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Depression

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This is a touchy subject. Like many of my posts this year it’s not gonna be as light and funny as usual. Tougher still, my standard blogging method is to use examples from people we know. Since I don’t want to hurt or embarrass any friends or relatives I will try to speak generally, unpersonally or use examples from Janet’s and my life.

Let me start out with a horrible bombshell. A few days ago in Janet’s hometown a teenager committed suicide. This was the 3rd suicide of a school-aged child in her town since the quarantines began. How many school-aged children have died of Covid-19 in her town during the same period of time? I think you can guess the answer – none. What we are doing to our children in the name of “safety” is unconscionable.

Love him or hate him; and there seems to be no middle ground; Trump got one thing right from the beginning of the lockdowns: he warned that if extended the mental health and suicide consequences would be dire. I can say that in my own personal life and the lives of those around me this has been true.

The irony is that since the strictest quarantines have been lifted here in Dumaguete, depression has gotten worse. Janet and I can do most things almost normally; shop, go to the mall, eat at a restaurant, exercise (I play golf twice a week), etc. Despite the fact that most of our lives have returned to some sense of normalcy, depression among many of the people we know has gotten worse.

I suspect in some weird way that when the worst of the lockdowns ended in May, many of us assumed that normal life would return and when it did not – well the months have taken their toll.

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I know in my own life I have done and said things I would not normally do or say. I have done other things, like working on my guitar playing or golf game, that seem positive, but I don’t trust my judgment enough to be sure. And yes, in a few dark moments I have strongly considered suicide. Janet has been a fantastic help but she too readily admits to depression.

What’s really weird is this: now that I get together regularly with friends no one wants to talk about depression. Sure, we talk about Covid and the excesses of the government lockdowns and how we can’t wait to be able to travel again. But there is little talk about the difficulties with wives and families or the internal darkest times. I guess it’s a male thing. The media is the same. Lots of reporting about death or positive tests and some talk about the economy. But no discussion about the real mental and emotional impact on people’s lives. Very weird.

The exception is the children. As usual they are more honest than adults. School started last week in the Philippines but it is not in person. In fact, kids under the age of 21 are still in quarantine; unable to leave their homes. There are exceptions and gradually you see kids out and about a little bit. But the young kids we know admit that they miss school and don’t understand why they can’t go back and we’ve heard several expression of “I am sad…anxious… and depressed.” Kids and certainly teens know what these terms mean and it is horrible seeing children cope with the ramifications of not being able to play with other kids. It’s infuriating and IMO criminal.

I have no great conclusions here. Talk to your spouse; he or she is probably feeling the same. Talk to a mental health professional. And talk to your friends. No doubt they are experiencing similar feelings. That sounds like a good place to start. And since you’re all my friends – I’m starting with you!

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Snakes and Quakes

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On Monday we had two workers finishing the installation of some carabao grass near the back of our property. I was upstairs looking out the window from what used to be called the “Master Bathroom.” Today that term is apparently politically incorrect so I just call it “Our Master Bathroom.”

I am watching the workers, one of whom is holding a rake. He swings the rake, while in one smooth motion he jumps backwards. I think I know what this means and it can’t be good. He hacks a few times at what is obviously a snake and then stops. Janet joins them a couple minutes later. I’m still in “Our Master Bathroom” and have no intention of leaving. She confirms the thing is dead and then the worker picks it up with the rake/weapon and they take it and bury it.

She comes upstairs to tell me what happened, which of course I know. “It was gigantic,” she says. From my view, safe in “Our Master Bathroom,” I estimate it was 3 feet long and 3/4″ in diameter. “What kind was it?” I ask. “It wasn’t a cobra,” is all she knew. The story the workers told her was that they saw it on a low branch of our giant mango tree, located in the back corner of the lot; unfortunately just next to my shop. They took a rock and knocked it off the branch. From that point I know what happened.

And then Janet laid on me the best news. “They said it was a male. That probably means there is a female somewhere around.” Great. So glad that snakes are monogamous. Why can’t they be like most everyone else here?

Here’s the thing. In the Philippines I can deal with the giant spiders that are (to steal a Woody line) the size of Buicks. I can deal with the other insects and the dozens of lizards around our house at night. I can deal with the roosters (sort of like them), the pigs, the carabaos and cows that graze next door. I can deal with the motorcycles and bad driving. Most of the time I can even deal with the other expats. But snakes – well I ain’t thrilled.

Since this incident, whenever I go to the back of our lot or to the shop, I have one eye on the mango tree and the other eye down on the grass. When I open up the shop I take a quick peek around – just in case. Yeah, yeah, I know; Covid-19’s what I have to worry about. You can all worry about that in your home countries. I’ll worry about a pissed off 3 foot long female snake looking for her husband.

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A few days after the snake murder we were getting ready for bed. Janet was brushing her teeth in “Our Master Bathroom.” I was getting ready to hop into bed. Suddenly the house shook. It was a pretty good shake. A few seconds later there was another and a few seconds later another still. We went downstairs, left the house and sat on our porch; probably in a fetal position. But after a few minutes we decided the house wasn’t gonna fall down on us and went to bed.

The next morning I woke up and checked on the strength of the quakes. They were listed as 3.5 and 3.3. But here’s where it gets a little scary. The epicentre was listed as Valencia. Yes, that Valencia, the town where we live. When I lived in Oregon there were many tremors and a few quakes. We even had a 5.something about 25 years ago that did some damage. But the epicenters were always far away and deep underground. The epicenter to this series of tremors was right in the neighborhood.

The following day they revised the numbers. Turns out the quakes were 4.4 and 3.9. So happy they got it right.

So while all of you worry about illness and elections and little things like rioting – I have snakes and quakes to keep me up at night!

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Four Paintings

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I was the classic kid who couldn’t draw a straight line. That’s what I said about myself from early childhood. Yet I’ve always loved art and there’s plenty of talent in my family.

My Great Uncle Hymie (my maternal Grandfather’s brother) was a world-class New York artist, better known as Francis Hyman Criss or just Francis Criss. Not a lot of famous 20th century artists named Uncle Hymie lol. When my parents were married he gave them a painting as a wedding gift. It stayed in our living room or dining room our entire young lives.

Morning in Florence
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Painted in the 30s, the dapper young Uncle Hymie can be seen in the foreground.

As a kid I knew in theory that Uncle Hymie was supposed to be an important artist, but unless you were Picasso, I didn’t know what that meant.

When we kids grew up and left home, my father sold the home and its contents, including the painting.

About 15 years ago I was an eBay junkie. I found an industrial lithograph made by Uncle Hymie in the 30s, a time when the government-sponsored WPA paid artists to keep them going. I’ve had it ever since and it while it’s not particularly exciting I keep it in a prominent place.

Melancholy Interlude

A decade ago with the explosion of the Internet, I looked up my Great Uncle. Not only was there tons of information confirming his importance, but there was the painting, Morning in Florence, that I had grown up with. It was hanging in a New York City gallery and the 6-figure price tag ensured that I’d never see it again.

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In 1965 I was 12 years old. My parents, who were close and shared many hobbies, started painting. It quickly became a daily obsession. Each evening they sat on either side of their king-sized bed and painted, often with the TV going. Their painting styles were consistent with their personalities. My father was meticulous and took a month or more to do a painting. My mother was free flowing and once she found a photo or image she liked would often knock out a painting in a day or two. They were amateurs, but talented amateurs. I have nothing from my father but thanks to my sister’s generosity have one very small still life done by my mother. In the lower right hand corner you can see A (for Aileen) ’65.

So, when we built our house in the Philippines I wanted art. Of course over the years I’d collected various simple (meaning cheap) works of art and a half dozen framed photographs. So there were things to hang in the new house.

But I wanted Philippines art. Over a couple of years Janet and I had looked a little bit and seen stuff we liked but nothing that really said, “this is it.”

Then in July we were in Bravo Resort in Sibulan, north of Dumaguete. The hotel lobby had 4 paintings by an artist named Boy Mata. I asked the Front Desk Clerk about the artist; he only knew that he was out of Manila. I found his Facebook page and sent him a message asking what he had available and for how much. I told Janet not to get her hopes too high because in all likelihood the work would be beyond our budget.

A couple days later Boy sent us 8 images with sizes and prices. We narrowed our choices to two and since this is the Philippines asked “Last price?” Boy lowered the price, found a shipper who could send the painting to Dumaguete. We agreed to split the shipping charge. Boy sent me pics of the painting being packed and the shipping receipt. Three days later we received the painting and Janet and I were ecstatic! We took a picture and sent it to Boy. To my surprise he didn’t respond.

A week later I got a message from his daughter. Boy Mata had passed away the night before. In all likelihood we were his last customers.

I don’t know how to feel about the death of someone I don’t really know and yet feel that I do. We certainly feel blessed that we were able to discover his work and purchase one before his passing.

And as Janet always says, “Life is short. Enjoy it while you can!”

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My History of Violence

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As many of you know I spent much of my life in Portland, Oregon. It was mostly a nice life. It’s where Janet and I married and lived a delightful four years before getting the hell out as fast as we could.

Now Portland is Antifa Central on the nightly news (assuming you believe that the news still exists). The images sadden me. I know all the buildings and blocks that have been hit. I loved the Elk that’s no longer there. When I joked that apparently the elk, who had been there for 100 years, was racist and deserved destruction, someone told me with a straight face, “maybe the sculptor was a racist.”

What’s odder than the violence, is the reaction from many of my Portland friends which basically comes down to “everything’s fine here; nothing to see.” Of course most of them live in the affluent suburbs on the West and East sides of Portland and rarely go into the city. Nonetheless they assure me that it’s a plot from the government and right-wingers to paint the city as descending into chaos.

I suppose it’s the nature of violence. If your street has had no robberies your town is safe; if you’ve been robbed then what the hell are the police and politicians doing to solve the problem.

The cynic in me is also reminded of not long after 9-11. A buddy of mine went to New York City. When he returned I asked him how it was. “Exactly the same,” he replied. “That is, unless you try to get to Greenwich Street (where the Twin Towers were).”

All this has made me examine my feelings about violence and my history with it, as well as its existence in the Philippines. So that’s what follows.

Childhood/Teenager – Philadelphia:

I grew up in an environment far different from Janet’s. Our neighbourhood was suburban and upscale. There was no crime or murders. We didn’t lock our house or cars. I know that would sound insane to a younger person, but no one did in those days – at least not where we lived.

There were no bad people roaming the streets of my neighbourhood. Now that I am an adult I realise that in those days there were vagrancy laws and the cops would shoo away anyone that wasn’t a resident or “didn’t belong.” I took it for granted that if someone was walking the streets, they lived there.

Then one summer we got robbed. I distinctly remember seeing my father break the back door window so he could tell the insurance company it was a break in; not that we were too stupid to lock the doors. The police told us there had been a series of robberies. From then on the doors were locked. Locking the car would soon follow.

At some point (and I don’t remember the chronology) my female cousin was walking down the street of her neighbourhood and got flashed. I remember how upset people were and my mother talking to me about what to do if I ran into a “bad man.” I’m sure it involved running like hell. Life was changing.

Again, I’ve forgotten the details and chronology but around the age of 14-15 came the big one. My 2nd cousin (who I barely knew) was a co-ed (that’s what they used to call them) at the University of Pennsylvania. She was raped and murdered. It was big news – I mean front page banner news – in Philadelphia. A pretty, upscale co-ed murdered in the dorms at Penn. The family was stunned but I didn’t really know her so wasn’t sure how to feel.

A couple years later I went off to college at the University of Rochester. Her younger brother attended Rochester. I was a Freshman and he was a Sophomore. I think my parents set it up so he would take me under his wing. We got together a couple times at first and I would wave at him when I saw him on campus but I never got closer. He was a nice guy but my God, his sister had been murdered; and at 17 I had no idea what to say to him. BTW, it’s taken 50 years to acknowledge that that was the reason I didn’t try harder to get close to him. I acted like it was his fault but the truth is it scared the shit out of me.

New York City:

After my sophomore year I went to NYC to visit a girl I liked. The first thing she said to me when I entered the apartment was, “Did you lock your car?” I couldn’t remember and we rushed down to the street to check. She acted like the car would be gone or stripped by the time we got there but fortunately it wasn’t. Welcome to New York.

The next year I transferred to City College of New York (yes I was chasing the girl). I found an apartment in the Bronx which I shared with two other students. The apartment was right across the street from a college that had just closed. This meant that previously most residents of the area were students, but when I moved in we were just about the only young white people in the neighborhood. Will get back to that in a moment.

CCNY was located in Harlem. Interestingly I never had a moment of fear walking the streets near school or taking the train to and from school, even at night. Was I young and stupid or was it safer than one would suppose; probably a bit of both.

Back in the Bronx where I lived, I befriended some young people in the neighbourhood. The truth is my roommates were never around (girlfriends), the girl I had chased was no longer in the picture, and the new girl I was chasing was only occasionally available after considerable begging. In short I knew no one and was lonely.

One day one of these friends showed up at my apartment. We watched TV and he brought something to smoke. I provided the pipe and whatever it was was pretty damn good. Once I was suitably relaxed he pulled out a knife and held it to my neck. For the next hour I was sure I was going to die.

He started out the robbery with intimidation, yelling, “Where’s the gun. Where’s the gun!” “What gun? What are you talking about?” He was sure we were packing. Once I convinced him we had no gun he proceeded room to room. My roommates weren’t poor and had some high end shit but he only had two hands and lugging around 200 pounds of tube McIntosh stereo equipment wasn’t practical. One of my roommates had the habit of coming home and emptying his pockets of all the change onto the carpet in his room. The robber starting fishing for quarters. I must admit I had been broke a few times and had done some similar fishing in the past. Marty, my roomy, must have had $50 in quarters on the carpet and my burglar friend stuffed his pockets.

Naive moron that I was at some point I asked him why he was doing this; after all we were friends. He laughed at my stupidity. “I’m an addict.” Welcome to New York.

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We got to my room. I had two guitars and a small amp. He could only carry one guitar. “Which one?” he asked. “What?” “I can only take one so choose.” “That’s like asking me to choose between my children,” I wailed. One of the guitars was a ’63 Fender Jaguar, which I had recently purchased in Greenwich Village. I thought of this recently because a top vintage guitar seller (Norm’s Rare Guitars) with a YouTube Channel recently posted a video of a ’65 Jaguar which was selling for $10k. I’m yelling at the TV, “Janet – I had that guitar but mine was even older.” I gave my burglar friend the Jag.

Now mind you throughout the ordeal I was looking for something to pick up and brain him. One roomy had a big candle and I wondered whether that would be heavy enough to knock him out but I was too terrified. One consequence of the robbery was I subsequently decided that if something similar ever happened again I’d use the candle and bash the MF to death!

The guy tied me up badly and locked my door. I got out of the ropes within a half hour but no one responded to my yelling until the next day. Free, I went to a pay phone and called the police.

Two policemen arrived and they took a report. As we sat on the living room chairs-sofa they were exchanging glances and giggling. I couldn’t figure out why until I realised the pipe and it’s remains were laying on the coffee table! It was like a scene out of The Big Lebowsky.

Portland:

Years later I was living in Portland with my soon to be Wife #2. We had a nice rental home in a beautiful old Portland neighbourhood. One day she got home to see the back door glass had been smashed just liked my Dad had done all those years before and the place robbed. “But they didn’t take anything,” she said relieved. I searched the house. “Yes they did – my guitar.”

It wasn’t a high end guitar but it was the best I could do at the time. The experience was actually positive and a couple years later I decided to teach myself how to make guitars so I’d always have one! I’ve been hooked ever since.

A couple years later Wife #2 and I were living in our own home (not far from that rental) and had one child. In the middle of the night someone pounded on our door and yelled. I looked through the peephole and saw a youngish and clearly stoned person very insistent on getting in. “Get the hell out of here,” I yelled but he continued. Wife #2 called the “soon to be defunded” police. Within 3 minutes two cop cars screeched outside our home. Four officers rushed out. I could hear a struggle on our porch; the struggle was brief and the guy was in the back of one of the cars. One officer came inside our home and quickly told us what had occurred, we thanked him profusely, and off they went. This is why we pay for police!

It was about 12 years later. I’d divorced and married Janet. Again we owned a nice home only about 5 minutes from the previous home. By now the neighbourhood had changed a bit. It was still pleasant and slightly upscale but the local park, like so many others in Portland, had allowed tent cities. During the day homeless young people wandered the neighbourhoods; no vagrancy laws enforced in Portland. People drank or defecated in back yards.

One day both Janet and I were home. A young man wandered up the street. Clearly he was stoned, psychotic or both; he yelled incoherently and pounded on everyone’s door trying to gain entry. Our neighbor and Janet were on the phone consoling each other, terrified. I called the police. One officer finally arrived and took his time about it. He came into our house. The guy was in the middle of the street ranting and then occasionally would go up to someone’s house and shake the door knob to get in. The cop explained, “I can’t do anything unless he agrees to go.” “What!” I said incredulously. “If he volunteers I can take him to the hospital. If not he has to commit a crime.” “What about trespassing?” I asked. The cop shrugged. “What if I did something about this?” I asked. “Then I would arrest you.”

In all fairness to the Officer, he spoke to the guy a couple times and eventually the guy did get into the car and off they went. But the experience certainly demonstrated the changes in City policy over the 12 years.

Philippines:

As we prepared to retire and move to the Philippines a consistent mantra from friends was, “Is it safe?” You’d think they were attempting to do an impression of Lawrence Olivier in Marathon Man.

Let’s see: as safe as Philly where we were robbed, as safe as NYC where I was robbed or as safe as Portland where I was robbed multiple times?

I have already written about how we were robbed in a previous rental house in Dumaguete.

The Philippines is the same as anywhere else. If you haven’t been robbed you think it’s safe. If you have been robbed you do what we did: put bars on the windows, a large spiked wall around the property, install a CCTV system and get a dog. Are we safe? Not necessarily. If someone wants to get in badly enough they can. The difference here is the cops arrive ready to shoot! Its taken me 67 years to admit it but – that’s a good thing.

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Lockdown Consequences

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If you thought this was gonna be a scathing indictment of the worldwide lockdowns, you will be disappointed. Sure, I think I could make an argument that many of the lockdown measures have been unnecessary, extreme and even Draconian, but this won’t be it. Will see whether FB slaps me down anyway.

The following are two stories, random really, about lockdown consequences. One is fairly trivial and one is serious.

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I’ve always had great eyesight. I was the kid who when we were driving could read a sign a couple hundred yards away. “How can you read that?” someone would ask. I’d shrug. I remember my mother taking me to an optometrist as a small child, who declared I was 20-20 (whatever that meant) and wouldn’t need glasses “until you are 40.” Since that was an infinite time away I thought, ‘I’ll never need glasses.’

Nonetheless by my mid-40s my ability to read the computer and newspaper seemed to be waning and after decades I reluctantly went to an optometrist. “Why are you here?” he asked after examining me. “You’re 20-20 (by now I knew what that meant).” I explained the problem I was having and he explained why I needed cheap reading glasses despite my perfect vision.

When Janet and I married we went to optometrists a couple times. The last time was three years ago, just before we moved to the Philippines. The doctor pronounced that we were both 20-20. “Which one of us has better eyesight?” Janet asked. The doc reluctantly admitted it was the ancient husband. I rubbed Janet’s nose in that one for awhile.

As the lockdown and quarantine has partially lifted here in Dumaguete, my buddies and I have returned to playing golf. Before Covid-19 became an insane part of our lives, our weekly game was a high point of my retired life. Today we returned.

The course’s first hole is a short 100 yard par 3. I hit a decent shot just off the green. I saw the ball fly all the way but when it landed 100 yard away I saw two balls. Everyone else hit their shots and as I focused on each white ball after landing, I saw two of each. OK, there’s a nasty joke in here, but I’m not writing it.

I blinked my eyes, shook my head and wondered what was wrong. I had no problem seeing trees or the flagstick or anything else; just looking at that tiny while ball in the distance seemed a problem. As the round proceeded I tried to focus on each ball in the distance. I had no problem seeing the ball in general. As always I could tell my companions, “your shot’s 10 feet left of the cup (ok that didn’t happen often).” After a while I wasn’t seeing double, I was seeing maybe 1 1/2 balls.

By now I had told my fellow players who expressed concern and suggested I go check it out. And I probably will do that when this is all a little closer to being over. By the 18th hole I was seeing almost normally; 1 ball and a slight blur. It then hit me. For two months I’d been indoors. I spent lots of time looking at computers and phones and TVs. Sure I’d gone out a bit and walked around. But I’d had no reason to focus on a small object 100-200 yards away. I hadn’t even driven, where focusing in the distance is important. So, for now I no longer have the best vision in the world. I wonder what else I’ve damaged with two months indoors.

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I’ve said often that I really like all of Janet’s family members. Not a bad one in the group. But, if I think about it, the person I like most (and don’t tell any other family members this) is Janet’s Lolo (Grandfather). His great grandchildren call him Lolo Old Guy (as opposed to Janet’s father, who is their Lolo/grandfather), which is pretty funny. He speaks no English but he was always very nice to me. Whenever I see him we share a beer. That is the extent of our relationship, which only proves that a relationship can be built on a very simple thing.

Lolo (from Janet’s mother’s side) turns 90 this Sunday. For the last couple years at least Janet has been telling him that she will throw him a big 90th birthday party with a couple pigs. In the Philippines the size and importance of a party is always defined by how many pigs you have. Janet reminds him of this often because we have all noticed that as he has aged he seems not as happy as before.

Last year he was sick in the hospital. The flu became pneumonia. They gave him oxygen and antibiotics. He talked about how it was his time to go. But it wasn’t. Slowly he recovered and went home. His strength was down but Janet reminded him he had to hold on for his huge 90th birthday party. Janet had also intended to fly in some of his children, who live in Luzon and no doubt cannot afford airfare.

And then Covid-19 and the quarantine came. Lolo, who always liked a daily walk, could not leave his house. He could not understand why his daughter (Janet’s mom) could not visit him, nor could his grandchildren or great grandchildren, all of whom live within a ten minute walk. Janet’s mom tried to explain but how do you explain viruses and quarantines to a 90 year old, who just wants to see his family.

He talks about the end and everyone tries to keep his spirits up and remind him of the party. Now that the lockdown has been relaxed a bit, Janet has come to the conclusion with my help, that it’s time for Lolo to take an occasional walk and carefully see some of his family. It’s the only thing he wants in life and at 90 he should have it.

I know that Janet is heartbroken that she cannot be there with him for his birthday. She tells her family that when travel between islands resumes we will have a real party; all of us together. But in the meantime this Sunday there will be a pig and we sent a video greeting.

And while I don’t tell Janet, not being there breaks my heart too.

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GCQ, ECQ, Fake Watches & Faker Covid Stats

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Last Friday, May 1st, Negros Oriental downgraded its quarantine from ECQ to GCQ – well sort of. I described the very strict ECQ requirements in this blog.

Most of the Province welcomed the GCQ. It meant that most people could go back to work; a necessity for Filipinos. Most stores and businesses re-opened, albeit with restrictions. On Monday the 4th, the malls re-opened and that’s when the shit hit the fan.

Robinsons Mall, where we do most of our shopping had never completely closed. Throughout the ECQ the supermarket was open, the pharmacy was open, sometimes the hardware store was open, and a couple fast food places were open for take out. But that was it. Janet and I were in the mall Sunday and could see most of the stores had staff inside cleaning and disinfecting, preparing for the Monday re-opening.

Janet and I were wise enough to know that Monday would be crowded as hell and we didn’t want to deal with that. After all, for many Filipinos it would be the first time they could work in a month or more, and for most residents it would be the first time they could shop other than for essential food and medicine. Apparently Janet and I were wiser than the leadership.

Pictures were posted all day of traffic in Dumaguete and crowded malls and social distancing not being done or enforced. By late Monday many were calling for something to be done and some were even calling for a return to ECQ. This is what panic does to us.

As I say Janet and I skipped Monday and returned to Robinsons Tuesday. Like most people, there were many things we hadn’t done in the previous month and we were anxious to do them. Our experience was nothing like the complaints from Monday. The traffic was normal, the mall was not crowded, the mall parking lot had plenty of spaces, and people calmly socially distanced. To be honest I was happy and really impressed.

But this didn’t matter since the decision had already been made based on that one day. The pass system, which allowed only 1 person per family to go into Dumaguete to shop, was reinstated for non-residents. The pass system for Dumaguete residents (color coded) was also reinstated. The pass is necessary not just to get through traffic checkpoints but to get into malls and markets.

They also unfortunately reinstated the restrictions on seniors 60+. We are supposed to stay home. The only exceptions are that a senior who works can get a pass and a senior who lives alone can get a pass for essential needs.

So for me, after a few days of freedom, I’m back to lockdown mode. Well, not entirely. My attitude has shifted a bit. For over a month I absolutely followed the rules. But at this point I figure since they can’t determine what the rules are, I can bend them just a bit. Last night Janet and I drove into Valencia town to hit my fave taco cart; take out of course. I threw on my cap, thinking if I covered my mostly bald and grey head I’d look younger lol. I saw several other old farts, so I didn’t feel very conspicuous. Never have I been so happy to watch someone make me a fajita. I thanked them profusely and gave a bigger than normal tip. We got home and I inhaled the fajitas. Sometimes it’s the little things.

—————————

Most people who know me know that I am a watch guy. In retirement that means inexpensive (aka cheap) watches. I have a G-Shock or two and saw a new model that I liked. March 1st I went online where many Lazada vendors were selling the model I wanted. The prices were all over the map. No surprise since most G-Shocks in the Philippines are fake. I messaged a couple vendors who messaged back, “Authentic Sir.” Yeah right. In the end it’s a G-Shock and plastic and who cares so I ordered one. March 9th it hit Manila and went through customs, where it’s been ever since. This morning I got a message from NinjaVans, my fave delivery service. It’s on its way a mere two months late. Just like the Fajita, never have I been so happy to get a cheap fake watch!

Of course it came from China, so I sanitised the shit out of it first before putting it on! Happy locked up guy!

———————

Now, let’s segway to the serious stuff. I was a math guy when I was young. I was not only good at doing the math I was pretty good at understanding the concepts. Never has math and statistics been as important as in this pandemic and the experts, who may be expert doctors, or experts at getting elected aren’t very good with math.

Let’s face it; nearly all of us panicked at first because the statistics were showing that 3-6% of Covid-19 positive patients were dying. That was based on the number of deaths divided by the early positive test numbers, based on little testing. And it’s true that 3+% death is scary.

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Today initial antibody testing shows that in all likelihood millions of Americans (and everywhere else) have had Covid-19. In NY State the antibody testing indicated 21% of the residents have had it, whether they knew it or not. Depending on your outlook that can be good or bad news. Bad because it indicates what was only speculated; that Covid-19 is very infectious. Good because if you divide the deaths by the actual number of people who have had the disease we now can be confident that the percentage or mortality rate is much lower than previously thought; perhaps as low as .1%. That certainly does not help those who have died, but it does help those of us worried to know that if we get the disease our chance of dying is not 3-6% but closer to 1/1000. You have to wonder if we knew from the start this reality, would our decision to lockdown the world have been the same?

The other piece of statistical information that no one seems to be talking about is this. We have been told from the get go that seniors and those with other medical issues are far more likely to die than younger or middle aged people. This certainly makes perfect sense. Who is likely to do better: a healthy 30 year old or a falling apart 80 year old?

But that’s not the full story. Today I heard international statistics on the percentage of total Covid deaths in nursing homes. IOW deaths in nursing homes divided by the total death count.

Canada – 62%; Australia – 25%; Denmark – 33%; France – 51%; Germany – 36%; Ireland – 60%; Israel – 32%; Portugal – 40%; Sweden – 45%; and the USA – 58%.

Yes, you read that right; 58% of the total Covid-19 deaths in the US have occurred in nursing homes and assisted living facilities! Try to get your head around the 58% statistic. And what is the conclusion of the experts? Seniors do badly with Covid-19 and we should protect them.

That’s not how I interpret the statistics. My interpretation? Seniors thrown into cramped shitholes don’t do well.

Unfortunately, such an admission breaks the self-delusional narrative of most Western countries: that we maintain our elderly in clean, medically well-maintained and staffed facilities, comparable to 5-star hotels, where our beloved parents and grandparents can interact with other like-minded oldsters.

How do I know the above narrative is bullshit? Because no senior anywhere, anytime ever wanted to go into a nursing home.

As I was approaching retirement, my mind turned to images of what retirement (if I could afford to retire) might be like. Never once did I think, ‘oooh, when I hit 70 I’ll go into one of those nursing homes, where I can play shuffleboard and chase the nurses.’ Like most seniors I thought, ‘I’d rather be dead than shoved into one of those shitholes.’

As I prepared to retire in the Philippines, Janet and I discussed my aging often. It was always, ‘the family will take care of you and if we need help we can hire a live-in nurse.’ And that’s what we’ll do.

So, the Covid-19 pandemic has at times shown off the best of humanity and at times the worst. And how we in the West treat our seniors has been exposed as the worst.

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Shaming the Dead

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I’ve been writing this blog for – well, I’ve forgotten how long – but it’s been a long while. Each piece has related in some way to being married to a Filipina or living in the Philippines. Today I break that record.

We all know that the last two months has been unique and terrifying for each one of us. The frightened responses of nearly every human being on the planet have been at times inspiring, reminding us of the power of our collective will and genius. But just as often the responses have been petty and inhuman.

If I listed the incorrect assumptions and decisions we have made over the last three months, the typed list would wind around the block. That’s not my purpose here.

But there is one disturbing trend which I have noticed over the past month – the shaming of the dead. It started 3-4 weeks ago when several public figures, who had publicly downplayed the virus, contracted Covid-19 and died. Posts and memes were posted saying the individuals had gotten what they deserved. Really? Someone deserved to die because he was wrong or because he chose to take a risk?

I have also recently noticed posts, articles and video commentaries, a few even by physicians, essentially stating that if it weren’t for those people who don’t take care of themselves and therefore have existing conditions or co-morbidities, we would have much better mortality statistics. Is this what we really mean to tell people as a society?

Let me get this straight. You’ve lived till 85 or 90, in many cases because medical science has given you a longer life than you would have had 100 years ago. You’re old but hanging on. But you have high blood pressure or heart disease, cancer, diabetes, pre-diabetes, or you’re obese. And if Covid-19 gets you – it’s sort of your fault. You ate too many Snickers bars when you were a teenager. Or did you? Let’s do the math. In fact, when you were a teenager, you were living through the depression and were lucky to eat anything. Or you were fighting in WW2 or Korea; not many Snickers bars on the battlefield. But it’s your fault – you fucked up the stats.

BTW, the obesity statistics are based on BMI and are pretty bizarre. According to BMI I am supposed to be 118-145 pounds. I kid you not. I haven’t been 118 pounds since my early teens. By the time I was 16 I had hit my final and massive height of 5’6″. I remember clearly (the memory of youth). I had a 27″ waist and was 129 pounds. When I turned sideways I disappeared. But I wasn’t 118.

To make matters worse old age has screwed up my BMI. I’m no longer 5’6″; I’m a hair over 5’5″. This may be the spinal shrinking of old age. More likely it’s the hair loss. It used to be pilled up good on my head and probably gave me an extra 1/2″. Bottom line, at 5’5″ my BMI weight is supposed to be less than Dr. Fauci. And I didn’t eat the Snickers bars either; Milky Ways and Baby Ruths were my preference.

And don’t get me started on the nursing home issue. One of the reasons I moved to the Philippines is that there are no nursing homes here. As you get old and sick your family takes care of you as best they can. Over the past 2-3 generations in the US, you’re deposited in a nursing home. It apparently is coming as a great surprise to some that this means a bunch of old people are crammed into small spaces and share germs; who knew.

And now here we are in late April and many of the world’s governments are dipping their toe into the pond of re-opening their countries. And the reaction of some to those hoping that their world will re-open is – you’re gonna kill yourself and kill us too. Millions of people are suffering from the pandemic and just as many from the lockdowns. And what do we say to anyone who makes the tough decision to go back to work? “We wish you well.” I’m not hearing a lot of that.

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I know, I know. I’m pissed and this blog piece is a bit morbid. Bear with me – it’s gonna get worse. I have a bit of experience here which I will share.

My mother died at 40 after a battle with breast cancer. It was the 60s and a cancer diagnosis meant death in the minds of most. When she first felt the lump she delayed going to the doctor; just for a month or so, but her fear made her wait.

Her GP delayed as well. She had gone to him her entire life; he literally was the doctor who delivered her. He told her to come back the next month and they’d check again.

So my mother delayed and her doctor delayed and when she died there was a certain amount of finger pointing. It was their fault.

It was my fault too. I was in college and going through a typical college issue (aka smoking weed) which was stressing out my mother. When she died months later her best friend came up to me and told me that I had basically killed my mother. I thought I must have heard her wrong but I hadn’t. I was actually mature enough for a 19-year old to realise it was her grief talking. But clearly I wasn’t that mature. My memory is foggy but I’m pretty sure I never spoke to her again.

All this leads to the simple and not particularly profound conclusion that – no one wants to die of Covid-19 and no one wants to kill you. But whether we lock down the world for months more or gradually open it back up, people will catch the virus and people will die. The dead and their families deserve our sympathy and our love. Let’s find a way to give it to them.

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Quarantined in the Philippines

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A lot of my friends back in the US have asked how we are doing in these extraordinary times and what it’s like now in the Philippines. I thought I’d try to capture it for them as well as to remind me in the future.

The Province of Negros Oriental, where Dumaguete and Valencia are cities is under ECQ (Enhanced Community Quarantine), as is much of the Philippines. In March (I’ve lost track of when) the Philippines shut down most ferry traffic and flights between islands. That was a smart move and prevented the spread between big cities like Manila and Cebu and the rest of the country. At that point we were under GCQ (General Community Quarantine), which really wasn’t that different from normal life, other than we couldn’t go to another island.

ECQ began the beginning of April and is much different. I see some of the protests happening in the US. Believe me, our quarantine is nothing like what you have there. All families are in lockdown. Each family receives one pass for 1 member of the family. With the pass that person, and that person only, can leave the house, under numerous restrictions, to get food and medicines. Anyone 65+ cannot leave at all. Therefore in our case, Janet has the pass, and is our life support. Fortunately she had worked on her driving the past six months and had gotten used to driving without me. This proved to be a great decision.

Since we live in the town of Valencia, just outside of Dumaguete, Janet can use her pass pretty much at will within Valencia. She goes to the market where she can get fruits, vegetables and some meats. She goes to 7-11 for the essentials; soda, beer and milk. Yesterday she went to 7-11 and bought out the last of the milk there. They told her they didn’t know when more might be coming, since shipments from Manila have become problematic. Everything comes out of Manila and since Manila is locked down tight as a drum, there is general fear about what might be shipped here.

But back to the ECQ. If Janet wants to go to a supermarket she has to go into Dumaguete. Her pass only allows her to do this three days/week. Driving to Dumaguete she will hit a police checkpoint. At the checkpoint they check everyone’s temperature, look at their pass, and then take their pass and drivers license and exchange them for a day pass, with which she can enter Dumaguete. Does this sound like fun yet?

Once in Dumaguete, dependant on the time of day, she will wait in line for hours at the supermarket, since they only allow a small number of people in the market at a time. To make matters worse, the hours of the markets have been shortened.

After all your business is done, Janet can return to Valencia, going through the same checkpoint and exchanging the day pass for her permanent pass and license.

This whole thing has not gone off without a hitch. A few days ago a drunken “foreigner” crashed his pickup into a checkpoint, killing one person. Whenever possible I ask Janet to shop in Valencia and avoid the checkpoints.

For me, like many throughout the world, I am stir crazy. I see some of my American friends leave their house, if only to do the essentials, and am envious. Depending on the location, I see people take walks or some other physical activity, and I’m jealous as hell. Our property here is large enough that I can walk. I walk back and forth between the house and the shop. Is that walking or a lengthly pacing? Not sure.

As Americans here in the Philippines, we are incredibly lucky. There is still money in the bank and the ATMs work. We haven’t been to the bank in a month to transfer any more money but we should be OK. This is not true of most Filipinos.

The government gives out some food through the barangay (neighbourhood) system. The food distribution has been, shall I say, less than perfect. And even if you get the food, it amounts to only 2-3 kilos of rice and some canned goods per family. See how long you can feed a family on that.

Speaking of families, Janet’s has grown exponentially. All the grown children who were living and working in Cebu City were laid off immediately and returned home. There are now 15 people living in the house that Janet built for her family. Her father cannot go to his farm to do his normal routine so he grows a little bit around the house. At the beginning of all this some of the family members went to the beach early in the morning to fish. They can’t do that any longer; the beach is closed.

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The Philippines government, like most of the governments of the world has allocated money to help. But in the case of the Philippines the total is the equivalent of about $100 per family and most families in the Philippines have not received it yet. Not a lot of direct depositing done here, nor do they mail checks. So one by one families are visited with the cash payment.

In short, despite any desire to help, there is very little help for people. Yet Filipinos are a resourceful and happy people and they are managing. But you can see and hear the fear. Will there be money for food? Will there be food to buy? This is not an existential crisis; it’s a real crisis.

Janet and I try to help in small ways. We can’t get to the family but we can still send them a little money. Janet donated a sack of rice yesterday at the barangay hall. It’s a drop in the bucket but I suppose if enough drops fall…

The ECQ is schedule to go until April 30th and the city seems divided with many chomping at the bit for the quarantine to end or be modified and others wanting it to be extended. There’s a lot of fear on both sides.

By the Numbers: Negros Oriental has only had 4 cases and 2 deaths. The last death was a month ago and there hasn’t been a new positive test result in 3 weeks. Now we know that the reality is that there must be more cases but this is what we officially have.

Yet despite the above numbers we remain in a quarantine far more severe than that endured by the US or most European countries.

BTW, as I write this rumours are flying that Pres. Duterte is considering lifting or modifying the ECQ, as is the Governor of our Province. In the Philippines, unlike the US, when Duterte says something most of the Provinces follow suit.

For me, as a spoiled American one of the worst things is that I haven’t been able to receive any packages. I have a variety of little things ordered but they are all stuck somewhere between Manila and Dumaguete. Just this little bit of normalcy would make life better but it hasn’t happened yet. BTW, I am talking about you, FedEx. Where’s my shit!

Update: Just received a package from Shopee (see pic above). It got to me from Manila in 5 days which is pretty normal. Happy quarantiner! Or is that quarantinee?

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Corona Times #3 – Our Timeline

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We’re in complete lockdown, quarantine, enhanced quarantine, double secret quarantine – whatever the hell you want to call it. A lot of weird and crazy behaviour going on – plenty of it from me.

Yet in a strange way there’s a sense that normalcy is returning. Why do I say that? Because on the social media fear is being replaced – with finger pointing. Seriously, in a warped way it’s a good thing. Governments are being blamed, officials should have known, health organisations are responsible for our plight. And then there are the Chinese; OK in this case they are to blame. Come on guys – I can’t make every analogy work.

But Janet and I have a particular reason to remember the timeline for the beginnings of all this. We had booked a trip to Vietnam, flying out of Manila January 20th and returning the 28th.

It seems a lifetime ago, not 2 1/2 months. Were we worried about a Chinese virus on January 20th? Nope. There had been some rumours but nothing big. But we were worried about our trip. Why? Because Mt. Taal had erupted a week or so before our flight, NAIA had actually closed for a day or so. Janet and I were worried that it would impact out flight and I checked the airport status daily. We were also aware that it might impact our return flight on the 28th. But a virus – no way.

We arrived the evening of the 20th. By the 21st there were lots of masks being worn in Ho Chi Minh City and people were clearly buying masks in stores. Other than that normal life seemed to be going on. Yet as the days went by the topic became more and more important to the Vietnamese people and Janet became more concerned, finally buying a pack of masks.

The 23rd was the first time I really paid any attention. It was the day after my birthday and we’d booked massages in a very high end spa. When we arrived we were required to fill out a form saying that we had not been in the Wuhan area of China over the past 14 days. ‘Well, they’re getting serious about this thing,’ I thought. Probably paranoid, but a little paranoia might not be so bad.

It was the week of Chinese New Year, which is also celebrated in Vietnam. There were the normal celebrations, but I couldn’t help but notice something was wrong. Maybe it was the fact that by then nearly everyone was talking through a mask.

By the time we returned on the 28th, a week later, the world had changed and nearly everyone on the flight was wearing masks. OK, I wasn’t but all the sane people were. We got off the plane and they checked everyone’s temperature, which I thought was really strange, though I was impressed that the Philippines seemed on top of it.

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Still we went back home to normal life. Our routine was the same. I worked on guitars, played golf with my buddies, etc. Occasionally conversations would turn to the topic of “the virus” but no one knew what was coming.

Three days later a certain politician closed off travel from China and everyone called him a nut.

I have no grand conclusions here, except who the hell could have really known. For those who say they did know or everyone should have known, I have a great memory of the week that began to change the world and I sure as hell didn’t know.

A couple days ago I played the movie Cloverfield, a clever horror movie. For those not familiar, it starts out as a story of some 20-something friends at a party celebrating one friend moving to Tokyo for work. We get to see these young people get drunk, hit on each other, and do silly things we all did at that age. A half hour into the movie there’s a huge crash, a building comes down and we find out in real time that a Godzilla-like monster is destroying the city. It’s a clever take on a routine monster story.

I think I played it for myself and Janet because it reflects our current life. We go along enjoying life, in my case a retired life. We go on a vacation and have fun. We return home our vacation a success. And then suddenly a monster begins to destroy the world.

There’s no time to figure out where the monster came from or who should have known or whether we should have been better prepared for an alien attack. We just have to run like hell, or in our current situation, sit like hell.

Come to think about it the Cloverfield analogy is a crappy one. At the end of the story, the military, nearly defeated, drops a nuke on it killing our young heroes. So as I say the analogy doesn’t quite work; or maybe it does. In our case the nuke is to stay home, stay safe and take care of each other.

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Corona TImes #2

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It’s been only 12 days since I wrote my last blog piece, http://Corona Times in the Philippines, and well, the world and the Philippines have changed a lot since then. I usually try to write humorously but it’s a tough struggle now.

Like many people, I just want the world to return to the way it was a month or two ago. If not, I want someone to give me a date when to expect things to return. And if not that I want the world to return for just me and Janet – and maybe if I’m generous a few carefully selected others – and let the rest of you deal with all of this. That seems fair, don’t you all agree lol.

By the Numbers: As of today there are 2084 reported cases of Covid-19 in the Philippines and 88 deaths. This is 10 times the number of cases and about 6 times the number of deaths I reported 12 days ago. The numbers are small compared to the US, but growing at an alarming rate.

Unlike most countries, the Philippines, an archipelago, has a natural advantage. Ferries and planes between islands were mostly shutdown 2 weeks ago, with the exception of necessary supplies. Whatever term you use, that means that we’ve essentially been quarantined for the past couple weeks, unable to travel except on our island. Actually that’s not entirely true. Negros has two provinces and the other province, Negros Occidental closed its borders a couple weeks ago. so really we can only travel within Negros Oriental, which is pretty limiting.

I watch a huge country like the US, where people can and do freely travel between states, and can’t help but wonder if that’s a good thing. Here we have no such options.

In addition, islands like Luzon and Cebu are under complete lockdown, so you can’t move from town to town. Several of Janet’s siblings left Cebu City before the lockdown and are now home in Alcoy, Cebu.

Gradually through the last 12 days most stores and restaurants have closed. A few holdovers do deliveries. I was disappointed to find out that my favourite bagel place, Rolling Pin, actually the only bagel place, closed today. I was hoping to hit it one more time before Friday.

Why Friday? Because Friday, April 3rd the entire province announced we’d be under enhanced quarantine. This means most businesses will be closed by law. Every family will get one pass for someone to leave the home 2 days a week to get groceries or take care of whatever business they have. Janet will be the pass holder, since as a senior I am not supposed to leave the house at all. I’m not a have to go places every day sort of guy but I need my daily walk. At this age my daily walk is mostly the walk around the block sort of exercise and I’m still hoping to be able to do that. I swear I’ll wear a mask and won’t go near anybody but being locked in scares the shit out of me.

Now I have to admit that where we are locked in is a pretty nice place. We have 1300+ square meters of property. I have a shop in the back of the lot and Janet has a garden. Hell, I could walk to my shop and back 4 or 5 times and it would be just as much exercise as my walk, but it’s still not the same.

As reported before the yard is big enough to practice my chipping. I have a bucket as my target. I usually miss it and the ball goes into Janet’s garden which doesn’t enhance our relationship.

Unlike most Filipinos we have plenty of groceries and the money to get more. And we have a car which allows us to stay away from others. I never thought of this benefit when I bought the car but it seems pretty important now.

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In fact yesterday, as my darling Janet began to watch me crack up she suggested that we take a drive. We drove to Siaton; just drove and looked at the sites. The weather was beautiful of course. Dumaguete was pretty much closed down but as we got further and further out of town we noticed that commercial activity picked up, until it seemed normal by the time we hit the outer limits of our drive. I wish I could say this was a good thing but in fact it struck us as a bad thing. I could imagine the people thinking, ‘All that danger stuff is for people in Dumaguete or Cebu or Manila, not for us here.’ I hope they’re right but doubt it.

But come Friday there will be no more drives, no more bagels or most other treats I like to spoil myself and Janet with.

But it’s not all bad news. Because the bagel place was closed, I panicked. “I wonder if McDonalds (known as McDos here) is closed?” I cried in terror. “Let’s find out,” suggested my darling wife. We went down there and praise the Lord, they were open and we got our normal meals from the drivethru. Now the routine is different; money goes in a basket; food is handed to you on a tray. I had my mask on so they didn’t get my order right, but hell, they usually get it wrong anyway. Regardless, we were happy and they told us the drivethru would remain open past the dreaded April 3rd.

One more bit of normalcy. Exiting the drivethru and making a left as I do to get home is always a challenge. A motorcyclist was bound and determined to “get butchered” as Janet loves to delicately say, swerved around me to avoid being hit; and he avoided it barely. It was as if to say, “I’m not letting some damn virus keep me from my destiny – to die on my motor.” Anyway, I didn’t kill him and we returned home and wolfed down our burgers so quickly I couldn’t much enjoy it but was happy for the normalcy.

One other bit of normal. A couple days ago Shopee actually delivered a package. I kid you not! I was surprised since I’d gotten a message the day before from the driver that said he couldn’t deliver because of the quarantine. So I was shocked to see him ring the bell and ask for 171 Pesos for a tiny, sort of irrelevant item that I’d ordered a month (or a lifetime) ago. But I was happy. Now if they’d only deliver Janet’s birthday present which is stuck somewhere between Manila and Dumaguete or the little toy which I bought for myself and hadn’t told Janet about (until now) and is coming via FedEx. Every day their automated system tells me it’s coming today but everyday I get a message saying it’s still stuck in Manila. These mofos are teasing me. I wish they’d just admit, “Hey we’re enjoying your toy. You crazy Americans really spend money on this shit?”

One more piece of Philippines normalcy: As I’m writing this Janet calls me, “There’s a lizard in our bathroom.” “So what,” I say. “We see them all the time.” “This is the biggest one we’ve ever had.” I went up and sure enough he was the biggest one we’ve ever had in the house. We tried to catch him and he ran behind the bathtub. Clearly he’s a male lizard – he likes my tub. He can’t be all bad.

Ok I’m making light of all this crap. I could tell you that I’m scared for myself and I could tell you I’m scared for Janet and my Filipino family and neighbours who have it much worse than me. Or I could tell you I’m afraid for my kids, who I can’t get to see if the worst happened and visa versa.

But I can’t tell you all these things. Too busy chasing that lizard.

Humorous, irreverent, occasionally informative look at a no longer newly wedded Fil-Am couple