Half an inch of water and you think you’re gonna drown …

By Mary Kay Roth 

 On a beautiful fall day, just as October began to offer us golden leaves and lovely crisp days, I was calmly sitting at a traffic light – my wee granddaughters strapped into their car seats – when a guy clobbered and rear-ended my car. The resulting jolt mashed the back of my Honda, scrambled everything inside and scared the living daylights out of my little girls. So, after calling the police, determining everyone was pretty much OK, and accepting that many of my bumper stickers were now endangered – I attempted to soothe frayed nerves. 

“That was exciting … Wow, what did you think when you heard that bang?” – to which six-year-old Scout replied: “I thought a T. Rex stepped on us.” 

Strangely enough, that pretty much sums up existence for me right now, as it does indeed feel like some huge monster has trampled our rituals, our traditions, our morality. 

This week, as we were still reeling from the most disgraceful Presidential debate of all times, we discovered our commander-in-chief has contracted COVID-19 - and I am struggling mightily to feel grace for the man who is ultimately responsible for 7.4 million cases of the virus in this country and 209,000 deaths.  And counting.

Perhaps not coincidentally, amidst the clamor of debates and car collisions, the lyrics of one of my favorite songs keeps rolling around in my head - a song written by beloved singer-songwriter John Prine, himself a victim of COVID-19.

    That's the way that the world goes 'round

    You're up one day, the next, you're down

    It's half an inch of water and you think you're gonna drown

    That's the way that the world goes 'round ... 

Thirty days until the election and I feel smashed and trashed, and pretty much drowning in half an inch of water.  I want to be wise and purposeful, but some days I can barely concentrate. My edges are raw, my head throbs. I'm tired of the abyss of Zoom and want hugs. People are stealing election signs in my neighborhood. Newsrooms are buying bullet-proof vests, just in case. And Halloween may very well not happen this year, strangely ironic for the holiday famous for masks.

When I consider the lyrics of that song, I believe it resonates because I feel a sense of helplessness right now.  It's like trying to solve a jigsaw puzzle with many pieces missing: the puzzle of staying safe in the middle of a global pandemic - in the middle of a vicious presidential campaign - in the middle of a time when our state and national leaders have pretty much deserted us. 

Do we zigzag? Pivot? Duck?

    That's the way that the world goes 'round

    You're up one day, the next, you're down ...

Generally, I have found comfort in dawn's early glow, planting daffodils, sunlight filtering through the paths of Wilderness Park.  This year a rumbling interferes with autumn's splendor as the barrage of 24-hour news clobbers me, just like that car.  Turn away for a moment and something newly god-awful comes along - seldom pulling you up but sending you further down the back hole.

Trust me, if it hasn't already, the pandemic will come to your doorstep.  Only recently, in my world, two daughters of good friends are battling the virus - one is feeling better, one was just diagnosed with pneumonia.  Several former work colleagues were hospitalized with COVID.  And my son contracted the virus this summer, his high fever and troubled breathing terrifying our entire family.  Certainly solidifying our votes. 

At least most of them. These days members of the Roth tribe generally vote as moderate liberals, but my whip-smart 17-year-old nephew changed course four years ago and determined Trump was the answer for America. When I sat down with him last weekend and tried my level best to listen, not argue, I asked about the pandemic. My nephew said Trump has wisely handed over the issue to governors, who have botched their responsibilities. A national mask mandate would take away state's rights, and case numbers have flared because of increased testing.  When I asked about the fundamental reason he supports Trump, his response was: "He is bringing back the spirit of good old-fashioned American family values and patriotism."

I adore my nephew and admire him for the courage to stand alone in our family. But oh, my dear young man, whose family values are we talking about?  There is most assuredly no one in our family who would mock someone who is physically impaired. No one who would fail to denounce white supremacy. No one who would devalue women, refugees and immigrants, people of varied ethnicities and backgrounds. And no one in our family would ignore the expertise of experts in a health crisis and choose callous ignorance over education, common decency and common sense.

    It's half an inch of water and you think you're gonna drown ...

These are surreal times with all of us running on empty right now, which explains why that "one more thing" will push us over the edge. A simple car accident had me in tears for days feeling vulnerable and exposed every time I got behind the wheel. 

Bottom line, my girls and I are ok. And it finally occurs to me, as I think about how we all stay safe in these scary times, we truly must consider the reality of relying on one another - and handling this ourselves.  We start, of course, by making sure we own a decent, sturdy car and strap ourselves in with seat belts.  We socially distance and wear masks.  We get our flu vaccine.  We wear life jackets.

And when faced with half an inch of water - we simply - stand up.

We stand up and rise above the tide, the lies, the malevolence.  We stand up and speak out.  We canvas.  We write postcards.  We make phone calls.

We do not trust polls.  We do not count up campaign signs. We do not take anything for granted.

We vote. Absentee or in person.  For the love of god, we vote.

    I was sitting in the bathtub counting my toes

    When the radiator broke, water all froze

    I got stuck in the ice without my clothes

    Naked as the eyes of a clown

    I was crying ice cubes, hoping I'd croak

    When the sun come through the window, the ice all broke

    I stood up and laughed, thought it was a joke

    That's the way that the world goes 'round.

John Prine died, along with so many others who did not need to die.  Thirty days out from the election, this is no joke.

Vote.

That's the way that the world goes 'round.