tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-117556082024-03-13T23:18:01.894-07:00sealife chronicleslife on earth is 90% water. which means we're all sealife.spaceneedlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18048730291915823954noreply@blogger.comBlogger658125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11755608.post-5378281058418209922024-03-07T12:46:00.000-08:002024-03-08T23:15:19.827-08:00Four Years Later<div><i><span style="font-family: georgia;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhBDdzchUlHkKuyv2SXxyfXop3p1BCSXG_swc8WsFNrGf0SGyqOJ28IdxccD6wf4sRlLpbOAX-PU-YoG-UiL3AMBc6A620FFpIhRrxzfPeT33jzM0qWZ0RwVpnE67F3d3OArLbhAPsTgLfhbt9pq9-yUkafbv4wSvwqHtvOWBwSQBDtuQwZnK8/s767/Coronavirus.png" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="512" data-original-width="767" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhBDdzchUlHkKuyv2SXxyfXop3p1BCSXG_swc8WsFNrGf0SGyqOJ28IdxccD6wf4sRlLpbOAX-PU-YoG-UiL3AMBc6A620FFpIhRrxzfPeT33jzM0qWZ0RwVpnE67F3d3OArLbhAPsTgLfhbt9pq9-yUkafbv4wSvwqHtvOWBwSQBDtuQwZnK8/s320/Coronavirus.png" width="320" /></a></div>"Are you better off today than you were four years ago? The answer is a resounding no."</span></i></div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">—Elise Stefanik (R-NY), March 6, 2024</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">***</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">I don't know about you...but my recollection of "four years ago" is pretty clear.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">And as much as I'd like to forget that time—I really would—I'm stuck with memories I can't shake.</span></div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Four years ago I was busy moving our daughter home from San Diego State University—barely ahead of a pandemic rushing at us like a Cat. 6 hurricane.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Schools, businesses, and entire communities were hurriedly shutting down and going remote (as best they could)—the responsible thing to do in the face of a disease we knew little about and from which we had no defense.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Retired game show host Donald Trump, meanwhile, was telling people this new disease was no big deal, and it would be gone in a couple weeks—because it was "just like the flu."</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Shortly thereafter, Trump would suggest people protect themselves by injecting bleach, or ingesting horse dewormer, or basking in ultraviolet light.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Advice like that—along with</span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">the Trump administration's</span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> intentional sabotage of the US response to COVID-19—led to the deaths of 400,000 Americans by January, 2021.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">It's worth revisiting these little details when Elise Stefanik (R-NY) tries to tell us we were better off in March, 2020, than we are now.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Because she and a lot of other geniuses would very much like Donald Trump to be president again—since his last go-round was such a smashing success.*</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">(* If by "success" you mean the devastation and debauching of America.)</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">It's also worth noting that Elise Stefanik </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">(R-NY) </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">is out of her damn mind.</span></div>spaceneedlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18048730291915823954noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11755608.post-25147828060847763802023-12-29T16:18:00.000-08:002023-12-29T16:18:38.166-08:00Browsing Through Time<div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8Ent7B8AlPy1O2ReoZFPaRbcqDvYovbLArA6jnXYMFzzdze61A6laEaRkzAO1jUx-MiczcDRtR0xaBq_KRwEWcHRb6Qniv6pz6H0-CvxACjkujb1-3Rwocd3-ONlrNWxQRHFNQAtPuIK9DExPtF5mAAqMzZ58yi_AX-QDkD1nUBPDw31KBFKj/s4032/IMG_7728.JPG" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8Ent7B8AlPy1O2ReoZFPaRbcqDvYovbLArA6jnXYMFzzdze61A6laEaRkzAO1jUx-MiczcDRtR0xaBq_KRwEWcHRb6Qniv6pz6H0-CvxACjkujb1-3Rwocd3-ONlrNWxQRHFNQAtPuIK9DExPtF5mAAqMzZ58yi_AX-QDkD1nUBPDw31KBFKj/s320/IMG_7728.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: georgia;">Leila Lu Sorensen Miller</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><div><div class="ujudUb" jsname="U8S5sf" style="margin-bottom: 12px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i>Oh, little darling of mine<br />I can't for the life of me<br />Remember a sadder day</i></span></div><div class="ujudUb" jsname="U8S5sf" style="margin-bottom: 12px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i>I know they say let it be<br />But it just don't work out that way</i></span></div><div class="ujudUb" jsname="U8S5sf" style="margin-bottom: 12px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i>And the course of a lifetime runs<br />Over and over again</i></span></div><div class="ujudUb" jsname="U8S5sf" style="margin-bottom: 12px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i>No, I would not give you false hope<br />On this strange and mournful day</i></span></div><div class="ujudUb" jsname="U8S5sf" style="margin-bottom: 12px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i>But the mother and child reunion<br />Is only a motion away</i></span></div><div class="ujudUb" jsname="U8S5sf" style="margin-bottom: 12px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">—Paul Simon</span><br /><span style="color: #202124; font-family: verdana; font-size: 14px;">***</span></div></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">I was born in the 1960s, so my memories of that time are haphazard.</span></div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">But if I close my eyes and let my mind drift...sometimes I still catch flashes of events from that era.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Like the day the a TV peacock unfolded its wings with a promise of "living color on NBC" (even though it was still black and white on our TV).</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Or when a neighbor across the street warned us that something called the Beatles were "a threat to our way of life."</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Or night after night of Chet Huntley and David Brinkley solemnly reading the toll of </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">Americans </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">killed and wounded in Viet Nam.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Or an AM radio voice announcing that Bobby Kennedy had been assassinated.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">***</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">The girl up above, though? She was old enough to remember all of it.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">***</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">She grew up on a farm in the middle of Nebraska, at a time when small family farms could still eke out a living. I remember visiting that farm, where her mom and brother lived with a little dog named Ralph.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">I remember sitting high on her horse, Trixie, on a sunny day.</span></div></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">I remember sitting on her lap in a root cellar one night as a tornado roared past.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">The thing that scared me the most, though, was the sound of a raccoon skittering across the roof of the old house...mostly because I didn't know what a raccoon was at the time.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Mom left the farm when she was 20, I think, and moved to Denver. She was 21 when she met my dad, 22 when they got married, and 23 when she had me. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Along the way she worked a glamorous job with United Airlines, and left me with neighbors during the day. I didn't think anything of it, of course, because the neighbors' kids were great to play with, there was lots of Kraft macaroni and cheese, and mom was always there to pick me up in the afternoon.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">***</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Mom eventually left her job at United to stay home with me and my brother, who came along in 1968. A couple years later Dad got a job in Minneapolis, so off we went to a suburb called Apple Valley.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">For some reason, Mom hated it. Even though she had friends there, women who took her on adventures she likely would never have gotten into on her own. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Like the time they picketed the local grocery store for an entire week to protest high meat prices. Did it make a difference? That I don't remember.</span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> But one day the protest was over, and I don't recall hearing about it again.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Or the day we went to a Minnesota Vikings football game, then waited afterward by the players entrance to meet future hall of famer Mick Tinglehoff. Who, it turns out, went to the same little high school my Mom did.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Or the times she helped us dig tunnels and caves in the snow drifts that piled as high as the garage several times each winter.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Come to think of it, "Minnesota winters" may have been the reason Mom didn't care for the land of 10,000 lakes.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">***</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Browsing through photos of that era is a rabbit hole without end—and each one is its own little exercise in archeology. "Where was that taken? Who is that? Look how young they were..."</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">And there are *so many* of them. Giving each the attention they deserve could become somebody's life's work.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">[sighs wistfully]</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Mom peacefully passed away in her sleep sometime Christmas night. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">And while dementia had stolen many of her memories, just a few days ago she could still happily recount her childhood on the Nebraska farm where she grew up.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">She loved to repeat the tales of her pet lambs and piglets—and she'd still get mad recalling the hens that would peck her and the roosters that would chase her around the barnyard.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Every time we talked she would ask about our current adventures in farming—and tried her best to convince us we should add pigs to our growing menagerie.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Her: "Piglets make wonderful pets!"</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Me: "Yes, but they don't *stay* piglets, Mom."</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">And she would laugh.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">***</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">I haven't thought about most of these things in a long time. It was a pleasant surprise to find them laying around my brain, waiting to be dusted off and held up to the light.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">It occurs to me that memories are like the oldest Christmas ornaments in the box—precious and beautiful, but also frighteningly fragile. We can never be sure when—or if—we'll ever stumble across them again.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Or if we'll recognize them when we do.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">***</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i><span jsname="YS01Ge" style="background-color: white; color: #202124;">I can't see the future but I know it's coming fast</span><br aria-hidden="true" style="background-color: white; color: #202124;" /><span jsname="YS01Ge" style="background-color: white; color: #202124;">It's not that hard to wind up knee deep in the past</span></i></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i><br aria-hidden="true" style="background-color: white; color: #202124;" /><span jsname="YS01Ge" style="background-color: white; color: #202124;">It's come a lot of Mondays</span><br aria-hidden="true" style="background-color: white; color: #202124;" /><span jsname="YS01Ge" style="background-color: white; color: #202124;">Since the phone booth that first night</span></i></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i><br aria-hidden="true" style="background-color: white; color: #202124;" /><span jsname="YS01Ge" style="background-color: white; color: #202124;">Through years and miles and tears and smiles</span><br aria-hidden="true" style="background-color: white; color: #202124;" /><span jsname="YS01Ge" style="background-color: white; color: #202124;">I want to get it right</span></i></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i><span jsname="YS01Ge" style="background-color: white; color: #202124;"><br /></span></i></span></div><div><span jsname="YS01Ge" style="background-color: white; color: #202124;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">—Jimmy Buffett, Coast of Carolina</span></span></div>spaceneedlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18048730291915823954noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11755608.post-89734317591528774072023-11-21T13:46:00.000-08:002023-11-21T14:37:10.232-08:00The Opposite Of "Cowboy Up"<span style="font-family: verdana;">I have been felled by cowboy apparel.<br /></span><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">This after 11 months of training, 28.5 miles of a trail race, and two weeks of post-race recovery—all without pain, let alone injury.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBu7-dd14SxWXtqxbyeuCwxUlwP9mRkVVfN0nN9RbbtoX2d2OFk2bWoBnTVHdVCjHrGHx5Lm4ludyvGP1Sz792OWzxiA51tTHNaN_3GL1KDkh5BuWs_H4IIesWHI_DERic-XpuqVZ1PdDxhqBXroebG6IyCJ0SYSrGnZCzowrnIaO8bxnUJEq3/s1000/boots%20and%20saddle.jpeg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="667" data-original-width="1000" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBu7-dd14SxWXtqxbyeuCwxUlwP9mRkVVfN0nN9RbbtoX2d2OFk2bWoBnTVHdVCjHrGHx5Lm4ludyvGP1Sz792OWzxiA51tTHNaN_3GL1KDkh5BuWs_H4IIesWHI_DERic-XpuqVZ1PdDxhqBXroebG6IyCJ0SYSrGnZCzowrnIaO8bxnUJEq3/s320/boots%20and%20saddle.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: georgia;">"Cowboy down"</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: verdana;">Four weeks of occasionally wearing cowboy boots, though, and suddenly I have a knee injury? I mean, come on. How does that work?</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">I have a theory.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">In running shoes (almost all I ever wear), I am a mid-to-forefoot striker (and have been for years).</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">In cowboy boots (which I rarely wear), I'm a chunky-1.5-inch-heel striker. The biomechanics (and stability) are hilariously (ominously?) different. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">So why am I even a little surprised?</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Perhaps because I'm 14 years removed from my last knee injury—a torn ACL that required surgery and a year of rehab—so I *may* have assumed I was now immune to such things.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Anyhoo, that's my guess as to the cause-of-injury, symptoms of which include "Hey, that fcking hurts" whenever I use my left leg for something other than visual symmetry.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBHdnARnmnLcPd3H0eMY6MgZB-5ccxTwqEv2fjs92ljZ6FrVANORUMKOsZY9ocZr0QbQzpr0TG5JibJCH0U2yNUF02TLxKB4UlHn69NNzPZbhhqmgzbX3hIkvIVRtB1OZ33cqds7mztl9PkYUvyg1QmAUIYhy_BVfZhAc8BUL8bfVxUGp71V2M/s4032/IMG_8021.JPG" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBHdnARnmnLcPd3H0eMY6MgZB-5ccxTwqEv2fjs92ljZ6FrVANORUMKOsZY9ocZr0QbQzpr0TG5JibJCH0U2yNUF02TLxKB4UlHn69NNzPZbhhqmgzbX3hIkvIVRtB1OZ33cqds7mztl9PkYUvyg1QmAUIYhy_BVfZhAc8BUL8bfVxUGp71V2M/s320/IMG_8021.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: georgia;">Quintas, in the wild</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: verdana;">The diagnosis? I have an orthopod appointment in a couple weeks to determine that. With luck, it'll be something silly, like the phase of the moon combined with tropical variability in</span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">barometric pressure—all of which we'll laugh about later.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">In the meantime, though, I'll be over here not-running, losing all my fitness, and occasionally wearing cowboy boots—because horses.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">For the record, yes, he's worth it.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">They all are.</span></div>spaceneedlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18048730291915823954noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11755608.post-37989966891166289802023-10-19T16:39:00.002-07:002023-10-20T18:15:41.027-07:00Always Worth It<span style="font-family: georgia;"><i>Bubbles up</i></span><div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG6IHQC4Kll0JSHkjd6VdY-3PZeP4bebHqSoknH_7NzI3DxZG1pvtjMVI1dS32FUsNdL4OzW932GTvCv5jFMw-0Z6D_iGJKgs9vsRr1lCvxwaBx4FNAGkR4GoWDuDBi_fP3hEbfSKiPTcoX25RC4xFNst9FmNBuO0Jj8f8Jknj1Q3i57xjcDcv/s2450/97711034-2023-10-14-HURT-Peacock-Challenge-0541.JPG" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1633" data-original-width="2450" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG6IHQC4Kll0JSHkjd6VdY-3PZeP4bebHqSoknH_7NzI3DxZG1pvtjMVI1dS32FUsNdL4OzW932GTvCv5jFMw-0Z6D_iGJKgs9vsRr1lCvxwaBx4FNAGkR4GoWDuDBi_fP3hEbfSKiPTcoX25RC4xFNst9FmNBuO0Jj8f8Jknj1Q3i57xjcDcv/w320-h213/97711034-2023-10-14-HURT-Peacock-Challenge-0541.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i>Never more grateful for<br />the existence of trekking poles<br />nor happier to be welcomed back home.</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i><br />They will point us toward home<br />No matter how deep or how far we roam</i></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i><br />They will show you the surface<br />The plot and the purpose</i></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i><br />So when the journey gets long</i></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i><br />Just know that you are loved<br />There is light up above<br />And the joy is always enough</i></span><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i><br />Bubbles up<br />Bubbles up</i></span><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br />—Jimmy Buffett</span><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">***</span><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">I had almost forgotten how many ways a long race can go wrong...and right.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyXKtgGoaAQUkyQqQ4A7QUmzMGfEsP-CPzeLsw2NsM0SYSMmcHJvk1BMwfqH9f8EyMgpdCLB5kS9cRVkTS2YESzweUKSINGpbVgJ3gEcA5ueyCmhagi3EKFibtbNscn2iq4HaRlUCAkSZjvO17ADV2WErzXtgr9O8t0E-pWTZRdnxH3d_N-KnA/s1795/C91E1695-C5C6-4AAF-973D-D6F67DA5DA0F.JPG" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1795" data-original-width="1440" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyXKtgGoaAQUkyQqQ4A7QUmzMGfEsP-CPzeLsw2NsM0SYSMmcHJvk1BMwfqH9f8EyMgpdCLB5kS9cRVkTS2YESzweUKSINGpbVgJ3gEcA5ueyCmhagi3EKFibtbNscn2iq4HaRlUCAkSZjvO17ADV2WErzXtgr9O8t0E-pWTZRdnxH3d_N-KnA/s320/C91E1695-C5C6-4AAF-973D-D6F67DA5DA0F.JPG" width="257" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i>This sunrise, which actually got<br />better the more we climbed.</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: verdana;">Like, how I can sign up for a 55-mile event, finish just half of it...and still feel like it was an amazingly great day.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">The H.U.R.T. Peacock Challenge 55 started in the dark, immediately </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">climbing</span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> a couple thousand feet to look out over a gorgeous Hawaiian sunrise. </span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">That view alone made the hours that followed worthwhile—a mindset I rediscovered despite not running an ultra for more than four years.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">***</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Our farm sits on the lower NE side of Mauna Kea. </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">The country roads on these slopes </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">are almost entirely up or down—not a lot of flat to be found anywhere. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Which makes it </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">an excellent place to train for climbing</span><span style="font-family: verdana;">.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">This is fortunate since one loop of the PC course includes more than 6,200 feet of elevation. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">What our hills didn't prepare me for was 90-degree temperatures on "the Long Road"—an exposed, seven-mile out-and-back on baking asphalt. We get some warm, tropical conditions over here on our side of the Big Island, but nothing like that.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Woof, it was rough, and it left me wrung out and hung out to dry.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Miles 23 to 28.5 were an exercise in patience, as I was moving slowly through some acute physical lows. In years gone by I would have been deep into a pity party that invariably would go something like...</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">"</span><span style="font-family: verdana;">What's wrong with you? </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">You should be running this."</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">"I don't know what's wrong with me, but I know I don't want to be out here any more."</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">"Well, that's stupid, there's only a few miles left."</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">"You're stupid."</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">"No, you are."</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">...and so on.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">None of that negativity happened on this day, because I <i>knew</i> what was wrong with me (electrolyte imbalance and dehydration), and I <i>knew</i> I was going to have to just settle in and hike the rest of the way.</span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj12g8vLnZZXVM2TY2mtRlbu25WmquZgh25biwzhQJwYqPCRqOBZGbsRvm1kAwNOsw-wPT8rOVrjUiEOJrdiai1GdNvtmZFuQUeavjzvcJbAu6ux0oReUpYopbVi838tJZDMHK4qrHV5dCqkzd9Dt8M6mX-DkaflkBtxYkAX8PCsr9LlzgByH9G/s323/vibes.jpeg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="156" data-original-width="323" height="155" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj12g8vLnZZXVM2TY2mtRlbu25WmquZgh25biwzhQJwYqPCRqOBZGbsRvm1kAwNOsw-wPT8rOVrjUiEOJrdiai1GdNvtmZFuQUeavjzvcJbAu6ux0oReUpYopbVi838tJZDMHK4qrHV5dCqkzd9Dt8M6mX-DkaflkBtxYkAX8PCsr9LlzgByH9G/s320/vibes.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">And I was okay with that. Because it was something I knew I <i>could</i> do, even if it took a good long while, no matter how lousy I was feeling.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Also, recognizing I wasn't going to make the first loop cutoff (7.5 hours),</span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> it felt like there was still some honor to be had in getting back to the starting line under my own power.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">So, that's what I did.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">***</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">In these few days post-Peacock, I've felt a lot better than I was expecting to. My legs feel sound, with no pain at all. Which tells me the many months of hill training were on point.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">As with a couple of previous DNFs of 50 miles or longer, I'm left to wonder what I could have done differently about my hydrating and electrolytes. The challenge is that none of my experiences at those distances have been similar, and no regimen has worked the same way twice.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Just when I think I have something figured out that I think I can count on, the ground-rules shift beneath me.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">As it goes in an ultra, so it is in life.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Point me toward home, somebody.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Bubbles up. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">***</span><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i><br />Toe the line.<br />Take the chance.<br />Blow up.<br />Struggle.<br />Fall apart.<br />Try again.<br />Worth it.<br /><br />Always worth it.</i></span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">—Sally McRae</span></div></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">***</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Peacock Challenge 55</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px;"><span data-reactid=".0.1.0.1.0.$1222566576620712017.2.1.0.0.1" style="border: 0px; font-size: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span face=""trebuchet ms", sans-serif"><br /></span></span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"><span data-reactid=".0.1.0.1.0.$1222566576620712017.2.1.0.0.1" style="border: 0px; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">DNF</span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"><span data-reactid=".0.1.0.1.0.$1222566576620712017.2.1.0.0.1" style="border: 0px; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><br /></span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"><span data-reactid=".0.1.0.1.0.$1222566576620712017.2.1.0.0.1" style="border: 0px; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Shoes:</span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">Topo Mountain Racer 2</div><div style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"><span data-reactid=".0.1.0.1.0.$1222566576620712017.2.1.0.0.1" style="border: 0px; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><br /></span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"><span data-reactid=".0.1.0.1.0.$1222566576620712017.2.1.0.0.1" style="border: 0px; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Song stuck in my head for way too many miles:</span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"><span data-reactid=".0.1.0.1.0.$1222566576620712017.2.1.0.0.1" style="border: 0px; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">"Surfing In A Hurricane" —Jimmy Buffett</span></div></span></div>spaceneedlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18048730291915823954noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11755608.post-78968407536390207692023-10-06T17:37:00.000-07:002023-10-06T17:37:38.198-07:00Comparative Adventuring<div><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i>"Security is mostly a superstition. It does not exist in nature, nor do the children of men as a whole experience it. Avoiding danger is no safer in the long run than outright exposure. Life is either a daring adventure, or nothing."</i></span></span></div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">—Helen Keller</span><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"> ***</span><br /><i><span style="font-family: georgia;">"forgot coffee at home. acquired some of the swill we serve here. set it on my desk, knocked it off with my elbow. all over floor and clothes. swore. opened cabinet to grab paper towels, cabinet door came off the hinge. hunkered over to sop up coffee, came up and hit my head on underside of desk."</span></i></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">—Me, on a work day, October 2011</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">***</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">It's become obvious that we have a problem with one of our neighbors.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">In the past few weeks he's broken through one of our perimeter gates multiple times, and subsequently broken into our chicken yard an equal number of times. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">At first we asked him, in a neighborly way, not to do these things, by quietly reinforcing the gate. In response, the breaking and entering escalated to a daily occurrence—a</span><span style="font-family: verdana;">t which time we decided to stop putting up with his bullshit, and called his owner.</span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQmblgQdZ3no0wq0ATyccvyrm1wE90pZTJ9HTYGs9FNXOO-RE_hPHaTo_QkrWpCucXVV17AGkGxwc_axcimct5wG5x-WfNIJuhVgh6oZuF11ExvK_27t6Hv3Nhb40QnumjdMWj6mF8y_OgsohPkdk7bbKRuJdeNLuQv5tFKUkGJdE0LHpnlCNX/s4378/Brown-Bull.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3284" data-original-width="4378" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQmblgQdZ3no0wq0ATyccvyrm1wE90pZTJ9HTYGs9FNXOO-RE_hPHaTo_QkrWpCucXVV17AGkGxwc_axcimct5wG5x-WfNIJuhVgh6oZuF11ExvK_27t6Hv3Nhb40QnumjdMWj6mF8y_OgsohPkdk7bbKRuJdeNLuQv5tFKUkGJdE0LHpnlCNX/s320/Brown-Bull.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div>Yeah, the bad neighbor is a bull—his name is Bambi, and he's a big jerk. He repeatedly </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">put our chickens in danger of being crushed, and us in danger of being disfigured herding him out of the chicken yard and through the irrelevant outer gate.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">In addition, we figure he owes us a new 6-foot gate and a new 30-foot section of chicken-yard fencing.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Fortunately his owner is *not* a jerk—he's been apologetic about Bambi's anti-social antics, and has offered to pay for repairs.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">***</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><i>In this very same timeframe</i> it became obvious that we had a parallel problem with a different neighbor.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">This one decided it would be great fun to harass our sheep.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">It started with frantic yelling at them, then quickly escalated to crawling under our fence and chasing them from one end of their paddock to the other.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Tired of our sheep being terrorized and traumatized, we once a</span><span style="font-family: verdana;">gain took matters into our own hands. </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">The neighbor in question is now tied to a post on our front deck.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Yeah, he's a Border Collie named Patchi, staying with us while his owner is on a photo assignment in Tahiti.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">We *hate* restraining Patchi like this, but his herding instinct overwhelms his good manners. He literally can't be trusted off the leash for ten seconds. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">So, he'll be herding chew toys on the deck for another 48 hours.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">***</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Our work days have changed significantly since that October day in 2011. Our office is now a small farm, and the coffee is always good.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Sure, sometimes the work environment is physically hostile—but now we can actually take immediate and definitive steps to remedy the problem. It's quite liberating.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">I'll take that seven days a week, 10/10, no notes.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>spaceneedlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18048730291915823954noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11755608.post-91153778769779153792023-09-02T10:41:00.001-07:002023-09-03T10:25:25.753-07:00Precious Days<span style="font-family: georgia;"><i>It's time for a change<br />I'm tired of that same old same<br />The same old words, the same old lines<br />The same old tricks and the same old rhymes<br /><br />Days precious days<br />Roll in and out like waves<br />I got boards to bend, I got planks to nail<br />I got charts to make, I got seas to sail<br /><br />I'm gonna build me a boat with these two hands<br />She'll be a fair curve from a noble plan<br />Let the chips fall where they will<br />'Cause I got boats to build</i></span><div><br /><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">—</span><span style="font-family: verdana;">Guy Clark and Verlon Thompson, "Boats To Build"</span></div></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">***</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">I guess I just thought Jimmy Buffet would go on forever.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">That no matter how many years had gone by since that 1980 Red Rocks concert, there'd always be another chance to catch him and the Coral Reefer Band somewhere, some day.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Waking up to the news that "some day" is now "never again" is hitting unexpectedly hard.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Sitting here this morning, it's funny to me that one of "his" songs that stuck with me through the years is one Buffett didn't even write. On its surface, "Boats to Build" isn't a departure from his vast catalogue of music. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">But the more I listened to it over time, the more I appreciated it as an allegory for "this one wild and precious life" we've been given.</span></div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /><i>Sails are just like wings<br />The wind can make 'em sing<br />Songs of life, songs of hope<br />Songs to keep your dreams afloat</i></span><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i><br />Shores distant shores<br />There's where I'm headed for<br />I got the stars to guide my way<br />Sail into the light of day</i></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">***</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Time to go build a thing today...</span></div><div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><iframe frameborder="0" height="360" src="https://youtube.com/embed/Mdqxg-Ivr_w?si=gKXn926CmQ7Dbxzj" width="480"></iframe><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div></div>spaceneedlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18048730291915823954noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11755608.post-514537231272287032023-08-17T16:15:00.002-07:002023-08-17T17:55:28.778-07:00Emergency Unpreparedness<div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHmTJgaDiiDji47rTXbktt5K36baS0InKnBcdVpPUfUq6bnPsNDSUYcBdLUzT2Ll7TmcgGEKHN-9MBTCfHnmXMcOxjzedGEFh24MVY7mR7dj9LNWkohireIpqsUQVOVHQuk1CQoDnMSjjn7Fabh_RrQfSeOJCNQwsUaM_HjrNbg60NT9jPaVUz/s896/Paauilo.png" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="896" data-original-width="884" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHmTJgaDiiDji47rTXbktt5K36baS0InKnBcdVpPUfUq6bnPsNDSUYcBdLUzT2Ll7TmcgGEKHN-9MBTCfHnmXMcOxjzedGEFh24MVY7mR7dj9LNWkohireIpqsUQVOVHQuk1CQoDnMSjjn7Fabh_RrQfSeOJCNQwsUaM_HjrNbg60NT9jPaVUz/s320/Paauilo.png" width="316" /></a></div>On May 4, 2023, a wildfire ignited near our farm.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Despite the fact that our community was directly in the path of wind-driven flames, t</span><span style="font-family: verdana;">he local Hawai'i County emergency management sirens never sounded.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">***</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">I wrote about it <a href="https://sealifechronicles.blogspot.com/2023/05/uncontrolled-variables.html" target="_blank">here</a>...</span></div><div> </div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i>It was one-thirty p.m. or so that we first smelled the smoke. It took all of thirty seconds to identify the source—a widening plume downslope from our farm, carried directly toward us by the trade winds.</i></span><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i><br />It was, what, maybe half an hour later that the power went down.<br /><br />By three p.m. the smoke plume had grown by orders of magnitude, and ash was falling like black snow. One of our neighbors, a retired firefighter, hosed down the long, dry grass on the north side of his house, obviously worried about embers floating in on the trades.</i></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div><div><i><span style="font-family: georgia;">Meanwhile, we went through our afternoon routine, making sure chickens, geese, and sheep had extra food and water. Later we noticed our clothes smelled like smoke, which was less surprising than it was jarring.</span></i></div><div><i><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></i></div><div><i><span style="font-family: georgia;">Dusk came early as smoke swept over and around us. We brought out an array of battery powered lights and joked about turning on the ceiling fans hanging inert above our heads...</span></i></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">***</span></div></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">At the July meeting of our community association, we were informed by our County Council representative that the reason local sirens weren't used was that "...in the view of emergency management, there wasn't sufficient cause to alert the public."</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Here's the thing, though—m</span><span style="font-family: verdana;">any people who live in this area could see smoke and ash and </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">approaching </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">flames. And since the power was down, people who were homebound for medical reasons were at risk. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Despite that, someone at Hawai'i County emergency management decided no communication was necessary—not even a quick cell phone alert to let people know what was going on.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">***</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Between August 8 and August 9, 2023, a wildfire on Maui raced through historic Lahaina town.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">T</span><span style="font-family: verdana;">he local emergency management sirens never sounded.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">According to the head of the</span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> Maui County Emergency Management Agency, </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">"...the sirens are used primarily for tsunamis, and that's the reason why almost all of them are found on the coastline. </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">The public is trained to seek higher ground in the event that the sirens sounded. If that was the case, then they would've gone into the fire."</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">I suppose there's no way to know if people hearing an emergency siren would blindly rush out the door and toward an oncoming firestorm. Or if they'd figure out, somehow, that the alert was actually about the fire that was closing in on them at a reported mile per minute.</span></div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">It's possible, one supposes, that rather than jump into their cars and try to escape on impassable roads, more people might have jumped into the water as the flames consumed the town. Humans are adaptable that way, sometimes.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">But there were no sirens—because somebody in charge of local emergency management decided "</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: verdana;">the largest single integrated public safety outdoor siren warning system in the world" </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">would do more harm than good.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">***</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Post Script</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">According to the "<a href="https://www.mauisirens.com/" target="_blank">Siren quick facts</a>" at the County of Maui web site:</span></div><div><br /></div><div><ul style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; margin-bottom: 12px; margin-top: 0px;"><li style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.5em; list-style: disc; margin: 0px 0px 0.75em;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">The all-hazard siren system can be used for a variety of both natural and human-caused events; including tsunamis, hurricanes, dam breaches, flooding, wildfires, volcanic eruptions, terrorist threats, hazardous material incidents, and more.</span></li></ul></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">A week and a half ago, more than 13,000 people called Lahaina home. Countless more worked and played there, against a backdrop of timeless tropical beauty. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Today, more than 110 people are confirmed dead and a thousand are still unaccounted for.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">***</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Update:</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span>"</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #3c3c3c;">Maui Emergency Management Agency Administrator Herman Andaya has resigned effective immediately, Mayor Richard Bissen’s office announced.</span></span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; color: #3c3c3c;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></span></div><p data-pos="5" style="background-color: white; border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; color: #3c3c3c; font-feature-settings: inherit; font-kerning: inherit; font-optical-sizing: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant-alternates: inherit; font-variant-east-asian: inherit; font-variant-numeric: inherit; font-variation-settings: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px 0px 1.5rem; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">"Andaya cited health reasons, the announcement said."</span></p>spaceneedlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18048730291915823954noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11755608.post-78969549298208847292023-07-26T00:57:00.001-07:002023-07-26T01:08:50.726-07:00It Never Gets Easier"Pickles died," my wife said, as she rushed through the front door.<br /><br /><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg882vCVytBE2X6F685P1fajrQFxwPCpdXQRlinkUb-BIu4gYPHQ5WAzH6x_BzQrKWlTwzjdhzhlRTXClRfusNVO8kW-5lROkSYBuM9AEsQRcKDtK43UJiOoylIL-xM_Tb7v3xycXACjCzNFZ1_RioOk8rgQiqfVUfWKZFkaxzHy_RV2BgQqbGp/s4032/Pickles.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg882vCVytBE2X6F685P1fajrQFxwPCpdXQRlinkUb-BIu4gYPHQ5WAzH6x_BzQrKWlTwzjdhzhlRTXClRfusNVO8kW-5lROkSYBuM9AEsQRcKDtK43UJiOoylIL-xM_Tb7v3xycXACjCzNFZ1_RioOk8rgQiqfVUfWKZFkaxzHy_RV2BgQqbGp/s320/Pickles.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>In her arms was Peabody, our enormous Emden goose, who was suffering from whatever ailment had just taken Pickles from us.</div><div><br /></div><div>As she drew a warm epsom salt bath for him, I went out to tend to Peabody's lifelong partner. She was still, with her beak down in the shavings we had put under and around them. </div><br /><div>There was nothing to be done but to drape a towel over her.</div><div>***</div><div>Both geese had been declining for the past three days, and we had no idea why. My wife scoured the internet for potential causes, most of which suggested they ingested something toxic. With no evidence of anything specific, she then went out and bought every at-home remedy prescribed for such things, hoping one of them would work.</div><div><br /></div><div>Epsom salts, apple cider vinegar, activated charcoal, molasses—none of them made a noticeable difference. But we were encouraged by the fact that each morning they were still with us. We figured the further we could get them from the onset of symptoms, the better their chances would be.</div><div>***</div><div>I went back into the house where Peabody was passively sitting in the bathtub. My wife and I took turns holding his head out of the water, as he no longer had the strength to do it himself.</div><div><br /></div><div>"I just don't know what else to do for him," she whispered.</div><div>"I think this may be all there is, right here," I said.</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3q-w_QyZhmhOm4lC29_OGpL2s3Sgzxp6MoRUI8yG15ZyDg5ObWI-1H0Pfoebhxqfej3ehSj-BrhZExlOR5Ko1Yeru-JihmdHDbRQIodrYhkRblNHnVMpybmAYp0XXkiAEvr0-LzVLfMzJNR5n1bRCVXN4xwIhrIoxVH_4FDNf2g478mp4y4dm/s3780/Peabody.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3780" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3q-w_QyZhmhOm4lC29_OGpL2s3Sgzxp6MoRUI8yG15ZyDg5ObWI-1H0Pfoebhxqfej3ehSj-BrhZExlOR5Ko1Yeru-JihmdHDbRQIodrYhkRblNHnVMpybmAYp0XXkiAEvr0-LzVLfMzJNR5n1bRCVXN4xwIhrIoxVH_4FDNf2g478mp4y4dm/s320/Peabody.JPG" width="256" /></a></div>After 20 minutes, maybe longer, she took Peabody out of the bath and put him in a box of shavings by her desk, where we could continue to keep an eye on him. We talked to him and again took turns holding his head up. There was no indication that it made a difference, but we wanted him to know we were there and we cared about him.</div><div><br /></div><div>At some point my wife half-heartedly said something about humanely putting him down. "We don't want him to suffer..." she trailed off. I just shook my head a little. Neither one of us wanted to do that, nor were we prepared to actually follow through with it.</div><div><br /></div><div>She got up and walked away for a bit—I sat and held Peabody's head, watched him breathe, noticed his pupils slowly dilating. And dreaded what was coming.</div><div><br /></div><div>My wife returned with a syringe, saying something about NSAIDs.</div><div><br /></div><div>"He's gone," I said, barely audible.</div><div>***</div><div>Later, as evening turned to twilight, I dug a hole on the edge of the property, between a small palm tree and a rainbow eucalyptus. We wrapped Pickles and Peabody in burlap and carried them out between us. My wife picked some blossoms from the nearby plants and placed them on top of the burlap. </div><div><br /></div><div>Eventually, the work was done, and the day ended as every day here does—with all our creatures taken care of.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>spaceneedlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18048730291915823954noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11755608.post-8084543712950710062023-07-19T22:12:00.000-07:002023-07-19T22:12:11.599-07:00The Things We Don't See Coming<i><span style="font-family: georgia;">You're scheming on a thing that's a mirage<br />I'm trying to tell you now, it's sabotage<br />Why our backs are now against the wall?<br />Listen all y'all, it's a sabotage<br />Listen all y'all, it's a sabotage</span></i><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i><br /></i></span><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">—Beastie Boys</span></div></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">***</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">The day was going so well.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">The road to Hilo was spectacular, with the Pacific Ocean</span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">stretching to blue infinity</span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> on the left, and a variegated blanket of jungle, ravines, and waterfalls on the right.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Like most of our Hilo trips, this one called for stops at an array of retailers, all of whom were eager to help us fill our truck with provisions—darn nice of them since we were going to buy enough stuff to last from two weeks to two months.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0FmNzn5A6PCLFdwe6HL-rv2Ho8xR3PjIlimbCGyhV_Xfr4d-RYQONzqUKT55cSLc3cissy_cDzkqNz4_NU3Ql4HtyJq5zrT5Ng-Utr4sDu-IYVa3uVJRoEjLDIXU5umBbkvmDc2iNN-ApUP4yqj4DWNO9bMqteT3w6re9j52yTRvqSaJB3CcJ/s615/hilo%20hillbillies.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="409" data-original-width="615" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0FmNzn5A6PCLFdwe6HL-rv2Ho8xR3PjIlimbCGyhV_Xfr4d-RYQONzqUKT55cSLc3cissy_cDzkqNz4_NU3Ql4HtyJq5zrT5Ng-Utr4sDu-IYVa3uVJRoEjLDIXU5umBbkvmDc2iNN-ApUP4yqj4DWNO9bMqteT3w6re9j52yTRvqSaJB3CcJ/s320/hilo%20hillbillies.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>"Swimming pools, movie stars..."</i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: verdana;">Supplies for two geese, three cats, </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">four dogs, </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">four sheep, 40 chickens, and several of the neighbor's cows? Check.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Materials for multiple infrastructure projects around the farm, including native </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">plants, trees,</span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">lumber, tile, metal roofing, and more (always more)? Multiple checks.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Food and libations for two persistently hungry-thirsty farmhands? Check and check again.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">To ensure everything on our list actually fit in the truck, </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">careful arranging and rearranging was required </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">at every stop—until by the end we resembled the Clampetts heading to Beverly Hills.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuyA4txxX2jo1WQD3kGwM5JANe7E7zjrYxBy5gtjw64UZPkSIJR7mshBeTNHt4ZhLDJ1THAs9BQ1Fr0YPganlLVmvxGUaBi0paMmUNtp3hDIjWh43UloV-ifOcdlbGaXBgKCpCKYVPmb9gvt78oQJ-LQ-LPmrdL372zCCN2PM1_XDpCL-XhpxL/s4032/IMG_7077.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuyA4txxX2jo1WQD3kGwM5JANe7E7zjrYxBy5gtjw64UZPkSIJR7mshBeTNHt4ZhLDJ1THAs9BQ1Fr0YPganlLVmvxGUaBi0paMmUNtp3hDIjWh43UloV-ifOcdlbGaXBgKCpCKYVPmb9gvt78oQJ-LQ-LPmrdL372zCCN2PM1_XDpCL-XhpxL/s320/IMG_7077.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>This cross-beam right here</i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: verdana;">Arriving home from this excursion—with the truck full of items that don't mix well with water—it was raining. Which meant we were low-key frantic to get everything inside or under cover. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Throwing a pallet under the house, we began</span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">stacking feed and shavings and sundry other items. Until the second trip under, that is, when I hit my head on the cross-beam holding up the deck. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div>Even wearing a hat, I got a bump and a nice little laceration—which I only realized later when the hot water from the shower hit my scalp.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Prior to that galvanizing moment, though, there were chicken chores to do. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Coming down from the coop on our rain-slick ramp is always a dicey proposition. This time—a basket of just-collected eggs in hand—both feet slid out from under me. I don't recall which body part impacted the ramp first or hardest. Tailbone? Back? The back of my head? All were involved in close succession.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">And yet, the eggs survived. Not one cracked, broke, or even left the basket. I have no idea how, nor do I take credit for the outcome. In fact, I would've preferred that they went flying and I somehow remained upright.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Gravity has a sick sense of humor sometimes.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">I stayed down for several moments, trying to discern if I was hurt or just </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">wet, muddy, and</span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">jarred AF. Eventually I decided it was the latter, and that the sheep weren't going to tend to themselves—so I picked myself up myself and shambled off to the Sheep Shack.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">We try to keep things interesting</span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> for the customers of our 24-hour salad bar. To that end,</span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> a</span><span style="font-family: verdana;">lfalfa cubes are an excellent </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">source of protein, vitamins, and minerals.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Until they're reduced to</span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> sheep-sized chunks</span><span style="font-family: verdana;">, though, the cubes are a choking hazard. Breaking them down takes 15 or 20 minutes each evening, but I don't mind the work. Turns out it's one of those repetitive tasks that's also a peaceful, zen-inducing experience. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">The sheep wait close by while I work—maybe because they like baa-d jokes—or maybe because I occasionally hand-feed them during the process. Who can say.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">This day's zen-fest lasted until the moment I leaned over with a handful of alfalfa shards for Frederica Mercury. That insignificant gesture caused some greedy jostling from </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">the other sheep, which startled </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">Freddie—who then </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">head-butted me square in the face.</span></div><div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqEPt4pgsDT33DJv1ntkMsriDw4q9zV3WhkCQPNqZI5jLMQhpCAbfArq2qHTJcLJdbvHeYAIVa-V7dTSSx7AiBJeqQ3ctfTuDVM1agQVCMgW916kSWOPHJKwAaP1c5XVv7BT0Yk4IaVw1-oh-V48WQ4ZxtENOBD_OSnHSIGdOFqdRxGDDAW0-F/s7500/freddie%20and%20me.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="5082" data-original-width="7500" height="217" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqEPt4pgsDT33DJv1ntkMsriDw4q9zV3WhkCQPNqZI5jLMQhpCAbfArq2qHTJcLJdbvHeYAIVa-V7dTSSx7AiBJeqQ3ctfTuDVM1agQVCMgW916kSWOPHJKwAaP1c5XVv7BT0Yk4IaVw1-oh-V48WQ4ZxtENOBD_OSnHSIGdOFqdRxGDDAW0-F/s320/freddie%20and%20me.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Freddie > me</i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Human skulls are not optimally designed for collisions. Sheep, on the other hand, are highly adapted for head-to-head contact. So, while I doubt Freddie even noticed the impact—I sure as flock did.</span></div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">And so a day that began with a pleasant Sunday drive and a highly successful shopping excursion ended with me</span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> getting pummeled in the course of routine farm chores.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">***</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Last night the much-anticipated </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">Tropical Storm Calvin arrived in Hawai'i, bringing much-needed rain to the Hāmākua Coast, but sparing us the predicted damaging winds.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">I'm not sure where the confluence lies between these unrelated events. Maybe it's just that even the innocuous and routine can take a sudden turn for the dramatic— and sometimes drama takes a turn to the south and quickly dissipates over cooler water.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Either way, the surfing should be pretty good.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">***</span></div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i>A sea monster night full of nothing but fright and fear<br />St. Christopher might not get our asses outta here<br />Flooded roads and trailer parks<br />And maybe a tornado lurking out in the dark<br />A perfect glide to ride into eternity</i></span><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i><br />I feel like goin’ surfing in a hurricane</i></span><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i>I feel like making love in the pouring rain<br />I ain’t afraid of dying<br />I don’t need to explain<br />I feel like goin’ surfing in a hurricane<br /><br /></i></span><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">—Jimmy Buffet, Surfing In A Hurricane</span></div></div></div>spaceneedlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18048730291915823954noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11755608.post-79946490175078838562023-07-03T00:08:00.000-07:002023-07-03T00:08:00.003-07:00No, Not That Farmer<span style="font-family: verdana;">In 1978, at a Future Farmers of America convention in Kansas City, MO, the late radio broadcaster Paul Harvey delivered the speech of his life.<br /><br />In it, he summoned and summed up all that he and many other Americans found admirable about the archetypal American farmer.<br /><br />If you haven't heard or read it, here's an excerpt from that speech:</span><br /><br /><i><span style="font-family: georgia;">And on the 8th day, God looked down on his planned paradise and said, “I need a caretaker.” <br /><br />So God made a farmer.</span></i><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i>God said, “I need somebody willing to sit up all night with a newborn colt. And watch it die. Then dry his eyes and say, ‘Maybe next year.’ Somebody strong enough to clear trees and heave bails, yet gentle enough to tame lambs and wean pigs and tend the pink-combed pullets.</i></span><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i>Somebody who will stop his mower for an hour to splint the broken leg of a meadow lark. It had to be somebody who’d plow deep and straight and not cut corners. Somebody to seed, weed, feed, breed and rake and disc and plow and plant and tie the fleece and strain the milk and replenish the self-feeder and finish a hard week’s work with a five-mile drive to church.”<br /><br />So God made a farmer.<br /></i></span><i style="font-family: georgia;">***</i><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">It's easy to embrace Harvey's romantic ideal of an American icon—a commoner blessed with superhuman strength, endless patience, buckets of empathy, and an unlimited supply of 72-hour days. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Lacking an actual workforce with those characteristics, US farms would fail in droves!—which, as it turns out, is exactly what's been happening</span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> for longer than most of us have been alive. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">With that as a backdrop, imagine an organization like the Shasta County, CA, 4-H</span><span style="font-family: verdana;">—</span><span style="font-family: verdana;">which literally exists to encourage</span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> young people to participate in and perpetuate local agriculture</span><span style="font-family: verdana;">—going to some wild-eyed lengths to </span><a href="https://www.vox.com/future-perfect/23669586/goat-girl-4-h-shasta-county-seizure" style="font-family: verdana;">undermine its own mission</a><span style="font-family: verdana;">:</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><p id="hNTaRv" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px 0px 1.2rem; padding: 0px; text-decoration-line: inherit; vertical-align: inherit;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i>Last year, the 9-year-old daughter of Jessica Long, a resident of Shasta County in northern California, acquired a baby goat for a 4-H “livestock project.” The idea was that she would raise the goat until he was ready to be auctioned for slaughter at the local county fair, a common activity for 4-H members.</i></span></p><p id="MwAWkM" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px 0px 1.2rem; padding: 0px; text-decoration-line: inherit; vertical-align: inherit;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i>But raising Cedar led Long’s daughter to care deeply for him and, on the eve of the auction last June, she pleaded for the goat to be spared. The fair organizers refused. Then, Republican state Sen. Brian Dahle, a farmer and unsuccessful 2022 California gubernatorial candidate, submitted a winning bid of $902 for Cedar’s meat, of which $63.14 was to go to the fair. Later that night, in a last-ditch effort to save Cedar the goat from slaughter, Long and her daughter took him from the fair.</i></span></p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i>But that’s when the plot took a dark turn no Hollywood studio would greenlight. The Shasta District Fair claimed Long had stolen Cedar, demanded she surrender the goat for butchering, and threatened to involve the police if she did not. Long refused. That’s when the Shasta County Sheriff’s Office got involved. Armed with a search warrant, officers drove more than 500 miles across northern California, seized Cedar from the Sonoma County property where he had been </i></span><i><span style="font-family: georgia;">taken, and returned him to Shasta County, where he was slaughtered.</span></i><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">***</span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">To be fair, the <a href="https://4-h.org/">national 4-H Council</a> could not appear more different from its Shasta County chapter. I</span>t doesn't deserve to share in the PR disaster Shasta County officials created.</div><div><br /></div></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">In fact, the national 4-H explicitly supports “…the practice of positive youth development by creating positive learning experiences; caring and trusted adult mentors who cultivate positive relationships with youth; creating safe, diverse and inclusive environments; and meeting young people wherever they are.”</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br />In the miraculously short span of a few days, Shasta County 4-H officials failed to uphold {checks list} all of those ideals</span><span style="font-family: verdana;">, traumatized a young girl and her family, and betrayed the ethos of Paul Harvey's god-designed caretaker</span><span style="font-family: verdana;">. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Which is one hell of an accomplishment, not to mention an interesting approach for people</span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> tasked with motivating young, aspiring agrarians.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">***</span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf6vJnl6XWkSy2JEae4xvycPRIyhRDhb85pLvU787oWMEuhoNabAcknunMT25GugeZ1FBV2n2XaFUGaUtKuqVbkhf0HqhC6AxnEmeflswGSNGS1heiz_04D4R2it_cqQHcoqh3E4U9JGTZGBpT4jLTTQhU7J1HYxwLBPM8nPUt1LsvRrEaqXqB/s2322/ringo.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2322" data-original-width="1991" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf6vJnl6XWkSy2JEae4xvycPRIyhRDhb85pLvU787oWMEuhoNabAcknunMT25GugeZ1FBV2n2XaFUGaUtKuqVbkhf0HqhC6AxnEmeflswGSNGS1heiz_04D4R2it_cqQHcoqh3E4U9JGTZGBpT4jLTTQhU7J1HYxwLBPM8nPUt1LsvRrEaqXqB/s320/ringo.HEIC" width="274" /></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">In the spirit of full disclosure, some might find it relevant that all my grandparents were farmers.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">And that both my parents (and their many siblings) were raised on farms. Come to think of it, my mother-in-law also was raised on a farm.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">The point of this little roll-call is that when it came time for them to stay or go, not one of those kids chose to stay and continue the family business. Make of that what you will.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">The thing is, though...to this day my mom (now 85), still speaks sadly about giving up for slaughter the piglets and lambs she raised all those years ago. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">She doesn't remember much about current events—but she can talk at length about how she felt watching her much-loved friends herded into a trailer and driven away.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">I can't say for sure what lesson she learned from those losses. But for those who celebrate such things (including many of the commenters in a Modern Farmer article <a href="https://modernfarmer.com/2023/06/4-h-goat-controversy/">linked here</a>), congratulations.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">The legacy continues.</span></div>spaceneedlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18048730291915823954noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11755608.post-63317099958757649462023-05-04T12:01:00.000-07:002023-05-04T12:01:00.794-07:00Uncontrolled Variables<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZDjR01AaR8bxXpCwioFzPtfGpxH0rJmutou7jJ4dGP0ilh3A7Y_mmvdx0JaUaPhp1q54-souWE1Z4ChgVDUksyzbrJng3bAKzfZnmz9kfizC5fa9zQ4DHc64gx_j3RvIwusJgsQe32cEMCVE3M3d_KOz_pyEqwpZDWFeQFirAWHvVOt65Xg/s1440/wildfire.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1440" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZDjR01AaR8bxXpCwioFzPtfGpxH0rJmutou7jJ4dGP0ilh3A7Y_mmvdx0JaUaPhp1q54-souWE1Z4ChgVDUksyzbrJng3bAKzfZnmz9kfizC5fa9zQ4DHc64gx_j3RvIwusJgsQe32cEMCVE3M3d_KOz_pyEqwpZDWFeQFirAWHvVOt65Xg/s320/wildfire.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>The illusion of control gets us through most days.<br /><br />We humans believe that if we manage certain variables in our lives, good things will follow—or, at least, bad things will be contained.<div><br /></div><div>Quite often we're right! Which is both comforting and convenient.</div><div><br /></div><div>Sometimes we're wrong, tho, and that's when things get interesting. Yesterday was one of those days.</div><div><br /></div><div>Morning went predictably. The alarm went off at five a.m., as it usually does. The dogs went out to romp for a while, as they predictably do. Coffee was made, chores began, conference calls ensued. </div><div><br /></div><div>Breakfast was served to all the creatures who wanted it, administrative boxes were checked, and a long-ish run was run and done.</div><div><br /></div><div>All these things occurred under the kind of blue skies that have been making Hawai'i famous since antiquity. Sure, the trade winds picked up after lunchtime, as they will do, but, as usual, we managed that by closing windward doors and opening doors on the lee side.</div><div><br /></div><div>It was one-thirty p.m. or so that we first smelled the smoke. It took all of thirty seconds to identify the source—a widening plume downslope from our farm, carried directly toward us by the trade winds.</div><div><br /></div><div>It was, what, maybe half an hour later that the power went down.</div><div><br /></div><div>Point of order: we have a near-new solar power system, along with backup supplied by the Hawai'i County power grid. So under nearly every foreseeable circumstance, our house should never lack electricity.</div><div><br /></div><div>Go figure.</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd5sjeLsRm-A9irKp3v6TXmk1A5VqSpJWMmexsYjXR9cnCm8GBjNEf8SUUXGoFeypkYhrYmYNAIv4DfKcRbImGz6LHuR-TelRU7Q-XGPh0jmme3q3qH0XW9t04RtHyvmJ_DtkRL0FZQ966RXCzNnTqT2bVbZ8Kg1uv__sEtK6z7dlvLHqv1Q/s1440/plume.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1440" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd5sjeLsRm-A9irKp3v6TXmk1A5VqSpJWMmexsYjXR9cnCm8GBjNEf8SUUXGoFeypkYhrYmYNAIv4DfKcRbImGz6LHuR-TelRU7Q-XGPh0jmme3q3qH0XW9t04RtHyvmJ_DtkRL0FZQ966RXCzNnTqT2bVbZ8Kg1uv__sEtK6z7dlvLHqv1Q/s320/plume.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>By three p.m. the smoke plume had grown by orders of magnitude, and ash was falling like black snow. One of our neighbors, a retired firefighter, hosed down the long, dry grass on the north side of his house, obviously worried about embers floating in on the trades.</div><div><br /></div><div>Meanwhile, we went through our afternoon routine, making sure chickens, geese, and sheep had extra food and water. Later we noticed our clothes smelled like smoke, which was less surprising than it was jarring.</div><div><br /></div><div>Dusk came early as smoke swept over and around us. We brought out an array of battery powered lights and joked about turning on the ceiling fans hanging inert above our heads.</div><div><br /></div><div>We gave up the notion that power would magically come back on so we could make dinner (or even risk opening the fridge). Instead we drove into town, where everything was completely normal. Lights were on in the neighborhood pub, people sang and played ukulele at open-mike night, and a beer tasted even better than usual.</div><div><br /></div><div>Returning home, the neighborhood was still completely dark. A generator hummed somewhere not far away, but if it was powering lights we couldn't see them.</div><div><br /></div><div>We read for a while by the low light of an electric lantern, then gave up and called it a night.</div><div><br /></div><div>According to Melissa, the power came back on at three-thirty a.m. </div><div><br /></div><div>I slept right through it.</div><div><br /></div><div>This morning went (mostly) predictably. The alarm went off at five a.m., as it usually does, and the ceiling fan spun quietly above us. The only other sound was that of a steady rain falling on our metal roof.</div><div><br /></div><div>So far, the breeze blowing up from the water hasn't brought any smoke with it.</div><div><br /></div><div>It's always too early to declare a return to normal—but near as we can tell, the fire is out.</div>spaceneedlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18048730291915823954noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11755608.post-37707127273896191172023-02-19T09:07:00.000-08:002023-02-19T09:07:47.109-08:00Multi-Case Scenarios<span style="font-family: georgia;"><i><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiSyQX-O68fSY4YC7rJmSI2Wd8LP6ZJfdcSs6Gum7-qLhOGtlv9AiV4mIbyOUlbQpZ2pMiDDA5kgawuX7MRqCewngLpA0IrqGSmIcNEBXbhzJLajx5yXzc6sRf1nT5Dgw1ZBJ7J4z0NAWFbjlPeWauQvWk1HkedanGXE1gRNws0wY_BrkueMw=s1160" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="1160" height="166" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiSyQX-O68fSY4YC7rJmSI2Wd8LP6ZJfdcSs6Gum7-qLhOGtlv9AiV4mIbyOUlbQpZ2pMiDDA5kgawuX7MRqCewngLpA0IrqGSmIcNEBXbhzJLajx5yXzc6sRf1nT5Dgw1ZBJ7J4z0NAWFbjlPeWauQvWk1HkedanGXE1gRNws0wY_BrkueMw=s320" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Asteroid not to scale*<br /><span style="font-size: x-small;">(*maybe)</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table></i></span><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i>We have all the time in the world<br />Time enough for life<br />To unfold all the precious things<br />Love has in store</i></span><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i><br />We have all the love in the world<br />If that's all we have<br />You will find<br />We need nothing more</i></span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: verdana;">—Louis Armstrong</span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">***</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">THERE IS A THEORY...</span><span style="font-family: verdana;">that literally everything in the universe happens simultaneously.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">That the past, present, and future are a unified event, happening *now* at the theater in your head.</span></div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">The experiences that you thought you shared with others? They didn't happen. Or, more precisely, they didn't happen for others in the same way or even at the same time as they happened for you.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Don't take my word for it: <a href="https://www.vox.com/culture/23024945/everything-everywhere-all-at-once-multiverse-explained-quantum-physicist" target="_blank">ask a mathematical physicist at Cal Tech</a>!</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">"...</span><i style="font-family: verdana;">you have a very basic concept in quantum physics known as <span style="color: black;">quantum superposition.</span> Quantum superposition basically says that what we think of as a single universe, the quantum superposition, is the interference of an infinite number of universes. Each one of them has different things that are happening at some microscopic level. When you zoom out from our microscopic human perspective, we get to see certain patterns like space and time and matter emerge, and particles that have some more definite positions, in both space and time."</i></div><div><i style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></i></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Do I understand how that actually works? Nope! But I love nerding out on it just the same.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">At the microscopic level it means, I imagine, that I'm simultaneously writing AND never learned to write AND am writing in multiple languages I don't speak or read or write. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Are all these possibilities useful at all? They are! Because each of them opens a door that I hadn't considered before, any of which might send me down infinite paths toward fame and fortune! Or, just as plausibly, a life of obscurity on a remote island!</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Who can say? Not moi!</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">As the Wicked Witch of the West observed as she melted away: <i>"What a world, what a world (what a countless number of worlds in which I finally get that wretched girl, and her little dog, too!").</i></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">***</span></div><div></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Contemplation of concurrent selves contemplating quantum chaos... </span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">...inevitably overwhelms my little brain—which craves the relative order and calm of things closer to home. That's where, to quote writer Nelson Henderson, <i>"The true meaning of life is to plant trees, under whose shade you do not expect to sit."</i></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Life may be slightly more complex than that—but as a matter of cosmic importance I have no quarrel with the sentiment.</span></div><div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">***</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><div style="font-family: Times;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i>“How we spend our days is how we spend our lives."</i></span></span></div><div style="font-family: Times;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333;">—Annie Dillard</span></span></div></span></div></div>spaceneedlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18048730291915823954noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11755608.post-425955080357884832023-02-14T13:22:00.001-08:002023-02-14T13:29:14.085-08:00Finding Why<span style="font-family: georgia;"><i><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5Q6ygYBMb2CETj1HwCQYp15tN4QDmHOJnmpmD3eONQiZ4tugYWxTyKOjh6sPxhb_rCcjLogPlHyQ7d5Pfacf8psoesJx1brG_cX40azmy8myQZJBK_LuPhnqcErlZLT5znVEU3JSL52MXoky7sF906zdkfSDLCW8v_RXp-RCSZaGK-6yXWQ/s1962/escher%20puddle.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1494" data-original-width="1962" height="244" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5Q6ygYBMb2CETj1HwCQYp15tN4QDmHOJnmpmD3eONQiZ4tugYWxTyKOjh6sPxhb_rCcjLogPlHyQ7d5Pfacf8psoesJx1brG_cX40azmy8myQZJBK_LuPhnqcErlZLT5znVEU3JSL52MXoky7sF906zdkfSDLCW8v_RXp-RCSZaGK-6yXWQ/s320/escher%20puddle.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div>And it goes on and on</i></span><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i>Watching the river run<br />Further and further</i></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i>From things that we've done</i></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i>Leaving them one by one<br />And we have just begun</i></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i>Watching the river run<br />Listening and learning and yearning</i></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i>To run river run</i></span><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">—J. Messina/K. Loggins</span></div></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">***</span></div><div><div style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">I'm running again.</span></div><div style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">For the past, what, 12 weeks now? Long enough for me to believe this fickle switch might stay flipped for a while.</span></div><div style="background-color: white;"><div><br clear="none" style="font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;" /></div></div><div style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">My expanding loops around our rural neighborhood have been a revelation. There are people here—not just shaka-waving forms inside of vehicles.</span></div><div style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">There are animals—with fascinating behaviors and sounds and personalities.</span></div><div style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">There are hills. OMG, the hills. So much up and down, so little flat. So very much like life.</span></div><div style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">{shakes head, eyes wide—so <i>this</i> is what living here is like? i've been missing out on...<i>everything</i>.}</span></div></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">***</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Ancient wisdom, silently passed down through our collective DNA: </span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><i>"To succeed in a difficult journey, you must first understand why you embark."</i></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Semi-related illustration: <i>"Ultra running will test your mental and physical strength. Training, planning, and eating right will all help contribute to your success. <b>But finding the reason behind why you want to run is crucial to it.</b>"</i></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Well, shoot—that's discouraging. Because as long as I've been engaging in this weird hobby, I've never had a "why."</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">In fact, I've kinda been jealous of people who do.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Statistically, though, it seems impossible I'm the only one lacking this "crucial" element. Shirley there are at least a couple more humans who wander around life's trails not understanding what drives them into the literal and metaphorical wilderness. </span></div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">If asked, I wonder what they would say (besides </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">"Fuck if I know").</span></div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">I'm not sure if</span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> theologian </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">Paul Tillich ever ran further than 26.2, but regardless, I think he may have been on to something here:</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-style: italic;">“If you have trouble with the word “god,” take whatever is central and most meaningful to your life and call that god.”</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">See, that's something I can understand. During my running hiatus it became painfully clear how central and meaningful it is to my life. Not-running was akin to </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">wandering through the desert, which the literature (and common sense) tells us is not the best place to wander for months at a time.</span><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">There is a kind of grace in this epiphany, and in the coming back to it. It's not hyperbole to say that many of the best things in my life are directly related to this activity and its rituals. There's no sacrilege in knowing my mind is at its best, my soul most at peace, when I'm out on a trail winding through the trees.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">***</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Denouement: I'm thinking about pinning on a bib again—for the first time since January 2020.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; font-family: verdana;">{shakes head, eyes wide—three years ago</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: verdana;">. i've been missing out on...</span><i style="background-color: white; font-family: verdana;">everything</i><span style="background-color: white; font-family: verdana;">.}</span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; font-family: verdana;">I think I've found my why.</span></div><div><div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">***</span></div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i>The secret of life is enjoying the passage of time<br />Any fool can do it, there ain't nothing to it<br />Nobody knows how we got to the top of the hill<br />But since we're on our way down</i></span><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i>We might as well enjoy the ride<br /><br />The secret of love is in opening up your heart<br />It's okay to feel afraid, but don't let that stand in your way<br />Cause everyone knows that love is the only road<br />And since we're only here for a while</i></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i>Might as well show some style</i></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i>Give us a smile</i></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i>Isn't it a lovely ride?</i></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">—J. Taylor</span></div></div></div>spaceneedlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18048730291915823954noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11755608.post-34270275424456392462022-11-22T08:04:00.000-08:002022-11-22T08:04:30.488-08:00Thoughtless and Without A Prayer <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXSQG5xIxMiozb2vX8nPos6PqCkag3TNBCeqR5vlu68iPgGMnb-LEWh5esS921H9NaRaK6X4Va7ax-mkg9e6RTLI-UPkI5_Dk9J1wJSrv_H_v2RL57NG0EhKpQeqSue4L3W0_huTP5mdcl5N6DCXguqXdp1Y7TCCmXA-LGDQaQoBAUiiauKA/s2537/cropped-clubq-hoizontal.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="678" data-original-width="2537" height="86" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXSQG5xIxMiozb2vX8nPos6PqCkag3TNBCeqR5vlu68iPgGMnb-LEWh5esS921H9NaRaK6X4Va7ax-mkg9e6RTLI-UPkI5_Dk9J1wJSrv_H_v2RL57NG0EhKpQeqSue4L3W0_huTP5mdcl5N6DCXguqXdp1Y7TCCmXA-LGDQaQoBAUiiauKA/s320/cropped-clubq-hoizontal.png" width="320" /></a></div><i><span style="font-family: georgia;">"The definition of evil is the absence of empathy."</span></i><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">—Leon Golsensohn, defendants' psychiatrist at the Nuremberg trials</span><br /><div>***</div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Nearly a hundred and sixty years ago, on the eastern plains of Colorado, a settlement of peaceful people from the Cheyenne and Arapaho tribes were attacked at dawn by a contingent of 700 US Army soldiers.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">A member of that force, Captain Silas Soule, refused to engage in the slaughter that followed, instead choosing to stand down and record what he saw.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">In letters to his family, Soule said,</span></div><div><i><span style="font-family: georgia;">"I was present at a Massacre of three hundred Indians, mostly women and children. It was a horrable scene and I would not let my Company fire. They were friendly and some of our soldiers were in their Camp at the time trading. It looked too hard for me to see little Children on their knees begging for their lives, have their brains beat out like dogs. It was a Regament of 100 days men who accomplished the noble deed. Some of the Indians fought when they saw no chance of escape and killed twelve and wounded forty of our men." — Dec. 18, 1864</span></i></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><i><span style="font-family: georgia;">"I spent New Year’s day on the battle ground counting dead Indians. There were not as many killed as was reported. There was not more than one hundred and thirty killed, but most of them were women and children and all of them scalped. I hope the authorities at Washington will investigate the killing of those Indians. I think they will be apt to hoist some of our high officials. I would not fire on the Indians with my Co. and the Col. said he would have me cashiered, but he is out of the service before me and I think I stand better than he does in regard to his great Indian fight." — Jan. 8, 1865</span></i></div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Over time, the historical record of the dead </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">in what came to be known as the Sand Creek Massacre </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">was revised upward to 230.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">History also shows that the massacre ignited warfare between the US government and native tribes resisting the seizure of their lands. The genocide that ensued, often on the premise that Native Americans were not civilized or even fully human, lasted 25 years, ending with another slaughter by the US Army at Wounded Knee, South Dakota.</span></div><div>***</div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">In the months leading up to the 2022 midterm elections, seeking to generate support from a passionately regressive base of voters, Republican politicians and their promoters in the </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">media</span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">demonized the LGBTQIA2S+ community. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">If you wonder in good faith about that acronym, it stands for lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender / gender expansive, queer and/or questioning, intersex, asexual, and two-spirit.</span></div></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">If you wonder in good faith what *that* means, good for you. You may be on your way toward understanding—they're just people who are different than you. People who want to be accepted for who they are, or in lieu of that, not be killed for simply existing.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Unfortunately, that ask is too much for many on the right, who see "different" as an opportunity—to fabricate a threat that can be attacked via <a href="https://www.aclu.org/legislation-affecting-lgbtq-rights-across-country">legislation</a>, <a href="https://www.texastribune.org/2022/10/06/texas-lawsuit-lgbt-workers/">discrimination</a>, and <a href="https://www.washingtonpost.com/national-security/2022/06/17/lgbtq-pride-violence/">violence</a>.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">From the Washington Post:</span></div><div><i><span style="font-family: georgia;">"Right-wing politicians and preachers have openly called for killing LGBTQ people. On a conservative talk show, Mark Burns, a Donald Trump-allied congressional candidate from South Carolina, called 'LGBT, transgender grooming' a national security threat and proposed using treason laws as the basis for 'executing' parents and teachers who advocate for LGBTQ rights. In Texas, a pastor railed against Pride month and said LGBTQ people 'should be lined up against the wall and shot in the back of the head.'”</span></i></div><div><i><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></i></div><i><span style="font-family: georgia;">"Extremism researchers have long warned of an escalating risk as hard-right Republicans and militant groups portray LGBTQ people as “groomers” targeting children, along with other baseless smears. Now, provocateurs are acting on those messages with rising hate and violence targeting LGBTQ communities."<br /></span></i><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">***</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">L</span><span style="font-family: verdana;">ast weekend, another young, white male with an AR-15 walked into Club Q, a Colorado Springs bar whose patrons are predominantly LGBTQ. When the shooting stopped, 5 people were dead and 25 were wounded—many still in critical condition.</span></div><div><div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">***</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">The link between massacres in America crosses generations. It began long before Sand Creek and continued implacably up to this very moment. </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">And while the targets of that violence have varied by race, religion, gender, economic status, et al—what doesn't change is how often the crimes are committed by, or on behalf of</span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> white, male, self-proclaimed Christians.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Less than 48 hours after the Club Q shooting, in the last 2022 race for the US Senate, the Republican candidate from Georgia was still inciting hatred against the </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">LGBTQ community. Herschel Walker:</span></div><div><ul><li><span style="font-family: verdana;">Suggested trans kids wouldn't go to heaven because "Jesus wouldn't recognize them"</span></li><li><span style="font-family: verdana;">Stood with a GOP legislator who called gay people "filth" and later said straight people were superior to gay people</span></li><li><span style="font-family: verdana;">Appeared in an ad with a former collegiate swimmer who falsely complained she had to compete against a "biological male"</span></li></ul></div></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Even after being embarrassed in the recent elections, the GOP continues to double down on this brand of malice, which time and again </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">has been shown</span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">to incite violence in our gun-drunk society. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">"Thoughts and prayers" they type after every killing, unaware or uncaring that those words are now a punchline that reminds us </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">who they are—the party of guns and providing fresh targets to fire them at.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">In their America no sanctuary is holy,</span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">no shelter is safe, and no atrocity is too inhumane. </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">There is no common ground, nor compromise, with that.</span></div><div><div><br /></div></div>spaceneedlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18048730291915823954noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11755608.post-35747030852978674512022-10-03T18:26:00.002-07:002022-10-04T10:18:38.990-07:00Run Talk<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-odH3pVogsl3WdY-tWv6azm1qgqqUSqXV98ccptsO7flqd12Sj0a9IuMIr3LEb6E_XN2WvuvqZJ5txUkQFIzG6PTy4ao9j2tQgftoeq_vkp_RdJ_GDPQvGcB2sg6He9isRBwY4cdYzjn6b1C0twFh6tn4HZkHDjAxnhYKCTP0gtZVBe7OBg/s4032/IMG_4534.HEIC" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-odH3pVogsl3WdY-tWv6azm1qgqqUSqXV98ccptsO7flqd12Sj0a9IuMIr3LEb6E_XN2WvuvqZJ5txUkQFIzG6PTy4ao9j2tQgftoeq_vkp_RdJ_GDPQvGcB2sg6He9isRBwY4cdYzjn6b1C0twFh6tn4HZkHDjAxnhYKCTP0gtZVBe7OBg/w300-h400/IMG_4534.HEIC" width="300" /></a></div><div><i><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span jsname="YS01Ge" style="background-color: white; color: #202124;">Wake me up inside</span></span></i></div><div><i><span style="font-family: georgia;">Wake me up inside<br aria-hidden="true" style="background-color: white; color: #202124;" /><span jsname="YS01Ge" style="background-color: white; color: #202124;">Call my name and save me from the dark</span><br aria-hidden="true" style="background-color: white; color: #202124;" /><span jsname="YS01Ge" style="background-color: white; color: #202124;">Bid my blood to run</span><br aria-hidden="true" style="background-color: white; color: #202124;" /><span jsname="YS01Ge" style="background-color: white; color: #202124;">Before I come undone</span><br aria-hidden="true" style="background-color: white; color: #202124;" /><span jsname="YS01Ge" style="background-color: white; color: #202124;">Save me </span></span></i></div><div><i><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span jsname="YS01Ge" style="background-color: white; color: #202124;">Save me from the nothing I've become</span></span></i></div><div><span jsname="YS01Ge" style="background-color: white; color: #202124;"><i><span style="font-family: georgia;">Bring me to life</span></i></span></div><div><span class="css-901oao css-16my406 r-poiln3 r-bcqeeo r-qvutc0" style="background-color: white; border: 0px solid black; box-sizing: border-box; color: #0f1419; display: inline; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant-east-asian: inherit; font-variant-numeric: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; min-width: 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; padding: 0px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">—Amy Lee, Ben Moody, David Hodges</span></span></div><span style="background-color: white; color: #0f1419; font-family: verdana; white-space: pre-wrap;">***</span><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">I was a runner, not that long ago.<br /><br />For several years, in fact, I ran quite often, and occasionally quite a ways.</span><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Now, I occasionally <i>talk</i> about running...but the actual running itself? The part where I put on the shorts and shoes and one foot in front of the other? Not so much.<br /><br />There's not a thing wrong with me physically—if my daily FarmFit™ routine is any indication. <br /><br />Between-the-ears, though, the gears are making an unwelcome noise</span><span style="font-family: verdana;">.</span></div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Where once I was anxious to get out and run, now the idea of running makes me anxious.<br /><br />Where running once was my therapy, now it seems it'll take therapy to get me running again.<br />***<br />What I think about when I think about running: <i>{feeling of dread}</i><br /><br />What I think about when I think about <i>not</i> running: <i>{dreadful fomo}</i><br />***<br /></span><div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Backstory:</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">In 2019</span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> I ran two ultramarathons. In between those, I</span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> was also regularly getting to the gym</span><span style="font-family: verdana;">—because</span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> yay, cross-training!</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Then 2020 happened and, of course, the world went upside down. Gyms closed, races were cancelled, and, oh yeah, people died. Lots and lots of people died.</span></div><div> </div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">For a while, when little was known about the etiology of COVID-19, group photos of smiling runners were replaced with photos of empty trails. Meet-ups to run with anyone other than the family dog were rare, involving separate cars, masking, and keeping a cautious distance.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">It didn't take long, though, for many people to get bored with doing the right thing. </span></div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">At a time when modes of covid transmission were still being studied and vaccines were months away and more than a thousand Americans were dying of covid <i>every day—</i></span><span style="font-family: verdana;">c</span><span style="font-family: verdana;">ountless people just decided it was time to "return to normal".</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">To my comical surprise, </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">many in the trail running/racing community</span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">were among them. </span></div><div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">***<br class="Apple-interchange-newline" />Up to that moment, my experience in the community had convinced me trail runners were different from most people (aside from how we liked to run a long time in often adverse conditions). I thought our little subculture was an equable bastion of empathy and shared responsibility and mutual support.</span></div><div><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Sitting here now, I’m embarrassed by how naive I was. I mean, I’m OLD—I’ve lived a while and seen some things and REALLY SHOULD'VE KNOWN BETTER.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p class="p3" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">In my defense, I wanted to believe such a community existed, and that I could be a part of it. So, I believed, eagerly and joyfully.</span></p></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">I was wrong, of course. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Example: Some race directors (bless them) at that time pivoted to safe alternatives to large gatherings of runners, sponsoring </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">virtual races and events.</span></div></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">O</span><span style="font-family: verdana;">ther RDs (and their customers) decided their events were <i>necessary</i>—more necessary, even, than the health of participants, communities, and front line healthcare workers already overrun with patients. So, the moment it was allowed, their covid-safe* events were back on. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">The difference between those responses became a thing on trail running social media. The hostility was prolific and loud and months-long. People showed who they were in ways that might've made one wonder how there was ever a community in the first place.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Narrator: <i>"There wasn't. There was only a small group of people who enjoyed the same hobby, co-existing until they were pressure-tested by extraordinary circumstances."</i></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">***</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">I'm no longer angry at people who basically declared that [their activity here] was more important than other people's wellbeing/health/life. Even though covid is still with us, fueled by mutations of the coronavirus that <i>might</i> not have evolved if some of our fellow humans had worn a mask and gotten vaccinated and not contracted covid at superspreader events and forwarded it on to innocent people whose riskiest behavior at the time was going to the grocery store.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Nope. Not angry at all.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">I am cranky, though, about how I reacted to those people—letting them get into my head, undermine my trust that people will do the right thing, and (</span><span style="font-family: verdana;">waaaay downstream) negatively impact</span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> my desire and ability to run. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">That part is very disappointing.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">***</span></div></div><div><span class="css-901oao css-16my406 r-poiln3 r-bcqeeo r-qvutc0" style="background-color: white; border: 0px solid black; box-sizing: border-box; color: #0f1419; display: inline; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant-east-asian: inherit; font-variant-numeric: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; min-width: 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; padding: 0px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">It's been a year since I logged any meaningful miles.</span></span></div><div><span class="css-901oao css-16my406 r-poiln3 r-bcqeeo r-qvutc0" style="background-color: white; border: 0px solid black; box-sizing: border-box; color: #0f1419; display: inline; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant-east-asian: inherit; font-variant-numeric: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; min-width: 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; padding: 0px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="css-901oao css-16my406 r-poiln3 r-bcqeeo r-qvutc0" style="background-color: white; border: 0px solid black; box-sizing: border-box; color: #0f1419; display: inline; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant-east-asian: inherit; font-variant-numeric: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; min-width: 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; padding: 0px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">And by meaningful I mean, "a cheerful embrace of an eccentric activity that once gave me peace of mind."</span></span></div><div><span class="css-901oao css-16my406 r-poiln3 r-bcqeeo r-qvutc0" style="background-color: white; border: 0px solid black; box-sizing: border-box; color: #0f1419; display: inline; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant-east-asian: inherit; font-variant-numeric: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; min-width: 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; padding: 0px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="css-901oao css-16my406 r-poiln3 r-bcqeeo r-qvutc0" style="background-color: white; border: 0px solid black; box-sizing: border-box; color: #0f1419; display: inline; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant-east-asian: inherit; font-variant-numeric: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; min-width: 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; padding: 0px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">I continue to accessorize for the long run (or any run), on the theory that the next purchase will be the one that puts the wind back in my sails. It hasn't worked so far, but as noted above, I <i>want</i> to believe.</span></span></div><div><span class="css-901oao css-16my406 r-poiln3 r-bcqeeo r-qvutc0" style="background-color: white; border: 0px solid black; box-sizing: border-box; color: #0f1419; display: inline; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant-east-asian: inherit; font-variant-numeric: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; min-width: 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; padding: 0px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="css-901oao css-16my406 r-poiln3 r-bcqeeo r-qvutc0" style="background-color: white; border: 0px solid black; box-sizing: border-box; color: #0f1419; display: inline; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant-east-asian: inherit; font-variant-numeric: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; min-width: 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; padding: 0px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">And so, </span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #0f1419; font-family: verdana; white-space: pre-wrap;">a fancy GPS watch counts the steps I take carrying buckets of water around the farm.</span></div><div><span class="css-901oao css-16my406 r-poiln3 r-bcqeeo r-qvutc0" style="background-color: white; border: 0px solid black; box-sizing: border-box; color: #0f1419; display: inline; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant-east-asian: inherit; font-variant-numeric: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; min-width: 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; padding: 0px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="css-901oao css-16my406 r-poiln3 r-bcqeeo r-qvutc0" style="background-color: white; border: 0px solid black; box-sizing: border-box; color: #0f1419; display: inline; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant-east-asian: inherit; font-variant-numeric: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; min-width: 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; padding: 0px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">A new hydration pack sits in its shipping envelope on the dresser. </span></span></div><div><span class="css-901oao css-16my406 r-poiln3 r-bcqeeo r-qvutc0" style="background-color: white; border: 0px solid black; box-sizing: border-box; color: #0f1419; display: inline; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant-east-asian: inherit; font-variant-numeric: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; min-width: 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; padding: 0px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; color: #0f1419; font-family: verdana; white-space: pre-wrap;">Near-new</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #0f1419; font-family: verdana; white-space: pre-wrap;"> trail shoes languish in the closet, along with two pairs of road shoes, still in the box. New running shorts wait in a dresser drawer, and a barely used waterproof running jacket hangs in the utility room.</span></div></div><div><span style="background-color: white; color: #0f1419; font-family: verdana; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; color: #0f1419; font-family: verdana; white-space: pre-wrap;">When the time comes, I will be very geared up.</span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; color: #0f1419; font-family: verdana; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; color: #0f1419; font-family: verdana; white-space: pre-wrap;">With each passing day, though, I wonder if that time has passed me by.</span></div><div><span class="css-901oao css-16my406 r-poiln3 r-bcqeeo r-qvutc0" style="background-color: white; border: 0px solid black; box-sizing: border-box; color: #0f1419; display: inline; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant-east-asian: inherit; font-variant-numeric: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; min-width: 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; padding: 0px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div>***</div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i><span class="css-901oao css-16my406 r-poiln3 r-bcqeeo r-qvutc0" style="border: 0px solid black; box-sizing: border-box; display: inline; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant-east-asian: inherit; font-variant-numeric: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; min-width: 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; padding: 0px;">Accomplished runner-friend: </span></i></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i><span class="css-901oao css-16my406 r-poiln3 r-bcqeeo r-qvutc0" style="border: 0px solid black; box-sizing: border-box; display: inline; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant-east-asian: inherit; font-variant-numeric: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; min-width: 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; padding: 0px;">“I should probably just retire from ultra running. I’ve had my moment.” </span></i></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i><span class="css-901oao css-16my406 r-poiln3 r-bcqeeo r-qvutc0" style="border: 0px solid black; box-sizing: border-box; display: inline; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant-east-asian: inherit; font-variant-numeric: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; min-width: 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; padding: 0px;">[later] “Oh, hey, </span><div class="css-1dbjc4n r-xoduu5" style="-webkit-box-align: stretch; -webkit-box-direction: normal; -webkit-box-orient: vertical; align-items: stretch; border: 0px solid black; box-sizing: border-box; display: inline-flex; flex-basis: auto; flex-direction: column; flex-shrink: 0; margin: 0px; min-height: 0px; min-width: 0px; padding: 0px; position: relative; z-index: 0;"><span class="r-18u37iz" style="-webkit-box-direction: normal; -webkit-box-orient: horizontal; flex-direction: row;"><a class="css-4rbku5 css-18t94o4 css-901oao css-16my406 r-1cvl2hr r-1loqt21 r-poiln3 r-bcqeeo r-qvutc0" dir="ltr" href="https://twitter.com/ultrasignup" role="link" style="background-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); border: 0px solid black; box-sizing: border-box; color: #1d9bf0; cursor: pointer; display: inline; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; list-style: none; margin: 0px; min-width: 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; padding: 0px; text-align: inherit; text-decoration-line: none; white-space: inherit;">@ultrasignup</a></span></div><span class="css-901oao css-16my406 r-poiln3 r-bcqeeo r-qvutc0" style="border: 0px solid black; box-sizing: border-box; display: inline; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant-east-asian: inherit; font-variant-numeric: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; min-width: 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; padding: 0px;">.”</span></i></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i><span class="css-901oao css-16my406 r-poiln3 r-bcqeeo r-qvutc0" style="border: 0px solid black; box-sizing: border-box; display: inline; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant-east-asian: inherit; font-variant-numeric: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; min-width: 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; padding: 0px;"><br /></span></i></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i><span class="css-901oao css-16my406 r-poiln3 r-bcqeeo r-qvutc0" style="border: 0px solid black; box-sizing: border-box; display: inline; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant-east-asian: inherit; font-variant-numeric: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; min-width: 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; padding: 0px;">Supportive friend: "As an ultra running retiree, let me tell you this: we're all addicts—and that urge will be with you for the rest of your life."</span></i></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i><span class="css-901oao css-16my406 r-poiln3 r-bcqeeo r-qvutc0" style="border: 0px solid black; box-sizing: border-box; display: inline; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant-east-asian: inherit; font-variant-numeric: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; min-width: 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; padding: 0px;"><br /></span></i></span></div><div><i><span class="css-901oao css-16my406 r-poiln3 r-bcqeeo r-qvutc0" style="border: 0px solid black; box-sizing: border-box; display: inline; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant-east-asian: inherit; font-variant-numeric: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; min-width: 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">***</span></span></i></div><div><span style="color: black; font-family: verdana; white-space: normal;">*Narrator: <i>"The events were not covid-safe."</i></span></div></span></div></div>spaceneedlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18048730291915823954noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11755608.post-17589779734248125472022-08-31T11:15:00.001-07:002022-08-31T11:15:43.790-07:00Win Some Lewes Some<p><span style="font-size: 13px;"></span></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQP7AsDR2pSOpalIRdhX9_loAuzfY7FP2KhX-YBwlmESoKKPv-DZGeQOsWxJS6Po8jMtwS3zqJDECgmMfOzWb-JCXhiLo-9_PzmUtRdXMBgnENZllIYLl2c-EJgjX0fy2nPSsSCdUnZ3EcDdTVffSEaW7zFdInFRwg1xICsQODB_LDFz-sGw/s859/lewes.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="859" data-original-width="766" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQP7AsDR2pSOpalIRdhX9_loAuzfY7FP2KhX-YBwlmESoKKPv-DZGeQOsWxJS6Po8jMtwS3zqJDECgmMfOzWb-JCXhiLo-9_PzmUtRdXMBgnENZllIYLl2c-EJgjX0fy2nPSsSCdUnZ3EcDdTVffSEaW7zFdInFRwg1xICsQODB_LDFz-sGw/s320/lewes.jpeg" width="285" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i>"This painting doesn't belong here!"</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="ujudUb" jsname="U8S5sf" style="background-color: white; color: #202124; margin-bottom: 12px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i><span jsname="YS01Ge">Mama pajama rolled out of bed</span><br aria-hidden="true" /><span jsname="YS01Ge">And she ran to the police station</span><br aria-hidden="true" /><span jsname="YS01Ge">When the papa found out he began to shout</span><br aria-hidden="true" /><span jsname="YS01Ge">And he started the investigation</span></i></span></div><p></p><div class="ujudUb" jsname="U8S5sf" style="background-color: white; color: #202124; margin-bottom: 12px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i><span jsname="YS01Ge">It's against the law</span><br aria-hidden="true" /><span jsname="YS01Ge">It was against the law</span><br aria-hidden="true" /><span jsname="YS01Ge">What the mama saw</span><br aria-hidden="true" /><span jsname="YS01Ge">It was against the law</span></i></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">—Paul Simon<br />***<br /><i>"The above-pictured individual was involved in the theft of artwork from the art exhibit at the Lewes Library on 08/15/2022 between the hours of 11 a.m. and 12 p.m. <br /><br />"LPD is requesting the public’s assistance in identifying this person.<br /><br />"If you recognize the individual or have any information on the incident, please contact the Lewes Police Department at (302) 645-6264."</i><br />***<br />I have so many questions.</span><p class="p1" style="font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">First, didn’t Wilford Brimley ascend to the great spaceship in the sky, never to be seen again? Or am I mis-remembering the {spoiler alert} ending of Cocoon?</span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Second, note that the allegedly stolen painting is affixed with a white ribbon. According to the Danish System of Recognition (in use at state fair competitions across the US), a white ribbon signifies </span><span style="font-family: verdana;"><i>“…entries that do not meet average standard. The level of accomplishment is less than expected. Extremely poor workmanship or little thought is given to the exhibit.” </i></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Why would any competent thief steal an "extremely poor" painting…UNLESS it wasn’t really poor at all—and in fact concealed an original and heretofore unknown work of Van Gogh??</span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">It's possible.</span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">It’s also possible that the thief is ackshually the artist, incensed by what he considered to be thick-witted cloddishness on the part of the judges.</span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">It’s ALSO possible the thief is Van Gogh himself, reclaiming that which was stolen from him lo these many moons ago. Likely? No! But possible!</span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Third: The town of Lewes (lewes.com) prides itself on being <i>“…a walking town. Within a half-square mile you will find the Historic district, museums, many Inns, Bed & Breakfasts, fine restaurants, and a variety of ...”</i></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">That’s it…that’s all we learn from the lewes.com preview because its web site “took too long to load” and currently “cannot be reached”. Coincidence?</span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Is the thief simply a good samaritan, taking unappreciated artwork out for a breath of fresh air in the self-proclaimed “walking town”?</span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Is the artwork now part of an exhibit in one of the nearby musea? WE DON'T KNOW!</span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Maybe there's a clue back at lewes.com, where one *will* find <i>“…the Historic district, museums, many Inns, Bed & Breakfasts, fine restaurants, and a variety of ...”</i> A variety of what? Who can say?? But let's agree that any of those venues could benefit from surreptitiously acquiring an unknown Van Gogh!</span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Another look at the Lewes PD wanted poster reminds us that the painting was taken from the Lewes Library. In the security camera image, the thief appears to be of an era when art knew its place: paintings in musea, by god, and books in libraries—and never the twain shall meet. This remained true until Twain thought it would be great fun to sit for a very young Salvador Dalí, and chaos was unleashed on the world.</span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">The point being, perhaps the image merely captured the “thief” in the process of moving the painting to a museum, thereby righting what he deemed a great wrong. In which case he’s not a criminal, but rather, a god damn hero.</span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjelj6DmvWk6xfL9f8BXPLjE48CLiPvhnWvhtdWY1kxoaXR3ghMPQBtPC7VP5sK1hGvC3QBmv6Hq3Jrpj8Z_LcZwPzIGgcDfNRYJ_UGRveQSJEa38PqJo9XWI1WfgU5SVp8EtgDmVQsANL-gpmzo6yxEugbJEPY9Tuw9JxwHM4lFKPNYEXZDw/s1024/lewestoo.webp" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="1024" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjelj6DmvWk6xfL9f8BXPLjE48CLiPvhnWvhtdWY1kxoaXR3ghMPQBtPC7VP5sK1hGvC3QBmv6Hq3Jrpj8Z_LcZwPzIGgcDfNRYJ_UGRveQSJEa38PqJo9XWI1WfgU5SVp8EtgDmVQsANL-gpmzo6yxEugbJEPY9Tuw9JxwHM4lFKPNYEXZDw/s320/lewestoo.webp" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i>"Dudes! If you see a stolen painting, like, <br />let me know! Righteous!"</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: verdana;">The Lewes PD may have thoughts on that—perhaps one of these people are investigating as we speak:</span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><i>"Currently, our department is staffed with 13 State Certified sworn police officers, 1 civilian Administrative Assistant, 6 Parking Enforcement Officers and 10 Lifeguards."</i></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></p><br /><p></p>spaceneedlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18048730291915823954noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11755608.post-81545145603172330282022-08-07T21:10:00.000-07:002022-08-07T21:10:14.149-07:00Not Our Cows, Still Our Rodeo<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0XPcvYPrHONjYDLCAV-9w1m8mJa-wIqwcZa015nAlCZxCRycaKuxTnmQ1SucVJZOkoRqKTs42jZaGFLfc1hi4SYSqRqOlRqZRW7UNsmydGxOlYSUxbSRnDWzMQmXnBrzFdnQLC6N7keo_KU6LdE_qGZ7RjZURSKKczzhrt3A_1ryrNtYhbw/s257/clown.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="196" data-original-width="257" height="244" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0XPcvYPrHONjYDLCAV-9w1m8mJa-wIqwcZa015nAlCZxCRycaKuxTnmQ1SucVJZOkoRqKTs42jZaGFLfc1hi4SYSqRqOlRqZRW7UNsmydGxOlYSUxbSRnDWzMQmXnBrzFdnQLC6N7keo_KU6LdE_qGZ7RjZURSKKczzhrt3A_1ryrNtYhbw/w320-h244/clown.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: georgia;">"I haven't had my coffee yet!!"</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: verdana;">The good news: I got my exercise today</span><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">The other news: Not the way I planned</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">***</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Back in May we experienced a <a href="https://sealifechronicles.blogspot.com/2022/05/often-dull-roar-never-dull-moment.html">cattle incursion</a> that had me running around like a demented dude rancher. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">This morning, that story continued.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">The short version: we’re having hog fencing installed around our seven acres. One stretch of the old fence—between our property and that of Neighbor 1—was taken down yesterday. And for the lack of one 12' gate, cows belonging to Neighbor 2 found their way over to Neighbor 1’s property.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">This was un-neighborly for a few reasons, not the least of which is that cows like to munch on and otherwise demolish small trees like the ones Neighbor 1 has been working for months to grow.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Looking up from my coffee to see half a dozen cattle in a place they didn't belong (and immediately seeing why) was a bigger jolt than any caffeine hit.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">I ran out the door and set about herding the cows off Neighbor 1's land. Neighbor 1, meanwhile, called Neighbor 2, who sent his grandson out on an ATV.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Pertinent detail: one of the cows</span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">(whom we call Poppy)</span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> is blind. Left to her own pace and direction, she's independent and sweet as can be. Herding her (and her calf) is another matter entirely. We did *not* want Poppy to panic and, say, go tumbling into a nearby gully.</span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcKJc9ieKqYJC5eaA913CWoRqrLGdwUlQnRo7zrtgmqV8RkxX22-pKlKwlc1eQA0vZGLAwrJ9uiKwOBOPN1M1Mkkd69NvELPVCQW_bICxjsBH_DC9Nablvi3XNfuRD6iE5z0sx6SeyUCbub_wV8lVL0zao3ndvuQzj_XsFIXuKhaHosCrP5Q/s2000/blindcow.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2000" data-original-width="2000" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcKJc9ieKqYJC5eaA913CWoRqrLGdwUlQnRo7zrtgmqV8RkxX22-pKlKwlc1eQA0vZGLAwrJ9uiKwOBOPN1M1Mkkd69NvELPVCQW_bICxjsBH_DC9Nablvi3XNfuRD6iE5z0sx6SeyUCbub_wV8lVL0zao3ndvuQzj_XsFIXuKhaHosCrP5Q/w200-h200/blindcow.jpeg" width="200" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i style="font-family: Times;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Actor portrayal.<br />Not an actual cow.</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Even with Neighbor Grandson 1 on the ATV and me on foot, it took an hour—running up and down hills, backtracking, cajoling, and corralling—to get everyone back where they belonged.</span></div></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Did I sweat buckets in that time? Yes, yes I did.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">***</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Denouement: </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">Poppy did *not* take a tumble into the gully (nor did anyone else).</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">We rigged up a temporary gate, confirming the general security of Neighbor 1's trees—which should be cow-safe until Monday at least, at which time the new stretch of fence will be complete.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Farm-Fit Note: Herding cows on foot is an excellent workout. I recommend you incorporate it into your regular fitness routine at your earliest convenience.</span></div>spaceneedlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18048730291915823954noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11755608.post-41953953444359089462022-07-31T16:59:00.001-07:002022-07-31T17:05:27.492-07:00Something's Stinky<p></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifc-EAr2bbF4e3UK5jZlv_0SJit7qmeOva_M0W81tCRAs7fCNYlkwoGsZKMaw02k9KQtWXdrK3GBuxwMEbJ4W6VlX9uuaf_lA7ZFA-IGDGMhPRJdctrLuGcIV-JgTRgMllK2y5rbJYsMvDsQnDkcWSjUNQdlKBrK3-SDwyVv5SainBEDytGA/s1246/Screen%20Shot%202022-07-31%20at%2012.16.55%20PM.png" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1006" data-original-width="1246" height="258" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifc-EAr2bbF4e3UK5jZlv_0SJit7qmeOva_M0W81tCRAs7fCNYlkwoGsZKMaw02k9KQtWXdrK3GBuxwMEbJ4W6VlX9uuaf_lA7ZFA-IGDGMhPRJdctrLuGcIV-JgTRgMllK2y5rbJYsMvDsQnDkcWSjUNQdlKBrK3-SDwyVv5SainBEDytGA/s320/Screen%20Shot%202022-07-31%20at%2012.16.55%20PM.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: georgia;">I wear spyware</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: verdana;">The internet knows what deodorant I'm wearing.<br /><br />And I'd like to know how.</span><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Backstory:</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">We're having some work done at our house, and the master bath is temporarily offline.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">So today, of necessity, I showered in the guest bathroom.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">After my shower I discovered there was no deodorant in my shaving kit, so I looked in the medicine cabinet to see if there was any there.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Voila! Our daughter, bless her, had stashed an assortment of products in the cabinet for when she comes to visit—including some deodorant.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">THE DEODORANT FEATURED IN THIS AD, which showed up atop my FB feed 15 minutes later.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">To be crystal clear, until 30 minutes ago I was unaware of this product's existence. There was no reason for the Native deodorant people to target me out of the blue with an ad for their product, just as they had no way of knowing that I JUST USED THEIR PRODUCT.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">And yet, here we are.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">My loving wife insists that this digital/real world interaction was a coincidence, but I think when it comes to data and ginormous social media platforms, there are no coincidences.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Additional data:</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">My iPhone 11 was on the counter in the bathroom</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">I neither picked up nor used my phone while in the bathroom</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">I don't believe the nice people at Native Co. put nanobots in their products, so...</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">WHY IS THIS AD SUDDENLY IN MY FB FEED??</span></div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Fortunately there are lots of articles (online, of course) about "coincidences" like the one I'm describing. Social media marketing algorithms compile and analyze massive amounts of our online data every second of every day. These companies then use that data to serve up ads on our devices that make it seem like they're actively watching our every move.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">The fact that most of us aren't interesting enough to surveil is irrelevant—we're using technology, we've agreed to byzantine terms of service, and therefore detailed information about all of us is endlessly pouring into the world to be scooped up and dissected.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Full disclosure:</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">I was already aware of how corporations use our personal data to achieve their <strike>nefarious</strike> sales goals. Even so, the degree of specificity required to amble up and say, "HI HOPE YOU'RE ENJOYING OUR PRODUCT WHICH YOU JUST USED BUY MORE NOW!!!" is unnerving.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">I don't like it one bit.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">But you know, I do like this Native 100% plastic-free deodorant! It smells nice, it's aluminum-free, and its packaging is recyclable!</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Also, if you read this far, thank you and enjoy seeing ads from some random product which I may have recently researched and you may have tried for the first time.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Just remember...</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">IT'S NOT A COINCIDENCE AND YOU'RE NOT CRAZY*</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">———</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">*Well, you may be crazy, but not about this</span></div>spaceneedlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18048730291915823954noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11755608.post-3441011847096957232022-07-26T10:56:00.001-07:002022-07-26T12:39:38.702-07:00Time, Time Again<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHL4ty294Guk7jS0E4DwyyGVCH1BLQxoRo4GcXvO28cgsNVO1bZPKLuNA_6azFclS19g61-pQ9zgxo7Qr7OYmEHQU55O6yLtmpsqWaRDfQ9mNHnVddd8bshllMGEzHQkZPNVwM_gOJvVDqqz7ZmaK3sZ6uV_tm7eUr0f8nt-P5ZbD80rbwSA/s640/DSC01415.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHL4ty294Guk7jS0E4DwyyGVCH1BLQxoRo4GcXvO28cgsNVO1bZPKLuNA_6azFclS19g61-pQ9zgxo7Qr7OYmEHQU55O6yLtmpsqWaRDfQ9mNHnVddd8bshllMGEzHQkZPNVwM_gOJvVDqqz7ZmaK3sZ6uV_tm7eUr0f8nt-P5ZbD80rbwSA/s320/DSC01415.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">We were sad, but not surprised, to learn of Melody's passing.<br /><br />The arc of her decline was plain to see, one year to the next, even as she continued tending to the health of others. <br /><br /></span><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">She was a nurse, a long-term care provider, and a smoker. As a patient she'd have been lucky to have someone like her taking care of her.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">But there was a disconnect somewhere between the patient and the caring clinician.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Melody also managed a little beach house that we were lucky enough to stay at several times. You could tell she cared about that, too. Ahead of every visit we'd text her to see if there was an opening for the time we had available. She'd reply almost immediately, and arrangements would be made.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">She would show up not long after we arrived to make sure we had what we needed, and told us to call if we thought of anything else. Did she say the same thing to every other guest who came to the house? I have no doubt about it.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">A year or two before covid, we began exploring a different island, and a gap opened up between our visits. In a blink four and a half years went by, and in that time Melody reached the end of her journey.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">***</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">There was work being done on the house when we walked up to it last week. New windows, doors, decking, siding—what you'd expect for a house right on the beach on the windward side of an island in the middle of an ocean.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">The owner's son-in-law came out to greet the strangers gawking from the edge of the property. "Can I help you?" he said, not unkindly. We responded with a deluge of words about the times we spent at the house, the wonderful memories, and our hope to stay there again sometime.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Then we asked about Melody.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">***</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">There's been so much change and death and dissonance in the past two and a half years. Even the things that are the same are no longer the same. We know this and have come to expect it—so, the news about Melody shouldn't have come as a surprise at all. And yet it was still a gut punch.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">We were hoping, I suppose, for the tiniest bit of stability in this new and dislocated world. Or maybe we're just trying to grab onto the runaway freight train of time as it roars past us.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">The desire to stay there, amidst the seagrass in front of that house, was powerful. The thread between "then" and "now" stretched thinner and thinner as we walked away, like the last glint of light at sunset. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Sitting here tonight, though, I can still feel it. Delicate, ethereal—but unbroken.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">***</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Mahalo, Melody, and bon voyage. Sending you kind aloha for your walk on the beach</span></div>spaceneedlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18048730291915823954noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11755608.post-59285038086309661642022-06-26T10:12:00.001-07:002022-06-26T10:28:55.917-07:00Farm Rules<span style="font-family: verdana;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbGiCtvDkeeHwkmSwJ0NiMNjMu79aWOLs2NVD5yvgni_p3jgjQG12gji_WoExKxOtFbsAZlCaKLXSacTTKyoGazeQUnu9SFvurFhsfXu9EmY97kbZxFHoUN7U10QYVct61nJW69UaT1QnJYDKHY-cBdBn3CokiF5HyVObfngY2IE8DGPHffA/s414/barn%20rules.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="414" data-original-width="292" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbGiCtvDkeeHwkmSwJ0NiMNjMu79aWOLs2NVD5yvgni_p3jgjQG12gji_WoExKxOtFbsAZlCaKLXSacTTKyoGazeQUnu9SFvurFhsfXu9EmY97kbZxFHoUN7U10QYVct61nJW69UaT1QnJYDKHY-cBdBn3CokiF5HyVObfngY2IE8DGPHffA/s320/barn%20rules.jpg" width="226" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i>These are excellent guidelines</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table>We don't have a lot of rules here on the farm.</span><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">We live in a (mostly) benign environment, after all, where guidelines and suggestions are generally adequate to ensure domestic tranquility. <br /></span><div><br /></div><div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">The rules we do have, though, we take seriously.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">In no particular order they are:</span></div><div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><span style="font-family: verdana;">Be kind</span></li><li><span style="font-family: verdana;">Don't eat the animals</span></li><li><span style="font-family: verdana;">Respect the environment</span></li><li><span style="font-family: verdana;">Abortion on demand without apology</span></li></ul></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">That's it. See how easy?</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">I'm not going to sit here and tell you Singing Whale Farm was founded on all these principles. The first three, for sure, but the fourth was added only </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">recently, </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">to reaffirm the fact that women are fully realized people whose bodies belong to them.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">We're sad and angry that the last one had to be added at all. We mistakenly thought that in this day and age, in "the greatest country in the world," decisions about one's own body were fundamentally not subject to debate. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">In a country teeming with hard-right authoritarians and fanatic religious disciples, though, that belief was naive. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">For millions of women, the right to self-determination has suddenly evaporated.</span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> Changes to long-standing laws by corrupt political figures will effectively turn women into breeding livestock controlled by government.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Across multiple states, officials who believe their religion and status as legislators give them divine power, forced-birth laws have gone into effect. These statutes make felons of women and clinicians who believe laws like those are retrograde, immoral, and contrary to the standards of first-world healthcare.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">We agree with the women and clinicians. So we're declaring Singing Whale Farm a sanctuary for people who prefer "farm rules".</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">We are fortunate to live in a</span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> state that</span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">more than 50 years ago</span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> literally led the nation—by being the first to decriminalize abortion.</span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> A state where </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">the constitution protects the right to privacy, which includes the right to an abortion as part of comprehensive reproductive healthcare. </span></div><br style="font-family: verdana;" /><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Our farm will always be a place where a woman </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">has the inalienable right to make decisions about her own body, and act on them. If you need help achieving that, we'll be here to assist, no questions asked.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">If our government enacts laws to the contrary, we will continue to support women and clinicians by whatever means necessary.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Women will never be someone else's property here on the farm. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">We don't have a lot of rules...but that's for damn sure one of them.</span></div></div></div>spaceneedlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18048730291915823954noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11755608.post-22834406320391359302022-05-14T13:20:00.000-07:002022-05-14T13:20:34.832-07:00Dear Abby<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDcNeL9_zCjP9e2IW270q46iX2uXz3h4ZwE6rV7iGRV1UQ4xKPiBrcblG-azIdiqI2rmF3qrYjghtBRvZ13v3znRJ_OCiF_VHqM9X6O0a9B92A5Oy6-aYfC83Pjs_GEBdb2Ku3236iqHrKR_TmxxitHXvriCuWGx8GvAcnkHA0QI0rpG5yWA/s790/Dear-Abby-Postcard.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="391" data-original-width="790" height="158" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDcNeL9_zCjP9e2IW270q46iX2uXz3h4ZwE6rV7iGRV1UQ4xKPiBrcblG-azIdiqI2rmF3qrYjghtBRvZ13v3znRJ_OCiF_VHqM9X6O0a9B92A5Oy6-aYfC83Pjs_GEBdb2Ku3236iqHrKR_TmxxitHXvriCuWGx8GvAcnkHA0QI0rpG5yWA/s320/Dear-Abby-Postcard.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">I'm seeking advice on how to deal with an armed, potentially drug-addled neighbor.</span><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Background: the neighbor (and his pack of dogs) hunts feral pigs. He uses a rifle for this purpose, and isn't afraid to discharge it at dawn in an area where people, cattle, horses, and other domestic animals are well within range of a rifle.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">I know he isn't afraid to do these things, because he did all of them this morning ON OUR PROPERTY.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Additional background: another neighbor, with whom we have a cordial relationship, has shared that hunter-neighbor used to be a capable tradesman, doing drywall, carpentry, and handiwork for a living. That was before the (unspecified) drugs, though, and before the local police allegedly had to come to his home and confiscate his firearms a couple years ago.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Rational, urban me says to contact the police, file whatever kind of complaint one files in situations like these, and let them handle it.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Recently no-longer-urban me believes:</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">1. The cops aren't likely to prioritize this situation since we live in a rural area where people do this sort of thing all the time and have done so for generations</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">2. Even if the cops take some kind of action, its effect would likely be temporary since guns are easy to come by and have more rights than people</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">3. Hunter-neighbor would likely deduce we were the source of any police intervention, since he saw me watching him traipse across our property</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Full disclosure:</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">My knee-jerk reaction this morning was, "We need a gun."</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Fuller disclosure:</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">1. I hate guns</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">2. In an armed confrontation I would 100% be the guy who hesitates and ends up on the ground bleeding out</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">3. Even writing "We need a gun" and "armed confrontation" gives me a rhetorical brain bleed</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">4. We're not getting a gun</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Pacifist me thinks I need to have a conversation with hunter-neighbor and in a calm, neighborly way let him know we don't want him hunting on our property.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Rational me thinks a rational person wouldn't be out at dawn on other people's property under any circumstances, let alone firing a rifle. Rational me thinks that kind of behavior is irrational.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Therefore, rational me knows I would be incapable of having a calm, neighborly conversation with anyone who behaves in the erratic, antisocial manner described above. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">SO, dear Abby, what do you think of all this? Is there any advice that accounts for all these variables and achieves a positive outcome</span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">in today's world</span><span style="font-family: verdana;">? Or do we just have to put up with an irrational gunman occasionally wandering our property, putting us at risk of sudden morbidity and mortality?</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Signed—</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAH5dXO9PrR6uO8DBCR8pMo2XRkqb8yrCUKOIO8ktZvFAOAa4QvEb35Sal0PwCz2XIoLSHMAZYpH5UhVrbXadPdPPuW68cYayNsAJBd-aAQw5XAuX47EAPFuvRuIWRL_mxNqZZJwyqo7TTlYDF1cm--cc6BMTevVpoIUg6LFD_Fwl9x_62Kg/s500/no.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="500" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAH5dXO9PrR6uO8DBCR8pMo2XRkqb8yrCUKOIO8ktZvFAOAa4QvEb35Sal0PwCz2XIoLSHMAZYpH5UhVrbXadPdPPuW68cYayNsAJBd-aAQw5XAuX47EAPFuvRuIWRL_mxNqZZJwyqo7TTlYDF1cm--cc6BMTevVpoIUg6LFD_Fwl9x_62Kg/s320/no.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div>spaceneedlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18048730291915823954noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11755608.post-67563950935486814882022-05-04T10:41:00.000-07:002022-05-04T10:41:29.078-07:00Often A Dull Roar, Never A Dull Moment<span style="font-family: verdana;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_zvDd19LExXr9XmM9AIWGDzddESAvogOryxZqihjAp9pE_eDCulrgtbajFsHeTp8SF0ecj5x2JnGe4NkyaC-imca2okmvettL9MKHBpesUJhFFwR1MZ04WsHa4UJRZyy0-pbZXJbBnTCJoGnBwvhu-seO1wtzOFQtv9EBjVtU6BA6EkZ-qg/s244/owl.png" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="207" data-original-width="244" height="207" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_zvDd19LExXr9XmM9AIWGDzddESAvogOryxZqihjAp9pE_eDCulrgtbajFsHeTp8SF0ecj5x2JnGe4NkyaC-imca2okmvettL9MKHBpesUJhFFwR1MZ04WsHa4UJRZyy0-pbZXJbBnTCJoGnBwvhu-seO1wtzOFQtv9EBjVtU6BA6EkZ-qg/s1600/owl.png" width="244" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: georgia;">"Hoo would do such a thing?"</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>FFA — Future Farmers of America</span><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br />FFS — (something else entirely)<br />***<br />Activity-specific training can be very effective.</span><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">You want to get in shape for basketball? You play basketball.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">You want to run a trail race—you hike and run on trails.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">You want to herd cattle on foot? Well...that's just silly. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Seriously, no one wants to </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">herd cattle on foot.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">***</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Background: our neighbor to the north has cows. In the literal, rather than the Bart Simpson sense.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">The herd has grazed the slopes of Mauna Kea, including our little speck of it, for many years. And until recently, there were few limits to where they could go.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">But then we moved in and started messing with them. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">We started by planting trees, each inside its own little protective fence. The cows</span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> tolerated those minor inconveniences—leaving the fencing intact </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">(mostly) </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">and the trees standing (mostly). </span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">This encouraged us! So we built a larger, more substantial enclosure for geese and chickens.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">That too was accepted by the herd, which made note of the change and began walking around it (though we know they could walk right through it any time they choose to). So far they've chosen not to!</span></div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">It was all going so well.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Recently the dogs and I returned from running errands in town. We were heading down the hill toward the house when I saw the cows, at least a dozen of them, inside the fenced acre around our house.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">"No. No! NO, HELL NO!"</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Note: yelling at cows from inside a truck is ineffective. Additionally, yelling at them from *outside* a truck is pretty much a waste of time as well.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">I parked the truck near the house and pointedly did not let the dogs out. The last thing the situation needed was three dogs gleefully chasing cows around until getting gored or kicked or stepped on.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">My first, hyperventilated attempt to herd the herd out the gate went poorly. Turns out waving one's arms and saying "Get the fuck out of here!!" is not tactically sound—though it did briefly cause some </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">low-key havoc as cows peeled off this direction and that, ending up all around me instead of in front of me.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">It occurred to me then that the neighbors to the south were probably looking down the hill at the situation and laughing hysterically. And who could blame them? Still, the thought made me self-conscious enough to stop flailing around and at least try to be smarter than the cows.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">You know what I needed? A shepherd's stick. I mean, obviously.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Unfortunately, we don't own a shepherd's stick—but we did have the trunk of a long-defunct Christmas tree laying around. No, I don't know why.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">I picked it up and started wielding it like someone who doesn't know what he's doing, but knows *something* must be done.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">I opened the gate and, using the holiday-themed tree trunk, coaxed not one, not two, but three cows out the gate!</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">"This is gonna be easy!" I thought, 100% incorrectly.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">The thing is, in order to coax additional cows out, the gate has to be open. But if the gate is open, the cows on the outside COME RIGHT BACK IN.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">So much for plan B.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Fortunately, we have another gate. It's situated downhill from our lone, small outbuilding, and opens out, partway across a little gully. Which means, when it's open, cows wanting </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">to get back into the yard </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">have to go across the gully and up a slight rise. They can still get in but it takes time, during which I'm already encouraging another cow or two to leave.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Also, the presence of the shed effectively creates two downhill chutes to the gate, preventing the cows from peeling off and back into the yard. I now had A System</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #4d5156; font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif;">™ </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">in place, and it was just a matter of time before the cows were on the outside looking in.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">That's when I glanced over at the other gate, just in time to see Bambi, the bull, force his way in between the gate and the post it was hooked to. Dude just decided he wanted in and viola! He was in...along with a couple of his lady friends.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">In that moment, I became grouchy. I was tired of chasing cows around and definitely did not want to re-litigate cases I'd already won.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">The cows expressed their appreciation for my concern by walking through flower beds, bulldozing banana trees, and pooping everywhere.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">I brought The System</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #4d5156; font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif;">™ </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">to a halt, yelled at Bambi, and re-secured the gate top AND bottom. Later, I had to smack him on the butt when he parked himself halfway in/halfway out of the gate—for a second time. He was oblivious. Bambi is an imposing figure in the pasture, but he's not very bright.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">TL/DR, eventually all the cows were repatriated to their homeland. The last one to go was Poppy, who is completely endearing and completely blind. Poppy startles easily, and telling her "We're going this way, Poppy!" is futile. Hard to believe, I know.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Nevertheless, she and I eventually found our way to the proper side of the fence, and she later ate sweet cob out of my hand. So I guess there were no hard feelings.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">The entire exercise took nearly an hour, and it was exhausting.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">So, we've decided to offer the experience as a cross-training workout to future guests!</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">No charge, bring poop-proof shoes.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><div style="font-family: Times;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">***<br class="Apple-interchange-newline" />Epilogue: our *other* neighbor, to the east, also has cows.</span></div><div style="font-family: Times;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div style="font-family: Times;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Recently several of them broke through *their* fence, causing a red alert from the neighbors to the north, who headed out on ATVs like a swarm of bees. Separating individuals from each herd via ATV was akin to herding cats—but eventually the riders got the job done on foot! </span></div><div style="font-family: Times;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div style="font-family: Times;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">We'll 100% be referring them to our instructional video, now in pre-production.</span></div></span></div></div>spaceneedlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18048730291915823954noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11755608.post-11032458126106192642022-03-10T15:12:00.000-08:002022-03-10T15:12:34.810-08:00Heart to Hartley<span style="font-family: verdana;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhTlp9OHAjWa_LJkafhHpnisctxcaU12RgIo-rtSUWvDBRmMvqVzQsC2QWJSLWP5XAk4JnSjB8JevUrlzpMIqlqnMOk9W3ZQHetLUwcxaQ17xMY_CsWLXpWp8auVrN8lsUHViuza_kK6dA-8_RQ6x6NZ5eNnYAMJia-4QfDWv0FF-uT4bzQHw=s300" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="168" data-original-width="300" height="168" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhTlp9OHAjWa_LJkafhHpnisctxcaU12RgIo-rtSUWvDBRmMvqVzQsC2QWJSLWP5XAk4JnSjB8JevUrlzpMIqlqnMOk9W3ZQHetLUwcxaQ17xMY_CsWLXpWp8auVrN8lsUHViuza_kK6dA-8_RQ6x6NZ5eNnYAMJia-4QfDWv0FF-uT4bzQHw" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i>"Sir, this is a tiki bar."</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table>Hi, Dr. Hartley.<br /><br /></span><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">I'm fine, thanks. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Well no, it's not entirely true, but it is kind of the socially expected answer, isn't it. Most people who ask aren't really looking for the truth.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Thanks, I appreciate that. Yes, it probably will be helpful if I answer your questions honestly. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Wait...before we start, I'm curious how you're doing. Yeah, a lot of people need help right now. I don't know how you keep up. Who do psychiatrists talk to when all the psychiatrists are anxious and depressed?</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Their bartender. Ha, of course. No, that was good.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Right—well, the past several weeks have been...challenging. And I've put off thinking about it to stay focused on things that needed to get done. Yes, we have talked about that. I know...blocking out something today can manifest itself later, and at really inconvenient times.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">"Serenity now, insanity later." That line will always be funny, Dr. Hartley.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">But yes, you're right, and I'm, you know, working on it.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Here's the thing, though—if I had taken the time then, the family project I was in the middle of would have failed—and I'd be even loonier than I am now. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">No, of course...we don't say loony. Can we say chronically frantic? Or frenzied? Or frenetic? Yes, I'm aware those all mean the same thing, and they'd all apply.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Dr. Hartley, our schedule literally left</span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> no room for error.</span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> If even one of the things on our list hadn't gotten done—when it was supposed to and in the order it was supposed to—the whole plan would have hit the floor.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Yes, I have heard that—"a plan built on the best-case scenario is no plan at all." But this time, honestly, it was best-case or nothing.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">You know, before I met you, I didn't worry about things that were out of my control. I said, "I'll control the things I can control, and the other things will have to take care of themselves." </span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Yes, I know that's denial—but it worked.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Did it really work? I don't know...maybe? Maybe not. But at the time, it sure felt like it did. I definitely had more peace of mind.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Nothing is ever really under our control. Yeah, that's funny-not-funny, isn't it? Yes, I'm familiar with the butterfly effect. It doesn't really make me feel any better. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Well, because the butterfly effect is just </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">another term for</span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">"chaos," and there's too much chaos loose in the world right now. I'm feeling the need to bring some order to our little corner of the pandemonium. Yeah, that's turning out to be harder than it used to be.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">"Let's just do today." </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">Yes, I like that idea.</span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">Let's do that.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">The good news? It's that this part of our project is just about over. Definitely.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">And</span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> that </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">some people we had no expectations of came through in ways we never imagined. Really amazing ways. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">No, I'm not sure why they stepped up the way they did. I mean, if they had done nothing it would've been perfectly reasonable—and I wouldn't have thought any less of them. But that's not what they did. It was...something.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">The bad news?</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Well...some people we did have expectations of are just...no longer capable of living up to them. No...no, it's not their fault. It's mostly mine for being oblivious to it for too long.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">No, it's okay. It's just that it's shocking how fast things can go upside down. Right? </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">Yeah, it feels like we were incredibly lucky, under the circumstances.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">I don't even want to think about it.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Kidding.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Anything else today? Give me a second...yeah. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">I guess it's that we can do hard things. I wish I personally didn't have to learn that over and over, but apparently I do.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">"We've done it before, we can do it again." Yeah, you would think. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">I'm always more like, "Past performance is no guarantee of future results." </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">Thanks for laughing at that, doc.</span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Right! I don't take things for granted any more. It feels like it just invites attention from the irony gods. Yeah, they have a sick sense of humor.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Already? That went by fast—again. Thanks for listening, as always. </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">Okay.</span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">Will do. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">You take care of yourself, too.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">***</span></div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i>"Only a crisis makes me feel truly alive. When the crisis is every day, though, I feel numb and fatigued. And that’s what I was watching happen to the people around me."</i></span><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">— <a href="https://www.bustle.com/wellness/burnout-definition-what-we-get-wrong">Eve Ettinger at bustle.com</a></span></div>spaceneedlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18048730291915823954noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11755608.post-85328579987136456062022-02-01T07:16:00.000-08:002022-02-01T07:16:58.421-08:00Nine Days<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhkkl8WqETC0IYEkJHSx6hcJnZxmt_7Nv_fMngzyiR8WpbeVTHVUCizgYEjAKR-czezOu-h6SB9k4G4fLCp8I3Kkp5-2-CKtVbNQIv9nrdtmlpTTdXFQrL2SUBIPMYryWalkfYF0Q2Z1zsrSTDY9tVECf5m40rTpr4tGR4aCWFfD3jAk9yynA=s1024" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhkkl8WqETC0IYEkJHSx6hcJnZxmt_7Nv_fMngzyiR8WpbeVTHVUCizgYEjAKR-czezOu-h6SB9k4G4fLCp8I3Kkp5-2-CKtVbNQIv9nrdtmlpTTdXFQrL2SUBIPMYryWalkfYF0Q2Z1zsrSTDY9tVECf5m40rTpr4tGR4aCWFfD3jAk9yynA=w200-h200" width="200" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">The app told me I’d be riding to the airport with Theogene.</span><p></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">I briefly wondered how to pronounce Theogene, and if he went by Theo or Gene or something else entirely.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">I looked out the door, half hearing the fraught conversation in the kitchen, half thinking Theogene was running late. He wasn’t, but my bags were there at my feet and I was ready to go.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">“I love you,” my mom said, walking toward me, crying.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">“I love you, too. I’ll be back soon.”</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">“When??” she asked, though I’d already told her several times since seven a.m.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">“Nine days, mom.”</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">“When is that?”</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">“February ninth.”</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Theogene pulled up in his little Nissan sedan, and my mom threw her arms around my neck. “I don’t want you to go,” she said, sobbing.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">“I’ll be back soon.”</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">“When??”</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">My brother picked up my bags and waited by the door, while I eased away.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">“Soon, mom. February ninth.”</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">“When is that?”</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">“Nine days,” I said quietly.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">“I don’t know what to do or where to begin!”</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">“Mom, you don’t need to do anything, it’s all taken care of.”</span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">“I feel like I should be doing something, but I don’t know what to do!”</span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">“It’s okay, mom. See all these boxes? This is what we’ve been doing the past few days. You don’t need to do anything.”</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">My brother went out, and I caught the screen door just before it closed. Walking down the curving red sidewalk toward the car I glanced at the app again. “Theogene” it reminded me.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">The trunk popped open and my brother hoisted my bags inside. He closed the lid and then pushed on it to be sure it was closed—and then I pushed on it to be sure it was closed. Because trunk lids always want you to think they’re closed when in fact they’re secretly still open.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">We hugged, tight.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">“I love you, man.”</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">“I love you, too.”</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">I reached for the door handle, but then my dad was there, looking for another hug.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">“Love you.”</span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">“Love you, too.”</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Then, the door handle, and the back seat, and the inside door handle, and quiet.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">I fastened the seatbelt and caught Theogene’s eye in the rearview mirror.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">“Good morning, Theogene,” I said, hoping I got it right.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">“Good morning, Michael,” he said, with an accent that suggested he had been born somewhere far from where we were.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Without further ceremony, we rolled away from the house my parents bought fifty years ago and will be selling soon.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">It wasn’t until just now, hours later and over an ocean, that it hit me—I didn’t look back. Or wave. Or…</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">I’ll be back soon, mom. Nine days.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">See? It’s written down right here.</span></p>spaceneedlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18048730291915823954noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11755608.post-86835451721552531942021-12-30T09:19:00.000-08:002021-12-30T09:19:36.227-08:00This May Take A Minute<span style="font-family: georgia;"><i><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi3cYBcYRqALv7n2Ys_AJKRNVhARgbNtp01_8DiLygMKN_MVqtuEgNgWI1cFShv2QRwCXh26V0kFNrDnWyLUbQdAkQoLVlRyyghakekwlMKaBgnZDHkboW59Fb0y3OoDyj9VIIyClG4eOfwQLCFkYk0DeA8B1kHGuzaeX5O5Hdb8OQAw8hZaQ=s4032" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi3cYBcYRqALv7n2Ys_AJKRNVhARgbNtp01_8DiLygMKN_MVqtuEgNgWI1cFShv2QRwCXh26V0kFNrDnWyLUbQdAkQoLVlRyyghakekwlMKaBgnZDHkboW59Fb0y3OoDyj9VIIyClG4eOfwQLCFkYk0DeA8B1kHGuzaeX5O5Hdb8OQAw8hZaQ=s320" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Example of the local pre-dawn light</i></td></tr></tbody></table>And you may find yourself<br />Living in a shotgun shack<br />And you may find yourself<br />In another part of the world<br /><br />And you may ask yourself<br />Well, how did I get here?</i></span><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i>And you may ask yourself</i></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i>"My god—what have I done?"</i></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i>Same as it ever was</i></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i>Same as it ever was<br /></i></span><div><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Once in a Lifetime—David Byrne/Brian Eno</span><br /><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">***</span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Sitting here in the quiet and the pre-dawn light, I have no idea how we got here.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">And the more I try to pry open that oyster, the more it resists scrutiny.<br /></span><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">I stare at the array of photos and the list of steps we took lurching toward this goal—but collectively they don't seem to add up to "moving halfway across an ocean."</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">And they don't reflect the overlapping roiling that took place (gestures at the entire world) while we anxiously plowed ahead.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">***</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">In January we moved our daughter into her own apartment at the University of Washington. Classes there were still entirely remote (hi, pandemic), but there comes a time when a girl just needs her space.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">The next day we moved our other child to Hawaii for many of the same reasons—and really, there are few better places to ride out our current viral storm because this state has done things right from the get-go.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">A couple days later, the outgoing president </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">of the United States incited a mob to subvert the transfer of power to the president-elect. The attempt failed, but if you keep up with current events you know the people behind it haven't given up. The Former Guy may still get the Ceau</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1a1a1a;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">ș</span></span><span style="font-family: verdana;">escu moment he's thirsting for.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">***</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Throughout the winter we figured we were a year (maybe two) from picking up and moving. But as the PNW dark grudgingly turned to light, there was a seasonally affected shift in our thinking.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">The pandemic had a lot to do with it ("anything can happen to anyone at any time—what are we waiting for?"), as did an underlying sense that after 17 years in Seattle it was time for a change.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">The decision happened in increments, with stretches of ambiguity in between:</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">(March, contemplatively)</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">"We could live</span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">part of the year</span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> here and </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">part of the year</span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> there."</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">(April, more than once)</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">"We could rent out this house as long as home prices keep going up."</span></div><div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhweHReDmeBlfsbLEjG8pJh5ML_eisJC70WZ2ib5NDDxvAed-mK8ta89_wWdkm2oOxU4zsApB2G4V_NwFbRSqCPICpcWMFLE_YY-tGrV-Kl_m0MovPGbURnj-nVBfaCwwardPzYdNaFicUqnf1CKrwBlMKJCjLksLrCxEe55TbK5OmVlaxL_A=s600" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="383" data-original-width="600" height="204" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhweHReDmeBlfsbLEjG8pJh5ML_eisJC70WZ2ib5NDDxvAed-mK8ta89_wWdkm2oOxU4zsApB2G4V_NwFbRSqCPICpcWMFLE_YY-tGrV-Kl_m0MovPGbURnj-nVBfaCwwardPzYdNaFicUqnf1CKrwBlMKJCjLksLrCxEe55TbK5OmVlaxL_A=s320" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: georgia;">"Ahhhhhhhhhh!!!"</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">(May, shouting over a frenzied seller's market)</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">"We should sell this house ASAP!"</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">(ASAP turned out to be September, and the house sold in three and a half days)</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">***</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Like an invisible predator, </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">covid-19 </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">quietly and constantly </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">sat with us during every conversation about our future.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">At the beginning of January, 2021, covid had killed more than 375,000 Americans. </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">At the end of the last day of 2021 it will have taken another 445,000 of our neighbors, colleagues, and loved ones. More than 820,000 people gone, with no end in sight.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">The point being, while covid didn't always get an overt mention in our discussions, its implicit presence impacted every one of them.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">***</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Let's talk about something else like, IDK, the weather. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">The dry (west) side of the Big Island is *very* dry, averaging as little as 10 inches of rainfall a year. Meanwhile, the wet (east) side of Maui is *very* wet, averaging up to 115 inches of annual precip.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">The distance between the two coasts is equivalent to a Jesus marathon (26 miles across the water).</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Microclimates, man.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">***</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEglhS180XY4DUf7Ino8lyS9WC-TVcfHzf701QzQR25Zy9iXZ-VCqbkHWMJ5C__abFt1ufV55Xoayo2_omH1QLK9pRj6--3bCU1N_DMBd64rDUyFB81ZNI9b69mbZqwBNqTsNMHpbM0M8NfDcmIbrrjo_CIn2HRSlSOr0oCUUjpitcD3-hxhZg=s1440" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1440" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEglhS180XY4DUf7Ino8lyS9WC-TVcfHzf701QzQR25Zy9iXZ-VCqbkHWMJ5C__abFt1ufV55Xoayo2_omH1QLK9pRj6--3bCU1N_DMBd64rDUyFB81ZNI9b69mbZqwBNqTsNMHpbM0M8NfDcmIbrrjo_CIn2HRSlSOr0oCUUjpitcD3-hxhZg=s320" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i>Yes, it's a metaphor.</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table>Significant changes will continue to roll over and through our family in the near future.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Here at Singing Whale Farm we'll be tearing our kitchen down to the studs and building it back up again.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Almost simultaneously a solar energy system will be installed on our roof, freeing us from the hobgoblin of Big Oil.</span></div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Most importantly—the house my parents bought 50 years ago will be going on the market soon. They'll be moving to an assisted living mise en scène a long way from Colorado (but very near my brother and his family).</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">These are the things we know about at the moment. As always, there will be far more things we don't know about that we'll deal with as they arrive on our shore.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Today's example: at 6:30 a.m. we received a text from our friendly PO Box people. They wanted to let us know that they're closing their doors and that their last day of business will be...</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">...tomorrow.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Don't send us any mail for a while, I guess.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">***</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">In closing...</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">BUCKLE UP, 2022, WE'RE GOING FOR A RIDE.<br /></span><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">***</span></div><div><i style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: georgia; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Things falling apart is a kind of testing and also a kind of healing. We think that the point is to pass the test or to overcome the problem, but the truth is that things don’t really get solved. They come together and they fall apart. Then they come together again and fall apart again. It’s just like that. The healing comes from letting there be room for all of this to happen: room for grief, for relief, for misery, for joy.”</i></div></div></div></div><div><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">―Pema Chödrön</span></span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">(h/t Erin Earle, LMHC)</span></span></div>spaceneedlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18048730291915823954noreply@blogger.com0