1960

DEAR GEORGE, 1960 was a momentous year. The Cold War was in full sway; France tested its first atomic bomb; Fidel Castro declared allegiance to communist Russia, nationalizing American oil and sugar companies; the Soviet Union downed a U-2 reconnaissance plane and imprisoned American pilot Francis Gary Powers. In my Upper Peninsula home town rumors circulated that Menominee could be mistaken for the Soo Locks from the air and become the target of a nuclear attack by Russian bombers. My father and my uncle Ralph converted a room in the basement of our family drugstore to an atom bomb shelter, stocking it with canned goods, barrels of water, a radio, magazines, and a portable toilet.

Katja and I were busy finishing our fifth and final year at Antioch College in Yellow Springs. She was the T.A. for Romance Languages, and I had the same job in the Psychology Department. My friend John N. and I both put off our year-long senior year projects till the last night and nearly flunked out. The entire campus was overjoyed when President Eisenhower signed the Civil Rights Act of 1960 to prevent voter disenfranchisement in the South. Antioch students had carried out one of the nation’s first sit-ins to protest discrimination at a local segregated barber shop. Because Katja’s parents were unhappy about our pending marriage, we held our wedding at the Quaker chapel on the Antioch campus in August. My future father-in-law told my father he was certain we would be divorced within a year, and my dad took us aside the night before the ceremony and told us in no uncertain terms that Lundgrens never get divorced. We’re sure it’s one of the reasons that we stuck together for the next sixty years.

On September 1st we moved to Ann Arbor for graduate school, Katja in French and me in Social Psychology. We found a second-floor apartment at Mrs. Quackenbush’s house on Brookwood St., a five-minute walk from campus. Having come from a small liberal arts college, we were very skeptical (and snooty) about going to a huge public university. However, we immediately discovered that the U. of M. was amazing and Ann Arbor was a wonderful college town. Much to our surprise, we started going to all of Michigan’s home football games (we lost to Ohio State in 1960, 7-0). Katja bought a German Shepherd puppy who we named Heather, and she got a job at Faber’s Fabrics to help keep us a step ahead of poverty. We opened our first checking account and were called in by the bank and told not to cash a separate check for every $2.00 purchase that we made. The FDA had approved the pill as an oral contraceptive in the summer of 1960, and the Ann Arbor Planned Parenthood was made one of the first distribution sites. Katja signed up on the first day, and we fantasized that she might have been the first woman in America to be on the pill.

The war in Viet Nam was growing, and, with 900 military advisers already in South Viet Nam, President Eisenhower announced that the U.S. would be sending an additional 3,500 troops. Michigan, along with Berkeley and Columbia, was soon to become the site of massive anti-war protests. Home on vacation, I visited my local draft board which assured me that my graduate school enrollment would prevent my being drafted in the near future. John F. Kennedy and Richard Nixon were running for president, squaring off in the first televised presidential debates, and, along with millions in our generation, we became fervent Kennedy supporters. In October JFK came to Ann Arbor for a major speech (in which he introduced his idea for the Peace Corps), and Katja and I joined the huge crowd in front of the Michigan Student Union. Kennedy was several hours late, and around ten o’clock, when somebody accidentally stepped on our puppy Heather’s front foot, we decided not to stay for the historic address.

We voted in our first presidential election, and Kennedy won by a narrow margin of 112 thousand votes out of 68 million cast. Kennedy carried Menominee County, 5,857 to 5,064. On the home front, we went to the movies most Saturday nights at the Michigan or the State Theater: Ben-Hur, Psycho, The Apartment, Exodus, La Dolce Vita, Spartacus, etc. Charlton Heston and Simone Signoret won the best acting Oscars. Many other notable things happened in 1960. Elvis came back from his two years of military service in Germany, and Chubby Checker introduced The Twist on the Dick Clark Show. “Its Bitsy Teenie Weenie Yellow Polkadot Bikini” reached #1 on the Billboard charts. The Anne Frank House opened in Amsterdam. The Flintstones premiered on ABC. Wilt Chamberlain set an NBA playoff record, scoring 53 points against the Syracuse Nationals. Lew Burdette of the Milwaukee Braves pitched a perfect game against the Phillies (just 27 pitches). Hugh Hefner opened the first Playboy Club in Chicago. Adolph Eichmann was captured by the Israelis in Argentina and later hanged for his role in the Holocaust. The Surgeon General reported the initial findings that smoking causes lung cancer (launching my twenty-year struggle to quit). The Philadelphia Eagles beat Vince Lombardi’s Packers, 17-13, in the NFL championship game. Ted Williams hit his 500th home run, Cassius Clay (a.k.a. Muhammad Ali) won his first professional fight against Tunney Hunsaker, and the U.S. hosted the Winter Olympics in Squaw Valley, California. Grandma Moses turned 100. The Beatles had their first public gig in Hamburg, Germany. All in all, a year to remember. LOVE, DAVE

What I've Learned From The Pandemic

DEAR GEORGE, Our lives have been significantly altered for over a year because of the coronavirus pandemic. With growing hope that we might return to normal in the foreseeable future, I find myself trying to figure out what it has all meant to me. Here are my thoughts so far. LOVE, DAVE.

(1) The pandemic is like prison. The pandemic means different things to different people. One of my acquaintances loves working at home and dreads returning to the office. Another is mourning the loss of both of his parents to the virus. For Katja and myself it’s been mostly a matter of home imprisonment — confined to the house, cut off from contact with friends, most of our normal world inaccessible. Life’s pleasures typically involve going places and doing things, and fourteen months of restrictiveness have resulted in a felt loss of control and bouts of boredom and hopelessness. (2) My wife is a pretty good cell-mate. Despite divorce filings rising 34% during the pandemic, I’d say that we fellow prisoners have actually been more mutually supportive than we normally are. Together in the same boat, we’ve managed to share a few laughs every day. (3) The pandemic is a major test. In the most dire circumstances the pandemic has meant coping with the death of loved ones, job losses, business failures, neighborhood decay. In my own case it’s been more a question of resourcefulness — how to restructure my life in meaningful ways, given the loss of so many options. (4) My grade is a C-. A year ago I made a list of things I could do more of. Start a new home exercise program, read more books, do an art project, study Spanish, write more poetry. As with my New Year’s resolutions, I failed at all of these. Personal change is difficult to bring about. My only significant adjustment has been to watch more TV. That’s o.k. — I enjoy watching TV and it’s entertaining. But it’s also lazy and nonproductive. (5) Others are alien beings (and so are we). Out on the street most of us wear masks, concealing our faces, smiles, and nonverbal expressions. When passing on the sidewalk people move as far apart as possible, sometimes stepping into the gutter or onto an adjacent lawn. We now live in a world where everyone else is a potential threat to one’s well-being (and we ourselves are threats to others). How alienated can the populace be? (6) The pandemic is politicized. One might think the pandemic to be a public health matter, but, thanks to an unnamed former president, it’s a political monstrosity as well. Half the country (the other half) is the enemy. I feel angry when I see people in indoor spaces who refuse to wear masks; resent the millions who choose not to be vaccinated; and, with the exception of Gov. Dewine, am generally disgusted with the actions of red-state governors. It’s amazing that we can’t find more common ground since everyone faces the same global disaster. (7) Social isolation isn’t all bad. Some people have prospered during the pandemic. The takeout restaurant down the street is doing a whopping business. For myself I find that my faulty hearing has been largely “cured” during the pandemic (thanks to TV closed captions and lack of conversations). I also suffer much less from social anxiety (given minimal social contact). Much of the time I feel more at peace than I did before the pandemic. (8) One solution is a sense of mission. After months of stagnation, I rediscovered a major task that I’d put off for years and years. We have an upstairs room that I regard as my “junk room”. It’s filled with stuff that I’ve accumulated over forty plus years — treasures from yard sales, antique stores, flea markets, etc. The piles of stuff grew out of control a decade or two ago, and I’ve long been thinking about cleaning it up. With so much new free time, it seemed like my chance had come. The job took about a month, but I was totally engrossed and managed to create order out of chaos. This was my most satisfying accomplishment during the past year. (9) Family is the bulwark. We would have had a much harder time, were it not for the support of our sweet family in New Orleans. J, K, and the kids flew up last month, and, with all of the adults vaccinated, we did a lot of activities that we’d foregone for a year: the zoo, out to eat at a fancy restaurant, multiple thrift shops, Findlay Market and Jungle Jim’s, three-ways at Skyline Chili. They gave us concrete hope that our lives were changing for the better. (10) Dogs help too. Dogs don’t worry at all about the pandemic. If anything, they appreciate getting petted and walked more. My son J. drove up from New Orleans in March 2020 on his way to California and left their miniature schnauzer, Iko, with us. Having this furry bundle of energy in the house has made our lives much more lively and enjoyable. (11) Returning to “normal” is a challenge. With the exception of our recent family visit, Katja and I continue to pretty much shelter in place. Keeping isolated seems to have become our fixed pattern, and sometimes I worry it will go on forever. We need to take some more baby steps to break free.

BAD HEARING FOLLIES

DEAR GEORGE, As you know, my hearing isn’t a hundred percent. Actually it’s improved a lot during the pandemic (since I rarely talk to anyone), but it’s still shaky enough that it can leave me muddling through public situations. For the most part, these are harmless but amusing encounters. I try to keep track of examples in my daily diary. Here are a few. LOVE, DAVE

HELPING OUT A STRANGER. Sometimes I’ll ask people to repeat what they said when I don’t get it. Other times, when it’s less important, I just fake it. The other day, for example, I was taking photos of the flowering trees on Ludlow Ave. A middle-aged man approached me on the sidewalk and said something like,“Is grat houch dooling arn the narket?” “Yes,” I said confidently. “I knew it,” he said, shaking his head vigorously. Then, double-checking, he asked, “That one?” and pointed to the house directly in front of us.“No,” I said cluelessly, “that one down there”, and I pointed in the general direction of the house next door. Suddenly it dawned on me that he’d asked me if the house we were in front of was going on the market. Too embarrassed to correct my misinformation, I sped up my walking pace, leaving my innocent victim in a state of befuddlement.

MY ERRONEOUS MEDICAL RECORD. When I went in recently for a medical checkup, the nurse went over my recent history, going through her list to see whether I’d been experiencing various symptoms (e.g., unexpected weight gain, chest pains, dizziness, medication allergies, etc.). As she read through the list, I said “no” for most of them. Sometimes, though, I didn’t quite hear what she said, so I just said “no” to those too. Later I decided that that might not be the best way of going about it since incorrect information could affect my treatment. I have survived so far though.

MYSTERY LUNCH. Returning from the dentist, I came upon a Long John Silver’s. I looked over the drive-through menu and decided on the two-piece fish lunch. The woman over the staticky loudspeaker said, “Would you like to try a kkrccash mnintrop vrvv? It’s $5.99.” She had a high-pitched voice which always gives me trouble, so I asked her to repeat it. She said, “Would you like to try a ppraavckr menffllk fibber? Only $5.99.” So I said, “Yes, that’s what I want.” She asked if I would like some Krrmlkfszces with that, and I said no thank you. It only took a minute or two to get my order, and I pulled into a space in their parking lot to eat. I was curious about my mystery lunch. Actually it turned out well: one piece of fish, one crabcake, four fried shrimp, French fries, and coleslaw. I’d order it again next time but I don’t know what to ask for.

MY FAVORITE SUPPER. The other night Katja brought in a delicious meal to the table. “What’s this?” I asked. “Chicken pot pie,” I heard her say. “Oh great, my favorite, chicken pot pie.” “No,” Katja replied, “chicken pot pie.” “Yes, chicken pot pie — my favorite,” I said. She spoke slowly and articulated carefully, “Chicken Pad Thai.” “Oh, Chicken Pad Thai, I didn’t think this looked like chicken pot pie.” In any case, it was tasty. The next day I sat down and Katja brought in another plate. “Chicken pot pie,” she said. “Oh, Chicken Pad Thai,” I replied. “No, chicken pot pie,” she said. “Are you saying Chicken Pad Thai?” I asked. As it turned out it actually was chicken pot pie this time. I gave up trying to get it right.

Winston and the Creatures

DEAR GEORGE, My household project this past month has been to clean up the attic room in which I’ve stored detritus that I’ve accumulated over the past four decades (e.g., 1970s magazines, old encyclopedias, antique photos and postcards). Thousands and thousands of items. What a mess. Most of it is useless, though, now and then, I’ve run across items of sentimental value. One of these is a story I’d written in February 1989 about our Bedlington Terrier Winston and the wild creatures that invaded our house and property. It brought back lots of memories, so I thought I would post it here.

“On a chilly Sunday morning at the beginning of the month we slept late, only to be awakened by Winston’s incessant barking. He was pawing wildly at the bedroom door, and he somehow managed to nudge it open, then dashed headlong down the stairwell. Katja followed him to check out the commotion, and moments later she was screaming uncontrollably from the kitchen. Our next-door neighbor was standing on the back porch with a baseball bat in hand. As Katja sobbed, the neighbor explained that two dogs roaming free had attacked our rabbit hutch to get at our bunnies, Jasper and Moonbeam. The dogs had run off when our neighbor approached, but the rabbits’ hearts had burst, and they lay dead on the floor of the hutch. We buried them solemnly next to the porch and grieved for days.

“Two weeks later Katja came in from the back porch, yelling urgently to me to come downstairs. She pointed out the back door. There on the porch, rummaging about the plastic garbage bags, was a full-grown opossum — an ugly brute, large, almost Winston’s size, with a pale whiskered face and a tail like a rat’s. I thought momentarily about trying to catch him, but the sight of him staring back at me made me nervous, and we left him alone.

“On the following Wednesday night, I was working at my office after Evening College when Katja called on the phone. She was sobbing, and I couldn’t make out her words. Something about Winston. As it turned out, she had stepped out on the porch to walk the dog. The 40-pound bag of dog food had been knocked over, and a large tail was protruding from it. Winston leaped at the intruder, and Katja slipped on the rain-soaked stairs, landing on her arm and back. Before she could recover Winston had the opossum by the neck and was shaking it to and fro. I raced home, and Katja was waiting for me. She explained that Winston had momentarily let go of the animal, and she’d pulled him back into the house. She assumed that the opossum was dead, but, when she looked back out, he had vanished. Winston was banned from our bed for the next two nights.

“Then, yesterday, I heard Katja screaming from downstairs again. (For unknown reasons, I am never at the scene of these events.) Winston was racing madly through the living room, and as I stepped into the foyer, a large bird flew past me and caromed off the front door window. Maybe a starling, I’m not sure. With the dog madly in chase, the bird zoomed through the living room, dining room, kitchen, and back again, bouncing off one window after the next. I tied Winston up and opened the front and back doors. Within a minute our aerial visitor was gone.

“These are, I must say, peculiar and trying times. As a lifelong city-dweller, Katja is a bit undone. Having grown up in the country, I take it more in stride. Winston is stimulated and full of fervor. This February, without question, has been the highlight of his mostly uneventful life. All in all, we’ve mad enough excitement from the wild creatures to last the rest of the year.” LOVE, DAVE

The Turning Point?

DEAR GEORGE, In the grand scheme of things, this is a significant time. One year ago the nation went into a pandemic lockdown, and our lives changed drastically, becoming much more constricted. With more and more vaccinations given every day, we may be seeing the light at the end of the tunnel. In the midst of this medical crisis, we’ve also just ended the worst four-year presidency in American history, and we’re seeing a gradual restoration of democracy. 2021 looks more hopeful by the day.

Katja and I got our second Moderna vaccination last month, and, paradoxically, I seem to have gotten more depressed as a consequence. While you’d think this would be exhilarating, virtually nothing in our life has changed. I’m choosing not to do online OLLI classes or to go out to restaurants or other public places. No travelling, no gatherings with friends. My doctor has advised me not to return to the fitness center for a couple of months. In part because of my own lack of creativity, the last twelve months have been a loss of priceless time.

On the up side, there are signs of spring everywhere in our neighborhood — yellow flowers, the first white flowering tree blooming outside the bank, green buds on the shrubs and trees. I counted fifteen dandelions on our morning dog walk. Patrons are starting to return to our Ludlow Avenue restaurants, and the art museum resumed its normal hours last week. Perhaps we’ll soon start normalizing too.

One significant event in our household is that the repair technician came last week to restore our Hammond Chord organ that has been languishing for decades in my upstairs junk room. My parents bought the chord organ in the early 1950’s so that we children would have the opportunity to play music. Though not the most complex or sophisticated instrument, Vicki and I were serious aficionados. When Vic and Doris sold our house on the river in the early 1970’s, Katja and I rented a U-Haul trailer and brought the chord organ to Cincinnati. The last time it was played was about 1990 when J crooned love songs to K, his college sweetheart. I’ve been playing it for about an hour a day for the last week. The pages of music have turned yellow, but the books are full of great classics (e.g., Old Buttermilk Sky; Five Foot Two, Eyes of Blue; I’m Getting Sentimental Over You), and I’m amazed at how quickly playing the chord organ comes back.

We do have other exciting times coming up. J and family are coming to Cincinnati in April for a weeklong visit, and Katja and I will go to California in July for her niece’s wedding. I plan to return to the fitness center by early summer, I hope that my writers’ group will start meeting by then, and I expect that OLLI will resume in-person classes in the fall. Time to break out of my funk and start enjoying life again. LOVE, DAVE

Netflix and Amazon Prime Favorites

DEAR GEORGE, Like the rest of the world, we’ve watched a lot more TV than usual in the past twelve months of the pandemic, and we’ve run across many enjoyable offerings that we might not have otherwise seen. Katja and I both are drawn to murder mysteries, action thrillers, and BBC productions. Katja also likes historical dramas, biographies, and documentaries, while I lean toward comedies, sci-fi, and horror. Of the approximately one hundred shows that we’ve watched in recent months, here are our top ten favorite series currently available on Netflix and on Amazon Prime. I’ve also included Rotten Tomatoes Tomatometer scores for each show [RT]. LOVE, DAVE

TOP TEN, NETFLIX: (#1) Schitt’s Creek. (Comedy) Rich video magnate Johnny Rose and his family find themselves broke and are forced to regroup in Schitt’s Creek. [RT = 93%]; (#2) Breaking Bad. (Crime/drama) A high school chemistry teacher ill with cancer turns to manufacturing meth to secure his family’s future. [RT = 96%]; (#3) Pose. (Drama) The story of ball culture and the gay and trans community in the late 80s and early 90s during the AIDS crisis. [RT = 96%]; (#4) The Crown. (Biography/drama) The political rivalries and romances of Queen Elizabeth II’s reign during the second half of the twentieth century. [RT = 91%]; (#5) The Good Place. (Comedy/drama/fantasy) Four people and their mentor struggle in the afterlife to define what it means to be good. [RT = 97%]; (#6) Fauda. (Action/drama/thriller) The human stories on both sides of the Israel-Palestine conflict. [RT = 100%]; (#7) The Assassination of Gianni Versace: American Crime Story. (Crime/drama) Explores the murder of designer Gianni Versace by spree killer Andrew Cunanan. [RT = 89%]; (#8) The Last Kingdom. (Action/drama/history) As Alfred the Great defends his kingdom from Norse invaders, Uhtred seeks to claim his ancestral birthright. [RT = 91%]; (#9) Marcella. (Mystery/drama) Having left the Metropolitan Police for her family’s sake, Marcella returns to her job on the murder squad. [RT = 70%]; (#10) The Sinner. (Crime/drama/mystery) An anthology series that examines why ordinary people commit brutal crimes. [RT = 90%].

TOP TEN, AMAZON PRIME: (#1) The Night Manager. (Crime/mystery/drama) The night manager of a Cairo hotel is recruited to infiltrate an arms dealer’s inner circle. [RT = 91%]; (#2) The Durrells in Corfu. (Biography/cmedy/drama) Based on the real-life events of the Durrell family as they resettle from England to Greece. [RT = 94%]; (#3) Curb Your Enthusiasm. (Comedy) The life and times of Larry David and the predicaments he gets himself into. [RT = 92%]; (#4) Goliath. (Drama) A disgraced lawyer gets a case that could bring him redemption. [RT = 82%]; (#5) Mozart in the Jungle. (Comedy/drama/music) A brash new maestro stirs up the New York Symphony as young oboist Hailey hopes for her big chance. [RT = 94%]; (#6) The Americans. (Crime/drama/mystery) At the height of the cold war two Russian agents pose as an average American couple complete with family. [RT = 96%];(#7) Line of Duty. (Crime/drama/mystery) Follows the investigations of AC-12, a controversial police anti-corruption unit. [RT = 100%]; (#8) Get Shorty. (Comedy/crime) The adventures of a mobster-turned-movie producer in Hollywood. [RT = 95%]; (#9) A Very English Scandal. (Biography/comedy/crime) British Liberal Party leader Jeremy Thorpe is accused of conspiracy to murder his gay ex-lover. [RT = 97%]; (#10) Vikings. (Action/adventure/drama)m The brutal and mysterious world of Ragnar Lothbrok, a Viking warrior who years to explore and raid the distant shores across the ocean. [RT = 93%];

A Quick Chat at City Lights

DEAR GEORGE, I was saddened recently to read that Lawrence Ferlinghetti, counter-culture poet and founder of San Francisco’s City Lights Bookstore, had died at the age of 101. Ferlinghetti has always been one of my favorite poets, and, because we Antiochians regarded ourselves as fledgling beatniks, he was a significant role model in my youth. I actually met Ferlinghetti briefly when I was spending the summer of 1959 in San Francisco. I’d driven out before my final year of college to decide, once and for all, whether or not to devote my life to becoming a writer. I saw an ad for a poetry reading by Ferlinghetti at City Lights and decided to go. The Beat Generation had been around for five or six years, and San Francisco (and the City Lights Bookstore specifically) was one of its major centers, drawing icons like Jack Kerouac, Allen Ginsberg, and Gregory Corso. Ferlinghetti had recently published his first collection, “A Coney Island of the Mind”, and he was reading selections. By the time I arrived the bookstore was packed to capacity, and employees were putting the few remaining chairs up on the stage. As it turned out, I took the last seat, right next to Ferlinghetti himself who was already at the podium. Before the reading started, he turned to me and asked if I were a writer. I said that I was trying to be and explained that I’d come to the city from Antioch to devote myself to writing fiction. When I expressed dismay at the string of rejection letters I’d gotten, Ferlinghetti was encouraging and said he’d gone through the same start to his own career. That filled me with inspiration and I churned out a dozen more short stories during my remaining month in San Francisco. All of them were rejected, of course. The following summer Katja and I got married and moved to Ann Arbor for grad school, that proving to be the end of my beatnik days as well as my quasi-writing career. However, I still have good memories of my exciting encounter at the City Lights Bookstore. LOVE, DAVE

Is Someone In Danger?

DEAR GEORGE: Because of being isolated during the pandemic, I find myself seeking social contact by paying more attention to my neighbors’ conversations on our local NextDoor website. While much of the discussion is about dog poops, lost pets, or people not shoveling their sidewalks, every now and then there is a topic which grabs my attention. This happened the other day when Janelle P. posted a comment titled, “Is someone in danger?” Janelle explained that she regularly drives by a local home that has an American flag flying upside down from the flagpole. It makes her uneasy but she’s not comfortable knocking on the door to check it out. She wonders if it’s a silent call for help. Perhaps someone who is being abused or is being held captive. Since it’s illegal to fly an American flag upside down, it could well be a life or death situation. Danny D. replied promptly, explaining that an upside down flag is a “universal sign of distress”, just like SOS. He agreed with Janelle that flying the flag that way is a very serious issue. He suggested law enforcement needs to do a wellness check on the owner and the property. Not everybody agreed with this suggestion however. Pete J. said that with all the unarmed people getting killed by police who come to their door, calling the police should be a last resort. Martha K. thought it better to call the VFW or the DAR. Jason B. suggested asking a concerned neighbor to check, saying, “Hey I wanted to make sure you’re aware your flag is upside down.” Malcolm L. said that years ago his grandmother’s neighbor, who was a veteran, hung his flag out every morning. When he hung it upside down one morning, his neighbors were worried. They checked on him and found he’d had a stroke, probably just as he was hanging the flag. Thank goodness the neighbors checked. Apparently confused, Peggy G asked, “What exactly is the purpose of this post? I’m trying to figure out how it helps our neighborhood.” Linda K. simply concluded, “The USA is in trouble.” Janelle then updated her original post, reporting that she did call the police and asked them to do a wellness check. According to Janelle, “the dispatcher made it obvious she thought I was a little crazy…and maybe I am.” Alex P. said, “Good Job Janelle!” The discussion took an abrupt turn when Martha S. reported that she knows of two houses on her street that fly the American flag upside down in response to Biden being elected president. It is their way of saying that our country is in distress. Max J. said he has no use at all for the protest message, but he doesn’t deny their freedom to express their opinion. A lot of other people agreed with this. Bobby R. then revealed that he hangs his flag upside down. “It’s to symbolize our countries distress becuase we no longer have a democracy since the election was clearly hacked and stolen. Dark times we live in.” Bobby’s disclosure pretty much ended the discussion, and Janelle cancelled the thread, noting that 50% of her neighbors think her a quack job and 50% think her observant and caring. She thanked all for their opinions and helpful suggestions. I was sorry the conversation came to an end, but the mystery had been solved. LOVE, DAVE