Tightening up with our dogs during the pandemic

I recall vaguely that some people in the far north, perhaps Eskimos, described the coldness of the night in terms of dogs.  If it was a three or four dog night; that meant it was really cold.  Getting by with one or two dogs was more tolerable.  It has been cold outside here, below freezing most mornings, but up in my study it is warm enough, sleeping in my lounge chair, covered by whatever blankets I feel comfortable with.  But Jessica, my Irish Terrier, has her own opinion about that.  Perhaps it has some relationship to the coldness outside, but she has been determined to sleep on top of me at night.  She was getting me trained in that respect in the recent past, but when I hurt my shoulder, it was not tolerable for me, and she had to leave me alone.

But my shoulder is a lot better.  Last night was typical.  My term for telling her I intended to get to sleep is “nap.”  “I’m going to take a nap, now Jessica; so, don’t get in my lounge chair.”  She warned me she had a plan by ignoring my words and getting in my lounge chair anyway.  When I was ready to go to sleep, I tipped the lounge chair up gently and slid her out onto the floor.  She watched me settle in and then pawed my arm indicating she wanted to get into my lap.  I said, “okay,” and reached for her, but she wanted to play hard to get, moving away when I reached for her.  At last, I said in annoyance, “Go away, I’m going to sleep”, but just as I began to doze off, she raked my right arm with her nails.  “Go away,” I said again, and tried to get back to sleep.  After a few iterations of this, I was no longer sleepy; so, I turned the light on and read on my Kindle for a while, Ignoring Jessica’s unhappiness with me.  

As soon as I was sleepy again, I put my Kindle away and the next time she messed with me, I jackknifed forward, grabbed her forward legs up close to her chest and pulled her up on top of my stomach; which was her goal all along; so, at last she was ready to go to sleep for the night.  This isn’t to say there wasn’t a lot of shifting about on both our parts.  My ribcage in the area most associated with my left shoulder, while not as sore as it has been, will complain if Jessica is lying on it for too long.  Also, Jessica prefers spending a lot of time parallel to my left leg with her head toward my feet, which is okay because it is my right leg that has the damaged knee cap.  And so, we sleep.

Waking up this morning, some of my joints and other structure felt a bit uncomfortable, but after loosening up with some dumbbells I felt okay.  I don’t have the usual morning headache and in retrospect I enjoyed Jessica sleeping on top of me.  When she was young and squirmy, she didn’t like being a lapdog, but now, when she’s in the mood (or perhaps shortly after she’s been trimmed and its cold outside) she does.  So perhaps it is a coincidence, but when the temperature drops down near freezing outside, I am having one-dog nights.

But as our sleeping arrangements are getting sorted, I wondered about the introduction of a Ben-like Ridgeback.  What would he be wanting to do while Jessica was annoying me by playing hard to get when all I want to do is sleep, with or without her sleeping on me?   And, if he got to close would Jessica wake me up with a growl or a bark?  Of course, he would get used to that eventually, and steer-clear if he could, but he would have to walk by the lounge chair to get to the water dishes.  

In the past this was less of a problem inasmuch as I spent most nights sleeping on the floor, but I’m creakier than I used to be and wouldn’t be able to sleep on my left shoulder at all.  The lounge chair is fine.  My shoulder and I have gotten used to it.

Now, with this hiding out because of the pandemic, not being able to get back into hiking quite yet because of medication changes and weather, Jessica, Duffy, my Schnoodle, and I have been living in a closer relationship than in the past.  I thought they might feel a bit of cabin fever being restricted to the house and yard most days, but not so.  They like it fine.  I have been more attentive to what they want and need, and they like that more than fine.   

So, what would happen if we added a Ridgeback to our mix?  I looked over at Jessica just now and she is lying on a blanket in morning sunlight watching me.  I wouldn’t be the only person to look at (Duffy does a lot of sleeping, and Jessica ignores him most of the time) if we had a Ridgeback.  

And no matter how fixed our situation is now, it would be just as fixed, albeit arranged differently if Ben, our last Ridgeback, were still alive.  Ben was easier to live with than Jessica has been.  Then too, if the weather stays cool at night, and my shoulder heals a bit more, perhaps I can sleep on the floor again, from time to time, and if there were a Ridgeback to keep us company, I could have a three-dog night if I needed one.

 

Pronunciation and other language fads

There is no "single" American pronunciation,  There are many, and they are being, or once were, studied.  About 60 years ago I took a course from a young woman who was working on a particular American dialect.  She was part of a scientific organization that did that sort of thing.  I can't recall how many dialects we had at the time or whether there have been many new ones since then, but as part of the course we were required to learn the code for designating the different sounds.  By the time we finished the course we could have  done the grunt work for one of these scientists recording and describing American dialects.  I can't refer to a text book for details since it has long since disappeared.  I don't even know if such a field continues to exist.  But with a little time and a good dictionary I think I could still recapture the code and how to use it -- though I can't think of an reason why I would want to at this point.

I recall another class, this one in Chaucer.  We were informed that Chaucer's poetry was for a long time thought poor and irregular because his critics had lost the sense of pronouncing fourteenth century end vowels. Even if we pronounced his poetry properly, I thought to myself, one would still need to learn the meaning (which has changed dramatically from his time to ours) of his words, and so reading his poetry was a time-consuming matter which I scarcely took beyond three or four of his far from uplifting tales -- whatever was required to pass the course.

And it isn't just the pronunciation and meaning of words historians and literary scholars have to contend with.  There are word fads and taste.

From one generation to the next what is "cool" or tastefully "in" changes.  We don't in most cases talk exactly the way our parents did.

And if some widely considered "great" poets and novelists of past ages had more of an historic sense and could have appreciated how short would be the time that their writings would be  faddishly "in," perhaps they wouldn't have drunk themselves to early graves in search of such fame.

Lawrence, entertaining dark thoughts in sequestered San Jacinto

A couple of theories about what to do in response to Covid-19

On my smart phone just now appeared: “Berlin district mayor defends deliberate coronavirus infection.  Berlin District Mayor Stephan von Dassel defended his decision to ‘almost deliberately’ get infected with the coronavirus. . . ‘I was ill longer than I thought. . . and thought I’ll be a bit sick for three days and then I’ll be immune – I can’t catch it and won’t pass it on to anyone, but it was a lot worse than I imagined . . .”

This crossed my mind as well, but I rejected the idea at once.  I try my best to avoid ordinary flu and have no interest in acquiring something comparable just to become immunity.  If I catch it, so be it, but I’m definitely not interested in volunteering. 

In the April 2, 2020 issue of the London Review of Books is an article entitled “Too early or too late?subtitled “David Runciman on political timing and the pandemic.”  Runciman writes, “only one politician has actually cited the actions of the mayor from Jaws as a model for crisis management, and it isn’t Trump.  Boris Johnson used to tease audiences by suggesting that ‘the real hero of Jaws was the mayor, a wonderful politician.  A gigantic fish is eating all his constituents and he decides to keep the beaches open.’  Usually Johnson would end his riff by admitting: ‘OK, in that instance he was wrong.  But in principle we need more politicians like the mayor.’” 

Perhaps it isn’t quite what Boris Johnson believes, but after reading of all the people thrown out of work, threats of impoverishment, even starvation, it occurred to me to wonder whether the approach that seems to be adopted almost world-wide, that of staying home, might in the long run kill more people than the virus.  After all, the gigantic fish didn’t actually eat all of the mayor’s constituents.  Anticipating that not working will kill more people in the long run, we could assume that the Covid-19 will be comparable to ordinary flu.  People die from that is well; so let’s individual stay home if we need to, otherwise work, work, work.  For if we run out of food because farmers, middlemen, and sales people are staying home and the hand-to-mouth people start dying off at a faster rate than Covid-19 victims are now, a few months from now Boris Johnson (if that is what he has been worried about) may seem prescient – or would so seem if he hadn’t backed away from anything that extreme.”

However, the “assumption” in the preceding paragraph may be wrong.  The Covid-19 may be much worse than ordinary flu . . . at least a blog entry, also included in April 2, 2020 issue of the LRB, and entitled “Quaresima, Thomas Jones reports from Orvieto” seems to suggest that it is.  His article is a list of days, beginning “Fifteen days ago: 2706 people in Italy had at this point tested positive for SarsCoV-2; there were 443 new cases; 276 had recovered; 107 were dead. . . “  He then describes whatever was going on 15 days ago. 

Jones article ends “Today: 33,190 positive; 4480 new cases; 4440 recovered; 3405 dead.  This issue of the LRB goes to press on Thursday, 19 March . . . This issue is dated 2 April, two weeks from now.  The day after that, in theory, schools in Italy are set to reopen.  But everyone knows that won’t happen. . . .”

Jones article is pessimistic.  We should sequester ourselves as he and his son are doing because people are dying out there and the risk is high that if we go out ‘there,’ that we will die too.  3405 dead out of 33,190 that tested positive is a little over 10%.  We have all heard that Italy has had a higher rate of deaths than any other nation.  But the Covid-19 is a new phenomenon.  How can we be sure that our nation won’t have percentages as high as those being reported from Italy?

It may be that the next wave of Covid-19 in Italy may kill a lower percentage of victims, but would we want to follow the advice of a “hypothetical mayor of Jaws” on the basis of such an assumption?

My smart phone just informed me that in Germany they are considering testing everyone to get better statistics; which makes good sense since we have been told that some people get it and barely have any symptoms at all.  If such cases are entered into the statistics then the death rate “might” end up comparable to that of ordinary flu. 

Forts, studies, hide-outs and covid-19

I didn’t like going places long before I couldn’t.  My situation seems ordained.  I made walking sticks years before the accident. . . well, I was actually intending to make hiking sticks, but if I ended up having to shorten certain sticks because of defects in the wood, I finished them anyway, calling them walking sticks and saying, 'who knows.  One day they may come in handy.'  My orthopedic surgeon was impressed with them.  He spent more time looking at my sticks than at my knee. 

I was looking forward to the weather clearing so I could take the dogs hiking, but it still hasn’t cleared and now it’s moot.  I wonder how the homeless people living on the river are dealing with covid-19. 

And, ever since I was a little boy I liked the idea of having a “fort,” and built several.  We lived alongside a huge vacant lot and in those days forts had to be dug into the ground, which I enjoyed doing.  Neighborhood boys used to pelt us with grass clods and we would pelt them back.  After we moved, I built a fort up in a tree out front.  It was fairly well built.  A friend and I used to go up there and make Japanese money.  We’d cut up blank paper into the size of money and then make Japanese-like scribbles on it -- can't remember why, but I was probably 12 at the time.  There was an oil-well next door and something attached to the top of the oil-truck collided with my fort – which was stronger.  The oil company made me tear it down.  

It was from inside another fort, one I built out beside the garage to wait for the end of the world which Dr. Clem Davies on the radio convinced my mother was going to happen on one Saturday when I was 13.  It was a good sturdy fort.  It withstood that particular Saturday quite well.  After I went into the Marine Corps, my stepfather tore it down.  He said it was a lot harder to tear down than he imagined. 

After I was working at Douglas for a couple of years, Karen, my first wife complained about not having a house of our own; so I bought one in Torrance, making sure it already had a fort – out behind the garage with lots of sliding glass doors.  It wasn’t built to code and so wasn’t included in the price of the house, but none of my previous forts were built to code either; so I didn’t mind.  Functionally, it became a study, and the houses I owned since that one needed to have studies, not forts, but since I am now officially sequestered I’ve been thinking of my study, from which I can see the mountains over the trees through the large window next to my desk, along the lines of my forts of old – not that any of them were forts in the medieval sense.  They couldn’t withstand an attack that came with anything more potent than grass-clods.  “Hideouts” didn’t exactly describe them either, because everyone knew about our “forts” and it was easy to know when we were in them.  And so, yes, the one I’m in now is a traditional study.  It has the desk, books shelves, lots of books and computer gear, but it is also on the second floor, away from the front part of the house, and I can always look to my right and see the mountains.  Since covid-19 it has seemed more like a fort than a study.  Any intruder larger than a virus would have a difficult time entering the house and coming up the stairs.  He would be confronted by a fiercely barking Jessica, who would be joined by Ben (who joins her if she is barking at something he is interested in like cats and strange dogs) and finally Duffy.  And if they were all barking at something, I would get up to check. . . the last time that happened I went downstairs and saw a Yorkie-sized dog sniffing around on our front lawn.    So perhaps “hideout” works better than “fort” under the current circumstances.  Hiding out is sort of like sequestering oneself.  But it is sort of like what I was already doing before covid-19. . . and I found myself looking out my study window and imagining what I would have thought if I knew I would ever have a “fort” like the one I spend most of my time in.  I would have thought it would be very good to live as long as I needed to, to get here. 

Covid-19 ruminations

I started smoking when I was 18 in Korea and gave it up when I was 28 during the cancellation of the Skybolt program in Long Beach.  I was doing a lot of free-diving in those days and didn’t want my lungs affected.  I can recall especially liking cigarillos and considered taking it up again recently figuring that surely I wouldn’t live long enough for a recent addiction to cigarillos to affect my health.  On the other hand, I am much given to day-dreaming and in that state am forgetful.  I might very well set fire to myself.

As to reading the papers, I discontinued reading the local Riverside Press Enterprise which I had delivered and which I would have to wobble out in the dark every morning to retrieve.   I replaced it with the on-line edition of the Los Angeles Times.  I get several periodicals in the mail and do have to wobble out to my mail box for these, but I do that at mid-day when the sun is out:  the TLS, London Review of Books, the New York Review of Books, The New Yorker, The American Interest, Foreign Affairs, Discover, Scientific American, Science News, Asimov’s Science Fiction, Wired, and National Review. 

Being a hermit at heart, the Covid-19 distancing and isolating hasn’t affected me much.  I have a cleaning lady come in once a week.  I leave a check for her downstairs and keep my dogs up in my study while she cleans.  That was our arrangement before Covid-19 and hasn’t changed.  A gardener comes once a week to take care of the lawns.  His only concern is that I keep the dogs out of the back yard while he is here; so he sends me an email when he is about ready to arrive. 

I recall discussing retirement with a professor of theology from Philadelphia years ago.  He said that he would want to retire near a major library.  I was used to having access to major libraries, but was not willing to retire to a city and so reconciled myself to buying whatever books I needed.  That has worked out well enough.  Whatever subject I happen to be interested in at the time, if I only buy books I am ready to read, I can’t read fast enough to cause their purchase to make a dent in my bank balance. 

Years ago during one of the Israel vs everyone else in the neighborhood conflicts (and not trusting my news sources at the time) I subscribed to the Jerusalem Post, but after a few years let my subscription lapse.  Yet even today, several organizations assume I am Jewish, and send me notifications and invitations for various publications and activities.  My theological friend would have told me I could have avoided that by reading The Jerusalem Post in a decent library. . . all of which seem to be closed at the present time because of covid-19.

Blavatsky, philosophical yoga and flying saucers

 

I described in an earlier note, an English major acquaintance-longshoreman-communist who regularly loaned me books with the intention, perhaps, of converting me.  In a similar fashion, a few years later, at Douglas Aircraft Company I worked with an English major (MA from Duke) who was interested in a variety of off-beat authors and subjects, one of whom was Madam Helena Blavatsky, and so I read her Secret Doctrine and Isis Unveiled and then branched out into others, writing roughly on philosophical yoga – as opposed to the two other forms of yoga, mastering the body through yoga exercise and a life of service. 

I recall that Blavatsky's reported claim to have direct contact with immortals living in the Himalayan mountains; which always struck me as a bit doubtful – and then there were the various practices she was involved in none of which did very well if I remember correctly.  She was primary founder of the Theosophical Society.  I checked that out and found there was a small group that met in a small building some place in Los Angeles, but I never attended any of their meetings. 

But this Duke fellow was much more interested in flying saucers at the time.  That was a lot of fun.  I spent a lot of time staring at the sky at night through binoculars.  I also had a telescope that would block out the sun’s bright light.  He believed flying saucers could hide in front of the sun much as Zero’s did during WWII.  We resolved to investigate further.  He joined Donald Kehoe’s NICAP and I joined Coral Loranzen’s APRO.  We would get their monthly publications and exchange them.  But my friend was more attracted to the NICAP conclusions: there is something out there that witnesses have verified that can’t be explained.  I found Loranzen’s conclusions much more intriguing: there is something out there and it is hostile. 

But we did talk mostly about poetry.  He had planned to get his PhD and focus on criticism (a plan he gave up after getting his MA).  Since he worked with a fellow who wrote, he expended all of his critical energies on him.  He eventually got tired of working at Douglas  (McDonnell Douglas by that time) and didn’t resist being laid off in about 1970.  He was very good at picking winners at local race tracks and supported himself doing that for several months, but after tiring of that got married and took a job in some lower-tier aerospace company after which I lost track of him.

As to being affected by having to sequester myself as a result of Corvid-19, after the broken knee-cap incident on 8-15-19 I found ways of getting everything I needed delivered to my front door.  Also, I had previously taken to stocking up on various essentials partially because I didn’t trust the world out there.  My daughter in Idaho, who also has stocked up on necessities says they call it “getting ready for the Zombie Apocalypse.”   Also, the outings I enjoy most involve hiking, which my broken knee-cap may inhibit, but it has also been raining which also inhibits hiking.  I suppose when the weather clears up I’ll be wanting to try out my knee again on some hikes and will chafe a bit more over Corvid-19's restrictions.