So, things have been quiet and wet and chilly and gray these past few months. The color of the sky seemed to fit the strange events on the ground almost perfectly.

We transition to something else tomorrow- secret plague code 1A, or 2.0, or whatever our strange Governor is calling it. He is eager to get back to the new business he started after the House of Delegates flipped from Red to Blue. There was the gun thing, of course, and a couple other intrusive measures to make us all virtuous and responsive to his multi-hued facial chimera.

Actually, it is not his. All the elements are copied from the ones scripted and funded by outsiders. It is an effective strategy, concentrating on overturning local district attorneys and associated down-home political flacks.

As if the plague was not enough, protests have erupted across the nation. Some media reports claim they happened in thirty U.S. cities last night. Sorry- I am a veteran of the ones that occurred in the very bad year of 1968, and we were insufferably proud of the destruction visited in the middle of almost every major city. Forgive me, but this seems like an irritatingly orchestrated amateur hour.

A lot of the current events recall 1968 with an odd resonance. We watched the SpaceX launch yesterday with a thrill. NASA (and Elon Musk) hurled the new space capsule into earth orbit yesterday, and it was a flawless demonstration of elegant design in purposeful and colorful kinetic release.

There are tentative moves to open the states again, as though the largest economy in human history can be turned on and off like the handles in our sinks.

So, Boomers are feeling the old times pretty strongly. For myself, Detroit burned in ’67 (Blind Pig) and ’68 (Dr. King assassination), and then in four or five years of protest against the War in Vietnam. I hitch-hiked down to the big one in DC in 1970, when troops rounded up thousands in the crowd to camp out at RFK Stadium awaiting legal processing.

It was impressive from virtually all aspects.

My draft number came within a year of being called, and with the troop withdrawal, much of the national interest faded.

Please don’t take that as criticism of the strident protests of today. They seem sincere enough, even if the paid cadre of leftist agitators seem to have professionalized protest and modest violence with a certain unemotional social distance. The structure of today’s digital seems to bely the enthusiasm of my day. But of course, we actually had skin in the game back then, and I am not sure rebellion can really be done on Zoom.

Maybe it can. The local news outlet says we will have a protest right here in Culpeper County, three o’clock if you are passing through. This one might be sincere, since even George Soros’s pockets are not bottomless. For the record, I am opposed to murder in the streets, whether it is cops or criminals or ordinary citizens like us. We will see what happens. If they march toward the farm, I will have to improvise a response, just like we did in suburban Detroit a lifetime ago.

In the meantime, the skies are lovely blue. The temperature is crisp, the sun’s light is bright, just like early Spring is supposed to be. That is more than a little disconcerting, since we should have had that brilliant season a couple months ago. But we should have had a winter at some point and I just can’t remember it.

But let’s take that all in stride and assume that things will get back to something like normal soon. The plague will lift. There will be no revolution against the United States, which is arguably the most beneficial human society since the height of Rome’s Empire. Maybe the Chinese will try to get control of their Level 4 Biological Labs and prevent another round of global house arrest.

The seasons will surely resume their stately rhythm. And with tribute to one of my favorite minor historical figures, Mr. Rodney King of Los Angeles, we can just get along.

In plague times, it just seems to make sense.

Copyright 2020 Vic Socotra
http://www.vicsocotra.com