tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-137584312024-03-06T22:59:55.371-08:00Calhouns Can(n)onsNewsstandGreghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04099049885765768069noreply@blogger.comBlogger1660125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13758431.post-71412469666685812902015-07-20T17:07:00.001-07:002015-07-20T17:07:38.892-07:00A Notice to all of Ann's friends and followers<div class="msg-body inner undoreset" id="yui_3_16_0_5_1437433377481_1044" role="presentation" tabindex="0">
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<b>Dear Friends of Ann</b>, <span style="font-family: Arial;">from here in Los Osos and around the world - If you a</span><span style="font-family: Arial;">re trying to contact
Ann, it is with
deep sadness and regret that I must tell you that we lost Ann to a rapidly
advancing pancreatic cancer on Thursday July 9, 2015; she had to stop writing as the illness progressed and she may not have
had any time to say her goodbyes to you.<br /><br />I have posted her
obituary, a facebook notice and an invitation to all of her friends to attend a potluck dinner and memorial celebration to be held on Saturday, August 1 from 2-6 pm at the Los Osos Community Center (2160
Palisades Avenue). Please bring your favorite dish, and stories, photos and memories of Ann to share.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Also within the obituary, you will find the address of her favorite charity, "SLO-4-Pups/SLO-Post", where donations can be sent in her memory, in order to help support the continued operations of the first off-leash dog park that Ann, along with her dog loving friends, founded. The dog park is located at El Chorro Regional Park, on Highway 1 across from Cuesta College and was a place very dear to her heart. <br /> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Thank you from Lisa Schicker, one of Ann's many, many Los Osos friends.</span></div>
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<br /><span style="font-family: Arial;"><img alt="" class="spotlight hidden_elem" src="https://scontent-lga1-1.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-xpf1/v/t1.0-9/s640x640/11058750_10206118610237012_4788490207718586517_n.jpg?oh=98f13ce03f93df908293df3cee2660bb&oe=5654A33F" style="height: 491px; width: 660px;" />..................................<br />a great picture of Ann and her beloved basenjis</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Ann's Obituary <br />....................................</span></div>
<div class="yiv7244927629" id="yiv7244927629yui_3_16_0_1_1437423751482_19934" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue","Segoe UI",Helvetica,Arial,"Lucida Grande",sans-serif;">
<span class="yiv7244927629" id="yiv7244927629yui_3_16_0_1_1437423751482_19933" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue";">Ann Calhoun</span><span class="yiv7244927629" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"></span></div>
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<span class="yiv7244927629" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><br /></span></div>
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<span class="yiv7244927629" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue";">Ann Calhoun lost her battle with pancreatic cancer on July 9, 2015, at age 72.</span><span class="yiv7244927629" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"></span></div>
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<span class="yiv7244927629" id="yiv7244927629yui_3_16_0_1_1437423751482_19662" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue";">Ann
was born in Sacramento in April 1943 to Marvin and Mary Hughes. The
family moved to Coachella Valley when Ann was five years old and she
attended school there through high school, majoring in art during her
high school years. She receiving many awards for her art and was class
salutatorian when she graduated from Coachella Valley High School in
1961.</span><span class="yiv7244927629" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"></span></div>
<div class="yiv7244927629" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue","Segoe UI",Helvetica,Arial,"Lucida Grande",sans-serif;">
<span class="yiv7244927629" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="yiv7244927629" id="yiv7244927629yui_3_16_0_1_1437423751482_19827" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue","Segoe UI",Helvetica,Arial,"Lucida Grande",sans-serif;">
<span class="yiv7244927629" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue";">After high school Ann attended the Art Center College of Design in Pasadena.
During that time she met a soldier named David Calhoun and married him
in 1965. David was stationed at Fort Sam Houston in Texas, where they
lived until David left the army. The couple returned to Los Angeles, and
David became a county probation officer. Ann stayed home and became a
gourmet cook. After David's sudden death at age 39, Ann decided to go
back to college at California State University, Long Beach. She earned a
Master of </span><span class="yiv7244927629" id="yiv7244927629yui_3_16_0_1_1437423751482_19826"><span class="yiv7244927629" id="yiv7244927629yui_3_16_0_1_1437423751482_19825">Fine</span></span><span class="yiv7244927629" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"> Arts degree in 1982.</span><span class="yiv7244927629" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"></span></div>
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<span class="yiv7244927629" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="yiv7244927629" id="yiv7244927629yui_3_16_0_1_1437423751482_8588" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue","Segoe UI",Helvetica,Arial,"Lucida Grande",sans-serif;">
<span class="yiv7244927629" id="yiv7244927629yui_3_16_0_1_1437423751482_8587" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue";">Ann
became Manager of the Simard/Haim Gallery in Los Angeles (no longer in
existence). The gallery specialized in works by emerging artists from
culturally diverse Southern California. One of the artists featured by
the gallery was John Valadez, a graduate of CSU Long Beach. Ann
purchased a work by John called "La Butterfly," now a nationally famous
painting that has been shown all over the United States. </span><span class="yiv7244927629" id="yiv7244927629yui_3_16_0_1_1437423751482_19678" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue";">Ann beq</span><span class="yiv7244927629" id="yiv7244927629yui_3_16_0_1_1437423751482_19786" style="font-family: HelveticaNeue,"Helvetica Neue",Helvetica,Arial,"Lucida Grande",sans-serif;"><span id="yiv7244927629yui_3_16_0_1_1437423751482_19785" style="font-family: Helvetica Neue;">ueathed "La Butterfly" to the Los Angeles County Museum of Art.</span></span></div>
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<div class="yiv7244927629" id="yiv7244927629yui_3_16_0_1_1437423751482_19789" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue","Segoe UI",Helvetica,Arial,"Lucida Grande",sans-serif;">
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<div class="yiv7244927629" id="yiv7244927629yui_3_16_0_1_1437423751482_19789" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue","Segoe UI",Helvetica,Arial,"Lucida Grande",sans-serif;">
<span class="yiv7244927629" id="yiv7244927629yui_3_16_0_1_1437423751482_19788" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue";">Eventually
Ann tired of living in Los Angeles, left the art scene and moved to Los
Osos. Switching careers, she became a writer. She helped to start a
local newspaper called Bear Facts in 1985, as a writer and editor. A
few years later Ann began writing a column titled "Calhoun's Can(n)ons,"
which was first published by the (now defunct) Morro Bay Sun Bulletin,
a biweekly newspaper. After 1992, the column continued in the various
resurrections of the Los Osos Bay News, Bay Breeze, Bay News (again),
and Bay News-Tolosa Press. </span></div>
<div class="yiv7244927629" id="yiv7244927629yui_3_16_0_1_1437423751482_19789" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue","Segoe UI",Helvetica,Arial,"Lucida Grande",sans-serif;">
<span class="yiv7244927629" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="yiv7244927629" id="yiv7244927629yui_3_16_0_1_1437423751482_19789" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue","Segoe UI",Helvetica,Arial,"Lucida Grande",sans-serif;">
<span class="yiv7244927629" id="yui_3_16_0_5_1437433377481_1049" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue";">In 2005, the Can(n)on was added to the Central Coast News Mission blog site. The address is <a class="yiv7244927629" href="http://calhounscannon.blogspot.com/" id="yui_3_16_0_5_1437433377481_1048" rel="nofollow" shape="rect" style="color: #196ad4;" target="_blank"><span class="yiv7244927629" id="yui_3_16_0_5_1437433377481_1047">calhounscannon.blogspot.com</span></a>. Ann posted her final entry on June 17th.</span><span class="yiv7244927629" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"></span></div>
<div class="yiv7244927629" id="yiv7244927629yui_3_16_0_1_1437423751482_19661" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue","Segoe UI",Helvetica,Arial,"Lucida Grande",sans-serif;">
<span class="yiv7244927629" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="yiv7244927629" id="yiv7244927629yui_3_16_0_1_1437423751482_19661" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue","Segoe UI",Helvetica,Arial,"Lucida Grande",sans-serif;">
<span class="yiv7244927629" id="yiv7244927629yui_3_16_0_1_1437423751482_19660" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue";">Ann
became very active in her community and was more than generous in
helping others. She helped to paint three of the Los Osos murals, became
an Elfin Forest Weed Warrior for Small Wilderness Area Preservation
(SWAP) and joined in many other community projects. Her greatest loves
were her dogs: a clan of basenjis, three greyhounds, a whippet and a
sloughi. Seeing the need for an off-leash dog park, Ann, Nancy Conant
and other like-minded dog lovers founded SLO-4-Pups, a non-profit
organization with a mission to encourage dog parks. They were successful
in establishing the first off-leash dog park located at El Chorro
Regional Park.</span><span class="yiv7244927629" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"></span></div>
<div class="yiv7244927629" id="yiv7244927629yui_3_16_0_1_1437423751482_19808" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue","Segoe UI",Helvetica,Arial,"Lucida Grande",sans-serif;">
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<div class="yiv7244927629" id="yiv7244927629yui_3_16_0_1_1437423751482_19808" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue","Segoe UI",Helvetica,Arial,"Lucida Grande",sans-serif;">
<span class="yiv7244927629" id="yiv7244927629yui_3_16_0_1_1437423751482_19807" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue";">Ann is survived by her sister, Joan Hughes, of Fresno. </span><span class="yiv7244927629" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"></span></div>
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<div class="yiv7244927629" id="yiv7244927629yui_3_16_0_1_1437423751482_19810" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue","Segoe UI",Helvetica,Arial,"Lucida Grande",sans-serif;">
<span class="yiv7244927629" id="yiv7244927629yui_3_16_0_1_1437423751482_19809" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue";">There
will be a potluck celebration of Ann's life at the Los Osos Community
Center on Saturday, August 1, from 2:00 to 6:00pm. Please, no flowers.
Donations in memory of Ann to SLO-4-Pups will be gratefully received and
will help support the park she loved. Make checks payable and mail to
“SLO-4-Pups/SLO Post”, P.O. Box 573, Morro Bay, CA, 93443. For details
about donating, call 235-5949.</span><span class="yiv7244927629" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"></span></div>
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<span class="yiv7244927629" id="yiv7244927629yui_3_16_0_1_1437423751482_19811" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue";">Please Sign her guestbook at <span class="yiv7244927629" style="color: #196ad4;"><a class="yiv7244927629" href="http://sanluisobispo.com/obituaries" rel="nofollow" shape="rect" style="color: #196ad4;" target="_blank">sanluisobispo.com/obituaries</a></span></span><span class="yiv7244927629" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"></span></div>
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<span class="yiv7244927629" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue";">thank you!</span></div>
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In memoriam of our dearly departed friend <a class="yiv7244927629" href="https://www.facebook.com/ann.calhoun.792" id="yui_3_16_0_5_1437433377481_1046" rel="nofollow" shape="rect" style="color: #3b5998; cursor: pointer; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">Ann Calhoun</a>,
a potluck and celebration of her life will be held at the South Bay
Community Center - 2180 Palisades Avenue in Los Osos on Saturday, August
1, 2015 from 2-6 pm - everyone is invited - please bring your favorite
dish and memories and stories of Ann, who left this earth way too early!
Please pass this message to others, thank you and hope to see you
there! <a class="yiv7244927629" href="http://www.southbaycommunitycenter.com/" rel="nofollow" shape="rect" style="color: #3b5998; cursor: pointer; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">http://www.southbaycommunitycenter.com</a></div>
<span class="yiv7244927629" style="color: #4e5665;"> — with <a class="yiv7244927629" href="https://www.facebook.com/ann.calhoun.792" rel="nofollow" shape="rect" style="color: #3b5998; cursor: pointer; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">Ann Calhoun</a> at <a class="yiv7244927629" href="https://www.facebook.com/pages/Los-Osos-Community-Center/276549422450819" rel="nofollow" shape="rect" style="color: #3b5998; cursor: pointer; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">Los Osos Community Center</a>.</span></div>
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<img alt="Lisa Schicker's photo." class="yiv7244927629" height="487" id="yiv7244927629yui_3_16_0_1_1436846296985_233105" src="https://scontent-lax1-1.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-xfp1/v/t1.0-9/p526x296/11694030_958524554169662_7801612204025451845_n.jpg?oh=9d3c0757fe6c9dd00a33322c68708da4&oe=56500A14" style="border-width: 0px; min-height: 100%; width: 487px;" width="487" /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">This was </span>posted by one of Ann's many Los Osos friends, with love and compassion from</div>
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<span style="color: #4040ff; font-family: garamond,"new york",times,serif; font-style: italic;">Lisa Schicker (lisaschicker@sbcglobal.net)</span></div>
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Churadogshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17701649330085709021noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13758431.post-23870317835648137942015-06-17T07:40:00.000-07:002015-06-17T07:40:39.191-07:00Mas Parting ShotsSince my last posting, I've entered the Wilshire Hospice Program, which is to say that things have sped past the speed of light and slid down into absolute down-time, all at once. In other words, neither the brain nor the computer seems to be working properly. But then, as some wag would say, "How ever can you tell?"<br />
<br />
True. <br />
<br />
But here's an update on my recent Grand Pre-Estate Sale End Times Garage sale, we managed to raise $1,182 for the Wellness Kitchen, They have a wonderful "pay-it-forward" program to help reach and teach people facing health issues who can be helped by way of of good nutrition. They can be located at www.TheWKRC.org or at (805) 434-1885. And for all of you who help me with this project, I can't thank you enough. I'm am so blessed with so many kind neighbors and friends who were ready to step in at a momemnt's notice. My thanks to them all. <br />
<br />
So many of those same friends have also been there to help get many things settled as my house, like Penelop's loom slowly comes unspooled. (I'm still trying to figure out just how in hell I ended up with 4 table cloths all the the same color. Yes, it's a nice peachy-pink, but, c'mon!)<br />
<br />
In the meantime, life, even in Hospice, goes on. As a matter of fact, that's the credo and while it'll be a bit of a puzzle and a bungle, well, that's about right as well. My hugs to all of you. The precious, fragile thing you hold in your hands every second, well, that's it. Life. Treasure it. <br />
, <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Churadogshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17701649330085709021noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13758431.post-45298760794554715602015-05-31T05:57:00.000-07:002015-05-31T12:02:50.479-07:00Parting Shots: The Penultimate Papers<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>I Need a Nap</b></div>
<b>
</b><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A friend sent me a copy of Tom Brokaw’s “A Lucky Life
Interrupted.” (A good read by the way) And I was oddly comforted to read that
pancreatic cancer strikes one in seventy-eight men and women. My peeps! It
seems like I’ve got a lot of company. He also notes the one devil
fact about the disease – how sneaky it is. How low it flies under
the radar which means that by the time it’s discovered, it’s almost always too
late.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It sure must have taken my Docs by surprise. They must
feel awful, as in Well, Dang! But then, maybe not. So far, I have
refrained from calling them up to say, “I told you I was sick.”
That would be churlish.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And,
realistically, who’s to know, with a disease this sneaky.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You'd <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>have to run tests every 24/7 since if you
missed even a month, a week, a day, you'd likely still miss the seeding.
In my case, all my blood tests were “perfect,” and since doctors are trained to
look for horses, not zebras, when doing diagnostic workups, this is one of
those diseases that can get past even the best gatekeeper. (Not to mention the
cost of various tests, and with tests involving radiation, there's the
problem of the test causing more harm than giving any benefit. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But the thought is still there, like the cancer itself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A poisonous variant on the old whine,
"Why Me?" Or, it's deadly cousin: "If only." Perfectly
natural, but not helpful.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have had a
lot of such thoughts lately. Plenty of time to ruminate in the early morning
hours.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am absolutely sure that my one-in-78 Peeps have had the
same thoughts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And well-meaning friends
are now coming to tell tales of many such caught-too-late medical horror<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>stories.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The tales make me angry and sad and cynical.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And something of a fatalist since life itself
is constantly turning on just such missed moments. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In my case, there were additional wrinkles that made the
ultimate diagnosis a sort of Max Sennet comedy of errors since the symptoms
were coming in wrong – are we looking for a kidney stone? kidney disease?
some bowel problem?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Whaaat?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Add in an overall physical system constantly
disordered from the in--and-out middle-of-the-night emergency room stress, a
poorly handled initial "solution, no sleep, and generally lousy pain
management, by the time I left the French Hospital radiology office with a
print-out of my MRI diagnosis in hand, I was
already deep into PTSD.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Add in more exhausting maelstroms of replaced kidney stents,
an actual biopsy, MRIs and PETs to come, my brain was stumbling along in
exhausted "D'oh" mode.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But
instead of resting like a normal, sane person would do, in front of my sister
Joan's horrified eyes, I turned into grim-lipped Brunhilde preparing for a
Viking funeral.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
An aside here: Many, many years ago, when my sister was
visiting, I looked around at the book and-art-and-stuff-filled living room (and,
mindful of the filing cabinets and boxes of Can(n)on fodder paperwork in the
den), I wearily said, "I can't face sorting all this out. When I die, I
want you to invite all my friends into the house for a Zorba the Greek giveaway
(I didn't have a parrot, but if you've seen the movie, you get the drift, have
them take what they can use, then put my body on the dining room table, light a
match and run away. Viking Funeral!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Then, months ago, I can't remember, maybe it was like a New
Year's resolution and long before any of these health issues were on the radar,
I did my usual, "Gosh, I've got to seriously sort all of this out." (
I have no doubt my body was telling me something I wasn't ready to hear out
loud)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, I started looking around the
house and asking myself such questions as: "How will my poor sister, Joan,
know what to do with all this crap when I die?" Or, after opening a closet
door looking for a towel, "Why do I have <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>four lamp timers in here?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Seriously?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Four?"</i> <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Live in a house 31 years and you'll know the feeling. One of
those annual spring cleaning projects that usually last a day and a half then
peter out with you stumbling upon your childhood winkie-bear which you <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">couldn't possibly</i> bear to part with. So winkie-binkie
bear gets put back in the closet along with the amp timers until . . . next
year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And so I started going through all of the stuff with serious
intent.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At first I found it hard going.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So many decisions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Like, Do I think my niece or great-nieces
would like my childhood photo album?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Look how cute I was.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Surely
they'd just love to have that valuable piece of the family tree? Answer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>NO. Well, what about my high school
yearbook?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>NO! NO!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not even winkie-bear?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>NO!NO!NO! </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When I started the process, it was all sad-faced review, a
spotty walk down memory lane but soon it became a gleeful rout. Out! Out!
Don’t need any of this. The photo albums were filled with people, half of
whom I couldn't remember, while others<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>too often brought up memories of sadness and loss,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>so why keep photos that make you sad?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The few images I wanted to keep were already burned
into my memory, so I sure didn’t need any albums. And so it went with
photos, papers, mementos.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All of
it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yes, I was seriously, deliberately
erasing a life -- mine --but soon the act became a pretty wonderful, liberating
experience because it finally occurred to me that the life I was tossing into
the recycle bin was a life that didn't exist any more.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And since it didn't exist any more, why dust
it? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After I received the diagnosis, but before I had met with
the oncologist, that's when I turned into Brunhilde before Joan's horrified
eyes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didn't then (and still don't
know), how much time I had left, but through my exhaustion, pain and fear, I
was determined that there was no way I was going to say, Fuck it all, and leave
this mess to my poor sister. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Therein started the Great Pre-Estate Sale, Viking Funeral,
Zorba the Greek Garage Sale of the Century. Out! Out! Out! Like mad warriors
and with the help of friends, when sleep wouldn't come, as pain allowed, we
boxed and tagged and hauled.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had years
before made certain arrangements for earmarked items to go to specific places, so
that paperwork could be turn-keyed, while the rest of the stuff was slowly
being transferred to the garage, stacked and ready to go.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So, come Saturday June 13 at 7 in the morning, the Stuff will
head out into the universe to become treasures for somebody else to enjoy. With an additional mad scheme attached: I'll be donating all the proceeds from the sale to the "pay it forward" part of The Wellness Kitchen (www.TheWKRC.org), a great group of folks who teach as well as cook prepared super-nuient dense foods (think "bone broths") for "individuals facing serious life-altering disease." Their classes are for caregivers and patients alike.<br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Looking back on it all, it was mad.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was mad.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>But it<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>also turned out to be
excellent therapy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not only did it keep
me busy, but it was a daily reminder not to get mired in the past, not to stop,
to keep moving forward.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was also a
daily discipline, a firm reminder of the impermanence of it all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nothing was mine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not even my life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All of it was (and always had been) on temporary
loan to be enjoyed, then let go</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It also turned out to be a good way for friends to process
what was coming.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once you hear bad news
and say, I'm sorry, the next questions is What can I do to help? Seems like
garage sales are a pretty good answer. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Churadogshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17701649330085709021noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13758431.post-71427561444922467852015-05-30T07:00:00.001-07:002015-05-30T07:00:11.582-07:00Bill Frye: In Memory<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqDAGI8fCkuyfkNu0K43NJqia7BvF-L3sxk7ae5Borq3vNuc2yUHQu6DDw2G7KUSYt3_3hd1LBUD_o05CqTMC9DTlNYTM6Q2d2xeHUTfsalxvJxBfaVEHSYmukhRlXxFWs13SkaQ/s1600/White+Roses%252C+front+yard+5-11-14+001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqDAGI8fCkuyfkNu0K43NJqia7BvF-L3sxk7ae5Borq3vNuc2yUHQu6DDw2G7KUSYt3_3hd1LBUD_o05CqTMC9DTlNYTM6Q2d2xeHUTfsalxvJxBfaVEHSYmukhRlXxFWs13SkaQ/s400/White+Roses%252C+front+yard+5-11-14+001.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
<br />Churadogshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17701649330085709021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13758431.post-71210552247793554012015-05-28T04:03:00.001-07:002015-05-28T04:03:24.736-07:00Yo, Rush, Can I Borrow Some of your Oxy? <!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
I heard through the grapevine that a kind friend wanted to
loan me her old laptop so I could continue to write no matter how crappy I was
feeling while the Cancer Crazy Road Trip gets underway.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was such a sweet offer and immediately
conjured up visions of The Artist all tucked up under the coverpanes (pink with
flower sprigs, a nice rosy checkerboard pattern, maybe a stuffed white
woobie-rabbit under an elbow) while the Muse dictates.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Tap, tap, tap, wondrous insights about Life
and Death flowing easily from under my fingertips. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It was such a lovely picture and I thanked the friend of a
friend who put the idea forward and said I'd certainly keep that option in mind
but for now I was still able to shamble out of bed and sit at the compute, a
crazy dog lady wandering around the house at the odd hour. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The problem with writing while sick is that sick always
takes precedent. When it's a choice between a trip to the toilet or the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">mot juste</i>, the crapper wins out every
time. That's the one iron rule of the human body.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It's wishes will be heard.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The rest is just icing, illusions that we are
in control of our fates and masters of our souls.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Souls? Maybe. But toilet time? Ah, not so much. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And pain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Can't
forget that little demon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It's the great
interrupter -- one constant, stuttering "D'oh!" in the brain. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The slap upside the head that stops the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">mot juste</i> search in its tracks and
substitutes inspired verbiage for getting up and stomping around for a while
muttering, "Ow, Ow, Oh, crap, Ow."<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The Docs like to speak of "pain control,"
nowadays.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or "Pain management."<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That's a new field of study.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A welcome one to be sure, since for too often
pain just hasn't been effectively dealt with or understood as the killer it can
be. Truly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Pain hammers the body
something awful, adding insult to injury.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Both physical pain and psychic pain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It's all hard. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But our allowable drug formulary in our weirdly drug-addled
country is totally inadequate to the job. (And, to be fair pain medication
carries with it its own tricky damages as well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Tough needle to thread.) </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Even "imaginary" pain is an amazing hammer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I ended up in the emergency room with
the first inkling of what was coming down on me, the CTs indicated a ureter
blockage and the Docs thought, "kidney stone's stuck." The pain, they
said, was as bad or worse than childbirth pain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Real knee-buckler stuff.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And out
of curiosity (once the morphine IV was making life bearable again) I asked the
Doctor about this and was told that the kidney, per se, didn't have any
nerves.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Neither did the ureter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not like other organs or parts of your
body.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So I asked him how in the world a
little thing like a ureter tube, a tiny bit of wibbly flesh could generate such
hideous pain?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Well, turns out that the ureter isn't "in pain,"
but the inside of the human trunk is absolutely bathed in nerve networks, all
surrounding all the vital organs. And when the body, in it's "gut wisdom,"
senses that something life-threatening is amiss inside you, all the nerves
start firing off like claxons. So even though the ureter in this case wasn't
actually being "harmed," i.e. cut or damaged, the nerves figured that
something was up to no good and all hands better get on<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>deck. Which they did.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Loudly.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Later this morning I'm headed in to see a Nurse Practitioner
(the coming thing on the medical front due to the lack of doctors in our brave
new world) to see if we can come up with some practical "pain management"
that keeps me "comfortable" without turning my brain to mush.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Which is going to be a trick since I've lived with some
degree of<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>pain for so long I really
don't have an idea what "comfortable" means any more.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I suspect on the scales they use -- Zero
being no pain and 10 being OMG! -- my zero
would be somebody else's 2-3.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Like what
an luxury to be able to say "zero."<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>But you don't get to a certain age without carrying with you all the
dinks and donks and blows and falls you've inflicted on your body.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Rattling bag of bones and ouchie tendons
grumbling along making the best of it. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Which, let's face it, is about all we can do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Grumble and open our bag of tricks and see if
any of our nostrums help ease the way -- eye of newt, way cool hemi-sync earphones
and glorious new age hemi-sync music that's supposed to reset your brainwaves
or maybe bring in some short-wave messages from old Earl out there in Hog
Hollow West Virginia, yoga, tai chi, meditation, or lovely aroma therapy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And if it works without exacting too high a penalty, it's
all good. Including getting out of bed at odd hours and scribbling into the
quiet morning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or snuggling down in the
coverpanes with a laptop, though using that that platform might be too tempting
to get distracted by a e-book or a movie.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Sitting upright at my computer in the office/den does have the added
benefit of resembling "work," so I can claim I'm not frittering away
my <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></div>
Churadogshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17701649330085709021noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13758431.post-69661219131535632922015-05-25T07:24:00.000-07:002015-05-25T07:24:21.416-07:00Battle Notes <!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Parting Shots: The Death Diaries -- A
Comedy in a few acts, maybe.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I have always known</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">That at last I would </i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Take this road, but
yesterday</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I did not know that it
would be today </i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Kenneth
Rexwroth</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I've been on hiatus for a while, in case you've noticed. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I wasn't sure if I'd even return to the
Can(n)on again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>More and more the utter
idiocy unfolding around me has gotten so silly that it just got harder and
harder to expend any energy on any of it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>(I know why Jon Stewart's getting out of the Biz.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once all you've got left to satirize is Louie
Gomet, you'd best pack it in.) </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Three months ago I
had a life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Busy, active, from dawn to
dusk on the move.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Walk dogs, prepare for
the summer's Garden Folly garden, make soup, eat soup.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Same
old same old. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Then that life was gone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Poof! A trip to the emergency room a confused, unclear diagnosis, bewildering emergency stop-gap proeedures, an ass-backwards muddled diagnostic search filled with growing misery and disppearing strength <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span>(including the loss of my two dogs, an awful
blow on top of this unholy misery)
finally a report nobody wants to hear <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">ever</i>
from any doctor anywhere:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Stage IV
pancreatic cancer. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That's when the world goes silent.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And then changes forever. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And now I'm hip deep in the maelstrom<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>of Cancer
Land -- a bewildering forest
of Doctor appointments, research
material, unknown unknowns, known unknowns and overwhelming confusion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I start a chemo program next week.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It's no cure, but<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"cure" just doesn't seem to be a
word oncologists use very often nowadays.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The new rules seem to be: Live for a while.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Try something else and live for a little more
while.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Wash,
rinse, repeat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So the trick now is to
learn how to live while dying.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or vice
versa.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And it's bound to be a unique and
interesting journey.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One that I'm sure
many of my readers have already been on, are on now, or will be about to start
as the body's clocks tick over and transform all our lives.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
If that's a shared journey for you, please add your voice any
of my future entries. (Dealing with the medical establishment, you just know I'll have some apt comments to carry on about, don't you. Yes, yes.) And if you are a fellow wayfarer and citizen of Cancer Land, I'm sure you're full of news of far
wonders as well as practical sources of where to get a good cup of soup that
the body can handle. So, do share. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Meantime, through it all, I have to remember to . . Breathe. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Churadogshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17701649330085709021noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13758431.post-88645550224840881482015-05-24T05:54:00.001-07:002015-05-24T05:54:40.853-07:00Your Sunday Photo<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-ohVz855bHT2WmT4PbvqNdJqOb_1ZtSTpNT6iogZF1YljOPxAbXKgAK1JuT6pyD_t00JArSbeDWvCz1dBCglu80QcB1O1XQDHZPuGBgsjOWiGAS54eBNE7NyW1VEh2Ca9JKhxgw/s1600/IMG_3589%25281%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-ohVz855bHT2WmT4PbvqNdJqOb_1ZtSTpNT6iogZF1YljOPxAbXKgAK1JuT6pyD_t00JArSbeDWvCz1dBCglu80QcB1O1XQDHZPuGBgsjOWiGAS54eBNE7NyW1VEh2Ca9JKhxgw/s400/IMG_3589%25281%2529.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
Polo. Florida. Chukka's rising. Great way to spend a Sunday. Churadogshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17701649330085709021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13758431.post-59827529884085392822015-05-17T05:58:00.004-07:002015-05-17T05:58:56.941-07:00Sunday Garden FolllyThe little tree was so scrawny, bare root, bare branches. Looked like something out of a "Charlie Brown Christmas." But I had faith and mulch and so it made it through the first year, then the second spring and now, a few tiny apples. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqVicLh0j9qO4W9_h0meeqdNp8TC0lheT4hDLd9XSUppOIClkzfetuRa6YhseXe8i63O3N6n2vUjgwTVyi-0SEfSIMzMxzPSBfjBoue6PDsgjqJ9a5N-2mK3wY0vxdEt3Fpfq8OQ/s1600/002.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqVicLh0j9qO4W9_h0meeqdNp8TC0lheT4hDLd9XSUppOIClkzfetuRa6YhseXe8i63O3N6n2vUjgwTVyi-0SEfSIMzMxzPSBfjBoue6PDsgjqJ9a5N-2mK3wY0vxdEt3Fpfq8OQ/s320/002.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
And now that The Mighty Finn McCool's ashes are planted around the little apple tree, I expect it will begin to grow tall, taller, tallest, like the Finn himself. <br />
<br />
In addition, my Garden Folly continues. In the face of this drought, I concocted a scheme to bury empty plastic 1-gallone pots in the ground, fill them with mulch, and dump sink-water therein withhopes of getting the water down deeper into the soil, thus encouraging any roots to do likewise. With that idiocy in mind, I fixed up last year's green-bean poles and planted green beans and then stuck in a few acorn squash seeds in the other raised bed. <br />
<br />
Then poured water and waited. And waited. While Mother Nature decided to toy with me, sending down unseasonable cold weather, followed by unseasonable heat and no rain then some rain. Until, finally . . .<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjvlSM8_0ukoM2nu5WDafSSMH3YLi4aI_Cw981rBdeq3PB6UlJRSsAFKJLR2TQ-ctDP6oH4WZzbrU_cBpSP8yTT9PZhGUFDtyRX1dv_7N_iY7jZVnEGMo7w8h9nKkqShthSdNXmg/s1600/003.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjvlSM8_0ukoM2nu5WDafSSMH3YLi4aI_Cw981rBdeq3PB6UlJRSsAFKJLR2TQ-ctDP6oH4WZzbrU_cBpSP8yTT9PZhGUFDtyRX1dv_7N_iY7jZVnEGMo7w8h9nKkqShthSdNXmg/s320/003.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
And . . .<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpuINB9_4_WCkI-EHZ1ROInMCEgMhRkvKa8woLQvub4oPIyjXNb0jWJlK-_IZfReQSoIlDCNfOFMAXXBnaq9Q7hm_yonni_JR44uhu_ixMxCT9q5rcoxcNLOsFCbycQxrsrr4SeA/s1600/004.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpuINB9_4_WCkI-EHZ1ROInMCEgMhRkvKa8woLQvub4oPIyjXNb0jWJlK-_IZfReQSoIlDCNfOFMAXXBnaq9Q7hm_yonni_JR44uhu_ixMxCT9q5rcoxcNLOsFCbycQxrsrr4SeA/s320/004.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
Sunday follies, Sunday Miracles. Churadogshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17701649330085709021noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13758431.post-10904514369694239842015-05-10T06:11:00.001-07:002015-05-10T06:11:03.261-07:00Your Sunday Photo<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTr3df8P6RXQh0fHeY7sTZhSeySvU6P0lmU7mVo1xT6eQ-917Q9w2x73EyODZmtkcqrbYlOkKFRo8Rd3nQ0KkNLiSYcGvQve24Ts9vY6hW8pJVcFKK7lDcrcLCuIooeI4rRga9Lg/s1600/002.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTr3df8P6RXQh0fHeY7sTZhSeySvU6P0lmU7mVo1xT6eQ-917Q9w2x73EyODZmtkcqrbYlOkKFRo8Rd3nQ0KkNLiSYcGvQve24Ts9vY6hW8pJVcFKK7lDcrcLCuIooeI4rRga9Lg/s400/002.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sammy, The Snail Male</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />Churadogshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17701649330085709021noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13758431.post-19661221303478614032015-04-26T06:46:00.000-07:002015-04-26T11:29:04.834-07:00The Mighty Finn McCool<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: cyan;"><b>Calhoun's Canons for April 26, 2015</b></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In his beginning, was his end.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Alpha.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Omega. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The Mighty Finn McCool arrived in a cat carrier.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A puppy small enough to fit easily in your
lap, all elbows and stick-legs. His mother had died giving birth at the
racetrack in Tijuana, and the
puppies had been thrown in a cage to die.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>But volunteer angels from the Greyhound
Adoption Center
in La Mesa swooped in to save and
nurse them back to health. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And so he arrived here 11 years ago to confront a dog-busy
household filled with Basenjis and the late, great Archibald McDog, whose
clumsy social graces towards puppies was to rudely poke them in the tummy with
his nose.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Finn's gentle sweetness
precluded confrontation so he would hide in the nasturtiums and soon his soft,
gentle nature befuddled Archie into proper Big Brother manners.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Basenjis, of course, dismissed him out of
hand as some kind of small alien species beneath their interest. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He thrived and grew.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And grew.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Until he was towering
over everyone, a stilt-legged dog who greeted strangers on the street by doing
a happy little dance, convinced that this person had come a long, long way just
to see him. He was also a leaner against legs, his politely insistent snooter
searching for an ear-scratch. Born with a sweetness, he was a true gentleman in
all things, convinced the entire world was an oyster that daily gave him pearls
of joy; <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A morning hug and head rub, a
daily walk to visit and slowly, carefully, inspect, inhale, savor each previously
peed-upon bush and shrub and twig along the route as if they were the aromas
from the finest wines. All of it delighted him. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As did racing runs with Archie at the dog park where, in
many ways, our story begins and ends.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It
was there that his blinding speed and juvenile awkwardness in controlling those
long legs sent him into a slide that slammed him into the leg of the kiosk.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With a sickening thunk, he went down, his
fate sealed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I loaded everyone into the
car and raced for Coast Veterinary clinic to find Dr. Stephens waiting and the
diagnosis of a bad leg break was rendered.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Like race-horses, bad breaks in large dogs with tall, tall legs is very
often an ultimate death sentence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But since
he was so young and healthy, Dr. Stevens and I decided to go for broke. Dr.
Sykes, the local dog orthopedic surgeon was called in and together they put in the
steel plate and gave him his leg and life back. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Recovery took weeks of confinement, careful rehab work,
endless guided potty-calls, but somehow Finn knew he had to endure all this
patiently if he were ever to run free again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And so we forged a deep bond and understanding: He had my heart and I
had his back. We were in this together, whatever it was. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And so his life was restored to him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A reboot. A ten year gift to us both.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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But all love stories end and for Finn that came with
age-related hind leg nerve damage that made one leg fail and made getting up
and about difficult.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Anti-inflamatories
helped until a few days ago when he stumble, went down hard and was unable to
move.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We got him to the vet and, as fate
would have it, Dr. Stephens was on duty.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Once again, we tried a Hail Mary pass -- hospitalization with IV prednisone, a treatment worth a try since prednisone can often make magic
happen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But in this case, magic was impossible.
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Dr. Stephens discovered a re-break in the
old plated, repaired leg. The old fatal injury had returned. </div>
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I was able to get quickly to the office to say goodbye as
Dr. Stephens, the doctor who gave Finn his second life ten years ago, was there again
to gently help him out of it. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Beginnings.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Endings.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Alpha.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Omega. </div>
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I will bury Finn's ashes under the brave little apple tree. The first of its delicate, pale blooms are open now, giving me the promise of another spring.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And once again, there will be another ghost in
my garden.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This one with tall legs, a happy
soul, and all my heart. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCnjcoVEHHRDaWyTwx1ZYJoyROmtgrOnqUKyO7csMmLxk_xfHf-Lx6DcQO_GjkyR7QN3grt5gQclT2FCf4ig6u7EF3-5dpUxH-z86qrJY2JnOFKnyHO1KdJJF73a47tnOzhjJwnw/s1600/Finn+in+the+nasturtiums,+July+4,+04+004.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCnjcoVEHHRDaWyTwx1ZYJoyROmtgrOnqUKyO7csMmLxk_xfHf-Lx6DcQO_GjkyR7QN3grt5gQclT2FCf4ig6u7EF3-5dpUxH-z86qrJY2JnOFKnyHO1KdJJF73a47tnOzhjJwnw/s1600/Finn+in+the+nasturtiums,+July+4,+04+004.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
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Churadogshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17701649330085709021noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13758431.post-88354862129716603852015-04-18T04:47:00.000-07:002015-04-18T04:47:41.361-07:00Garden Folly: The Drought VersionDue to the drought, the CSD has put all of us Los Ososians on a water budget. So, here’s the experiment and the challenge: Grow some green beans on a budget of 50 gallons of water per day per person per household, that includes indoor and outdoor water use. Can it be done? I have no idea. But I will try. That’s the folly of it.<br />
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<a href="http://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-YQKCeKw2FFo/VTJBrKV_MLI/AAAAAAAACMs/eHlq5ksmmtU/s1600-h/001%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img alt="001" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiGgwlR4D2aGNpeMQd9LcNHrVdi_obE2aQBnoHb5phH0uRDPmw6XYh1u4PRSuy4VKoYlZgeOcgxyETD_qN1oF1fn4VHJ57TQJC1uoxjYh74CIwa4lohXdAr5OOZATI7z6nSjV3gA/?imgmax=800" height="184" style="background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; border-right: 0px; border-top: 0px; display: inline; margin: 0px 0px 5px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" title="001" width="244" /></a><br />
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To prepare, there’s the water-thrifty dishpans at the ready.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7FisE0XUq1VPlhH8O0AFaiRhSg9DcGFkU2fL7VKbcVcXkp8PSLdu2a9hsY4DLkig5kOSbfhU3yYfujcaw0w6tYHRPCms4GnvE9eHzH5BSnfgOM1xn4gZzGP0KPiCPepeVL3gfmg/s1600-h/002%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img alt="002" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGNWcIbEtQK728-el_jW2fxGq2b-zy5uIqBbOOUAYD0W6VtW0q4fQhncQZWqlTyOTMtbvMLY0uMAsFjuxifv38vsRzfNSSp4NE57c7mnYwaAdZZws5sMqbrKzGrdTfqLU3RDr54g/?imgmax=800" height="184" style="background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; border-right: 0px; border-top: 0px; display: inline; margin: 0px 0px 5px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" title="002" width="244" /></a><br />
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And the rinse-water slop bucket standing by. (You would be amazed how quickly that rinse water adds up, no matter how quickly you turn the faucet off in between rinses.)<br />
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<a href="http://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-WaCna_FB44Q/VTJBwLh5OhI/AAAAAAAACNM/qwP036Q4RuI/s1600-h/003%25255B10%25255D.jpg"><img alt="003" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_QpzApNgLdOOGfkTGtNRhEsm2hWN2_SKGUu6xRS7q3DJjCOKrfwwsnbEAvAdnAqYzlWYJaGiut4xxOfux1nnhkyeT21WXlbMARwLQJb9nxiCUDfRqCYtFrzDv-fJtzFdD0gGMVw/?imgmax=800" height="244" style="background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; border-right: 0px; border-top: 0px; display: inline; margin: 0px 0px 5px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" title="003" width="184" /></a><br />
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And, one of the biggest water wasters of all – a bathroom sink far away from the hot water heater. At least a gallon down the drain before the water’s warm enough to splash on your face.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-DJQ0jvrM_qk/VTJByFRlJ7I/AAAAAAAACNc/Oq5tc1X3uSg/s1600-h/004%25255B7%25255D.jpg"><img alt="004" border="0" src="http://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-XaUn_mXsh_c/VTJBy6j6RnI/AAAAAAAACNk/T6-PjE8v7Gk/004_thumb%25255B1%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" height="244" style="background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; border-right: 0px; border-top: 0px; display: inline; margin: 0px 0px 5px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" title="004" width="184" /></a><br />
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Last and by by no means least, the good old shower water capture buckets. (Well over a gallon there.) <br />
Plus, of course, big garbage cans under the gutters to capture whatever bit of rain happens to arrive.<br />
<br />
And now for the folly, sparked by a growing tip from Sunset Magazine: bury gallon plastic pots in the earth, fill with pebbles or wood chips. Plant your green beans (or squash or tomatoes) next to the buried pot. Pour your saved household water into the pot. The water will leak out of the bottom, a good 8-9” down in the soil, thereby avoiding topsoil evaporation. It also creates a deeper water source and thereby forces the green beans roots to go deeper for their moisture. <br />
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<a href="http://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-NUoKXRpzJrA/VTJB1Xm7QZI/AAAAAAAACNs/C8xn82bwEv4/s1600-h/005%25255B7%25255D.jpg"><img alt="005" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXYfK37kLTbJxFGpl4MG0ubk5Rj3newKvXvHgA7hw3JN793BmXibBZ-iTopICFiyqHTm-H_ETuqDFrzQRC1WmAfMLqTPVXPUZd00k07_KAdDb4unjDJ4f6svV89d1jvTWGr8r4rA/?imgmax=800" height="244" style="background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; border-right: 0px; border-top: 0px; display: inline; margin: 0px 0px 5px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" title="005" width="184" /></a><br />
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At least that’s the theory. And I’m going to see if it’ll work. Last year, I inadvertently discovered that I could pretty effectively “dry land” farm tomatoes by keeping them starved for water. Instead of too many leaves from too much water, I ended up with bedraggled leaves and tons of very, very sweet little cherry tomatoes. We’ll see if that happy accident will work as well this year. I hope so since Zuri had so much fun last year waiting for her green beans.<br />
<a href="http://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-oED0SpcM088/VTJB4Wck2bI/AAAAAAAACN8/MWUjnzfsQk0/s1600-h/Waiting%252520for%252520the%252520Beans%25252C%2525209-14-14%252520%252520bean%252520pole%25252C%252520zuri%25252C%252520003%25255B3%25255D.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="Waiting for the Beans, 9-14-14 bean pole, zuri, 003" border="0" src="http://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-I3fIQfTTPfQ/VTJB5K8fa_I/AAAAAAAACOE/MpA9_lLIq0g/Waiting%252520for%252520the%252520Beans%25252C%2525209-14-14%252520%252520bean%252520pole%25252C%252520zuri%25252C%252520003_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" height="400" style="background-image: none; border-color: -moz-use-text-color; border-style: none; border-width: 0px; display: inline; margin: 0px 0px 5px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" title="Waiting for the Beans, 9-14-14 bean pole, zuri, 003" width="301" /></a><br />
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Stay tuned. And, if you have any bright ideas you're using in your house to meet our community-wide 50-gallon challenge, do share your ideas here.<br />
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Churadogshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17701649330085709021noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13758431.post-40211301143168287932015-04-11T06:22:00.001-07:002015-04-11T06:22:14.676-07:00Archibald McDog<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<span style="color: cyan;"><b>Calhoun's Cannons for April 11, 2015</b></span></div>
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He had no brakes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Full of wild enthusiasms, he ran at everything full tilt.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Two speeds: Zero and Oh, No!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nothing in between. Bang his food dish and in
a split second he would ramp himself up into panting Full Crazy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Pick up the leash and he was at the door,
engine roaring.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nothing by halves. </div>
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<br /></div>
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He had no manners, either.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And didn't speak or understand "Dog" very well, which made
every social encounter with other dogs fraught with peril.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His blundering approach to a new dog was to
rush up into their face and bark or poke at them in a clueless attempt at
engaging in play.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Naturally, they
reacted with a warning growl, but instead of backing off and minding his
manners, he took that as a threat and moved in to bully them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Bad move, since Archie was, at heart, a big,
clueless weenie and even though the new dog would put him in his place for his
rudeness, he never learned.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was all
Boo-Hoo, Poor Me. Wash, rinse, repeat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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And it was always wash, rinse, repeat with him because he
had some kind of profound short term memory disorder.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Alzheimer Dog, I used to call him.
"Sit," I'd tell him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>"Huh?" he'd reply.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He
wasn't dumb.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In fact, he was a very
smart dog.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I suspect that his intense
focus on the moment just erased every previous moment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For him there was no past, it was all just a
series of disconnected Now's. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Which made
living with him exasperating.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Training
classes simply went in one ear and out the other.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"Sit. Stay."<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"What? Oh, look, a squirrel!" Hopeless.
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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I stumbled on him at Animal Services some 15-plus years
ago.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was a skinny, black-masked feral-looking
brindle dog, a lurcher of dubious pedigree.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>A greyhound with somebody else's ears, I called him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As he grew older, the German Shepherd in him
overtook the greyhound as he grew heavier and filled out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In most cases,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>a greyhound/shepherd mix can produce a great
dog if you get the sweet gentle temperament of the greyhound and the smarts and
inherent obedience of the Shepherd.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Unfortunately,
you can also end up with Archie, in which you get the worst of both of those
breeds -- the world-erasing, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>laser-focus
("I can't hear you, La-La-La") of a greyhound on the hunt who has
spotted and locked on his quarry, combined with the Nazi bully-boy herding temperament
of the German Shepherd. In short, Archie was a pain in the butt who kept my
eyes rolling for years. "<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Arch</i>EEE!
Jeeze!' became the metronomic music in the house. </div>
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No manners, no brakes, an unreliable temperament, stubborn
and hard-headed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We had issues, he and I,
but for all that he had a big soft heart and in all things meant well in his
bungling fashion. And he lived a long, long time, a very strong, remarkably healthy
dog. When his hind legs became too weak for walks, he was still up for a totter
to the car for a ride<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>to the dog
park.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And when that became too much to
manage, with a little help in getting up, he'd still insist on carrying on as
usual. It was a heart-breaking lesson in courage to see him single-mindedly
shambling all the way to the back yard to do his business.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It did not matter to him that his legs didn't
work right.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They worked well enough and
he kept going forward because that was the only way. Until it wasn't and his
body just got too weak and tired to go on. When that happened, he let me know
it was time for him to go. </div>
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His ashes now join all the other ghost dogs in the garden
where he once lazed in the sun, noodling and nosing around the lavender bushes,
looking for lizards.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have no doubt his
incorrigible spirit is somewhere, causing trouble.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was a bad dog. </div>
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And I loved him. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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Churadogshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17701649330085709021noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13758431.post-2160969371085785892015-04-05T05:05:00.002-07:002015-04-05T05:05:37.104-07:00Sunday’s Blessing<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjav997GLiUjTbP78N-mh826t_gGWK0DfIJKmUB_NGShclxGUq_eERoEDmLrDO8a_Ekq8ixJff8S1lmJpAvgBEi8i_CH9DKAF5_QZjzot5n4KQ8Vjyw4mPbeP_IkTzmAneMiTw6PA/s1600-h/001%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img alt="001" border="0" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-unxa099eE_Q/VSEj1zzvssI/AAAAAAAACL8/LIcM3L3FOIQ/001_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" height="400" style="background-image: none; border-color: -moz-use-text-color; border-style: none; border-width: 0px; display: inline; margin: 0px 0px 5px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" title="001" width="301" /></a><br />
<br />
The little apple tree was a folly in the face of time and the vagaries of weather. Leafless, skinny, it sat in it’s little plot of dirt through the cold winter and come spring, grudgingly gave out a few leaves. Somehow it weathered the drought summer with me carefully monitoring the soil and judiciously applying scarce water. Then another winter, a screwy winter with no winter and little rain giving anyone hope. <br />
And then, on a quiet spring morning, this delicate gift arrives. Churadogshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17701649330085709021noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13758431.post-42327242418951967572015-03-15T06:31:00.000-07:002015-03-15T06:31:25.288-07:00Sunday's Muse<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj5FQLS7_1VoQOfg1UUxsVOAk9YzHLnGBrVBQ0xhfHhOsjcw5dJs5ZkvyzYsZjLVI0GMh3cI0_ZdHhiq3Iuzi12CI72d1MTI4nhltRwaZzAtLhqwtz91KJKnAPYM94j-gD31m7qw/s1600/Garden,+July+2013+008.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj5FQLS7_1VoQOfg1UUxsVOAk9YzHLnGBrVBQ0xhfHhOsjcw5dJs5ZkvyzYsZjLVI0GMh3cI0_ZdHhiq3Iuzi12CI72d1MTI4nhltRwaZzAtLhqwtz91KJKnAPYM94j-gD31m7qw/s1600/Garden,+July+2013+008.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a></div>
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<i>What more can we ask than to never know what to expect. </i><br />
Paul VioliChuradogshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17701649330085709021noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13758431.post-15139092732071282652015-03-08T05:50:00.001-07:002015-03-08T05:50:13.399-07:00Sunday Gratitude<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The heat, the relentless sun turning the land to an endless expanse of grass too tired to even be golden. Dead ash, the color of defeat. Time seemed to stand still and we thought it would never end, that the rains would never come. That the land had fallen into death, crumpled into defeat, finished, done for. And then, from the exhausted silence, renewal. Life again. Small, wonderous miracles. Gifts of hope in a hard but still-fecund world. .<br />
Thank You.<br />
Thank You.<br />
Thank You.Churadogshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17701649330085709021noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13758431.post-6371410758773397622015-03-05T05:46:00.001-08:002015-03-05T05:46:26.352-08:00Again<a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-5C1MRehlK3Q/VPhaeTvXDgI/AAAAAAAACKs/okjEFoD-CTs/s1600-h/005%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img alt="005" border="0" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-Vtdltem6SOg/VPhahLP-lyI/AAAAAAAACK0/y-XXEVetmmw/005_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" height="184" style="background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; border-right: 0px; border-top: 0px; display: inline; margin: 0px 0px 5px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" title="005" width="244" /></a><br />
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When I first read Joe Tarica’s column on our beautiful bridge bear being vandalized, I had a flame of anger. Then I felt a wave of fatigue and thought, Oh, why bother? This is just another story about another loser asshole in a world filled with loser assholes. Indeed, we are awash with them. Some are famous world leaders, others crazed religionists bent on world conquest, but most are run-of-the-mill annoying bumps on the world's backside. <br />
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I'm sure the people who did this, if they're caught, will have some kind of explanation, but you can bet on one thing: It will be a loser asshole reason – banal beyond belief: their Mommie didn’t get them the toy they wanted, they’re angry because they didn’t get the job thy delusionally felt they were entitled to, their car wouldn’t start, somebody recognized them for their basic loser assholeness and dissed them, they’re just having a bad day.<br />
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I have no doubt there was more than one loser asshole involved in smashing the nose off the bear. Fueled by booze or drugs and their own pathetic sense of self entitlement, they set to work. I have no doubt either that they thought what they were doing was funny. Their way of getting back at a world that keenly acknowledges their assholeness. Take that! Thinking somehow that this act of stupidity will improve their lives. Give them some momentary triumph until the sad reality of their looser existence returns.<br />
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It’s a dull story, retold all around the world in ugly acts that range from our little bear’s broken nose to the psycopathic hooting of murderous Jihadi pseudo-warriors smashing ancient treasures, and sawing off heads while grinning at the camera. Look at me! Look at Me! <br />
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Asshole losers all. The world is filled with them, more’s the pity. I can only hope the police catch whoever broughtthis pathetic looserness to our beloved bear. I suspect, it will be like the last time assholes visited our town and smashed the bear. They were never caught but the town rallied and raised the money needed to recast and restore our treasure. The Chamber of Commerce owns the molds and an anonymous donor has offered $1,000 for information leading to the arrest of those responsible. Additionally, the Chamber may be starting a fund drive to restore out bear. Contact them at <a href="mailto:info@lobchamber.org">info@lobchamber.org</a>. <br />
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Let’s hope that the community of good people who live ere are wiling again to do the work needed to overcome the sad effects of loser assholes and a new bear will once again take its place looking out over our splendid marsh. Churadogshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17701649330085709021noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13758431.post-79591723592162766512015-02-24T04:51:00.001-08:002015-02-24T05:36:39.676-08:00Get a Mirror! It's one of the abiding mysteries why too many stars trekking down the Red Carpet to the Academy Awards are so fashion challenged. Seriously. They're professionals working in a visual medium. Their work depends on <i>seeing</i>. Yet, oddly, too many of them suddenly go blind when looking in a mirror. Surely, in Hollywood, everybody knows somebody who knows somebody who knows somebody who knows basic fashion? Or call up the costume designer on your last film and ask for help? Or, if you can't afford to pay for that service, and if you're going to be on that red carpet, wouldn't you think you'd at least call a brutally honest friend to ask, "Does this dress make me look stupid?"<br />
<br />
Like, did nobody have the heart to tell the beautiful Marion Cotillard that while wearing her very, very expensive white Dior gown she had apparently sat down on a very large patch of black duct tape that was now stuck to the bottom of her butt? <br />
<br />
Granted, dressing women of a certain size and age can be a challenge. But it can be done. I give you two words: Oprah Winfrey. That Queen of Zoftig knows how to get Spanx-wrapped and go full out Diva. Not so lucky was Patricia Arquette. She looked like she had been out in her yard in a too-large white tee-shirt and oversized black pants, her hair grabbed up in a scraggy bun to keep most of it out of her face while she washed the family's laundry in a big bucket, when the phone rang, reminding her it was the Red Carpet hour, so she dropped what she was doing and came as she was -- a hot mess. And take a closer look at her "gown" and you'll see something that looks like it was made at home using an old Singer, by someone who doesn't know how to sew very well -- cheap satin, seams showing. Oh Dear. <br />
<br />
If she actually paid somebody to make her look like that as she headed for the microphone to get her much deserved Oscar, then she should put a bucket of shame on their head. And one on her own. But, alas, too many stars believe their fashionista dressers (huge pay-off money in that let-me-pay-you-to-wear-my-loopy-designs business). And the result is, too many beautiful ladies earn the ultimate, but much-deserved, acid critique: "Poor Dear, you just had to buy that dress, didn't you?" <br />
<br />
But there was one fashion stand out: Neil Patrick Harris stripped down to his tighty-whities in a spoof of Michael Keaton's underwear stroll down Broadway in "Birdman." Basic simplicity in fashion is never out of style and it doesn't get more basic than that. <br />
<br />
As for the Oscar show itself, it was one of the best ones I've seen in a long time -- plenty of glitter, plenty of heart-felt and often genuinely sweet acceptance speeches, (Eddie Redmayne's spontaneous little kid happy-dance at the microphone, Graham Moore's touching and encouraging speech to all the "weird, different kids" out there). And, best of all, with so many great movies and nominations, all of them worthy, it was impossible to feel too disappointed by any losses. It was an embarrassment of riches. Churadogshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17701649330085709021noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13758431.post-74149094506910513012015-02-22T05:31:00.000-08:002015-02-22T05:31:48.472-08:00Sunday Post <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<i>Keep your eyes open to your mercies. The man who forgets to be thankful has fallen asleep in life.</i><br />
Robert Louis StevensonChuradogshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17701649330085709021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13758431.post-28983198284333745882015-02-15T05:30:00.000-08:002015-02-15T05:31:48.356-08:00Sunday Post<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<i>The charm, one might say the genius, of memory is that it is choosy, chancy, and temperamental: It rejects the edifying cathedral and indelibly photographs the small boy outside, chewing a hunk of melon in the dust. </i><br />
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Author Elizabeth Bowen Churadogshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17701649330085709021noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13758431.post-418300292156449302015-02-11T06:38:00.001-08:002015-02-11T06:38:19.041-08:00Media Credibility LOLAn, poor Brian Williams. Sent to Coventry without six months worth of nice salary, the chorus of "Boo, Boo! Booooo!" ringing in his ears, some of which are coming from his colleagues who've been waiting for his take down for some time. To them, he wasn't NBC's hyped-up "Most Trusted Newscaster in Television," he was an ego-puff in an expensive suit, That Guy who never lost an opportunity to remind everyone in the room of his Wonderfulness. And for guys like that, it's just a matter of time. <br />
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Add in the fact that Williams is a very sharp, funny man and a terrific raconteur, and it was all just inevitable. The seduction of being a celebrity, of being the talk-show guest that everybody who's anybody is clamoring for is a temptation few can resist. Add in the utterly unreliability of memory, the lure of embellishment when telling entertaining tales, and you have the recipe for disaster: Ego, spotlight, fungible memory, the unalterable demands of fiction. It's the banana peel on the top of the stairs time.<br />
<br />
Well, no harm, no foul. The fake hero is disgraced and gets to eat humble pie, his fellow journalists get to preen in their (as yet) unsullied ethical mantles, NBC gets a lot of publicity, the public gets confirmation for their belief in the fakery and unreliability of <i>all </i>news organizations, cynically tossing babies and bathwater alike out the window (thereby making running the long con on them even easier), and stand-up comedians have a field day. <br />
<br />
And instead of using Williams as a wake-up call and demanding (and getting) <i>better news</i>, the public flips the channel and settles for stories of lost kittens and 24/7 coverage of sex-drenched murder trials. Everything back to normal in Alzheimer Nation. Churadogshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17701649330085709021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13758431.post-64828636621075476582015-02-07T07:09:00.000-08:002015-02-07T07:10:47.165-08:00Oh, Dear God and Oh, Dear God, Not The BOS, Too. Is there some virus, like measles, going around that seems to make "Christian Republicans" stupid? Especially a former "Christian Republican Governor," like Jim Gilmore, and makes him stupider than usual?<br />
<br />
Obama goes to a National Prayer Breakfast and talk about the high anxiety over "Muslim" anything and points out that evil deeds done in the name of "God" are nothing new. Then goes on to say, "Humanity has been grappling with these questions throughout human history." And rather aptly points out that " . . . lest we get on our high horse and think this is unique to some other place, remember that during the Crusades and the Inquisition, people committed terrible deeds in the name of Christ. In our home country, salvery and Jim Crow all to often was justified in the name of Christ."<br />
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At that former Gov. Gilmore's head exploded and he said, "The president's comments this morning at the prayer breakfast are the most offensive I've ever heard a president make in my lifetime. He has offended every believing Christian in the United States. This goes further to the point that Mr. Obama does not believe in America or the values we all share.'<br />
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Seriously? Gil, Baby, and all your fellow "Christians" need to get a grip. It's clearly time that you read up on your history! Being that willfully ignorant is just plain embarrasing.<br />
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<h4>
<b> FOOD FIGHT AT THE B.O.S! </b></h4>
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Talk about viruses, it seems the famous LOCSD "crazy" germ has been transferred to COLAB (Coalition of Labor, Agriculture and Business) supporters and they're now appearing at the County Board of Supervisors to take over for the LOCSD Sewer Gang as the Favorite People the Board Loves to Growl At. You know, <i>those people</i>? <br />
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But this time, anti-COLABers have both Tom Fulks, Bruce Gibson's political operative, AND Bruce Gibson, AND the Tribune editor in their corner. It's a kind of political trifecta that promises much excitement just when the Sewer Wars were winding down and the BOS was about to return to its sleepy old comity.<br />
<br />
No such luck. <br />
<br />
First, back on August 1, 2014, Ron Crawford posted a blog entry titled "Bruce Gibson's 'Evil Genius in the Back Room,' and Why I Predict Four Awkward Years in SLO County Government," at <a href="http://www.sewerwatch.blogspot.com/">http://www.sewerwatch.blogspot.com </a>all about Tom Fulks, Bruce Gibson's, uh, "political consultant/operative," who, uh, let us say, has an active presence in the politi-sphere.<br />
<br />
Then, before you know it, up pops Tom as the <i>Tribune's</i> "liberal" half of a new "liberal/conservative" op/ed section. Before anyone can say, "Huh, Whaaaa???" things get rolling. On Feb 1, Tom rolls out a <i>huge</i> hit-piece on COLAB, railing against "secretive" folks who hide their identities and sneak around while taking pot shots at their political "enemies." (Which struck me as rather funny after reading Ron's piece about Tom's own alleged sneak-around operations?) <br />
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Somewhere between the first Op/Ed, and Tom's Feb 1 huge anti-COLAB take-down, the <i>Tribune </i>editor, Sandra Duerr gets an email from Ron asking whether or not the new Op/Ed kids were getting paid for their scribbling? And had Duerr read or was aware of Ron's Aug 1, 2014 Sewerwatch blog posting on Tom's ongoing paid professional/political activities?<br />
<br />
The answer came on Feb 5, with Ms. Duerr's <i>Tribune</i> editorial reply that "local people who are writing commentaries are not paid for contributions . . ." and noting that Tom's first op/ed piece included some background on each writer. What went missing was the question concerning whether or not Tom is <i>still</i> acting <i>in any way</i> on Gibson's behalf or is funded, <i>in any way,</i> by Gibson's campaign organization, etc. In other words, full disclosure.<br />
<br />
Then the fur really flew. At Tuesday's BOS meeting, what should have been a routine changing of the guard (Whose turn was it to play Chairman.) turned into this weird battle over the "soul" of the BOS -- Liberal Coasters (Gibson, Hill) vs Conservative Rape & Pillage Evil Developers Fronting a Gang of "Lord of the Flies" brutish, Anonymous Malice-Spewing Bullies, Thugs & Hooded Goons. (Or so so alludeth Fulks in his Feb 1 <i>Tribune</i> piece.) That crowd is apparently headed up by the Dreaded Tea Partying Debbie Arnold.<br />
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Since things were apparently headed into World War III and because of this glitch in the rotation schedule (said glitch claimed by Gibson to have been caused by Gibson), Frank Mecham figured he'd head off the worst of the vitriol allegedly dumped on his head and so fell upon his sword for the Greater Good and stepped down so Debbie Arnold could get her turn at being Chairwoman in hopes that everyone would shut up and get back to working for the good of the community instead of squabbling over who got to bang the gavel for a year. He also wanted to end the perception of a "good ol' boys" Board and nominated Lynn Compton for Adam Hill's slot as Veep-Chair. So we get to have Ladies Nite for a year. Apparently a lot of the folks in the audience were happy with that odd "compromise," and thanked Mecham for being a "gentleman" about this whole thing. <br />
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Which should have settled the affair except on Feb 6 there was a <i>Tribune</i> editorial tossing brickbats to everyone and declaring that the whole thing stunk of politics while hurling a few brickbats at COLAB. Meanwhile, on the next page was a long Viewpoint from Supervisor Gibson "apologizing" for allowing the routine rotation issue to get politicized. He took a few hefty swipes at "Supervisor Arnold, encouraged by her COLAB coaches and cheerleaders [who] has decided to thoroughly politize what was once a collegial, nonpartisan yearly rite of passage." He then threw Frank Mecham under the bus with a hilarious bit of faux sorrow. Said Gibson, "In any case, Frank Mecham, I'm sorry that my procedural oversight exposed you to this bulling and that you chose to abandon your chairmanship."<br />
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You lying, weasle-bellied, lilly-livered, waffle-spined, cowardly girly-man you! <br />
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So much for sleepy, calm, productive Board comity. Now, how did Ron Crawford put it? Oh, yes, "Why I Predict Four Awkward Years in SLO County Government." Good call, Ron. Good call.<br />
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As for me, I'm gonna open up a popcorn stand outside the BOS doors. Make a mint. <br />
Churadogshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17701649330085709021noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13758431.post-83412100312541450872015-02-02T05:57:00.000-08:002015-02-02T05:57:12.102-08:00Morro Bay Clowns, Pirates, and Little KidsAh, Poor Morro Bay. Last year the city hired Devin Weigant of Municipal Auditing Services (MAS) to pull an Inspector Javert on the city and track down anyone, including "outside vendors" who do business within the Morro Bay city limits and see if they have the proper business license. Weigant and MAS will get 40% of whatever monies he can shake out of the pockets of the business community. <br />
<br />
The reason for the sudden enforcement of what has been, apparently, a lax and sloppily administered law, was the city is, well, broke-ish and needs mo’ money. But it turned out Inspector Javert’s ham-handed enforcement methods left a lot of business folks feeling insulted, threatened and, above all, totally confused and angry. <br />
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And now, Colin Rigley of <i>New Times</i> got his hands on 492 pages of emails between Weigant’s firm and the city staff, including the city’s new Manager, David Buckingham. And, being New Times, “The Shredder” had to chime in as well. I don’t think MAS will be amused. Neither will the good folks of Morro Bay when they read what Mr. Weigant had to say about them in those emails.<br />
( <a href="http://www.newtimesslo.com/news/11955/clowns-and-weed-huts-new-times-reviews-hundreds-of-pages-of-emails-between-morro-bay-and-its-business-license-auditor/">http://www.newtimesslo.com/news/11955/clowns-and-weed-huts-new-times-reviews-hundreds-of-pages-of-emails-between-morro-bay-and-its-business-license-auditor/</a>)<br />
<br />
Well, who can blame them? The original roll out of this enforcement effort wasn’t ready for prime time. Even after some modifications, it still isn’t ready. <br />
<br />
This is one of those ordinances that’s been on the books for years, wasn’t really widely known or diligently enforced, and needed considerable re-working and re-thinking before being turn-keyed. None of which happened here. <br />
<br />
Instead, business owners woke up to what they perceived to be threats and bully-boy tactics when they tried to inquire or appeal. They were faced with totally confusing information (at an early public meeting, officials didn’t know whether the income parameters were for net or gross). They were also facing an ordinance filled with strange loopholes, exceptions, disparities that left the city staff scrambling to make patches, and soon these bungles started to reveal a poorly written and considered law that was filled with unintended consequences. <br />
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For example, the owner of one of the city’s consignment stores pointed out that her consigners really made so little selling their art or collectables that if they had to cough up big bucks for a license, they’d simply leave town and she’d be out of business. Artists chimed up to note that if they had a show in a Morro Bay gallery a couple of times a year, they’d be dinged with a huge bill for the license and 4 years of back fees, an untenable hit for an artist who may only sell a few pieces of work a year. <br />
They too would leave town. After all, why would any artist bring their work to any gallery in town, when no other gallery in the county requires such an expensive license? <br />
<br />
Realizing they were faced with some unintended consequences heading their way, the City Council created a second tier of fees for artists, small crafters, etc. But, I recently heard (unconfirmed) that thanks to some lobbying, musicians were now exempted while (visual) artists are still stuck with what could turn out to be fees totaling $160 just to hang a picture in town. If true, then clearly this cobbled together law still needs more work. <br />
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Meantime, Weigant & Co’s emails have done nothing to improve the mood of the Morro Bay business community. Calling them “scoflaws,” “child like” and “clowns” when they were just trying to make sense of, clarify and appeal what was so obviously a poorly written, confusing ordinance, is not a way to make friends or influence people. <br />
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And for a town that relies for so much of its tax money on small businesses, hiring MAS now looks like one of those penny wise, pound foolish desperate measures elected officials make when stressed over flagging budgets. <br />
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Instead of doing the hard work of consulting with and understanding the communities’ business structure in order to construct and perhaps amend and improve on previous ordinances to enhance both small business and the city’s coffers, they just grabbed at a rain-making Inspector Javert who came roaring into town promising that coins would fall out of the sky with little or no work on their part. <br />
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Knowing Morro Bay Politics, it’s a choice that’s likely to have consequences --unintended, many of them unhappy, few of them necessary. But then, in a city filled with “clowns,” what can you expect? Churadogshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17701649330085709021noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13758431.post-65886988292551851672015-02-01T06:43:00.002-08:002015-02-01T06:43:22.958-08:00Sunday Morning<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<i>We are all looking for something of extraordinary importance whose nature we have forgotten.</i><br />
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Eugene Ionesco Churadogshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17701649330085709021noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13758431.post-63207885179693229562015-01-31T06:54:00.000-08:002015-01-31T06:54:55.635-08:00Shooter’s GalleryThe movie, “American Sniper,” has certainly stirred up a whole lot of voices. That's good. And, like most of America, the opinions being expressed are both polarized and all over the map. But two general themes keep turning up: Chris Kyle, a Navy SEAL and an Iraq War sniper portrayed in the film, was a " hero" or a "villain," a brave soldier or a cowardly sciopathic killer. And the movie was a pro-war Hoo-rah! screed or a powerful anti-war film. <br />
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These simple black and white designations always diminish and disguise the complicated reality of soldering and war. The propensity of calling anyone who did their duty a “hero” seems to be a recent outcome of a culture that gives out gold stars and trophies to kids who just showed up so as to not wound their tender sense of self-esteem. <br />
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And calling a soldier a villain blames the instrument for the policy and neatly sidesteps responsibility. If you hate the war and blame the soldier, that conveniently avoids the unpleasant truth that in a democracy the creator of the war, the architect of the policy, will be found smack dab in the middle of a mirror.<br />
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And calling a sniper or a combat soldier a sociopathic killer gravely misses one of the terrible truths about war. And that’s actor George C. Scott's "Patton-ish"speech from the movie, "Patton," the bitterly funny line, "I want you to remember that no bastard ever won a war by dying for his country. He won it by making the other poor, dumb bastard die for his country." <br />
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That awful truth is what made Michael Moore’s comment about snipers in general being viewed as “cowardly” so fatuous. In combat, while taking care to stay within the rules of engagement, how your enemy dies is immaterial. Sniper’s bullet, face-to-face firefights, rocket strikes, bombs, or a knife in the gut is immaterial. Dead is dead and a soldier’s job is to create sufficient dead enemy so that they stop shooting and quit the field of battle. Do that enough times and if you’re lucky, the war may end and you'll get to go home. Alive. <br />
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All of which gets very, very complicated in wars where the enemy is not in uniform all neatly turned out into organized battalions lined up on an open plain, flags flying. Asymetrical warfare, guerilla warfare, civilian combatants are ugly, nightmare complications that put extraordinary demands on soldiers. Misread a situation and in a split second a soldier can be dead, or headed for a court martial. And even if all goes well, bloody combat, by its very nature, is too often soul-wounding and puts hard baggage on the survivors. "After such knowledge," observed T.S. Elliot, "what forgiveness?" <br />
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In addition, our modern wars conducted by a small cadre of chronically overburdened professional soldiers puts extraordinary demands on those men and women and their families. Too often, we have carelessly and recklessly given them an impossible mission and when the mission fails, we turn our backs and walk away. Or call them cowards or heroes so we don’t have to look more deeply at the complexities behind those words.<br />
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“American Sniper” has started a “conversation,” which is good. I can only hope that that “conversation” yields some positive results, a better understanding, more honest evaluations and wiser choices going forward.<br />
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Before America slips into its typical default mode: The Great Forgetting. Churadogshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17701649330085709021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13758431.post-30241797902764833002015-01-26T06:26:00.001-08:002015-01-26T06:43:31.751-08:00Foxcatcher"Foxcatcher" is a tragic creepshow, a sorrowful horror movie, a sad, scary suspense thriller that grimly unwinds with increasing fateful urgency towards its unstoppable, heartbreaking end. <br />
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Steve Carell, who usually plays sad-sack comic roles, plays John E. ("Eagle") DuPont, one of the richest men in the world, scion of the DuPont family, a sad, damaged man-child with Mommy issues, too much money, a social awkwardness that is heartbreaking, self esteem that's delusional, and a mind that's unsettled and unraveling. Carell's performance is astonishing, his face nearly unrecognizable under a new nose and teeth. But it's his performance that keeps the viewer riveted by the man at the awful center of this sad drama -- a clumsy, cringe-worthy, socially disconnected, decidedly odd man, his body movements slack and disorganized, his flat, affectless face and inappropriate conversation inept and disconcerting. For the viewer, Carell's behavior becomes increasingly alarming since anyone familiar with the story knows that this is a tale that is fated to end badly. But because nobody in the theatre knows just exactly <i>when </i>that will be, the suspense builds to an unnerving level.<br />
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The other two players in this tragic troika, are Mark and Dave Schultz, played by Channing Tatum and Mark Ruffalo respectively. As presented, they too are damaged, trouble souls whose ambitions and dreams and emotional needs were ripe for DuPont's picking. Initially Mark, a needy man resentful being in the shadow of his older brother, is lured to Foxcatcher Farms, the DuPont estate, by DuPont, who fashions himself a coach and "leader of men," and who's built an elaborate wrestling training camp, created "Team Foxcatcher," and wants to become the premier center for all US wrestling teams.<br />
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Initially, the relationship between Mark, DuPont and the formation of the "Team Foxcatcher" goes well, with Mark winning at the World events and everyone working towards the 1988 Olympics. Eventually, Mark's older brother is lured to join the enterprise. He uproots his family and moves them to Foxcatcher Farms to join his brother and the team as a coach. It is a deadly <i>Fata Morgana </i>for both of them.<br />
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"Foxcatcher" is one of those films that's difficult to watch because the viewer is as helplessly trapped in its relentless narrative as are the characters -- no way out, this tragedy must play out to the end. But Carell, Tatum and Ruffalo's amazing performances makes the horrifying trip well worth it. It won't be a surprise if there isn't Oscar gold here for these remarkable performances and for Director Bennett Miller for creating such a powerful, haunting, well made film. <br />
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Churadogshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17701649330085709021noreply@blogger.com3