Featured

Gapstow Bridge and Plaza Hotel in Fog

gapstowandplazainfog

Manhattan, A Photographer’s Journey by Henry Barnard

My Story

Digital download of the JPEG file for this photograph.

If you buy this photograph, I will be sending you an email in a day or two with a link to its JPG file. You will then download the file into your computer in its Download or Picture folder or whichever folder you choose. You can use it on your PC as you will, just to look at now and then or as a screen saver after you configure your computer to use it as such. Up to you.

$2.00

A Retiree and the Virus

Trying to limit my trips to the supermarket to one trip per week to reduce exposure. As a retiree, it’s my only contact with people, so it’s my one serious risk. When the pandemic gets much worse, I may not go at all.

I’ve ordered masks online but after I ordered them found out they are made in China. Dang. China not known for quality control, to say the least. Would be pretty ironic to catch the virus from one of these masks from China. Not sure if I’m going to use them or not. I may just let them sit for a week or so to make sure they aren’t contaminated.

Strange virus if you think about it.  So many who are infected are asymptomatic but then the virus is also a killer — go figure. The obvious question is why are some people asymptomatic? Must have something to do with the strength of their immune system, I would guess. But what exactly?  Is anyone asking that question?

Penalty for Coronavirus?

Stock Market Bulls

All time high in the stock market, 3386, occurred on Feb. 19 — about a full month AFTER the US discovered there had been a terrible outbreak of the coronavirus in China. For that whole month, the market kept going higher despite the obvious threat this posed. Anyone with any kind of insight into that threat should have been selling, not buying. Hindsight is 20/20; foresight is 0/20.

How Coronavirus Kills

How Coronavirus Kills

From what I’ve been able to piece together, the virus invades the lungs and ultimately leads to pneumonia.  Pneumonia kills by causing a severe inflammation in the alveoli, and this inflammation fills the alveoli with so much liquid that oxygen can no longer traverse the alveoli and enter the blood vessels, so the person in effect suffocates.

What I’ve come across that’s interesting here is that vitamin D has a protective effect against upper respiratory infections.  Don’t know how this happens or why, but I wonder whether getting adequate amounts of vitamin D might mitigate a coronavirus infection in the lungs to the point where the person does not have a pneumonia phase.  Just a thought.

Would be interesting to know just how vitamin D fights against and mitigates upper respiratory illnesses.

Alveoli

Vitamin D and Respiratory Infections

A Music Like No Other

Sunday afternoon at 2 p.m. was the start of the big race of the week, this time for the adults, with their sleek, knife-like Knockabouts, equipped with mainsail and jib and sporting a colorful spinnaker downwind to boot.  They raced the “real” sailboat; while the young raced single-mainsail-only Beetlecats on Tuesdays and Thursdays, a kind of trainer sailboat if you will, as there was just the one sail to manage.

There would be a 10-minute gun from the little canon on the balcony of the yacht club, a horn at one minute, and the final blast of that little, mighty-mite canon to start the whole shebang.  And so the Knockabouts, once dawdling about, inconclusively, behind the starting line, would be off, instantly forming a wedge-like shape of a mass of sailboats, all on the same tack in a very big hurry to get somewhere, while jousting for position and menacing each other with threats of right of way.  The wedge-like shape would be pointed at the front, thick at the middle, and taper off at the end with a few hapless stragglers.

What I remember most about those adult, Sunday-afternoon races was not the races themselves — after all, I was still a boy and did not participate — but what always happened after the race was over.  What happened after the race is still and will always be one of my fondest memories, and perhaps the point in my life, though very early in my life, when I was at most peace with the world at large.

After the race concluded, some of the Knockabouts would tie up right at the dock of the yacht club, while others would go back to their nearby home moorings.  But after each skipper and crew disembarked, their next destination was foreordained: the Waquoit Bay Yacht Club itself.  All the members of the club would descend en masse upon the yacht club, arms full with a cornucopia of hors d’oeuvres, pastries, casseroles, chocolates, and myriad delectables, on dishes, on pans, on whatever the bringer of good tidings could muster — a movable feast descending on this unique location for everyone’s mutual delight and temptation.

This was my introduction to deviled eggs, the pungency of olives, and other treats mouth-wateringly indescribable.  And while I do have a high opinion of all those delectables that I made off with (as in snatched) like a nimble thief in the night, what I really remember best about that crowded, yacht-club floor, for the get-together after the Sunday race, was the sound all those mixed conversations made collectively, at once excited from the aftermath of the hard-pressed sailboat race, now merrily described and embellished with various anecdotes, both accurate and a wee bit exaggerated, but also very excited as well by such a genial atmosphere and all those scrumptious bites, tempting and merely an arm-length away.

That excited cacophony had a low-pitch roar about it, like you could cut it with a knife since it had so much substance, while undulating up and down but a few decibels, yet never fading — a rushing torrent of a swollen river after a heavy rain, it was.  Now and then, you’d hear a lady’s high-pitched laughter twirl and sparkle above the din, adding just an extra touch of merriment to the festivities…or a deep-throated male belly laugh from another corner of the room punctuate the hubbub with jolly base-like notes.  Those discernible notes only served to spice, now and then, the steady, impassioned roar of that fine river of sound.

It was the regular Sunday-afternoon Waquoit Bay symphony that I never got tired of listing to.  An entire community that came together just to frolic for the moment — just because…and a music like no other — sadly, now, a music locked away in an inaccessible alcove of my distant past.  But I once heard that music, I was there, and it was there for me; it was real and actually happened, and for all that, I am still grateful.

Waquoit Bay Yacht Club

Best Drink Ever