Condiments

 

I asked the man for mayonnaise

He gave me mustard instead.

I told him I prefer white, not yellow

To sit upon my bread.

 

To see him look at me in disgust

As he handed me that jar

Made me wonder what it was I did;

Had I really gone too far?

 

But, no, I was in my rights to say:

“I do not like that spread.

And as for ketchup, I confess

I just don’t like that red.”

 

“Some would grab a packet or two

Of spicy barbeque;

But brown is ugly and not right.

I see it. Why can’t you?”

 

“Relish on a sandwich with a shade like green

Is not understandable.

And orange is a color I won’t allow

To pass my mandible.”

 

“That Thai satay is much too brown

And srahacha is just too pink

Salsa is crimson; it’s out too.

That’s just the way I think.” 

 

“’You are what you eat,’ as the pundits say,

Which is why I won’t eat black.

 The colors of the rainbow may appeal to you,

But they’re not what I will snack.”

 

“So out with chutney and out with honey

They will never be on my diet.

Just give me my white mayonnaise

Or I will not be quiet.”

 

The man with the mustard heard my thoughts,

But I was shocked by what he said.

“I don’t hate those condiments half as much

As the color of your bread.”

 

©2020 Alan Smason

The Worst of Times

CHARLES DICKENS 

Dickens needs a rewrite. "It was the worst of times. It was the worst of times." I'm sorry, but this pandemic has turned me from the most hopeful of optimists into the most despairing of pessimists. 

What started out as a reasonably expectant period of one, two or three months of sequestration has dragged on now through a fourth with no end in sight. 

What began with just a trickle of cases of coronavirus in February rapidly increased to a scenario where hospitals were bursting at the seams at the end of March and early April. Nursing homes shuttered as the virus began to ravage elderly populations most at risk from the disease. Outside visitors there and access to prisons were denied to all but essential employees. Personal protective equipment (PPE) including masks, gowns and gloves were in such high demand that hospital workers and frontline medical staffs were asked to reuse the items against common practice and safe and sage medical advice. 

Spare ventilators became the rarest of medical items and states competed openly on both the worldwide market and within a system for federal allocation of these life-saving devices. Doctors were fearful they would have to decide which of the sick were more deserving than others to receive vital health services. Would a 75-year-old cancer patient be passed over if a 29-year-old athlete were also sick? Epidemiologists predicted overrun ICUs and emergency rooms bursting at the seams. Doctors, nurses and medical administrators worried about which patients they would have to turn away.

It was a national nightmare.

But then, people began to respond. They stayed home. They washed their hands regularly and became mindful of not touching their faces. When they did journey out to a store for food or water, many of them wore masks so they wouldn't spread the virus if they had it. They wiped down their bags and washed off milk cartons. Schools shut down and students came back home. This was a picture of a united America that, like hard-ravaged Italy and Spain, was intent on keeping the future infection rate and deaths down.

A steady decline occurred. At one point, New Orleans held an unenviable position as one of the worst rates of infection in the country. It now boasted a remarkable turnaround. No one ran out of ventilators and a field hospital located in the Ernest Morial Convention Center set up strictly to treat COVID-19 patients, was shut down. Clearly, several markers showed remarkable progress being made in the city and throughout the state. Still, the death toll was huge.

Louisiana prepared to enter Phase I of a return to pre-pandemic normalcy. The numbers of available testing kits went up and more and more people were testing to see if they were infected. The crisis seemed to have abated, even though the death toll continued to rise.

But then, around the time of Independence Day, Louisiana began to take its eye off the ball. Residents outside of New Orleans began to let down their guard. They gathered without masks and celebrated the nation's birthday with abandon. Large numbers of residents openly questioned the wisdom of wearing masks, relegating it not to a health matter, but to an exercise of political freedom.

The infection rate began to climb again and with it more deaths. 

Recent news reports suggest the state's previous reports in April may have been underreported by a much as 16 times the actual incidence of infection. Another recent day showed more than 3,000 cases of COVID-19 as having been recorded, a record that stretched all the way back to the end of May.

We are making progress, but it is in the opposite of our desired direction. Instead of being squarely into Phase III, we are still in Phase II throughout Louisiana and the City of New Orleans has pushed back on an easing of regulations for bars and gyms so that they are either closed or are only operating at the 25% capacity allowed under Phase I. 

Many businesses are on life support and many others, like world famous K-Paul's Louisiana Kitchen, have announced plans to shut down entirely. Federal subsidies to keep employees hired and unemployment benefits for millions of Americans are all running out within days.

On top of all of this we have an ongoing  national discussion on Black Lives Matter, how to reshape policies that unfairly profile segments of our society and how to stop systemic racism. Mobs tearing down Confederate statues are understandable, but those that select targets like the Lincoln Monument need to check their motives.

Then there's a presidential election going on too. In a normal election year, tensions would be heightened and rhetoric would be sharply up. This year is no different and, indeed, medical life-saving measures such as wearing a mask have become highly politicized. As we move toward November, this national discussion will become more contentious. 

If there is one department, where hope remains high it is in the spirit of Americans to rise above the derision and to connect through social media and apps like Zoom. If we are ever to come out of this fray with our heads held high, it will be because of our listening to one another and becoming part of the solution, not continuing the problem.

So, Dickens was wrong. It is the worst of times and the worst of times. How we deal with it may help shape what America looks like on the other side of our recovery. And when we do look back on this, may we recall that it is a far, far better thing that we do than we have ever done before.

Cabin fever coronavirus style

Seen under an electronic microscope, the virus that causes COVID-19.

You can't see it. You can't smell it. You can't taste it or hear it approaching. And if you should touch it, you won't even know that you did until two weeks later. That's a pretty accurate assessment for what we are all fighting with the threat of COVID-19 (coronavirus).

For good or bad, we have taken collective action in what may prove to be a judicious application of resources available to us now or, conversely,  might later be viewed as a set of grossly overprotective and unnecessary medical measures. In any case, I would rather err on the side of overkill rather than be caught unprepared and unable to respond to this very real threat.

The danger to me personally is minimal. I am at the age where authorities say I should be concerned, but I am in very good health and have a better than average immune system. The threat is not only to me; it's to my elderly loved ones and friends, most especially my 88-year-old mother, who is now in frail health.

I would not want to put her at risk due to my careless and unthinking actions. Also, who knows? Statistically, most victims have been elderly patients. Yet, the first two people who have died in New Orleans since the outbreak of COVID-19  were both in their 50s, one 58 and the other 53 years old. While they did each have underlying medical problems, the threat to middle-aged adults is very real. One of the more recent victims – a member of my own religious community – was 84. Others were octogenarians and nonagenarians. That does not give me a reason to be consoled in any way.

The problem for me is that I am by nature a very gregarious creature. I enjoy meeting people and talking, walking and greeting them. I find nothing more frustrating than to keep myself entertained and in a virtual bubble.

But this is the new normal and I am going to have to make the necessary adjustments to accept this as both necessary and in the best interests of all concerned.

Except for take out, there's no restaurants. No bars. No parades. And, for me, the worst reality check, no theatre. For a theatre critic, the thought of how to cope is almost surreal. Given the lack of open theaters, it is understandable that the public would be less focused on the plight of the actors, producers, technical and administrative staffs who collectively are the grease behind the monolith of local theatre.

But theatre is the salve that calms society in hard times and we need it during this crisis more than ever. The sooner theatre is restored to our city, the sooner we will know we have weathered this storm and moved past it.