A Tale of Two Winters

Winter 2019/2020

As 2019 came to a close, life was going well. We had been in our new home together for a little over a year. Both of our mothers, my brother, and my youngest daughter, visited for Thanksgiving. On Friday after, we put up our first Christmas tree together, her first in well over a decade. Despite her protestations that we had few decorations, we managed to dress a beautiful tree.

In December, we went south to Pensacola for her annual office party and to visit her father, who was in a nursing home there. Mid-month, we saw Lindsey Stirling for her Christmas concert. This was the second time we had seen her and her show was again fabulous. On Christmas morning, we exchanged gifts. A new Kindle, and a Mason Pearson hairbrush for her; two Mossbergs for me. Nothing says, “I love you,” like a 9 mm and short shotgun for Christmas from your lady. At the end of the month, we saw another concert, this time Cirque de Noel, an aerobatic show accompanied by music from the Charlotte Orchestra.

We didn’t do anything special on New Year’s Eve, I don’t even think that we made it to midnight. Personally, while I understand the need for celebration and ritual, there are some that just don’t resonate with me as much, New Year’s Eve and my own birthday in particular. I’ve always considered those just marking another trip around the sun.

Come January, however, our calendar was full. A date at the gun range. My concealed carry class. A hike, dinner, and a movie, 1917, for her birthday. Dinner and a show, Little Black Dress. Friends over for dinner at our place. The next day, dinner with another couple at their place. Dinner and another live show, this time the semi-annual recital at the dance studio where we had our first date.

The one low spot in the month was the passing of Mr. Neil Peart on Tuesday, the 7th, although the Rush fan community, and most of the rest of the world, did not find out until that Friday.

Otherwise, it was a great month and the year was getting off to a super start.

The last social event, the dance recital, was on Saturday, January 25. On Sunday, she was feeling run down and with fever. COVID-19 was just starting to be in the news, so out of curiosity, I looked at the CDC website about the effects of this virus. It seemed to us that she might have COVID, might have any incarnation of flu virus, or might have any number of a host of other maladies.

Despite her illness, on the 31st, I had to fly to Pittsburgh for the day for some annual training with one of our clients. I thought nothing of it and was up and back the same day.

We nursed her back to health over the next two weeks as she suffered with chills, fever, headaches, and respiratory distress. The entire time she was ill, I continued to feel well. By February 8, however, she was feeling well enough to get together with her girlfriend for the afternoon.

About that same time, my brother, who pays far closer attention to the news than I had, began asking me if we were still going on our long-planned 7-day cruise, to which I repeatedly assured him we were. However, still only curious, I did query my doctor about COVID-19 during my regular checkup on February 13. Her response was to basically treat it as the flu.

On the 15th, we departed south to board the Allure of the Sea from the Port of Ft Lauderdale, for what would be the first cruise of this type for either of us. Larger than an aircraft carrier, the Allure can support over 6000 passengers with a crew of 2200. On this cruise, I would estimate at least 5500 passengers. The only extra precautions concerning COVID-19, that we could tell, were a few screening questions prior to boarding and a numerous amount of hand sanitizer stations throughout the ship, especially at the entrances to the dining rooms.

The cruise, to celebrate her aunt’s 75th birthday, was great! I met the rest of her family, we saw so many shows, one a day I think, ate great food, and of we course drank way too much! In St Maarten, we got in a nice hike along the shore. At one point along the way, there was a hillside of maybe 100 acres; tall grass covering the entire landscape was just magically flowing with the wind! In San Juan, we explored both Castillo de San Cristobal and Castillo San Felipe del Morro. Walking back, we tucked into a dive bar one of my colleagues told me of, which he had frequented in his younger days as a pilot in the Puerto Rico Air National Guard. His daughter was married in the cathedral just down the street from the bar, so, of course, we took a peak in. The last port call was in Haiti, at Royal Caribbean’s private resort, where we kayaked across the bay with her cousin in the adjacent boat, and afterwards just enjoyed the beach for a while.

After returning home on February 23, COVID-19 was taking an increasing amount of bandwidth in the news. My brother started reporting of cities and counties going into “lockdown,” which I thought was ridiculous, overreacting, and knew, in my gut, was unconstitutional. To paraphrase, his reply was something like, “Stand the fuck by.”

Nonetheless, we pressed on with life. On Monday, March 2, we had tickets to the Trump rally in Charlotte. Although well ahead of the start time, we still arrived too late to get in; the parking lot outside the venue was full of supporters waiting to watch outside on the jumbotrons. We decided to double back to the house and watch the event on Fox. Well, the streets were all blocked off for security so we were stuck. We hoofed it back to the parking lot and stood out in the cool, crisp air to watch on the screens with the rest of the late-shows. The President was upbeat as usual, making only passing mention of COVID-19, saying that, “We’re making good progress,” or something to that effect. Afterwards, we made it back to the car, which we had parked near the highway, in time to see the presidential motorcade roll by taking Trump back to Charlotte Douglas International. Unknown to us at the time, this would prove to be one of his last rallies for many months.

On Saturday, March 7, we had dinner downtown again, oh excuse me, it’s called uptown in Charlotte, prior to yet another show. This time we had second row seats in a small venue, which is a converted old church, the McGlohon Theater. The Jamie McLean Band opened for one of her favorite artists, Mr. Marc Broussard. We ended up buying all of Jamie’s CDs during intermission, as we had none of his but already had all of Marc’s. Although COVID was in the news, and both singers made comment of it, folks in the audience were relaxed and enjoying themselves. I will tell you this, both artists can sing some damn blues, and we had a blast.

On Saturday, March 14, we had dinner at another couple’s home in our neighborhood. Of course, now the conversation revolved around the increasing hysteria concerning COVID-19. Nonetheless, we still managed to have a good time with our friends.

Sometime in mid-March, governors started issuing “lockdowns.” It was about the same time that I began watching in horror at work, as client after client began cancelling class dates. On the 19th, Judge Andrew P. Napolitano published an op-ed, outlining his concerns with the constitutionality of these lockdowns. Finally, on the 20th, California went into full lockdown. The following Tuesday, March 24, Mecklenburg County, which encompasses the bulk of the Charlotte Metro area issued a lockdown, which became effective on Friday, the 27th.

On that Tuesday afternoon, I called the mayor of the town we live in, as he was one of the signatories on the county order. Rather than getting a secretary or voicemail, I was surprised that he answered the phone. During the previous week or so, I had already begun digging deep into, not only the numbers, but also the case histories on COVID. Suffice to say, I let the mayor have an earful; to his credit, he took it well. On Friday, March 27, I wrote him a six-page letter, which I copied to everyone “up the chain,” so to speak, in my political purview. On the last day of the month, I posted a petition on the White House website to the same effect, which sadly only garnered 19 signatures.

Winter 2020/2021

Suffice to say this winter has been substantially less eventful in terms of social engagements. My mother and brother managed to make their way down from West Virginia again for Thanksgiving. Grateful to be together, it was stressful nonetheless given the events of the year – pay cuts, lockdowns, mask Nazis, the COVID related death of her father, the death of one of our bloodhounds, and the fraud that had occurred with the election. We put the tree up again the day after Thanksgiving. Although her aunt did visit for Christmas, the rest of December 2020 was very quiet. No office holiday party for either of us. No “get-togethers” with neighbors. No dinners out. No movies out. No live concerts.

The most exciting thing these past four months was my attendance at the Capitol on January 6, 2021. A few weeks after that, we did get together with some friends. This was a couple with whom we had frequently done so over the last several years, including last winter and a few times throughout 2020. Like elephants standing in the corner of the room no one wanted to acknowledge, the subjects of the election and the events of the 6th lurked ominously. Suffice to say, when they finally forced their way into the conversation, not everyone saw them the same; the tone of the evening took a dramatic turn and ended on a rather sour note.

I’ve already penned my thoughts on the Supreme Court’s refusal to deal with the election fraud and on the inauguration, so I won’t rehash those here. However, never, in my 57 years on this planet, would I have imagined the images that we are now seeing from DC for the last two months. They remind me of camps in the war zone of Afghanistan.

Yesterday, March 23, I had to be in Pittsburgh again for annual training with the same client. I refused to fly commercial and deal with the airline mask Nazis, so I drove up. I left a day early as my great aunt and several cousins live there. I spent a wonderful five hours lunch with them on Monday. That was a blessing and a joy as I had not seen her in six years; she turns 91 on Saturday.

As far as the mask Nazis, especially those of TSA and Trader Joe's, suffice to say the situation is getting worse rather than better.

So...., here we are one year later, on the anniversary of my bitch out session with the mayor. 15 days to slow the spread. Like Lucy always pulling the football out from under Charlie Brown, the 15 days kept getting extended and extended and extended and extended… Don't wear one mask, wear two, maybe three or four. Keep schools closed another year, maybe three. Etc. ad nauseum.

The two months since the inauguration have seemed like purgatory, just waiting for the singularity that will finally cause people to say, “enough is enough.” When, I wonder, will that be?

Endnote: Changes Aren’t Permanent, But Change Is

I wrote this to highlight my personal accounting of the last two winters. While I'm confident nearly everyone has a similar recounting, my fear is that over the past year the enormous changes have become normalized, accepted, and that far too many will have forgotten what was surrendered. For those driving this nightmare, this is what they want. We cannot allow that happen.

The reader might consider their own experiences 12 to 16 months ago and compare them to those of recent months. What changed? What facilitated those changes? What do you know about those who are driving the changes? What do you know about their motivations? What do you know about your own motivations, attitudes, and actions regarding these changes? What do you know about COVID, vaccines, the effects of masking, the Federal Reserve Board, the scourge of pedophilia on the planet, the election fraud, false flags, gun control, etc., etc., etc.? What would you change about yourself? What needs to change?

Has all the change been worth it?

For your consideration...

Namaste folks,

Mark Stansell

March 24, 2021