It was probably around 1976 or so, maybe a bit earlier. My partner and I had just decided to incorporate our newspaper business and expand to communities outside our own. He was a minister, I was a guidance counselor. Neither of us had a clue about running a business. We just knew we needed to keep going what we'd begun.

Doug Leonhardt and his partner, Bob Sisko, had begun a computer consulting service, Solar Systems, Inc. We agreed we needed their expertise for our bookkeeping, and our 21-year relationship took off like a rocket. Every Friday, Doug trekked to Berlin to pick up our raw sales data. First thing Monday, he came back with our ledger, receivables, payables... everything we needed to function as a business. In his spare time, Doug coached me in rudimentary bookkeeping skills. To this day, I can't let even a stray penny keep me from reconciling my checkbook. I hear Doug scolding me to find that penny before it multiplied in subsequent months.

In off hours, Bob took dance lessons at Arthur Murray and entered competitions. He was good. Often, I stood in for his dance partner and loved every minute. We polkaed, waltzed and swung, foxtrotted and two-stepped. Bob was a natural; I struggled to keep up.

We were good friends. When the Rocky Horror Picture Show came out, we bundled into our cars every Friday night and went to the TLA (Theater of the Living Arts) on South Street in Philadelphia. Bob dressed as Dr. Frank-n-Furter and Doug as Dr. Scott. We laughed until we cried, danced and pranced and acted with the characters on the screen.

Eventually, my paper went to new owners, not without a great deal of sadness and regret. Doug taught me how to balance my books but he couldn't teach me how to be a good manager. I had to walk away with virtually nothing to show for my years at a job I loved. 

Doug and Bob moved to South Carolina. We kept in touch sporadically over the years. About ten years ago, he traveled north to visit friends and we met for lunch. When he joined Facebook, he posted his high school graduation photo, with a smart remark so characteristic of him.

About a month ago, something told me to call. I already knew Bob had passed a few years earlier and I was concerned about Doug. It was then I learned he had congestive heart failure, was in hospice care at home and wouldn't live long. We talked for some time...well, he asked me to talk so he wouldn't tire and I told him all my family news. Then we reminisced about our friendship and the years we had together.

Last Thursday, I called again. Weaker this time, he wasn't able to say much. I told him I loved him; he said "You, too." He said he was waiting, ready to leave. At 84, he'd lived a happy life.

Doug passed the following afternoon. He went as he wished...at home, where he and Bob had lived for so many years. All I can say is rest in peace, my friend.

Now we can breathe easier

 It's over. It's been a long four years.

More like forty, I guess. It's been so painful, so chaotic, I haven't been able to put thoughts down that satisfactorily expressed my anger, confusion and distress.

I'm like many Americans in that regard. We woke each morning wondering what awful thing would happen next, what new tweet would rain destruction on someone's reputation, some cherished program adopted to help those who needed it or to protect our planet.

We weren't disappointed. The midnight rantings kept coming.

Now, I write this knowing some who read it will already be ready to trash it, label it liberal nonsense and go back to their own tribalistic way of thinking. Fine. You're entitled.

But, in light of what we've survived, I'm proud to say the liberal label is part of what defines me. All of the liberal policies and regulations and successfully adopted causes have made life better for the 98%. They've given equality to the LGBTQ community, worked to create jobs, strengthen unions, give women equality and the right to control their own health options, and a slew of good things too numerous to list.

Yep, I'm a liberal, so imagine how hard the past four years have been on folks like me. Thousands of lies and distortions (thirty plus thousand, to be exact), name-calling, insults to great Americans like John McCain and Gold Star families, roughshod treatment of constitutional laws and norms... again too much to list.

It's over. Oh yes, I'm sure the cult of this past president will surface on social media and perhaps foment more violence in our nation's capital city and the Capitol itself. He won't be gone until the trial in the Senate is over and the verdict is pronounced. He won't be gone until the only place we see his name is in the headlines from the New York State law enforcement people who have a laundry list of charges to level at him now that he's not protected by the office he tarnished.

It was a refreshing, sweet and solemn Inauguration Day. I even felt warmth for George W. and Laura, who have been good public servants. I was almost proud of Mike Pence for upholding dignity for the absent president, who only showed how small a man he is by being petty and sulking on Air Force One while a real president was taking the oath. Being a loser is hard for a man like him.

It's over. I, and others who think like me, can breathe easier. We can watch the news without cringing with embarrassment or yelling at the screen with rage. Perhaps our blood pressure will return to a healthy level. 

It's over. An honest and fair election, vetted scores of times by courts across the land, gave us a new lease on life. Whatever comes our way now has to be far better than what came before. 

Week Nine of pandemic life

It has become a way of life, this pandemic.
Checking stats each day to see if New Jersey's curve is beginning to flatten.
Looking out the window just to admire the greening of the trees in our backyard.
Walking around the neighborhood, saying hello to people I don't know.
Vowing to know more of them when this is over.

My life has been on the indoor side for years anyway.
As an editor, I spend hours at the computer, often losing track of the time of day.
So being in the house isn't hard for me at all.
But for nine weeks?
With only a trip to the drugstore or a ride in the country to break the monotony?

Having an appointment with one of my doctors seems like a real treat.
A few minutes spent, yes masked, but sitting a few feet away from someone else.

What I am having the worst time with is my anger.
Daily, I watch tv footage of people marching, often armed, demanding that states lift restrictions, go back to "normal."
I listen to the medical authorities who say this unusual virus has already mutated once and is more contagious than it was at first.
I don't want to stay indoors for another two months, three months or more.
I want our curve to flatten enough that we can move about, carefully and with common sense, without sheer terror of contracting the virus.

But every person out there who is chomping at the bit to go to a restaurant, walk through a supermarket or attend a sporting event, puts me at risk. Puts my family at risk. Puts everyone with whom he/she comes in contact at risk.

How dare they?
How dare they put their selfish demands above the well-being of others?
How dare they force this quarantine to last...and last... and last.

Their selfishness is disgusting.

Yes, I am sympathetic to those small business owners who are suffering the loss of their livelihoods.
Yes, I believe some can open safely if they follow guidelines and rules.

But many Americans don't do that.
They think they are so exceptional that rules and guidelines only stifle their freedoms, not keep them safe.

We raise our kids to be concerned with others, to take care of people, to follow the Golden Rule.
Well, being outdoors in large groups, unmasked, standing shoulder to shoulder, while a vicious virus is still circulating from person to person is simply stupid.

And as a lot of people have been saying lately, you can't fix stupid.
You can only hope stupid isn't contagious and that eventually stupid is forced to conform to smart.