Spooky, 2009 - 2026

 Spooky died in my arms at 4:30 AM on Thursday, February 5, 2026.

Spooky, July 23, 2025

Spooky was the last of his cohort of cats. We took him in on January 1, 2010, when he was already about six months old. He wasn't the last one we took in back then - that was Spooky's littermate Homer, who joined us in July 2010. and was the last cat we took in until Bojangles in 2019, who was rapidly followed by his mother Mama Cat and his sister Spumoni. Homer died in 2021, the same year as Babusz and Ray. All of the other cats from that era have died, most recently Spooky's littermate Amber in May 2024, and Peaches in October 2023. Now all that remain are the newcomers Bojangles, Mama Cat, and Spumoni.

Spooky, December 30, 2024

I snatched Spooky from where he was sleeping on our back porch on New Year's Day in 2010. He and his siblings were sleeping in a plastic shoe storage bag my mom was throwing out. They had stuffed themselves into the bag and were packed together tightly. I couldn't understand how they weren't suffocating jammed in there. But I knew that fate and humans are unkind to feral cats, especially feral black cats, and since I knew we could only take in one more cat, he was the one I targeted. 

He did not appreciate it.

We had set up the bathroom as an isolation room for new cats, until they could be medically cleared by the vet. After clawing the hell out of me - I should have worn gloves - he proceeded to tear the bathroom apart, something that Spumoni would do again nine years later. But he soon came around and realized the benefits of having a safe, warm house.

Spooky, March 19, 2010

For most of his life he was a quiet cat who lived in the shadows. That was the way of things - usually one cat at a time would get to be my mom's special cat, and the others would stay back. Toward the end of her life Babusz was the special cat. When Babusz died in 2021, Amber moved to take her place. Peaches gravitated to me.

After my mom died in 2023, Peaches became my special cat, always sitting by my side. I could tell her life was coming to an end, and I always justified not doing things because I had something more important to do - namely, pet Peaches. 

After Peaches died, Amber moved to take her place. Amber had lost a lot of weight after my mom died - my mom had a habit of overfeeding the cats, and without her leaving bowls spilling over with treats all over the house, all of the cats began to lose weight. Amber was extremely overweight when my mom died, but I made a point of feeding her exclusively. She also inherited the lickable treats that Peaches had enjoyed - specifically Temptations Purrrree with Chicken. Amber was the special cat for just over six months until her sudden and untimely death due to saddle thrombus.

Spooky moved into the special cat spot by my side. Not just by my side - throughout 2024 and until we were ordered to return to the office full-time in February 2025, he would make a point of walking in front of my face while we were doing our weekly online meetings, much to the amusement of my coworkers. (I explained to them that he was used to hearing me talking on the phone or tapping away at my keyboard while I was working, so when I fell silent during a meeting he assumed I was dead and wanted to check on me.) I took to breathing into his fur whenever he did that and he came to really enjoy it. About three months ago he started to follow that by curling up on the left side of my chest, over my heart, and falling asleep there for an hour or more.

He loved bedtime. When he decided I had been online too long, he would climb on my chest and block my eyes so I couldn't see the monitor - his way of saying "That's enough Internet for today, time for bed." He would paw at  my hand on the keyboard to remind me that I should be doing something more important, like petting him.When I would go to bed at night he often came to sleep on my pillow, pressing his body against my forehead as though he were trying to calm my thoughts.  He was the only cat left in the house who wore a collar, a collar with a bell. When I heard the bell at night I knew he was around, coming to steal my pillow from me in bed, so I would wake up with him on my pillow and my head flat on the bed - to the point that I bought two identical pillows, one for each of us, though he would often stretch out across both of them.

He would see me off to sleep at night and be there to greet me in the morning. He was my companion during work, during naps, even when I was just sitting around.

Spooky inherited the lickable treats, which he was always happy to share with fellow black cat Bojangles, as well as the exclusive Fancy Feast feedings, which he shared with everyone after he had eaten his fill. He also enjoyed Temptations crunchy treats at bedtime and upon waking up. In the last few weeks I was keeping a bowl of treats at the spot where he would sit next to me, so he wouldn't have to go looking for them. This was also where I kept the bowl for his semi-exclusive Fancy Feast feedings.

Bojangles, Mama Cat, and Spumoni always had exclusive feeding of their own: a "midnight feast" (usually served between 1:30 AM and 3:00 AM) of a can of Friskies split three ways. Spumoni is very food aggressive, and would always push her mother and brother aside to get to the first bowl - and then the second, and then the third, abandoning each to the other cats in turn. Spooky never had any interest in the midnight feast until recently. Some nights he would show up as I set out the three bowls. Some nights he would show up in time for me to split the can four ways. Sometimes he would be fed last, but in his last few days he was fed first. Spumoni respected his seniority and would not try to steal his bowl, and neither would the other cats. Sometimes he left some food in his bowl for the others, other days he would eat everything in his bowl and nibble at anything left over by the others. 

Joining the midnight feast wasn't the only change in Spooky's behavior lately. Several times in the days before he died, he would jump in the empty bathtub in the morning while I was in the bathroom. Now that I think of it, Spooky might have done it a few times when I wasn't in the bathroom. I don't know what this meant. Peaches spent the last few weeks of her life living in the bathtub, to the point that I was feeding her there. After Peaches died, Amber kept checking the bathtub to see if she might be hiding there. 

We had a schedule of sorts. I would wake up between 9:00 and 10:00 AM and have breakfast. Around 11:00 AM I would move into another room and get a tube of treat and a can of Fancy Feast. Spooky would jump up and sit at my right side waiting for his treat, and Bojangles would sometimes jump up on my left. Spooky always got first crack at the treat, but then would share with Bojangles. Afterwards I would cut wedges of the Fancy Feast pate, half the can, and put them in a bowl where Spooky would eat his fill and leave the rest for everyone else.  We would repeat the ritual a few hours later just before I left for work in the afternoon, or when I got home from work early in the morning.

The last week of January I was home every day. Monday and Tuesday we were working from home because of heavy snow. Wednesday I called off because I hadn't finished digging my car out, wasn't feeling that great, and didn't feel like making the effort to go into work, and didn't have the energy to deal with callers from home. Thursday and Friday I had scheduled off, two of the only selected days I was able to get in the first months of 2026. So I got to spend lots of time with Spooky those days.

Wednesday, February 4 was a good day. Spooky enjoyed his treat and his food and spent time sitting with me. The sun came out and he jumped into the front bow window to bask in the sunshine for a few hours. While I was taking my shower I heard him crying, and then came out to find him sitting outside the bathroom waiting for me. He ran out to his spot and positioned himself for extra treats, which I gave him gladly.

All this last week I had dreaded coming home. Despite my best efforts, Spooky was getting older. His spine was becoming more prominent. I could tell his time was drawing near. I worried that I would come home to find him dead. I thought about where to look for him: in the chair where he liked to sleep, in the bathtub, in one or two other spots. 

I came through the door and found him waiting for me to serve the midnight feast.

I put out his food first. Spumoni made no efforts to steal it. 

I got ready for bed. I lounged in the chair where I would feed him treats, where he would sit by my side, where he would sleep on my heart. He came up and sat by me for a bit. We dozed there for an hour or so. Then he got up, scrambled over me, and went off to do cat stuff. 

About 4:15 AM I got up to go to the bathroom one last time. I found Spooky sleeping in an unusual spot on the floor and had a bad feeling. The night he died years ago, Thor had curled up in front of the back door, something he had never done before. I had picked Thor up, said "No, not here," and took him to sleep with my mom. He died in her arms shortly after. 

On my way back from the bathroom I stooped down to pick Spooky up. If this was the time, I wanted him to be in the chair where he liked to sleep, not some dark corner of the floor.

He struggled against me. He dug his claws into the carpet, into the curtain. He looked at me with a shocked, surprised expression. I picked him up, held him against my chest, carried him over to the chair that I had been sitting in, the chair where he had been sleeping the past few months, and laid him down gently on the cushion.

He landed stiff and still, his forelegs pointed in one direction, his legs in another, his head in another.

I might have killed him picking him up. His heart might have given out struggling against me.

I picked him up again. He was dead weight. I sat in the chair and held him against my chest. I could feel his breath, faint, and his heartbeat, fading. I made my goodbyes. Told him soon he would be with his mommy and Amber and Peaches and everyone else. Told him that I loved him, that he would always be my little tiny buddy. That I loved all the time we had spent together, all the times he had slept curled up on my heart. After a while his breathing stopped. His heart stopped. It was around 4:30.

I pulled a blanket over us and slept there in the chair for the next four hours, holding him.

When I woke he was still dead. 

I laid Spooky out on a soft towel. Spumoni spent a lot of time staring at him. I don't know what she was thinking.

With much difficulty I removed his collar, the collar with a bell. I put the collar in a baggie, along with some plucked hairs. 

I took him to our vet to be cremated on the way in to work Thursday. I will pick up his ashes in a few days.

Spooky's Kubrick Stare, October 3, 2023

Hell of a year so far

One of the major functions of blogging, like the diarists of old, is street-level history written as it happens. I've neglected that responsibility. Left it to the social media microblogging platforms like Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and Bluesky, where so much of the record is subject to redaction by the site owners, or will be buried pebble by pebble under an avalanche of trivial crap.

But street-level history has become dangerous. Write the wrong thing - about ICE, about the Epstein files, about the Trump regime, about whatever is deemed a forbidden subject - and you'll be arrested, banned entry into the country, or find your passport has mysteriously disappeared from the system.

So. Shall we talk about the weather?

Winter settled upon Northeastern Pennsylvania early in December with substantial snow and cold temperatures. Snow covered the ground until shortly before Christmas - we actually had a green Christmas this year and no one complained. A day or two after Christmas we had an ice storm. This was followed by more snow and more freezing temperatures throughout January. The ground stayed snow-covered until Sunday, January 25th, when twelve inches of snow dropped on Nanticoke. (We were fortunate to avoid the ice and freezing rain that fell on top of this snow in other areas.) We are still digging out in some places. Temperatures have generally been in the teens and single digits since then, and we're not expecting anything in the 30s for at least a week. Word is that this isn't a reversion to typical weather patterns of decades gone by, but is rather the result of a disrupted polar vortex, with a region of unusually warm air sitting over the North Pole pushing the polar vortex that rings the pole to points south - specifically, the midwest and northeast of the U.S.

The upshot of this is, we're going to be cold for the foreseeable future.

Meanwhile, citizens and non-citizens alike are being snatched off the streets, out of their cars, from their schools, from their workplaces, from their places of worship, from their homes. ICE and CBP are murdering people in cold blood. Society continues to collapse into an authoritarian dystopia, with a ruling class straight out of Pasolini's "Salo, or the 120 Days of Sodom." 

Once again, I'm glad my mother is dead.

The cost of Rocks

I've decided to make Rocks again this year. A few months back I found a frozen stash I had made years ago and enjoyed them more than I thought I would. So I decided to give them another try this year.

I started to buy the ingredients this weekend. I sat down and looked at the receipt. Crap, these things are expensive.

Medjool dates, pitted (12 ounces): $7.99 (recipe calls for 16 ounces)

Raisins (32 ounces): $10.99 (recipe calls for 24 ounces)

Walnuts, shelled (16 ounces): $7.49

I still need to stock up on eggs, baking soda, brown sugar, and fresh butter. I have enough flour, I think. Some whiskey will take the place of brandy.

I'd better not overbake these.

A brief encounter, and the sad aftermath

Tuesday, December 2nd was our first significant snowfall this season. Temperatures have rarely risen above freezing since then. Just after midnight Friday morning temperatures dropped to 16F, and then dropped further to 9F by 9:00 AM. Friday saw a bit of a warmup, so temperatures were around 27F when I left work at 12:40 AM Saturday morning.

It has been my habit lately to drive past the cemetery on my way home from work to see if the candle on my mother's grave (easily visible from the road) is still lit. I replaced it on Sunday, and it had still been burning the previous morning. It was out. From repeated observation, these candles only last five days.

This path home takes me through some densely forested areas. Most of Northeastern Pennsylvania is heavily forested, so this is not unusual. Still, deer, skunks, rabbits, and other woodland critters (including bears) pose a collision hazard year-round, and can unexpectedly step out of the woods.

Coming down the Sans Souci parkway into Nanticoke I had to brake hard and swerve as a thing walked directly into my path. Black fur with white on the belly. Nearly as long as a deer but much shorter. Weirdly-shaped head. Too many legs. ...two tails?

It was two dogs walking briskly across the parkway side by side, pressed against each other, one walking a few inches behind the other. They paid me little heed as they passed from the direction of Tractor Supply towards the railroad tracks, towards the vacant building that used to be Dundee Gardens.

Where did they come from? Where were they going? What were they doing outside in subfreezing temperatures? I don't know. I'm just glad I didn't hit them.

...at least, I didn't know until I saw this:

Please hold your animal friends close and don't let them roam. Bad things can happen to them if you let them roam.

First significant snowfall, December 2, 2025

I won't call it a *major* snowfall. Only about three inches or so - but three inches of wet, heavy snow. I don't think I had to shovel once last year, except maybe on Super Bowl Sunday; otherwise the snow was generally light, fluffy stuff that could be dealt with with a pushbroom. But today's snow called for a shovel.

It was a work-from-home day, the first since we were all ordered back into the office five days a week in February. Odd that when it works in The Company's favor, when there would usually be mass absenteeism due to weather or even a building closure, work-from-home is suddenly perfectly acceptable. No snow days for us. But the cats were happy to have me home, and I was happy to spend the day in their company.

The Littlest Turkey 20th Anniversary Edition!

Some twenty years ago my office mate told me he had just picked up his free turkey with the coupon our employer had given us. Because he was getting it last minute, all that was left was a single small turkey, but he figured that would be enough since it was just him and his wife having Thanksgiving that year.

"Awww," I said. "You got the Littlest Turkey. Now it won't be left behind all alone for Thanksgiving!" And thus a story was born.

Enjoy this extra special 20th Anniversary Edition of The Littlest Turkey! (Originally published November 16-17, 2005.)

THE LITTLEST TURKEY
by
D.B. Echo

Once upon a time there was a farm where turkeys lived. All of them were young and plump, big and strong and proud. All of them except one. He was smaller than all the other turkeys. He was called the Littlest Turkey.
The Littlest Turkey wanted to run and play with the other turkeys, but they didn't want to play with him. "Go away, Littlest Turkey," they would say. "Come back when you've gotten bigger."

But the Littlest Turkey was sure he was as big as he was going to get. He tried to eat as much as he could, but he never seemed to get as big and plump as the other turkeys. And he knew that unless he got big and plump like the other turkeys, he would never get to go to the Laughter House.

The Laughter House was a wonderful place. The Littlest Turkey had never been in there. He knew that only the big and plump turkeys would get to go inside the Laughter House. He had seen them go in once, and had heard their squawks and gobbles of laughter for a little while. It must be wonderful in there, the Littlest Turkey thought. All those turkeys go in to laugh, and none of them had ever come out again. How much fun they must be having!

The Littlest Turkey decided that, big and plump or not, he would get into the Laughter House the next time they let the turkeys in.

*********

THE LITTLEST TURKEY
Part 2
by
D.B. Echo

The weather started getting cooler, and the leaves on the trees started to change colors. All the turkeys knew that soon it would be time for the biggest holiday of the year, Turkey Day.
"Just before Turkey Day is when they take the big and plump turkeys into the Laughter House," thought the Littlest Turkey. "But this time I'm going to get in there, too!"

It wasn't long before the big day came. All of the big and plump turkeys lined up to go into the Laughter House. The Littlest Turkey waited near the entrance of the Laughter House, then squeezed in between two very big and plump turkeys. No one noticed him because he was so little.

The Laughter House was dark inside, and there was a sort of moving sidewalk there that was taking turkeys into another room, where he could hear gobbles and squawks of laughter. One by one the turkeys hopped up to ride the sidewalk. The Littlest Turkey hopped up, too.
The turkey in front of him, whose name was Tom, turned around. "Go away, Littlest Turkey," he said. "Come back when you are bigger."

"Yes, go away," said the turkey behind him, whose name was also Tom. "They do not want little turkeys at the Market. Only big and plump ones."

"No," said the Littlest Turkey. "I want to go to the Market with you." He had never heard of the Market, but he realized that it must be even better than the Laughter House.

A Man spotted the Littlest Turkey. "Go away, Littlest Turkey," he said. "Come back when you are bigger."

"Oh, please, Mr. Man," said the Littlest Turkey. "I do so want to go to the Market with the other turkeys."

"Very well," said the Man. "We've got a quota to meet, anyway."

The Littlest Turkey rode the sidewalk into the other room. He wondered what things would be like at the Market.

*********

THE LITTLEST TURKEY
Conclusion
by
D.B. Echo

The Littlest Turkey was cold. He was colder than he ever remembered being before. But then again, it was hard to remember much since they had chopped his head off.

He was in a case with the other turkeys, the big and plump turkeys. Turkey Day was coming soon, and people were coming to the Market to pick turkeys to take home.

They always seemed to want the big and plump turkeys. One time a little girl had seen him in the case. "Mommy, mommy, look at the little turkey," she said. "I want to take home the littlest turkey."

"No, dear," her mother said. "We are having many people over for Thanksgiving. We need a big, plump turkey."

One by one the other turkeys left the Market to go home with people. Turkey Day was coming soon, and people were taking away more and more of the big and plump turkeys. But no one wanted the Littlest Turkey.
Finally, the day before Turkey Day came, and the Littlest Turkey found himself all alone in the case.

"How sad," he thought. "No one wants to take me home."

It was late in the day, and the Manager was about to close down the Market for the night. Suddenly a Man came into the store.

"I have a coupon," he said, "for a free turkey. Do you have any left?"

"You're in luck," said the Manager. "I have one left." He showed the Man the Littlest Turkey, all alone in the case.

"It's a little small," the Man said. "But I guess beggars can't be choosers. Besides, it's just me and my wife this year. A little turkey might be just what we need."

The Manager took the Littlest Turkey out of the case and traded him to the Man for the coupon he was holding. "Happy Thanksgiving!", he said to the Man.

"I'm not going to be left behind for Turkey Day," thought the Littlest Turkey happily as the Man put him in the trunk of his car. "I'm so happy. But I'm so cold." He rolled around a little as the car pulled out of the parking lot. "I sure hope I'm going someplace warm."

THE END

Kim

"Too bad we don't have the key to these," you said, twirling the handcuffs on your finger.

I was tired. We were tired. We were young. It was a warm afternoon in Scranton. We were both worn out by a grueling week. Nothing happened.

Other things happened after that. You fell out of my life. After that I only heard about you second-hand.

I looked you up, as I do from time to time. I do it with a lot of people I know. See how they're doing. See how they've distinguished themselves.

I knew you were married. Knew you had kids. Knew you had moved out West. Knew you were the editor of a local magazine.

I didn't know you died four months ago.

Cancer. Multiple myeloma. Diagnosed ten months earlier.

Goodbye, Kim. I have regrets, but life is too short for regret. You did well.

Goodbye.

First snow, November 11, 2025

As we left work this morning after a particularly brutish night of calls, we were greeted by flurries. Not much, and it didn't last long - the flurries were done a few minutes after I left work - but, hey, it counts. First snow in the books for the 2025-2026 season.

But the clouds stuck around, keeping me from seeing tonight's amazing auroras that are being viewed all over the country. Oh, well.

COVID

FOREWORD:

Haven't posted all summer. Summers have gotten to be particularly tough for me the last few - many - years. Generally I'm OK through the third week of June, basically to the Solstice. But after that point temperatures tend to spike, humidity soars, rain becomes an almost daily event. Blueberries and grapes ripen and sit on the bush or vine, to be eaten by birds or just wither. And I become a summertime hermit, staying inside with a fan on and the drapes drawn, hoping not to need the air conditioner.

This year, Summer ended abruptly on Labor Day. Suddenly it was Autumn, three full weeks before the equinox. Temperatures plummeted.  The air turned crisp. Leaves began to change color. And suddenly, I was released from my hermit status. I could go back outside and do things. Unless something else came up.

Something else came up.

PRELUDE:

Since we returned to the office full time earlier in the year, we've been looking for little things to boost morale. Potlucks have helped. Many people - not everybody, which is actually a good thing - bring in something, and we have a daylong feast. There is more than enough to go around, with plenty for everyone. If everybody brought in food the amount of food would be unmanageably excessive.  Offerings range from pizzas and chips to elaborate homemade meals and desserts. It's disappointing if your contribution doesn't get devoured, and everyone takes a wide sampling of foods.

WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 3, 2025

We had one of these last Wednesday, for the first night of football season. I brought in tortilla chips, queso, and salsa. I filled my plate with a huge variety of foods for both of my breaks and my lunch. At the end of the night I joked about calling an Uber to get to my car, and shared a concern that I would regret this in the morning.

I did.

My diet has become fairly simple and routine. Breakfast is a bowl of bran cereal in the morning half-filled with fruit - either chopped apples with cinnamon, or a sliced banana and strawberries, paired with a protein - plain Greek yogurt with honey, cottage cheese with grapes, or some eggs. A second lunch-ish meal usually featuring chicken, pork, or shrimp and potatoes or rice, or maybe spaghetti and meatballs with vegetables on the side. For "lunch" and snacks at work I take nutrition bars. I used to take ZonePerfect Chocolate Mint bars (which tasted just like Thin Mints) until the entire ZonePerfect line was discontinued last year. Since then I have experimented with many different replacements, but have settled on Clif Chocolate Mint bars (which contain caffeine) to keep me going at the start and end of the day, and a lemon zest Luna bar with tea for lunch. When I get home after work I treat myself to a before-bed snack of cheese or ice cream.

The party food disrupted all this, of course. I anticipated some digestive issues in the morning. I was not disappointed.

THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 4, 2025

I was extremely ill for several hours Thursday morning. Eventually it seemed I had purged the entire feast from the previous day from my system, and then some. 

Everything was back on track by Thursday afternoon.

FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 5, 2025 

On Friday, I advised my coworkers that I would be off on Monday to observe what would have been my mom's 92nd birthday, but I would be back on Tuesday.

RFKJr, the insane goblin in charge of health policy for the United States, decided to ban COVID-19 vaccines for most Americans, for insane goblin reasons. Within a week, Governor Josh Shapiro and Democrats in the Pennsylvania legislature took action to re-establish the ability of Pennsylvanians to get the COVID vaccine. On September 3, 2025 the State Board of Pharmacy issued a press release announcing this. I planned to get mine over the weekend. Maybe Monday.

SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 6, 2025

I woke up Saturday with a fever.

I didn't think much of it. Saturday was a busy day. I did many loads of laundry. I made plans for the rest of the weekend. I ran out and cashed in my Weis rewards points, set to expire the next day, getting an 18 pack of eggs for just $2.99. I got a lot of stuff done.

SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 7, 2025

Sunday I woke up with a painfully sore throat. Oh crap, I thought. COVID. 

I dug out my stash of COVID tests . How old were they? I couldn't remember. The expiration dates indicated January 2023. We were told that they would still be good for a while after that. Every previous test I had taken came out negative. Could I trust a positive result on an old test?

I pulled out the kit and followed the steps. Waited fifteen minutes. Squinted to see if there was any hint of a little faint red line. If I looked at it juuust right and used my imagination a bit - yes, there it was. OK, now what?

I let my family know. My primary care physician retired a few months ago. If I wanted confirmation, treatment, or official documentation, I would need to go to an ER or a walk-in clinic on Monday.

MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 8, 2025

Monday morning I woke up with a runny nose, very sore throat, and laryngitis. I was feeling a general wooziness, and occasionally had a roaring sound in my ears, like driving with the windows down. Even though it was my day off, I let my supervisor know. I've never used sick days before, except for appointments, so I wasn't sure how they worked. She advised I could use up to three consecutive days before I needed a doctor's note. That would take me through Thursday without it. It didn't seem safe to come back Friday, so I decided I needed a note.

Monday afternoon I went to the local clinic for the regional megahospital. After some delays, it was finally my turn to be seen. I told the admissions nurse I was there because of COVID. She went in the back, and then came back and told me that they didn't do any testing for COVID. In fact, she advised me, there was no vaccine, no treatment, no cure, and I should just leave.

I really wasn't prepared for that. I asked if there was anything they could do for me, and she said no.

I walked out furious. I got on the family chat and raved a bit. I was going to go to the cemetery to calm down. My sister-in-law would drop off some fresh tests at my house. I resolved to go to a different clinic on Tuesday.

My at-home test Monday afternoon, courtesy of my sister-in-law, was a little less ambiguous.

TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 9, 2025

Monday night I slept very little. My nose was running all night, and I had to keep getting up to blow it. My pulse oximeter - purchased back in 2020 when COVID was spreading across the country - showed an O2 saturation level of 98%, so I wasn't panicking. On Tuesday afternoon, after some misadventures, I got to another clinic. As I walked in I was greeted with a sign advising that they did COVID-19 testing, but only by appointment. It gave a phone number to call for testing.

I was the only client there, so my wait was minimal. This time, instead of immediately stating I was there because of COVID, I described my symptoms, then added that I had tested positive for COVID. The admissions nurse told me that the information I had been given previously was accurate, they did not test. I told her about the sign, and she asked me where I had seen that. I told her it was just outside the door next to us. (After she got me checked in, she went out to see the sign for herself, and called over the rest of the staff to have a look. They considered taking it down, but in the end decided to defer to management.) She explained to me that they had just gotten a directive advising that they were not testing anymore because insurance is no longer paying for tests - something new from the Trump/RFKJr regime, I suppose. But they would be able to do a basic checkup and write me a note.

All of my vitals were perfect, as usual. Temperature 98.0 degrees. Oxygen saturation 98%. Blood pressure 118/68. Lungs sounded clear. No throat irritation visible. If I didn't know I was sick, and if I weren't so woozy and tired, I would think I was healthy. The PA wrote me a note taking me through Friday, told me to keep up with the regimen of fluids and the occasional Tylenol that I've been following, and go to the ER if things take a turn for the worse. I will retest on Sunday and if I am still positive, we will take things from there.

(I experienced another, very strange, possible symptom of COVID as I drove home from the clinic: a sudden love for everyone I saw. As a child I would play a game where I would try to slip into the consciousness of anyone I saw as we drove past, trying to imagine the world as they experienced it: who they were, how they happened to be standing there, what they were thinking, what they were planning, everything that had led up to that moment in their lives. Now I saw a couple walking past, a Hispanic couple in their late 30s, in another part of the country or another part of the state they might be worrying about Donald Trump's ICE bounty hunters pulling them off the street to make their daily quota, but here on Main Street in Wilkes-Barre they were smiling and laughing as they walked along, and I wanted to smile and wave at them, which seemed weird, so I just smiled and stared as much as I could without crashing the car, which was also weird; next was a guy in his early 20s, walking along, face buried in his phone, and I thought he's talking to a friend, God bless 'im, or maybe he's talking to his mom, what a lucky guy. This happened several more times on the way home.)  

WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 10, 2025

Another fun symptom: I have completely lost track of the passing of time. Today could be Monday or Tuesday for all I know. I might have been sick for a day, a week, or a month. I am writing this account to try to organize my memories while they are still distinct.

It is possible that the digestive issues I experienced Thursday morning were a case of "something I ate," or "everything I ate," or "simple food poisoning." It is also possible that they were, along with the fever an sore throat, a symptom of this latest strain of COVID.

It is likely that I picked up COVID at work. Which means that at least one other person at work had COVID and was contagious. It is possible that I was also contagious while I was at work.

So. It finally got me, Five years and six months after the pandemic was declared, more than two and a half years after it killed my mom. All without so much as a cold, a bout of hayfever, anything. After all this time I have finally contracted COVID. We'll see how it goes from here.

THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 11, 2025

I've observed over the decades that one sure sign that I am sick is an increase in typos. Virtually every sentence that I have typed here has contained at least one typo. It just took four tries to spell the word "Virtually" correctly, and in this sentence I spelled the word "four" wrong. I have considered leaving all the typos in place, but that would render this generally unreadable. 

Even though I feel less sick today, I am still clearly sick.

Poem: Ghosts of Nanticoke

Diamond's Candy Shoppe, October 30 2004. Closed since 2011.

I can still smell the candy in Caszh's store

sugar and flavorings permeating the air

The meat at Mike Weiss's grocery and butcher shop

where my grandmother would send me to pick up her weekly order

tick book in hand

On the walk to the Tiny Tot playground there was a yard with a gazing ball

that would shine bright as the sun

(twenty years later I bought one of my own)

I remember the day they paved the brick road in front of my grandmother's house

the bricks are still there, you can see them through the potholes

Woolworth's was a place where you could buy a bag of used stamps

Mexican jumping beans

a cheap 35 millimeter camera

and the latest KISS album

I saw Bambi at the State Theater, my first movie

and Star Wars a few years later

Chocolates from Diamond's

Comics from Koronkiewicz's

or MacDonald's newsstand

or Wadzinski's, once or twice

there was a brown and white horse and a bright red boar

that you could ride at the IGA 

Burgers and fries from Carroll's came with a little toy

(My father liked to eat at the Blue Bird sometimes)

The Card Shoppe was an archive of ancient cards and little porcelain statues

Mr. Bohinski would sell the cards at the price marked on them thirty years earlier

and then give a discount on top

while telling me stories of my grandfather courting my grandmother

when he was a foreman at the Duplin Mill

The Leader Store had a chain track system for taking money to the main office

Leventhal's displayed posters featuring the latest menswear styles from the 70s well into the 90s

gone, all gone

homes and vacant lots

empty buildings or new construction

living in memory until they are forgotten

ghosts whose stories will no longer be told

Untold stories: Farewell to the Tercel

I bought my first car, a two-door 1990 Toyota Tercel, in 1992. It lasted four years until an unfortunate incident involving an oil change that apparently was only done partway - they never got around to putting oil back in the engine, as I found out a few days later. (It was on Holy Thursday in 1996. I remember growling "Tomorrow had better be a Good Friday, because it's been a lousy Thursday.")

I bought my second car shortly afterwards. It was new off the lot, a Nightshade Blue four-door Tercel DX. It was roomy and comfortable, even though it was one of the smallest cars available. It served me well for over twenty years. It started to show its age after about ten years, and began to have issues after about fifteen. By the 20 year mark, after well over 375,000 miles, it was clearly in need of replacement. I only drove it a few times a year after that to make sure the battery still worked, but eventually it took up permanent residence in our driveway. I knew I had to get rid of it, but couldn't bring myself to do it - until I was advised in June 2023, four months after my mother had died, that I had to.

Stripped of its license plate and ready to be hauled off. I had to send the plate to the state to prove that I no longer needed to carry insurance. 

I made arrangements with one of those groups that would haul away your car and donate the resale or scrap value to a charity - in this case, WVIA, the local NPR affiliate. I had to strip the interior of the car, which was a real deep dive into my personal history. I found some stuff in there that dated to around the time I bought my previous car.

Homemade window stickers featuring an alien, Garage Mahal (a friend's band), and the classic Alfred E. Neumann portrait from MAD Magazine. I don't remember what the missing sticker was. (I think it was Binky from Matt Groening's Life in Hell.)

I had wanted to be there to witness them taking it away, but the truck arrived much later than promised. By then my work-from-home job had started for the day, and I could only listen to the distant sounds of the car being manhandled onto a flatbed. I was most concerned it would simply snap in half as they tried to haul it off, but it didn't, as far as I could tell.

The Tercel had clearly seen better days. I was afraid it would crack in half when they came to haul it away. Note the homemade window stickers featuring the cover of My Bloody Valentine's "Loveless" and the Hubble Space Telescope Deep Field.

It was a good car. It served me well, and was exactly what I needed. It was fast and nimble. It routinely got 40 mpg on the highway, even better on long trips. I still have a hard time parking the Toyota Camry I drive now.

This was a 1996 Tercel DX, a Deluxe model. I believe at the time that meant it had four doors, an automatic transmission, and power steering and brakes.

I realized last night I had not posted about my car since 2015. I decided I didn't want it to just fade away without some note of its passing. So, here it is.

Note the good old-fashioned manual climate controls.

376,483 official miles - plus a few more, since the speedometer and odometer stopped working sometime in 2016 or so. The velcro was for a small tap light I used to illuminate the speedometer when it was working - the dashboard light burned out around 2012. Apparently the Tercel went to its grave with nearly a full tank of gasoline. Fun fact: gasoline loses its functionality as a vehicle fuel after sitting around for a few years.

The Flowers of May 2025

I have been trying to observe and photograph flowers in my yard throughout the month of May. Unfortunately, some bloomed and faded before I could get to them, like the Daffodils, Irises, and white Azaleas. Here are the ones I did manage to photograph, arranged from latest in the month to earliest. 

Double Delight rose

Clematis

Blaze rose

Lily of the Valley 

Comfrey (based on a reverse image search)

Royal Highness rose

Rhododendron

Azalea

Buttercup

Violet

Grape Hyacinths, April 19-20, 2025

 

Grape Hyacinths are among the first Spring flowers to make an appearance, blooming after the crocuses, daffodils, forsythia, and cherries. The three images above are from April 19, 2025, of Grape Hyacinths growing under a tree adjacent to my family plot at Saint Mary's Cemetery on Middle Road in Hanover Township, PA. They are tiny things, about two inches (five centimeters) tall, and appear as wildflowers. A few will sometimes pop up around our tombstone itself. Like the ones under the tree, these will eventually get mowed down or weedwhacked by the groundskeepers.

Grape Hyacinths from my back yard, April 20, 2025. These are growing on a hill between a Royal Highness rosebush and a cherry tree. I sought them out as I was heading to have Easter dinner with my cousins. These too will probably be lost in the first lawnmowing this week.

Cherry blossoms, April 8, 2025

 

Last week was warm, but that didn't last. This past weekend was particularly rainy, and then temperatures dropped back into the 30s and 40s on Monday and stayed there. Still, the cherry tree buds have been prompted to blossom, finally starting to unfurl today. Will the birds allow me to have any cherries this year? Or will they once again eat them all before they fully ripen? Time will tell.

Forsythia, March 29, 2025

 

Forsythia are one of the first things to bloom in my yard each year. (Daffodils were already in bloom a week or so ago, but I didn't get any photos and they're probably spent already.) When I came home early Saturday morning I saw that the buds on the bush by my back steps were ready to burst open. Saturday's temperatures in the 70s gave them the push they needed to open completely - many of them, at least.

Soon the irises will blossom, and the cherry trees, and the azaleas, and the rhododendrons. Maybe I'll try to document them once again.

The crocuses of 2025

I am realizing that the crocuses at our family gravesite are a good indicator of the arrival of Spring and the changing Springtime climate. Eighteen years ago I was surprised to see them poking up by March 28, while this year they are already in bloom by March 18th, 2025.

(Note the simple solar vigil candle above. That's a spent wax candle with the top part of a dollar store solar stake light stuck inside. The bottom third of the candle is weighed down with clear glass beads, also from a dollar store.) 

I've decided to add a "Crocus" tag to all of my posts featuring the crocuses. At least one of them needs some work - photos loaded directly from Facebook have a way of becoming unviewable - but this should be easy (if tedious) to fix.

Greetings

Two years ago tomorrow, six days after she died, we buried my mom. But today, another bit of her has passed away.

For two years I have resisted changing the message on our house phone's voicemail. It was just her saying her name - with a touch of annoyance, because it took us about six tries to get it recorded. Yesterday I got a message from my phone company that they had modified the voice messaging system, and I would now have to record a new greeting. So from now on callers to our house will hear me, not her. Her voice is gone.

Two years gone

My mom died two years ago tonight.

I still miss her every day.

Strange tales: The rocket

I got to thinking about an event from September 24, 2022. I realized I never recorded it here. I was able to track it down on Facebook, but there's a lot more to the story:

I was standing outside talking to a friend about 7:40 tonight when we noticed a glowing thing moving across the southern sky from west to east at the speed of a slow plane , but with tails like a comet (but pointing towards the sun) or an outgassing rocket. Cold war nuclear jitters are back, so that seemed like a possibility, too. Turns out it was a Space X launch from Cape Canaveral (to release more Starlink satellites.) I got lousy video of it, with me breathing heavily and saying "WHAT THE F**K IS THAT?!" Here are some excellent photos NOT TAKEN BY ME that I collected from Twitter, taken by people from all over the Northeast.

reactions:

The story actually began a few months earlier. A friend's cat had gone missing. She was fairly sure it was still somewhere in or around her apartment. I happened to know where she lived - it was a building where I had gone to poetry readings back in the before-times. I hadn't been there in a few years, and more importantly, I hadn't seen this friend in many years. I have a large Havahart trap that I have used to catch groundhogs, one mystery animal that might have been a skunk, and numerous cats, and I volunteered to bring it up to her. It was one of my first major outings since getting vaccinated against COVID-19. I made the hour-plus trip up, showed her how to set and open the trap, chose a likely-looking location to place it, and then spent about another hour catching up - all while standing ten feet apart. We eventually made our goodbyes, and, after a false alarm when we heard something moving in the dark, I began the hour-plus trip home.

The cat randomly showed up at her apartment door later that night.

For one reason or another, I wasn't able to make it back up to retrieve the trap for several months. Eventually we made plans for me to come up. I was late getting out of the house, as usual, and arrived right around sunset. My friend handed over the trap. I put it in the car, and then we stood around talking and catching up. The night got darker and the stars came out. We were looking at the night sky and talking when suddenly something came into view. 

I didn't know what it was. It looked like a comet with multiple tails, but it was moving so fast across the sky - about as fast as a distant airplane - that if it really were a comet, it would be so close that we would be in big trouble. As I noted on Facebook, I also thought it might be a rocket - or maybe a missile. Being a Gen X Cold War Kid, the terrifying thought of seeing ICBMs crossing the sky has never left me. I had not heard anything about rocket launches that day, and I hadn't heard any rumors of war. I tried to capture it with my phone, but failed, badly. 

My friend lived in a dead zone for my cell phone. I wasn't able to access the Internet to check the news, and I wasn't able to call out to see if anyone else knew what was going on. I made my goodbyes to my friend, hopped in the car, and headed home. After about twenty minutes I was in a position where I could call home, call my mother. (Back then, that was still an option.) She hadn't heard anything on the news, but would call my sister to see if she had heard anything. I continued on my drive home. 

By the time I got home my mom had gotten in touch with my sister, who confirmed that what I had seen was a planned Space X launch from Cape Canaveral. It had traveled up the eastern seaboard and been seen and photographed by many people, none of whom had been aware of the launch. Even my cousin had seen it and had gotten some excellent photos.

Three months and three days later, my mom's leg would break as she was heading out to meet some friends with my sister. That would be the first in a series of events that would result in her death on February 24, 2023 - five months after I had seen a mysterious rocket crossing the sky.

Update, 3/22/2025: So Facebook did the Facebook thing, as expected.

NOTE: Apparently, the photos above are displaying as live links to Facebook. which means that if Facebook ever changes their file structure (again), the links will be broken. Here's a screen grab of the linked content: