Life has a way of changing on so many levels: something comes along and the scenery changes, the way we do things change, and that, in turn, changes the way we see things, perceive them, even as we change with the ongoing evolution of whatever instigated these changes.
Since the beginning of the year, we've heard about the coronavirus. Medscape has an interesting slideshow/article about COVID-19. Apparently the coronavirus has been around longer than many of us realize, according to the Medscape article. But this version, what we're going through now, was pinpointed in January of this year, starting in Wuhan, China. (The wikipedia site mentioned December 2019 as the start, with a World Health Organization link pinpointing it to December 31, 2019.)
At first, most people I know seemed to feel that it was a problem for others, people someplace else. After all, this is the United States; certainly, this wouldn't affect us.
Until it did. Reports started coming in about the virus going worldwide. It affected people across Asia, Europe, the U.K., and, yes, the Americas - Canada, Mexico, and the good ol' U.S. That's when shit started to get real for many of us.
Soon, though, we started getting a little complacent. It can't/won't get worse, we figured. As long as we live right, we'll be okay.
Then, Tom Hanks and his wife, Rita Wilson, came down with COVID-19. While many of us have our own favorite actors and movies and TV shows, Hanks has been a popular person, due, in part, for seeming like one of us, not egotistical. The fact that he and his wife got COVID-19 made it real.
But then, it looked like the pair was going to get better (they did get well), and we could breathe a sigh of relief. See? It's survivable, especially for regular people.
But then the virus spread, and people were getting sick and, in too many cases, dying. Many of us knew someone who'd contracted it, and suddenly, it got real...
In March, gatherings were being canceled. At first, it was advised to avoid gatherings where more than 250 were expected, then gatherings greater than 50, then 10.
This, of course, affected most of us, to one degree or another. The city of Pinellas Park (Florida) canceled their 30th annual Country in the Park celebration ("Strange Times We're Living In..."). City council meetings are now virtual affairs, rather than open-to-the-public meetings. (In fact, the city hall is officially closed to the public for the duration.) Schools nation-wide are closed, with students learning online. (Yes, this includes colleges and universities.) Grocery stores, at least where I live, have colored tape on the floors to indicate how far to stand apart at the check-out lines. Publix, probably the most popular grocery chain in Florida, now has colored tape on floors indicating which way to walk through each aisle, so that the aisles are now one-way. More than once, I've heard people - both customers and workers - point out to others, "Excuse me, but you're going the wrong way!" Yikes!
Yes, it got real.
Life changed in other ways. Businesses are furloughing employees, while the number of people out of work due to COVID-19 has grown to crazy numbers. (My son, M., has been furloughed, and having loads of fun - note the touch of sarcasm - trying to work through Florida's unemployment website.) Easter services were virtual, including the Easter service from the Vatican City, with Pope Francis holding the service via TV. Beaches were closed, though some beaches in northern Florida are starting to open. (The photos from these beaches show people getting too close; so much for social distancing!)
Then, several weeks ago, the Tampa Bay Times (formerly the St. Petersburg Times) announced that they'd be publishing only twice a week (Sunday and Wednesday) for the duration. Since many non-essential businesses have had to close for the duration of the pandemic, these businesses are no longer buying ads until they're able to get back to work. This, of course, affected the paper's income. It is still available online; subscribers can log in and see what the paper would look like the rest of the week.
This stuff got real...
This seems to be the new normal, wondering how long we'll be quarantined, when people can get back to work, when people can actually get back to the old normal. At this point, having life back to the way it was, or something similar, would be welcome.
In the meantime, here's hoping we all stay well and safe.
Showing posts with label Tampa Bay Times. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Tampa Bay Times. Show all posts
Wednesday, April 22, 2020
Saturday, February 2, 2013
Ed Koch, New York's "Pugnacious" Former Mayor
Ed Koch, New York's colorful former mayor, died yesterday morning.
Okay, part of that might be obvious; if someone becomes New York's mayor, chances are that person is either somewhat colorful or forgotten. It seems to be that simple. Other cities may have mayors whose names most of us are unfamiliar with. But to be mayor in the city that never sleeps, you'd pretty much have to be a colorful character. Even then, Koch seemed to stand out, with his arms outstreched.
I heard of his death yesterday morning on Today, then read about his death in the Tampa Bay Times. The Times article, originally from the Washington Post, caught Ed Koch's essence beautifully. One paragraph from the article states, "'How'm I doing?' the mayor lilked to bellow as he gallivanted up and down city streets, arms raised above his lanky frame, bald pate bobbing. His signature greeting was delivered in a whiny, nasal voice that was as recognizably New York as the screech of an A train."** If that doesn't paint a picture of Koch and the city he was mayor of for three terms, nothing does.
Every time I think of Ed Koch, I'm reminded of my grandmother, especially shortly before she died. This time was no exception.
My grandmother, Agnes Shwedo, died in the late 1980s. She was a character who tended to speak her mind. She was born to Irish immigrants (her maiden name was Kelly), had numerous brothers and sister (all of whom were outspoken, and tended to live long lives), and married my grandfather, the son of Czech immigrants. Both grandparents' parents were unhappy, since they'd wanted their children to marry people from "the old country;" Agnes's folks wanted her to marry a good Irish Catholic boy, while John, Sr.'s parents wanted a good Czech Catholic daughter-in-law.
Grandma outlived Grandpa by twenty years or so. The last few weeks or months that she was alive, Grandma started to go downhill, as so many people do. Dad ended up staying with her for a few nights to keep an eye on her. One night, probably one of the last nights Grandma spent at home, Dad was awakened after midnight by a heavy pounding on the front door. He went to the door, looked through the peep-hole, and saw several uniformed police officers. "What is it?" he asked, opening the door part-way.
"We need to check on the lady here," one officer stated. "She said she's been kidnapped and is being held hostage."
Once the officers were inside, Grandma came out of her room. Turned out, she'd wanted a glass of water, was convinced she'd been kidnapped and was being held hostage, and that she was the Mayor of New York City!
Of course, Ed Koch was mayor at the time, not an elderly Irish Catholic woman. Once the officers realized what was going on ("Yes, of course I know this nice man. He's my son, and he rescued me before you got here!"), they suggested that Dad get her to the hospital in the morning. He did, and within a week or two, Grandma was gone.
Back to Ed Koch's death: I remember hearing all sorts of stories about him while he was mayor, both from news reports and from family back in New York. The Times' headline ("Pugnacious former New York mayor dies") and the accompanying article and photo capture him perfectly, at least as perfectly as a short obit can.
But whether he knew it or not, I'll never forget when Grandma "helped" him run New York, even if it was for only one night.
**Taken from the Tampa Bay Times; the full article ran on page 3A, Saturday, February 2, 2013.
Okay, part of that might be obvious; if someone becomes New York's mayor, chances are that person is either somewhat colorful or forgotten. It seems to be that simple. Other cities may have mayors whose names most of us are unfamiliar with. But to be mayor in the city that never sleeps, you'd pretty much have to be a colorful character. Even then, Koch seemed to stand out, with his arms outstreched.
I heard of his death yesterday morning on Today, then read about his death in the Tampa Bay Times. The Times article, originally from the Washington Post, caught Ed Koch's essence beautifully. One paragraph from the article states, "'How'm I doing?' the mayor lilked to bellow as he gallivanted up and down city streets, arms raised above his lanky frame, bald pate bobbing. His signature greeting was delivered in a whiny, nasal voice that was as recognizably New York as the screech of an A train."** If that doesn't paint a picture of Koch and the city he was mayor of for three terms, nothing does.
Every time I think of Ed Koch, I'm reminded of my grandmother, especially shortly before she died. This time was no exception.
My grandmother, Agnes Shwedo, died in the late 1980s. She was a character who tended to speak her mind. She was born to Irish immigrants (her maiden name was Kelly), had numerous brothers and sister (all of whom were outspoken, and tended to live long lives), and married my grandfather, the son of Czech immigrants. Both grandparents' parents were unhappy, since they'd wanted their children to marry people from "the old country;" Agnes's folks wanted her to marry a good Irish Catholic boy, while John, Sr.'s parents wanted a good Czech Catholic daughter-in-law.
Grandma outlived Grandpa by twenty years or so. The last few weeks or months that she was alive, Grandma started to go downhill, as so many people do. Dad ended up staying with her for a few nights to keep an eye on her. One night, probably one of the last nights Grandma spent at home, Dad was awakened after midnight by a heavy pounding on the front door. He went to the door, looked through the peep-hole, and saw several uniformed police officers. "What is it?" he asked, opening the door part-way.
"We need to check on the lady here," one officer stated. "She said she's been kidnapped and is being held hostage."
Once the officers were inside, Grandma came out of her room. Turned out, she'd wanted a glass of water, was convinced she'd been kidnapped and was being held hostage, and that she was the Mayor of New York City!
Of course, Ed Koch was mayor at the time, not an elderly Irish Catholic woman. Once the officers realized what was going on ("Yes, of course I know this nice man. He's my son, and he rescued me before you got here!"), they suggested that Dad get her to the hospital in the morning. He did, and within a week or two, Grandma was gone.
Back to Ed Koch's death: I remember hearing all sorts of stories about him while he was mayor, both from news reports and from family back in New York. The Times' headline ("Pugnacious former New York mayor dies") and the accompanying article and photo capture him perfectly, at least as perfectly as a short obit can.
But whether he knew it or not, I'll never forget when Grandma "helped" him run New York, even if it was for only one night.
**Taken from the Tampa Bay Times; the full article ran on page 3A, Saturday, February 2, 2013.
Saturday, December 29, 2012
Reading
I love to read. Always have. I blame my parents, in a good way. Between bedtime stories, watching both Mom and Dad reading a wide variety of books in their spare time, and receiving books for birthdays, Christmases, and just because, I learned that books were to be explored and enjoyed. A person can learn a lot from books.
It was on one website that I frequent that I learned about another cool site called Goodreads . Maybe you've heard of it. Or not. But on Goodreads, a reader can keep track of books she or he has read, is currently reading, wants to read (oops, must add the Narnia series!), learn about what others are reading, what others feel are must reads and what can be passed on. One can connect with friends on the site and get emails when books (and comments on these books) are added to friends' lists.
At the moment, I'm reading several books, a habit I got into as a kid during summer vacation. Getting home after the last day of school, I'd grab a stack of five books, read the first chapter of the first book, stick in on the bottom of the stack, read the next book's first chapter, then the next book...You get the idea. When I'd finish one book, it would go back on the bookshelf, another stuck into its place, and the reading would go on. By mid-summer, I might be on chapter one in one book, chapter ten in another, five in the third...Drove my mother crazy.
"How do you keep all the stories separate?" she'd ask. Just do, I'd tell her. She'd wander off, sighing, happy, I'm sure, that at least I was reading.
"I wouldn't worry about it," my grandmother told her when she relayed it during one of Grandma's visits. "I used to that all the time." Then, as an afterthought, she added, "I still do." If it was good enough for Grandma...
Two of the books I'm currently working on are Seasons of Real Florida, by Jeff Klinkenberg, and Lots of Candles, Plenty of Cake, by Anna Quindlen. Both are interesting reads, similar in some ways, way different in others
Klinkenberg's Seasons..., as with his other books, is a collection of his columns first published in the Tampa Bay Times (formerly the St. Petersburg Times). He introduces the reader to all sorts of interesting characters and Florida locales. His writing makes the reader think that Klink has the perfect job: wander the state, meet cool people, see cool places, and then write about them. Jeff, if you ever decide to retire, please put in a good word for me at the Times!
Quindlen's Lots of Candles... is also a collection of short essays. (She wrote for the New York Times for several years; several of her non-fiction books are collections of some of these essays.) Her essays tend toward her observations on life.
In one of the essays in Lots of Candles..., she mentions being a control freak, to the point of having a local anesthetic when having a hysterectomy. The surgeon, knowing a control freak when she saw one, told Quindlen that she would not be allowed to talk while the surgery was going on. I really had to laugh while reading Quinlen's description of being a control freak, as I've been there. I, too, tend to be a bit of a control freak, as well as a bit of a slob.
An aside: When Paul was alive, he played Felix Unger to my Oscar Madison; we used to joke that if anyone ever did a remake of The Odd Couple using a married couple, we'd be perfect. While I'm not enough of a slob to be on an episode of Hoarders, it's only because I am a control freak. And maybe the two apparent opposites feed into each other: I can never keep my home as neat as my mom used to, or as neat as I'd love to, so why bother? But then the control-freak-ness kicks in and...
There have been times when I've been in my friend Kevin's cab and told him that I wanted to go somewhere, then proceeded to tell him exactly how to get there. Kev will usually give me a look and ask who I think is doing the driving. If I mention wanting to be in control, he'll tell me that I'm simply neurotic. Nothing like having someone know you too well...
Kevin reads a lot, too; over the years, I've noticed numerous books in his cab. (Cab driving does give one down time between calls.) He's recommended several books, and I've told him about several, even handing him a copy of Elie Wiesel's Night, a book he devoured in a day or two before passing it on. (It was an extra copy and I'd told him to pass it along.)
Paul was a reader, too, liking a variety of books from Tom Clancy and mysteries to short stories. But there were several times when I'd buy a book for myself, put it on the table, then not be able to find it later. "Oh, I started reading it," Paul would say. "You really need to read this: it's great!"
We'd discuss books, what we were reading, what stood out in the book, what inspired us for a variety of reasons...
It's a rainy Saturday, the last weekend in the out-going year. I intend to do some house-cleaning (it's that control-freak thing), but I also intend to get royally lost in a couple of books. Will I read about more quirky Floridians? More Quindlen musings? AWOL on the Appalachian Trail on my Kindle? Who knows...maybe all three. It'll drive Mom nuts, but at least she'll take comfort knowing I'm reading!
It was on one website that I frequent that I learned about another cool site called Goodreads . Maybe you've heard of it. Or not. But on Goodreads, a reader can keep track of books she or he has read, is currently reading, wants to read (oops, must add the Narnia series!), learn about what others are reading, what others feel are must reads and what can be passed on. One can connect with friends on the site and get emails when books (and comments on these books) are added to friends' lists.
At the moment, I'm reading several books, a habit I got into as a kid during summer vacation. Getting home after the last day of school, I'd grab a stack of five books, read the first chapter of the first book, stick in on the bottom of the stack, read the next book's first chapter, then the next book...You get the idea. When I'd finish one book, it would go back on the bookshelf, another stuck into its place, and the reading would go on. By mid-summer, I might be on chapter one in one book, chapter ten in another, five in the third...Drove my mother crazy.
"How do you keep all the stories separate?" she'd ask. Just do, I'd tell her. She'd wander off, sighing, happy, I'm sure, that at least I was reading.
"I wouldn't worry about it," my grandmother told her when she relayed it during one of Grandma's visits. "I used to that all the time." Then, as an afterthought, she added, "I still do." If it was good enough for Grandma...
Two of the books I'm currently working on are Seasons of Real Florida, by Jeff Klinkenberg, and Lots of Candles, Plenty of Cake, by Anna Quindlen. Both are interesting reads, similar in some ways, way different in others
Klinkenberg's Seasons..., as with his other books, is a collection of his columns first published in the Tampa Bay Times (formerly the St. Petersburg Times). He introduces the reader to all sorts of interesting characters and Florida locales. His writing makes the reader think that Klink has the perfect job: wander the state, meet cool people, see cool places, and then write about them. Jeff, if you ever decide to retire, please put in a good word for me at the Times!
Quindlen's Lots of Candles... is also a collection of short essays. (She wrote for the New York Times for several years; several of her non-fiction books are collections of some of these essays.) Her essays tend toward her observations on life.
In one of the essays in Lots of Candles..., she mentions being a control freak, to the point of having a local anesthetic when having a hysterectomy. The surgeon, knowing a control freak when she saw one, told Quindlen that she would not be allowed to talk while the surgery was going on. I really had to laugh while reading Quinlen's description of being a control freak, as I've been there. I, too, tend to be a bit of a control freak, as well as a bit of a slob.
An aside: When Paul was alive, he played Felix Unger to my Oscar Madison; we used to joke that if anyone ever did a remake of The Odd Couple using a married couple, we'd be perfect. While I'm not enough of a slob to be on an episode of Hoarders, it's only because I am a control freak. And maybe the two apparent opposites feed into each other: I can never keep my home as neat as my mom used to, or as neat as I'd love to, so why bother? But then the control-freak-ness kicks in and...
There have been times when I've been in my friend Kevin's cab and told him that I wanted to go somewhere, then proceeded to tell him exactly how to get there. Kev will usually give me a look and ask who I think is doing the driving. If I mention wanting to be in control, he'll tell me that I'm simply neurotic. Nothing like having someone know you too well...
Kevin reads a lot, too; over the years, I've noticed numerous books in his cab. (Cab driving does give one down time between calls.) He's recommended several books, and I've told him about several, even handing him a copy of Elie Wiesel's Night, a book he devoured in a day or two before passing it on. (It was an extra copy and I'd told him to pass it along.)
Paul was a reader, too, liking a variety of books from Tom Clancy and mysteries to short stories. But there were several times when I'd buy a book for myself, put it on the table, then not be able to find it later. "Oh, I started reading it," Paul would say. "You really need to read this: it's great!"
We'd discuss books, what we were reading, what stood out in the book, what inspired us for a variety of reasons...
It's a rainy Saturday, the last weekend in the out-going year. I intend to do some house-cleaning (it's that control-freak thing), but I also intend to get royally lost in a couple of books. Will I read about more quirky Floridians? More Quindlen musings? AWOL on the Appalachian Trail on my Kindle? Who knows...maybe all three. It'll drive Mom nuts, but at least she'll take comfort knowing I'm reading!
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