I’m a First Generation…

American.

In the years leading up to the 1939 official start of WW II, my Grandfather Benjamin, (a jeweler in Vienna) shipped my mother and her two siblings ahead to New York City. Later on Bennie arrived minus his wife/my mother’s mother. The “why” behind this  event is and shall remain a Sambur family mystery. I’m positive it’s not a feel good story.

My father immigrated to New York in 1937. He said goodbye to his family in Poland. He never saw any of them alive again. 

When people ask me about all of this, I wave it off as “Holocaust Stuff.” 

Yet what is “Holocaust Stuff” to the progeny of the Holocaust survivors? 

It’s about immigration to another land with little more than memories, the clothes on your back and a piece of luggage. 

So it’s no stretch of the imagination to say, I posses an inordinate amount of empathy for immigrants. My parents ability to escape the run-or-die anti-Semitism in Nazi influenced Europe is the only reason I’m breathing air right now.

The world works in strange ways.

Recently I left Durango”s winter behind while seeking desert warmth and sunshine. I was on a nine hour 600 mile southwest mission. Currently I’ve been camping for over a week at Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument. This desert jewel straddles the AZ/Mexico border. It’s a land of stately saguaros, extraterrestrial looking mountains and of course Organ Pipe cactuses. 

It’s also a region dominated by Border Patrol Officials driving 4X4 pickup trucks. On a 42 mile loop road I spotted eight Border Patrol units. I actually had a too-close encounter with one. The young male officer was barreling through a wash heading the wrong way on a one-way road. He shrugged sheepishly before he sped off once again. I have no idea what migrant phantoms  he was pursuing. No explanation was given. 

The National Park Service signs are atypical too.

While hiking the trails. I’ve discovered evidence of migrants heading in a northerly manner. A desert bleached shirt, hat and trousers. A blown out black garbage bag with empty plastic containers of surgery juice drinks, colas and salty snack food. I poke the remains with my shoe trying to extract a story from the litter. How many were there? What was their destination? What caused them to risk it all to come to a foreign land where they won’t find a “Welcome Wagon” to greet them? This is what I know, the decision to wander was probably made in desperation. Like my parents their options were few.

On an exploration drive I came upon The Great Wall of Racism. Inspired by a fat, finger pointing xenophobe with a flair for theatrics, it was something to behold. But not in a good way. The fifteen foot wall is mesmerizing and nauseating at the same time. It’s a severe gash across the desert. Like Trump, there’s absolutely nothing subtle about it. The Wall is an in-your-face “F—k You!” to our southern neighbors. A stark reminder of failed diplomacy and an off kilter foreign policy.

All this costly economic and ecological damage to prevent wannabe laborers who mow our lawns, clean our hotel rooms and pick our produce. Sure there’s a few bad apples lugging drugs. GASP! However, those smugglers  are severely limited to how much they can carry. (Most drugs enter the country through legal border crossings. Source USA Today, 1/19/2021) Besides, if Americans didn’t crave the contraband their would be no smuggling. Supply and Demand. Heck! The Loser who supposedly penned “The Art of the Deal” should understand this basic economic premise.

A justification for Homeland Security and our massive Military Might is the necessity of “Protecting our American Way of Life” 

However. America’s biggest threat already lies within our borders. The January 6th, 2020 attempted coup  orchestrated by Made in America White Terrorists  was an attack upon Democracy. Yet there are those (including 147 Republican Congressmen) who call these Rebels without a clue-Patriots. Trying to overthrow the Federal Government? Now THAT’S unAmerican! 

 Unfortunately Trump, the BIGLY LIE and his enablers and ring-kissers aren’t going away. (Just like Covid). Democracy is at risk. That’s  more frightening than migrants (mostly potential laborers) coming across our Borders. 

If my parents were still alive today they would agree. 

Visit Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument. Take a hike and put yourselves in the shoes of the migrants. You might get a dose of empathy. 

“Tear Down This Wall! 

Ronald Reagan 

June 12, 1987

West Berlin

Here’s a few other posts pertaining to our Border:

http://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2019/07/we-will-build-wall.html

https://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2015/03/borderlands-national-park.html?m=0

For further reading:

The Devil’s Highway by Luis Alberto Urrea

14 Miles: Building the Border Wall by DW Gibson

Stay safe and healthy,

Jeff

The Nile…

 is more than a long rive in Africa. 

Recently I had a dose of Covid breakthrough de-nial. 

I hadn’t been feeling right.

Here were my symptoms:

1. Occasional dry cough and wet sneeze. This created instant social distancing and personal space.
   
2. Raspy voice. No,I don’t sound sexier.
3. Congestion  minus the green slime.
4. Incredible thirst. I’m drinking two gallons of water per day instead of one. 
5. Fatigue, but not enough to slow me down much.
6. Increased tinnitus. There’s an orchestra of clanging cymbals inside my head.
7. Chills 

 

At first I attributed these maladies to going from the dry warmth of Snobsdale back to Durango winter to toasty and humid Florida. All this motion within 72 hours. When I arrived in Florida to see brother Mike and sister-in-law Robin I was ill. (They both had breakthrough Covid and were past the contagious stage). 

In a day or two, I said to Mike, “I think I have Covid. There’s no allergens in the air and this isn’t acting like a typical cold.” 

Mike reassured me, “Jeff you would know it if it were Covid. It really hit us.”

After a sleepless night due to being nervous, very nervous the best brother in the world administered an at-home test for me. The results were negative. I was relieved but still felt unsure. No cold ever treated me this way.

The above symptoms continued. 

When I returned to Durango, I discovered four of my neighbors had come down with breakthrough Covid. Sort of like “Bang! Zoom! To the moon Moderna, Pfizer and J&J vaccines!” (Apologies to Ralph Kramden for the semi-quote.) The trifecta of vaccines were no match for the Oooooommmmmicrom variant. 

I happened upon Molly out walking her dogs. She’s a nurse, neighbor and one of the afflicted. 

I asked her what her symptoms for breakthrough Covid were. She nearly repeated all of mine including the unquenchable thirst. I told her about my negative Vid test. “The tests aren’t perfect for Omicron. There’s lots of false negatives.” 

BINGO! 

My breakthrough Covid hasn’t been debilitating. It’s been more annoying than anything . I’m now in Organ Pipe National Monument on the border of AZ/Mexico. I’m camping and hiking.I’m indulging in Happy Hour. I’m doing what I usually do. It’s been a hassle but it’s better than being attached to a ventilator in an ICU.

I’ll survive. 

Last photo: I’m not ready to be buzzard bait yet. Once again, I dodged the great inevitable.

I still trust the science behind the vaccines. The one thing we seem to be certain of is the uncertainty of Covid. Don’t be a long river in Africa. 

Our parents were right. Health is our greatest wealth. 

Jeff 

“Languishing” is a word…

 the New York Time bandies about when describing the current feelings of many Americans.

The psychologist and author Adam Grant provides an explanation:

Languishing is “the neglected middle child of mental health” and “the void between depression and flourishing — the absence of well-being.” He concluded: “By acknowledging that so many of us are languishing, we can start giving voice to quiet despair and lighting a path out of the void.”

Mr. Grant nails what some of us are experiencing as we stumble towards Earth’s third anniversary of Covid Freaking 19. 

Personally, I use a stronger word for what I’ve been dealing with since the latter part of 2021. I call it “malaise.” 

From the Merriam-Webster dictionary: “a slight or general feeling of not being healthy or happy.”

I’ve been “off” since November 2nd, right after the neighborhood “Pusher Party”. The days seemed too short and the nights too long. I questioned myself each and every date. “Is this the 5:30 time when I click on the coffee pot or the 5:30 time when I pop a top of an IPA?” I guess that’s to be expected when you’re averaging less than a handful of hours of sleep/night. 

http://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2021/11/you-dont-have-to-be-pusher.html

It didn’t help that my engagement calendar was mostly devoid of events to look forward to. (An appointment for a Subaru oil change isn’t socially  satisfying). I felt isolated, lonely and listless. Just like in the Covid lockdown days of 2020. No bueno. 

This past summer,I wrote about Covid hangover. In case you missed it: 

https://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2021/10/the-covid-summer-of-not.html

I began counting down the days for a three week getaway to Snobsdale, AZ. (AKA Scottsdale). Well, I made it. It’s not that I’m in love with the fabulous shopping at the nearby Snobsdale Fashion Mall. I like it here for simple reasons. I’m outside more and hiking on ice-free trails. It’s been warm enough for flip flops, tank tops and baggy shorts. I’m catching up on my sleep. There’s hummingbirds, flowers and leaves on trees. I’ve seen lots of blockbuster holiday movies and have enjoyed a few Happy Hours with some old buddies. My time here flew by. I never once had to think is it 5:30 am or pm? For my mental health this was the right thing to do. 

 After Snobsdale my winter avoidance will continue. 

In a few days I’ll be in South Florida visiting the world’s  best brother and sister-in-law.  (AKA Mike and Robin). 

Then a short return to Durango for a Push Back Pizza Party. (Sanctuary Too will awake from hibernation.) Two days later, we all will be in Organ Pipe National Monument with a BUSY itinerary of hiking, reading, staring at desert scenery and drinking IPAs. In other words, working on my tan more than anything.

Followed by a few weeks in Death Valley National Park. By then, Durango’s daylight will be longer and the temperatures will be more moderate. Plus, I’m not too far away from desert camping. 

Soon, I’ll post my predictions on what the new year and beyond might bring. 

Here’s a preview. In the wee days of 2022,  all 329.5 million Americans will gather on the perimeter of our Great Nation. While holding hands in a continuous circle, we’ll all belt out a rousing rendition of Kumbaya. It’ll be the start of a Second Age of Enlightenment and the New Renaissance.

Well, not exactly.

Wishing you and yours a languishing-free New Year.