These days, for me, birthdays are a time of reflection.
 
Not so in youth, of course. Then, each birthday is remarkable. Ten means no more single digits. Twelve is kind of a big kid on the block. Thirteen, of course, ushers in the teens. Sixteen — that one’s obvious. 
 
Soon comes adulthood. Eighteen and the right to vote. Twenty-one brings the beverages, if you are so inclined. Twenty-five and thirty pass by with respective fanfare. Everyone has a good chuckle at forty — my significant threw me a pretty good surprise party for that one. 
 
Then birthdays become far more reflective occasions.
 
Frank Sinatra knew. Seventeen, twenty-one and thirty-five are all very good years. Then, suddenly, he’s thinking of his life like vintage wine in fine old kegs.
 
Of course, it is hard not to be reflective considering the state of affairs at the moment. Hunkered down with only “necessary” trips to break up the monotony, there was no going out to dinner or hanging with friends this birthday.
 
Had you said to me twenty years ago — heck, twenty days ago — we’d be here, I would have thought you were off your rocker.
 
I couldn’t conceive of a world where on the opening day of the baseball season I’d be watching the 1991 Phillies-Mets opening day game on YouTube because there would be no sports. 
 
Still, there was something comforting about that game. Listening to the Hall of Fame voices of Harry Kalas and Richie Ashburn — both gone now — took me back to a simpler time. The Phils were a couple of years away from the ’93 World Series squad, but much like Reggie Dunlop and his “Old Time Hockey,” that game represents the grand old days of baseball of my youth.
 
For a moment, it was that warm spring day. I was wrapping up my freshman year of college and a few weeks away from my first foray into newspapering.
 
It got me thinking of all of those other monumental moments in history where life suddenly turns on a dime. Pearl Harbor. Kennedy. MLK. 9/11. We’ve weathered some terrible storms. And we will weather this one. Sure, it will leave its mark, but it won’t all be negative.
 
Each day I read stories of people helping people. Shopping local. Providing meals. Industries retooling to make respirators. Crafters making masks. Academics and hobbyists using 3-D printers to create protective gear. The National Guard making PPE deliveries. Artists using their gifts to bring joy to those who need it.
 
Today, we are embracing social distance, so you will have to overlook a couple of the words, but I can’t help but think this is what Louis Armstrong was singing about.
 
“The colors of the rainbow, so pretty in the sky, are also on the faces of people going by. I see friends shaking hands, saying ‘How do you do?’ They’re really saying, ‘I love you.”
 
These are the moments that reveal true character. Sometimes it can be disappointing, but more often than not, it can be truly awe-inspiring.
 
That’s why I know we’ve got this. Because, truly, what a wonderful world.

​Has it only been a couple of days?
 
It’s been pointed out while quarantined during the plague Shakespeare wrote King Lear and Macbeth. True or not, I promised I’d probably just write another lousy column. So here ya go…
 
As I write this, the staff of the good ship Six and Company are hunkered down in our new digs (thankfully, we pulled off the move before society started breaking down) and coming to terms with the fact this is going to be it for a while.
 
As a home-based contractor, I’m fairly used to not being out in public much, but nothing makes you want to go out on the town like suddenly being told you can’t. In many ways, the pups are feeling the same. Without an enclosed yard, the free entrance and egress they’ve known most of their lives is no more, and leashes are annoying.
 
I concur. So, we all have been bouncing off the walls a little. In fairness, though maybe not so wisely, West Virginia stayed open for business a lot longer than our neighbors. That all changed when we finally received our first reported case of the virus. Our county, of course. 
 
Thank goodness for a little music — I used some of my new-found time to get my giant iTunes libraries hooked up to my new computer — so the staff now has a century of jazz as a soundtrack for our isolation.
 
We are well provisioned, thankfully. And I bought the biggest bottle of Evan Williams Bourbon I could find (for medicinal purposes, of course). Thankfully, we don’t have state-run liquor stores like Pennsylvania, where they all were closed, so I should be able to get more. But stocking up was a wise way to practice social distancing.
 
Oddly enough, you may have noticed gas prices are dropping like a rock, so we’re all gassed up with no place to go. But again, probably not much of a loss. Between the dirty diaper on the ground in front of the grocery store to the blatant ignorance of traffic signs — both observed this week in our travels — it’s obvious the breakdown of societal norms is nigh. Nothing reminds us how little separates us from the beasts than a crisis (see paper, toilet).
 
Armed with a new golf club, more balls than I have had in recent memory and less work than usual, however, I was disappointed to see some governors didn’t think golf courses were essential businesses. Anyone who has seen me play would be forced to acknowledge my game is social distancing defined — ain’t nobody can hit ’em as far out of bounds as me. As one of my golf buddies put it, the governor should have declared a state of emergency for my golf game.
 
In all seriousness, however, we are doing our best to help support those hit hardest right now. Musicians, restaurant workers, bartenders, and anyone else who is losing work due to these extraordinary times. It’s a good reminder to buy an artist’s work, or to get your takeout from a local business. In my line of work, I don’t have a lot, but what I can I will give to help those folks, and I hope you will as well.
 
Also, all credit and admiration for those working so hard for all of us right now. Obviously, the health care professionals, but also those are putting themselves at risk to stock our shelves, those who are working hard to make sure we have necessary information in our hands during this crisis, and the who knows how many other essential jobs out there.
 
Take care of each other. Ingenuity and compassion are qualities that have seen Americans through countless crises. This one will be no different. Stay safe. Stay healthy.

I know it is an unpopular stance to take as of late, but I will. On balance, I’m pro-Facebook.
 
Some say that is a sure sign the social media site has jumped the shark, but let’s be honest, it did that for the kids a long time ago — the day all their parents and grandparents hopped on board.
 
Ever since we Myspaced up the joint, the kids migrated to the snapper chatter and the ticky-tocky and what have you.
 
You may ask what led me to this proclamation. Fair question. Approaching my 30thhigh school reunion, I have been marveling at just how connected we are after all these years. Think about what we know of each other’s lives compared to previous generations. In days of yore, contacting everyone would be an arduous task, now, it is simply a matter of adding names to a group.
 
Obviously, I am well aware of all the arguments against the social behemoth, not the least of which are privacy and politics. And, they are valid, but I have come to terms with that.
 
As far as privacy is concerned, my personal information has been breached so many times I cannot count. Not only by my bank and the local hoagie joint, but the Federal government itself. That train has left the station.
 
Admittedly, it is harder to avoid politics, but I have gone a long way to separate my professional and personal Facebook lives. I like my personal feed to be primarily about pictures of food and cats (The verdict is still out on pictures of your kids – they are a little too precocious for my taste). Facebook tends to let me tune it that way. Far preferable to the unavoidable outrage of Twitter.
 
Granted, I can’t completely avoid polarizing subjects, I am a Philadelphia sports fan, after all. But for the most part, I restrict my posts to personal updates, news oddities and nothing more controversial than the occasional “Florida Man.” You want my professional side? There’s a page for that.
 
As far I am concerned, the benefits far outweigh the negatives. I have been able to connect or reconnect with childhood, high school and college friends, fellow professionals, even the occasional family member. I’ve found new places to stay, to eat, and sights to see. I have been able to promote my work, and I have found job opportunities I otherwise wouldn’t have known.
 
Maybe, on occasion, I’ve learned a little more about some of you than I ever really wanted to know. I’d be lying if I didn’t say I long for the old days when we politely avoided topics like politics and religion in mixed company. But surveying the friends and acquaintances I have accumulated and connected with in my lifetime, I find it inspiring to see all your accomplishments.
 
Published authors. Professional musicians. Politicians. Advocates. Journalists. Proud parents. Successful business owners. If I cut through the noise, avoid pontification and simply see and accept people for who they are, it injects a little hope into my perspective on the human race.
 
Truly, you people are amazing.
 
So, while it may not be the popular take du jour, I, for one, bow to our great Facebookian overlords. After all, where else could I share the news of the record-breaking Smurf meet-up, where thousands gathered painted blue and wearing floppy white hats?