I have a midweek day off today. I don’t get those very often. I scheduled this one because I was supposed to have a school matinee of ‘Miracle on 34th Street’ but that didn’t happen and I decided I’d take the time anyway. I wish I could say I slept in, but I had to get up early and complete a rush job on a legal case review that the attorneys are trying to settle prior to Christmas. I don’t have a drop everything and get this done rate. Maybe I should update my rate sheet. I haven’t decided if I’ll keep up the legal work after I retire. It’s interesting, it pays well, I can do it on my schedule (usually). A problem to be solved another day.

Speaking of ‘Miracle on 34th Street’, it opens tonight at The Carver Theater downtown and runs this weekend. Thurs/Fri/Sat evening at 7:30 and Sat matinee at 2:30. It’s an African-American take on the holiday classic. Tickets availabe online at the Encore Theatre and Gallery website or at the door. I basically have an extended cameo as the judge in the courtroom scene. In my head I’m basing him on Liam Dunn’s judge from the courtroom scene at the end of ‘What’s Up Doc?’ but I’m not sure that I’m entirely succeeding. But then I don’t have Madeline Kahn and Austin Pendleton to play off of.

My left shoulder continues to give me fits. I have more corticosteroid injections into my cervical nerve roots schedulesd for late January. I guess I just have to put up with it and try not to be too crabby with the world until then. If you run across me in person and see that I’m doing weird posturing with my neck and left shoulder, it’s me trying to lift up my cervical vertebrae to reduce symptoms and, if I’m not my usual sweet self, it’s a pain response – it’s not you.

Because of work and dress rehearsals and raiding my condo for things to use as set dressing for the show, and general holiday time mayhem, I haven’t been paying as much attention to the political world as I normally do. But I am trying to piece together the actions of supposedly intelligent adult men and women in DC in the light of events over the last few days. We have the Vanity Fair piece on Susie Wiles (which I have not yet read) which lifts the curtain on the full level of dysfunction and chaos in the executive branch. Why was that done? Is she trying to give herself a plausible deniability out in case everything comes crashing down? But that’s something I don’t get in general. The vast majority of the leaders of the Republican party on both national and state level have spent this past year gleefully supporting words which are demonstratably false, actions which are demonstratably illegal and motives which are demonstratably immoral under pretty much any human ethical or religious system. When the fever breaks, how do they plan to justify themselves to their progeny, to the electorate, to history? Trump is not immortal. Trumpism does not appear to be economically sustainable. I can see choosing to live in a world of alternative facts with others who think the same way but these are people who were educated using logic and reason and science. Objective reality must shine through the cracks occasionally. One can hold a society in thrall and stasis (witness North Korea or mid century East Germany) but the amount of social capital necessary to do so prevents that society from succeeding on the world stage in this global politcal and socio-economic system that’s been constructed over nearly a century.

We have the accelerating distraction of distant war drums in Venezuela. The administration is apparently trying to get American big oil interested in supporting him in exchange for developing the enormous Venezuelan oil reserves. Those companies, not being run by stupid or uneducated executives, are demurring knowing that going all in would likely help make them international pariahs. In the meantime, we all remain accomplices in unsanctioned muder of people in small boats thousands of miles away from our shores – unreachable by those small boats due to their short maritime travel ranges.

Then there is Trump himself. I did not watch his speech last night and will not. He has nothing to say that I need to hear. The reporting on it made it clear that is was bombastic, full of distortions and lies, and mainly regurgitated rally talking points. I can’t imagine it playing well to anyone outside of his more fanatical base of support. From what I can tell, Trump has devolved into an emotional toddler, running around with two basic thoughts ‘No’ and ‘Mine’. Anyone who has cared for a child in the terrible twos knows that just letting them run rampant isn’t the correct way to encourage growth and maturity, but we have an entire political party who seems to think that this is the correct course of action. His new plaques in the White House colonnade with insults to his predecessors that the average 7th grader would find juvenile, just further confirm his inability to lead a modern nation state and make me question the motivations of his well educated and intelligent supporters more and more.

Things seem to be relatively quiet on the public health front, other than the administration canceling grants to the American Academy of Pediatrics which funded a number of important long term child health studies. It appears to be a fit of pique over the Academy’s strong disagreement with HHS’s monkeying with the childhood vaccination schedule based on antivax propoganda. Vaccines save lives. The recent French study on Covid vaccines showed not only did they prevent that disease, but four years on, those who were vaccinated had 25% lower all cause mortality. They did not posit why. I assume that those smart enough to care for their health by seeking out vaccine are also more likely to engage in other healthy behaviors and are less likely to engage in risky activities.

There are a lot of viral cruds running through town and I have had a drippy nose the last few days. Covid, flu and RSV numbers, the dangerous ones, are all pretty low however. It’s just the usual wintertime things. Keep your hands washed. Stay home if you’re sick. Take some Tylenol. Keep your fluids up. The usual.

I’m going to have a bunch of time to write the next few weeks but I have no idea what I should be writing about. I may write more of these long posts. I may put my energy into a book project. I may start something completely new and see where it goes. If there are any requests, now’s a good time to get them in.

I miss Tommy. I especially feel his absence in December given the marathon of activity that accompanied our holiday season in our years together. Thanksgiving with my family in Seattle from which he would need to depart early in order to prepare dozens and dozens of wigs for the huge cast of Red Mountain Theatre Company’s Holiday Spectacular. Then on to getting the kids of the Unitarian Universalist Church of Birmingham ready for their pageant – he produced, directed, musical directed, costumed and I ran around with duct tape, safety pins, and hot glue keeping everything together. (It was a real challenge the year we were having the house painted in December and we were busy assembling everything in a rather cramped extended stay hotel room). Then he moved on to Opera Birmingham’s holiday concert – Sounds of the Season where he did the setting, coordinated the production logistics, ran the box office, and put together the patrons’ buffet. I was usually in a holiday show of some sort with its tech week and performance schedule (there was one memorable year where I drove across town between the matinee and evening shows of A Christmas Carol in order to help him with the tech/dress of the children’s pageant). One or the other or perhaps both of us would sing The Messiah with the Alabama Symphony Orchestra. Then it was on to Christmas itself – Christmas Eve service at church (more children’s music and adult choir performance) forllowed by formal sit down dinner for his family which he cooked from scratch. Somewhere in there I had to get the house fully decorated and all the trees up. Christmas Day was usually low key and then it was balls to the wall to get everything ready for our holiday open house for our friends, traditionally the Sunday after Christmas and one of the must do events for Theatrical Birmingham. Again, Tommy made all the food from scratch while I had to rearrange the house for two hundred guests. And people wonder why we rarely went out for New Year’s Eve. We were pretty much passed out at that point.

The holidays are far less hectic these days. I’m appearing in Miracle on 34th Street for Encore Theatre this next week but other than that, the schedule is relatively empty and very quiet for me the weeks of Christmas and New Year. I’m not traveling as I have to take time off in January for various reasons. I have vague ideas of sitting around reading trashy novels and catching up on Netflix for a few days. I’m sure I’ll find something to fill my time. Maybe I’ll put up all my Christmas decorations. I did very little of that last year. I even had a little time to read some poetry for Birmingham’s Krampuslauf. I wore a holiday variant on my plague doctor outfit.

As I’m not overscheduled to the nth degree, I’ve had the chance to attend some of our holiday traditions that rolled around again this year in a non-participatory mode. The UU Church Children’s pageant was this morning. When I looked at the Christmas tree in the sanctuary, I realized that the prop presents under the tree were ones Tommy had made for some pageant years ago. This afternoon, I went to the opera’s Sounds of the Season. Same thing. There were various pieces of the setting that I recognized as having been devised by Tommy for a previous edition, including a couple of prop presents. Tommy continues to live on. Tommy loved certain aspects of Christmas – the food, the music, the decorations, the fellowhip. He absolutely hated gifts and gift giving. How ironic that it’s his prop presents that survive. Someday they will rip or fade and be replaced by something new but this year, at least, they were unexpected reminders of a life that used to be mine.

Per usual, there is a great deal I could say about modern politics and the current administration. I am choosing, at the moment, to avoid thinking too much about it for my personal mental health. I’m not depressed but I could probably nudge myself that direction if I spend too much time railing against things over which I have no power. I’m going to have to let a number of things based in domestic and foreign policy slide and care for themselves. I will, however, make note of a few things that have bearing on my life as people have asked about them.

The first is the announcement that the VA is going to cut 35,000 staff jobs (including doctors and nurses) on top of the 30,000 cut this past year. To put this in perspective, the VA employs about 470,000 people nationwide and there was a push in 2023 to hire 30,000 new staff to gear up for the needs of an aging population and to assist with the new directives allowing veterans to use VA benefits to seek care outside of the system in the community. So that first cut basically clawed back the increase under Biden and the second cut represents about 7.5% of the workforce, It’s mainly going to happen by not filling vacancies rather than firing staff but it’s not going to make my life any easier. The VA program I work for, Home Based Primary Care, brings fairly complete multidisciplinary primary care clinic services to the veteran’s home if he or she cannot easily access a VA medical clinic. Our goal has been to expand the program so that all veterans in the Birmingham VA catchment area of North-Central Alabama can enroll no matter where they live. We’re close to attaining it – we don’t have coverage in the far Northwest corner around Florence or on the Georgia border to the East. Two more teams would allow us to finish it out but with this latest announcement, that’s not going to happen. We also have a number of team members of retirement age (including yours truly) and it’s going to be very difficult to hire replacements over the next few years when the time comes. Services in general will be harder and harder to come by and weight times will be longer. But that’s been happening throughout the medical system over the last couple of years as there is a collision of an aging population, the changes wrought by the pandemic, and my whole generation of providers stampeding for the exit. Almost none of the specialists I’ve referred to for decades remains.

There also appears to be mass chaos within the health infrastructure of HHS given the caliber of individual elevated to positions of power. This is causing incredible stress to the research arms of academic health centers. As these institutions have been designed over the last eighty years or so to be knowledge factories, significant interference with the funds flow which allows this mission to be completed has led to everything being a bit off kilter. UAB seems to be weathering the storm at the moment but there are signs everywhere of fiscal retrenching and money not being available to hire support staff or upgrade facilities. What is all of this doing to the average American? There is no real health expertise or guidance working with congress on the issue of the spiking healthcare premiums caused by the Big Beautiful Bill and what this will do to both the health of citizens and the health care sector of the economy. We have major outbreaks of eradicated diseases such as measles. There is a coordinated attack on science and reason for political ends happening throughout the government. Can’t have facts that might contradict political narratives getting in the way.

Meanwhile, the Baby Boom enters its eighties in two weeks, there is no policy in place to deal with the very real problems this is going to represent to society and this particular Cassandra is packing up his megaphone and looking for other ways to expend energy. Thirty five years is enough time to have spent on that crusade.

I should have written a long post earlier this week. I had time. I had plenty of things about which to write but something kept preventing me. I think it’s an emotional response to the state of the world and the continuous firehose of news that ricochets between the tragic and the absurd. I know it’s making a lot of my fellow citizens who see the world through a more progressive lens angry. It seems to be provoking glee in some of my more reactionary acquaintances, although I cannot find anything to celebrate in government initiatives based in callousness and cruelty. In me, it’s just creating sadness. It’s not the sadness of clinical depression (which I have experienced in my life) but something more existential, a feeling of needing to say goodbye to all that (to borrow a phrase from Robert Graves who lived through a similar period of societal upheaval in the wake of the First World War).

The early decades of the 20th century, with two catastrophic World Wars and the Great Depression, led the United States to become one of the chief architects of Post-War Western Civilization, a rules based order guided by diplomacy, economic cooperation. The children of these planners and civil servants, the Baby Boom, were to be spared at all costs the horrors that had been visited on their parents. Now, eighty years later, those same children, now in their early geriatric years, are in the process of tearing down the systems their parents so lovingly built to protect them, prefering instead to rapidly institute a society more similar to that of the 18th and 19th centuries – one in which resources are not equitably distributed, opportunities are limited to the connected, and tribalism is not only encouraged but revered.

I don’t see much good coming from any of this. Tribal impulses are hardwired into our brains by evolution as our unit of survival is not the individual, but the tribe. We are social animals and we rise and fall on our ability to work together cooperatively. When we look around and define who we are by our social connections, one of the first things we do in order to make ourselves feel special is to define who or what we are not. We create out groups and underclasses and state that certain belief systems or philosophies should be spurned, if not outright suppressed. As we grew from nomadic bands into civilized urban society, it became clear that open societies more accepting of different kinds of thought or custom excelled quicker than those hwo took more repressive stances. Religion frequently became the means of overcoming the innate distrust of out groups through its messages of compassion and welcoming the stranger. Religious teachers were quick to recognize how strong the impulse to retreat across the moat and behind the walls is and how there must be countervailing messages. Of course, many of the keepers of American Christianity are abandoning this key role of religion and discounting the messages of the Bible which speak to this. I read somewhere that in a number of Evangelical denominations, The Sermon on the Mount (Matthew 5-7), the key teachings of Jesus, are basically being phased out for being too ‘woke’. Reverend Dale Turner, my pastor at University Congregational Church in Seattle when I was growing up, would be absolutely appalled.

We’re in a period of change. Nothing can stop that. Socio/economic/political forces beyond the control of any individual have been unleashed. There’s lot of destruction in the change as it has happened over the last year. Physical destruction of public monuments, suppression of people and ideas outside of prescribed orthodoxy. Torture and murder condoned by the highest of officers. But the new cannot happen if the old stands in the way. I am trusting that the forest fire engulfing us clears out the brush and the deadwood and allows the cones of the giant redwoods to open and allow a new generation to come up with something better than we have had. Yesterday I was a judge at the Alabama State High School Theatre competition. 2500 theatre kids from all over the state descended on UAB along with their teachers, parents, friends, and other entourage. The Alys Stephens Center and surrounding buildings were bursting with youthful energy and idealism. There were teenagers rehearsing Shakespeare on lawns and perfecting their song phrasing in stairwells. The kids I met through the day were smart, kind, intuitive and a few were enormously talented. The kids are all right if we will just nurture them a bit longer and let them takee center stage. Unfortunately, that will require the Boom to exit stage left (pursued by bear?) and they will not relinquish the spotlight willingly. However, time and biology care not for their wishes and they will become culturally irrelevant around 2040 as their die off accelerates.

I suppose the essential question is which will come faster, the die off of the older generation or the repurposing of society to a model that the Georgians and Victorians would recognize. We are going that way. Despite the platitudes coming from the White House press office, our economy is in serious trouble for average Americans. (And it’s not because immigrants are stealing our jobs or eathing our pets and it’s not because Venezuelan narco-terrorists have somehow figured out how to run fentanyl (a product they do not make) over more than a thousand miles of open sea in small boats with at best a 150-200 mile range). Wealth has moved upward into fewer and fewer hands so fast that we now have greater economic inequities than existed in 1789 France and 1917 Russia. We are and remain the wealthiest society the planet has ever produced. If you run the numbers, mean household income in the US is about $100,000 a year. However, that is skewed upward significantly by the enormous gains of the very wealthy. If you remove the top 1% of earners, mean household income plummets down to about $75,000. If you remove the top 5% of earners, it goes down closer to $65,000. It’s this last figure that’s likely the one we should be considering when discussing economic policy, not the first. What is likely saving our social stability is our relatively recent ability to better control our reproductive habits. We are having far fewer children and revolutions happen when we reach a tipping point of too many mamas not able to feed their babies. Of course this is going to create a fresh set of issues in the late 21st century based in demography… and we’ve done such a good job with the glaringly obvious current one, the aging of the boom, which has been apparent for about sixty years now. I’ve spent thirty-five years of professional life playing Cassandra and telling several generations of health administrators about what was going to be necessary as we approach peak age in 2030. I’ve had zero luck getting any of them to listen or to make forward thinking changes. This, more than anything else, is what is driving me rapidly into retirement.

I finished work early on Friday so I did something I have not done in some time. I took myself to a matinee movie and went to see the new film version of the recent Broadway production of Merrily We Roll Along. After paying nearly $40 for a ticket, popcorn, a dink and a bag of peanut M&Ms, I remembered why I don’t head out to the movies as often as I used to. From the mid 70s through the 90s, I went to a film at least once a week, and often more frequently than that. But not at those prices. Most of you who know me at all know that I worship at the altar of Stephen Sondheim and have since I was in my teens. Merrily We Roll Along has a special place in the canon for my generation. I was 19 years old when the original production opened, crashed and burned, shifting Sondheim’s career. The show was cast with performers of my generation and spoke to what it meant to be in that first stage of adulthood when everything was possible and nothing made sense. When the album came out a few months later, it became part of the soundtrack of my college life. I even had a Charlie and Mary in Craig Mollerstuen and Vickie Rozell. ‘Old Friends’ has remained our theme song since 1982 and we still sing it to each other on those occasions when we get together. Unlike the fictional trio, we developed adult lives without betrayals and we remain close. I saw the stage production twice in New York a couple years ago so the film held no surprises for me in terms of plot or musical choices or design or performance. What did surprise me was director Maria Friedman’s decision to film most of the show in close up and two shot. It allowed me, sitting out there in the dark, to understand and develop a more intimate emotional connection with the principal characters as I could see details of facial expression or eye movement that I couldn’t catch from the mezzanine of the Hudson Theater. As the reverse chronology carried them back from jaded middle age to idealistic youth, culminating in the exquisite Our Time trio on a Manhattan rooftop, I found my brain a jumble of memory. Memories of my life choices and the ramifications they proved to have. Memories of other productions of Merrily We Roll Along I had seen (and I’ve seen a lot – I first met Sondheim at one in Seattle at ACT Theater in 1988). Memories of Daniel Radcliffe growing up over eight Harry Potter movies (particular favorites of Tommy’s. He loved to have them playing when he was in his wig studio). I came out of the theater teary eyed and thinking about how everything used to be so clear and straightforward when I was that age and now nothing is and what were my contributions to all of those things that are currently making our world and our politics a mess and is it possible to atone.

I try to be a mensch. It isn’t always easy but I figure that’s what I’ve got to give. That and doing my bit to make sure that the young will get their time. Give them room and start the clock.

It’s the Saturday of the four day Thanksgiving weekend. According to my bedroom clock, the time is now five minutes past kickoff of the 2025 Iron Bowl between Alabama and Auburn. Most of the state will be glued to their TVs for the next few hours letting out occasional whoops of joy or howls of execration; I could care less. If I had a date, tonight would be the night I’d try that new restaurant that’s impossible to get a reservation for but I don’t so I’m enjoying a cocktail, a rewatch of Stranger Things in preparation for the new season, and the sounds of Liszt drifting in from the piano as my friend continues his diligent practice. He’s a trained pianist, does not own one, so I’m letting him come over and practice on Tommy’s grand. I think he’d like that.

I’m having a fairly quiet long weekend after the craziness of the Soulfood rehearsal schedule and before the craziness of the Miracle on 34th Street rehearsal schedule begins. We’re putting that one up in about ten days. Fortunately, I’m only in one scene with no blocking and a grand total of thirteen lines. I think I’ll make it. So far, without too much taxing of brain or body. I’ve managed to catch up on all my patient care work, write the letters of recommendation for fellow facultys’ promotional packets that I had been putting off, finished up a legal case, done my holiday shopping for the family, assembled my annual gift basket for shippping to Seattle, and started on some major and overdue house cleaning/reorganization. I’ve been in this space for over five years now. It’s time to get rid of stuff I moved in which I haven’t touched since and am unlikely to need in the near future. THis is being pushed by my losing of my academic office as I move towards retirement. Much of what is in there is hopelessly out of date and needs to hit the dumpster but there are some things which will be helpful if I continue writing and some consultancy so I have to find a home for them here.

It’s difficult to get a read on public health issues these days due to a complete lack of transparency on the part of the current administration and a general destruction of the means by which science has been diseminated both to the scientific community and the public at large. There are any number of respiratory viruses running around Birmingham at the moment. The majority are the cruds. Flu and Covid are out there but the numbers appear to be relatively low. Keep those hands washed.

On the other hand all of the other things in DC are also in their usual disastrous state. We have one cabinet member revealed to have given verbal orders to commit murder. We have another cabinet member revealed to have directly disobeyed the orders of a federal judge. We appear to be about to invade Venezuela for no discernable reason other than our president doesn’t like their president. The structure the East Wing of the White House was torn down for has no final design as the president’s expectations are unrealistic. A shooting in DC which leaves so many unanswered questions is rapidly being used for even more immigrant bashing, and in such a rapid and well ordered way that it’s clear they had the plans developed and just needed the pretext.

Those who live and die by the gridiron – have fun tonight and may somebody win. My college football career reached it’s zenith in 1982 when I was in the stands at the Stanford/Cal game that ended with the famous band play and trombone tackle. It will never be equalled so I figure why waste a lot of time going to less memorable games?

There is a moment, when performing a stage play, when you, as an actor, instinctively know that everything is working as designed. It usually happens sometime in the first act (and it’s generally best that it happens within the first fifteen minutes) – there’s a change in the energy in the theatre. You can feel that the audience has absorbed the rules for the evening and it engrossed in what’s unfolding on stage. You can relax as you know that no matter what happens moving forward from now until curtain call, it’s simply going to carry you, your cast and crewmates and the audience through to the end of the evening. It’s something like a river flowing. You just surrender to the current and trust. Doesn’t mean you don’t move the tiller or change the position of the sails occasionally to take advantage of what the river offers.

Soul Food: Another Serving, my current project, hit that mark last night. I wasn’t really expecting it. Due to various issues with production, getting the show on stage in final form was something of a drama in and of itself and opening, night, while the usual theatrical magic held it together, had its shaky spots. Last night, however, the blend of comedy, drama, great performances, and an audience eager to see characters to whom they could relate on stage made everyone realize something special was going on. And I can’t wait to do it one last time tonight. (Although, as the Soul Food series of plays appears to be ongoing, my character may be back in another one sometime).

Moments like last night remind me of how important it is to have theatre for particular audiences, not just pieces designed for mass consumption. There need to be pieces that represent and speak to different segments of society, that reflect who they are and their aspirations, and how they too belong in the wider world. And audiences need to be inquisitive enough to seek out works that don’t necessarily speak to them. Go to a show aimed at Black audiences when you’re not Black. Go to a LGBTQ themed show when you’re straight. Go to a political show which attacks the status quo when you’re well off and benefit from current systems. It’s the sort of thing which makes you think, see the world in new ways, and helps you become a better person. I love traditional American musical theatre and could easily spend my time, talents and energy solely working with and promoting that artform but, as I have aged, I’ve come to the conclusion that it’s far more important for me to work with and encourage smaller companies with very different objectives. We’re only going to get through this current political moment by finding our commonalities and being willing to see other perspectives, otherwise tribalism will continue to be the order of the day and those with the biggest mouthpieces will dictate for us all.

The metaphor of the river has been popping up in various places all week. My current classic read (I’m usually reading four or five books at once in various categories, one of which is a classic I missed along the way) is George Eliot’s The Mill on the Floss. I’ve never read any Eliot before (Dickens being my Victorian novelist go to). In terms of style, Eliot is a lot less fun than Dickens and a great deal more ruminative, but she digs deeper into the psychology of her characters and their relationships with each other and, more importantly, with the strictures of their society regarding gender and economic status. I haven’t quite reached the end but all of the references to the River Floss and various floods suggest that heroine Maggie is likely to end up like Eustacia Vye in Thomas Hardy’s Return of the Native.

We’re all more or less caught up in a the river of socio-politics and current events as well. Each of us in our own little boat. I’m rowing mine solo these days, more often than not, so there’s not a lot I can do other than be carried along by the current but I am keeping alert, trying to keep myself from running aground on the shoals and trading information with the skippers of other boats so that we all navigate safely downstream. It isn’t easy. Current headlines tell me that the US is trying to force a Russian victory which will likely irrevocably damage NATO and Europe down Ukraine’s throat. The fallout from that is likely to be unpleasant, no matter what goes down. Everyone’s favorite congress critter MTG has announced her resignation. She used her special vituperative brand of rhetoric against Democrats and the Left for years without consequences. She turned it on the Right and has been deplatformed in a matter of weeks. That should tell you something.

Given my personal expertise, the grimmest development of the last week is the CDC website now trumpeting antivax propaganda at the behest of RFK Jr. The CDC has long been the gold standard of health science in this country. It has now been thoroughly politically compromised and there is no way to trust anything that appears under its imprimatur. It’s sad. It will take decades to repair that kind of damage. I won’t be part of the medical system that has to rebuild in that way. That will be up to a younger generation. I hope William Cassidy MD of Louisiana who cast the deciding vote in favor of this philosophy can look back on his legacy with pride. I’m spending the next couple years working on my medical legacy. I think it’ll be a bit more positive.

In the destruction of the Department of Education, the federal government announced this week that nurses, physical and occupational therapists, social workers are no longer ‘professionals’ in the way that physicians or even chiropractors are. In practical terms, this will limit the numbers entering those fields as they will be unable to finance their educations with federal loans. This announcement, coming six weeks before the first Boomers turn eighty is not only enraging but mystifying. The health issues of those in their 80s and 90s, being chronic in nature, require the kinds of interventions made by nurses and therapists and social workers far more than the kinds of interventions made by physicians. I can only do what I can do because I work in terms and in tandem with the professionals in those fields. We already have shortages in these fields, especially when it comes to caring for geriatric populations. Without this workforce, the aging Boomers, unless well healed and able to contract for private care, will die prematurely. I guess that’s the point. Lower the geriatric population and life expectancy so Medicare and Social Security costs go down. The decade I refer to as The Uncertain 80s are about to get a lot more uncertain for us all.

It’s been a week of almost. Various things have gotten near to succeeding in some way but nothing has quite gotten over the edge. I’m used to that in life. It’s the way most things actually turn out. You shoot for a goal and you don’t quite make it. I don’t usually get discouraged. If I did, I’d never get anything done. I just regroup, take a slightly different aim and keep on plugging away. That seems to be where things are at not just on the personal but also the political field at the moment. One feels that we’re almost at the point where there’s going to be some accountability for the various tramplings of norms and laws that have become an everyday occurence but we never quite seem to reach the tipping point. I suppose it has something to do with the monetized media culture in which we bathe. There’s more money to be made in perpetual anticipation than there is in resolution.

The first ‘almost’ involves personal health. I took my Tuesday federal holiday and headed off to the outpatient surgery center at UAB West for my second set of injections into my cervical nerve roots on the left hoping that it would quell my shoulder girdle pain that came rip roaring back at the end of September. When I had it done last year, it was relatively easy – no anaesthesia, just lie still and a little local lidocaine. This time, fully out with the propofol and midazolam. I, of course, felt wrong for the next day or so while alll of that wore off. Did the procedue succeed? I’ll have to say almost. I think things are better, but I haven’t had the significant relief I did last year. I’ll give it a couple of weeks to see if the steroids kick in more over time. If not, on to plan B which will involve almost anything short of cervical spine surgery. I’ve seen far too many disasters with that over my career. Of course, two days later, while still a bit off, I tripped on a piece of rough sidewalk descending the 20th Street hill on Southside and skinned up my hands and knees. I’ll have to answer yes to the ‘Have you fallen in the last three months?’ question at my next checkup. Peepaw gonna have to remember. Ground Hard! Fall Bad! and start taking his walking stick…

The next almost is my attempt to fully come off book for Soul Food: Another Serving before this weekend’s rehearsals. I have my lines down – mainly – but they aren’t exactly where I want them yet. I’ve got three tech dresses before opening to be sure they’re all in place. I have my various tricks for learning and remembering them and I’m employing them all for this project as the rehearsal period has been short. I hope my castmates all give me some grace and remember that I am multiple decades older than most of them. As it’s starting to come together, it looks like the end result is going to be fun. I have a couple of really good scenes which should get me some significant laughs if I play them right. Plays next Thursday through Saturday at The Carver Theatre in town – presented by Encore Theatre and Gallery and tickets available at http://encorebham.org

The next almost are my attempts to get fully caught up at work prior to the holidays so I can actually spend some of those extra days off doing plenty of nothing rather than playing catch up. The routine work load is pretty much taken care of. I’ve got two legal cases that I have to complete, each with many thousands of pages of records that I have to finish reviewing and I just haven’t been able to fully gird up my loins on those yet. I have promised myself they will be done by the end of the month. We’ll see if I can keep that particular promise.

Then there are the almosts on the national stage. The headlines remain as absolutely nutty as they have since late January when the new administration assumed power. I really should be writing some new Mrs. Norman Maine columns but I’m finding it impossible to write her at the moment. No matter how crazy an idea I dream up for her next adventure, something even wackier hits the news the next day. Same reason why I can’t really do anything with Politically Incorrect Cabaret – how can you satirize the political moment in which we find ourselves? If I’d started writing a version a few months ago in which the president took a wrecking ball to the White House, the Republican party campaigned proudly on withholding food aid and healthcare, and Margery Taylor Green became a voice of reason, people would have told me I was going too far.

Where are the current almosts taking us? We’re about to attack Venezuela over something called ‘narcoterrorism’ that doesn’t actually exist. The real reason is likely that Venezuela’s oil reserves are bigger than Saudi Arabia’s and the oil and gas industry is salivating over getting their hands on them without the bother of negotiating with a sovereign foreign power. We have a long history of such moves in this country. See Hawaii. In the meantime, ‘extrajudicial killings’ continue which is just a fancy term for murder. As we the people don’t seem to be doing much to try and stop things, we’re all complicit and that doesn’t sit well with me. We continue to abuse and degrade immigrants, independent of their legal status and who cares if American citizens get caught up in the fray. Christian clergy dare to protest in the name of the gospel message of welcoming the stranger? Tackle and tear gas them and cheers from the MAGA crowd. Various Trump associates are inserting vacuum hoses into the treasury and sucking out millions in payments for themselves and their friends in contracts and legal recompense to which they feel entitled, all while the DOJ eggs it on and chases after Trump’s perceived enemies at his behest.

Like the rest of the world, I’m still waiting for the rest of the Epstein files to drop. Given what has appeared so far, it seems like there are all sort of sordid details yet to emerge and we’ll all be satisfying our prurient interests for some months to come. I just have to keep reminding myself that the girls involved were real people and that they were girls, without fully developed brains and they were being used and manipulted by fully grown adults who felt above the rules of society. I can’t give it a pass under ‘boys will be boys’. And the elements of MAGA who are trying to do so should be fully ashamed. But then MAGA and shame don’t ever seem to travel together.

I’m a bundle of contradictory emotions this weekend. A lot of people assume I don’t get emotional as I tend to be laidback and calm on the surface and pretty unflappable, no matter what chaos is going on around me. That’s not reality, that’s a carefully constructed persona honed through decades of experience in medicine and theatre – both environments which are prone to drama. I learned very young how to suppress, and channel and compartmentalize until you had something that didn’t have too many rough edges which would set off the world. And then, as I bury my emotions deep, I chose partners with volatile emotional cores who would challenge and unlock my emotional self, at least in my private life. I don’t have that at the moment and it’s one of the reasons I figure I won’t have a third husband. Finding someone who can do that in just the right way is going to be difficult indeed.

I don’t trust emotions. They’re messy and uncontrollable and get in the way of order and reason and logic. They’re a necessary part of humanity and I get that but I always feel most comfortable when they’re locked away in what I regard as their proper place so that I can sit at the side table and observe and contemplate life as it goes on around me. But sometimes, they will out. They’re out at the moment for a couple of reasons. One is the announcement of the new endowed professorship at UAB in my honor, something I’ve known about for a long time but could not discuss until all the is were dotted and ts crossed. Another is a group of celebratory experiences to which I am peripheral – two galas last night – one for the 25th anniversary of the UAB Center for Palliative and Supportive Care and the second for the local chapter of the national Alzheimer’s Association followed by the grand opening of some friend’s new LGBTQ coffee shop and bar, Pink Lantern which has been a long time aborning.

FIrst, the endowment. What is it and where did it come from and what is its purpose? About fifteen years ago, when UAB recognized that I had some significant talents which were useful to them as an institution, the powers that be came to me and told me that the development department was interested in creating an endowment which could support me in my work. In an academic institution, an endowment is a sum of money raised through philanthropy which is set aside for the purposes of creating money through earning interest which can then be put to specific use such as salary support so that a faculty member can give time to endeavors that do not in and of themselves create money (such as teaching, working to build new programs, community outreach etc.) An endowment given to me would allow me to do more creative work than just marching in and seeing patients day after day. Endowments are common in the research world but are rare in the clinical care/education world as clinical care always creates reimbursement on some level so having one, in a position like mine, would be something of a coup.

The effort languished for years as UAB had no major donors interested in funding this endowment. Despite the fact that everyone grows older, aging and geriatrics is not what people think of when making bequests. They prefer to give to the study of a specific disease process that has impacted their lives or to cutting edge research. It made no real difference in my life or career so I set about doing my usual and helping everyone get through a pandemic. About three years ago, the Department of Internal Medicine decided to reinvigorate the idea by committing some internal funds to the endowment and the Division of Gerontology, Geriatrics, and Palliative Care followed suit. As I was busy planning my retirement, I decided that having an endowment that would financially benefit me was not the best use of the money. Rather, it should be used as a tool to recruit and retrain someone to UAB in clinical geriatrics that might help keep the programs I’ve devoted my last three decades to flourishing after I step down. I was able to secure the final part of the funding from a family source and I gave the OK for the endowment to be named after me as a way of helping secure my legacy to UAB and to Birmingham in general. It then took time for all of the University machinery to creak forward and, at long last, it became public yesterday.

There are various levels of endowment and this one is at the lowest level. Obviously, the more money in an endowment, the more money that can be spun off for faculty support so it’s my hope that there will continue to be contributions to the fund so that it will grow and thrive and allow whomever is chosen to fulfill the position will be able to do more and more good as time goes on. When I do my estate planning post retirement, I’m going to have a decent chunk head that way but that won’t happen until my death and I’m hoping that’s not for a couple of decades. If anyone is looking for a worthy cause and would like to contribute, either in my honor or just to help carry on what UAB can accomplish in care for the aging, you can contact the UAB School of Medicine Advancement Department. They’d be thrilled to talk to you. Also, if you know of a brilliant clinical geriatrician who’s midcareer and looking for a change and a chance to continue my work at UAB and the greater Birmingham area, drop me a DM.

It’s purely coincidental that the endowment was announced on the day of the celebration of the 25th anniversary of the UAB Center for Palliative and Supportive Care. I’ve been involved with Palliative Care my whole career (there’s a lot of overlap with geriatrics) and assisted in some small ways in helping the center move from psychiatry to geriatrics a few decades ago. Steve was one of the first patients they helped late in his life so being there and seeing people who had been part of the program all those years ago of course brought him and his illness to mind. I’ve buried most of the two years he was sick and I took care of him and the feelings and emotions of that time, when they surface occasionally, always feel uncomfortable and alien. I left that gala early so I could head for the Alzheimer’s Association gala. Many years ago, I was on the board of the Sacramento chapter of the Alzheimer’s Association for a while, one of my first forays into the world of service organization boards. When I came to Birmingham, I became involved mainly with Alzheimer’s of Central Alabama, a local service organization with direct services to local families and served on their board for a decade or so. Friends of mine are now on the Birmingham Alzheimer’s Association Board and had a few tables which were filled with old theatre friends. Most of us have known and worked together in the local theatre world for more than twenty years and I just kept thinking Tommy should be here and part of the group and laughing and joking and reminiscing about now decades past.

This morning was a coffee at the soft opening of Pink Lantern which is to be a coffeehouse from morning to mid afternoon and bar from late afternoon through the evening. I don’t go to gay bars often. They’re usually too loud so conversation is impossible but a gay coffeehouse I can get behind. The power couple behind it are old friends and one of my younger friends, who comes and plays Tommy’s piano routinely, has been hired as the bartender. I feel invested. I don’t always feel like I’m part of the LGBTQ community – a lot of the younger ones view me with suspicion as a cis-white male with a functional professional life as some sort of sell out – but there are times when I need the energy that only comes from being with your own. Tribalism is both one of our strongest enemies and greatest assets as humans. (I think I’ve found the subject of one of my future essays with that comment – but not this evening. Have to head out to dinner now).

This week marks the end of my 27th and the start of my 28th year here in Birmingham. It wasn’t supposed to be. I was supposed to be here in a temporary position before heading back to California in no more than five years. That’s what I had told Steve and that’s what I had promised myself back in the dreadful summer of 1998 when forces beyond either of our control systematically dismantled the life we had built for ourselves over a decade in our beloved Craftsman bungalow in midtown Sacramento. We pulled into Birmingham on Halloween night, a Saturday in our fully laden Acura Integra accompanied by a traumatized cat who was not in the least cut out for long hours in the car and settled into a Holday Inn waiting for the closing on Tuesday, the arrival of the moving van on Wednesday, unpacking over a long weekend, and my beginning work the following Monday.

Neither of us had any idea of what was to come – Steve’s impending illness and death which manifested about a year later, my discovering of untapped talents that have taken me to practically every stage in the metro area, the ups and downs of UAB and the Birmingham VA, the arrival of Tommy and his incredible talents, the personal losses, the assumption of the mantle of story teller and now, drifting towards formal retirement and venerable elderhood. Like all the rest of us, my brain finished it’s development sometime in my later 20s and I still feel like that person inside, although the mirror shows me hard evidence that he is long gone, and I have to figure out how to make peace between the youth inside and the paw-paw outside. Something that all of my generation is working hard at. Those who do not do this inner work are bound for great unhappiness as biology cares not for our wishes and age continues to take its toll no matter what plans we may have. I’ve been asked to give a talk in late January about my experiences in medicine as a gay man through all of the changes of the last forty years. This has put me in a contemplative state, to put it mildly.

I am a bit optimistic following the results of elections last night. Mind you, it’s off year elections so they won’t make a lot of major difference in terms of policy or trajectory of society in the near term, but a quick run down of what happened suggests that the American public has caught on to what the Trump administration’s policies actually do and they aren’t having it. Counties in deep red states that were solidly Republican by double digits went Democratic. Democrats won essentially all the important races on the ballot. It’s too early to call it a repudiation of Trumpism but it shows that our means of changing how this country works, by changing our elected representatives by showing up and voting, still works. There’s a year until the midterms and a lot can happen in a year but it suggests that Republicans will not have an easy time holding their majorities without dismantling the electoral process and I don’t think that’s going to be anywhere near as easy as they think. I’m waiting to see where the cracks open up in the Republican coalition as the gap between the policies Americans want and the policies offered by the Trump administration continue to widen. Maybe more and more of us will learn that politics are not a spectator sport and all politics are local and engaging with each other to find the common ground of what we all want to see for America may lead to some better ways forward.

I’ve been wondering if I had been framing our current political moment the wrong way in my mind. I’ve been seeing the current political moment, the great unravelling, as a destruction of the society put in place after the Great Depression by FDR which has held us together for the last four or five generations. But maybe it’s not a destruction. Maybe this attempt to make government work for the average citizen and the common good is not the norm but an aberration. Tommy would have argued this. He spent most of his nursing career working with the most marginalized communities. He ran homeless clinics. He provided health services to the sex workers of Birmiingham in the late 80s and 90s. He knew where all the brothels were and was on a first name basis with a number of the madams – it wasn’t information I could make much use of but it was interesting to know how that world, hidden beneath the surface, actually worked. Seeing how badly society and systems treated people on the lower end of the socio-economic scale enraged him about how politics worked and he was quietly furious with government on all levels and wanted nothing to do with it. I had a hard time getting him to vote he was so upset at government and law enforcement. He died just over a year into Trump’s first term. I have no idea what he’d make of our current political moment but I know he’d be out there rescuing one person at a time.

Tommy always felt that when government did something positive, it was transactional and watch out for the hidden teeth which would snap at your rear end. He felt that the true America was the America of destruction of indigenous populations and cultures, wealth hoarding, geopolitical interference for the profits of American capitalism, be it produce, petroleum, or high tech, crushing of labor movements, slavery and Jim Crow and separate but equal, and subjugation of the other to puritan morality. That was the story of America from the early 1600s until the 1930s. What we are seeing now is a return to those roots which had centuries to grow and take shape and imbue everything in the culture. It’s 80% of the time we’ve been shaping this continent.

Because of these deep cultural roots, moves back to this sort of society don’t feel wrong to a lot of people. They feel right on a very deep level and that’s going to be a very difficult thing to overcome. The smart people in the Trump administration (and there are a few left) know this and have been using the iconography of Americana to repackage some truly odious ideas and philosophies and make them palatable to a population which is no longer taught critical thinking. (Thank you two generations of No Child Left Behind). Can all of this be overcome? Of course it can but it requires a willingness on each of our parts to look forward, rather than back on a nostalgic past that never really existed.

Dick Cheney died this week. He, more than anyone else, created the ‘War on Terror’ and the dreadful misadventure in Iraq that continues to ripple through world geopolitics to this day. At the time, he was considered about as right wing as you could get. He died thoroughly ostracized by the current Republican party for not being nearly right wing enough as he loved and stood by his gay daughter and preached true fiscal conservatism, not supply side voodoo economics which have caused economic disaster everytime the Republicans have held power since Ronald Reagan. I despised him when he was in power. I still do on some levels. At the same time, I can’t help but think we might be better off with a few more like him in the current administration.

Cheney was 84 and had had a terrible heart for years. Most men, even those without significant disease, start hitting the wall in regards to their bodies holding on somewhere between 78 and 86. Take a look at the ages of the senior male politicians. Change is going to come.

I wrote 25 progress notes Thursday evening and another 25 yesterday evening clearing out my backlog. This means for the first time in recent history, I don’t have a whole bunch of work related paperwork hanging over my head on Saturday and Sunday. I am therefore taking the time that would usually be occupied by my propped up on my bed with my laptop wrestling with the electronic medical record with reruns of some police procedural on the TV to keep me company and using it instead to write this, my latest missive contemplating the weighty issues of the day – like whether or not I feel like a trip to the Piggly Wiggly on Clairmont for the few perishable groceries I stock.

Electronic health records are just one of many reasons why I plan to retire in roughly 18 months. They are cumbersome, filled with data points imported from elsewhere in the system that have no bearing on what you’re trying to convey, and in general take about twice as long to complete as our old system of dictation and transcription. I have a side gig as a reviewer of medical records for attorneys. It pays well (and these days I give what I make to the local theatre community). I’ve been doing it for more than thirty years now. I enjoy the detective work piece of it, sifting through mounds of data to try and piece together the story of what happened and seeing if you can support the arguments of the attorneys with fact or not. I guess I’m rather good at it. At least I keep being asked to do it. I haven’t decided if this piece of the career ends when I step down from active faculty or not.

When I first started doing this sort of work, back in the dim recesses of the ancient past called the early 1990s, I used to get these large bankers boxes delivered by UPS with thousands of pages of photocopies. Now I get a thumb drive or a Drop Box link. I learned a few things quickly. Don’t try to read anything that’s handwritten – the important stuff is dictated and typed. Construct a timeline that serves as the backbone of the narrative. Don’t write anything down you don’t want discovered. Civil law, which covers the sort of torts I’m involved with, pretty much boils down to plaintiff and defense each spinning a seperate story out of the available facts and hoping that their story is the one that will prevail. Fortunately, the majority of cases I am involved with never go to trial. Attorneys much prefer to work things out in settlement talks where thre is a modicum of control. One never knows what a jury may do.

I suppose that goes for all groups of people and not just juries. We’re certainly seeing evidence of that left, right and sideways throughout what is left of our civil society. If I haven’t misconstrued things, current headlines include disastrous conditions and multiple legal and human rights violations at the various jury rigged (see what I did there?) facilities where they are holding detainees swept up mainly for their ease of capture, and not their danger to society. The president, on the eve of an incredibly dangerous cut off of SNAP benefits, is hosting a Great Gatsby themed Halloween party and tweeting about how much marble he put into a refurbished White House bathroom. Hasn’t anyone in the MAGA movement read any history? Revolutions happen when enough mothers have difficulty feeding their children. And it doesn’t take much. The accepted figure is that if 3.5% of the citizenry become mobilized, change is inevitable. SNAP covers 12.3% of the citizenry.

The Speaker of the House has indicated he is unlikely to call the House back into session until after the holidays, effectively removing the legislative branch and its oversight functions from our constitutional checks and balances. The air traffic control system is in melt down and there have been a number of near misses. DHS is building a more efficient version of Staasi based on biometric monitoring. The vice president appears to be throwing his wife and children under the bus in order to shore up his Christofascist credentials. (I hope Usha takes Ivana Trump’s motto from ‘The First WIves Club’ to heart – ‘Don’t get mad, get everything’.) Fox news has been welcoming literal Nazis as honored guests. At least RFK Jr. has been somewhat quiet this week and is trying to walk back his idiotic comments regarding Tylenol and autism. I guess he realized that he might have some difficulties with the discovery process in the suits he filed.

The great unravelling continues and who knows where it will all end up. The problem is that it’s being egged on by a number of different constituencies, each with a very different plan for the rebuild on the other side. Theocrats, tech bros, conservative politicians, and hedge fund billionaires don’t speak the same language or have the same frames of reference. I have a feeling the battles between those factions trying to control where society heads are going to be far more viscious than anything we’ve seen to date. I’m just going to continue to live by my mantra. Get up. Get dressed. Go out. Do good. There will be plenty of opportunity for that.

The theatrical career is moving forward. I’ve had my first few rehearsals for ‘Soul Food: Another Serving’ which performs the week before Thanksgiving. It’s fun and I’ve got a couple of realy good scenes. I haven’t quite found my character yet but that will come. I’m spending some time tomorrow pounding lines. My least favorite part of the creative process. I go from that into ‘Miracle on 34th Street’, then am off Christmas week before beginning rehearsal for South Pacific. I’ll see everyone in mid January when that closes. Mid January through late March are currently available on my performance calendar should anyone need me for something. It looks like I’ve been talked into another year of Summer Shakespeare with Bell Tower Players so I guess I know what I’m doing from late June through mid August as well. My choice is The Tempest. Hopefully a little less political than Richard II.

Somewhere in all of this, I have agreed to give a talk to the UAB LGBTQ employees group. They’ve asked me to recount my life as an out gay man in academic medicine over the last four decades. I came out during my Intern year. I wasn’t out in medical school – perhaps I’ll go into some of the reasons why. Several people have said that the material in my books should be adapted into a theatrical monologue. Perhaps this is a chance to give that a trial run. One more thing to write. I feel a nap coming on. Going to end this one here.

It’s a Alabama Symphony Orchestra performance week this week so I’ve been out at rehearsals every evening. It’s Beethoven’s 9th symphony (again) so it boils doen to an hour and three quarters of sitting in the choral balcony for fifteen minutes of singing. But what a fifteen minutes. From what I can tell, the chorus is in good shape so if you’re local, and you’ve never been to a performance of Beethoven’s Choral Symphony live, it would be a good thing for you to catch this weekend. I guarantee you’ll recognize the music. This is my third go round with this one with the ASO over the last decade. The last time was as the world was just coming out of pandemic shutdowns and choral singing was just coming back. The chorus was small for that one, but everyone was so happy to be back making music together that the energy made up for it. The other time was about nine years ago. Tommy was still alive and we were both up in the choral balcony, he with the tenors and me with the basses. It was the first time I experienced what I now refer to as tempo di Carlos in the final section where you have to hang on for dear life and hope like hell you don’t fall behind.

I get Sunday off from rehearsals and pick up again on Monday when I start rehearsing the play Soul Food with Encore Theatre and Gallery. Marc Raby is writing and directing and it’s the first time someone has written a scripted role specifically for me. I’m flattered. It has me playing the building super in a condo building full of African American folk falling in and out of love with each other. I’m going to have to work on my charisma and charm for this one I think. I don’t necessarily have a whole lot of that naturally so we’ll see what I can drum up for theatrical purposes. It plays the weekend before Thanksgiving at the Carver Theatre so make your plans now. I guess this means I have to go into line learning mode. I haven’t had to do that for awhile. It gets harder every year.

I’m as appalled at the demolishing of the East Wing of the White House without proper clearances and review as most of the rest of the civilized world. I am not, however, surprised. One just needs to look at the history of Trump real estate and historic preservation. Google the Bonwit-Teller friezes and the fate of Steeplechase Park at Coney Island. I’m becoming more and more curious about this magical ballroom. I’ve seen 3D model renderings and artist sketches but has anyone seen anything remotely resembling a blueprint? How is it going to be hooked into utilities and sewer and other necessities? Where are the kitchens going to be? Storage? How is something of 90,000 square feet supposed to fit onto the triangle of land formed by Pennsylvania Avenue and the Elipse? Is, as some have speculated, a means of digging up the plot to create a much larger bunker than the World War II era one that has been under the East Wing for nearly a century? There are so many unanswered questions.

I also have unanswered questions regarding Mike Johnson’s essentially putting the house, the people’s branch of the government into what looks like semi-permanent abeyance. The attempt to brand the shut down as the fault of Democrats is getting nowhere other than in MAGA land and even MAGA is getting restive, especially as new health insurance premiums are hitting their mailboxes. As the shutdown, and other idiocies, drag on, I cannot help but wonder how the Republican legislators who are letting the executive run amok by abdicating their constitutional duties are going to explain themselves to their children and their grandchildren in a few years and why how they are going to be able to tell posterity that they did not have the courage to stand up for what they knew was right. When I was a child, I was given a small printed card by my pastor with a quotation from Proverbs 22:1 on it. ‘A good name is rather to be chosen than great riches’. I kept that card in my wallet until well into adulthood when it had finally deteriorated too much to even be read. But I have always tried to live my life with that sentiment in mind. Pity that so few of our national leaders believe in it.

I’m waiting for next week when SNAP benefits will end in about half the states (Alabama amongst them) as part of the shutdown. I have been watching what’s going on with local communities of color. They are making plans to support and feed each other as necessary. They’re laying in supplies and coming together as they have needed to for generations to deal with the storm breaking upon them through no fault of their own. The rural white communities where I do my house calls have bought into the myth of rugged individualism promulgated by the Republican party since the 1960s and brought to its apogee by Ronald Reagan. You don’t need government and community, you need to make it on your own, That’s the American way. They aren’t going to take a hit anywhere near as well as they won’t come together for mutual support. There’s an old parable about heaven and hell that I first heard in high school. A man went to hell and found it to be a great feast piled high on tables. All around were the damned whose arms were strapped to boards so they could not bend their elbows and wrists and so they could not bring any of the delicacies near their mouths to eat and so they were writhing in torment. He then went to heaven and found it to be an identical place with a great feast and again the denizens has their arms strapped to boards. Only here, they were feeding each other and all were satisfied.

Get up, get dressed, go out, do good, feed each other. We all need it.