While the world is dealing with a history-shaping pandemic that threatens to topple governments, collapse economies, and terrorize millions of people who are being threatened by an invisible, cunning, relentless enemy known as COVID-19, commonly called the Coronavirus,  many Chicagoans are facing another added threat. It is clearly visible and to some just as lethal. This past Memorial Day weekend was Chicago’s deadliest since 2015 with 56 attempted murders, 10 murders, 42 people shot and wounded, and 4 seriously stabbed.  Imagine if you will, prowling through a minefield not knowing if the next step will be your last. A reality that thousands of Chicago residents face every single day. Not an unseen enemy but just as virulent and as bitterly hostile as the killer virus. The murder numbers certainly don’t compare to the virus’s numbers but they are a steady stream of added horror that is escalating in a city that seems helpless to stop it.

Imagine a slow leaking faucet that just never gets turned off, Chicago’s steady unrelenting murders and shootings. The victim lists just keep haunting a city already paralyzed by the fear of COVID-19. The stay at home orders, the social distancing orders, the shelter in place orders, nothing slows down the gang thugs from the daily routine of the stalk and kill agenda. Think back a few years at all the GAS BAG speeches by the local politicians and the agenda people, all leaping and preening before any cameras they could shove their way in front of, in the so-called fight against violence.

There was more bullshit on the expressways than a bullfighting ring in Spain. Recall the many so-called leaders and assorted buffoons marching on and shutting down expressways miles from the killing zones of their neighborhoods. The sight of the since disgraced Chicago Top Cop marching hand in hand with the marchers in full uniform probably was one of the most despicable scenes any of us in Law Enforcement has ever witnessed. He since has been exposed for the buffoon he was.

Before the start of the Memorial Day Weekend, there was the usual press conferences mostly by the unfortunate Cop Command staff ordered to announce plans on just how their plan (9 million and 68,000 close anyway) was going to combat the expected mayhem of violence. Along with the cops there was of course a local alderman gassing about, READY! loud motorcycles and cars on Lakeshore Drive.  After all! the residents of those high rises are voters and those noisy motorcycles and cars speeding on Lake Shore Drive are annoying. Police manpower was going to be beefed up to deal with this horror and the culprits were going to be dealt with for sure. This had to be in my opinion the SUPERBOWL of misplaced priorities. The alderman probably never heard of Nero playing his fiddle while Rome burned but it crossed my mind, and the big Command Cops just kinda went along with the whole dog and pony show. Not a mention of how to deal with the elephant in the room (DEATH AND MAYHEM BY GUNFIRE AND VIOLENCE). The Ostrich theory has been in full force in Chicago, keep your god damn heads in the sand and it will eventually go away.

There has been from time to time many instances of Chicago’s Mayor yelping about people of faith congregating in places of worship.  Somehow the Governor and the Mayor have declared churches and other places of worship nonessential establishments, and the Mayor has ordered the police to assess heavy fines and in some cases allegedly sending as many as 3 cars filled with cops and a member of the Mayor’s office to pound on doors of suspected churches holding services. I’m including a photo above as a source.

Imagine the Reverend’s point of view on this. Liquor stores, and marijuana dispensaries, and Walmart stores all deemed essential and open for business, food, liquor, and weed for the body but no food for the soul. Hard to imagine the logic in all that but one thing I do know is when a ruling government says it’s stopping you from exercising basic rights by saying it knows better, it makes one think, IS THE KGB laughing?  Armed police banging on church doors to stop a service begs the question where is the ACLU? Where are all the Civil Rights groups?   Who really holds that power, the PEOPLE as we have been told by our Constitution, or a politician who says they know better? Chicago desperately needs help in a lot of areas and leadership is a top priority. Stay safe and listen carefully to people who say they know better.

Katie is SO lovely! She has settled into the apartment really nicely.

To meet her, write to us at [email protected] !

Hyde Park Cats is a local, all-volunteer group dedicated to helping stray and homeless cats in and around Chicago’s Hyde Park. We received our 501(c)(3) status in 2014 and have had over 1,200 adoptions since our founding in 2008. See all our adoptable kitties on our webpage: http://hydeparkcats.org/adopt/

All of our cats are in loving foster homes, which means the cat you adopt will be familiar with the sounds, smells, and movements of life in a home and accustomed to living with humans. He or she has been interacting on a daily basis with people who know this particular cat intimately, and the foster mom or dad can tell you all about the cat’s individual personality, habits, preferences. You can’t judge a cat by its cover! And while we can’t predict the future or know everything about a cat, we can help you choose the cat who is right for you. We have an adoption application and an adoption fee, $125 for the adoption of one cat, or $250 for a pair. This fee goes towards covering their vet costs. All cats adopted out by us are neutered/spayed, micro-chipped, tested for FIV/FeLV, and treated with Revolution.

“So glad to have Lizzy now,” I wrote in my journal in early April as the second week of Illinois’s stay-at-home order was ending. Human company and touch were off limits for the indefinite future, but I had my sweet kitty.

Now Lizzy is gone, and I’m writing through tears.

In my last post I said that Lizzy’s inflammatory bowel disease had worsened abruptly. Last Tuesday her vet advised that it was time to let Lizzy go.

It’s always hard to lose a beloved pet, but it particularly stinks now during social isolation. Friends and family members can console me only by phone and email; even if we were to get together, hugging would be taboo.

The living being on whom I relied to get me through seclusion is gone. I’m on my own at home.

When I lie down in bed, there isn’t a furry body snuggling at my shoulder, reaching her paw over my arm and drawing it closer.

The furry body isn’t on my lap when I read the morning newspaper. We had a routine. If she finished her breakfast before I did mine, she would go to the reading chair and wait, jump down when I approached to sit down, and jump into my lap, where she would stay until I folded up the paper.

Never again will I hear a sassy meow when I’m at my desk and look down to see Lizzy staring up at me, wanting attention or food. Never again will she plop down in the center of the yoga mat as soon it’s unrolled. Never again will I see a lump under the bedspread (I never figured out how she burrowed under the cover of a made bed).

Lizzy was a special cat, one of the vet techs consoled me after the euthanasia last Thursday. I agreed. Lizzy was feisty yet chummy, affectionate but not clingy. She chose when to be cuddly, which was often, but she wouldn’t stay on my lap if I put her there. She fought her daily pilling but forgot about it and returned to me soon after. Other than her IBD problems, she never caused trouble.

She talked to me like we were having a human face-to-face conversation. We could go back and forth several times, her meowing in different tones that I tried to interpret.

Coronavirus or no coronavirus, I’d miss her dreadfully. There’s an extra sting now, though. I’m more conscious of the isolation. A layer of personal grief has landed on top of the feelings of anxiety, worry, and uncertainty.

The loss of Lizzy comes after 11 difficult months in my family’s life: My parents’ stays in the hospital and nursing homes for rehab. Moving them into assisted living, and my dad’s unhappiness with the move. Cleaning out and selling their home. My dad’s death in December. Worrying about my mom in assisted-living lockdown only three months after she lost her husband.

A silver lining is that losing Lizzy has made me more empathic to my mother. Earlier I couldn’t begin to understand how devastating it is to come into an empty home after losing the person with whom you lived for nearly 72 years. Perhaps it’s insensitive to compare the loss of a cat with the loss of a husband, but I think I understand a bit more how Mom feels.

I’ll get through one day at a time, propped up by consoling phone calls and emails. I long to see my friends, but even when we can get together, it will be six feet apart. It will be weeks before I again feel the touch of a living being.

Last Wednesday, instead of curling up on my lap, Lizzy sat facing me and staring at me. I figured she was trying to tell me something, which I chose to interpret as agreeing it was time.

It was the right time, but what a bad time. Lizzy, how I miss you.

*****

ANTI-TRUMP COMMENTS: 115TH IN AN ONGOING SERIES

“[During intelligence briefings] the president veers off on tangents and getting him back on topic is difficult. He has a short attention span and rarely, if ever, reads intelligence reports, relying instead on conservative media and his friends for information. He is unashamed to interrupt intelligence officers and riff based on tips or gossip he hears . . . Mr. Trump rarely absorbs information that he disagrees with or that runs counter to his worldview . . . Directly challenging him, even when his numbers are wrong, appears to erode Mr. Trump’s trust, and ultimately he stops listening. . . . [G]etting Mr. Trump to remember information, even if he seems to be listening, can be all but impossible, especially if it runs counter to his worldview.”
—New York Times

I’m not exactly an optimist. Not really a fully committed pessimist either. Somewhere in the gray space in between. I want to believe in the best and sometimes I succeed. When depression descends I can see only the worst. Most days I waver between the two. I try hard to be rational, though I know I’m driven by passion, loyalty, and intensity that burns inside. These are the engines of living my life, and the rationality is the oil.

I guess I predict that we’ll see another spike of CV-19, more hospitalizations and more deaths. I wonder if the second round will be worse than the first. I dread and I fear that it will be.

Still, I’m trying hard to live in this moment, to find some peace amidst the boredom and chaos, odd bedfellows in the time of a pandemic. It seems like all I hear is outrage. Since 2016 the space in my brain and heart devoted to outrage has grown and pushed out a lot of the hope that grounds me.

But, 2020 has brought me outrage fatigue. I’m exhausted by it, depleted, and I have to turn my eyes to something else. Last fall, I gave myself one Tweet per week to send out to our *president. Those tweets matted together and became a bezoar in my gut, held together by sticky fear and hard hate.

If I’m to live in anything approximating peace, I have to give this up—the hate and the outrage, the fear and the dread. The “Serenity Prayer” challenges me to act courageously when I can and to accept when I can’t. So many things fall into the latter category. I cannot change other people. I cannot stop a virus. But I can stay home, wear a mask, distance myself socially.

The photographs this week of folks in Wisconsin, maskless and bunched together, going about their lives as if life were normal are an assault on rationality. It makes no sense to live this way. Images of protesters, with guns, fighting for the right to assemble, maskless, in large groups makes no sense either.

But outrage doesn’t make a lot of sense either. Wishing that these people contract the virus, that they spread it to their elderly family members, that they are wiped out by the virus extend far beyond outrage. Death and suffering are just not things we should wish on others. It depletes us, strips us of our humanity.

And, it doesn’t make any sense. The virus isn’t Republican or a MAGA supporter. It just is. If these people get the virus, they create spikes of death and suffering for all of us.

I think it all boils down to fear. We are terrified. I am terrified. And fear so easily morphs into anger and rage. It is the flip side of fear. And they are easily nurtured when we have no control, when we are confused, when we face the unknown.

My neighbors gather most nights around their fire pit. They entertain their neighbors. I can’t see them and don’t know if they’re wearing masks, if they’re sitting six feet away from each other. But, I doubt they are. Part of me wonders what the hell they’re thinking. Another part enjoys their laughter and their friendships. I can tell you sincerely that I don’t wish them harm, however much I judge their choices.

I’m trying to nurture that gentleness. I’m trying to practice lovingkindness. I meditate regularly, and lately I’ve turned to lovingkindness meditations. I try wishing happiness and safety not just to myself and to my family and to my friends. But to my neighbors. To protestors, to maskless Wisconsinites.

I cannot with words or actions change their behavior. But, I can change mine. I can choose hope, gentleness, kindness. I can scroll past the images that trigger fear and anger.

I can dwell on my backyard and watch the blue jays fight with squirrels. I can sit very still as a chipmunk scurries just past my feet to her destination in the bushes behind me. I can hear my neighbors’ three kids squeal and splash sprinkler water on each other. I can feel a breeze on my arms and the warmth of the sun.

I can be grateful for the frontline workers, the docs and nurses, the grocery store clerks, the delivery people. I can miss my daughter and workout with her via Zoom. I can talk to her on the phone and talk about cooking and the details of our days, apart from each other.

I can sit here as I write, feeling sadness and worry and allow them to just be. I can let the fear and hate unspool.

Mary Gauthier is a favorite singer/songwriter of mine, and she wrote a song that I need to hear because we could all use a little mercy now.

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MONDAY, MAY 25

7:00 p.m. Volumes Bookcafé holds its audiobook book club discussion of Bubblegum.  Q&A with author Adam Levin follow at 8:00 p.m.

TUESDAY, MAY 26

11:00 a.m.  American Writers Museum presents a discussion with Catharine Arnold  about researching and writing her book Pandemic 1918: Eyewitness Accounts from the Greatest Medical Holocaust in Modern History and what it’s like to publish during a pandemic.

7:00 p.m. Major book launch at Women & Children First! Attend on Facebook Live. Tara Conklin talks with Elizabeth Wetmore about her new book Valentine. More about Elizabeth Wetmore here.

7:00 p.m.  Quimby’s presents Zine Club Online: Screens Edition! “We’ll be discussing self-published works about the moving images that keep us riveted to big and small screens alike.”

WEDNESDAY, MAY 27

6:30 p.m. City Lit’s Weird and Wonderful Book Club meets to discuss The Parable of the Sower by Octavia Butler.

THURSDAY, MAY 28

12:00 p.m. Bookends & Beginnings presents Literary Lunch Break. Short sample readings by contributors to Fury: Women’s Lived Experiences During the Trump Era, including editor Amy Roost, Dawn Marlan, Suzanne Clores, Lea Grover and Dina Elenbogen.

5:00 p.m. Chicago Ideas presents A Virtual Happy Hour with Samantha Irby. “Irby will sit down to talk through life in quarantine, using Irby’s new book Wow, No Thank You, as a jumping off point.”

6:30 p.m. City Lit presents John Warner, the Chicago Tribune’s Biblioracle in conversation with Kevin Guilfoyle. The Biblioracle will make persona book recommendations. Your chances of a personal “reading” are better if you email him in advance. Follow the link for instructions.

6:30 p.m. The American Writers Museum presents Dr. Manisha Sinha, scholar, historian and winner of the Frederick Douglass Book Prize for her book The Slave’s Cause. She will discuss the infinite legacy of Frederick Douglass in celebration of the Museum’s virtual exhibit, Frederick Douglass: Agitator

FRIDAY, MAY 29

7:00 p.m. Major book launch! Women & Children First presents Sonali Dev discussing Recipe for Persuasion with Alison Hammer on Facebook Live.

SATURDAY, MAY 30-SUNDAY, MAY 31

BookConline: National conference BookCon is online this year and it’s all weekend. Follow link for more information on panels, ARC giveaways and more.

2-year-old Lars is a low maintenance, incredibly sweet tabby. His favorite pastime is eating any and every amount of food you offer him (and a couple you don’t).

He’s incredibly curious and does not like to be left alone, he follows his fosterer all over the apartment.

Lars in not very cuddly (yet) but does like to curl up at the end of the bed or the couch, and he would be a great cat for someone who is home often and looking for a sweet companion.

Hyde Park Cats is a local, all-volunteer group dedicated to helping stray and homeless cats in and around Chicago’s Hyde Park. We received our 501(c)(3) status in 2014 and have had over 1,200 adoptions since our founding in 2008. See all our adoptable kitties on our webpage: http://hydeparkcats.org/adopt/

All of our cats are in loving foster homes, which means the cat you adopt will be familiar with the sounds, smells, and movements of life in a home and accustomed to living with humans. He or she has been interacting on a daily basis with people who know this particular cat intimately, and the foster mom or dad can tell you all about the cat’s individual personality, habits, preferences. You can’t judge a cat by its cover! And while we can’t predict the future or know everything about a cat, we can help you choose the cat who is right for you. We have an adoption application and an adoption fee, $125 for the adoption of one cat, or $250 for a pair. This fee goes towards covering their vet costs. All cats adopted out by us are neutered/spayed, micro-chipped, tested for FIV/FeLV, and treated with Revolution.

Not much gets Kafka the bulldog moving. He loves to spread out on the couch. He loves to lay around in the sun. He loves to cuddle up with my husband, my kids, or me. Even when we’re playing outside, he’s pretty content just to watch us… unless we bring out the soccer ball.

While we’ve been sheltering in place, Kafka has been even more lazy than usual. His blue, green, and white soccer ball sat in his part of the yard, largely untouched for the past few weeks.

Most days, Kafka the bulldog is super lazy.

But one day recently the kids brought out the other soccer balls. Their soccer balls. The ones that are still in pretty good condition, considering there are no teeth marks on them. They were all still fully inflated too. 

We’ve told the kids many, many times to keep those soccer balls away from Kafka. With his massive mouth, once he gets ahold of the ball, it can be hard to get it away from him. Once upon a time, when he was a younger, more active pup, we simply had to throw him another ball and he’d chase after the second ball. Repeat until somehow we were able to wrangle all the balls.

But these days, once he grabs onto a ball, he absolutely refuses to give it up. He has never mastered the command “drop,” especially if it’s for something he really, really wants. Rather, he basically turns it into a game of tug of war — and man, Kafka knows how to hold on.

Sometimes I’m able to get the ball away by very carefully kicking it while he’s holding it. Kafka actually adores this game (mostly because it usually takes a solid five or so kicks before it skitters away from him). If I stop trying to get the ball? He runs over and presses the ball against my legs.

So, on a sunny, beautiful day, we had all the soccer balls out. Kafka had his. My husband and I were kicking a ball back and forth. The kids each had their own. Don’t judge… they’re all different sizes, and the kids love to practice dribbling with their own ball. Plus, Kafka has claimed (a.k.a. destroyed) his fair share of balls over his nearly nine years. We need backups.

Kafka emerged from his slumber on the porch and decided he wanted — no, needed — to play with our soccer balls, rather than his, which was sitting mere feet from him. We tried kicking him his ball. No luck.

So we moved his 30-foot lead to the tree in the middle of the yard. (We don’t have a fence and our yard extends about 60 feet back). With his lead, we can — kind of — control where he’s located.

We decided: he’s not too fast anymore. He gets worn out easily. We could probably still play a bit with the soccer balls and wear him out at the same time, right?

Kafka watched my husband Tyler with one of the newer soccer balls. It gleamed white and yellow. I’m pretty sure Kafka has never laid his enormous mouth on it. He got into position to play. He kicked his rear legs back in the dirt, like a bull ready to race. This should have been our warning.

Tyler kicked the ball across the yard, and it shot out of Kafka’s range. One point for us. And then the kids kicked it… and Kafka dove, running faster than I’ve seen him run in ages. He grabbed at the ball right before I reached it.

Kafka popped the soccer ball, and he was so proud of himself. He carried the deflated ball around like a trophy.

POP.

Literally. The ball snapped from the pressure of his teeth. We heard a whoosh of air escaping the ball as it deflated.

The kids laughed. They didn’t care we were one ball down. And they loved that Kafka had defeated the ball.

Kafka loved it too. He sat there, mouth open wide, cradling the destroyed ball. It’s his now. He won. And he’s happy with it, because he carried that deflated soccer ball around like a trophy for the rest of the night.

Tonight’s City of Chicago edition of Public Affairs features Republican Cook County State’s Attorney Candidate Judge Patrick O’Brien, taped just prior to the primary election. The show airs throughout the City of Chicago proper at 8:30 pm and midnight on Cable Ch. 21 (CAN TV).

How does Judge Pat O’Brien stack up against State’s Attorney Kim Foxx. Is O’Brien more qualified for the job? Does O’Brien have better experience for the job due to his experience as a TRIAL LAWYER both in and out of the State’s Attorney office?

What is the Smollett–Kim Fox mess all about? Did Foxx do quite a few things very wrong (unethical or illegal), as many charge,  to cause the mess? Is it a FIRING offense? Who will do the FIRING if it is? THE PEOPLE? SPECIAL PROSECUTOR DAN WEBB? BOTH WEBB AND THE PEOPLE?

Who gets the credit for homicides declining in Chicago in last 3 years? THE BLAME FOR THE INCREASE IN HOMICIDES prior to COVID clearing the streets– until this weekend’s return of lethal homicides to the west and south sides of Chicago?

Is the Cook County bail policy a mess? If yes, who to blame? Chief Judge Evans? State’s Attorney Foxx, who has ratified Evans’ and Preckwinkle’s desire to go easy on bail, even for violent offenders– the revolving door, as Mayor Lightfoot used to put it for dangerous arrestees accused of weapons violations--until Lightfoot did a 180 and endorsed FOXX!

What are the most important qualifications to be Cook County State’s Attorney? Does Judge O’Brien have some of them? all of them? Does Foxx have the qualifications? The Right Stuff? O’Brien have the Right Stuff?   These and many more questions all answered tonight on Public Affairs

You can also watch the show featuring Judge Pat O’Brien 24/7 by clicking here.

Glen Campbell was an outstanding musician respected for his proficiency as a first-class guitarist and member of the WRECKING CREW(WC).  If you’re not familiar with the WC, you are probably familiar with the music they made.

The WC was made up of some of America’s greatest studio musicians who helped craft great tunes produced during the ’60s and the ’70s.  Like Campbell, they played on hits cut by Frank Sinatra, the Beach Boys, Sonny & Cher, the Monkeys, the Mamas & the Papas,  Phil Spector’s Wall of Sound productions, and numerous other mega-star recording artists who wanted nothing but the best on their 45’s and LP’s.  As a drummer, I admired from afar the great Hal Blaine, a key member of the WC, whose drum parts were integral to a song’s character like his opening bass drum riff that kicked off Herb Alpert’s Tijuana Brass rendition of A Taste of Honey– which initially was nothing more than a way to count off so that the musicians all started together in time.  The producer was so enamored by the riff that he decided to keep it in and one can’t even imagine now A Taste of Honey without it.

During my career at NBC, I had a chance to spend a day with Mr. Campbell.  NBC was the sponsor/presenter of a free concert featuring GC on a holiday in 1981 that took place in Chicago at the Grant Park Park Bandshell.  The man was a prince.  He was sensitive to the fact that I was spending the holiday with him and his band rather than with my family, who could not make the concert due to previous family commitments.

The song that closed out the concert, the one that drew without question the loudest applause was what GC’s wife (of 34 years upon his death) called his signature tune, The Wichita Lineman.  It’s a story featuring a telephone lineman who can literally hear the lines he works on singing in the wind.  While working on the line he overhears a conversation featuring a previous lover now sharing sweet nothings with her new beau.  The heart-rending lyrics accompanied by a rich melody resonated with the men and women of America who made it a hit.

I heard today that The Wichita Lineman was selected to be included in the Library of Congress National Recording Registry, which will ensure that the song can and will be heard by generations to come.  The Wichita Lineman was written by Jimmy Webb, a colleague turned close friend to Glenn after Campbell asked him to write a follow-up hit for him following a GC smash called By The Time I Get To Phoenix, also written by Webb.  After numerous calls by GC asking, “Is it done yet?” Webb delivered via messenger to GC what he considered an incomplete song but material worthy of consideration and more importantly – should  Webb finish the tune.  Webb didn’t hear a word from GC  and assumed that Glenn didn’t like the material.  Some six weeks later when the two men ran into each other, Webb began to apologize that his effort wasn’t up to par only to hear GC note that the tune was cooked and recorded.

At the bottom of this blog, you will find dear reader a link (heard on the national radio program 1-A produced by WAMU) that provides a wonderful recap by individuals still alive and willing to tell the history of the classic, The Wichita Lineman.

At a time when one of the few joys in life, MUSIC, has no RED/BLUE/PURPLE haze, enjoy how those in love with the craft were prone to GO DO GOOD on behalf of all of us.

The Sounds Of America: ‘Wichita Lineman’