In Memorium

 It's easy to fall into the trap of blaming 2020 for all of the various misfortunes that have befallen us this year. Of course, it seems to be human nature to look for some outside agent to vilify. Most misfortune, and most accidents, for that matter, can be avoided with a little preventative planning. One only has to look at how most other countries (with the exception of Brazil) have handled the pandemic. The U.S., for various cultural (our self-centered me-first approach to life) and leadership (need I elaborate? I didn't think so) reasons, has failed pandemic 101. We will no doubt have to retake the class in the form of a second wave. That is, if we ever manage to emerge from the first wave. 

The divergent plate boundary of our political divide yawns wider every week. Out of work people are being sucked into all manner of dodgy conspiracy theories, troll attacks, general misinformation, and rabid rabbit holes of reactionary emotions. Or at least that's how I see it. Sure, the media is drawn to sensationalism, and politicians lie. That's a given. That said, our black-and-white mentality no longer recognizes shades of gray. I find myself once again waiting to cast a vote for another lesser evil ticket, while the greater evil lashes out at USPS, of all things. Afraid that all of the votes will be counted? Sabotage the delivery system. Cast doubts. Brazenly admit it. 

A lot of this political chaos can be laid at the feet of the pandemic, but the pandemic has merely deepened wounds that were already there. It's like stabbing somebody in a cut.

Alongside all of this, the daily challenges of life seem all that much more overwhelming. It's almost comical at times. As I type I can hear power tools as contractors put our bathroom back together (after the wall collapsing weeks ago). The usual August fires (yes, our fire season even came with fire tornadoes this year) are in full bloom. A temperature of 130 degrees Fahrenheit was recorded in Death Valley this week. Eva found a termite in her room. Despite having caught 6 or 7 rats, we still have rats in our walls. We're being invaded by mites, probably from the rats. My tarantula just died. We're in the middle of a heat wave. I could probably go on...  The mixture of global and personal is relentless sometimes, especially this year.

On top of all that, people die. In the past week or two, one old friend, one relative, two musicians I admire, and one author I like have disembarked from the physical plane into the great airport of the beyond.

I met Ellen Primack when she got a job at Tower Books back in the nineties. We quickly realized we had similar tastes in music and film. She ended up living in the same apartment complex as I did for awhile. I was living at the time with my friend and coworker Laura, and her daughter Kelly. I attended her wedding at nearby Shoreline park. It was Halloween themed, if I remember right. Long story short, eventually we moved (I can't now remember which of us moved away first) away from the complex and she eventually ended up on the opposite coast. More recently, she was a Facebook friend who I didn't often interact with, but it's still a shock to find out a friend has died. Maybe I should have seen it coming. Her Facebook posts were often about being in the hospital, but it's sometimes hard to tell how serious things are. I'm one of those private people who is reluctant to share his troubles online (or even in person, for that matter - this post excepted, probably, but then again very few people read this), so I don't often pay close attention to other people's troubles. I feel like I'm invading their privacy somehow, which may be a weird way of looking at it, especially when I consider that they're willingly sharing their troubles on a public forum, but my discomfort in oversharing extends to witnessing other people oversharing, if that makes any sense. Ellen was a teacher and an artist, so she leaves a legacy of enriched minds and artwork.

Pete Haworth was the guitarist for NWOBHM band, Legend. Over the years, they have become perhaps my favorite band in that sub-genre. There was a thoughtful darkness to their songs, and a political awareness often missing from other metal bands from that time period. Pete's guitar sound was incredibly heavy and his playing nuanced and masterful. Legend was in the midst of working on a new album, and I can't help but wonder how close to completion it was. Will their 2013 album, "The Dark Place," be the final one, or will the new one see the light of day? The selfish part of me wants to know. I didn't know Pete, but I did interact with him in limited fashion on Facebook, and found him to be a genuinely nice guy. He will be missed, and his music lives on.

Within days of finding out about the death of Pete Haworth, I learned that ex-UFO bassist Pete Way had also died. It was a bad week to be named Pete. I hadn't followed his recent career very closely, but I have a fondness for those old UFO records from my childhood. 

While being a fly on the wall of the Malazan Facebook forum, I saw that author and musician Carlos Ruiz Zafón had died in June, a fact that had somehow gone unnoticed at the time. Reading this forced me to un-fly myself for a bit. His book, The Shadow of the Wind, is a particular favorite of mine, but I've enjoyed everything I've read by him.  Another voice silenced, but many of his previous words are preserved for all time.

Finally, this morning I got an e-mail from my brother Greg informing me that my uncle, Jerry Olander, had passed away. His wife, Jan, my dad's sister, preceded him in death by a few years. I didn't know Jerry well. As an adult, I visited the Olanders exactly once, and that was a few years ago. This must be what getting old is like - a slow peeling away of friends, acquaintances, and heroes.