrounded by massive cedars and Douglas firs. The back of the temple is home of a high altar, covered in scarlet and gold. There is a large portrait of Nichidatsu Fujii, the founder of this particular order, prominently displayed among the food offerings and flowers. Of course, the altar contains a variety of buddhas and bodhisattvas.

The temple is quiet, except for twice a day, when people come to drum and chant. At all other times the place is cool and dark. It smells from decades of burning incense. It is one of the most peaceful places I have ever experienced. I have always felt at home there. I belong there.

A nameless sweat lodge on the Fort Belknap Indian Reservation, Montana, USA

The sweat lodge was a cloth/skin-covered dome inside of an old garage on the rez. Outside the garage were the frozen Montana plains. Inside the garage it was warm. Inside the sweat lodge it was hot. I was in there with several other men, all of us nearly naked. Almost all of the guys were Native Americans, most of them locals from Fort Belknap. There is no place darker than the inside of a sweat lodge. There are very few places that are steamier. There were only disembodied voices, chanting and speaking in tongues, praying to the Creator. It was like being in a tent with ghosts, or maybe like being in a tent with God. Scary crazy, and totally worth it.

Retreat House in the Chama River Valley near Abiquiu, New Mexico, USA

Vigils (the first morning prayer) start at 4:00 AM at the Monastery of Christ in the Desert. It is a relatively short walk from the retreat house to the church. Karin and I took a flashlight with us. It was a moonless night. We walked along the gravel road that led to the chapel.

I stopped to look at the sky. The river valley and the surrounding mountains were blacker than black. I craned my neck to see the stars. The sky itself was ebony pierced with frozen white flames. The Milky Way flowed across the heavens like a torn, glowing river.

I couldn’t look away, but it hurt to gaze at the sky. It was beautiful in an overwhelming way. I was utterly amazed.

Wonder and awe.

Stonehenge, England

I was there in 1983. I went to see Stonehenge during the day, and I remember flying near it at night in an Army helicopter. Huge monoliths in a circle. It’s a place full of secrets, and those secrets predate history. The site is utterly pagan. It’s a holy place, and mysterious. It is mysterious in the sense that it can’t ever really be understood. It just is.

 

 

 

 

 

April 29th, 2020

“And there’s always retrospect (when you’re looking back)
To light a clearer path
Every five years or so I look back on my life
And I have a good laugh
You start at the top (start at the top)
Go full circle round
Catch a breeze
Take a spill
But ending up where I started again
Makes me want to stand still

Up on the watershed
Standing at the fork in the road
You can stand there and agonize
‘Til your agony’s your heaviest load
You’ll never fly as the crow flies
Get used to a country mile
When you’re learning to face
The path at your pace
Every choice is worth your while”

from “Watershed” by the Indigo Girls

Hans called yesterday.

He had just finished working a twenty-hour shift. He sounded dead tired. I could hear him popping open a Lime-a-rita as he talked on the phone. He bitched about work for a while. He had been pumping concrete at one job site for almost twelve hours straight. The mixer company wasn’t sending him trucks fast enough to keep up with the work. Hans wound up waiting for mud to pour, and that just made a difficult job harder. Hans had to do another pump job once the first one was done. He was dragging ass by the time he got home.

Somehow the conversation shifted over to Hans’ time in Iraq. That happens quite often when we talk. I guess Hans figures that he can tell me things and I will know what he means. Most of the time I do understand. Maybe it is because we both served in the military. The Army is our common ground, even though he was in combat and I never was.

He said, “Yeah, Dad, the Army was okay. I mean the wartime Army; not the Army we had after we got back from Iraq, with all the rules and nonsense. When we were in Iraq, we kicked some ass!”

I replied, “Well, that is what you were there for.”

Hans said, “Yeah, we were kind of wild in Iraq. Then we got back to Fort Hood, and it was all different. I knew it was time to get out when the Army started getting rid of the sergeants I liked. One of them got a DUI, and they just cut him loose. I could tell it was time to move on.”

He went on, “You know, I have been trying to get in touch with some of the guys I knew back then. I hooked up with a lieutenant that was in the other platoon. He was a cool, laid back kind of guy. He was the officer we had to talk to when we wanted to get a motorcycle.

I told the lieutenant what I was doing now. You know, I told him how I was driving this big truck and pumping concrete. He told me that he knew I would do good when I got out of the Army. He said that he could tell just by how I carried myself and how I acted around him.

Yeah, he was a good guy, not like those West Point lieutenants. You know what I mean, Dad? You were one of them.”

Hans laughed.

“I told him, “Yeah, I know.”

Hans laughed again, “The West Point guys, they thought they knew it all. I was the designated driver for one of them. Good God! That was something. We were taking small arms fire, and he was looking up what to do from a book!”

He went on, “I guess it didn’t help him with me asking him all the time, ‘What do I do now, LT? What do I do now?’ I don’t think he liked that.”

“Probably not.”

Hans chuckled, “If I had been that lieutenant, I would have just told our boys to fire up those fuckers with the 50 cal. I couldn’t believe that he was looking up the rules of engagement. Those West Point guys, they had to do everything by the book.”

“That I believe.”

I thought for a moment about emails I occasionally get from some of my West Point classmates. I never really understand why they bother to send them to me. The messages always seem to turn sentimental and strangely nostalgic. People use the emails to reminisce about events that I can’t or won’t remember. We graduated forty years ago, for Christ sake. I miss some of the people I knew back then, but I don’t miss the institution. I get the distinct impression that some of my classmates are stuck in 1980. I have trouble with that, but maybe that was their watershed.

Then Hans said, “When I was over there, I just wanted to keep from getting shot. I did anyway, once or twice. I got some shrapnel from a bullet in my shoulder blade. The doc told me that the metal might work its way out. I don’t think so; not from the bone. The body armor helped a lot.”

“That’s good.”

Hans thought for a moment and said, “I think they had worse diseases in Iraq than this corona virus.”

“I don’t doubt that.”

Hans took a drag off his cancer stick and said, “While I was there, I got dysentery. I know how I got it too. The thing is: that chicken I ate from the street vendor was the best I ever had. They must be immune to these things over there.”

“Maybe.”

“You know how the Army treated the dysentery? They gave us a laxative. They wanted to flush it out of our systems. I spent a couple days sitting in the conex, next to the porta-john, just waiting for the next chance to shit.”

“Nice.”

“Yeah.”

There was a pause, and then Hans said, “I miss those days.”

I replied, “I miss flying helicopters. I dream about that at night. I don’t miss the Army, but I miss flying. I guess I’m glad that I joined up, but I am even gladder that I left.”

Hans said, “Yeah, I hear you. I miss being in tanks.”

I thought some more. I got out of the Army in 1986. I haven’t flown since then, but it is part of me. It always will be. Hans came back from Iraq in 2012. That experience will always be a part of him.

We were both remembering when we were younger, and we stood up on the watershed.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

April 24th, 2020

The protesters are in Madison, railing against Governor Evers’ policies concerning the COVID-19 pandemic. Currently, Evers has the state shut down until May 26th. That is a long time. The Republicans in the Wisconsin legislature are suing Evers to block his stay-at-home rules. Wisconsin’s chamber of commerce wants to open businesses by May 4th. The protesters want everything to be opened right now. 

It’s kind of a mess.

Wisconsin Manufacturers and Commerce want to open businesses completely in the less densely populated parts of the state. Those regions show little or no signs of infection by the corona virus. The majority of the virus problems are in Wisconsin’s urban areas. So, is it a good idea to open up the economy in certain parts of the state, but not in others? Maybe, but it reminds me of something from years ago.

Back in the early 1980’s, I was stationed with the Army at Fort Rucker, Alabama. It didn’t get any deeper in the South than that. I lived in a apartment off-post in a town called Enterprise. Enterprise is famous for the Boll Weevil Monument. The monument commemorates the boll weevil plague that destroyed the cotton crops of the South. The destruction of the cotton economy forced farmers to diversify their crops. When I was living in Alabama, the farmers were growing peanuts, okra, and kudzu (mostly kudzu). Anyway, the monument is a large statue of a woman holding a hideous insect above her head. That should give you an idea of what Enterprise was like.

Enterprise was the largest city within the borders of Coffee County. At that time, Coffee County was dry. No alcohol. Period. Now, Fort Rucker, being the property of the federal government, did not have to abide by the rules of Coffee County. So people could drink at Fort Rucker, and they did, often to excess. Because of a lack of housing on the post, many of the soldiers, like myself, lived in Enterprise. We drank heavily on post, and then we drove back to our homes. When I wanted to buy booze, I went to the liquor store on Fort Rucker (the Class VI Store), and took the forbidden beverages back to my apartment in the trunk of my car.

How does this apply to the current state of affairs in my state? Well, I live about ten minutes from the Racine County line. If, for some reason, Racine County was able to open all the way up, but Milwaukee County, where I reside, could not, then it is very likely that I would simply drive a few miles south to do whatever I wanted to do in Racine County. For instance, if I can’t take my wife out for dinner in our county, I could take her to a restaurant in Racine. I would not be the only person doing this sort of thing. Basing the stay-at-home rules on a local level guarantees that people will travel and mix with folks from other parts of the state. It is a perfect way to spread the virus to places that so far seem to be unaffected. I see this as being a problem.

Then there is the question of what businesses open and under what conditions. I am betting that the very last businesses to open will be the bars. Why is that? Think about it. I will give you an example.

I don’t usually go to taverns. However, I used to go to Frank’s Power Plant in Bay View when my friends from the Dead Morticians played a gig. The Dead Morticians played horror punk, a dark and twisted sub-genre of heavy metal. It is an acquired taste. They did not play often, but I tried to listen to them whenever they did.

Frank’s Power Plant was a dingy bar with a rather eclectic clientele. It was a tiny place, and always crowded. It appealed to me in a quirky, subversive sort of way. On the nights when the heavy metal enthusiasts were there to hear the bands play, the bar was packed. The volume of the noise in the tavern was at eardrum-bursting decibels, and people were wedged in tight near the musicians. There was no stage. I remember standing within a foot of Ian, the lead guitarist.

Heavy metal aficionados are an unruly lot, even when sober. Generally, they do not remain sober for very long. There is a tendency for the spectators to yell and cheer, and get pretty wild. The music makes some people want to strangle puppies. The odds that one of the customers, after several drinks, might suddenly decide to French kiss another guest are relatively high. These people would never follow CDC guidelines, even if they could. If it reopens, this bar will most likely be an alcohol-fueled petri dish for the virus.

Frank’s Power Plant is not the only tavern that would have great difficulties meeting government health requirements in this pandemic. I can think of very few bars that are big enough and open enough to keep the necessary distances between customers. Many of these establishments will never reopen. This may dismay some of the protesters currently wandering around the state capitol. They have been driven from their natural habitats. They can no longer sit on their regular bar stools, and it is likely that they never will again.