“Nonsense” is a simple, all-encompassing word.
We’ve had more than our share thrown at us of late. Couldn’t believe that something called “omnicron” was recently responsible for nearly three-quarters of all the reported COVID cases.
The CDC got caught using the “N” word, spreading nonsense when it was really less than 25 percent of the cases.
It looks like the CDC was also using the “F” word. Fear.
Just when it looked like we were getting wise to this pandemic, we got sucker punched.
And if we’re hoping for some relief from elected officials, it is truly a case of “God help us.”
Imbecilic behavior is running rampant. It’s getting where freedom to enjoy Eggs Benedict on a Sunday morning has been snatched away.
Having heard about the cesspool our big cities have become, I have been naïve in thinking we in the South have more sense.
Rumors of arresting citizens trying to dine without proof of vaccination seemed like some sort of internet drivel. Surely, that can’t be a serious occurrence.
We attempted to have breakfast last weekend at Another Broken Egg on Old Milton Parkway. Before being seated, I was asked if we had masks.
“No. And neither do all those other folks sitting in your dining room.” Please note, those in the dining area land of plenty were less than 10 feet from me.
The young manager, blindly following what his bosses had told him, replied: “They all had masks when they walked to their tables. You have to wear a mask to come into the restaurant.”
I felt sorry for the youngster and wondered if he’d ever read about lemmings blindly walking over cliffs as they met their demise, following one another to their doom.
I was a lone voice of reason, commenting that the whole thing made no sense. I was told there was a state-wide mask mandate. There isn’t.
One rather large woman was masked up, requesting to eat outside. She said she didn’t want to be around all “these” people. I guess she was referring to all those enjoying a meal with their families.
She was blathering on, looking prepared to tackle a server carrying a tray of cinnamon rolls. “I lost three patients last week.”
Maybe not the “N” word but was definitely the “F” word. I couldn’t resist a zinger, even if I had just come from Mass. I know. A lot of good it did.
“Have you tried GPS? That should help you find them.”
• • •
So much confusion that I am not sure if I’m writing the last column of 2021 or the first of 2022.
No matter as I have gotten my money’s worth during this extended Christmas/New Years' break.
It was a quiet Christmas, free from family strife or squabbles, just conversations to Vicki’s relatives in Tennessee, Ecuador and Poland. We also checked in with my people in California.
Christmas morning was free from the youngster-fueled madness of days of yore. Everyone was able to sleep in and maybe even enjoy a mid-afternoon nap.
I read books on the Kindle, having discovered CJ Box as an author who packs a punch. His books are the basis for “Big Sky,” the ABC series that keeps me and Chris on the edge of our seats.
Greg insisted the family take in the new Spiderman installment. Good call, Gregory. I’m not a real Marvel devotee, usually driving him nuts with questions.
Not so much this time. It was a hoot watching the audience really get into the movie, cheering and hollering at key points. It was reminiscent of a trip to the movies in inner-city Philadelphia many years ago, where audience members implored the actors to “exit, stage left” to avoid being plugged.
Once again, everyone’s list of wished-for gifts was fulfilled. Even mine. Slippers, fleece, and a Jeff Foxworthy desk calendar are in my possession.
I didn’t lose any of those three, either.
• • •
Surgery day approaches and I received a nice note from Dr. Adam Mellis, who is manning the robot:
Thank you for sending me the column. I appreciate the positive sentiments and will keep you and my family in my prayers.
Merry Christmas and Happy New Year! We got this, Adam Mellis
Besides, Sister Rosann, who got to “meet” Vicki and Chris over the break, has St. Raphael specializing in healing, going to bat for me.
We got this.
Mike Tasos’ column appears every other weekend. He is on Facebook and can be emailed at firstname.lastname@example.org.