creative writing: devastation. the life after (part 4)

…continued from Devastation: The Life After Part 3

My mind was spinning. “What are you getting ready for?” I asked 116 in my mind. The audio suddenly stopped with a battery warning light flashing.

A sigh found its way out of my mouth. I was still a couple of miles away from the office. I reached up from the steering wheel and switched the driving mode to auto which sounded engaged. With my hands now free, I was able to look away from the road and picked up the mirco-recorder. It had been several years since I had looked at one of those things, let alone replace the batteries in one. I flipped the unit front to back and side to side multiple times to see what I needed to do to resume playing the recording. Locating the charging port, which was common for electronics before the predominance of wireless and contact charging, I tried to come up with a charging plan. Impatiently, I hit play again only to hear 116 start to speak but then trailed off in a robotic voice.

Ejecting my phone from the dashboard, I needed to access the camera. It recognized my touch and unlocked as I looked at the screen. I opened Amazon and took a picture of the micro-recorder. The app recognized the device and prepared a tailored list of accessories including the charger that I needed to make it work. Placing a charger in my cart, I noticed that the delivery was several days out. Several listings appeared in the search but most were imported. I altered my search settings for quickest delivery, but even the one available in California took several days. Stubbornly, I selected purchase local option, but there were no available items. Even with drone delivery, the charging cord was several days out. Several days that I did not have. I had convinced myself that I needed to answer the tenant mystery. Without a resolution, I knew the thought would nag at me; I knew that I would anticipate all of the outcomes which would consume me. I would dwell on it and not be able to move on.

I closed the app as a quicker plan came into mind. I opened the meeting invitation, the one I was going to be late for, in my calendar app. I changed my response to “decline” and offered an auto-reply of “double-booked,” one of a dozen or so common responses for me. Clearing my throat I said, “Alexa, take me to the Longsdale Apartments.” The car’s auto navigation system confirmed with a question of keen insight. “Jake, you wish to return to the Longsdale Apartments, which you were at 20 minutes ago?” I confirmed and she recited the destination. Having mastered the commercial navigation and AI categories, the AAOS, Amazon’s Auto Operating System, was very intuitive. If there was a charger for sale in the area, I could have also been navigated to the purchase point. On my PVD, primary visual display, the quickest route appeared as the car started driving that direction. I was assumed that 116 would have charged the unit in his apartment.

The flashbacks from 116 left me scrutinizing everything that I looked at. As I looked out of the front and my driver’s window my imagination brewed, layering in what that life must have been like before. I visualized the uncrowded sidewalks bustling with people. I could see smiles and waves from people passing one-another. I imagined a guitar player on the street corner and homeless man sitting, tucked into all his worldly possessions. Now, the streets were ghostly in comparison. Everyone with similar features had started to look the same. Eyes hovering over varying air filtration systems. Drones would run their routes stopping at people to audit compliance. While people walked they instinctively avoided interaction and maintained proper distances; two like poles of a magnet adjusting and counter adjusting. All without thought. All was normal… now…

“You have arrived at your destination… would you like to exit?” Alexa asked prompting for an answer so she could run the exiting macro. There were no macros back then, even in my imagination… Every action was distinct, not a series of steps that were automated by tech. “Yes,” I replied, shaking off the daydream. The lights clicked off, the seat belt pulled away, and the navigation system went to parked mode. Caught off guard I had to pause and rethink my current situation as the car shut down. The doors would open but were synced with my mask. The doors would not open until the mask was engaged. I was at the apartment to search for a charger and get back to my office. I was missing one meeting and could not afford to miss another. I needed to verify my schedule for the rest of the day so I held up my phone and said “calendar.” Facial recognition and targeted speaking recognized the context of my instructions. The device was able to verify that I was looking and talking to it. The app opened and the multi-colored boxes covered the screen. I had meetings for meetings and my calendar looked like a puzzle if truth be told. However, I was in luck that the one I played hooky from lasted for another hour and then an hour gap afterward. A sense of relief ran through my body. I could feel the muscles relax like dominos falling one-after-the-other. I placed the phone in my pocket. I engaged my mask and the car door opened once confirmed.

I grabbed my shoulder bag and exited the car which promptly locked up behind me as I passed the geofence. I walked to the entrance along the weathered sidewalk. The tarnished brass door nobs highlighted years of wear. I opened the large antique wooden door with a small grunt as I jerked leaning backward. The stale air rushing past me as I entered. Even with the scents in my PPE, the dank musk bled through. The dated red carpets lined the hallway and the visible original wood looked like a checkerboard from the patches and repairs through the years. As I stepped into the hallway, which creaked as if screaming from my weight. While I walked past old commercial paintings I noticed the layered dust at the very top of the frames, missed during cleaning.

My wrist vibrated from a text message. Maggie was informed me that she would work late again. The texts streamed in like business notifications: factual and to the point. She held a role in a large software development firm in their R&D department and was always having project planning meetings. I looked at my watch and said “See you later” a pause “send” and it automatically sent. Most of our conversations seemed to function that way. Functional. I refocused on to the hallway and walked down to 116. My steps continued to announce my path. I pulled a mass of keys out of my pocket and shook them untangled. I grabbed the large silver key and wiggled it into the lock, which clicked with a turn. I slid through the door and took a panoramic view of the room. I looked at my watch and checked the time then mumbled out loud “What can you tell me in an hour?”

The sun peered out from behind the clouds and sent a beam through the window highlighting the table 116 appeared to have sat at. The dust shadowed the silhouette where the recorder was and resembling sidewalk chalk in a crime scene. I walked towards the table, scanning it, and then moved towards the bookshelves and desk. Suspecting the item to be located in the cedar desk, I slid the tiny boxes sitting on it side to side, fading the dust as I disturbed it. I opened the drawers and saw a set of wound up cords laying inside. I pulled them out and looked at the end to confirm that it did indeed match. Finding a match, I placed one of the cords, a portable charger, and a small charging block into my pocket. As I looked up I started to read the notes on papers on the desk. The scratched off lists seemed meaningless to my search. Full of apparent things to do such as tasks or chores.

I moved over by the bookshelf which was lined with composition journals. With quick mental math, I guessed that nearly one hundred journals lined the shelves. I pulled one from the center and fanned it open. Various ink types were woven throughout with multiple dates, followed by sections of text. The books appear to be journals and a timeline. Closing the book, I looked at the front cover. On the outside were a set of numbers. “05.05.20 W2-48” was written on the cover. I assumed it to be the date and some form of a coding system. I put the book back and reached in the upper left for the first book. I opened the book as I pulled it down to reading level. The code on the cover read “12.31.19 W0-01.” Inside the front cover had “Samuel Winsor” written on it. I caught sight of my watch and realized I had only had 40 mins until my next meeting. I glanced at the first entry. The date in the upper right corner was “02.01.20” and the first entry followed.

“Patient zero was first documented as 12.31.19. We have learned so much since then. But we don’t know anything yet. Such a scary place to be actually. Not knowing. The news cascades with conflicting stories. And the anticipation of what’s next and it’s daunting, like the anticipation of an inoculation. My name is Samuel Winsor. I live in a small city outside of New York City. I am not sure if I am writing this for someone else, or myself. I think this is more for me though. To capture my thoughts and to tell the story as straight as possible. If you were to only look at the headlines, the slanted views would ping-pong you back and forth winding you into a confused knot. I am writing what we have figured out. What I have figured out…

Today, the country did something that I no one anticipated would actually happen. We went into lockdown. Suddenly, abruptly, we stopped. The country closed all non-essential businesses and only left open what we need to continue living. Not just the basics though. So many things were able to stay open by sneaking in through loopholes. At least, that is what I am hoping is happening. Starbucks is not essential to survival. I believe I would be more worried if that were deemed so. Reports are coming in with claims of infection. The diagnoses vary. The incubation period is wildly different from person to person as are the effects. The documented cases are on the incline and we really do not have a plan outside of limiting the ability to spread…”

I received a push notification simultaneously on my watch and phone. There were 30 minutes until the next meeting. “Sh*t!” slipped out of my mouth. I found time escaping me and I felt the answers I sought were in grasp. The next meeting was for a major project that was coming and other than my peaked interest, my actions would not be seen as being responsible with my resources. I started to put the journal back, hesitated, then I decided to grab several more. I placed the collection under my arm and rushed out of the apartment door, manually locking it before darting to the vehicle. I engaged my PPE in motion bursting out of the complex. My car prepared when I was in its proximity and I jumped into the driver’s seat. “Alexa, drive to work.” I confirmed while the car locked me in and started moving. I reached into my pocket and pulled out the coiled charger and cord. I plugged it into the micro-recorder and the portable stick LED turned green and “33% ” appeared on the tiny LCD. For once, it felt like luck was on my side. I pressed play as Alexa weaved into traffic. The raspy monologue resumed. I would be late, returning to the office but only slightly.

The audible exhale that I left off during rushed to the microphone and the female voice repeated: “I am.” Samuel’s voice resumed, “As the Federal Government collapsed, everyone, scrambled. Opportunist groups popped up all over. Being closest to New York, I was able to stay in the loop for this state and then most of the surrounding area. In a matter of days, the local governments controlled their cities and the state government took charge of those cities. Marshall Law was in effect. At first, nothing changed, outside of visual displays for power. My news feeds were overpowered with speculation and uncertainty. Over the next six months, the states began adopting their own sets of rules; all to keep order and prevent the spread. (pause) Crossing the state line had become just as intensive of a process as what leaving the country used to be. States had become independent and coming into was a petition of impossible.

By this point, we had had enough of this world. Not being in it would be just as pleasant if not more pleasant than going along with it. The seeds had been planted and would take root over time. Getting out of this life – became all that I thought about. And with all the closed quarters the neighbors talked. A group of us committed to ending it.”

“You have arrived at your destination.” Alexa interrupted on the arrival back. My mind was following the story and I lost track of the outside world. The car prepared me to exit. I put on my PPE the door opened and I slung my backpack over my shoulder. The little black box sat in the passenger seat on top of the journals. The top one had “…W0-08” in the corner. As I left the geofence I had to put 116 out of my mind for the next few hours.

=====
Read more of the Devastation Series.
Devastation: The Life After Part 1
Devastation: The Life After Part 2
Devastation: The Life After Part 3
Devastation: The Life After Part 4
Devastation: The Life After Part 5 (Coming soon)
=====

Alcohol Free Low Carb Bourbon Chicken (Gluccie vs. Starch) Rice Stir Fry

  • 3-4 chicken breasts
  • 4 tbsp olive oil
  • 1 tsp pepper
  • 1/2 cup of apple juice
  • 1/2 cup of ketchup
  • 1/2 cup of soy sauce
  • 1/2 cup of water
  • 2/3 cup light brown sugar
  • 1 tsp ground ginger
  • 6 cloves of garlic, minced (or equiv.)
  • 3/4 tsp Gluccie (Konjac Root, Glucomannan)
  • 3 tablespoon of cold water
  • Rice (to serve over)
  • Stir Fry Package (or fresh veggies)

This makes about 3 cups of sauce/marinade. I mixed everything BUT the 2tbs Water and Gluccie together. Of course, I did not do anything with the chicken or stir fry yet. I brought the sauce ingredients to a boil and then let cool down. I used for 1 1/2 c. for marinade. The balance, about 1 1/2 c. I mixed the Gluccie with the cold water (clumps at high temps) then stirred into the remaining 1 1/2 c of boiled mixture to create the sauce. You can reduce the Glucci by 1/4 tsp to make the sauce a littler runnier or add 1/4 at a time for your desired thickness. Its basically 1/4 Gluccie + 1 tbs of cold water every increment. Premix the Gluccie and cold water then stir into the sauce and let sit.

The 1 1/2 c that I used for a marinade I let the chicken set for a couple hours. I then removed the breasts, cubed, and added to a skillet. I poured the marinade into the skillet with it to finish cooking the chicken. Med/High heat until boil then reduced to finish out.

I put olive oil in the bottom of another pan and stirred in a stir fry package from Aldi: “Oriental Stir Fry.” You can make your own veggies if you would like, I just chose to take that shortcut. I cooked the veggies until they were al dente then added the finished chicken skillet with marinade and mixed together.

Drain then serve with rice and apply the Bourbon sauce to your liking.

Original recipe was from here.

Have time to read a story? Check out Devastation. In a future world where a pandemic recreated society, a man stumbles upon a record of what happened from a survivor’s perspective and relearns humanity for himself in the process.

big daddy weave, brandon heath and rehab

Soundtrack: Big Daddy Weave: My Story.
Soundtrack: Brandon Heath: Faith Hope Love Repeat.

The summer before the year turn around is where it all really started. August 06, 2017, I was found unconscious in my apartment. After the separation, I had moved to a small apartment where I was to be the live-in manager of the complex. Adjusting to my new financial situation, I was trying to take advantage of the free rent and utilities. My only responsibility was to make sure the place didn’t burn down (basically). I never said I was the smartest person… The environment plays a huge part in a person’s behaviors. You see, a struggling and recovering alcoholic should not be the live-in manager of fraternity… Yes, I am aware that you probably just did an eye roll. Or let out an “Oh…” It’s okay, LOL. I think the same thing looking back. I could only see the free rent at the time… Needless to say, that went south fairly quickly. I moved in, started the “job” and had a rough day. And so the story begins…

I lost contact with a very close friend that was aware of my separation (the thing you do prior to divorce) and problems. When she could not get a hold of me, she became worried. The police well-check turned up nothing since I did not answer the door. On a hunch, she looked in a crack by the air conditioner in the single room apartment and realized things were not right. She pried the window up, managed to get in, and took it upon herself to get the help that I needed. This was the second time she did not give up on me. And it is her faith that kept me going for a long time. The most Christian woman that I know, and I mean that is the most wonderful way. Her belief is her. Not a set of clothes that she puts on. She believed, and also did not give up on me. She dragged me to her car and took me to a Madison hospital ER. There, I received fluids, sobered up, and she fed me a real meal.

She also researched and negotiated a rehab for me. Realizing that it was not something that I would just shake off – she looked to get me help. Real help. The first time anyone invested that kind of time in me, for this problem. A lot of conversation took place and details had to be figured out etc. I first went to a detox center outside of Madison and Milwaukee. She managed all of the paperwork, phone calls, and coordination as well as driving me an hour to the next place. My birthday, August 07, was spent in a gown and watching a large number of adults do coloring pages, reading, or sitting – staring into space. After a few days, the insurance would not cover the stay but she had already taken care of that. Insurance is funny for this sort of thing (I wrote about that here). I transferred to a work camp for young adults, a part of the Teen Challenge Ministry.

I spent nearly 60 days in this work camp. Very strict, and very regimented. We started the days at 0530AM and lights out at 1000PM. Every hour was accounted for with the exception of about 30 mins near bedtime and 2-3 hours on Saturday afternoons after work. Most of us worked at the thrift store running the operations, picking up donations, sanitizing everything, or physically moving all of the furniture. Another part of the ministry was being hired out (for donations) to events such as county fairs, singing at churches as a choir, and even concerts. Which, is where I was navigating to for this article… I didn’t intend on writing all the above – but when I began to free-write – ta-dah…

In the last few weeks that I was there, I had the system down. I knew what I could do, what I couldn’t. What was liberty and what was breaking a rule? The system was built on hard work – and strict rules. All sorts of people came through (even in my short time there) so they had to have control. It was definitely a forced faith and hard work system, but if I had nothing, and was living only on the streets, this would be a chance to lead a life – and transition back into a societal “normal.” An example of rule-breaking was waking up to make breakfast for the 60 guys and listening to non-christian radio… Seems silly – but with all tech removed from your life it was amazingly wonderful. The system worked though, despite how much “you hated it” while being in it. Looking back, it was a great and humbling experience.

Since I was able to coordinate things well (my project management background) and was deemed trustworthy… I was asked to help with a concert. A megachurch in the Milwaukee area was holding a concert where Big Daddy Weave was headlining and being opened by Brandon Heath.  We were hired as the stagehands. The band had their own roadie’s but the extra help was essential to convert the church to a concert ready hall. There were about a dozen of us that were asked to help and I jumped at the chance. For several reasons… First, I was really into “faith” at that point and it excited me. Secondly, an amazing band was coming to town and I would be backstage. Even more than that – I would be contributing to the concert. And of course, it was a chance to be in the world and interacting with people aside from the 60 “brothers” in our TC group.

Hotel with the Micky shirt, the day I left Rehab

We arrived as the semi was backing into the church loading dock. I was dressed for work. Having only 3 shirts and 1 pair of jeans when I arrived, I had to get clothes (which I had to earn) at the thrift shop. We could only wear business casual type clothes. Khaki’s and collars. The style was limited from the thrift or if you were lucky enough to see something coming in on a donation truck… then only if you were given permission to take it (cannot take the sales). I had a pair of Sketchers, ankle socks, and cords that I found. The reason I go into clothes here is that the spawn of this post was from the shirt I am wearing today. I really do like that Micky Mouse shirt I got from a brother at TC.

There were so many crates and lighting fixtures that we guided down the ramp and piled on the stage in order of what the roadies told us. We opened so many crates, ran so many wires, and put up so many lights. In about 3 hours the church looked like a small concert arena. There were so many different uncoordinated lights flashing that an epileptic person would have stroked out. Each team member was testing some regimented routine (which would later come together for the concert). I climbed on equipment and moved things that I was directed to – to line all of it up. The stage went from a pile of parts and crates to a computerized light show and sound system. A Christian playlist was put on at some point (the kind you would hear on repeat at a book store) and we were jamming out while working.

About 2 hours before the concert members of BDW came on stage finishing up the equipment checks and set up. Even though they would do a sound check prior to going on, each seemed to make sure “their area” was just as they would like it. Jay Weaver, the bassist for BDW, was strumming on a white bass. I overheard him saying that he forgot his bass at home, and apparently was very unhappy about that. The instrument he was using was not working for him. I was standing off to the side slamming some water and somehow struck up a conversation with the sound booth bandmate. Apparently, they were coming off of a break and when he packed he forgot his good instrument. This was their first show getting back on the road. He had his phone out and was researching local music stores that were open on this Sunday evening. Not realizing that I was a part of a work-rehab program, he asked me if he gave me a credit card, would I run to a music store and buy this bass he had selected. I have never wanted to have a car so badly in my life.

The plain white bass worked out overall but it was neat to see all of the prep, obstacles, and coordination that would come together in the end. It was also neat to interact with the band and Brandon Heath. Brandon was quiet and kept to himself most of the night. He only walked around the stage and inspected the instruments. He was more of an observer during the entire set up. BDW members did all of the actual work with the equipment and got everything show ready. As the concert time drew near, the mood was switched and lighting was adjusted. Brandon grabbed a mic and started singing verses of a couple of songs. Apparently, he was also coming back from a break and had a couple of new songs that he was putting into his setlist. About an hour before the show start, all of the band members disappeared and the roadies finished getting everything just right.

We stood backstage as the doors opened and people flocked in. Seats were added to the auditorium and it was definitely a full house. Then before I knew it the show was starting. Brandon walked on and started to warm up the crowd. By the time everyone had been seated and the TC team went to our reserved seating, which was not as great as I had hoped, but then again I felt lucky to have a different interaction that day, Brandon Heath has started. That concert was amazing. I had listened to BDW before. I was not a fanboy, by any means, but did know the words to many songs. I had not heard Brandon Heath before. But found a new favorite, Faith Hope Love Repeat. During the song, I came apart. The song… It reminded me of the blessing of children. It reminded me of the love that I longed for. It touched on secular and non-secular emotions for me. I had a good cry that night. I had to sit down during the show and brothers comforted me. There is something about “being in it” together. Each knowing you – even though they don’t. Maybe it is just that we knew each was in this strict environment, working hard, and we were all on a hard road. It was then I realized that sometimes you just get it – and people that have never experienced it – won’t.

Thanks for the walk down memory lane. It is one of my favorite memories from the past couple of years. A lot of emotions during that time. Seeds being planted and plowing… preparing for a growth that would come, just much later.

As always – ww. joe

creative writing: devastation. the life after (part 3)

…continued from part 2.

“…we were chasing it after that… and have never caught up. We locked down again. Even tighter… We called that the second wave. The only distinct wave outside of the initial infection. I think that it was so memorable because we were caught off guard. We had the research and we had the experience to see it but didn’t. We had a vaccine for f***’s sake. (draw from a cigarette) The rawness that I feel about it sometimes is overwhelming. (pause) We had the vaccine… Yes, we rushed everything; we did. We were in a panic and panic buying and… Between stocking up and impacted networks – our dependency and the weaknesses in supply chains were exposed.

Looking back… it was fear… We did not have control. We could not tell it anything; we could not see it. We were unable to negotiate – to talk our way out of it. The ravaged bodies in its wake were the only signs that we had. Our only predictors were lagging indicators. We resorted to tightening the belt of control in society – what we believed that we could control. France was first to develop a treatment protocol, which the world… I guess I should say, the upper class… those that could be in the know, soon followed. And it worked – why wouldn’t it? (scoffs) We were afraid and we could see what was happening… I cannot imagine the feeling in villages disconnected from society… Like thieves in the night… I cannot imagine. At least we knew how to pretend to put barriers in place: gloves, masks, distance…

I can still see the images of people waiting in lines for the vaccine. Risking infection to get prevention. The lines were so long. (sigh and pause) It was the hope that it brought. I am certain it was also the sense of security. Convention centers converted to walk-in clinics overnight. It was obvious that the supply was way under the demand. It felt like there was never enough. (drag of cigarette – exhales…) For weeks the news was of shortages and then there was the crowd control… Then, one day, it went silent. The charts flattened and reports ceased. The world was able to exhale…” (exhales) 

RING-RING-RING-RING. My phone interrupted 116. I answered. “Yes, Rob? I am heading there now.” Rob was one of the admin in the office. His voice wiry, and more inquisitive than usual. “Jake, I just got all of the files from the Longsdale Properties…” trailing off. 

 “I am on my way, man, jus’ put ’em on my desk or email them to me.” I interjected to wrap the call up. The voice of 116 still fresh and echoing in my mind. The rasp from the cigarettes and powerful narrative hooked me. I found myself excitedly awaiting more, which I thought silly. This was just a tenant vocalizing the story of his devastation... like a tale from long ago – several realities ago.

 “Well, I was just going to tell you that the records are incomplete. If there was something that you needed to know – you’ll have to find it another way.”

“Rob this isn’t the first set of incomplete records.” I snapped back, irritated by the interruption.

 “No Jake. It’s not – but the records don’t usually mention 6 people dying of a virus or allude to a suicide/homicide.” He smacked my attitude into place. I was rendered captive by the statement and saliva went down my esophagus causing me to choke up.

 “What the hell?!?” I forced out as a question. During the outbreaks, people died. Lots of people died. So, incomplete records were not a new thing. I have been in situations where a couple died – or he got mad at her – and lost it, which ended life. While uncommon, it is not unheard of. Reports like this are grim but important. Information like this brings more attention to the property. Not in a good way. We have to disclose death information to future tenants, and a whole slew of research. We have to verify that the property is not impacted for future tenants in any way. However – 6 deaths at the same time – and question marks behind it? My mind was already spinning from 116 and was now kicked into overdrive. “… sent the files to you and the hardcopy is on your desk. (pause) Jake…now hurry up and get here…” Rob trailed off. Perhaps I was lost in the whirlwind of information that was just piled on top of me, but I am not sure who ended the call. We disconnected and the smart audio resumed playing once the BT was free.

116 resumed narrating. “…the world exhaled. (long exhale and silence) The system that we put into place supposedly conquered our enemy. The silent killer was silenced. The news shifted from body counts to positive things like life resuming. In what we would later call a phased approach, the States started to come alive again. The essential workers and essential businesses never closed. The rest of the world just joined again. Each state had long lists of requirements for workers to adhere to. Mostly distancing, limiting human contact, ventilation, sanitization and neutralization. Some businesses used cleaners and some chose to use UV lighting to eradicate anything left. Fomites were one of the first things we understood about the virus. What conditions would it survive in – or on? Like substrate for plants or fungi – different environments had a different half-life or virus life expectancy. It was marvelous to resume social life. Cautiously we stuck out our heads – like a family of prairie dogs scouting the terrain. Yips here and there calling back to one another.

That lasted for a few months and seemed like a life time starting out. The headlines that counted the days out of quarantine were long forgotten. The breeze. People… Even with the distancing, we were able to be the social creatures we were intended to be. And with every day that passed we became a little more casual with the regimented precautions. No one meant to let their guard down. We felt safe again. Complacency just sort of happened. The same thing as when it first started: When the virus spread – the areas not hit right away forgot why we were doing what we were. No one intended to be a carrier. The virus went dormant and we went back to life. Normal was forever changed, but it was still closer to normal. And it was a little better than many imagined. Small surges happened here and there – but we had adapted. …Maybe even herd immunity. We. Adapted. As did it.

We did not know or think that evolution could happen so quickly. We should have seen the signs. Like the flu – we had expected a new strain to gradually present itself. We had built plans for that. Countless vaccines mimicked our best guesses. We genetically engineered all the modeled strains. We were so proud of ourselves that we did not see animals becoming carriers. We were obliviously hopeful. It started with a random report of a tiger or other exotic animals. It seemed unreal, like a fluke, like a variation that was a natural anomaly. But by the time it gained traction – and enough people were paying attention, it was already on the move. It had also successfully altered its entire structure. None of the models predicted that. Our celebrated remission was short-lived.

The sweltering summer months wore on the States. We became ground zero for the next wave of infections. Entire towns and parts of cities were condemned. Like ghost towns… after the first wreckage… We were wiped out in droves. A relapse… hitting harder than anyone could have been anticipated. Faster. We had limited predictability. Not everyone was impacted the same way; some were sent to the ICU right away. Others, not so lucky… with their lungs shutting down right after first signs of… I can see the pain. The fevers, frying people from the inside out. The devastation and destruction in the wake of this surge sent the world into a panic. It’s not like we didn’t try to react. Creatures of habit – we did what we knew to do. We reinstated all of the rules that we had before. We also buckled down on any perceived loose ends. We tried to leave no margin for error. We started testing again… We started looking for new vaccines… Day after day – week after week after week. Body on top of body. Any proof that would predict its next actions or how to control the… Hell, isolate it. It was as if it were a swarm of termites devouring a forest – buzzing to the next area… And no specific order. It annihilated people… and their pets… Dogs and cats lay in the streets deteriorating in the summer sun. Scavengers also lined the streets and lent to the spread. The smell saturated cities… Many pets not infected were also thrown out. If there was any chance to stop it – people seemed to take it. Around this time, everything seemed to fall apart…”

(screeeech) The stoplight had changed suddenly. I was immersed in the audio with his imagery surrounding me as if my eyes were looking out of his window. I could see the smoke swirling in the room. As he spoke, the words whiffed the ambient air. The view was shattered in a moment as I slammed on the brakes screeching to a halt. The words trailed and I instinctively paused the audio. My heart raced from being ripped back to reality with the stiffness of velcro. I clicked the side of my mask and it raised, disengaged. The bottom of my glasses fogged over from my rapid breathing. The world painfully slowed as if in slow motion while a person crossed the street. I noticed the drones patrolling the streets; circling in a programmed route. Ruby red lights flickered as the pedestrian was analyzed. The chopper-like blades silently hovered like a shadow and followed just the same.

While programs and tech had changed rapidly, the basic scans were still the same. The originally aligned AI was always changing and learning… adapting. Smart dynamic algorithms correlating data for meaningful categorization. Scans for access, temperature, facial recognition, warrant searches, parole parameters, GPS coordinates… and honestly I am not sure what else was birthed over time. Like a life flashing before my eyes, I curiously imagined life as 116. I momentarily grieved its passing and angered over the pandemic. The devastation, according to 116. The light turned green and without thought I clicked resume – I was on autopilot.

“…everything seemed to fall apart. The states formed their own alliances in the conflict. Society made predictions of the collapse of the governments – but the US Federal government actually did. Rules changed. There was no such thing as a United State any longer. The states individually tackled our collapse in different ways…” The audio was muffled as 116’s movements were captured via a mic. Two very different voices were woven into the hollow indistinct chatter. One voice was 116 and the other a higher-pitched tone. Difficult to hear unassisted, the voice resembled that of a woman’s. The brief conversation then ended just as it started, suddenly. “Be ready,” 116’s voice was clear again. The only identifiable phrase from her was an abruptly sharp, “I am,” He took a drag on his cigarette and the deep raspy tones continued.

My mind was spinning. “What are you getting ready for?” I asked 116 in my mind. The audio suddenly stopped with a battery warning light flashing.

=====
Read more of the Devastation Series.
Devastation: The Life After Part 1
Devastation: The Life After Part 2
Devastation: The Life After Part 3
Devastation: The Life After Part 4 (Coming Soon)
=====

 

creative writing: devastation. the life after (part 2)

…continued from part 1.

Wondering what that was, I began to search the apartment. I needed to know more about this guy. Who was he – what was he doing here – why is his stuff all here and where did he go? Not having time to continue, I made a phone call to the management group that I was going to be a few minutes late to the board meeting. After the call, I started looking around the apartment. I sat the voice recorder back on the table. The room was a hollow shell of a person with remnants everywhere. A very methodical lifestyle was apparent despite the last stand coordination. Binoculars, survival books, rolled-up tent, camera, old cell phone, and laptop, just to name a few things. The lined bookshelves were more fascinating. Stacks of composition journals lined them. Each with some coded system that incrementally increases from the top to the bottom of the shelves. I slid one out and glossed over it. It was coded on the spine and cover with writing throughout.

The walls had news articles printed and adhered to the walls. The dates varied but seemed to tell a story coinciding with the context of the audio. Not having the time then, I locked up the apartment and left the room as it was. I knew that I would be back when I had more time. This initial visit was to survey the vacant rooms. This was one of six and the first one on the stop that day. Still having five more to get through, I had to press on. “What happened to you 116?” I wondered. Having recently acquired the property, I did not have all of the documentation yet. File transfers take time and approvals. And considering the age of the property and all that has taken place over the years – record-keeping of this nature was not the highest priority. So I had to do my own investigating. This routine check was only to ensure the room was in generally good order before the teams prepare it for inhabitance again. We do this for each acquisition. I always enjoyed this part of the process; finding out about lives left behind… All of the other apartments were already empty. The doors open where you can see in. Since these six were locked, I needed to verify it.

Room two was mostly empty. The basic things that you would expect in an apartment that was abandoned. A couple of photos were on the floor, along with a couple of books. As I picked up the photos and began to study them, I noticed one was taken in the apartment that I was just in. The age of the photo was uncertain but it was definitely taken some time ago. A young man with brown eyes and very distinct features smiled standing in front of a bookshelf. Journals lined the shelves, just like they did while I was there – but significantly less of them. The middle-aged man in the picture had an intense look to him despite the smile in the picture. His hair was cut really close and he had a thick goatee. The second picture was of a young woman. She had long black hair and a significantly stern look on her face. There was depth behind her eyes and she wore a distinguishing set of eyeglasses. The picture was curved and worn in the shape of a wallet or pocket.

As I looked past the picture I noticed a composition book under the coffee table. I picked it up and instantly noticed the same coding system on the spine from tenant 116. Did they know each other – if so – what was their relationship? While it is not uncommon to have empty or abandoned apartments, the fact that there was some connection between these two tenants and both were abandoned around the same time frame did spark curiosity. The photo was suddenly less interesting and I placed it in my front shirt pocket where it fit perfectly. The composition book was full of writing. A quick flip from back to front showed black and white on every page. The book had above average wear and the pages were tinted lightly from the aging process. The cover of this book was sun-bleached on the corner that stuck out from the table where it faded to magenta from fire-engine red.

I put the journal under my arm, intending to return to the prior apartment and locked up 212 heading to the next. A part of me wondered if I was going to continue finding clues in each room. I brushed the thought off as too much CSI television. I was set at ease opening the next doors. The next apartments had no obvious connection to the other two. I searched through each of them only finding lives that were ages ago. Photographs of a family were on the walls in one and a couple of amateur paintings in another. The last one only had a mattress, lamp, and a deck of cards on the floor. Spades… by that point I was over analyzing and paying attention to everything. Carrying the composition notebook around, I began to wonder what was written in all of the books. The books that were numbered and in some form of order. Hundreds of composition books lining a bookshelf in 116. Were they all filled like the one under my arm? I had the same curiosity that a person has in an estate sale. I wanted the story to unfold. Who were these people?

Walking back to 116, I pulled the keys out of my back pocket. Modern buildings are all keycard or biometric, but many older buildings still exist. With the dozen-plus keys jingling and fumbling through my fingers, I lost grip of the composition notebook. The book fell flat, spine down, and opened to a worn page set. This section was an apparent journal entry with a date in the upper right corner. Pristine cursive lined the pages, indicative of the educational time frame. You see, since the digitizing of all records became the norm in the States, Optical Character Recognition, did not work well with cursive due to all of the variations. Hand-printed text, while vastly different person to person, was recognizable by the average AI. Cursive was removed from schools, nationally, in the late ’20s. When the pandemic happened, so many people were lost that the world suffered great losses of tribal knowledge. The World Digitization Act of 2025, created the ability and met the need for all documents to be digitized. Anything not printed relied on translation, which was also not the highest priority during that period. The digital rebellion took hold shortly after and hackers wiped large amounts of data from the archives. We are still searching the Black Webs recovering data lost.

Having a family that believed in a diverse education, I was easily able to read the cursive writing. The entry was marked as Feb 20, 2022. My eyes were pulled to the first line which jumped out at me “Day 675. The world has gone mad. Today, leaders of the United States made decisions to convert to a police state…” My phone rang about that time and I realized that I was already several minutes late to my appointment. Diverting the call, I picked up the fallen book, closed it, and finished opening the door. I walked into the room and realized something that I had not before. The organization was methodical. Not in a neat person sort of way, but in a library sort… The way the books were organized and other materials were placed in precise spots reminded me of a forensics laboratory. This room was a record of some sort. I placed the book on the table by the voice recorder. Turning to leave, I stopped, second-guessing myself, and grabbed the voice recorder. I walked out of the room and shut the door behind me, locking it.

The building deemed vacant had been sanitized long before my arrival. As I approached the main entrance I slid my PPE into the engaged position beeping active. I adjusted my access lanyard hanging from the front of my belt into the correct position. Scanning drones are really a nuisance and not worth the hassle of an incomplete read. I zipped up my jacket and pulled my stocking out of my back pocket adjusting it over my mask harness. The winters were cold and a trip to the infirmary was not something that I wanted to mess with. As I exited the building I saw my car start as I approached. I got into the car and sat the recorder on the dash. Replaying images of 116 in my mind, I heard the tenant’s voice over and over, “Better… never came. Well at least not in the way we expected it.” I checked the time and selected manual vehicle operation. I wanted to drive. I pushed the BT connection on the recorder and it paired with my car audio system. “Connection successful,” the AI confirmed. “What else did you have to tell me 116?” I pondered to myself.

(click)

“…we were chasing it after that and have never caught up. And we locked down again. Even tighter…”

[to be continued…]

creative writing: devastation. the life after.

Today, while clearing out a vacated apartment, I found this audio clip. Dust had settled over the small black device. The air was stagnant and someone had obviously lived their last days here. Set up for lounging and convenience, it looks like the last stand. I replaced the batteries and hit play. (Click) Listening, I was taken to a lifetime ago…

(digitized static comes through the tiny speakers)

(drag on a cigarette – exhale) It has been years since the devastation. Well, that is at least what I have called it. It has been long enough that the memories have begun to lose their shape. But, not long enough that I have forgotten. Kids being born today will never know and the ones growing up have only known this changed way we’re living. I have my pictures which make me feel much older than I am. Phrases like “back when” and “remember” fall out of my mouth when I recall those days. I remember my parents doing that… Look, there I go again. As time speeds on, I can only hope that I can retain my memories. Those are fading though.(cough) An old news article was awaiting me in the chest. That, I am sure is what is sparking this… A voice is sometimes all that I feel like I have left and I have a need to say my peace. To be heard again – and remember what was – and give hope for someday. Some. Day.

“Social Distancing Instituted Across America,” reads the headline. It is a printed article since I never did take to the newspapers. But I wanted to keep it. So, just like I am right now, I can go back into my remember whens. When things were not stirred up yet, or when socials were still a thing. Distancing was something that a person did for introversion. Well, either that or depression, I guess. I guess I never noticed. (laugh) I was definitely an introvert. Back before it was the thing. Oh, how even I miss those days. Too much of a good thing… and everything in moderation as my family would joke with me. I once made a list. A list of things that I did in that all or nothing lifestyle. But that doesn’t matter… This article was so many years ago. Where did they go? I can imagine what a person that lost their sight later in life must feel like. The colors blurring. The associations of images with sounds. The same is true now – just on a different level.

I remember a baseball game. No, not like now. The sport was held in a large stadium. The stadium contained thousands of seats, in rows, uncomfortable but evenly spaced. (chuckle) The awkwardness of moving past the people sitting if you got up to grab a snack or make any movement really. I think I have said “Ooop, excuse me,” and “Sorry..” there more than anywhere in my life. (laugh) Well on the outside anyway. People would pay to sit in those seats. Sometimes a lot of money. The popcorn and the soda were so overpriced. But now, the experience, well, that would be worth those golden kernels. About the only thing, the same today is watching it on a big screen part. I could only afford the nose bleed sections, which meant I was up high, and so far away. So, like now, watching it on the TV. That part is the same. They still play – but the sound of the crowd all around you… In stereo because it was all around you. That was different. Pay-per-view was for certain things – and only a few people actually did it. Well, I am sure enough [people] to keep it going – but not like now. (sigh) I have been away from memory lane for too long.

The world has changed. Not in the sense that things do. It feels more upside down or inside out. Starkly different. It was not sudden. The days that we counted turned to weeks…months even… then we just stopped counting. Better… never came. Well at least not in the way we expected it. People would actually go places and the excitement was the crowd of people. I look out the window and the streets are only full of people commuting to and from a space. Those strategically placed cubicles… safe distances… The street corners do not contain a musician or a homeless person bumming pocket change. No one goes outside to just be… outside. And the smell of the air… The unfiltered air… The aromas of the city, which we hated and complained about… but was not layered in between the plastic of a mask, or the scent that you selected on inside of your protection. Only certain people wore those – your job determined that.

My mind is an explosion of joy and sorrow. (sniffs) Memories shine bright when I close my eyes. (inhale of a cigarette) I cannot tell what to feel right now. Similar feelings then, actually. That feeling…that things are unsettled and changing. Headline after headline leaving you wondering what planet we were on. The time when everyone was an essential worker. And it worked. The essential definition just meant you held a job that did something in society. Not like now. Badges to go in and out. Permissions and training to be in the world. Certifiably crazy if you ask me. No one ever did. (scoffs) You could see people’s faces. The shapes of their noses and lips. Whether they had good teeth or not. Did they smile nicely? And running into someone… somewhere. “Hey, Bob! How has it been going?” Or maybe “Jane so nice to see you!” Then exchange a firm warm handshake or a gentle hug. Pat on the shoulder even. The touch… There were no quotas on groups or strict gathering policies. Smiling and seeing a smile was the thing you did on a walk.

Like right now. I am online selecting my groceries from an outlet. Stores do not really exist anymore. They used to. We would go in and read the boxes or check over the fruit ourselves. The look or smell would sell us. Not searching and reading reviews adding to our carts. We would drive to the store, and grab a shopping cart. Load it up with everything we had on our lists and then some. Now, as you know, everything is shipped. Blank non-printed boxes. No need to catch your eye if you only read the reviews. Damn shame. Some stores even had samples. I mean you would go in and someone would have this table full of their products. Small cups of this and that and you would try it. Then decide if you were splurging or not. Ordering it just to try it… God, I miss that (laugh) Oh and driving… everyone drove. If you needed something you would get into your car and go get it. Drones did not deliver. Drones were not even a real thing yet. Well, in that aspect. They were either novelty or served a purpose. Such as spying on you. (chuckles) I had a car that would seat 4 people. And we would get into the car and all go places together. I cannot recall the last passenger vehicle that I have seen that was not special purpose.

When did it fall apart? (drags on a cigarette) I am not certain when that began. I cannot think of any key events. It was like several things happened at once, aligned, and then snowballed. The world came together for a short time… it was an amazing moment in humanity. One of those things that I never thought I would see. We locked down the world and we adapted. The virus spread like wildfire. The distancing helped and we made progress, so we thought. We got used to this situation. People took it seriously, despite the nay-sayers, which I suppose you will always have. We rushed to find prevention methods. The things we normally would do in this type of situation. And we searched for a cure. The world… searching… together. Technology came together and our smart devices would let us track if we came near anyone certified to have it. So many things working together. And I remember we found a vaccine. The news… the rush of people getting it… I thought we came together, braved the storm, and found a solution. Again, things I never thought that I would see. We had hope and slowly life started to resume. Lockdowns were progressively lifted and we could be out again. We did not know that it jumped. The virus evolved… again… We just reinfected everyone. And we were chasing it after that and have never caught up.

And we locked down again. Even tighter… (click)

*** Author’s Note***

I am playing around with a story concept. My mind reads the news articles – and as the dates for “normal” keep getting pushed back, I wonder if we will ever have the world we knew. I do not think the world will be post-apocalyptic or dystopian “as seen on tv.” I do think we will be forever changed and what was normal will not exist and what now is will continue to evolve into the expectation. The story takes place years after a global pandemic. A landlord assuming ownership of a building is going through the complex. All of the tenants that are no longer there and finds a room, preserved for several years. A time capsule of what was. The audio is from a tenant reflecting.

If you like this story – I contemplated expanding on it. Like or comment to let me know what you think. About anything, really. Let your mind wander…

blueberry muffin bread (bread maker or loaf pan)

I needed to try a fruity dessert. So I nabbed a blueberry muffin bread recipe off of Pinterest.

Ingredients:

  • 1+ cup white sugar ( I make a heaping cup…)
  • 1/2 Cup Salted Butter (Melted.)
  • 2 eggs
  • 1 Tbsp Vanilla Extract
  • 1 Cup Milk
  • 2 Cups All purpose Flour
  • 2 tsp Baking Powder
  • 2+ Cups Blueberries (I added a bit more – but you can add to your liking. I used frozen so that they would not mash in all of the mixing.)

I mixed the butter, milk, and sugar together to create a cream just like the recipe stated. Then I added the vanilla extract and eggs and made a semi-homogenous mixture. I placed this in the bread maker then put the flour on top and blueberries on top of that.

I used the Sweetbread setting on the mixer and 1.5 lb. setting. It was still soft when the bread maker was completed so I had to use the oven (which I suspected before the maker finished) 350 oven for 15 m. more. I think I could have upped the size to increase the bake time or (as the original recipe stated) standard oven at 350 for 50-60 m.

Callout if using a bread maker… The berries heavy in the mixture, sunk to the bottom. So adding them in later in the mix cycle or using the oven may be better. Thought being, if you use the oven it will harden the dough quicker and lock the berries in place.

This blueberry muffin bread was a PERFECT texture, consistency and bake. The downside, if any, is that the berries settled to the bottom – so you will want to be aware of that. It is a KEEPER though. It reheats very nicely too. Enjoy.

ww. joe

people. frustration. mental wandering.

Most of my entries have been recipes as of late. I think that is partially because there is an end. I did something, saw an outcome and in most cases, rewarded. I mean in a short time I made something. Made. Something. And the something had a sweet taste which lent to a smile for myself or the people that I shared it with. In a text to the family today, I made a comment that today feels like every other day – just different weather. Groundhog’s Day seems to be the theme.

Life is not terrible. I am really in a good place. My family is safe and the people close to me are in a good place. But the overwhelming aimlessness takes over. It creeps in like a draft through a cracked window or door and before I know it the furnace cannot keep up. I have been spending a lot of time working on self-awareness and what the ego (self) is telling me. Based on a recommendation from my therapist, I reread The Subtle Art of Not Giving a F*ck. I have been studying, in an awareness sense, cognitive distortion and the perceptions for realities. Some days I feel like Dorey in Finding Nemo, “Just keep swimming… just keep swimming…” And also like Dorey, I forget where I am, was going, or what I intended… It is funny, really. Ironic. We are less bombarded with stimuli than we were months ago – and in a sense more overwhelmed. And while I do not think that is completely true – it is a perception that I am wrestling with.

The news is full of what people do when they feel powerless. Complaint. Rebellion. Complaints about rebellion. Opinions about opinions and so many people (myself included) disagree with what is – but do not have the answer for what should. Compound that with a million we could’s and we get a sh*tstorm in social media. Not to mention the country leadership lends itself to mushroom management. While I do not find myself being super politically charged – it is hard to not have an opinion (yay or nay) on the matters at hand. With everyone searching for the right answers and sharing the ones that they do have, I find myself in analysis paralysis. The overwhelmed feelings that have complied this week were boiled over, for me, and came out in a couple of tears while watching this comforting song (or here) and the text you are reading now. I just needed to get it out there. So there!

I do not know if I should be scared. Or should I feel safe? Do we have this under control, or are we still awaiting the other shoe to drop? Articles like this, give me hope, but if I read much more, I will find just as much reason to want to lock the doors, crawl under the covers and only let my eyes show (imagine a child hiding from a monster in the closet). Because we do have something like that going on. We do not know if it is there – or not – but the feelings exist which makes it very real… to me. So with the gloomy weather outside, and a cold front taking over, I will sip my coffee and continue to explore these thoughts. Eventually, I will likely give up and work on one of the projects that I have. (Just started my personal branding, joepederson.com… but it is not complete yet.)

Now is a great time to be a creative. Or have some projects that you have always wanted to do. Being Sunday (today), I am going to make some lists of goals for the week. Then maybe cap it off with exploring another world in my mind. Now, which project to pick?

ww. joe

craisin cinnamon bread recipe

I am going to develop health problems by the end of the COVID-19 lockdown. I got my 1lb of yeast. Well, 3 packs were $10. 1 lb. was $18. Why not? Considering Amazon is backordered until May in many stores and the local stores seem to be out… I may just be the corner dealer. Man – what-chu-got? Yea-st. No? Ok then.

Another tweaked recipe that I found on Pinterest. I was aiming for denser and sweeter than the original recipe. Maybe I will make some frosting as well. Not sure yet. Regardless, I used the Sweet setting and 1.5 lb. loaf setting. I added the liquids, then dry ingredients. I made a pocket in the corner and put the yeast in. It ended up much more dense (in a good way – like homemade bread often does) than I expected. It was a smaller loaf so there is a lot of room to tweak things to get the bread lighter and fluffier (add an egg or yeast). The results were much more homemade-bread-like. A little more dense and heavier but not a loaf of dough. Slather some butter and it has the sweet salty appeal. You could always switch up the craisins to raisins or reduce the amount if this bread looks too fruity for you. Regardless, I think this one is a keeper.

Ingredients:

  • 1 c. room temperature milk (subbed for water)
  • 3 tbs. margarine/butter (added 1 tbs.)
  • 1 1/2 tsp. salt
  • 3 c. flour
  • 4 tbs. sugar (added 1 tsp.)
  • 3 tsp. ground cinnamon (added 1 tsp)
  • 2 1/2 tsp. active/dry yeast
  • 1 1/4 c. craisins (added 1/4 non packed)
  • 2 tsp. brown sugar ( added 2 tsp.)

It’s not if, but when we get it…

Knowing when you have been exposed to someone with Coronavirus (COVID-19) is not as far away as you may think, according to an article in my news feed. Using Bluetooth and location settings – you can be alerted. The idea could apply to just about anything, really. I suddenly imagined a world where criminals (sex offenders) etc. are monitored even more closely. And that brings an entire debate for me. I have to digest that a bit more before I comment. It is a fascinating technology, though. It does not change the future though. It is still largely reactive…

Considering influenza, aka the “flu,” and how it passes around every season and how we chase it… It does not disappear. We gamble with an educated guess for the strain of the year with vaccines and try to get ahead but people still get it. I imagine that COVID-19 will be the same way. It is not a matter of if – but when we get it, in my opinion. It is hard to hear. Maybe even scary. We are putting all of this work together – methods – protocols – lockdowns… but is it only delaying the inevitable? And there is a significant chance, I believe, that each of us will get the corona at one point or another. I am unsettled thinking about it. The disease which is responsible for a large part of the world shutting down may be here to stay. I do not think we will escape it. But by that time, hopefully, we will be in a much better place.

Our goal needs to be to avoid the virus as long as possible. I do not think – going back to normal and having a Corona party (a reference to a chickenpox party for the earlier generations) is the way to go. Each day we learn something new about it. How it transmits or which fomites it can survive on… We are experimenting with so many new things. Cures, vaccines, treatment protocols, and social norms. We have so much more to learn. This “flattening the curve” effort is crucial to our futures. The longer we can delay it, or slow it down, we recover more of our resources. Hospitals free up – and doctors can take deeper looks at treatment protocols. Everyone will not be in a triage state.

I am still tired. And every day is a circus of what Trump said. What Fauci said… Who tweeted about who. Or now, Trump is withholding funding from the WHO due to some questions about the approach to the disease. This is not a time to be drawing lines – making political points or building a platform. I do not care which president said it. Or which monarch made the point… We need to be developing a longer-term plan. Be preparing for surges. Investing in education and transparency to prepare the public. We are still not in a good place. We have priorities that we need to attend to. We can come back to dot the i’s and cross the t’s when we stabilize or at least have a solid plan (not debating behind closed doors a super-secret committee’s plan). We can review processes and who did what right – or wrong later. Though we should be agile and learn as we go. Too much time looking back and we trip going forward. It is time to just march. Pick up your neighbor and carry them if you need to. We need each other. When we go back to “normal” we will be anything but… We then need to prepare for what’s next… a surge… panic… whatever. The strategy shouldn’t be political.

Ok, I have to stop. Soapbox is getting higher up there and I need to digest all of this. I wish you all well. Stay safe – educated – and open-minded. Above all else – show compassion and be prepared.

ww. joe

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