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Drowning in your own blood
I have been out to lunch of late, foodspend be damned.
Not actually dining out though. Just sitting at home working on a new record.
Slowly, glacially, but little by little, this bitch is coming together. I am excited.
That being said, let us look backwards for a moment, specifically to previous records that were released. They are living in the ether of the internet at a place called Bandcamp. And today, February 4, 2022, is Bandcamp Friday, which means that this most benevolent (and cool and idealistic and perfect) music distribution platform waives their fees to artists on this special day. So if you were to go and purchase my music at the Faux Jean Bandcamp page, they would not take a cut and let me get the whole nut. So think about it.
Now, as for drowning in one’s own blood.
Just before the pandemic started in 2020, I was talking to my son about mortality and such. My wife had just come out of a four+ year struggle with cancer, and there were a few times when it seemed like we were going to lose her. This was a very scary time for all of us. Makes me sick to my stomach thinking about it. (Let us all drink to my wife’s continued health—huzzah!)
So in discussing mortality, I told my son that everybody dies and it is natural, but it is really difficult to think about. I pointed out that if his mother and I both died, there would be someone in our extended family to take care of him and his sister. I pointed out that my Grandmother Schindler lost both of her parents when she was about 5 years old, and was taken in by an aunt and went on to lead a great life, of which we are proof.
He asked me how Grandmother Schindler’s parents had died, and I explained that Spanish Flu and tuberculosis had killed her parents. He asked what tuberculosis was, and I explained that it’s a bacterial infection of the lungs where one eventually, more-or-less, drowns in their own blood. I went on talking about Grandmother Schindler up in Northern Wisconsin and eventually meeting my Grandfather Schindler, starting a chicken farm, etc. I think I was talking about how beautiful the Apostle Islands were…
Then I noticed he wasn’t really listening anymore. I looked over and he was holding his belly and his eyes were full of tears. I put my hand on his shoulder and he began gasping and thrashing. I held him tight and asked “What’s wrong?”
“I don’t want to drown in my own blood!” he struggled to speak between sobs which gave way to all out bawling.
We took several minutes of embracing and rocking and consoling to realize that we were still alive and not drowning in our own blood.
This was just before the pandemic.
The pandemic really brought that moment, the sudden realization that you could soon be drowning in your own goo, to everybody all at once.
“All the hospitals are full and can’t take me and I’m going to drown in my own cytokine storm. Ahhhhh!”
Death was suddenly lurking on every door knob.
There was an emotional ripple that emanated from that moment of realization throughout the country and the world.
That kind of fear and panic does something to people. And it doesn’t always bring out the best in people.
We are all recovering emotionally. Some folks lost loved ones. Some folks lost their marbles. I will endeavor to be kind to all of those people and encourage you to do the same. That’s what Grandmother Schindler would have done.
We’re not out of the woods yet, but science has removed death from every door knob; so let us go out in the world and be grateful and kind and cautious.