Happy Birthday, Gordon! 36 years old, 8 years of marriage, and 9 months of pandemic.

Happiest of birthdays, Gordon! What an interesting year this has been. Though we won't be having our traditional birthday movie outing or be going to a restaurant of any sort to this year, you are definitely worth celebrating. I am so very glad that in all that this past year has brought, you are here. Thanks for being around and making our world a better place.

So, in honor of your 36th year, more than 3/4 of it in pandemic, here (in no particular order) are 36 pictures documenting what has been on the whole a strange past year bringing the unique opportunity to spend more time together and remember how fortunate we really are. I'm sure glad we've got you, Captain.

And, Merry Christmas!

(Not bad for the first one at home.)

Love you,

Alison

The People United

We are living in an election purgatory in the United States. We have a projected winner with the loser determined not to acknowledge the result. Most Americans are confident that the transition to the new administration will be smooth. It's a luxury that we have been afforded after centuries of peaceful elections. However, the robustness of our free and open elections are not something we should flippantly question.

In November of 2004, Ukraine held a runoff election for president. The incumbent president Kuchma, not running due to term limits, threw his support behind Yanukovych. Yes, the same Yanukovych who was later forced to resign as president amid bloody protests in 2014, and employer of Trump campaign manager Paul Manafort. Yuschenko, a pro-Western politician, was Yanukovych's runoff opponent. The election was held 21 November, and had about 75% turnout.

We Are More Than Polarized Labels

This started as a Facebook post but just got too long. Here is what I am not putting there because very few people would bother to scroll this long in that forum anyway. Still, it was written with my FB friends as the intended audience, and I didn't bother adjusting it.

...

Fair warning, long post. Bottom line, I love you guys, even when (and because) we disagree.

These thoughts have been buzzing around in my head since I put some of them together with other comments on a friend's thread about Covid-19 earlier today, and I'm teasing them out here because they seem worth sharing, though I cannot condense them simply.

Here's the piece from my other post, adjusted slightly:

Talking about things like [politics/Covid-19] on social media is tricky because most people have made up their minds about how they feel and why, and listening to some rando isn't going to change that decision. Those choices are layered by our preferences for and trust in information sources and our desire to fit the norms of our social circles. It is easier to reject a conflicting viewpoint than deal with the cognitive dissonance of rejecting your own. That's especially problematic when we are polarized on such a complex and far reaching issue as Covid response [or politics, or whatever it is].

Here's what I'd like to add to that:

All this to say, if I am friends with you here, it's because I value you and a meaningful connection we share. I love dearly many people whose views are different from my own on things like religion and politics (and I am sure other subjects). I hope by hanging onto and remembering shared affection though our differences, my life will continue to be richer for having people I love and disagree with in it. Thank you for being reminders that we are more than polarized labels. We are people who love a lot of the same things. 

As for discussing hard things, I love to do that. I have also come to the conclusion that this is most effective one on one. Reach out any time of you'd like to do that.

At best, I think the conversations we have about our differences can help us. If nothing else, we learn to hone and better articulate our own viewpoints. But hopefully, they also allow us to respectfully engage with one another on difficult subjects with the understanding that it is OK to have different ideas, and that we can still love and appreciate one another for the reasons we did at the start.

And most importantly, when we can listen to the way someone we care about sees the other side of an issue, it forces us to reconsider our assumptions about people who hold those views and maybe the issues themselves. It broadens our perspective. It strengthens our appreciation and love for others and enhanses our sense of connection and community. 

So even if we don't have those hard, controversial conversations (which is fine -- they can be exhausting), I want you to know I like you, not just because of the ways we are the same. I value the ways we are different.  I hope we can extend to each other good will and agree that the things that bind us are greater than the things that divide us. Where we can't agree, I feel certain it is because we are seeing things from different angles. This graphic comes to mind:

(How dull and unproductive would life be if we  all thought the same way? I believe democracy works well when we share different perspectives because it gets us closer to greater truths.)

Happy Halloween, and happy last week of this 2020 Presidential Election. God bless America and each of us. 

(*steps down from soapbox)

Can There Be Another Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood?

A recent comment brings this title to mind, but I'll come back to it in a minute.

Wildfires broke out all over California, in part due to inaction by our private-public utilities and in part due to climate change. Smoke covered our area for the better part of two weeks, which made for great apocalypse weather.

As the winds shifted and the fire moved farther from us, the smoke cleared and we went to one of the few remaining COVID safe venues, the beach. It was only moderately miserable.

A new food market opened up in town, although not at a great time. Still, the Korean wings truck was one of the highlights.

At last, parks are being permitted to open (not everyone is there yet). We had a small outing in Duarte.

Tommy is in the full swing of school, as is John's half-baked distance learning program. I don't really intend to insult the efforts of John's educators, really it's more of a lament that the format generally works poorly for him at his age.

 Now, the election season is reaching its final days. I've already stoked the fires and generated controversy by the mere mention of ideas contrary to others'. Committing my thoughts and feelings to writing is helpful for my mental health, though, so I guess...trigger warning?

Last night was supposed to be a town hall debate between the two presidential candidates. It got canceled because one of them fell ill with COVID-19 and didn't want to participate in a virtual format. The other candidate decided to proceed with a town hall forum at the same time, with the idea that the sickened candidate could schedule their own once they recovered. Naturally, the most contentious outcome happened--the newly recovered candidate scheduled their own town hall forum in direct competition with the other forum, at the same time slot, inviting a "ratings war" since that is important to the ailing incumbent.

The Democrat nominee, Joe Biden, held a relatively sedate forum, answering voters' questions with rambling anecdotes and long-winded policy dives. Sometimes the voters didn't appear satisfied with the answers. The moderator pressed him on issues where he had not given direct answers, sometimes with follow-up questions. At the conclusion, the cameras stayed on and Biden continued to speak with the voters for at least another half hour, perhaps longer as the broadcast cut out.

The Republican incumbent, Donald Trump, held a contentious meeting, responding to voters' questions with non sequiturs and veritable word clouds of whataboutisms. The moderator pressed him on issues of his record and followed up when a direct answer wasn't forthcoming. Lacking an electoral opponent, Trump directed his bluster at the moderator, coyly denying that he knew what the weird online conspiracy group QAnon was but identifying with one of its peculiar obsessions of anti-pedophilia.

Against this backdrop, I encountered a tweet that stated that Joe Biden's "townhall feels like I'm watching an episode of Mister Rodgers [sic] neighborhood." I paused after reading that, then read it aloud to Alison. We remarked that there was a comfortable, disarming mien to Biden's deliberate responses, not unlike the late Fred Rogers. He wasn't wearing the familiar sweater and loafer ensemble, but he took the anxieties and fears of the voters in the room and did his best to reassure them that he understood their concerns and that he would address them in his administration. It was a refreshing change of pace.

Only a minute later did I learn that the twitterpater was none other than a senior adviser to Trump's re-election campaign, attempting to throw shade on the Biden town hall, implying that he was getting too nicely treated compared to Trump. Trump, who shouted, blustered, and dissembled at nearly every question was a "victim" of the "mainstream media." Let's be honest, however--even if Trump didn't arch his back like the cornered proverbial cat, do you believe for one minute that he would even want an event that resembles Mr. Roger's Neighborhood? Oh, he'd continue his plea to suburban women to like him because he "saved your damn neighborhood," but that's not exactly the kind of neighborly talk Fred Rogers engages in.

Can we be rid of him yet? Can we have another beautiful day in our neighborhood, with someone that actually cares to be a part of it? Not someone who merely wants their support so he can run off to his life of luxury?

Things I Just Want to Say

We're entering an election season where I feel like the stakes have never been higher. And I say that not just because I'm afraid that my "team" will lose. This isn't a sporting event where the outcome results in months of bragging and celebration for the victors, and the losing team goes home in shame and finger-pointing. This is a choice between a single man who has fundamentally transformed a political party and has tugged the institutions of government to himself, and a party and platform that, yes, is represented by one man at its head, but as a spokesman rather than an autocrat. We have a literal autocrat vying for a second term with no agenda except to keep doing what he's already been doing versus a moderate consensus builder with a detailed platform to address crises that currently beset our country.

There are people within my own family that will reject my very premise. I wish I could understand why. I used to be a like-minded Republican. I believed that taxpayer money should be spent judiciously and sparingly. I believed in the Reaganism that "government is the problem," and that the interests of Americans were better served by the 50 experiments of democracy, which would determine their own best course in governing their own people rather than a centralized power would. I believed that a strong military would be used to deter violence and head off threats while they were small and manageable. I never really strongly identified with the "culture war" elements of the Republican ticket, such as guns rights, LGBT legislation, and abortion.

The first presidential election I actually was able to pay attention to and participate in (I was on my mission in 2004) was in 2008. There was McCain, a bit of a rogue element from my 2nd home state, a hawk and someone willing to defy the wishes of the party when he believed his course was better. Having lived in a country that was in Russia's orbit, I liked that he was willing to be tough on Putin and challenge him on things like the incursion into Georgia. Obama was charismatic and spoke loftily of transforming and expanding social programs, and he was weak in foreign policy. The choice seemed clear to me then. My side lost, but I was really more annoyed than anything. I knew that Obama respected the country he was elected to lead, and that he would be limited by the checks and balances within the system. I grumbled and complained as he pushed his health insurance reform through Congress without giving much opportunity for discussion with the Republicans. As I graduated from college and got my own insurance plan, I started to see how even "Obamacare" fell short of reining in medical costs. I suddenly found myself in the unlikely camp that his reforms didn't solve the problem.

In 2012, the Republican presidential nominee was a member of my own faith, for the first time ever. I was even related to him, somewhat distantly. I realized that Romney's health insurance plan in Massachusetts served as a model for "Obamacare," which I thought should give him credibility in criticizing and improving it. Instead, he was forced to swear fealty to the Republican platform which simply opposed what Obamacare was, despite not really having clear criticisms besides "it's too big" and "something something death panels" which was always a big nothing-burger. I knew that Romney was a faithful member of the church, and that his principles would be in the right place, but I saw how the Republican party forced him to twist in the wind and walk this line that he wasn't actually fully on. It was closer to him than the Democrat line, however. Obama was struggling to maintain credibility in an increasing crisis in the Syrian civil war, and his continued refusal to build consensus with Republicans grated me, so my choice again was clear. I lost, and again I was disappointed and annoyed at the leash the Republican party put on my candidate, whom I knew was better than the caricature he was forced to become. Still, I knew that Obama would more or less preserve the nation, just in a way I wouldn't be thrilled with.

2016 was the year in which I lost all faith in the Republican party. Despite a few promising hopefuls, a showman and braggart, Donald Trump, secured the nomination. The previous Republican flagbearer, Romney, repeatedly condemned him for his horrible xenophobic and racist tendencies and his broken track record of leadership. I watched on, horrified, as he had locked up the nomination before I even had a chance to vote in the Republican primary in California. He had his challengers kiss his ring, and suddenly it appeared that the party was really all about one man, not about a large community of aligned goals. Suddenly it was more important to build a wall on the Mexican border and cut taxes than it was to stand up to Russia. In fact, Russia should be embraced!? The bizarre 180° turn from Romney, who declared Russia as one of our great geopolitical foes (and got laughed at for the thought), boggled my mind. To add to this, Trump displayed the moral turpitude that Republicans had condemned President Bill Clinton for, with dozens of women accusing him of assault and even sexually violent comments recorded from the man himself. But the Faustian bargain had been struck--the party had become the man! I wasn't a huge fan of Hillary Clinton--she came off as an insincere, Machiavellian politician, but...she was a politician at least. She knew how the government worked. And to my horror, the electoral college delivered a win to the candidate who garnered 3 million fewer votes nationwide.

Over the succeeding years, I observed Trump stumble and totter along as he formed his government. It soon became a revolving door of disillusioned civil servants. It was going to be another administration marred by the lack of an attempt to build consensus, just like Obama. Except this time, the aims of the administration were inexplicably misguided. Almost cartoonishly villain-like, Trump sought to remove as many foreign-born people from the country as possible, using everything from weasel-worded legal technicalities to outright human rights abuses. He couldn't bring himself to condemn a white supremacy rally that resulted in the killing of counter-protester. He cut taxes on the rich and then blamed Americans for not appreciating how much money it gave them (all it did was screw up my withholding and caused me to pay more out of pocket on tax day). He continued the misguided Republican war on Obamacare, specifically on things that actually worked well, like covering pre-existing conditions or granting free access to contraceptives. Like Obama, Trump was incapable of standing up to Russia for their defacto invasion of Ukraine--not just because he was ineffective, like his predecessor, but because he actively curries favor for the strongman at the head of the oligarchy. His bumbling stance in this question is ultimately what got him impeached, withholding Congressionally approved military aid to Ukraine until they threw shade on his potential presidential rival. Of course, the Republican party could not permit everything they stand for--which is now just Trump--to be wiped away for anything--not even high crimes and misdemeanors. Only Romney stood in opposition to his own party as Trump was acquitted in what was effectively a mistrial, as no witnesses were even called. But at least Trump appointed culture war heroes to the judicial benches of the land, right? Stalwart individuals like Brett Kavanaugh, who was accused of rape during his job interview, but hey, it couldn't be proved, so that's OK--why try to appoint some other culture war hero who isn't under such a cloud? The moral ground of the Republican party has been so thoroughly eroded that only Trump cards hold up the house.

Then the gosh dang global health crisis of the century strikes. I hoped that Trump would at least manage to rally together a cohort capable of rising to the occasion. My expectations were so completely dashed that I'm not sure why I had even raised them in the first place. After futile gestures such as limited travel bans, the virus spread throughout the nation and all Trump could do is complain about how we didn't "create" the problem. In the ensuing months, Trump continued to undermine his medical and science staff, rattling his saber at the governors who were trying to limit the spread of the virus, hawking bogus cures and then complaining mightily that even testing for the disease was making him look bad. To date, over 180,000 have died, and many more have been sickened, many who have long-lasting complications, more than in any other nation. He complains that America was uniquely susceptible, which does have a shade of truth to it--Trump is our pre-existing condition. Now we've advanced to the point where he just doesn't acknowledge the ongoing catastrophe, probably because not enough of his supporters are suffering from it directly. And that's what Trump has done to our country--he has inserted himself like a wedge in the racial and social fissures of our society, making a sub-country of his own out of it, where he is universally praised and adored.

Even against the backdrop of the pandemic, the racial tensions stoked by Trump have caught fire and he golfs as our cities burn. Black people have long been disproportionate victims of law enforcement violence, and with wider adoption of handheld cameras, these incidents are now being projected to the world at large. A man is pursued and killed while jogging by a former police officer. A woman is killed by a spray of police gunfire while in her bed during a horribly fumbled no-knock raid. A man dies after having a policeman's knee placed on his neck during an arrest. A man is shot several times in the back after walking away from agitated policemen and entering his truck. Each incident sparks protest and even destruction of property. This destruction of property is all that Trump and Republicans latch on to (well that and painting the victims as criminals, which is great because we all should get behind extrajudicial killings of people who don't make the correct choice), completely ignoring the root cause. We're now at the point where Trump-aligned citizens are showing up at these angry protests and provoking the very violence they supposedly condemn. The president's campaign cynically comments that the unrest in the cities only strengthens his electoral position, because what better way to end protests against police brutality than with the promise of an even more brutal crackdown following his election?

There is absolutely zero affirmative case for Donald Trump as president. I know it's usually a more broadly appealing tack to make the affirmative case for your preferred candidate, but this is where I am. I will vote absolutely as a referendum against Donald Trump, who sunk below my low expectations due to his gross incompetence and promised to continue his efforts which are actively damaging the fabric of our society.

I will vote for Joe Biden because he is a consensus-builder. I will vote for Joe Biden because he has a moral compass. I will vote for Joe Biden because he will seek to solve the COVID-19 crisis, not ignore it. I will vote for Joe Biden because he will reach out to communities of color and address the problems with our law enforcement, offering healing rather than hate and contempt. I will vote for Joe Biden because he does not kiss the boot of Vladimir Putin. I will vote for Joe Biden because he believes in building up the standard of living of all Americans, not just his wealthy friends. I will vote for Joe Biden because he believes that America can be the city on the hill that invites people from all nations to come and see, not just people who are white and speak English. I will vote for Joe Biden because he supports good government and a technocracy, not a kakistocracy and a kleptocracy. I will vote for Joe Biden because of my religious beliefs, not despite them like I would have to for the opponent.

I wanted to say this here on my blog mostly because it has a smaller audience. Facebook is noisome and barely worth the energy to moderate. Plus, I don't expect people to agree with me, and I'd rather not have any arguments. It took enough energy to write this, and I don't want to expend any playing pigeon chess. If anyone is interested in seeing how I've arrived at my political views, I've laid out a general timeline here. I'd be happy to share more, but I'm content to let this be my piece.

At the end of the everlasting why...

There is a Yes, and a Yes, and a Yes!

(Bonus points if you can name the film)

All this to say, yes, people are here, and see, and care. And I love that you do too, Dear Captain.

So, for you, apropos of nothing but a silly sequence from Community where Abed pretends to be Han, and reminiscing over silly things, I am sharing this fantastic recording of this song with you. Because you're the guy who made this song a real thing for me. And still, I marvel that the love songs are right, and that this thing we get is more genuine than I ever supposed before there was you.

All my love - Your Lady

Is Anybody There? Does Anybody Care?

Does anybody see what I see?

Plenty do. But not the right people. Or enough of them.

It's been 4 months, and the disease's spread has worsened, touching almost every community at a rate that is plain to see from the hospitals, but still a bit distant to the average viewer at home.

I'm still in a work-from-home situation. John is getting ready to start 1st grade as a digital nomad. Tommy's preschool has somehow found the wherewithal to operate, so we will enroll him, but I'm nervous given his medical history.

Day 15 of quarantine.

Day 24 of quarantine. Local government had closed all outdoor play equipment for fear of surface transmission of the disease.

Day 27 of quarantine.

My work decided that thermal vacuum testing was essential enough to the public to endanger its employees. So, I got to travel to Northern California. I opted to rent a car and drive myself rather than risk the airport petri dish--plus the frequency of available flights had plummeted to the point of making driving actually a more convenient option. Not really having any measures of protecting myself beyond hand washing and masking, I took vitamin C and zinc supplements in the hope of fending off anything.

My hotel did not allow any guests to enter the lobby, and they were not offering breakfast. The streets were nearly abandoned. After my first graveshift, the fire alarm in my hotel went off. Turns out someone smoking had set it off, but no one else staying there seemed concerned; I was the only one who came to the lobby to ask what was going on. They advised me to remove the batteries from my smoke alarm if I wanted to sleep.

Day 39 of quarantine. I was only assigned for 7ish day stints, so I came home between them. One of the popular activities was running loose in the church's parking lot.

I decided to try some garlic ice cream in Gilroy. It tasted like regular vanilla ice cream with a garlic aftertaste. Not horrible, but not exactly something I would strongly recommend either. It's about what it sounds like.

Day 51 of quarantine. A day in a home-schooled life of a kindergartener. We were fortunate that Alison's job was already a "work from home" format, otherwise I'm not sure if we'd have been able to supervise John's last couple of months of kindergarten.

Day 53 of quarantine. John and Tommy doing buoyancy experiments in our little backyard patio.

Day 55 of quarantine. The parks are closed for playing, but not for picnics.

Day 70 of quarantine. In an effort to raise spirits of those quarantined, the ward put together a "drive-by" graduation party for the primary and secondary schoolers who completed their term in a subpar online format.

I had 4 trips, altogether. There was an interesting water feature near my hotel the last time I went out.

While I was away, the US manned space program resumed after being suspended in 2011. A billionaire with a big ego managed to edge out the storied aerospace firms that sent us to the moon.

Day 81 of quarantine. Bedtime is becoming a chore.

Day 84 of quarantine. We took a little drive up Azusa Canyon to an area near Crystal Lake. The road to the lake proper appeared to be closed. There were an awful lot of people about, as well. Everyone is getting a bit stir crazy. Notice our kid's hair.

Day 89 of quarantine. Tommy's babysitter, who had her daycare closed since the quarantine, decided to open up in limited capacity. It was very helpful to get Tommy out of the house, and John's school district decided to try out a day "camp" with small groups, masking, and lots of outdoor play. This time period was probably the highlight of the quarantine. We had a little reunion with Tommy's friend from Carolina's day care. Tommy's broken foot didn't even seem to bother him much.

Day 96 of quarantine. Brothers at war.

Day 112. Independence Day. Private fireworks lit our way to the airport as we decided, despite a worsening spread in Houston, to travel there for a vacation that we really needed.

Of course, our flight scheduled at a normal time ended up being a red-eye by the time all the schedule shuffling shook out.

We stayed part of the time at a vacation rental in Surfside, near the Gulf of Mexico. It was actually the first time I visited the beach near Houston, and Surfside was probably better than the popular Galveston options.

We were joined by the Gibbs-Browns at the beach. It was nice, as far as beaches go. Very warm and humid, but mostly tolerable. It's still a beach. Salty, sandy, yucky. 

Texas didn't shut down the playgrounds, so we got to let the kids work out some energy there.

And spent plenty of time lounging about.

Day 122 of quarantine, we returned home on a packed flight. Not thrilled.

Day 130 of quarantine. Tommy turned 3 years old, with a superhero themed party, consisting of us.

Day 140 of quarantine. We took an early Saturday AM walk for Jamba Juice and to break in John's new scooter after he wore out the brake on his old one. The theater here is still closed.

Day 141 of quarantine. A common scene for at-home church. Our ward started offering outdoor services at 8 AM, only if you promise not to run around crazy. Not our speed, I'm afraid.

 

Day 146 of quarantine. We found a playground in Upland that didn't tape up their stuff, although they did put out a sign saying it shouldn't be used. By this point, fomite transmission has been considered a fairly low risk, although still possible.

As we face a new school year at home, I can't help but wish that we had the political will or compassion to care for our public health. Countries around the world have successfully suppressed the virus to low levels, enabling a manageable strategy of test-trace-isolate. My country never got there, in fact it spent half the time believing that masks were an "infringement" on liberty. The rugged individualistic spirit of my countrymen has devolved into an abandonment of collective action, and thousands die every week that need not to have. Armchair researchers peddle disproven medications as a panacea, much like Jude Law's character in the prophetic film Contagion. Wishful thinking of the executive, that the virus will just "go away" and that too much testing just makes us look bad, saps political will to take more decisive action. People who have lost their jobs as a result of the pandemic are denigrated as lazy and denied unemployment benefits by a sneering legislature, encouraging the poor and vulnerable of our nation to seek out risky employment in order to reclaim their access to healthcare. Politicians demand children be pushed back into in-person schools to free up their parents to put money in corporations' pockets without offering assistance in making the schools safer or even mandating basic health precautions. Children are declared nearly invulnerable to COVID-19 by the highest elected official in the land as hundreds fill our nation's hospitals.

It's a dark time in America. I don't think there have been darker days in my lifetime. I was pretty horrified when aircraft were crashed into buildings in 2001, but we have lost 50 times that number by this point to this disease, and the count continues to rise. There has been a lackadaisical federal response, leaving individual states to find their own way. Is it because the people are dying in hospitals and nursing homes, out of sight and out of mind? Is it because we're willing to take on horrifying natural experiments to compare public health approaches between state borders? "It is what it is"? I am ashamed of what we've allowed this country to become.

It's time for change.