Five years ago, I composed The Andover Blues in honor of our wonderful 25th Reunion
This year, I am offering up Blues for Reunion since the Class of 1990 will not be together for a marvelous weekend in a certain small town in Massachusetts
I can’t think of a time where we need my alma mater’s motto more
Non sibi
Not for self
Paul Revere, that midnight rider and silversmith, carved Non Sibi into a shining sun over a beehive representing hard work and industry on the school’s seal
I would show y’all the seal, but the Office of Communications has not given me permission. I don’t want to be a bad alumnus
I wrote these words not for myself, but for my beloved classmates
Since 1778 the place has been educating youth from every quarter, of which I am honored and privileged to be called one
Armillary Sphere. Paul Manship. 1928. Gift of Thomas Cochran. Commonly called The Egg Beater. On the Great Lawn. Phillips Academy. Andover, Massachusetts
Blues for Reunion
(To mark our postponed 30th)
We won’t be together on Andover Hill
Sister Rona forcing a very hard pill
To swallow and bear without each other
No hugging and kissing, Dear Sister, Dear Brother
For that’s what we are, a family in spirit
Go Blue! Beat Red! (Can’t we all hear it?)
No major gift to rival our last
Eight million dollars, which we all amassed
No midnight treks across the Great Lawn
Showing up young alums until the bright dawn
No Harrison’s run for a lahge mayo sos
No march to the Chapel to meet the new boss
No 80s Cover Band where we could boogie
No worm from Jared Jackson, The Doogie
No jamming and laughing in West Quad North
To be our HQ where’d we go back and forth
All over our beloved physical plant
Now because of Rona we can’t
Be with each other, those whom we love
Even those with whom we don’t fit like a glove
Bungs, heinous beavers, nerds, and cool kids
Even missing those who aren’t on the grids
Of coming to campus to fill hallowed spaces
We have the best class full of such graces
Ninety-one gird your loins; our class will bring it
Shit will be epic; totally lit
But on the 12th, I’ll miss y’all more than you know
In the Seventh Grade, we were made to memorize a poem in our English class taught by Tom Horton.
We could pick one of three works by Robert Frost. “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening”, “The Road Not Taken”, or “Nothing Gold Can Stay.”
Most chose “Nothing Gold Can Stay” due to its brevity blithely ignorant of its themes of mortality and the early twentieth century update of that ancient of admonitions
Carpe diem
All thirty of us in Mr. Horton’s class stood in front of our classmates and recited from memory over the course of two days
I actually chose “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening” as its meter and rhyme were the easiest to commit to memory
Having heard it so many times over two classes, though, “Nothing Gold Can Stay” remains with me some thirty five years later.
It has really remained with me these last two months of quarantine and Rona, bad news on all fronts
From March through May, my beloved Lowcountry has flowered in profusion due to a surfeit of rain followed by weeks of sun
The last of the pink perfection camellias were insanely gorgeous
True perfection
Mathematical in form
Our only native hydrangea, the oak leaf, has blossomed like never before
It has grown tall enough to reach our kitchen windows
It has gone from early green buds to white flowers which will then go pink which will eventually fade to brown during the summer heat
We have been blessed with the most abundant Confederate jasmine blooms in recent memory
It’s my favorite scent of all time
Ever
Of
All
Time
#iykyk as the kids say these days
The wisteria’s mild clean odor wafts through the woodlands and through thickets and borders near our house
We had one growing up in Beaufort
One of my great grandmothers was a serious gardener
She spotted the wisteria in our yard, looked at my father, and remarked, “George, you have a wisteria…mmmm…that’s a mistake”
I never thought it was
That smell reminds me of playing in our yard
Proust had his madeleines
I have my wisteria and Confederate jasmine
From all that woozy goodness, the magnolias have opened to amazing early blooms perfuming all the air around them while continuing to be the messiest trees God ever created
The antiseptic astringency of the ligustrum mixes in nicely
The sultry intoxication of gardenias, named for a South Carolinian, layer on top of all of that
It’s too much sitting outside or walking around Charleston or strolling through Hampton Park where all of these scents mingle
Our foxgloves bloomed early
In our hot summers, they count as early spring annuals as they literally melt in the hot suns of June, July, and August
Sometimes they are biennials if they get a little shade
Mine generally melt
The one hundred White Christmas caladium bulbs I planted are busting through the soil
The Kentucky Colonel mint and chocolate mint are spreading
In spite of all the gloom and bad news, we have never had a more glorious spring
Never
The hydrangeas are budding in profusion, too
The aluminum sulfate that I spread a couple weeks ago is working its acidifying magic on the blooms creating deep blues and purples
The Southern shield ferns have never been bigger unfurling their fiddle heads to fronds all from volunteer spores spread by the wind
The annual pentas in pinks, whites, lavenders fill beds and pots with Persian shield and gomphrena along with the purple fuzzy Wandering Jew rooted from my in-laws
As I stand in our garden watering, I am overwhelmed by it all
It’s too much
I know it cannot remain
It is destined to succumb eventually
Nothing gold can stay
And, so I give you Mr. Frost’s ode to spring, youth, beauty, Original Sin, death, and life, which I memorized some thirty five years ago and recite to myself every spring with all credit given to that flinty New England sage
Our hero pleads his case to the King, Queen, and Prince
Inside my copy of When We Were VeryYoung by A.A. Milne there is an inscription, “Happy 3rd Birthday, Hamlin! Love, The Barnes” Obviously, I was given this book by the Barnes when I turned three.
When I was very young, my parents would read me the poems out of that vaunted collection
Of course, Mr. Milne is best known for Pooh, Piglet, Christopher Robin and all their pals in the Hundred Acre Wood.
I started with When We Were Very Young, moved on to Now We Are Six, then graduated to The World of Pooh
In spite of my zeal for the next volumes, I never really got past my all time favorite of Milne’s work
A poem of great rebellion
“Disobedience”
In which our hero, James James Morrison Morrison Weatherby George DuPree takes great care of his mother, though he is only three.
James James said to his mother, “Mother,” he said, said he, “you must never go down to the end of the town if you don’t go down with me”
There are stanzas
There are admonishments
There are decorations by Ernest H. Shepherd of a Jazz Age London mother striding down the street clad in her tea suit, muff in hand, hat on her head, car waiting to whisk her off to take tea with her smart set somewhere near the end of the town with James James Morrison Morrison, commonly known as Jim, wildly pedaling his tricycle behind her
No gits, wankers, prats, or children allowed
In one image JJ MM Dubya G DuP leashes his mother to his tricycle as he leads her back home with her fur rakishly tossed over her shoulder
His head held high
And, yet, there is a child desperate not to be left alone taking full charge of his situation
And, yet, there is a mother flippant and defiant in a post-war London ready to enjoy herself
And, yet, there is no father
And, yet, there is no starched and stiff upper lipped nanny, the most common of British tropes at the time
As my parents would read “Disobedience” to me, we would sing the poem in full meter
It was only much after we were six that I discovered the Chad Mitchell Trio had converted the poem to early 1960’s folk music a la the Kingston Trio’s tale of woe about a man stuck on Boston’s T due to the want of some change
To this day, I view that brilliant piece of writing as the beginning of my own undercurrent of disobedience
If JJ MM Dubya G DuP could take on his mama as she sauntered into society, then I could take on my parents
If he could bark orders, then so could I
If he could enlist the help of the King and Queen and Prince to locate a renegade refusing to obey, then I could be secure in the knowledge of my own resourcefulness
I attribute my independent streak to this very day to having read “Disobedience” from the time I was three
But, who was being disobedient? JJ MM Dubya G DuP or Mrs. DuP?
Now that we are not six, or very young, that streak of independence remains
All the while due to a three year old quaking in fear…after a war…with no father…with a prodigal mother…left alone…wondering if he would be safe
And, yet, he flips it
And, yet, he assumes full control
And, yet, he is the chief actor in Milne’s poem
He acts
He shan’t be acted upon by the grown ups…even those who run the Kingdom and the Empire
A three year old giving permission to all three year old’s to know that he and we would one day be in charge
He and we would be giving orders
He and we would buck the system
He and we would not tolerate disobedience, but he and we would be disobedient
He even stakes a forty shilling reward
JJ MM Dubya G DuP basically gives his three year old middle finger to the Establishment
A punk rocker some fifty years early
Never mind the bollocks, here’s James James Morrison Morrison Weatherby George DuPree
…but the fruit of the poor lemon is impossible to eat
In October of last year, The New York Times published an article entitled “The Secret to Poundcake That Really Pops” by Sam Sifton.
What was this amazing poundcake?
7Up Cake
That staple of church cookbooks, Junior League cookbooks, symphony league cookbooks – which is where Sam Sifton claims to have gotten his inspiration
Since everyone is sitting on lbs and lbs of flour these days, this is an easy one to make
The ingredients are usually available at any store
Provided they have flour
This is self comfort and self care at its finest
All that Vitamin C boost to our immunity
(Not an-FDA-approved- statement)
I made the version below during this time of quarantine because it’s an amazing dessert, easier than pie to make, and toasts up beautifully with butter for breakfast the next day
Dad, what’s for dessert?
Well, this cake, dear ones
We use Sprite instead of 7UP because we’re Co-cola people
Either works
All rights reserved by the Coca-Cola Company
Lemon Lime Pound Cake:
1 -2 tbsp. butter to grease the bundt pan – at room temperature
1 tbsp. flour to sprinkle in the bundt pan
1 1/2 cups (3 sticks) butter – at room temperature
3 cups of sugar – yes – it’s a lot – but it works
5 eggs
Zest of a lime
Zest of a lemon
Juice of a lime
Juice of a lemon
2 tsp. vanilla extract
3 cups all purpose flour
1 cup Sprite or 7-Up (we use Sprite)
Glaze:
2 c. powdered sugar
2 tbsp. Sprite or 7 up
Juice of a lime
Grease and double grease and grease some more a bundt pan with that tbsp or so of butter. Sprinkle with the tbsp. of flour and set aside
Heat oven to 325 degrees
In the bowl of a stand mixer fitted with paddle attachment, beat butter and sugar until light and fluffy (about 5 mins or so) (or a large bowl using a hand held mixer)
Add eggs one at a time and beat well
Add zests, juices and vanilla and beat until incorporated
Alternating, add flour and Sprite or 7-UP. I add half a cup of flour at a time and a tsp or so of Sprite. I don’t measure. I finish with the Sprite, though.
You’ll have to scrape down the sides of the mixing bowl a few times to make sure everything is fully incorporated
Pour into bundt pan and bake for 60-70 minutes.
Share the remnants of the batter in the mixing bowl and on the paddle with your significant other, your children, or, better yet, devour it yourself standing over the kitchen sink before you clean up the baking mess you’ve made
The cake is finished when toothpick or knife comes out clean and top is beginning to darken. Let rest in pan for 20 mins. Then invert onto a rack
Let cool completely before glazing
To glaze, mix powdered sugar with juice and Sprite. Drizzle all over the cake with a spoon. I do it in the sink with the cake on a rack. The glaze will harden and lots of the glaze will run off into the drain….that’s o.k.
People love this cake
They’ve even been known to use that most hated of “m” words to describe it
We’ve all been through enough, so I won’t use that word here
“There is a cult of ignorance in the United States, and there always has been. The strain of anti-intellectualism has been a constant thread, winding its way through our political and cultural life, nurtured by the false notion that democracy means that my ignorance is just as good as your knowledge.” Isaac Asimov
Dear Lord
We’re all epidemiologists, infectious disease experts, economists, educators, psychiatrists, statisticians these days
But, we’re not
What happened America?
We used to listen to folks with knowledge, experience, education
We used to listen to experts
Now, we listen to Karen who heard from her friend that her cousin had chloroquine and got better
Now, we listen to Doug who did an informal survey on Facebook and has decided there aren’t many cases in his town
Now, we listen to that doctor in India who says herd immunity is already in place
When the suicides start due to the economic devastation of Covid 19, we will say that the experts got it all wrong
When the spousal abuse reaches new levels due to isolation, we will say the experts got it all wrong
When the children lose months of learning and lag woefully behind, we will say the experts got it all wrong
When the summer plans evaporate, we will say the experts got it all wrong
I have no idea when we all became so wary of the smart, the educated, the gifted and talented
Growing up in a family of teachers – mother, grandmother, great-aunts – we always valued education and the educated
During the height of the Great Depression, one of my great grandmothers stood up to her husband and said she would move heaven and earth to have all of her children receive a full education just as she had received in Virginia
People around the world sacrifice everything for education
Here, we disdain the egg-headed, ivory towered, tenured, cloistered
I cannot fathom the cult of ignorance that pervades so much of our discussions these days
The cult of brilliance of the average person
Opinions
Not facts
I have no expertise in epidemiology, infectious diseases, economics, education, psychiatry, statistics
Being anti-intellectual does not make you a champion of the common man
In fact, it jeopardizes the common man, of whom we all are
Even the experts
Do any of us want to operated upon by someone who did not go to medical school?
The answer is no
Q.E.D.
During these curious, stressful, grief filled days, it would be appreciated if the non-experts could keep their non-expertise to themselves
No one cares, literally, no one, about your anecdotes
“I’ve never been held hostage, but I have been in a group text.” Anon.
That meme-worthy phrase has been around a while
During these viral ridden days when the news cycle gives us newer and fresher hells, I have never been more grateful for the groups of texters with whom I communicate regularly
I call one the Family texts
I call another the Charleston guys
I call another my New Yorkers
I call another Four Guys and a Girl
I call another Travel Buds
I eagerly watch those three pulsating dots when someone types
Then, there are the Facebook groups and Instagram groups
These people are all a life line to me, and, I hope, I to them
A lifeline of like minded souls
A lifeline of friends who are family
A lifeline of humor
So much humor
So much humor
Therapy
Recounting tales of misbegotten youth
Sharing completely inappropriate items
Shocking each other
Disagreeing
But mainly agreeing
Sending articles
Sending memes
Obsessing over the Tiger King
Bringing back phrases long forgotten
Discussing people who died over twenty years ago
Roasting one another
It’s all love writ large on iPhone keyboards
It’s also challenges to name foods named for places
It’s pictures of children
It’s complaints
It’s rants
“I’m minutes away from becoming that lady who yells at strangers!”
“Helluva an anniversary”
“Clear eyes, full heart, can’t lose”
“Where the hell is everyone?”
“Yes! that was fantastic! Next time should we do it Finnish-style?”
“I wasn’t wearing any pants, anyway!”
“The lady at the Sonesta just said, ‘But did they cancel their graduation, too?’ I said, ‘Yes, ma’am’ Her reply ‘Well…shit…oh…sorry’ I told her I understood”
Sometimes I read them and spit out the beverage I am drinking
Sometimes I read them and cry
I just know that out there across the globe there I people whom I love and who love me
As we socially distance and self quarantine and occupy our time in ways productive, I have been pulling every weed in my yard, ironing all those clothes in that pile in the hamper, and polishing all of the silver
Polishing
Polishing
Polishing
Which, for odd reasons, makes me think of all that pre-Covid nonsense about “No One Wants Your Stuff” and “Death Cleanse” and “Grandmillennial”
All of that seems so silly now
Plus, I’ll take all the silver
Really
All of it
I’m sure it has a disinfectant quality (n.b. these statements have not been evaluated by the FDA, EPA, SC DHEC, or your mama)
This spoon belonged to one of my great-grandmothers – notice the shape of the bowl – a little bit melted from use on wood burning stove sometime last century
They say brown furniture is making a come back
Where did it go?
Our decorating style is called Early Dead People as we love to use that which is inherited
I don’t speak Swedish
I don’t do Ikea
I speak Hepplewhite, Sheraton, Chippendale, Regency, the Brothers Adam
Adamsesque is one of best adjectives in the world
Duly noting all of that, and thinking a lot these days, one of the worst weekends of my life involved helping to clear out my maternal grandparents’ house of furniture, all browned and Hepplewhited and patinaed
Marble tops
Turned legs
Pieces from great great grandparents from Virginia
Mahogany
Walnut
Maple
Rosewood
My grandfather had died two years prior
My grandmother decided to break up housekeeping
She would be moving to an assisted living facility close to one of my aunts
Breaking up housekeeping
That may be only a term my family uses
Breaking up housekeeping
Distributing to children, grandchildren, nieces, nephews
My grandparents’ siblings all broke up housekeeping at one point
I remember when my Aunt Virginia broke up housekeeping
I remember when my Aunt Marion broke up housekeeping
Now, it’s called downsizing
But, back in 1998, it was called hell
Hell
My grandmother’s breaking up housekeeping remains literally one of the most traumatic experiences of my life
Same with my wife who was then my fiancée who should have broken up housekeeping with me before we even started
What a break up it was
I still process it
My Aunt Em, my cousin Marion (nicknamed Manny), my darling fiancée, and I literally broke up my grandparents’ household
In the summer
In Columbia, South Carolina
If you know anything about South Carolina geography, well, then, you can confirm that during our hot, humid, scorching summers only a broken screen door separates Columbia and the fires of Hades in those months
The summer my soon to be bride and I were studying for the South Carolina Bar Exam
The summer we had the added burden of helping clear out my grandparents’ house
I still don’t know where my mother and my other maternal aunt were during that weekend of blood, sweat, and tears
I actually cut myself on something
Bled like a stuck pig
So much sweat
Tears of sadness for what had been and knowing that it would be no more
I still don’t know where my two brothers and three first cousins were during that time
All I know is that we five intrepid souls were there in the heat of the last weekend in June
making numerous runs to the trash dump
pulling out a drawer stuffed with washed, cleaned, and neatly folded plastic bread bags and twist ties
disposing of so many packets of ketchup, jelly, nondairy creamers all taken from restaurants
emptying the back of the pantry of what had become biological weapons in the form of canned goods hoarded since the Kennedy administration
wondering why there was an entire drawer of rubber bands
discarding so many old Southern Livings and Field and Streams and National Geographics
taking shoes to the Goodwill
rifling through sock drawers stuffed to the gills with pairs of socks many of which were missing a mate
cussing in the heat
going in and out of the house so often that the air conditioning failed
tripping on piles of old tupperware, I Can’t Believe it’s Not Butter containers, plastic sherbet bins long cleaned of their lemon, orange, or rainbow contents
asking why letters from people none of us knew where lodged in the drawers of the large butler’s secretary in the living room
“Who the hell is this person?” asked my Aunt Em upon reading one of the letters out loud to us
“Wisconsin? Mama doesn’t know anyone in Wisconsin”
Yet, there was copious correspondence from this lady in Wisconsin
Flipping the back of the envelopes
Names
More names
“Oh, I remember,” my Aunt said with her memory jogged reading one of the letters. “That was a distant Boerner cousin who married a fellow from Milwaukee. I had no idea Mama kept up with them. Kin to the Huguenins, too. Grandaddy’s people.”
I had no idea of whom she spoke
My cousin Manny snorted, “Em, we don’t have time to read all that. We’re breaking up housekeeping!”
Serious as the heart attacks awaiting us in the heat
That is some serious bidness
Breaking up housekeeping
Manny would throw something in a Hefty trash bag in a New York nanosecond
“Y’all, why in the WOLRD did they keep all this? You know I had to do this for Aunt Jane, too?”
In one bathroom there were at least four cans of partially used AquaNet
In another bathroom there were towels too thin to be used yet too thick to be discarded
How many sets of sheets does one bed need?
Apparently linen closets full
Costume jewelry?
Come and get it
The grenade that Uncle Capers brought back from World War I?
“Don’t worry; it’s a dud”
Jade from someone’s trip to Japan?
Ceramic flowers?
Grape clusters made from marble?
If this sounds like your grandparents’ houses, please raise your hands
Articles state that breaking up housekeeping can be super traumatic
Believe you me
It is
For those doing the heavy lifting
During that weekend, my dear Manny and I were making a run to the dump when she looked at me and said, “Oh, Dear Gawd, I’m going home and throwing away half of what I own”
That statement has stayed with me through the years
My maternal grandparents had lived through the deprivations of the South during the early twentieth century, the Great Depression, and World War II
They saved everything
I do not
If you write me a lovely letter, I will read it, then I will recycle it
If you give me a fabulous gift that I do not love, I will re-gift it or pass it on or donate it
If you pass on to me my third grade report card, I will smile at those memories and recycle it immediately
My grandparents had already given away china, silver, furniture, jewelry
The good stuff
But, oh there was so much else
SO MUCH ELSE
At my grandparents house, we found all kinds of things no one wanted
We found threadbare throw rugs
We found old curlers
We found boxes of hair pins
We found sweaters with moth holes
We found my grandfather’s ties and suits long out of style
We found old bank statements stuffed in a drawer
We found tubes of lipstick with only remnants in the bottom yet still sitting on a dressing table
We found desiccated perfume bottles
We found random coffee cups given away as promotions at banks
We found old calendars
We found unfilled books of Greenbax stamps
We found cookbooks
We found shoe boxes without shoes
We found faded tintypes of family members that none of us knew and who none could recognize due to sun exposure
We found a photograph in a frame written on the back “Aunt Georgie” who looked like our people but Georgie who?
We found numerous copies of the South Caroliniana Magazine of the South Carolina Historical Society
We tossed it all
Except the tintypes and Aunt Georgie
Mean as hell
No mercy shown
Breaking up housekeeping for my grandparents made me the most cynical of housekeepers
When in doubt, throw it out
When we break up housekeeping for my parents’ and in-laws, I will be the one shaking my head “No” when asked if we should keep something
Adding to the contents of the local dump in what we hope will be the far distant future
Seniors shine as angels in the Christmas Play at their school. Being a Senior is a BIG DEAL
When the girls from China who attend, now attended, my eldest daughter’s school were delayed coming back after the Lunar New Year, we weren’t concerned
When they announced the first case in Italy, we weren’t concerned
When they cancelled fashion week in Milan, we weren’t concerned
It’s just the flu
I have a friend at the CDC who asked, “Are you scared of the flu?”
This ain’t the flu
Daily updates and changes
Completely changed in a week
Faster than anyone saw coming
Except that blogger in Florida
When one weekend we were most concerned about springing forward
And the next we were social distancing
And now the schools are closed
And now my poor Senior in high school is sad, frustrated, sad, resilient, sad, resourceful, sad, angry, sad and still determined to not let this ruin her world
But, it has
How important are rituals during the last two years of high school?
Prom
Graduation
The best
And, now, this
The worst
The worst form of Senioritis
I write the following to her and everyone in the Class of 2020
We love you
We are proud of you
We are sorry
So
Very
Sorry
You’ve come a long way, baby
To the Class of 2020
I am sorry
This stinks
Not cool
No Spring Breaks
May be no Parties
May be no Proms
May be no Prom Houses
May be no Graduation Weeks
May be no trips to the beach after school
May be no getting together on a regular basis
I am sorry
This stinks
Trust your feelings
Lean into them
The adults have no answers
Your generation probably has more answers than mine
I know you’re depressed
We are, too
Especially for you
I am sorry
This stinks
Your class were the babies born immediately prior to 9/11, during the aftermath of 9/11, and in the few months following
The High School Musical generation
To quote from the first one, “We’re all in this together!”
Children who grew up with anthrax scares
Snipers in DC
SARS
H1N1
MERS
Mersa
Ebola
The Wiggles would be telling Jeff to wake up because everybody’s washing their hands
Hannah Montana would be telling us “It’s the Climb”, but it’s our curve to flatten
Kim Possible would say “Call me, beep me, when you wanna reach me during these hard times”
Zack and Cody would tell you that you could come and stay with them at The Tipton, with appropriate social distancing of course
Bear in the Big Blue Housewould be advising you to clean up your hands!
Everybody clean up your hands!
Your class are now the Class of Covid 19
Even as the Class of 2020
I am so sorry
This stinks
While the azaleas burst forth, the daffodils sway, and the spireas spirea, well, you are at home with the rest of us
You are e-learning
You are flattening curves
You are drawing
coloring
creating
writing
talking
connecting
exercising
texting
Snapchatting
Instagramming
DM’ing
Tik Toking
following
un-following
self-caring
rationalizing
finding sliver linings
You are upset
You should be
You are more resilient than you know
You are a class act
We love you
We grieve for you and with you for this lost time
I pray one day you will see this as an opportunity in some strange way
A time for reflection
A time to find the green shoots amid the rocks
A time to laugh at any humor
Rays of sunshine in the clouds always poke through
“An’ the dawn comes up like thunder outer China ‘crost the Bay!”
Mandalay, Rudyard Kipling
As quoted under the title of Chapter 13, “Coronavirus”, in Dr. Michael Osterholm’s Deadliest Enemy: Our War Against Killer Germs (Little Brown & Company, 2017)
A shot of a simulation of a compound (in gray) which can bind to the SARS-CoV-2 corona virus (in light blue/cyan) to prevent it docking with our ACE2 receptors (in purple) as modeled by a super computer at the Department of Energy’s Oak Ridge National Laboratory.
Markers of time
B.C.
A.D.
Ancien Regime
Antebellum
Pre-Covid
I’m calling it The Great Disruption
Dr. Osterholm used Kipling’s poem as metaphor
Thundering new days out of China
Last week, it was kind of funny
This week, it’s serious
It was serious last week, too
Will be serious for months
Everything disrupted
Economic impact
Emotional impact
Listening to the experts
Long
Hard
Slog
A drive through for testing by the local medical university
Like out of a movie
Way to go MUSC
Six confirmed cases in the state so far
Just a matter of time before twelve
Then twenty four
Then forty eight
You get it
No more normal
No more subway rides
No more masks
No more shift breaks at the hospital
No more Volvo Car Classic Tennis Tournament
No more ACC Tournament
No more St. Patrick’s Day Parades
No more NCAA Tournament
No more school
No more Broadway shows
No more NBA
No more MLB
No more NHL
No more Capitol tours
No more haircuts
No more manicures
No more pedicures
No more Bull Market
No more face to face meetings
No more eating out
No more room for pasta, rice, grits in the pantry
No more oyster roasts
No more classes at the University
No more classes at the College
No more Spring Breaks
No more flights from Europe (unless you’re the UK or Ireland)
No more Disney World
No more lines at airports
No more economic growth
No more Universal Studios tours
No more taped in front of a live studio audience
🦠🦠🦠🦠🦠🦠🦠🦠
No more ventilators
🦠🦠🦠🦠🦠🦠🦠🦠
No more tests
🦠🦠🦠🦠🦠🦠🦠🦠
Cancel culture
Flatten the curve
Alternative instruction
Chapped hands from all that washing
Yet the cruise ships keep coming and going from the port
Adjustments as necessary
For months to come
If all this works, everyone will say we over-reacted
If none of this works, everyone will say we did not do enough