“Belated?!?” you ask, “aren’t you a little early?” No, not at all. See, the liturgical year began with start of Advent on November 29th, hence my apology.
“But I’m not Catholic” you might object. Never-mind! God keeps time in His Own Way, and if I had wished you blessings for Diwali or Hanukkah, would you have objected? Of course not!
And who doesn’t want to see 2020 go, even if it means adopting a Catholic calendar for a few weeks? Our Annus Horribilis is one for the record books, and in all the wrong ways. But I don’t want you to focus on that. I want you to focus on something positive: what’s ahead.
Which is Death. Wait, wait, hang on here, I’m absolutely positive we’re all heading toward death. So much so, I’d wager on it, but you (or I) would not be around to pay (or collect) if either of us won (or lost). Not death from the Coronavirus, thanks to Big Pharma, but death nonetheless.
Why be so morbid, during this festive Christmas season, with a vaccine being distributed and the quarantines and masks and restrictions all within sight of the finish line? Well, I ask you, what was the point of 2020? If you believe in God, you’ve got ‘some splainin” to do’ (cue Ricky to Lucy). Divine Punishment? Only He knows. An Act of Man gone awry? Possibly. Poor choices by many? Absolutely. I don’t know what God’s plan in all of this was, but I do know that however it started and spread, He will use it to His Own Ends.
But let’s keep it personal, shall we? Do you know anybody who was unaffected by the pandemic? Me neither. Some harshly, some (like me and my family) only a little, but everybody felt the effects. What was the lesson we were supposed to learn? If this was a once-in-a-lifetime critical event, how should we process it, and what does it mean for how we live?
Many thinkers are producing analyses of how our pandemic experiences will change the world. They often focus on the notion that it will primarily accelerate trends already underway; that is a strong bet, and one I plan to write more about next year. But if the effects of this virus are limited to more screen time, online shopping, work-from-home and telemedicine, or less commuting, fewer handshakes, and no cruise ships, we will lose an opportunity.
We all faced the possibility of serious illness or death for ourselves, those we love, our friends and even casual acquaintances. We lost simple pleasures like eating out or going to events. We were prohibited from traveling, limited to when and where we could shop or gather to pray, forced to mask and rinse and provide our body temperature on demand. What did you learn? What did you miss, and why? How will you live in the future? What will you commit to do differently as a result? We are quick to point out the failings of governments and leaders, and such criticism may be warranted, but will we turn that critical eye on ourselves?
2020 was the year we want to forget, but the year’s lessons must not be lost as well. So take a few moments as we prepare for a New Year, take stock, and ponder how you will be different after the pandemic. Faced with loss of freedom or even loss of life, what did you learn? There’s a resolution worth keeping!
Another in my (endless) series about the coronavirus.
I still see articles and social media stories about ‘how bad the US is doing with Covid’, complete with graphs designed to set your hair on fire.
Game on! Here’s one such chart:
Big countries all, right? You probably already guessed what’s wrong with this one: it compares a country trying to (and mostly getting) good data–the US–with several similar countries where no one believes their data.
Let’s try that again with “good data” countries:
Hmmmmm, not much better
OMG! We are the worst. I call this stunt “fun with data.” Here’s another version, using data that is displayed on a logarithmic scale, adjusted for population size, comparing the US and EU and ignoring a small island nation no one visits (I’m looking at you, New Zealand. More people cross the US border in two days than visit the Kiwis in a year!):
Well, well, well . . .
What you are witnessing is data convergence, which is the phenomenon that occurs when a natural event plays out over time. In plain English, some (even very large) initial differences gradually disappear over time.
Heard of the unique experiment in Sweden over their policies? Here’s the latest data:
More convergence
Wait, you’ll say, but don’t government policies matter? Yes, but mostly in degree and for a time. Note the similarity between the data tends for deaths in these disparate countries/Unions, despite very different policies/situations:
Complicated, no?
If you want to see something really interesting, look at the data for Japan. They have a large population and were a hub of international travel. They also were one of the first to confront the pandemic based on the cruise ship Diamond Princess which pulled into Yokohama harbor full of coronavirus.
The Japanese government had a big disadvantage: the world’s most elderly and therefore (according to the WHO and CDC) vulnerable population. They also had one huge advantage: a compliant population accustomed to wearing masks. They intensely studied the Diamond Princess affair and concluded airborne transmission was probable even if it was not the main source of spread. They further decided that the main variables in spread were close contact, closed spaces, and crowded places. They initiated an educational campaign called the Three C’s so everyone understood what the problem was, why it was important, and what they (the public) were supposed to do.
They never quarantined their entire society. They did not mandate mask wearing. They do not (still) do mass testing (less than 10% of the testing done in America). Theaters remain open but socially distant. The mass transit system runs full with open windows. Schools reopened in June with staggered schedules. Sports are played with spectators (no cheering, social distancing in the stands). There are no legal limits beyond the governmental and cultural exhortation to avoid the three C’s. How has that worked out?
Despite greater vulnerability, amazing results
Are their lessons universal? No. Are they applicable? Yes. When we blindly close schools, or restaurants, or churches without regard to activity or size, we are not following the data (ie., the science). Likewise, when we ignore social-distancing or mask wearing, we are ignoring obvious answers to the problem. Both are critical. The first because no society can long endure excessive quarantining, loss of income, or loss of human contact. People went out during the great plagues of Medieval Europe, for God’s sake! The second because these are small-but-helpful measures that buy time and mutually protect us, whether they are foolproof or not.
I’m not nearly as tired of the lockdown as I am of the politicized use of data and specious counter-arguments. Yes, you need to wear a mask and stand apart. No, it doesn’t solve everything; only a vaccine does, and yes, the vaccine is safe and effective and you need to take it. No, we could not save hundreds of thousands of people who were vulnerable due to obesity and illness and some genetic combination which Covid uniquely targeted: we could play for time, but given the vaccine took almost a year (under a miraculous scenario which we engineered), we were going to lose them. No, it it is not useful to compare a globally connected, large, heterodox nation like the United States to small islands or geographically-isolated, homogeneous countries. Do I have to explain why?
Here’s a way to reconsider the pandemic by comparing it to another natural phenomenon to put it into perspective: earthquakes. They happen. Actually, they happen almost everywhere. People die. Sometimes they happen somewhere regularly, and people become used to them, and their governments prepare for them. Sometimes the preparations are so good that most quakes don’t kill people or destroy things. But even then, sometimes major earthquakes still happen, things fall down, and people still die. Sometimes earthquakes don’t happen for a long time, then suddenly reappear, and they are catastrophic. Know when/where the largest earthquake was recorded in the continental United States (i.e., lower 48)? New Madrid, Missouri, in 1812. So large it moved the Mississippi river hundreds of meters. That one goes off again? Bad things will happen. Some will blame the government for not being prepared, and maybe more should be done. But really?
Every country has made serious mistakes facing this crisis. No medical entity or public health body has covered itself in glory. Some mistakes were worse than others (personally, not quickly quarantining eldercare facilities was among the worst, and it happened in such diverse places as Germany, Sweden, and New York State) and some were avoidable (the early US debate over wearing masks, for example). Some results were not reproducible: not every nation is a remote island, nor does everybody have Africa’s remarkably young demographics. I’m willing to bet the historical record of Covid-19 will not focus on the spread or mortality (neither of which were impressive by historical standards), nor on government actions (which were all over the place) but rather on the speed of the vaccine development, which broke all records while maintaining necessary safeguards. That was truly remarkable.
*As a footnote, if you EVER want to look at Covid data, you MUST go to the Financial Times website here, which allows you to do the kind of comparisons I made above. It is the best website and most tailor-able data display available.
One of Judy’s Christmas quiltsAnother quilt, with our Charlie Brown Christmas Tree as a centerpieceA daughter’s school art project keepsakeI call them the Thee Wise MenMini-creche from Playa del CarmenOur tin tree and the gang from Rudolf the Red-Nosed Reindeer
We recently passed the milestone of four years retired (I’ll stop counting when the number exceeds my thirty-eight work years). Around this time each year, I review our decision to retire early and choose the expat life in Mexico. Yet the coronavirus and on-and-off again quarantine has me pondering the bigger questions (“what’s it all about, Alfie?” “Is it technically a weekend if it’s not a work-week?” “just how near is a near occasion of sin?”). Oh, that and the liturgical year just ended, with daily readings about the end of all things leading to Advent, a season popularly misunderstood as a festive build-up to Christmas, but in reality a chance to take stock whether we’re prepared for the inevitable end of our existence. Phew, that’s an existential load!
Took this during our visit to Playa del Carmen. It has nothing to do with today’s post. Sometimes, a photo is just too good to ignore.
Retired life in general, and retired expat life in particular, give one the time and perspective to consider such things. But how many times can I say “we enjoy being retired” or “the weather is amazing” or “life is good” without becoming repetitive or annoying? 2020 threw us all a curve ball and — unlike Michael Jordan– I want to make contact on it.
If there ever was a time or condition which would cause one to reconsider choosing to live the retired expat life, the 2020 Covid experience was it. One reason for being expats in Mexico was to enable us to travel the world. Not so much now. Few countries would welcome us, and few things are open to see or do if they did. Another reason to be here in Mexico specifically was for the climate: perfect weather enabling daily outdoor activity, including alfresco dining year-round. Ehhh, sometimes. Restaurants have been hard hit, some closed and others forced into carry-out only. And wearing a mask even to exercise outdoors is a drag.
On top of all that, one of the biggest challenges to expat life is ensuring quality medical care. We have that, but no medical system in the world has done well during the pandemic: they have all flailed and failed in one way or another. That is not a criticism: this is simply what happens when a novel, contagious, and sometimes deadly disease appears. It just so happens this was the first really contagious one in a century, and many people had started to “believe in science” (what an oxymoron!) to the point they were surprised by the inevitable.
Mexico doesn’t engage in widespread Covid testing, so no one knows how bad it is here. Mexico’s health minister mused out loud ‘why test if you have no treatment?’ which was medically accurate if terribly tone-deaf. The hospital admissions here mirror the rates in the States, so the incidence and case load are likely about the same.
So here we are, quarantined in a developing country during a pandemic. And loving it nonetheless. Why?
Let’s start with the medical situation. Mexico has a higher death rate then the States, but that is mostly due to the high incidence of co-morbidities and poor public healthcare services. There is no magic treatment in either place, and the best outcome is prevention in all cases. The prevention outlook is the same: state-by-state, with some closures and restrictions on movement, mask-wearing requirements, sanitizing at the entrance of public facilities (restaurants, bars, shopping centers). In the end, it’s a wash for us as to where to get sick, and our best protection is our own ability to abide by the necessary health policies.
One major difference is the attitude: nobody seems particularly upset or angry about all this here in Mexico. Nobody expects the government to get it all right, and most understand that some things–like novel pandemics–are beyond the current understanding of even modern medicine, so we learn by experiencing. People die. But to Mexicans, death is a tragic reality of daily life, and coronavirus only provides the how and when, but does not change the if. Every person’s death is mourned, but there is a realism (not fatalism) here that affects how Mexicans deal with a pandemic. And that’s a very positive thing, in my opinion.
Travel? Why yes, please. Small secret #1:despite all the headlines, at no time during this pandemic did the United States prevent American citizens from returning home. All the announced restrictions were only for foreign nationals. We’ve traveled back to the States twice during the restrictions without trouble or even questioning. The US Department of Homeland Security did recently announce that ‘US persons returning to the States could be denied entry if they were sick.’ Small secret #2: That has always been the case. ANY airline, and ANY country, can and will deny you boarding/entry if you show symptoms of illness. You can be (and some returnees have been) put into quarantine. Thus it has always been.
One overlooked aspect of travel is that while the cruise industry is stuck in port and the land border open only to “essential business” (a term with significant discretion: Canadians have learned it may not allow them to drive from Mexico to Canada), Mexico and the USA have kept their airline connections open. While individual states may have stringent provisions once landed, there have been few restrictions on flying back-and-forth across the border, a fact unique to the Mexican-American relationship. Importantly for us, it has permitted two trips back to visit family, all with limits and distancing, of course.
As time goes by and we learn more about Covid, things change. We’re not wiping down every product which enters our casa. Most restaurants have adapted to socially-distanced dining, and since the weather is great, that option remains. Places like our Church have reopened for regular Mass with distancing rules. Even when the case rates rose, the government didn’t overreact and re-enact the original restrictions, but changed them to fit what we’ve learned.
We’ve noticed many of our Canadian snowbird friends returning to Mexico of late. Whether they would, given their health insurance and government warnings, was an open question among us year-round expats. Mostly they have, sensing that enduring the pandemic in sun and warm weather is the better option. That and the less tangible sense that the pandemic is something which demands serious–but not overwrought–attention, which is more the case here than elsewhere.
All things considered, Mexico in general, and lakeside in particular, remains the place for us to be in this Annus Horribilis of 2020.
BLUF (Bottom Line Up Front, lest I be accused of sensationalism): I’m negative for CoVid19. But I am traveling again during the pandemic, and didn’t feel well, and here’s the rest of the story.
Back Saturday November 7th, I woke up with a nagging headache. Nothing serious, no other symptoms than some post-nasal drip, an on-and-off again allergy symptom. The night before, Judy & I hosted our monthly dinner club, which meant I drank more wine and less water than usual. I chalked it all up to tannins and dehydration, drank more water, watched football, ate pizza.
The headache continued and worsened a little, but it was intermittent: I seemed sensitive to light and noise, or sudden movement of my head. but I also went long stretches with no pain at all. By the time for our Tuesday night red-eye flight to O’Hare airport in Chicago, I was steadily taking aspirin powders. No fever, no cough, no other symptoms less the drip.
For my expat amigos, here’s the link for the health screening site you mst complete for any flight in, into, or out of Mexico:
Sorry about the length! AeroMexico did a great job segregating passengers to maintain social distance. Then they had us board a bus crammed together for a ride on the tarmac and mosh-pit boarding. *sigh*
We did have masks, but no distance
Gathering the family clan on Wednesday for early Thanksgiving proceeded apace, but so did my headaches and gradually soring throat. ((Unpaid commercial announcement: early Thanksgiving remains the best new idea since sliced bread! That is all)). Judy convinced me to go to the Walgreen’s minute clinic to see if I could get any relief: in the back of all our minds was coronavirus. Nobody thought I had it, but the potential consequences were severe. We were all together in a home, seeing each other for the first time in months, and about to have a family dinner and get together.
I went to the clinic on Thursday morning. Judy and I talked, and we decided I would not mention my recent travel: the word “Mexico” would lead to an instant suspicion, even though the pandemic is no worse there than in the States. I wanted to avoid even a Covid test, as that introduced the pre-result need to quarantine and the possibility of a false positive.
The Nurse Practitioner got about fifteen seconds into my symptoms and said, “I want to do a Covid test.”
“Is that really necessary” I weakly defended. “No fever, no chest congestion, I feel fine except for the weird headache.”
She interrupted “Do you know what they tell us is the clinical clue to coronavirus? It’s WEIRD. This virus acts weird. It is individual. There is a long list of symptoms, and many people have none, many have one or two, and a few get really sick. And the list of symptoms is the same for colds, flus, sinus infections, you name it. WEIRD!”
Out came the test kit and in went the swab. Lucky for me, they now have a short swab so it doesn’t have to feel like they’re poking it through your brain. However, they do do a roto-rooter motion once up each nostril, so it is still unpleasant and leaves you sore.
And the waiting began: three-to-five days for results. The Nurse Practitioner told me to wear a mask at home and to stay away from my family. That way, if I was positive, their quarantine period would start the day I tested. When we arrived back home, the adults gathered for a family meeting: what to do? I stayed quiet (no really) and let our adult children make the call. They agreed that starting quarantine early was no big advantage, and since I had symptoms for several days, I was probably past peak viral lode, meaning they were already infected or weren’t going to be. They decided I should skip the mask at home and just go about our family reunion/early Thanksgiving as planned. I have to admit I was impressed by their level-headed, common-sense discussion.
My headaches continued and the irritated throat waxed and waned over the weekend. Any sniffle from any family member gave me pause: was that just Fall, or something more?
Fall is beautiful, especially in the morn!
On Sunday our younger daughter and her brood departed for home, not knowing whether she was headed back to work or quarantine. Finally on Monday morning the results came back negative for coronavirus. Today the headache is fading and the throat seems better. All systems go for launch!
Lessons learned?
The implication for even a sniffle during a pandemic. I felt pretty confident I was not positive, but I also understood the medical professional’s position: during a pandemic, treat everything as coronavirus until you can prove it’s not. We’re into fall, and cold/flu season. People will contact those conditions and the default medical response is going to be coronavirus test first, with all the implications.
Knowledge is power. Our kids and their spouses are “up” on the situation, and had a panic-free, rational discussion. If anybody had bought into the hysteria, we would have had to overreact. That is not to conclude Covid isn’t serious business: it is. But adults face serious decisions with concern and care and facts, not emotions.
There’s a song tie in for anything. You knew this one was coming:
I am Pat. Pat-I-am. Pat-the-exPat is who I am. I like the expat that I am.
But do you like a leaky pipe? Does it keep you up at night?
I do not like it, exPat-I-am. I would not like it, that's how I am.
Where would you like to have a leak? Would you like it, in the street?
I would not like it in my house.
I would not like it, nor would my spouse.
I do not like it at my feet, I do not like it in the street!
I do not like the noisy boys, who dig and scrape with noisy toys.
They dig and dig, all day long, but where they dig is always wrong.
The workers come, the workers go; the holes they dig, they grow and grow!
But would you like the leak if found? I bet you would, you would come 'round!
I would not like it here or there, I would not like it anywhere!
I would not like it large or small, I would not like it, one drop or all.
I do not want it near my plants, or by my stairs, or in my pants!
I do not want it in the yard, or close at hand, or very far.
The pipe still leaks under the ground, while hammers croon a jackin' sound.
The piles grow, the holes they deepen, the pipes they go on a-leakin'
Would you like the leak, if fixed? Surely that would do the trick?
I would like the leak, if fixed. Like it gone, and then not missed!
I would like the leaking stopp-ed, the stones reset, the plants re-potted,
I would like the piles gone, the holes filled in, the workers done.
I would say "gracias, adios"; the workers would dance and count their pesos.
I will throw a big fiesta, but first I will take a short siesta.
Closing my eyes, my heart did skip. . . did I just hear another drip?
I write this on the morn of election day, in the Year of Our Lord 2020 (and what a fraught phrase that is!).
These past few weeks, I have noticed increasingly tense private comments and media commentary from those NOB. People cast this election as Good versus Evil. They question any outcome other than the one they want as fixed or fraudulent. They ascribe the worst of intentions to the other side: Racism or Communism, Fascism or Lawlessness, Theocracy or Enforced Atheism. Major media sources have articles about ‘how to survive election day’ or ‘how to prevent an election-induced panic attack’ or ‘how to deal with them,’ the loathsome other.
I don’t see it. First off, hyperbole sells papers (or ratings), so to speak. And people naturally engage in it. But do you really believe it? Imagine this: thirty years from now, your great-great grandchildren ask you: “what did you do in the great battle of good versus evil, Gramps?” You take a deep breath and intone, “Well, I liked a bunch of FaceBook posts, I shared some disparaging pictures on Instagram, I did a mess of re-tweets, and I voted!” Harrumph. No, if you really believe this is a metaphysical contest of Good versus Evil, you would be cleaning your rifle and organizing for battle. But you’re not. Because it isn’t.
I continue to suggest this election is simply, well, another vote. That the trends which led to the Trump Presidency remain in effect, and that President Trump is more a symptom of those trends than the cause (although I admit he contributes, oh, does he contribute!). What are those trends?
The coarsening of our culture. It is now acceptable to use public vulgarity to refer to elected officials. People attack one another not as “wrong” but as racist or anti-American. Those with whom you disagree must be hounded out of restaurants, or off social media, or out of jobs.
The acceptability of violence. Have a traffic dispute? Shoot it out. Police default to escalation, again and again and again. Looting is either promoted or defended as the associated protests are mostly peaceful (a wonderful euphemism, that).
The reliance on emotion or feeling over facts. Masks work, people. The Y chromosome is real, folks. The climate is changing, y’all. Everybody was once an embryo (and vice versa). One can argue with how we put those facts into perspective for public policy, but now we simply choose to ignore the ones we don’t like.
And that’s just off the top of my head. So we’re doomed, right? Nope, not at all. History provides a clue, for those willing to study and learn from it.
The 1864 election looked to be a cliff hanger until Generals Grant and Sherman provided military victories and the resulting enthusiasm carried Abraham Lincoln in a landslide to a second term. You want a Good versus Evil election? Lincoln versus McClellan, who wanted an amicable peace permitting the continuation of slavery in the South. You think it’s violent now? How about an election during a civil war!
What’s the lesson for today? Lincoln’s Second Inaugural Address is a masterpiece of brevity and grace. In the face of hundreds of thousands dead, facing more violence to come, he spoke only of reconciliation:
With malice toward none; with charity for all; with firmness in the right, as God gives us to see the right, let us strive on to finish the work we are in; to bind up the nation’s wounds; to care for him who shall have borne the battle, and for his widow, and his orphan
Abraham Lincoln
Lincoln put his policies where his words led, clearly articulating that mercy–not retribution–would be the defining characteristic of the reunited Union. His stand was so powerful that when he was assassinated by the very enemies he welcomed as fellow citizens, his Cabinet continued his merciful policies amidst cries for general vengeance. If Lincoln could forgive the South, how can we claim to be more aggrieved?
So take a few deep breaths and enjoy Fall today. Have a glass of wine or bourbon and go to bed early tonight. Wake up tomorrow to a new day, whoever is President-elect. Make a commitment to be more merciful to those with whom you disagree. It’s a great start.
“For the measure with which you measure shall be measured out to you.”
You say “to-may-to”, I say “to-mah-to.” The Raramuri are an indigenous tribe living–mostly as they always have–in the Sierra Madre range in the Mexican state of Chihuahua. When the Spanish arrived, they dubbed the peoples as Tarahumara. Much like the Mexica people eventually accepted being called Aztecs, the Raramuri (who speak Raramuri and call themselves Raramuri), accepted others calling them Tarahumara. I’ll go with what they call themselves.
The Raramuri peoples were closely associated with the Apache tribe, so much so they consider themselves to be from the same lineage. The Raramuri say that the Apaches were very bellicose, always looking for a fight, while the Raramuri were more peaceful, so the tribes split up. Eventually the Spanish came a knocking and even the Raramuri put up a fight. Spain tried three times without success to “pacify” the Raramuri. Finally, some Raramuri took up the Spanish language and the cross, while the rest retreated into the canyons to continue life as they liked. Over the years, Spanish influence and Catholicism spread, but with a distinct Raramuri flavor.
Valley farms for the Raramuri
The Raramuri live a spartan existence with individual homes, often built upon existing caves in the canyon walls. Even those who live in the valleys still insist on subsistence farming and hunting for themselves, gathering together mostly for fiestas and seasonal events. Oh, and running.
I don’t mean “let’s go out and get some exercise” running. Not even marathon running–that’s too short in their opinion. No, I’m talking about the kind of extreme long distance running that makes Forrest Gump look like a weekend jogger. It seems that one of the Raramuri beliefs that survived to the present day is that running helps keep the Earth spinning on its axis (in a spiritual, not physical, sense). So they run. and run. and run. Men, and women, and children, even the elderly (to some extent). Barefoot, or in huarache sandals made with twine and the tread of old car tires. How far do they run? While we were there, Raramuri runners competed in a virtual international race where their top runner ran 429 kilometers, or 268 miles. He only averaged a 15 minute mile . . . for sixty-four straight hours (he didn’t win)!
Three years back, a Raramuri woman entered and won her first race, an ultramarathon of thirty-one miles, wearing a skirt and sandals.
“One of these things, is not like the others”
Running is also the Raramuri way to settle disputes. Have an argument over some land, or a cow? Think someone dissed you, but they don’t think so? Really like that shirt the other guy is wearing? The Raramuri challenge each other in a race which can last more than a day. The two contestants push a wooden ball along with a stick, over mountain and canyon trails, and to the winner belongs the spoils!
If the Raramuri/Tarahumara start to sound familiar to you–and if you ever were a runner, they do–you might have read Christopher McDougall’s book Born to Run, which highlighted the “light-footed” (Raramuri means “light-footed”) people who run on their toes in sandals, which in turn helped spark the barefoot/Vibram running craze.
We didn’t see a lot of running, as the Raramuri aren’t there to perform for you. We did have the opportunity to visit two cave-homes. The first was along a road and supported an extended family of about fifteen people, including giving them the chance to market various goods and natural medicines.
Cave home/marketInside, they keep the fire burningChicken coop next door
The second was on the top of a cliff, and was owned by an older couple who are so wealthy (!?!?), they have a second cave house down in the valley, where the climate is tropical. So they move back and forth, depending on the season. Cliff side snowbirds, so to speak.
Judy snaps a photo of the canyon while the man of the house arrivesCatalina tidies up since she had visitors, and she seemed so fond of me Judy had to reclaim me!
Almost all the Raramuri we saw had adopted or adapted to aspects of modern lives. The small farms had satellite dishes, the men wore pants in place of the traditional diaper-like shorts, they hunt with rifles and catch the train to move between towns. But the women still weave pine needles into baskets and wear multiple layers of skirts. And they all still gather to run, just to keep the Earth spinning. So when the Sun comes up tomorrow, think of the Raramuri who ran last night to make it so!
Whatever happened to my promise for more visuals in this blog? Oh, yeah, here they are:
The jardineros love to stack rocks
Sunset on the lake &
from the Mirador
These ornamental grasses still amaze mePlenty of forage for everyoneThis is a (drivable) north-south path leading up the mountain, but the last rain made it an arroyoLirio out on the lakeand of course, my beautiful dinner date!
They are funny things, those words. Anyone who travels to faraway places and has to live by gesturing instantly recognizes how critical they are. Sign language aside, words are critical to communication. It’s one thing to travel to Lithuania and see a sign you can’t quite understand; it’s something else to see a sign whose characters are not of your ken! Words are important. Edward Bulwer-Lytton wrote “the pen is mightier than the sword” and we nod, because a man armed with the latter can kill only one at a time, but a man armed with the former can kill en masse.
At the same time, words are so commonplace we take them for granted. Writing well takes time and effort, while writing a lot is easy. The French polymath Blaise Paschal once ended a letter thus: “I have only made this letter longer because I have not had the time to make it shorter.” We downplay the effect of words: “Sticks & stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me” is a great children’s rhyme and terrible psychology. “Deeds not words” clearly places the active life as more important. Any police detective (or teacher, or priest, or . . .) can tell you that when we want to dissemble, we become voluble. That is, our lies involve more words than our truths. “Let your ‘yes’ mean ‘yes’ and your ‘no’ mean ‘no’; anything more is from the Evil One.”–Matthew 5:34.
Modern technology even fills in words for us–mostly wrong ones, to much hilarity. The Internet is a source of unending streams of words, including this blog. Twitter will test whether the natural process of evolution continues. It has reduced communication to cue-less, clueless tweets, where words are replaced by emojis, and emotions are more highly-prized than thoughts. It remains to be seen whether this particular advance in communication will be naturally selected to survive.
The power of words depends upon their meaning. After all, words are just collections of letters representing sounds. If we agree what a word means, we can use that understanding to accomplish much: to barter, to pray, to argue, to convince, to plead, to congratulate, to joke, to love. But only if we understand the words themselves, and they–the words–are not static. I think I first realized I was a conservative of sorts when I felt the keen desire to stand athwart the highway of progress and say “No further!” to ever-worse grammar and usage. The other day, I saw a reference to the enormity of a baseball stadium (“Why, was it Yankee stadium?” I mused). But awful used to mean “worthy of awe” and to fathom was to measure (the distance of one’s arms outstretched).
Some suggest that the hidden power of the English language is its ability to adapt: to change meaning as necessary, to borrow words and phrases from other languages, to make new words easily. I agree. Yet in the end all the flexibility and nuance and versatility must yield to one thing: meaning. And the meaning of words is a two-party action; are you inferring what I’m implying? I have never forgotten the Washington DC story about a guy who lost his District government job for using the word “niggardly” which a co-worker thought was a racial slur. The there’s this New York Times piece (a very interesting one about the Defund the Police effort in Minneapolis) that ends quoting an activist who uses they/their pronouns: as a result, it is impossible to understand what they meant or to whom they were referring!
It goes way beyond simple homonyms or even words with new, changed meanings. We give words meaning based on how we feel about who says them. Check out these quotes:
“The only thing we have to fear is fear itself.”
FDR, First Inaugural address
“We are at war, . . . I ask you to be responsible all together and not to give in to any panic”
Emmanuel Macron
“Don’t panic, but don’t think for a moment that he or she doesn’t really matter. No one is expendable. Everyone counts, it takes all our efforts.”
Angela Merkel
“Don’t let it dominate you. Don’t be afraid of it.”
Donald Trump
“Don’t Fear the Reaper”
Blue Oyster Cult
Okay the last one was just an excuse for a video, but hey, oddly appropriate, no?
In the cold spacing of text on the page, the quotes are quite similar. But how we interpret those quotes comes through a lens of exactly who said just what and when. The words matter, but just so. When the meaning of words becomes a point of contention, democratic discussion becomes difficult. If we can’t communicate, we can’t argue, we can’t even discuss, and we can’t ever agree.
I noticed this recently in a social media discussion spurred on by the Amy Coney Barrett nomination for the Supreme Court. And it bears on the meaning of the word “handmaid.” Some of my friends knew the word primarily from Margaret Atwood’s The Handmaid’s Tale, and they inferred a negative connotation of feminine submission. Which is accurate IF your point of view stems from Atwood’s dystopian novel. But the word has a historical association which is positive, connoting agency demonstrated by willingness to align one’s will with God’s Will (To be concise, Adams’s sin was to place his will over God’s, while Mary’s fiat reordered mankind’s relationship with God back to what He originally intended). I’m not asking you to believe any of that, but you must acknowledge this other interpretation was the primary understanding of the term handmaid from antiquity until, oh, say 1985. If you hear the word handmaid and recoil, while I hear it and mutter “thanks be to God,” we’ll have trouble discussing it further.
Words matter. They can inspire people to do amazing things, or strike fear into the innocent heart. But only if we know what they mean. “I do” is a memorable phrase only if it means something more than “I do, mostly.” I wonder: is our societal stress caused by misunderstanding (willful or unintentional), or is the lack of agreement over meaning the symptom of that stress?
