First, while I am disappointed that I did not receive any recommendations for exorcists, I fully understand. They are all very busy right now.

In the meantime, I am desperately seeking other options. I learned this week that one of my neighbors thought an exorcist now lived in our apartment house. I could not pass up the opportunity. I got his apartment number and with fear and trembling knocked on his door not knowing exactly what to expect. A middle-aged, thin gentleman, with tan skin, slightly graying hair, a black beard, kind eyes, and wearing a turban, a white shirt, white pants and sandals opened the door. He spoke with a slight accent, which I guessed was probably Indian.

“Excuse me, sir,” I humbly asked, “I understand you might be an exorcist.”

“Mr. Howell, I presume?”

“Yes, how did you know?”

“Well,” he replied gently, “the word has gotten around that you have been frantically looking for an exorcist, and a lot of people think that is what I am, but I am afraid that I must disappoint you. I am not an exorcist. I suppose it is the way I dress and my accent. Frankly, it drives me crazy.”

“Oh,” I said, “That is too bad, but what are you?”

“I am a guru.”

“What is the difference between a guru and an exorcist?”

“A guru is a wise and holy person. An exorcist is a quack.”

While naturally I was disappointed with his answer, I felt very comfortable in his presence. He invited me to come in and motioned for me to sit at a small table where incense was burning. His small apartment was tastefully decorated with artifacts, which I guessed were from Asia.

What followed next was a transformative experience which I have been told is often associated with being in the presence of a holy and wise person. He poured me a cup of tea and then sat across from me explaining that he usually sat on the floor but had heard that I was elderly and that probably I would not be able to get up.

The conversation started off slowly. He said he was indeed from India and had been in the U.S. for about ten years, working at odd jobs and providing “spiritual support.” His name was Akash. The conversation only lasted for a little over an hour but in some respects seemed like an eternity. We briefly started with the covid pandemic and then moved on to other things. What follows is my feeble attempt to summarize what he said:

According to Akash, the covid pandemic that the world is experiencing is merely one sign of the troubled state of the planet Earth. He enumerated various other signs of stress: rising temperatures, rising sea levels, more severe storms, prolonged droughts, polluted streams and rivers, toxic air, raging wildfires, destructive flooding, tornadoes, hurricanes, the increasing chasm between the haves and have-nots, endless wars, and the Sixth Mass Extension where thousands of species on the planet Earth are disappearing. His brief conclusion regarding the natural disasters and the pandemic was this: Mother Earth is fighting back. Furthermore, we humans are responsible. While this did not come as news, the way he described the situation had an authenticity and alarm about it that caused me to realize how desperate the situation is and how short the time frame is for doing something about it.

“Look,” he said, “We humans have had our time in the sun. In only several hundred thousand years, we worked our way up from being in the middle of the food chain to sitting at the top of the heap and look what we have done with it. We have blown it. Sure, we have all this technology and have transformed how humans live on the planet, but at what cost? We have polluted this wonderous planet. We have caused unnecessary suffering. We have not learned how to tame our violence. We also now have had for more than 75 years the power to destroy life on this planet as we know it with our nuclear weapons; and odds are that at some point, we will do just that.  But make no mistake, Mother Earth will eventually win this battle. She is now middle aged, about 4.5 billion years old, and she has about another 3-4 billion years to go before her star gives out. That is a lot of time for her to get life back in shape.

“It will turn out that our time on the planet Earth was a mere blip on the screen. Just think about it. The human population on this planet at the time of Jesus was around 300 million and remained close to that number until the Industrial Revolution. The industrial revolution began a little over 150 years ago, the technological revolution only about 50 years ago. Today the population of the planet is almost 7 billion. The “modern era” we are in now will turn out to be a mere grain of sand on a beach of over six billion grains of sand. It could all disappear in a heartbeat, or it could be a slow agonizing decline, but rest assured: It will happen. Our time  on the planet Earth is limited. But Mother Earth will go on about her business with new life and new life forms.”

When he mentioned Jesus, this prompted me to ask about his religious beliefs since gurus are supposed to be wise and holy. My first question was whether he believed in God.

“I do not use the term ‘god,’ he said. It means so many different things to different people. There were people storming the Capitol on January 6 who carried crosses and said they were acting in God’s name. Some evangelical Christians believe Trump to be the son of God. The Islamist extremists who destroyed the World Trade Center on Nine Eleven did so in the name of Allah. I do not doubt their sincerity. Catholics and Protestants killed each other by the millions during the 30 Years War in Europe because each side believed the other side did not worship the true God. The list is long.

“I use the term ‘Great Spirit.’ And I believe there is a Great Spirit beyond what we humans can comprehend, and a touch of the Great Spirit resides in all of us though few of us realize this or act upon it. Some do, like Jesus, though I do not call myself a Christian because I do not believe Christians have exclusive access to the Great Spirit. The challenge we face is that we often do not realize that there is a Great Spirit or we put up barriers because we feel threatened. Ultimately, of course, the Great Spirit remains a mystery. One manifestation of the Great Spirit is the planet Earth or Mother Earth as I call her, but there are so many more, and so much that we will never fully understand. And by the way, who is to say that the Great Spirit is not present in all animals or even in all life. It is a mystery and will remain so. When humans think we have it all figured out, that is when we get into trouble.”

“So do you think that there is any value in formal religion or formal religious practice?”

“Absolutely. One destination, many pathways. The problem comes when you think your pathway is the only pathway.”

“And what about the rest of the universe? What is that all about?”

“Well, I have to tell you that anyone who thinks that life exists only on this precious though run-of-the-mill planet is blind and arrogant. And if someone says that “God” or the Great Spirit is exclusively theirs, that person is hopelessly ignorant. All this started with the Big Bang about 13.8 billion years ago. Do the arithmetic. We are one planet in a solar system circling an average star about four billion years old. We are in a smallish galaxy with many billions of other stars. Scientists now have the technology to detect planets circling other stars, and just about every star they have examined appears to have planets. There are estimated to be trillions of galaxies in the universe. Not only that, but astronomers also now estimate that in our galaxy alone there are over two billion rocky planets about the same distance from their star as the Earth is from the sun. And astronomers, philosophers and theologians are still unsure whether any life exists elsewhere in the universe? Please.

“The challenge, of course, is the great distance between stars and the likely limited life spans of so-called intelligent beings, that is, creatures smart like us, who end up eventually blowing themselves up just when they think they have it all together. But remember: The ultimate reality will remain a mystery, and that is all well and good.”

When I realized I had been with this extraordinary person for over an hour and did not want to wear out my welcome, I thanked him profusely and told him I would be back for more. I had so many more questions to ask.  He bowed, shook my hand, and thanked me for coming.

When a couple of days later I returned to knock on his door, there was no answer. When I asked the front desk if they had seen the occupant of that apartment recently, the clerk responded that the apartment had been vacant for over a month, and a new tenant was supposed to move in next week.

 

A fake story by Joseph Howell

July 27, 2022

 

 

 

 

 

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 I know many of my devoted followers have been sitting on pins and needles wondering what has become of the ill-fated traveler. So here is the latest:

I am three days away from reaching the covid one-month milestone, which according to the CDC technically will put me into the dreaded “Long Covid Club.”  But it is also true that no one really understands this hideous disease or how long I will be under its spell.

The good  news is that I am still alive, surely due to my two vaccinations and two boosters. Note also that compared to what so many have experienced, I am actually in pretty good shape. I have not had to go to the emergency room. I have been able to breathe and to sort of go about life as usual though not without spending most of the time in bed, constant complaining and according to Embry being “ornery.” This week we have been staying at an inn on the Chesapeake Bay while our youngest grandchild, Parker Howell, almost age 13, has been attending sailing camp. However, I have remained indoors sleeping most of the time when I am not being ornery or complaining incessantly.

I am sure the covid experience is not the same for any two people. Total exhaustion, joint and muscle pains, and just feeling lousy sum it up for me. It could be a lot worse.

But here is the thing about covid. As soon as you feel a tad better and maybe try an activity or two like taking a short stroll or watching TV or a movie, or helping prepare a meal or cleaning up, or staying up past 8:00 PM, the next day you pay the price. Covid strikes back with a vengeance. You are hammered and feel so bad that you dread having to get out of bed. This only lasts about a day, however, and then you are back to where you were the day before and able to take a short walk, watch TV, read the news online, and complain incessantly. The time that there is a break in the cycle, I will declare myself on the mend. While this has not actually  happened quite yet, each day I keep hoping that tomorrow will be the day.

The revolutionary insight that I have gained from this horrid experience is that covid is actually not a disease. It is an Evil Spirit. The doctors and experts have it all wrong. Until people figure this out, we will continue to be in a mess. Evil Spirits have been around forever. Remember how much time Jesus spent casting out Evil Spirits? This has been true of a lot of holy people. Nobody knows where these Evil Spirits come from or why they enter the human body, only that this has been happening from time immemorial. In my case on a bad night I awake the next morning totally exhausted due to a real life battle between the Evil Spirit and my body. So far my body has been winning or at least holding its own. Afterall, I am still alive, but at a price; and the big question is when will the Evil Spirit give up and go back where it came from.

This profound insight turned me to exorcism. I realized that I do not need a doctor. I need an exorcist. It turns out that exorcists are all over the place. I typed in Google “Exorcist Near Me” and all kinds of names came up. I’ll bet if you check on it, you will find at least one exorcist within a five minute walk of where you live. So many exorcists, how to choose?

It is hard to find out detailed information without entering a ton of personal data on their website and in many cases paying a fee or “retainer” up front before they will cast out your demon.  And there are all kind of options: exorcism by email, exorcism over the phone, mail order exorcism, Zoom exorcism (said to be the most popular but also a bit pricey) and in rare cases face-to-face exorcism though it appears that many of these exorcists are in the deep jungles of sub-Saharan Africa or remote islands in Indonesia. A whole bunch of exorcists are Roman Catholic priests exceeded only by “former Roman Catholic priests.”

I have been trying to locate a trade association of exorcists and maybe something about best practices. In any event, if any of you know of a real good and affordable exorcist, please pass the name along to me along with whether the exorcist will accept exorcism insurance, which I am planning to get before hiring anyone.

And do not worry. I will let you know when the Evil Spirit is exorcised or simply gives up and goes home.

  

 

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Well, I guess you could say I was lucky. The evening before the ship’s arrival in Copenhagen, when I was beginning to feel almost normal again, the medical people called to inform me that the covid test they had given  me that day turned out to be negative. That meant I was free from quarantine and “able to enjoy all the activities and amenities on the ship,” plus I would not have to join those with positive covid tests who in the wee hours of the next morning would be surreptitiously whisked off the vessel before anyone could see them.

I could imagine what the next chapter would be for those unfortunate souls. Certainly no “hotel” would take a boatload of miserable, covid-infected passengers, some near death. I figured it would probably be a makeshift medical ward in some abandoned, ramshackled warehouse with 100 beds lined up on one side and another 100 beds on the other, separated only by inches with overworked doctors and nurses going from bed to bed as patients groaned and gasped for breath. You have seen pictures showing makeshift hospitals in obscure African or Indian villages–ceiling fans whirring to reduce the agony of sweltering heat and flies everywhere. Dead bodies carted off, covered by sheets.

And what would have happened to Embry or other spouses or cabin mates who did not have covid? Where would they go? How would they get home? And how would I get home when I was finally released? Indeed, if I was finally released.

Those hypothetical questions remain thankfully unanswered. It was all I could do to keep from letting out a cheer as I set foot on dry land.

But situations like this do happen. Embry and I took a cruise around South America in the early fall of 2019—before anyone had heard the name, “covid,” starting in Fort Lauderdale and after a dozen or so stops in Panama, Peru, Chili, Argentina, Uruguay, and Brazil, we spent two weeks on our own in Rio and then Buenos Aries before flying home to the U.S. It was a fabulous trip. This was also a Holland America cruise on the vessel, Zaandam. In October that ship took on new passengers in Rio and then returned to Fort Lauderdale on the reverse of the route that we had taken. By late fall, however, covid had showed up. The very same ship we had been on was the ship where covid raged with most of the passengers and crew getting very sick and many dying. No port would allow the boat to enter, and they went weeks without docking before they finally made it through the Panama Canal and back to Florida. Food had to be brought in by supply ship or helicopter, and all passengers on the ship were quarantined. On the first day of our cruise this time, we chatted with a very friendly bar tender who was on that doomed ship and described the experience as something worse than hell itself. Several of his close friends died.

Situations like this do happen.

We thanked our lucky stars, boarded a bus with other relieved passengers and were taken to the Clarion Hotel at the Copenhagen airport. And I have to say that looking back on it all,   this “cruise from hell” was not so bad and could have been a whole lot worse. I only missed two excursions, one in Iceland and one in Scotland to Loch Ness, and the food delivered to our room was actually very good. I did feel terrible, especially during the first four or five days—sore throat, cough, chills, body aches, fatigue, etc.–but never felt I was not going to make it. Our cabin had a balcony, which we  used when I began to recover, and if it was not too chilly. Embry and I watched a bunch of good movies (“Here Today” was my favorite.). Embry was able to come and go. Many others on board must have had a much tougher time. I estimate that over 80 cabins had been converted to isolation wards, and many other afflicted passengers, like me, remained in their rooms because there was no more quarantine space. Since the dreaded c-word was never mentioned nor any formal acknowledgement that there might be a problem on board, there is no way to know exactly how many passengers had been affected. I figured it had to be in the hundreds.

Following the intervention by our children, who were now taking over all decisions from their distressed, elderly parents, the plan was to ditch the original trip we had planned to Edinburgh, Scotland, where we were supposed to meet old friends and instead to take the first flight out from Copenhagen to Washington. After we understood that all our flights and accommodations would be cancelled, we heard from Andrew the next day that it actually was not possible to get a direct flight from Copenhagen to anywhere in the U.S. due to the major Scandinavian airline, SAS, not flying. Rebooking from Copenhagen  to Washington was said to take weeks.

What? All our plans cancelled and now we find we are not even able to get to the U.S. from Copenhagen? Surely, he must jest.

Well, he did not jest, but fortunately we had not lost our reservations on the flight to Edinburgh or the flight home. Back to the original schedule.

The two days we spent in a B&B, stately townhouse on a quiet street within walking distance of charming, downtown Edinburgh were fabulous. We met our British friends, Roger, and his wife, Geraldine, there, who joined us in the B&B and spent a wonderful two days with them– dinner at a nice restaurant a few blocks away, a tour of this fabulous, ancient city on a hop-on-hop-off bus, followed by a spectacular ride along the coast in their car. I was feeling weak but able to enjoy the time with them immensely.

What eventually did me in, however, were the airports. We had to take two flights. The first was on a British budget airline, Easy Jet, to Edinburgh from Copenhagen. The second was on a United flight from Edinburgh to Washington Dulles. The huge Copenhagen airport was in chaos, with thousands of distressed passengers trying to deal with the SAS crisis. Lines could be measured in miles rather than yards. We arrived at 9:00 AM for a 12:30 PM flight and barely made it. My iPhone pedometer measured the distance from the check-in to the gate at 1.7 miles. By the time we stumbled into the packed airplane, we were both exhausted.

Even though the Edinburgh airport is only a small fraction of the size of the Copenhagen airport, it was just as crowded and woefully understaffed. It took over an hour standing in line to get our bags checked, an hour and 20 minutes to get through the security check point, and another 45 minutes to get through passport control, then a run to the gate to catch the flight with only a few minutes to spare. The widebody airplane was jampacked. Finally, arriving at Dulles was not much easier. I had never seen so many people in line to get through passport control. My guess was well over 500 people and almost a two-hour wait, standing in line.

And by the way, at none of these airports was anyone wearing a face mask except the Iron Lady and her beleaguered traveling companion. Ok, maybe a few, but still you had to look hard to see anyone masked.

“What on earth is going on?” we asked each other. “Don’t they realize covid is still here?”

Well, you can imagine by this time what my body was saying: “Look, I rallied and got you off the ship. I got you to Edinburg. I got you back to the U.S. I even gutted it out so you could have a good time in Scotland. And you put me through this? I’m done.”

I collapsed on July 9^th, the day we stumbled into our apartment. Today, July 14, is the first day I have been able even sit up. Some of the same covid symptoms returned with a vengeance, but mostly for the last five days I have been overcome with complete and total exhaustion. You don’t mess around with covid. I could have been a dead duck. But what were the options? I pictured myself in one of the beds in a converted warehouse begging for food and a cup of tea.

And as for the overall experience?

“Well, Mrs. Lincoln, other than that, how did you enjoy the play…?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Note the date above, July 6. I have not posted since June 27—nine days ago. What is going on? Why no posts?

The first peculiar observation on board ship that was a harbinger of what was to come appeared on the day before my last post, that is, on June 26. In walking back to our stateroom I was blocked from going down the corridor by a huge door that had a big sign on it saying “no  admission, staff only.” In trying to maneuver around it by taking another hallway, I realized that about a fourth of the entire deck 5 was now off limits, which would translate to between 50 and 80 staterooms. I asked one of the stewards about it who replied, “Water pipe issue, they are working on it.”

Odd, I thought, and wondered how the passengers in the affected area were dealing with it. There was not so much as a word on the loudspeaker from the captain or anyone else about an emergency that would shut down 50 or more staterooms. Could it have something to do with covid? At no point so far in the journey had the “C-word” been uttered by anyone. It was taboo on this vessel. People had signed up for a good time, and the Holland America people were determined to do all in their power not to worry people needlessly and ruin their vacations.

Just to ease my curiosity, later in the day I asked another steward, who said he was not sure but thought it was an electrical issue of some sort. Still no official word: All fun and games, jewelry shows, piano bars, playing the slots, weight loss and wrinkle reduction classes, and all sorts of other fun stuff. And during this time, practically the only person wearing a mask in common areas besides all of the crew was one Embry Howell, henceforth to be referred to as “Iron Lady” for reasons soon to become apparent.

The next two days, June 28 and 29 involved stunning and spectacular land excursions to wild and scenic Iceland—towering cliffs, snow capped peaks, tiny fishing villages, long underground tunnels, majestic waterfalls—everything you would expect from one of the most isolated and magical spots on the planet.

Two events of note occurred on those two days. First, on June 28 I started feeling a little weak and had a slight cough, but, hey, no problem, just a normal cold. I took a covid test that afternoon to be sure, and it came out negative. So far so good.  Also that day we discovered that yet another hallway on the ship had been shut down and cordoned off, this time on level 4, effectively taking offline another 50-80 staterooms. Still no announcement and no mask protocols other than “masks recommended  but not required.” The Iron Lady was one of the few paying attention and wearing her mask all the time in common areas when not eating or drinking.

When I asked a steward pushing a cart of dishes as the door blocking level 5 opened, my inquiry was answered truthfully for the first time. “That is where they put the covid people.”

Mystery solved, but what did this mean, and why no information from the ship?

Then on the Iceland excursion on June 29, I probably should have stayed back because I was feeling worse; but since I had tested negative the previous afternoon, I decided to go on the excursion with Embry  to see glaciers and geysers. To my embarrassment, I coughed under my mask almost incessantly. When we returned to the ship, the cruise director came on the speaker announcing that masking was now mandatory in all common areas. By that time I was feeling terrible.

There was no mention of the dreaded word, “covid,” but  there was not a person on board who did not know exactly what was going on.

Party over.

That evening the symptoms set in—a throat so sore that it was painful to swallow, an incessant hacking cough, occasional chills, aching muscles, at times minor issues with breathing, and near total exhaustion. The next morning I called the medical center, and within an hour the PCR test was administered and the results conclusive: Covid 19.

No surprise.

 The nurse informed me of the rules: I  was now officially quarantined and would remain quarantined for at least five days; and following that to get off  quarantine I would also need to have a negative covid test. Room cleaning would be suspended, and no crew allowed in the room. Meal delivery would continue. At the end of the cruise, all covid passengers still quarantined would be transferred to a hotel exclusively for covid victims.

The good news was that since Embry’s test was negative, she was free to come and go as she pleased. The idea of a covid free person having to go to a covid hotel, however, was for her not a pleasing thought. It is still a mystery why she did not pick up the disease from me. In any event the Iron Lady’s persistence in wearing masks in common areas, even though not required, paid off.

The nurse almost apologized that because the ship’s covid isolation areas were totally full I would have to remain in our stateroom rather than relocate. When I asked her how many people  had covid on the ship, she said that she was not allowed to say. A couple  of days later I asked the same question to a person I presumed was a doctor who paused, took a deep breath and replied “Not above ten percent of the passengers but counting.” Six staterooms surrounding our room all were eating delivered meals.

Catastrophe, I thought. That would mean at a minimum 150-200 passengers with covid. Embry and I were the lucky ones. We have been on a lot of cruises and have seen a lot of the world. What about the people who had never been on a cruise before or those who had saved up for an experience of a lifetime? Plus, by some miracle, Embry, the Iron Lady, was fine and able to continue going on excursions and enjoying the amenities. What about the people whose spouse or partner was also sick or people traveling alone?   

The next five days were not happy ones for me or Embry. I was as sick as I can ever recall, and I have had a lot of bad respiratory viruses over the years including three bouts with pneumonia. I thought having had two vaccinations and two boosters was supposed to keep the virus at bay even if you got it. But, hey, I am alive, and that could well be the saving grace of the vaccine. Without it, for me  and probably many other covid victims on the ship (No one was allowed on the cruise who was not fully vaccinated), the ending could have been truly tragic.

It was not an easy time for the Iron Lady either. Embry was exhausted trying to take care of me plus overwhelmed by the thought of having to cancel and rebook at least three flights and one B&B. She has spent the better part of the last two days trying to get the flight from Edinburg to Washington rebooked only to be hung up on several times by the travel agent.

Worried about their elderly parents, our two children, Andrew and Jessica, with help from their spouses, staged an intervention where they informed us they were now in charge of getting us home immediately after the cruise was over, which involved cancelling a side trip to Edinburgh to visit old friends and then to depart from Copenhagen rather than Edinburgh. Embry and I are so proud to have such responsible and caring children. The only wrinkle was (and is) that there are no flights from Copenhagen to Washington or anywhere else in the U.S. due to a pilot strike by SAS pilots. We are still trying to figure this one out.

We are now at a very nice airport hotel and have a flight out tomorrow morning to Edinburgh.

Stand by for the next post.

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Embry and I have been on several cruises starting in 2015.  This post is directed to those who have not had this experience.

Picture this: You are now taking your first cruise. Your cruise ship is motoring at 19 knots en route to Iceland from Norway. It is foggy, rainy and 45 degrees outside with plenty of sea motion as the vessel plows through six to 10-foot icy seas in the Norwegian Sea. No stopping in port until tomorrow morning around ten. But will that affect any of the 1,600 happy passengers aboard your Holland America vessel, the Nieuw Stantendam?

Never.

Why not?

Because there is so much to do and so much going on aboard ship. This will be your activity for today:

Your first activity will be breakfast, a huge, scrumptious feast on the Leido deck on the ninth level, where it takes up almost all of that level of the giant ship except for the two swimming pools, more accurately described as “splashing pools,” one covered, one not, each with a bar and three hot tubs  and in use 24/7. On your way to breakfast, every ship crew member you pass greets you warmly with what would be a broad smile if you could see it below his covid mask, and wishes you a great day. Some—and you have no idea how—will even know your name. All will have Filipino or Indonesian accents, which remarkably you can actually understand most of the time. How can they be so happy and courteous, you wonder? You silently wish everyone could be like that.

Your first decision will be what to have for breakfast. There are over a dozen dining venues on the ship, only two of which are included in the fee, the main dining room and the informal, massive Leido Deck dining, which is set up like an upscale food court. That choice makes the most sense since the food is terrific and already paid for. The ship’s “food court” on the Leido Deck must have more than a dozen food stations serving the most delicious breakfast food you have ever seen. So many choices. You decide to go easy this morning and order from the chef behind the glass Eggs Benedict, two Danish, freshly baked pastries, a bowl of fresh fruit, bacon, sausage, and a side order of blue berry pancakes. Once you find an open table, your waiter appears immediately with juice, coffee, and if you like, a Bloody Mary, which you may order for an extra charge, but it does not seem extra because only ship cards are used, not credit cards. The view out the window is usually magnificent though in the fog, today you can’t see much.

You consider going back for seconds but rule it out because the first activity of the morning is about to start. You rush to the main auditorium called “Millennium Stage” just in time to hear the cruise social director talk about all the fun things you can do today—a lecture about “diamond basics,” a pottery class, several jewelry presentations by the ship’s jewelry shop vendors, spa appointments that are still available, special skin treatment options, perfume testing, dance classes, music recitals,  ping pong and pickle ball tournaments, wine tasting, whisky tasting, or a workout in the world class fitness center. These are just the starters. So many things and so little time. Morning concerts, afternoon concerts, evening concerts, lectures, and affinity group gatherings. Good heavens, how to choose? You scan the activities flier and count the options. There are 81 possibilities.

So you decide to start off with the lecture, “How to Eat More and Weigh Less,” which you believe is timely as you pause at one of the ships dozen or so coffee spots where you can pick up a quick latte and muffin. You pass by an abs class and a stress-and-release class before changing your mind and deciding to take the Tai Chi class, which turns out to be fine. So now it is time for your morning break and for another latte and pastry. Then you pass by the “bridge play” area, another group playing  Mahgong, a large group playing a trivia  game, and you decide to catch a little of a talk on acupuncture before settling on the jewelry auction preview and how to tell a good diamond from a bad one. Unfortunately, there is not enough time for the fitness center. That will be an afternoon activity. It is now time for lunch. My, how time flies!

You could choose between a dozen options but decide on the Leido again because the breakfast was so good. The lunch choices offered in the food stations are even more appealing than breakfasts—salads of all types, fresh fruit, quiche, sushi, pizza, several kinds of stew, lamb, roast beef, tempura, fried chicken, and more kinds of sandwiches than you knew existed. You settle for a cheese burgher with fries with a pecan pie and vanilla ice cream for dessert.

Now it is time to go up to the observation deck for a short rest before attending your favorite afternoon activity. On the way you are tempted to join a bingo event or a class on mixing Old Fashions and Mai Tais, cost only $15. You pass by Rye Whisky tasting, but the cost is more, $35, and the sun is not even up above the yard arm. You note that the class is SRO and conclude there could be some on the ship with a drinking problem. You decide to go to the observation deck instead.

You reach one of the ships 20 high speed elevators, punch in floor 12 where you stroll into the observation lounge and bar where over a hundred relaxed passengers are sitting in easy chairs looking out the windows where they are watching the clouds lift and sipping cappuccinos or white wine. You find the perfect chair, order your white wine and think about going to the World Class Fitness Center.  Just as you are about to doze off after finishing your wine, you glance at your watch and realize that High Tea is about to start. Oh, my goodness!  You can’t miss that, so you charge off, pass by the fitness center and after passing the diamond, apparel, and perfume shops arrive at the elegant main dining room as about a dozen groups are sitting around large tables where waiters in suits and wearing white gloves are serving petite sandwiches, tea, and sparkling wine. A string trio is playing in the background.

The elegant tea lasts a couple of hours with a lot more sparkling wine served than tea, but, hey, how often do you get to take a cruise?

You look around and notice that almost everyone sipping tea and sparkling wine seems to be pretty old, lots of white hair, wrinkles, some canes and a walker or two. If you didn’t know better, you would think you were in a retirement community. As you think more about it, most of the other passengers on the ship are not spring chicks either. It figures, you conclude, old folks have the time and the money. Also, pretty neat, you conclude. We humans keep on trying to squeeze the last drops out of the lemon.

And what else about the passengers? Most seem to be Americans but not all. However, you realize that you have seen few persons of color. A family or two from Asia and one  African American. What is that all about? Time or money? Something wrong here.

Finally, you make a mental note of the large number of overweight people, many actually quite obese, and wonder what that could be all about. You think about all that you have already consumed. Frequent cruisers?

The balance of your afternoon is a mirror image of the earlier part of the day but on steroids. A blues band is playing here, then a rock band there, and there are several dance venues going on.  Bars are open around every corner, many with music and entertainment. There is just enough time to take a dip in the pool and warm up in a hot tub, then head back to your stateroom for a brief nap, shower and to get dressed for the evening.

The highlight of the evening is a delicious, three course dinner in the elegant main dining room. The service is terrific, and it is nice to see everyone all dressed up. You heard that only a few years ago, black ties were required for men and evening gowns for women, but nowadays that has loosened up though ties and jackets for men are encouraged.

To finish off your day, you take in the magic show on the Millennium Stage, stroll through the jam-packed casino watching people play the slots, blackjack, and poker. You have just enough time to stop for a nightcap and second desert at the piano bar and get back to your cabin around eleven where your bed has been turned down and chocolate candy has been placed on your pillow.

“Tomorrow,” you softly tell yourself, “Tomorrow, I will get to the World Class Fitness Center.”

You call it a day.

                                                                                                     ****

While this scenario makes the assumption that you are alone, this is rarely the case. You will probably be traveling with a companion, spouse, or a family group. But there are those who do travel alone: former frequent cruiser widows, who love the experience and do not want to give it up even after losing their husband. On this cruise there are several groups of four or five elderly women who appear to be traveling together. There are also opportunities for singles to become part of affinity groups. A singles group meets every afternoon at cocktail hour time; and in the main dining room, a single diner will be asked if he or she would like to be seated at a table with others. “Friends of Bill” meetings and “Pride Gatherings” also happen every day.

And, of course, no one does every activity. Embry and I actually participate in very few of the activities, spending our time reading (Embry) and blogging (me) and alternating eating in the main dining room with a meal at the casual Leido Deck. We tried one of the dozen other restaurants once but did not think it was worth the extra cost. We take walks around the deck—three laps to the mile—and when the weather permits spend time on deck or on our balcony just taking in the natural beauty. Embry always gets in her daily swim. And there are plenty of land excursions along the way, which, of course, are the major reason for choosing a cruise in the first place.

And a taboo about discussing politics appears to be an unwritten rule. Not one word about the abortion Supreme Court decision, which if allowed to leave Pandora’s box, would surely alter the mood of the experience. You have paid your money. Let the controversial stuff rest until you get home.

(And, no, we do not devour food quite to the extreme as suggested here though a lot of passengers appear to. Even with trying to avoid excess, however, I know will have to lose five or so pounds when we return home.)

When all is said and done, in my view, what helps make a cruise special is the exceptional service and what surely feels like genuine friendliness from the people who do the cleaning, the heavy lifting, and fix stuff. All of them. No exceptions. You are treated like royalty, and, boy, does that feel good! I do not know how Holland America does it. Maybe it has something to do with the Asian temperament, since the cabin and wait crews are all from Indonesia or the Philippines. Maybe after two years of covid cancellations, these folks are just glad to be back to work.

Also note that with 1,600 passengers served by 1,300 crew comes out to .8 crew for each passenger! That has got to make a difference.

After a day or two of receiving warm greetings by the crew, passengers find themselves greeting each other with pleasant smiles. Why can’t we continue to be nice to one another  when we return home?  Why is this limited to a short voyage on a cruise ship sailing on the North Atlantic on one of the longest days of the year?

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Our flight landed almost a half hour early; but after retrieving our bags and working our way through customs, we stumbled into the waiting area exactly at the bewitching hour of 1:30 where the first person we saw was a guy holding up a Holland America sign. Victory!

A Holland America bus took us and about 50 others on the flight through quaint, historic downtown Copenhagen to the commercial pier, a ride of about 45 minutes. The vessel, The Nieuw   Statendam, is a clone of the two Holland America cruise ships we had traveled on before, except newer, a bit fancier and small by today’s cruise ship standards—”only” 1,600 passengers and 1,300 crew, 15 stories high and over two football fields long. The mega cruise ships like the ones used by Disney, Carnival or Celebrity accommodate well over 4,000 passengers.

We ghosted through the early morning mist to the Bergen harbor at around six in the morning, which normally would seem early except today sunrise was a tad after four in the morning if you could even call it a sunrise. When I poked my head out of on our balcony around midnight, it  still seemed like twilight.

Bergen, a coastal town of around 290,000 is Norway’s second largest city. Most towns of any size in Norway are coastal since the country is  mountainous, with many mountains over 7,000 feet, the tallest over 8,000 feet. The only places where there is enough flat land to construct buildings is at the base of the mountains. Though it is already summer, lots of snow remains on the taller peaks, and Norway—at least the part we experienced during our two days there—for me was a dreamland. The towering mountains with snowcapped peaks go straight up from the water’s edge. Spring wildflowers were abundant, and everything around you except for the small towns and tiny villages seemed green—the lower part of the mountains, the water, the trees and grass. The two days we were there the sky was mostly blue with white cloud puffs, and the high temperature was in mid  70s with low humidity, conditions which caused me to conclude that surely this extraordinary country had to be one of the most beautiful places on earth—and Embry and I have seen a lot of beautiful countries on  our many travels.   

Our excellent guide leading us on our day-long tourist bus drive that day put things in perspective when she commented on how fortunate we were since in Bergan it rains on average around 250 days a year or over 70% of the time , the reason why plants flourish and everything is so green.  Many tourists fail to get even a glimpse of the tall peaks since much of the time the coastal towns are enshrouded in a cloud bank. We lucked out.

There are several  things I learned about Norway. First, it is a relatively small country, sparsely populated. It is about the same size of New Mexico and has a population of only around 5.3 million, about a million fewer people than live in the Washington Metro Area of 6.4 million. There is only one real city, Oslo, with a population of 634,000, half the size of Charlotte, NC.

Second, mountains (over 300 above 6,500 feet), lakes (over 400,000), islands (over 240,000) and fjords (deep coastal estuaries, which number more than 1,700) make it  paradise for those who love the out of doors and explains why so many younger people looked to me to be healthy and athletic. There is really no other country quite like Norway on the planet Earth.

Third, the Norwegians put us Americans to shame in many  things that count. Looking out my window as our tour bus drove us gawking tourists through Bergan and then through green valleys with tiny villages alongside gurgling brooks, placid lakes, and bottomless fjords, I kept wondering where all the rundown houses were. Where was all the poverty? Well, they were nowhere to be seen. Family incomes in Norway average over $78,000 compared to $64,000 in the U.S. There is nowhere near the income disparity, an absence of anything resembling one of our over-the-top McMansions, and nothing resembling one of  our many low income neighborhoods, which we used to call slums. Health care is universal but private, and the country ranks ahead of us in most health care measures. Life expectancy in Norway for men is 82 compared to our 75, 85 for women compared to our 80. The number of doctors per capita is much higher. The list is long.

Norway is closer to the U.S. where almost a third of the population owns guns and gun ownership is  part of the Norwegian culture. They rank in  the top ten with 31 guns per 100 residents. Its gun laws, however, are among the strongest in the world, requiring licensing, and training, and the Norwegian gun death rate is one of the lowest in the world. Two people were murdered by guns in 2020.

One of the great values of traveling is that you get glimpses of the way other countries do things and how we compare. In the case of poverty, disparity, health care, and gun laws, it is hard not to let out a primal scream: “What is wrong with our country!”

Yes, I know, there are extenuating circumstances.  Norway is much smaller, very wealthy due to oil and gas revenues, and not very diverse—only around 5% minorities and immigrants. And its past is mixed. The Norwegian Vikings were not nice people.

But still.

We had two typical tourist bus tours while we were there. Besides the Bergan, full day tour which took us deep into the lush green valleys nestled below the peaks and then some 25 or 30 miles alongside of one of the longer Fjords in the area, we took a “town tour” the following day  of Molde, a charming port town of about twenty thousand, which afforded extraordinary views of the town, port, fjord, and snow covered peaks.

Great two days to begin the cruise!  Now en route to Iceland, cruising at 19 knots, in mist, fog, and  drizzle in six foot seas and swells. More on life aboard a cruise ship in the next blog post.

 

 

 

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Hey, getting there is half the fun, right? Nope, not this time. “There” refers to Copenhagen where we were headed on Wednesday, June 22, to begin a cruise to Norway, Iceland, and Scotland. In 2019 before Covid hit, Embry had booked a cruise for the summer of 2020, which was cancelled  because of Covid the last two summers and then canceled again this spring. Embry had found a bargain with a small, British cruise company, which  notified us in late April of the bad news, which required threats by Embry of bodily harm to them in order to get her money back. Rather than throw in the towel, Embry scrambled for options and managed to get the last remaining reservation on a Holland America cruise ship, leaving Copenhagen on June 22 and returning two weeks later. Lucky break for us since no other options were available and since our previous two cruises with Holland America had been enjoyable.

On June 22, the morning of our flight on Icelandair, I was completing packing when I heard Embry raising her voice on the phone in the bedroom, “That will not work, we have to be in Copenhagen by 1:30 or we will miss our cruise!”

 Icelandair had sent Embry an email informing her all of  six hours before the scheduled takeoff that the flight had been cancelled. The email  noted they were “sorry for the inconvenience.”

There were no other options, the agent said, except a British Air flight, which Embry pointed out would not arrive in Copenhagen until after the ship had departed. Before the conversation concluded 30 minutes later, Embry’s raised voice had  elevated to a shout with threats to report the incident to the Washington Post (which runs a column about the worst travel experience ever), as if that would make any difference. What had really ticked her off was the agent’s insistence that since they had offered us an alternative flight, they did not have to give her money back. He argued that it was not their fault that the alternate flight would arrive after the cruise ship had departed. She slammed down the phone and stared into space.

By this time it was almost one in the afternoon. We had to arrive in Copenhagen in 12 hours. What to do? I immediately called the emergency number at Holland America and talked to an agent, who confirmed what had been explained in the materials about the cruise: If a flight arrived in Copenhagen by 1:30 P.M., they would honor the reservation and would not leave without that passenger, anything after that would be problematic. Furthermore, there were no refunds for no-shows.

 “But,” I argued, “we are not a no show!”

She replied, “You are a no show to us if you are not there when the ship leaves. By the way, there are 1,600 passengers on the ship. We can’t hold the ship indefinitely for two passengers.”

The challenge was to book another flight which would get us to the Copenhagen airport by 1:30 P.M., the magic hour when the chariot would turn into a pumpkin. How difficult would that be?

After regaining her composure, Embry was on it, desperately searching the web. In less than a half hour she reported back, “Got one! United to Chicago, SAS to Copenhagen. Only option available. Arrives in Copenhagen at 1:20. We got the last two seats on the plane!”

“So that means we have all of 10 minutes to spare.”

I immediately called back the emergency Holland America number and after a 15-minute wait, got another Holland America agent, who after a brief pause followed by a long sigh confirmed that we had a margin of error that was shorter than the phone call I was having with her.

“Good luck!” she said, “Should be an adventure.”

“There is one other problem,” Embry said. The Chicago flight takes off from National in about two hours!”

I threw what I could into my suitcase, crammed it shut as we charged out the door to call an Uber. Embry had packed the night before. I recall noting on the reservation that checking in now must be completed within 90 minutes of departure, which at the time struck me as wishful thinking. “Whoever gets to the airport with an hour and a half to spare, for goodness sake? Ridiculous.” I muttered under my breadth, “Give me a break!”

The wait time for an Uber was less than five minutes; and with light traffic, we made it to National Airport at 2:20 for a 4:00 P.M. departure. I could finally relax, having made to the airport with about an hour and  40 minutes to spare, plenty  of time.

National Airport, however, was jam packed with passengers waiting at the United check in. In about 15 minutes we had managed to work our way to the front of the line where we were met by a no-nonsense, female agent, who after taking our passports, returned to give us the bad news: “We are not checking your bags, and you are not getting your boarding passes. It is 2:35. Your time requirement for checking in  has passed. You can rebook for tomorrow.”

“What?” I exclaimed. “Surely, you are not serious!”

I do not recall exactly what I said next, but whatever it was caused the agent to abruptly leave to be replaced by a slightly older woman, whom I presumed was her supervisor. This lady looked at me, then looked at Embry, shook her head and handed me the boarding passes.

“Have a good trip,” she replied, smiling.

“Thank you, Jesus!” I replied, “I mean, thank you very much!”

We then bolted toward the security check point, only to witness why the new restrictions on  checking in were in effect. Several hundred people were in a line that was so long it could  not fit into to the labyrinth employed to get people through security. Even worse, the line did not appear to be moving. I looked at my watch. We had just over an hour to get through security and make it to the gate. I could not see any way we could do it.

Doomed again!

“What on Earth is going on at National Airport?” I commented to Embry. I had never seen a line this long at National Airport or just about anywhere else for that matter.

For the first 30 minutes our prospects for getting to the gate before it closed seemed borderline hopeless. Then when a very serious, stressed out, older guy in a suit showed up and barked out some orders, ever so slowly the line began to start to move, then moved faster. A lot of people were moved to the “Pre” line; and in another 15 minutes we were in, racing to the gate, arriving with 15 minutes to spare. The takeoff was delayed for 20 minutes to accommodate a handful of other distressed passengers, who I presumed were farther back in the line. Maybe they would have held the flight for us too, but who knows? There was not an empty seat on the plane. We had squeaked in.

At this point we had cleared three major hurdles. Embry had been able to book a replacement flight for both legs of the flight, which before she booked were totally full except for two empty seats on each plane. We had gotten boarding passes and checked bags in violation of the new policies and procedures of United Airlines, and an airport executive had appeared out of nowhere to speed up getting passengers  through security. If any one of these factors had gone against us, we would not have  made it.

The last major hurdle was getting from Chicago to Copenhagen. Would the flight land by 1:30? The flight took off on time and with a strong tailwind, landed a half hour early. Eureka!

 It turned out that on the flight from Chicago, about 50 passengers were also on the cruise. We were not the only ones worried about getting to the ship on time.

I thought, “Embry’s Guardian Angel is working overtime.”

So here we are  on the cruise ship, en route to Norway under cloudy skies and 12-knot breezes. More to follow….

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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With fear and trembling Embry and I got our required covid tests today—the ones that are supposed to be accurate and are done by health care providers and cost a fortune—and passed. We do not have covid! At least not now, so that means we can board an Iceland Air flight from Dulles Airport to Copenhagen where we will board a Holland America cruise ship the afternoon of our arrival and begin our trip to explore the coasts of Norway, Iceland, and Scotland, then visit our friends, the Wikeleys, in Edinburgh.

Maybe you have read some of the blog posts from our past journeys.

Starting in 2015, when I turned 73 and Embry was in her late 60s, we began our cruise experience—first, a transit cruise on a Holland America ship from Fort Lauderdale to Spain, the first leg of our journey around the world without flying. Then the “cruise” across the Pacific from Shanghai to Seattle on a container ship, which was the last leg of that 4-month adventure. Following that we did a 10-day Mediterranean cruise with Embry’s bother and sister-in-law on a 60-passenger ship as part of a University of North Carolina sponsored event called the “Adventures of the Apostle Paul,” complete with lectures by the heralded atheist professor of Christian Studies at UNC Chapel Hill, Bart Ehrman. Then a Viking cruise from New Zealand to Australia in 2017 and finally in 2019, just before the dreaded covid struck, another Holland America cruise from Fort Lauderdale through the Panama Canal, around Cape Horn, and finishing in Rio with a dozen stops along the way in Panama, Peru, Chili, Argentina, Uruguay, and Brazil. This cruise to Norway, Iceland, and Scotland was supposed to happen in the summer of 2020, then in the summer of 2021. Both were covid casualties.

All were great in their own way, although you miss a lot on cruises—especially eating local food and hanging out in parks and street benches and trying to talk to local folks, though we have stretched these cruises out a bit spending the last week or so on shore and on our own. So cruises aren’t perfect, but, hey, at our age –I am now 80–cruises are sure a lot easier.

There are three points of anxiety on this one. The first was getting a negative covid test. We passed that one today. The second is making the connection to the cruise ship in Copenhagen. We have only three hours to get from the airport to the ship, and the third, of course, is escaping covid along the way.

So here we go again. Stay tuned…

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Last Saturday, June 5, I came close to getting seriously injured or killed. Not only me, however, but Embry and the three immigrant children whom we were driving home from a concert in a neighboring suburb of Washington and who were riding in the back seat of our car. But Saturday was only one of many close calls that I have had over my 80 years on the planet Earth. I suspect other 80-year-olds can recall  many close calls as well.

The decision I had to make was whether to turn right or left out of a narrow side street onto a busy, four-lane highway. No traffic was coming from the left, and I preferred to make a left turn to take the kids home. We were near the top of a hill, however, and on a partially blind curve, which did not allow a good view of vehicles approaching from the other side of the hill. When Embry reported that the cars coming from the right would soon clear, I glanced to the left, saw no cars, and made an instant decision to choose the left turn. I stepped on the gas. Almost immediately I heard a loud car horn blast. To my horror a white car was headed right towards us and going very fast. Where did he come from? I slammed on the brakes. The white car swerved in front of us, horn still blowing, and cleared us by inches. Trembling, I completed the left turn. Embry commented, “Whew, that was a close one!”

And if any of those children in the back seat had been injured or worse….Oh, my goodness! The very thought of it is unbearable.

We were lucky. Very lucky.

This close call prompted my memory about several other close calls I have had over the years. In the summer of 1981, when I had just started my consulting practice in affordable and seniors housing, the head of a community development corporation in the Bronx, which I was assisting, had volunteered to give me ride to a convenient spot where I could take the subway to LaGuardia Airport to catch a flight home. She had a small Toyota. I was seated in the front beside her, and three of her employees were squeezed into the back seat. As we drove along a 12-lane expressway through the Bronx, the skies suddenly opened, and rain began to pour down so hard that it was close to impossible to see the road ahead of us. Nevertheless, she persisted, maintaining a speed of 65-70 miles an hour, passing other cars right and left. My heart started to beat fast, and I clutched the seat as we sped by one car after another.

Then it happened. The car spun out of control as it started to hydroplane. We were on the inside lane of six lanes. The vehicle made a full 360 degree turn, putting us in middle lane as cars continued to speed past us on both sides. How could they have missed us? It was at this point that I was convinced that I was going to die. I was certain that there was no way we could keep from getting hit. I remember seeing a mystical picture of my entire life swirl before me. Everything was in slow motion. It was as if I were having an out of body experience, viewing the experience as a spectator. The time it took for the car to complete a second 360-degree turn seemed like an eternity. Then suddenly, bang! We came to an abrupt stop. The car hit the guardrail on the outer edge of the expressway. We had crossed five lanes of heavy traffic in a deluge, made two complete 360-degree turns and had not been hit by another car. No one said a word.

The driver then turned off the expressway at the next exit, ordered everyone out of the car and, trembling, said she was driving home. I was able to get a cab to the airport. The others headed for the subway.

The third close call was on a U.S. Airways flight headed to San Diego in 1986 where I was attending a seniors housing conference. As we approached San Diego, the voice of the pilot announced that there was a “slight problem” with the landing gear and that the landing would be delayed by a few minutes. That got everyone’s attention as concerned passengers gave each other puzzled looks. About fifteen minutes later, his voice came on the loudspeaker again and provided the details: The landing gear was stuck and would not come down.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he announced, “We will be circling San Diego until we deplete our fuel supply to avoid an unfortunate situation when we land.” I interpreted this as meaning he did not want the plane to blow up when we crashed.

Suddenly a chill came over the cabin. I heard a female voice moan “Oh, my God!” Flight attendants then moved in to take the seats of all the passengers seated by the exits. All passengers remained silent. Everyone, that is, except the age 50-something lady, who was a realtor seated next to me by the window. As we circled the city for about 30 minutes, she nervously pointed out the roofs of every house she could identify that she had sold in the last 20 years.

Then the captain’s voice came on again. “Well, folks, I have good news and bad news. The good news is that finally we got the landing gear deployed. The bad news is that our instrument panel shows that it is not secured. If the instrument indicators are working, that means the wheels will collapse, so you will want to hold on tight. Could be a bumpy landing. We are going to make one more circle, this time flying very low, past the control tower, and I have asked them to look at the landing gear and tell me if they think the wheels are locked in. Then we will do one more circle and land the aircraft.”

As we flew past the control tower, I counted six fire engines, over a dozen ambulances, and several trucks with local TV crews. The runway was covered with foam.

The realtor asked, “Well, since the plane is running out of fuel, it probably won’t blow up, right?”

We were then instructed to go into the tuck position.

As we approached the runway, I counted down the seconds until we would land, wondering if these would be my last. Five, four, three, then bang, our wheels hit. I held my breath. The wheels held! Thunderous applause!

The last close call I will describe here was a sailing incident, and I have had several sailing close calls. This one, however, was the most serious.

In the early 1990s I was on a long cruise from the Chesapeake Bay up to New England and back. I was skippering our Alberg 30, “Amazing Grace,” as we reached the Chesapeake Bay Canal, connecting the Chesapeake Bay with the Delaware Bay, around three in the morning. My son, Andrew, and his friend, Adam, were asleep, and my friend, Kenton, was on watch. A dense fog had set in as we approached what I assumed to be the first bridge over the canal. All we could see were the lights on the bridge which we could barely make out as we motored toward it. (This was before anyone had a GPS, requiring a good bit of guessing as to where you were.)

Suddenly, we heard the first of five thundering horn blasts. What we thought was a bridge was actually a giant container ship! When you hear five blasts that means get the hell out of the way. They see you, but they can’t stop or maneuver. But which way to turn? Right or left? I turned right. Another horn blast. Wrong way! Sharp turn back to the left as the giant ship ghosted past us, with no more than a few yards between us. If it had hit us head on, there is no telling what would have happened, but it would not have been pretty.

Life is indeed a matter of inches. A few inches closer and the white car would have collided with our car on the driver’s side going probably 50 miles an hour. An inch or two closer on the Bronx Expressway would surely have meant a collision with one or more cars. And an inch or two on the landing gear apparatus would have meant we would be landing without wheels. Surely, a few inches closer to the giant container ship would have destroyed our boat—and probably us.

Every now and then I think about guardian angels. Embry is sure she has one. I think I must too. How else do you explain escaping these close calls? Some would say that it is all luck. Maybe so, but why are some people lucky and some are not? And if there are guardian angels, why are some so much better doing their job than others? Another one of life’s unanswerable questions.  I am just grateful that after 80 years of close calls (most due to my own mistakes) I am still alive and kicking.

Thanks, Guardian Angel!

 

 

 

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So here we go again.

Massacres of innocent people in schools, hospitals, grocery stores, churches, and synagogues– or anywhere else for that matter– should not happen. Period. Yet in the United States they are increasing. In no other country on this planet are there countries where massacres of innocent people happen like they do here. With the Buffalo and Uvalde mass shootings happening two weeks apart, you would think this might have a chance of waking us up. A couple of days later came Tulsa, which  is described as “not as bad as it could have been” because the police arrived before the shooter was able to kill more than four people including his doctor, an orthopedic surgeon, because of lingering back pain following his back operation performed a couple of weeks before. These events involved what the FBI calls “active shooter incidents.” They have increased every year from three incidents in 2000 when they first started being counted by the FBI to 40 in 2020 and 61 last year, more than one per week. Will these recent “active shooter incidents” make a difference in getting stronger gun laws?

This year so far there have also been 231 mass shootings (where four or more people have been murdered or injured not counting the shooter), which rarely make it into the front pages of newspapers. As of June 2, 2022, mass shooting this year have resulted in over 1,200 killed or injured.

Then there are “routine” deaths by guns.  The last official statistic for gun deaths in the U.S. published by the CDC for 2020 was over 45 thousand gun deaths  that year, including over 24 thousand suicides (54%)— and over 19 thousand (43%) murders. They have gone up every year since the early 2000s. Deaths by guns are 25% higher than they were five years earlier and 43% higher than a decade earlier.

What is going on here?

One reason that these “routine” deaths by guns have not gotten more attention by the American public is that except for active shooter incidents, typical mass shootings and gun deaths often tend to involve poor people and people of color. Overall, according to KFF “State Health Facts,” the gun death rate in the U.S. in 2020 was 13.6 per 100,000 people. For Whites it was 11.6. For Blacks 31.8, about three times as high. The majority are young, African American men living in poverty. Considering income, the rates are likely to be even higher for poor people. “Hey,” the typical response is likely to be, “if those people want to kill each other, so what.” 

Now the skeptics will argue that since active shooter, mass killings like those in Uvalde and Buffalo and Tulsa are relatively rare, the bleeding heart, crybabies (like me) are trying to make a mountain out of a mole hill. In the U.S. while our gun death rate is increasing, it is still “only” 13.6 per 100,000 people. We rank 20^th in the world in this notorious category behind El Salvador (39.2 gun deaths per thousand, the world’s highest), along with several Latin, Central American and undeveloped countries, which average over 20 gun deaths per 100.000. So what’s the big deal?

Yes, we are better off than many Latin American and undeveloped countries in gun death rates, but compared to other developed nations, we don’t come close. France had 2.7 gun deaths per 100,000 in 2020, Canada was 2.1, Australia was 1.0, Germany 0.9, Spain 0.6, and the U.K. 0.2. Japan was less than 0.1.

OK, readers. Below is a list of 10 countries. All ten are advanced, wealthy nations. All have similar demographics. All have strict gun laws and regulations, except one. Guess which country  might be the one without strict gun laws. The statistic is the number of gun deaths per 100,000 population.

1. 0.88
2. 1.40
3. 1.94
4. 0.91
5. 13.6
6. 1.04
7. 0.02
8. 1.24
9. 1.48
10. 0.57

You got it. Number Five: The United States of America. The average of the nine countries not including the U.S is 1.05 gun deaths per 100,000 people per year. We are 13.6. (Note that various sources list our gun death rate slightly differently, but all range from 12.5-13.6 gun deaths per 100,000.) Is there any further evidence required to suggest that perhaps, just perhaps gun regulations might have something to do with it? Check out Wikipedia: “Overview of Gun Laws by Nation.” Laws tend to vary by country, and the comparisons are complex and tricky. But still, it is crystal clear that among developed nations we are an outlier. The answer to reducing gun death rates is tougher gun regulation.

(The countries in order are Australia, Belgium, Canada, Denmark, the United States, Germany, Japan, New Zealand, Norway and Spain.)

By the way, did you know that we now have over 400 million guns in the U.S., an increase of over  100 million from what it was in the Obama years? Check out “Gun Facts” from the 2021 “National Gun Survey.” There is also a lot of information on line from Gallup polls and from Pew Research. While the percentage of adults who own guns has remained fairly steady over the years at around 32% of all adults (about five guns per gun owner), the number of guns per owner is increasing. 

 President Biden made an impassioned plea yesterday for banning assault weapons, increasing the age for buying guns, background checks, and red flag laws.  Few believe that any of these will pass. I would like to see much more: enforced buybacks of all assault weapons and most handguns, registration of all ammunition, making “ghost guns” illegal and more mental health services. This is what Canada is doing, and their gun death rate is minuscule compared to ours.

I would allow for people to own guns suitable for hunting but would require gun registration and gun ownership licenses like we require in order to drive a car, and no, I do not interpret Article Two of the U.S. Constitution as an absolute right for any American to own a gun.

So why are we in the mess we are in today? You could ask the same question regarding climate change, abortion, racism and other controversial issues—all of which have been politicized. Historians have pointed out that we are more divided now than at any time since the Civil War. 

David Brooks made an insightful comment on the Friday News Hour this week. He lamented that we are in a totally divided country where Democrats and Republicans agree on very little. More important we have become tribal. To be part of the tribe you have to stay with the program. The Republican program supports gun freedom and minimal gun  regulations. To object would jeopardize ones place in the tribe. And in this instance the tribe is financed in part by the NRA. For a Republican politician to go against the NRA would mean a big loss of  campaign money. For someone trying to get elected or reelected, it would mean suicide.  And given the filibuster, there is slim chance of Democrats finding enough Republicans to get a strong gun safety law passed. It all goes back to the system, and our system is broken.

 And the stalemate is not just about guns. It is about abortion, vaccines, masks, books, climate change, “black  lives matter,” immigration, taxes, and a host of other social/cultural issues. This is the world we find ourselves in today, which keeps our country from doing the right thing to reduce gun violence and tackling the problems that could drastically affect our lives. Someday perhaps we will learn and will be able to work together, but if we don’t, the future looks bleak.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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