tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-44566919122275104262024-02-22T08:08:23.784-08:00Ellen Jo KnowsEllen Jo Knows: The writings of (former) Noise columnist Ellen Jo Roberts.ellen johttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04887301124107160459noreply@blogger.comBlogger72125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4456691912227510426.post-50404376812040535392023-12-01T13:02:00.000-08:002023-12-09T14:49:19.729-08:00Born in Chicago in 1941<p style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;"><span><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> <br /></span></span></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><span><span><span>On December 7<sup>th</sup>, 1941,
something really big happened. <br />But also, something very small happened.<br /></span></span></span></span><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><span><span><span>A baby.<br /></span></span></span></span><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><span><span><span>That baby, born on <i>A Day That
Will Live In Infamy</i>, grew up to be my Mom. Joanne.<br /><br /></span></span></span></span><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><span><span><span>“<i>I was born in Chicago, in 1941</i>,”
-Paul Butterfield Blues Band <span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">©1965<br /><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><span><span><span><span style="font-size: medium; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br /></span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/8281691261/in/photolist-uVFXjj-uWr4pi-vfe11K-4U2ns5-6WNcWw-7qq1Bi-2hccJBE-9Y7AqS-a9eZap-a9hPhu-cLTWaC-dyD35n-dBPQhn-2smqhq" title="Uncle Len, Mom and Aunt Joyce"><img alt="Uncle Len, Mom and Aunt Joyce" height="509" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/8483/8281691261_c04c77e246_z.jpg" width="640" /></a></div></span></span></span><span><span><br /></span></span><span><span>Mom was born the middle child,
sandwiched between the brainy older brother and the cute younger sister, and growing
up she always felt like the odd one out, with her skinny legs and big eyes. The
other kids teased her, calling her “poached egg eyes”. Grandma , a no-nonsense,
practical little Serb, never thought to tell her she was pretty. She is,
though. She is beautiful with her big eyes and bashful smile. The wavy hair she
tried to tame for too long. And though she’s 81 now, she’s forever “J.D.
Sexpot” like the concrete guys dedicated her by writing that name in our new
sidewalk in 1979.<br /></span></span><span><span><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/25021648548/in/photolist-3d9X5d-uDzRwd-vB8en5-2smqds-tZjzX8-uLd1v7-E85unA-2hevAbu" title="Happy birthday, Momma!"><img alt="Happy birthday, Momma!" height="640" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/4526/25021648548_d59eca7fe6_z.jpg" width="535" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwGd2Jx8EvQHuD_U6p6Y660EebOE0HXFFEh5vbCpYyvfzIoAhQmUVtHsmVFGbdmFF5aLL1gRULuNyIpoeoKWWwju-wmIwNNMz8i6JS8gusc4eqmvFxnLeHVf5rtJBeRlcTPkQ2srpyFokE3yBUDHtKsxaXaB19W1JUwkXdSgetbJ7WONPGoIO2wdCb/s969/954569772_ebb1bbeb5d_b.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="689" data-original-width="969" height="418" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwGd2Jx8EvQHuD_U6p6Y660EebOE0HXFFEh5vbCpYyvfzIoAhQmUVtHsmVFGbdmFF5aLL1gRULuNyIpoeoKWWwju-wmIwNNMz8i6JS8gusc4eqmvFxnLeHVf5rtJBeRlcTPkQ2srpyFokE3yBUDHtKsxaXaB19W1JUwkXdSgetbJ7WONPGoIO2wdCb/w586-h418/954569772_ebb1bbeb5d_b.jpg" width="586" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFFm-K2Z8wPeokpN51GB3Pm6uauWFX7dPK9lM9E1puVIlVf-5Ci6EyQBFRkpaXZk2s31Q1I11nip8EAVOhEW_KzDHL12g60nS9XmXpbYvclq4Wt3k9Q1Ch76aiO0bzyjdZjMmxdMqE0f_NGqgdE7wTrIr65ArMhlkhhHI2vzCh4tDobDUlCYM72l4j/s720/4640499970_e6cb0ed922_o.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="484" data-original-width="720" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFFm-K2Z8wPeokpN51GB3Pm6uauWFX7dPK9lM9E1puVIlVf-5Ci6EyQBFRkpaXZk2s31Q1I11nip8EAVOhEW_KzDHL12g60nS9XmXpbYvclq4Wt3k9Q1Ch76aiO0bzyjdZjMmxdMqE0f_NGqgdE7wTrIr65ArMhlkhhHI2vzCh4tDobDUlCYM72l4j/w535-h360/4640499970_e6cb0ed922_o.jpg" width="535" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;">Anything good at all about me is
directly attributable to my mother, who raised us </span><span style="text-align: left;">to have a sense of humor
about ourselves and never get too chuffed up over anything. As adults, my
brother and I are both recognized as likeable and kind, and I know this stems
from how we were raised. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div></span></span><span><div style="text-align: justify;">“Don’t break your arm patting
yourself on the back, Ellen.”</div></span><span><span><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/51819688262/in/photolist-2mX8rX5-2mPqCoQ-2mPtJ91-2mPtMxa-2mPtMWr-2mPtPjB-2mPxTtz-2mPxYD4-2mPxYLU-2mPxYXq-2mPy28n-2mPybpS-2mPz9mq-2mPz9rf-2mPzqfr-2mPBcdu-2mPBjXH-2mPCyzX-2mPNynA-2mPRAb6-2mPgpU9-2mPgqdq-2mPgqpc-2mPkziL-2mPkzt5-2mPkzuY-2mPkzCP-2mPkzSm-2mPkA2V-2mPkACu-2mPmS2R-2mPmS5B-2mPmSag-2mPmShF-2mPmSwy-2mPmT3d-2mPoW1p-2mPoWmV-2mPoXmq-2mPoXtj-2mPq9gW-2mPq9kd-2mPqa1g-2mPqasd-2mPqauT-2mPqaFQ-2mPxYjr-2mPy37G-2mPybrv-2mPzd1Q" title="Me Mom Jim, 1976?"><img alt="Me Mom Jim, 1976?" height="640" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51819688262_d355dc012c_z.jpg" width="449" /></a></div></span></span><span><span><br />My Mom has a very professional
phone manner I have always admired and emulated. She worked from a young age,
and entertained us with stories of working at the Box Seat, a burger and hot
dog joint near Wrigley Field. Using her Gregory Shorthand training, she later
worked in offices, like Lehman Brothers, and throughout my childhood and into
my adult years she was an executive secretary at various companies, Lash Warner
and Associates, MPL, Duro Metal, Chicago Botanic Garden, Guarantee Trust Life, Applied Strategies
International. I always aspired to the way she carries herself, her style, her confidence,
her professional savvy. I taught myself to type on her high school typewriter
and to this day I pound on my keyboards unnecessarily hard, as if I were still
pounding on that 1950s machine. <br /></span></span><span><span><br /></span></span><span><span>She’s a poet and a writer and puts her thoughts
to paper, and she’s always had a knack for amazing photography as well.<br /></span></span><span><span>She's published a couple of books of her creative writing, She’s
always encouraged me, from a very young age to be creative and share my poetic
thoughts too.<br /></span></span><span><span><br /><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBVmrOTLO09LwUBqmwgkxa4ikeSRCJS4PJnFoliJ6NflqG6JOZHc9Pn3cDUC8_UnuXod53XWhvzxjKIf04w_1pqFoqpgr7LLbL9otaOiDK2RoUJe-nf1bDNCXps0ARBpwIedtq6VM2Fb5HJWXuLYWcJ9EY8YKobqVBQJq3_cbQre85_zMUZWV3scCM/s894/954464323_8f36ed3b63_o.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="607" data-original-width="894" height="338" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBVmrOTLO09LwUBqmwgkxa4ikeSRCJS4PJnFoliJ6NflqG6JOZHc9Pn3cDUC8_UnuXod53XWhvzxjKIf04w_1pqFoqpgr7LLbL9otaOiDK2RoUJe-nf1bDNCXps0ARBpwIedtq6VM2Fb5HJWXuLYWcJ9EY8YKobqVBQJq3_cbQre85_zMUZWV3scCM/w498-h338/954464323_8f36ed3b63_o.jpg" width="498" /></a></div><br /></span><span><span>“We grew up together,” Mom has
always said. When my father died in a car wreck, I was five, my brother three,
and my mom 35. We were inseparable. Grandma and Grandpa helped, but from a
young age we went with mom everywhere, doing things many of my friends didn’t,
like dining at restaurants and touring Chicago and the Midwest like grown-ups.
Mom didn’t talk down to us. We were expected to rise to her level. She didn’t
baby us. She expected a lot from us. We were typical Generation X latch-key
kids, but we had the training to survive it.</span></span></span><div><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifusstQu8eM6mAZlSXaiBydEYwig4_aaiMqHPmt9B1lhsJJ1FzxBO8fkCjBqwe7eV5u7o7O5zn58nRlYwbGknBG_tPa-Fd3YHYmmglDry2RPdxfnSE7waMc1MW8tGDVpnZZ82DkpKsB8ZL30Dkf5i33AmjKKqooxnsmgFOol3exXvrxmGKzLb8LknG/s2047/51733953916_828996b1e3_k.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2047" height="344" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifusstQu8eM6mAZlSXaiBydEYwig4_aaiMqHPmt9B1lhsJJ1FzxBO8fkCjBqwe7eV5u7o7O5zn58nRlYwbGknBG_tPa-Fd3YHYmmglDry2RPdxfnSE7waMc1MW8tGDVpnZZ82DkpKsB8ZL30Dkf5i33AmjKKqooxnsmgFOol3exXvrxmGKzLb8LknG/w517-h344/51733953916_828996b1e3_k.jpg" width="517" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p style="text-align: left;"></p><div style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><span>My Mom has big emotions and big
opinions. She doesn’t hold back. Everything is either The Absolute Best! or A
Total Living Hell! There is no In-between. We tease her about this. You can
tease her about herself, and she laughs big. </span></span></div><div style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><span>My brother is the best at teasing
her. The Absolute Best.</span></span></div><div style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><span><br /></span></span></div><div style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw7q3VllYOzDyT6moWsq3b1cPbLqEPqEJwvSCDjLZfiFIv72ZrpYkZwZbN4Rr3YJKUx0v3uLhrB82oITAlErqTK7zmL6-a6cJ-bV4SC604PF_g06vnpXsofCIXGWoirpqqDxMA0oI4vsmAAUxIuY1E45UrHiy_FwrZDi4j7MTe8Q4COLMnrKNqwFMj/s4096/51732413740_05adb5dc40_4k.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2731" data-original-width="4096" height="444" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw7q3VllYOzDyT6moWsq3b1cPbLqEPqEJwvSCDjLZfiFIv72ZrpYkZwZbN4Rr3YJKUx0v3uLhrB82oITAlErqTK7zmL6-a6cJ-bV4SC604PF_g06vnpXsofCIXGWoirpqqDxMA0oI4vsmAAUxIuY1E45UrHiy_FwrZDi4j7MTe8Q4COLMnrKNqwFMj/w667-h444/51732413740_05adb5dc40_4k.jpg" width="667" /></a></div><br /><span><br />Mom has been through a lot in her life. </span></span></div><div style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><span>She's been widowed twice.</span></span></div><div style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><span>She's survived cancer and heart scares.</span></span></div><div style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><span>She tripped over a dog gate one evening and knocked out all of her front teeth, which were returned to her mouth in an epic late night oral surgery.</span></span></div><div style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><span><br /></span></span></div><div style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><span>She's been a roller skater, a bowler, a church choir singer. <br /><br /></span>Mom’s retired now, in fact only
fairly recently since Covid. Up until then she was still taking the train
downtown. Though retired, she’s always still working on something: dog walks,
bike rides, remodeling her house, walking, writing, teaching English to Ukrainian refugees. I
never know what she’ll be up to next.</span></div><div style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/51905346951/in/photolist-2n5Gti2-2nrZnLM-2nADR54-2nLo32F-2nMATkg-2nSi3nG-2nSoinC-2mPybpS-2mPBhoz-2mPNynA-2mX8rX5-2mPgpU9-2mPkzt5-2mPkzuY-2mPkACu-2mPmS2R-2mPmS5B-2mPmSag-2mPmT3d-2mPoW1p-2mPoXmq-2mPoXtj-2mPq9kd-2mPqaFQ-2mPqCoQ-2mPtEeC-2mPtF4i-2mPtGnv-2mPtGvS-2mPtJ91-2mPtMxa-2mPtMWr-2mPtPjB-2mPxTtz-2mPxYjr-2mPxYD4-2mPxYLU-2mPxYXq-2mPy28n-2mPy37G-2mPybrv-2mPz9mq-2mPz9rf-2mPzd1Q-2mPzqfr-2mPBcdu-2mPBf6D-2mPBfos-2mPBgT6-2mPBgZy" style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: large;" title="mom surprised me!"><img alt="mom surprised me!" height="500" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51905346951_7fff2610ac.jpg" width="376" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmEMd1Cwc72a-eXxiF8Z44iItiHbl9jQrVY9kIRujSlAnLdcydsqpFBtneOoDZzILA4i3IrfMy1gvIv1v4Ip93CnL6CgT0rlOK4ruFgoEPW5JELlExL5zn25cI4DYMgXlqXavTu4y9hUJ560bPHtI2bfO4zR2WuwLG2XEYI6LXdJCmE12fYEAiQQnz/s2048/1022134131_5e2d903536_k.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1366" data-original-width="2048" height="314" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmEMd1Cwc72a-eXxiF8Z44iItiHbl9jQrVY9kIRujSlAnLdcydsqpFBtneOoDZzILA4i3IrfMy1gvIv1v4Ip93CnL6CgT0rlOK4ruFgoEPW5JELlExL5zn25cI4DYMgXlqXavTu4y9hUJ560bPHtI2bfO4zR2WuwLG2XEYI6LXdJCmE12fYEAiQQnz/w471-h314/1022134131_5e2d903536_k.jpg" width="471" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><br /><span>She has always been like this-- suprising in what she will do.<br /></span><br />After being a widow for nearly 30 years, she got married to the great love of her life and sold her house in Chicago and moved to the suburbs.</span></div><div style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><br />She got a full back panel tattoo at age 65.<br /><br />She adopted a dog at age 79 after not owning her own dog for almost 30 years.<br /><br />You never know what to expect. Once we were driving through a parking lot, near the old "Spindle" in Berwyn, and there were tons of pigeons standing stupidly in the middle of our direction. "Run them over!", we joked, and she did! I don't think she killed any of them, but we felt them bouncing off the bumper and scattering everywhere. <span>"Mom! We were joking!" Hahaha.</span></span></div><div style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><span><br /></span></span></div><div style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><span><br /></span></span></div><div style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipjv2NQ_PA69kX1Xg50iAmrP5g-L5egCxaum-0UYt90G6tO-aN-JVmlFkPfMx3i34_Xlp4JFzGAHQHATWubakufIUtXA87IdY0qns5hBY3y0eOox6UCJWkC1hhuuQiPnCpMvLFBgYy_iSmP1Qf9xvyGj6AX1PyEpvRryLroDJhyphenhyphentVjbIoB7ssiLFBz/s1024/502293243_84110fa96f_b.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="823" data-original-width="1024" height="359" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipjv2NQ_PA69kX1Xg50iAmrP5g-L5egCxaum-0UYt90G6tO-aN-JVmlFkPfMx3i34_Xlp4JFzGAHQHATWubakufIUtXA87IdY0qns5hBY3y0eOox6UCJWkC1hhuuQiPnCpMvLFBgYy_iSmP1Qf9xvyGj6AX1PyEpvRryLroDJhyphenhyphentVjbIoB7ssiLFBz/w447-h359/502293243_84110fa96f_b.jpg" width="447" /></a></div><br /><span><br /></span><br />She didn’t overreact to
anything weird we did during the boundary-pushing antics of our teenage years.
In fact, when I was an onery 19-year-old she once suggested I needed to “go get
laid”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> <br /></span><span>“MO-OMM!”</span></span></div><div style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><span><br /></span></span></div><div style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBvicKiwNrx_RR8tb-72CIpIvO35GMrU-HJ8GpIbKqNPo4lRXiOyjGnsMjgyEiCp1sAcG_ku_bdbTnyh1PRDPFgzYL5AGR1BdZFDaxalV_QqSysBSEsmBAba91_4s89x2zrt2fX-3tpgVOuHE80GAMIkKksa1ntYyEiJOwIiPJ4thTifHONZfbwzNQ/s4000/27967661995_1b1fede7f0_4k.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="317" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBvicKiwNrx_RR8tb-72CIpIvO35GMrU-HJ8GpIbKqNPo4lRXiOyjGnsMjgyEiCp1sAcG_ku_bdbTnyh1PRDPFgzYL5AGR1BdZFDaxalV_QqSysBSEsmBAba91_4s89x2zrt2fX-3tpgVOuHE80GAMIkKksa1ntYyEiJOwIiPJ4thTifHONZfbwzNQ/w422-h317/27967661995_1b1fede7f0_4k.jpg" width="422" /></a></div><br /><span><br />I think that may have been one of
her best attributes as a parent. She didn’t overreact. The worst was she would
discuss everything with everyone. If I was trying to find a car, specifically,
a vintage Volkswagen, she’d have to ask “everybody and their brother” (mom
quote) their advice on the matter. She’d involve EVERYBODY. And everybody got
to weigh in with their opinion.</span></span></div><div style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><span><br /></span><span>My brother and I are discussing this one time and his wife, Carla, who was mostly self-raised, piped in, "I'd have loved to have someone looking out for me like that."<br /><br /><br /><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0FaatxGnTSzmL0tEYVu5doc0ix9OrN5tI9UUh48dmWKDkeA-DsNpWWrgBXUi5rr_SZq8PkxG2KjWuzbNnuLeOef1QX_gT0QwrPGYo54NRZ9b3oU6iqJPMIcoxKIWUOPoI-xZ-cWZQZvqu9d1H1pYGOI4Yuen3cHFXm6wc0d0XCxwflWuwwsUMvkq_/s4096/51733981824_1ddfe92704_4k.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4096" data-original-width="2731" height="811" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0FaatxGnTSzmL0tEYVu5doc0ix9OrN5tI9UUh48dmWKDkeA-DsNpWWrgBXUi5rr_SZq8PkxG2KjWuzbNnuLeOef1QX_gT0QwrPGYo54NRZ9b3oU6iqJPMIcoxKIWUOPoI-xZ-cWZQZvqu9d1H1pYGOI4Yuen3cHFXm6wc0d0XCxwflWuwwsUMvkq_/w540-h811/51733981824_1ddfe92704_4k.jpg" width="540" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6z5qKmp64AEXyxVU4NFondy1uNFaBAAXyZZRYOqhBYzW9GOiJ55umQdcjp6zodeq6rEI-CAEHTjjnEzo9ukykGxLvCVh7ESsS0E1ZKZm0pzmz_y-mqf11SqWbBBXFtiYJrMeLpyAe6roYTy7xUiUg7l79K9eudcp1Mqe79kKQOU9Tg5Sq0ONZQ4UY/s1430/51790837968_2c2309fced_h.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1430" data-original-width="1080" height="603" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6z5qKmp64AEXyxVU4NFondy1uNFaBAAXyZZRYOqhBYzW9GOiJ55umQdcjp6zodeq6rEI-CAEHTjjnEzo9ukykGxLvCVh7ESsS0E1ZKZm0pzmz_y-mqf11SqWbBBXFtiYJrMeLpyAe6roYTy7xUiUg7l79K9eudcp1Mqe79kKQOU9Tg5Sq0ONZQ4UY/w456-h603/51790837968_2c2309fced_h.jpg" width="456" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /></span></div><div style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><span>My mom calls me "Chick-ee-tee-ta" (from the Abba song, or perhaps for being her baby chick), or Gaffer. "The Gaffer" was what she and Dad called me when I was in utero.This was back when baby bedrooms were green or yellow and "gender reveals" were in the distant future. She leaves me funny phone messages, repeating long-time family in-jokes.</span></span></div><div style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><span style="font-size: medium;">"Mrs. Stingle! Your beans are getting cold/ your beans are burning!"</span></span></div><div style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><span style="font-size: medium;">"I just wanted to make sure you weren't murdered, mutilated or in a can of dog food by now. Crite yeah."</span></span></div><div style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><span style="font-size: medium;">"Happy ____(x #) of days before your birthday!"</span></span></div><div style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><span style="font-size: medium;">"WMAQ's gonna make me rich!"</span></span></div><div style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">"I love it, and I married it!"</span></div><div style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKu0uL0P6YkmS90jGNRvlaWwXL410m3oJlUDflw9_OHOxQSvXPuxqX_wdXjS32HfjN-pylHPZBa4xICLNTvH4KI2oytPZUhRgVIJf4lLLKw1lo8OwqSg69R1MD0CiRsh_7rmRxSuAdJZrycUtJ4QyVdhKWAwyPRdpk3PTqavKWqHFo19AK1k6SNGPs/s2048/27893864931_c7ad78561e_k.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="596" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKu0uL0P6YkmS90jGNRvlaWwXL410m3oJlUDflw9_OHOxQSvXPuxqX_wdXjS32HfjN-pylHPZBa4xICLNTvH4KI2oytPZUhRgVIJf4lLLKw1lo8OwqSg69R1MD0CiRsh_7rmRxSuAdJZrycUtJ4QyVdhKWAwyPRdpk3PTqavKWqHFo19AK1k6SNGPs/w447-h596/27893864931_c7ad78561e_k.jpg" width="447" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><br /></span><span>I like to go on trips with my mom.
Wisconsin. Washington DC. Mackinac Island. We’re overdue for another adventure.
Mom is fun and easy to travel with and we’ve made some great memories on the
road together. She won’t fly. She doesn’t fly. Not anymore, not for nearly 30
years. So the distance between us is sometimes hard, me in Arizona and her in
Illinois. We talk every day but sometimes I miss her so much, I almost fall to
my knees. </span></span></span></div><div style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><br /></span></span></span></div><div style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><br /></span><span>Once while out jogging, Neil Diamond’s “I Am, I Said” came on in my
headphones and my eyes flooded with tears nearly instantly. I had to stop
running and wipe them away and call her that very moment. Neil Diamond is the soundtrack
of my childhood. I still call her when I get stung by a hornet, or am sad about something and she can immediately tell something is wrong, even if all I've said is "hello" or no words at all.<br /><br /><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBT8JZfpc3m0MQWcw1pU03_TtyDX9dEVkPzSwLQDqxqpBjJBSt4uMiabGyVV2u1urHtgUaz_o-P15zcJh3yiZl0XpTW2YBqEKfglmE_sFF-dw_ZrBPbOcCBBgQhgzea-QNGv6CEqO13ydLf1lqwzVAc2b2pIm9s4qkVyqHPfg7zP4w8lAcml-lapqM/s1600/956075203_2cd8923f83_h.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1600" height="323" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBT8JZfpc3m0MQWcw1pU03_TtyDX9dEVkPzSwLQDqxqpBjJBSt4uMiabGyVV2u1urHtgUaz_o-P15zcJh3yiZl0XpTW2YBqEKfglmE_sFF-dw_ZrBPbOcCBBgQhgzea-QNGv6CEqO13ydLf1lqwzVAc2b2pIm9s4qkVyqHPfg7zP4w8lAcml-lapqM/w479-h323/956075203_2cd8923f83_h.jpg" width="479" /></a></div><br /><span><br /></span></span><span><span style="font-size: medium;">Every day I am keenly aware of how lucky I am to have my Mom in my life. To be able to pick up the phone and call her, and interupt her crossword puzzles and decaf coffee and hear about her day and her dog in her quiet St Charles neighborhood. </span></span></span></div><div style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;"></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNAN3Qm0emrk1UYiHqyZ1BWUdzThdVdbILafia2BPqmCs3VG79E0tbC1keh7KdGACZlPlwuFJR6ziQCepeiHhyphenhyphenmfk842t2kHz1UzML9WVNQeL9ZSIs9GH8ITPTBNlJgncvT7F-TDIK-OUf6dJWJj47L1_WSfqPgIlx-jFlvsK4MeO45qVqQDNYSJiu/s2000/48723288512_5c073c5706_k.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1337" data-original-width="2000" height="443" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNAN3Qm0emrk1UYiHqyZ1BWUdzThdVdbILafia2BPqmCs3VG79E0tbC1keh7KdGACZlPlwuFJR6ziQCepeiHhyphenhyphenmfk842t2kHz1UzML9WVNQeL9ZSIs9GH8ITPTBNlJgncvT7F-TDIK-OUf6dJWJj47L1_WSfqPgIlx-jFlvsK4MeO45qVqQDNYSJiu/w662-h443/48723288512_5c073c5706_k.jpg" width="662" /></a></div><br /></div>ellen johttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04887301124107160459noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4456691912227510426.post-46645248024190768852023-03-17T11:17:00.169-07:002024-01-18T14:59:27.608-08:00Unspecified Derangement<p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">2023 started out fine. Great, in fact!</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Kayaking and hiking with Chad and the dogs, rollerskating with the my gang at Riverfront Park, jogging my usual routes.</span></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><span>A work trip to Chicago as part of the Arizona coalition at the Travel & Adventure Show. Got to spend time in that vivacious town and </span><span>enjoy visiting with my family.</span></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">I was blissfully unaware that something big was lurking, waiting for me back home in AZ.</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">(insert ominous "Jaws" theme music here.)</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Behold this quietly icy bridge. </span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">This little old bridge changed things for me in a big way. I've walked across the Bitter Creek Bridge (built in 1917) an estimated 5,000 times (20 times a week x 21 years). It connects our home address to our work address across a usually dry arroyo. </span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">
<a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/52736108807/in/dateposted-public/" title="the exact iciness of the bridge when I fell"><img alt="the exact iciness of the bridge when I fell" height="565" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52736108807_cea7209da7_z.jpg" width="426" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">On the morning of January 18th, in Clarkdale, I was walking to work my first day back from Chicago. In the few days I was gone, someone had tagged the beloved, historic bridge with stupid grafitti. Just pointless, stupid, juvenile tags. "NV Love" and some other squiggles.</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/52641798505/in/album-72177720305823109/" title="fresh graffiti tags on Bitter Creek Bridge which indirectly caused me to fall"><img alt="fresh graffiti tags on Bitter Creek Bridge which indirectly caused me to fall" height="640" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52641798505_951dc129b1_z.jpg" width="482" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/52750305580/" title="bitter creek bridge tags"><img alt="bitter creek bridge tags" height="640" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52750305580_cb78e63f54_z.jpg" width="482" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script> </span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">It was very upsetting!</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">"When did this happen? I was gone for 4 days and this happened?"</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">In one hand I held a full coffee cup, in the other, my phone, snapping photos of the graffitti to file a police report, if no one had yet. I was seriously stunned, rattled by the foolish tags decorating "my" bridge. </span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">I made it to the far end of the wooden pedestrian walkway, snapping photos, but at 7:57am, my day changed. </span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">My year changed. </span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Suddenly I slipped on a very tiny sheet of ice coating the wooden walkway of the Bitter Creek Bridge. I hit the ground quick, like in the snap of a finger. It happened so fast I am not sure how I fell, other than my left leg went the wrong way. I heard and felt a pop and then another. My knee went numb. I tried to get my bearings, I tried to put my leg back into a "normal" position, but my first thought?...</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">AMBULANCE.</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">I tried to stand, but couldn't. I was able to get up on my right knee and dialed 9-1-1. Coworkers passing on the bridge stopped, bemused to see me kneeling there. "What are you doing, El?" </span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">"Waiting for the ambulance. I fell."</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/52673723963/in/album-72177720305823109/" title="knee journal -ambulance and ER"><img alt="knee journal -ambulance and ER" height="438" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52673723963_5e7b79b8de_z.jpg" width="640" /></a></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">The fire truck showed up first, fast, like within minutes. Next the police, and finally the ambulance.They checked my vitals and blood sugar. They joked about the coffee that spilled on the bridge, making a frappucino slushee. They helped me up onto a rolling stretcher.</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">It was the first time I ever rode in an ambulance. </span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Crazy way to start 2023.</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"> <a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/52640848177/in/album-72177720305823109/" title="first ambulance ride"><img alt="first ambulance ride" height="640" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52640848177_227432294d_z.jpg" width="482" /></a></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><span>I'd sprained my knees and ankles before, plenty of times. My ligaments are stretchy like taffy and I usually bounce back fast. But I'm 50 now. 51 soon. And</span><span> this just felt funny. Different. One of the few times I couldn't just shake it off. I went down fast, so fast I couldn't even reenact for you what happened.</span></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><span>There was something I'd never seen before- a funny "ski jump" atop my knee. That was new.</span></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><span>The E.R. took x-rays and after 4 hours of waiting, sent me off with crutches and a big black "immobilizer" strapped on my leg. Chad came to get me and I had to awkwardly climb into the back of his car and lay flat. I couldn't lift my leg. I had to grab it by the ankle and hoist it like a big piece of luggage.</span></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><span><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/52673515219/in/album-72177720305823109/" title="knee journal day 2, trip to NAO in Flagstaff"><img alt="knee journal day 2, trip to NAO in Flagstaff" height="408" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52673515219_8fef6b7c9e_z.jpg" width="640" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script></span></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">From the ER we went to a few local orthopedic places unsuccessfully, eventually getting an appointment at Northern Arizona Orthopedics in snowy Flagstaff the very next day. </span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Initial diagnosis was "<b>Unspecified Derangement of the Left Knee</b>". </span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Which was funny. Like I was clinically "deranged."</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><span> </span><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/52641827873/in/album-72177720305823109/" title="at NAO, Flagstaff, 1/19"><img alt="at NAO, Flagstaff, 1/19" height="640" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52641827873_95072ddabf_z.jpg" width="482" /></a></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">The knee started to turn all kinds of weird, florid colors and the bruising slowly drained towards my ankle. We were hoping it was just really just an epic sprain and that ultimately it would heal on its own.</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"> <a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/52644497991/in/album-72177720305823109/" title="IMGP2657"><img alt="IMGP2657" height="427" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52644497991_c7a253629e_z.jpg" width="640" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script> </span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">NAO pushed a STAT order for an MRI and by the following day I was in that big loud clanging, banging tube at the local imaging center back in the Verde Valley.</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">
<a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/52673724738/in/album-72177720305823109/" title="knee journal -MRI and results"><img alt="knee journal -MRI and results" height="479" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52673724738_2461c934d3_z.jpg" width="640" /></a></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span><br /></span></p><p style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Tuesday morning the next week, after reading the MRI, Dr Doering at NAO called to tell me I needed surgery. MY ACL and MCL were "involved" in the accident, but just badly sprained, not torn. My patellar tendon had ripped off. The patellar tendon is really more of a ligament, but technically a tendon because it connects to a (floating or "cesmoid") bone, the knee cap. It's really the bottom portion of the quad muscle. It also connects to the tibia. Even after all of this, and countless web searches and Youtube videos it still remains somewhat misunderstood to me the architecture of this piece in my leg that ruptured.</span></p><p style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: helvetica;">This photo I found online seems to show it best.</span><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhs66rAGHB_941h6jsnn5X4F4Jy3cLP1oYL8xRnoYmbYLZYnajrZcosSy0Yjq7DW42uA6-1ruq5l0wAe9M3EhimAU5_y6OmCfCf-F7Z2uJ_O2vmlnuc8sacCKbKQ-0p3pzelGVAl5kHJB4ivlNKuwAnUTO971GMC7UT75BO33qjvFw2n0Bx7PAuqw" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="420" data-original-width="646" height="208" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhs66rAGHB_941h6jsnn5X4F4Jy3cLP1oYL8xRnoYmbYLZYnajrZcosSy0Yjq7DW42uA6-1ruq5l0wAe9M3EhimAU5_y6OmCfCf-F7Z2uJ_O2vmlnuc8sacCKbKQ-0p3pzelGVAl5kHJB4ivlNKuwAnUTO971GMC7UT75BO33qjvFw2n0Bx7PAuqw" width="320" /></a></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span><p><span><span style="font-family: helvetica;">By the next day, Wednesday, January 25th, one week from the initial trauma, I was luckily in surgery </span><span style="font-family: helvetica;">with Dr Yuri Lewicky of Northern Arizona Orthopedic. He's very well-regarded and had once been the sports medicine doc for the San Diego Padres and Chargers. He has kind eyes and a ski/surfer dude vibe.He's from Flagstaff</span></span></p><p><span><span style="font-family: helvetica;">He also operated on my skate buddy Stacy's knee and she went back to doing Roller Derby like a boss. She later showed me her knee and there is barely sign of a scar! </span></span></p><p><span><span style="font-family: helvetica;">The sooner the surgery the better as the damaged tendon begins to retract and become more difficult to repair.</span></span></p><p><span><span style="font-family: helvetica;">My first surgery. Sent this photo to Momma Jo and Momma Mary.</span></span></p><p><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/52653393104/in/album-72177720305823109/" title="waiting to go into the OR, 1/25"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><img alt="waiting to go into the OR, 1/25" height="640" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52653393104_afbeaa7dd7_z.jpg" width="480" /></span></a></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Dr Lewicky signed my knee, as they do before surgery, so you're all in agreement about what's happening.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica;">From upside down, YL looked to me like "72", the birth year of Chad and me, a number we're kind of nerds about, so I took this as a good omen.</span></p><p><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/52653120366/in/album-72177720305823109/" title="Yuri Lewicky initials upside down looked to me like "72", a good sign"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><img alt="Yuri Lewicky initials upside down looked to me like "72", a good sign" height="640" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52653120366_9636a37785_z.jpg" width="482" /></span></a></p><p><span><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica;">The surgery was supposed to start at 2:00 but didn't until closer to 5:00. People kept texting me for updates. Once in the OR, the repair took double the time anticipated, two hours instead of one. Dr Lewicky told Chad it was "worse than expected", like a shotgun blast. Somehow the graboid worms from Tremors were referenced. They put anchors in my knee cap.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica;">I woke from surgery shivering (aparrently a normal response to anesthesia) and crying when I saw Chad. The nurse and Chad helped me get dressed. I had a big ace banadage from thigh to ankle and some steampunk looking brace with dials and straps. It was dark out. They helped me into the back of the Tesla, where I groggily tried to call people back who had been worried about me and wanted an update. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica;">A couple of days after surgery,</span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica;">
<a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/52653554230/in/album-72177720305823109/" title="knee, two days after surgery"><img alt="knee, two days after surgery" height="640" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52653554230_1563809e98_z.jpg" width="482" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script> </span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><span>I had to stay off my leg totally for 2 weeks which was a huge challenge. Immobilized at a zero degrees of bend. </span><span>I couldn't do any of my activities.</span></span></p><p><span><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/52653119171" title="January 27, two days post-op"><img alt="January 27, two days post-op" height="640" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52653119171_575ed72d26_z.jpg" width="482" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script> </span></span></p><p><span><span style="font-family: helvetica;">I couldn't take a bath. I couldn't drive my car. I could do very little.</span></span></p><p><span><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Up until the accident, I had been rollerskating twice a week with my homies, hiking rugged trails in Sedona and the Verde Valley, jogging 6 or 8 miles a week taking photos of funny random things I'd find along the road, winter kayaking with Chad....and now...</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Now it all screeched to a hault.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica;">I wasn't what to do with myself without those things. I relied on those things, to feel normal, to sleep well, to define who I was.</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4W07HFQ8dDE3OSJp09YsRB1aziSADM7BdpQdr3dg-Oer6wxn7gcc0JKRgRB2ubXFgiGHsP0QzS9wZVeZ5OrFIHJ-IC4uKzgbw1HUKdm950i7ZzW9MdO_MNC-x4yKrlMvkxfTp0_i_1gaRMnGECjGVBNlOlDkukf_5YVn2IE5G-WbKa32dbjGoYw/s1200/Facebook%20Post%20(31).jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1200" height="605" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4W07HFQ8dDE3OSJp09YsRB1aziSADM7BdpQdr3dg-Oer6wxn7gcc0JKRgRB2ubXFgiGHsP0QzS9wZVeZ5OrFIHJ-IC4uKzgbw1HUKdm950i7ZzW9MdO_MNC-x4yKrlMvkxfTp0_i_1gaRMnGECjGVBNlOlDkukf_5YVn2IE5G-WbKa32dbjGoYw/w605-h605/Facebook%20Post%20(31).jpg" width="605" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><div><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></div>Chad had planned a late January Death Valley winter trip to a hot springs resort that we had to cancel. We lost our money because Delight's Hot Springs won't refund or reschedule you. They warn you on the website, but still that was a bit of a red flag when we booked it. Superstituously I later thought it was probably the cause of the accident. Tempting fate. We could find nobody to take over our reservation so I ate $350.<br /></span><p><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Early on, I laid in the bed in the front room, this tiny bed, the only one I could be in because I couldn't climb up into our platform bed, crying myself to sleep, feeling so sorry and sad that this had happened.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/52673516814/in/album-72177720305823109/" title="Knee journal -strict recovery procedure"><img alt="Knee journal -strict recovery procedure" height="431" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52673516814_1cd9885afc_z.jpg" width="640" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script></span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica;">For two weeks I got around using a walker someone left in the Lost & Found at the train and Chad brought home. My arms got tired and my hands got callused, but I felt stronger in new ways.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Chad was so amazing at taking care of me. He really stepped up, always anticipating my needs, and just being wonderful and caring.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica;">He would help me take a shower when he came home on lunch break. I'd have to wrap my leg in plastic and leave it sticking out of the curtain because it couldn't get wet until the incision started to heal (and it couldn't be submerged in water until totally closed and healed completely.)</span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica;">He'd do all of the shopping and all of the caretaking of the pets and house.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/52673229761/in/album-72177720305823109/" title="Knee Journal -flowers and food and love"><img alt="Knee Journal -flowers and food and love" height="424" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52673229761_c25b015840_z.jpg" width="640" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script>
</span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Tons of pals stepped up as well, delivering flowers, meals, good cheer, DVDs.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica;">While my "deranged" leg had never hurt that bad other than a dull ache, made worrisome by the lack of stability, but post-surgery the pain was intense. I took Oxycodone for 3 days, but that stuff is dangerous, plus it makes you constipated.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/52672733577/in/album-72177720305823109/" title="Knee journal- oxycodone"><img alt="Knee journal- oxycodone" height="454" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52672733577_a3067647d6_z.jpg" width="640" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script></span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica;">I had planned not to take them at all, but I needed them. Chad's mom advised me to "get ahead of the pain" because it was hard to catch up if you got behind. So I set my alarm to go off every 6 hours and took one pill (two during the worst of it). But after about three days, I was done, phasing down to Tylenol and then eventually nothing.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Soon I was back at work, working from home. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/52673730158/in/album-72177720305823109/" title="Knee Journal Feb 1"><img alt="Knee Journal Feb 1" height="443" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52673730158_81f700504f_z.jpg" width="640" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><span> </span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><span>My work family has been amazingly supportive too. Luckily, a lion's share of my job responsibilities can be done from home, in my PJs. </span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica;">My first surgical follow-up was two weeks after the surgery on February 8th. They told me I could put weight on my leg again and I was so pumped. Friends lent me this sweet little walker, with brakes and a seat. It was a game changer.
<a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/52691869833/in/album-72177720305823109/" title="Knee Journal- Post Surgical Follow-Up"><img alt="Knee Journal- Post Surgical Follow-Up" height="458" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52691869833_ce9da0c20c_z.jpg" width="640" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script> </span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/52678211299/" title="good post-surgery follow-up, NAO, flagstaff, 2/8/23"><img alt="good post-surgery follow-up, NAO, flagstaff, 2/8/23" height="640" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52678211299_55304c5cda_z.jpg" width="603" /></a></span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica;">I started walking to work again. (Anytime I passed that spot where I fell, I'd do it reverentially, respectfully. A moment of silence.)</span></p><p><span><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><span>I'm in physical therapy now, and </span><span>6 weeks post-surgery, eagerly awaiting an updated protocol for the next part of my rehabilitation. </span></span><span style="font-family: helvetica;">The physical therapists all tell me I am well ahead of average, and where I'd be expected to be, but time is essential with an injury like this. Time is needed to knit everything back together, and if pushed too early you could damage the repair.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica;">"We have two kinds of people in Physical Therapy. Those who are barely motivated to work on things when they are here, and the others are people we have to hold back."</span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Every day I am a little less deranged. A little closer to healed. Every excercise adds up. Every vitamin taken. Every mile walked, at 1mph. (Now I am up to 1.9mph)</span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><span><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/52737042850/in/dateposted-public/" title="walking with a cane past the scene of the fall"><img alt="walking with a cane past the scene of the fall" height="540" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52737042850_d35ce407b3_z.jpg" width="640" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script>
</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica;">I do all of my physical therapy homework. I do extra credit. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica;">200 leg lifts on each leg, both sides, in multiple directions. An hour's worth of excercises. More. Watching a movie, always doing sets. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Early on, the first sign of the patellar tendon rupture was the inability to lift the leg, as the part that connects the upper half to the lower had disconnected. I am working on rebuilding that connection, healing the repair, building the muscle. I can sling that leg around pretty well now. "Look, Chad. Watch this."</span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Bending it is another big challenge I work on daily, with heel crawls, a yoga strap. At my desk, I remove the brace and sit with the leg at 60-70 degrees. It's loosening up daily. It's a constant effort. Pushing a little harder each time, but not too hard. Then, the combination of the bend with the lifts. It's all kinds of weird, tight, sensations, but every day incrementally better.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica;">I walk on the bike path, or on wide easy dirt trails. I'm up to 2 miles now. I graduated from the walker to a cane. Chad bought me a better ladder and one day I finally built up the nerve and strength to climb back into our platform bed.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Chad bought me a new kayak right after I got hurt, and it was a bit of encouragement to look forward to using it. Once in early February, when I was still on rigid recovery of zero weight on the leg, we went to the state park, just to enjoy nice weather and practice pumping up the new boat but when we got there, I was having none of it. Watching people walk their dogs, or paddle in the lagoon, ride their bikes, jog...I was even jealous of a lady walking with a cane. All it did was make me feel sorry for myself that I couldn't do any of that. I cried big stupid tears and actually it was a bit cathartic. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica;"> <a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/52675837945/in/album-72177720305823109/" title="Feb 5- sad at the state park"><img alt="Feb 5- sad at the state park" height="512" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52675837945_295195c042_z.jpg" width="640" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script>
</span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica;">It also made this moment, about a month later, feel like the best thing ever....</span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica;">As mobility increased and my surgical incision fully healed, I was able to get back into a kayak again and it felt amazing, especially thinking back to that glum day when I felt like such a loser.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/52746616710/" title="ellen and new BOTE boat"><img alt="ellen and new BOTE boat" height="427" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52746616710_aa21cc7aed_z.jpg" width="640" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script></span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica;">I can't drive my car yet, because of the clutch, and needing to bend my knee tighter to fit in that little machine, so it sits waiting for me as I work towards that goal. It's all about goals.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica;">This Karmann Ghia turned 50 this year and for this reason I'd entered it in the annual Clarkdale car show this March, for the first time, but had to cancel. I only lost $25 there, but probably another jinx.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/52731721603/in/dateposted-public/" title="1973 Karmann Ghia"><img alt="1973 Karmann Ghia" height="427" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52731721603_694bd30276_z.jpg" width="640" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script></span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Big life lessons:</span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica;">1. When I was walking across the bridge, I was doing 4 things at once. Coffee in one hand, camera phone in the other documenting the stupid graffiti tags someone had hit the historic bridge with while I was gone in Chicago, and listening to Late Night with Seth Meyers on my headphones. I should have been focused on ONE thing. Walking across that quietly icy bridge. Multi-tasking is expected of us in this world, and we get used to it, but it's not good for us to divide our focus so much.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica;">2. Chad is amazing. He gets great satisfaction taking care of me. For most of our life together I have been typical impatient Aries "I'll do it myself" and not waiting for his help or asking for it. I have slowed my roll some now, literally, and see what a caring, thoughtful man he is. I am grateful. He has really stepped up when I needed him most.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica;">3. I will never take for granted how easy everything is when you have use of two legs.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica;">4. It's hard to get around this society when you're disabled. I see that more clearly now, and how important it is for us to create accessibility wherever possible.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica;">5. Americans love a comeback story. I get to star in my own comeback story.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica;">(Cue "Rocky" theme)</span></p><p><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/52737116128/in/dateposted-public/" title="knee scar, 5 weeks after surgery"><span><img alt="knee scar, 5 weeks after surgery" height="640" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52737116128_e850c1b4e0_z.jpg" width="482" /></span></a></p><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script>
<a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/52736655871/in/dateposted-public/" title="martini and steampunk knee brace."><img alt="martini and steampunk knee brace." height="640" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52736655871_806bd4699d_z.jpg" width="482" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">Update. Autumn 2023<br />On March 28th things started to progress quickly....<br /><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/52779451146/in/album-72177720305823109/" title="knee-news- post 8 week follow-up"><img alt="knee-news- post 8 week follow-up" height="720" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/31337/52779451146_2e9ce5b5b2_c.jpg" width="404" /></a><br /><br /><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/52973325938/in/album-72177720305823109/" title="a walk in progress"><img alt="a walk in progress" height="800" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/31337/52973325938_bb3e811ccd_c.jpg" width="450" /></a><br />By mid Spring I was getting around without any devices or brace, showing only a slight "surgical swagger." On Easter Sunday I drove my car again which definitely felt like a huge victory. <br />I am not feeling up to skating on eight wheels yet, but I go to the skate park to roll with my pals, <br />rolling a mile or more on 4 wheels, on a vintage office chair, a translation of chair scoots excercises I did at physical therapy. <br /><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/52926532789/in/album-72177720305823109/" title="how i roll"><img alt="how i roll" height="533" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52926532789_5c4d9d4d4e_c.jpg" width="800" /></a><br /><br /><br />By June I graduated from Physical Therapy and joined Planet Fitness for further strenghtening..<br /><br /> <a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/52969797091/in/album-72177720305823109/" title="my knee and i graduated from physical therapy"><img alt="my knee and i graduated from physical therapy" height="602" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52969797091_61e12e5ba5_c.jpg" width="800" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script> <br />By summer I was accomplishing my weekly goals of:</p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>15 miles a week walking</li></ul><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>1 hour on ellipticals</li></ul><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>1 hour on steps</li></ul><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>2 hours of home physical therapy exercises</li></ul>Steps were a big deal-- the downhill much harder than the uphill. The first day I was able to do it one leg/one step and no hands on the railings felt like a huge success.<br />I haven't gone jogging anymore. I may not.<br />
<a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/53094800335/in/album-72177720305823109/" title="went the distance, now I'm back on my feet"><img alt="went the distance, now I'm back on my feet" height="720" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/31337/53094800335_2284bbb25e_c.jpg" width="404" /></a><p></p><p style="text-align: left;"><br />Back to kayaking, hiking, tubing, traveling...but forever changed. My physical therapist said, "You can still do the things you used to do, but your body is forever changed by this accident." <br />I take handfuls of vitamins and am always working my knee health every spare moment. Leg lifts. One legged squats. Tracking and tackling new milestones. <br />Nothing taken for granted ever.<br />Thanks for following along on my Knee News.<br />Hopefully this story helped someone on their roade to recovery after sustaining a similar injury.<br /></p>
<div style="text-align: left;"><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div>ellen johttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04887301124107160459noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4456691912227510426.post-38881851853748602302022-02-05T16:07:00.009-08:002022-02-05T16:10:45.260-08:00Things That Annoy Me About Social Media<div style="text-align: left;">T<span style="font-size: medium;">he internet is its own universe. Things can be modified from reality. Portraits can be painted that aren't quite accurate or complete. We know this. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;">There's a lot to love about social media: connecting, sharing, reminiscing and staying in contact, learning about new things and far away places. Since I was a child I have been built to create content. That's what I was born to do, so I love social media as an outlet for all those thoughts and concepts. I love it. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">But here's what I find annoying AF:</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><span style="font-size: medium;">Constant streams of selfies. And not even GOOD selfies. When you're looking at your own face in the screen, you look stupid. Your eyes are down. Look at the camera. Get out of your car.</span></li><li><span style="font-size: medium;">And on that same note- FILTERS. People who know you know you DO NOT LOOK LIKE THAT. Nobody's face is that smooth and nobody's eyelashes are that thick. Be happy looking like how you really look. </span></li><li><span style="font-size: medium;">TikTok and FB/Instagram Reels. I've seen some good ones, but mostly they are STUPID. People lip-synching to some song that is barely relevant to their message. Badly edited, truncated, self indulgent. Maybe I'm too old to "get" these, but they make me feel like the human race is circling the drain. Do better. </span></li><li><span style="font-size: medium;">YOUR when it should be YOU'RE. This ruins so many things. Funny memes ruined by ignorant grammar. Again, are we living in<i> Idiocracy</i>? Sometimes it feels that way.</span></li><li><span style="font-size: medium;">POLITICS. Nope.</span></li><li><span style="font-size: medium;">ANTI VAXXERS. Okay, we got it after the first 100 things you posted. Give it a rest.</span></li><li><span style="font-size: medium;">Unboxing videos. Does every company with social media ads need to show someone receiving their product, opening the box excruciatingly slowly, and annoyingly unwrapping everything? Stupid. Is this somehow "satisfying" like ASMR in that it's so annoying it is also somehow soothing?</span></li><li><span style="font-size: medium;">People getting hacked. Hacked people sending me friend requests from friends I am already friends with. For some reason it's always older ladies who fall prey to getting hacked, so I forever have in my Friend Requests some older lady friend of mine in her 70s who got hacked, more than once. </span></li><li><span style="font-size: medium;">Fake people friend requests. I guess my algorithm somehow sends to me a bunch of windowed veterans all the time. Their cover photos and their profile photo is always a a picture of the alleged dude. When your profile photo and your cover photo both are photos of you, that is weird and a red flag. These lovelorn friendship seekers always live someplace super fake sounding like Florida City, Florida, or Alabama City, Alabama (...but really they live in Nigeria).</span></li><li><span style="font-size: medium;">Poorly moderated groups that share the same posts over and over. </span></li><li><span><span style="font-size: medium;">"Asking for a friend". That phrase has jumped the shark, folks!
</span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjzIkXajypZCUO-hKv5Xo5IrXW4JXIPqXVCs9Xgedds9H9sQ5Tq_O4JQqWnD2lsBojJdW8n7i2nWgby7QbXK8As5svHWTnhOtffSQUtzWoj0evB0cGCdzdU_AeL5h86-4kUVhmByqrgQqDrMWr5XfnG1cRX3djETEr9MgOl4sK-7b3z-jeegXXm0w=s220" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0px; text-align: center;"><img alt="" border="0" data-original-height="124" data-original-width="220" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjzIkXajypZCUO-hKv5Xo5IrXW4JXIPqXVCs9Xgedds9H9sQ5Tq_O4JQqWnD2lsBojJdW8n7i2nWgby7QbXK8As5svHWTnhOtffSQUtzWoj0evB0cGCdzdU_AeL5h86-4kUVhmByqrgQqDrMWr5XfnG1cRX3djETEr9MgOl4sK-7b3z-jeegXXm0w=s320" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span><i><span style="font-size: x-large;">Hey you kids! Get offa' my lawn!</span></i></div></span></li></ul></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div>ellen johttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04887301124107160459noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4456691912227510426.post-68976209100974782442022-01-07T09:22:00.324-08:002022-02-05T16:19:11.373-08:00Thoughts on Growing Older: A Generation X PerspectiveLast night I was waiting for my husband to come to bed, laying there in the half-dark room listening to him ramble around the house, drinking a glass of chocolate almond milk, turning off lights, brushing his teeth. Instead of getting cranky with his futzing around, I did something I had not done in years, yet in my youth had done every night for decades.<br />
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I turned the radio "sleep" button on.<br />
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For those unfamiliar with the 20th Century, this button turns the radio on for 60 minutes and then automatically turns it off during your slumber. For all of my childhood I fell asleep this way, listening to Chicago stations, WJMK "Magic 104", "the Loop", WLUP, the Dr Demento Show on Sunday nights.<br />
Drifting into dreamland by the analog crackle of the airwaves.<br />
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<a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/30729713993/in/photolist-NPtPn4-aV4WVn-7Hq3aX" title="clock radio c. 1982"><img alt="clock radio c. 1982" height="375" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/737/30729713993_934b525038.jpg" width="500" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br />
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In fact, I have the very same clock radio I fell asleep listening to as a child. One of my most precious possessions is this Realistic Chronomatic 230 which I got in 1982, as a Christmas gift from my grandparents. My brother got a matching one. Gram and Gramps were definitely trying to teach us to be responsible, wake up on our own, and quit being such a burden to our Mom. "Grow up, kids!", was the message.<br />
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We have a long history. It's been a part of every bedroom I ever lived in, from my childhood home on Chicago's Northwest side, to college, the dorms, the boarding house in DeKalb Illinois where I met Chad, to our youthful move west 25 years ago, to Flagstaff, to Jerome to Clarkdale, AZ.<br />
This clock radio has awakened me for every important day of my life since, graduations and birthdays and funerals and new jobs and weddings and flights. It continues to do so.<br />
<br />
But I quit running the sleep button after getting married, because my husband wasn't a fan.<br />
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Last night, after a long hiatus, the sleep button returned to my routine, and Metallica's "Nothing Else Matters" chimed to life. There in the dark, straight as a log, my dogs nestled along my side. A long thread ran through me as I lay there, a 47 year-old woman suddenly feeling like 20, 16, 12....<br />
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It was overwhelming, this sense of nostalgia and a feeling about life in general gripping me. <br />What it means...why it's both infuriatingly fast and slow at the same time.<br />
Was I here before?<br />
Are our souls recycled?<br />
Who was I before and who will I be next time?<br />
Do we meet the same souls from life to life?<br />
Those people you have an instant rapport and connection with--- were we connected in a past life?<br />
Spouses or siblings or BFFs or coworkers in another time? Or enemies, working shit out from life to life?<br />
<br />
The clock radio and the 1990s Metallica ballad put me in a trance, putting me in close proximity to accessing these answers. They were just out of reach. I was floating in space, and maybe if I worked at it a little harder I might find myself 30 years younger, and waking up in a past bedroom in one of my old houses, starting over, choosing an alternate ending.<br />
Tears quietly filled my eyes, I felt so jumbled and electric.<br />
<br />
Will I feel this way laying on my hospice bed at 96? As my life winds down?<br />
Entertaining some younger person next to me with tales of the 20th Century?<br />
<br />
"<i>There was a time someone called you on the phone and if you didn't answer you didn't know who it was that had called you! It was all a mystery. And even if you DID answer, you still didn't know who was calling until they started talking. And you never knew where they were calling from. We used to do this thing called 'crank calling' where we'd dial random numbers and mess with whoever answered.</i>"<br />
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"<i>There was a time we didn't have red M&Ms. Because Red Dye No. 2 caused cancer</i>."<div><br /></div><div><i>"And, conversely, there was a time when all pistachios were dyed red for some reason. Your fingers would get all red from peeling the shells off."</i><br />
<br />
<i>"Used to be you could go places and no one knew you were there. And you could have your own thoughts and not have to share them with an audience. All of my teen angst was written in journals and hidden in a box. It wasn't broadcast on the internet."</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>"My baby bedroom was yellow. Because that's what they did back then. Yellow or green. Nobody knew ahead of time if you were a boy a girl. Now we know. But we still don't know at the same time. Because maybe that kid will identify as something else. Ironic."</i></div><div><div><i><br /></i></div><div>2022 now. I started this story two years ago, further illustrating how time flies.</div><div> </div><div>At my job, I've been here almost 20 years now. When I started I was 29 and was once one of the youngest employees. Now at 49 I am one of the oldest. Randomly trying to explain to Millennials about life in the 20th Century. </div><div><br /></div><div><i>Okay, so there was this commercial around 1984 that went what you'd call viral now. It was really popular. These little old ladies were ordering hamburgers at a fast food counter, and they bring out this huge bun with like, a comically tiny burger sitting in it. One little old lady, this 80 year old woman named Clara Peller yelled out, "WHERE'S the BEEF!?" </i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i>Suddenly, everyone was yelling this. WHERE'S THE BEEF? Like we shouted it at people out of the school bus windows. Girls shouted it at guys on the street. There were t-shirts and stickers, and Clara Peller became famous.</i></div><div><i>It sounds really stupid when you talk about it now. </i></div><div><br /></div><div><i>"We didn't have thousands of pictures of ourselves growing up like kids do today. Most teens probably have 100s of selfies in their phones right now.. I only have a handful of photos of my high school friends and me. My Mom is a great photographer so we do have documentation of our youth, but it was special to have your photo taken. It cost money to have film developed, and camera rolls were limited to 24 or 36 shots. We didn't always bring a camera along, but when we did it was special. We had to choose wisely before snapping that shutter. And it was real. No filters or fakery."</i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/51748400799/in/photolist-2mQQ5ET-2mPzcoN-2hxzh8Q-2hxvAff-2hxyjDc-2hxvzzY-2hxyiYE-2hxvA2p-2hxykX9-2hxzjNe-2hxvB5M-2hxvBA6-2hxziBw-2hxzjYV-2hxvBmo-2hxyjPx-2hxvDA8-2hxyoAf-2hxvCrz-2hxyn47" title="February 1987 Ellen at Lincoln Park Zoo"><img alt="February 1987 Ellen at Lincoln Park Zoo" height="640" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51748400799_baf015b3b8_z.jpg" width="389" /></a></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div>Here's me at 14. I recently saw this pic in an album at my mom's house, and looking at it now I wonder why I never had a boyfriend in high school. What a peach! I was a hot number! Maybe I was too hot? Or maybe I wasn't hot at all, for the times. I didn't wear make-up or do my hair up with Aqua-Net. I was an art student, and threw the discus. I was the slowest girl on the cross country team. I listened to old blues and big band music. Maybe too weird and natural for the average fellow teen boy of the mid 1980s. Maybe I was somehow both ahead of and behind the times. Maybe some there were some shy guys my style who secretly pined for me, just as I secretly pined for other dudes who I felt were way beyond my ability. I wasn't all that "boy crazy" though. I was entertained by my own little projects and adventures and imagining being married to various Chicago Cubs. I had very few beaus before I got married at 23. Ironically, I married a man who grew up in the suburbs going to all of the school dances, dressed in suits, driving a hot rod. A real stud with spiked hair and skinny ties! He'd had plenty of girlfriends before he moved into the same boarding house as me in college. </div><div> </div><div><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/8024672387/in/album-72157623264841571/" title="chad and cutlass, early 1989"><img alt="chad and cutlass, early 1989" height="451" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/8030/8024672387_90fbd69850_z.jpg" width="640" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script>
</div><div> </div><div> </div><div>My Realistic clock radio woke me up again today, 39 years after I got it. Chad and I both turn 50 this year. I drive a 49 year-old car. We live in a 118 year-old house. The passage of time is something all around me. I am steeped in it, surrounded by it daily. Keenly aware of it, yet also not understanding it and what our place in time signifies.</div><div> </div><div><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/51689680203/in/photolist-2mKD85P-2kVRC2Q" title="skater 1980 and 2021"><img alt="skater 1980 and 2021" height="534" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51689680203_d7edfa5fe1_z.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><div><br /></div><div>Biffing it hard on my roller skates at 49 has much longer recovery time than it did when I was 8. I wear safety gear and a helmet now too, which I never did as a kid. We're more fragile now, no longer made of rubber. Bruises take shape faster. Skin heals slower. The cell turnover rate slows. We're past our prime.<br /></div><div><br /></div><div>It's weird because in many ways I feel exactly the same as I did at age 8. </div><div><br /></div><div>As we push 50, things that have happened to our bodies over the years, either by injury or diet or simply the passage of time cause the "check engine light" to come on. We laughed about this meme, because it stopped us from crying....</div></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgzUsw3nNgNJBj1s2BJhx6Ju_Kouer6cnGD3ehcMZ8Ij2rjMfNg1dhIg5hfDQ-mDYGslHX6Szd5Kjjc8dC6oi199UZa0mAqBzmUfrDBOQ8pqeTvNcK2E2R235xY0EIlyA7IiRfCNcdJcw8QDNBhReQ1qutwJwmPXFng4rUt6wA2GC9U3rLECseuKA=s420" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="420" data-original-width="300" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgzUsw3nNgNJBj1s2BJhx6Ju_Kouer6cnGD3ehcMZ8Ij2rjMfNg1dhIg5hfDQ-mDYGslHX6Szd5Kjjc8dC6oi199UZa0mAqBzmUfrDBOQ8pqeTvNcK2E2R235xY0EIlyA7IiRfCNcdJcw8QDNBhReQ1qutwJwmPXFng4rUt6wA2GC9U3rLECseuKA=s320" width="229" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div>The chunks of flesh the dermatologist carves off of us due to long ago forgotten sunburns. They don't even really warn you before they slice! It hurts a lot. Chad has problems with a foot and leg he injured in a cross-country skiing crash in college in the '90s. He has to take pills for high blood pressure and cholesterol and watch his blood sugar. He had to have eye surgery due to retinopathy. I've already had a colonoscopy. There are doctors appointments and waiting rooms now.</div><div><br /></div><div>I'm really irritated I have to wear "cheaters" to read the fine print. The first time I realized I couldn't read that small print was really shocking to me. My eye doc said that normally people much younger in their 40s need them, so I'm above average...but he also said my +1 prescription is going to go up as I get older (+2.5 is the biggest cheater you can buy off the rack at the store). As a teen I used to draw the smallest cartoons, and on 1/4 size paper, so tiny and focus so closely on them. </div><div><br /></div><div>Old fillings from the 1980s crack and the dentist has to replace them. My jaw pops because because 1. I'm a woman in my 40s and 2. as a child in the '80s I would chew entire packs of Hubba Bubba at a time. </div><div><br /></div><div>The sun spots on my left cheek from being in the driver's seat in Arizona for 25 years. It adds up, slowly but surely. My hands look like a 90 year-old's most days. My little uterus, never having born a fruit, quietly drifts into menopause. Gravity and greys arrive right on cue. Having an old house and an old car, I am accustomed to the treacheries of age and oxidation. Sometimes it's just the genes. My silver streaks are a direct link to my paternal side. My dad was fully grey by age 36. And because I'm the same girl as I was at age 14, I don't dye it. I rock it natural.</div><div><br /></div><div><i>Q. What's the trick to looking good as you get older?</i></div><div><i>A. To never have been that cute when you were younger.</i></div><div><br /></div><div>My looks were never a source of praise or attention, so there was never any kind of currency for me in being cute. I developed a personality and talents independent of my appearance and for that I am grateful as I grow older. That fresh peach I used to be has aged and distilled into a smoky brandy, full of nuance and knowledge.</div><div><br /></div><div><div>Michael Apted's "Seven Up!" series followed a group of British 7 year-olds every 7 years. I think they're on "64 Up" now. The initial premise behind the documentary is that human being's personality is fully formed by age 7. I tend to agree and the documentary over the years definitely confirms it. </div><div>Some things don't change with the passage of time. Some are timeless. But most things are not this way. <br /></div><div><br /></div></div><div>Elder generations exit. </div><div>Friends begin to leave too. </div><div>The first friend of yours to die is always such a shocking revelation about mortality. But by the time you've reached my mom's age, 80, you will have seen many of your old friends pass away and start to feel lonely if you think about it too long, everyone who's gone all around you. Where did they go? Will we see them again in the next life? </div><div><br /></div><div>Does time overlap like a burrito as posited by Richard Norvik (Barry Miller) in the time-travel classic "Peggy Sue Got Married" (c.1986)? What happens to us when the lights go out and we breathe our last breath? Does our soul move along to the next place? Is everyone hanging out together in Heaven, or are we recycled as babies are born? Is there a finite supply of souls? When you have a "deja-vu" are you remembering a past life? Or an alternative universe that never happened? Do the spirits of dead send us messages and visit us in our dreams?</div><div><br /></div><div>If I fall asleep listening to my clock radio, might I wake up and be 14 again, in my childhood home, with my old leather Nikes kicked off in the corner? Going through all of the same challenges all over again? </div><div><br /></div><div>Would I even want to? </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div>ellen johttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04887301124107160459noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4456691912227510426.post-53570395530945890962019-08-28T14:07:00.003-07:002019-08-29T09:01:08.883-07:00Everything is Ruined But It's Your Own Damn Fault<div style="text-align: left;">
The other day we were at the Verde River, hanging out in a lovely spot called Lower TAPCO River Access Point (RAP). This area has been developed by the Town of Clarkdale as a recreational site and a boat launch area for both commercial and non-commercial kayakers. We buy a yearly pass ($45 for Clarkdale residents) and we're there all the time, in every season. There's a big fat part of the river there, just below the first rapids: a big curving lagoon lined by shady willows and cottonwoods, perfect for swimming, picnicking, kayaking, tubing, dog walking, or just sitting by water's edge sipping a beer.</div>
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<a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/42488056724/in/photolist-27Jwp19-27Jwp4f-27Jwp69-25GsvL7-25GsvKf-25GsvDo-25GsvEf-25k8Nnr-25k8NkH-23Y9SJ8-23Y9SFH-23Y9SLn-21XAmJo-21XAmGu-Dz2QZW-Nz8NG4-28Seabj-Dz2QNy-ZkEQvm-XA2JoM-Txg16u-RQS2sA-MmovJQ-Nj6FpR-MjAe78-N77dA7-N9MHT4-MjAe4c-FwLyUx-EyRSb1-F5cX87-EyRS6m-CLEtNd-CNYfNr-BRsxmf-BRsxLU-CFEP7P-CFEPjc-CDqj8C-BRsxLy-CmR4vG-BRzNaP-Cft8qe-CdivTA-CdivKE-CfzZcZ-Bqnd73-CfzZ78-ydW6uz-z9McAW" nbsp="" title="4th of july instant film"><img alt="4th of july instant film" height="500" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/1782/42488056724_48d60fd04a.jpg" width="424" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script></div>
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When the town cleaned up and developed this spot several years back, long-time locals who grew up here lamented the loss of their teenage party spot, grumbling about how it used to be free, and they used to camp out there and party out there and<i> waaa, </i>now it costs $5 for a parking pass! And you can't have a keg party or bonfire out there anymore like you did in high school in the 1970s and '80s. Boo hoo, babies.<br />
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I was at this spot a few times before they made it the recreational area, and it sucked. It was known locally as "the Gravel Pits" back then, and it was a mess. Broken glass, garbage, shell-casings, barbecued goat. We even found an abandoned Chevy Chevette carcass there as well as the occasional dead cow. There was a sense of danger about the place that negatively impacted the beauty of this rare Arizona riparian area.<br />
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It's much better now. Nature has returned to areas formerly trashed. The area is not overly developed, but orderly. Safe. Dirt parking areas. A port-a-john. Picnic tables. Some interpretive signage. Rules.<br />
There are rules now.<br />
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Sometimes when we're there we don't see anybody else for hours.<br />
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But when we were there the other day, floating around in inner tubes with the dogs, sipping a beer, some folks rolled down to the boat launch in their big truck, parking it with the rear tires in the river so they could dangle their legs into the river. Their loud music playing on the car stereo. I couldn't paddle away fast enough from this obnoxious intrusion into nature. Dog off leash running loose, despite signs mentioning this wasn't allowed. Parked in the commercial boat launch unloading zone despite signs clearly designating it as such. (Eventually a commercial kayak company arrived and booted them, but they just moved to the public boat launch, ignoring the "10 minute only-unloading zone" sign).<br />
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Normally there is a "Verde River Ambassador", a ranger in a white truck , maintaining the rules, but that person is only there until 3pm, and it was just after.<br />
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<a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/31635795198/in/photolist-QcxHJN-QcxHG3-2aeLZUF-2aeLZXX-28SeagQ-2avNvcB-27JwoYf-27Jwp19-27Jwp4f-27Jwp69-25GsvL7-25GsvKf-25GsvDo-25GsvEf-25k8Nnr-25k8NkH-23Y9SJ8-23Y9SFH-23Y9SLn-21XAmJo-21XAmGu-Dz2QZW-Nz8NG4-28Seabj-Dz2QNy-ZkEQvm-XA2JoM-Txg16u-RQS2sA-MmovJQ-Nj6FpR-MjAe78-N77dA7-N9MHT4-MjAe4c-FwLyUx-EyRSb1-F5cX87-EyRS6m-CLEtNd-CNYfNr-BRsxmf-BRsxLU-CFEP7P-CFEPjc-CDqj8C-BRsxLy-CmR4vG-BRzNaP-Cft8qe" title="autumn along the verde"><img alt="autumn along the verde" height="393" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/1945/31635795198_fe7accc549.jpg" width="500" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script></div>
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I was reminded of what this area was like back before the rules. Of the times folks drove in the river, did donuts in the dirt, burned things, blasted music, left garbage and goats and Chevettes.<br />
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Just anyone doing whatever the hell they wanted with no thought of how their actions impacted others.<br />
<br />
Suddenly it occurred to me that whenever people complain about not being able to do something they used to do, instead of blaming "progress" or the people from the modern day for this, blame someone from your own time--from back in the day. Blame some thoughtless person (or many thoughtless people) who ruined it for everyone because they didn't know how to behave. It takes only a few turkeys to ruin it for all.<br />
<br />
They left garbage.<br />
<br />
They took risks that got them injured or killed .<br />
<br />
They trespassed a time too many.<br />
<br />
They stole relics and artifacts and personal property.<br />
<br />
They vandalized. They carved their names, spray-painted, shot holes, tore things apart.<br />
<br />
They killed plants and trees and animals.<br />
<br />
These people ruined your youthful memories, not any of the relative newcomers to this valley. .<br />
<br />
I can complain too about stuff I used to have as a kid that no longer exists. Often time these things are gone for the same reason. Some jerks ruining it for everyone. I can lament the lack of roller rinks in the 21st century . I loved roller rinks! But they died off because too many people sued the rinks when they fell down and hurt themselves while skating, and the rink owners could no longer afford the liability. Because of a few assholes who could not take personal responsibility for their own injuries. It's not the fault of the person who lives in the apartment building or works in the restaurant that now exists where the roller rink used to be.<br />
<br />
Fossil Springs, a beautiful travertine waterfall many miles outside of Camp Verde, is another example. A place that had wide open access, free camping, etc. but is now restricted, requiring a permit, because careless people trashed it. Leaving garbage, empty 18pks of Busch beer, diapers, fast food wrappers. I applaud the forest service for protecting it better.<br />
You can't camp there anymore.<br />
You know why?<br />
That's right. A few creeps ruined it for us all.<br />
<br />
Rules and protected areas conserve natural spots like this for EVERYONE.<br />
Not just you and your secret club from days-gone-by. At least you have your memories.<br />
Some of us never even got the chance.<br />
<br />
Slide Rock State Park in Oak Creek Canyon is a place that comes up often in the discussion of long-time locals griping about how much better things used to be. How it used to be less crowded. Used to be free. Cleaner. Before it was a State Park. All the fond childhood memories, now ruined by overcrowding, baby diapers and thoughtless people who don't know how to react with respect to this beautiful scene.<br />
<br />
Truth be told, this "crown jewel" of the Arizona State Park system is probably one of the most crowded, over-used places in the entire state. There are rules, yet due to the sheer mass of people there throughout the summer, the ratio of thoughtless people increases to an excessive levels, resulting in:<br />
<br />
Garbage<br />
<br />
Vandalism<br />
<br />
Injury<br />
<br />
Traffic<br />
<br />
E-Coli bacteria in the creek<br />
<br />
<a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/32963653334/in/photolist-SdTkGA-TrNemf-TrNgP1-TrNhvw-TrNizq-TrNcrU-TrNhaS-TrN7Yq-Tgzkmy-Tvnt14-SgxxtT-Sgxyuv-SgxyMp-TrNkz7-TrNjXq-TiWwzv-TiWxx2-TiWwZP-TgzpSh-SgxxZT-SgxAYi-SdTq5J-TvntGe-SdTuYS-npWbii-TrNmhE-SdTuDd-SdTv91-TvntVR-TvnufP-SdTuQL-TiWyzn-SdTuJJ-TiWzG2-TiWxNx-SdTvrq-TiWAHv-TiWAoH-SVo1x1-SVo24S-SdTxTj-TiWAz4-SdTwTU-SdTxaq-SdTwmm-SVo3Uq-SdTy7q-SdTxq5-TgzuHE-Tgzvkb" title="Slide Rock State Park"><img alt="Slide Rock State Park" height="500" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/3741/32963653334_b0f00767d9.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
<br />
Last time we were there, in April 2017 (because most locals avoid it), I was stunned by pulsating techno music being blasted at a picnic kiosk. It echoed over the entire park, inescapable (it is located in a canyon, after all).I don't even know how the family group in the kiosk, eating sandwiches next to the speaker, could hear themselves think. I asked a ranger about it and she just shrugged, like there was nothing to be done about it. To me, I was flummoxed not only by the crappy taste in music, but the utter thoughtlessness that everyone at the park would want to listen to that noise.<br />
<br />
What will eventually happen is, there will be more rules at this park too. Because the few bad apples who don't know how to be thoughtful of others. You will need to request a permit in advance, like you have to do with Fossil Springs.You won't be able to park along the highway when the parking lot is full, because too many people fell 50 feet down from the road trying to scramble down into the park.(This seriously happened like 3 or 4 times this summer, resulting in First Responders rescuing injured people, and highway closed for rescue vehicles).<br />
<br />
I wish I knew the solution to thoughtlessness. People with entitled behavior, thinking the world is for them alone to do as they wish. Most traffic accidents and automobile fatalities are a result of thoughtlessness.<br />
<br />
Thoughtlessness is truly the root cause to so many problems in our world.<br />
Not sure the cure.<br />
<br />
The only thing I can do is be extra thoughtful.<br />
I can push thoughtful energy into the universe. I can be gentle and graceful with others and follow the Golden Rule.<br />
<br />
I can let people in when they're trying to merge into traffic.<br />
<br />
I can drive the speed limit (or close to it), cruise in the right lane and use the left only for passing.<br />
<br />
I can hold doors.<br />
<br />
I can keep my dogs leashed.<br />
<br />
I can enjoy nature quietly, listening to the sounds of the river.<br />
<br />
I can leave things as I found them.<br />
<br />
I can read signs and respect rules.<br />
<br />
I can rescue lizards and bugs and birds.<br />
<br />
This word isn't just for me to use up however I want. I'm not the only one here tryin' to survive.<br />
<br />
There are thousands of ways to be thoughtful.<br />
And honestly, there are far more thoughtful people than there are thoughtless.<br />
<br />
Why do we let the thoughtless win?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />ellen johttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04887301124107160459noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4456691912227510426.post-29089154629139056312018-05-10T12:09:00.000-07:002018-05-10T14:56:37.358-07:00The Farce That Is 2016.<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><i>Note: I wrote most of this before Trump's January 2017 inauguration and filed it away as a draft, never publishing it until now. In revisiting it, I see many of my concerns and fears have not changed. In fact, some have come true... so it's worth sharing....</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">A friend of mine whom I respect and relate to surprised me the other day when she said, "I have a crush on Vladimir Putin. I think he's hot. I wish Putin were in charge of me."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I was flabbergasted by this declaration. I honestly didn't know how to react other than laugh.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">This state of current politics is like nothing I've ever experienced in my nearly 45 years on planet earth. In some ways, the 2016 Election of Donald Trump is worse and scarier than 9-11 was. "Who knew 11-9 would feel just as bad as 9-11?" A friend of mine in New York corrected me when I said that , saying no way. Not even close. No comparison. But in one regard, he is wrong. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">When 9-11 happened, Americans came together. We realized something profound and all came together, rural and urban, black and white, men and women, born here and not.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">When 11-9 happened, it was the opposite. I am not afraid of faceless suicide bombers. I am afraid of my fellow American. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Because I did not vote for Donald Trump (and because I have serious and legitimate concerns about his ability to be President) his legion of fans (and/or "trolls") on Twitter and other websites will attack me, calling me any variation of the following: </span><br />
<br />
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"Lib" </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"Libtard" </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"Elitist"</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"Sensitive Snowflake" </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"Whiny Loser"</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"Not a Real American". </span></li>
</ul>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">They will accuse me of: </span><br />
<br />
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">living in my parents' basement </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">being jobless</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">being a hater of police and the armed forces </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">being treasonous</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">being on the government dole </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">wanting my free "Obama phone" (whatever that is)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">wanting to stay in my "safe place" with my coloring books (?)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">wanting America to fail.</span></li>
</ul>
<br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">They will make fun of me personally after cruising my profile, calling me </span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">fat or making fun of me being an artist, insulting my dogs. It gets creepy really fast. They don't know me at all. I'm somewhere in the middle, politically-speaking, with a left lean. I'm fiscally conservative and socially liberal. The correct answer is always somewhere towards the middle but nobody wants to go there. </span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I aim for civil conversation and bridging the gap. These angry Trump people don't want your civility. They want to chum the waters with your critical thinking.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Being in our own "bubble" of like-minded friends is what causes the shock and awe that such a legion of angry people exist, so I put myself out there to try to have discussion with these Trump people. Rarely does one try to have a calm conversation. When they do, I appreciate it. Generally it's something more like this: </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Donald Trump has been elected our president and spends each day tweeting insults about people who question or disagree with him, attacking the press, individual citizens and successful businesses like Boeing, the NY Times, Vanity Fair. His legion of "deplorables" (they proudly call themselves that) take to the internet and attack on his behalf. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">So, instead of trying to keep up on the ever-escalating ridiculous news coming out of the Trump transition and staying up too late into the night arguing with people on social media, I am condensing all of my election angst in once place. My fears for the future of the United States are very real. Don't tell me to <i>Get Over It</i>. I won't get any joy from the inevitable "I told you so"ahead. There will be no satisfaction a year from now, as our country's economy, environment, global standing and its very security lie in ruins. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">2016. A rotten, no good, terrible, very bad year.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">So many brilliant people died. FujiFilm of Japan stopped producing my most favorite instant film in February (which felt very much like a death of a loved one). In April Clarkdale's baby eaglet vanished. In June my dear pal and coworker Lisa quit working with me after 13 years of sharing an office. Though she is still alive and still my friend, her leaving our office also felt as though something died.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Election years are always terrible and this was the worst ever in my lifetime. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Dangerously ignorant "Don the Con" Trump, a modern day P.T. Barnum, managed to get elected president, dividing the country more than ever, and started filling his crony cabinet with silver spoon billionaires furthering the divide. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">First, a disclaimer: There were <i>some</i> good things that happened in 2016. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The Cubs won the World Series for the first time since 1908. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">2016 was the Centennial of the National Park Service. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Friends and family visited us in Arizona.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Children and baby hummingbirds were born. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Our buddy Tim was elected mayor of Cottonwood, AZ showing me politics at the local level have a lot of heart. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Because Fuji ceased making FP-100C I bought myself a fun little red Pentax digital camera that I love. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Art was made and sold successfully. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Adventures were had both near and far--including a trip to Mackinac Island with my mom in June and Chad's birthday adventure to Laguna Beach in late summer. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I saw the Roberts in South Haven on Dawson's birthday. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I saw the Dahlbergs, watched the boys play little league games and I ran through fire hydrant spray with my brother at a real Chicago block party. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Chad's folks are doing well and my Mom turned 75 this year and is in good health. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I won a giant TV set in a gas station giveaway. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">So yeah. Not allll terrible. I scroll through the year's highlights and there was a lot of good in 2016.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">But I'm scared to death of 2017. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Every day the presidential news gets more bizarre. Like we're living in an upside-down world, where left is right, right is wrong, dark is light and night is day. Fake news is real. Real news is fake. Bend over for the Russians. We're their puppets now. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">And the hits keep coming. People ask me if I'm "over it" and if I've "moved on" yet. I try, I really do, but every day there is an escalating ridiculousness from the Trump transition. Some new bizarre story. Trump not wanting to live in the White House. Trump staying on as part time producer/host of The Apprentice. His taxes, h</span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">is kids and his business conflicts. This Russia mess. Trump acting like he doesn't know Putin although his daughter vacations with Putin's wife and his son is quoted on business dealings with Russia dating back to 2008. Trump's attacks on Saturday Night Live, a show that has lampooned presidents for more than 40 years. He's the first to complain. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Donald Trump named failed Presidential candidate (and failed "Dancing With the Stars" contestant) Rick Perry his nominee to lead the Dept. of Energy, a department he'd forgotten the name of during a debate ("Oops.") when vowing to destroy it. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It compounds the insanity of current Cabinet nominations that include Rex Tillerson, CEO of Exxon-Mobil with ties to Vladimir Putin, and big oil business pending as soon at the US eases sanctions on Russia (which would be his job as Secretary of State!). Dr Ben Carson who initally said he was not prepared to play a role in the administration accepted a nomination for head of Housing and Urban Development, which he knows nothing about (but Trump seems to always associate "urban" with "black" so that's probably the sole factor). </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Other nominees include the lady in charge of the World Wrestling Federation to head Small Business, and for Dept. of Labor, the CEO of Carls Jr. fast food chain who is publicly against just about every employee benefit available to workers. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The man chosen to lead the EPA has sued the EPA. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">(SNL had a funny skit where "Breaking Bad" meth-king Walter White was named head of the DEA).</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The list goes on-- crony billionaires who supported Trump during the election are now being awarded roles in the White House antithetical to their known stances. Trump is putting foxes in charge of the hen houses. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Trump's Chief of Staff "alt-right" (read: White Supremacist") Steve Bannon, on record as an angry hateful fellow, was quoted in The Daily Beast in 2014 <span style="background-color: white;">declaring “I’m a Leninist." Though later he denied the remarks, the journalist quoted him saying</span><span style="background-color: white;"> “Lenin wanted to destroy the state, and that’s my goal, too. I want to bring everything crashing down, and destroy all of today’s establishment.”</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">That's what all of this feels like. Everything tumbling down and being destroyed or dismantled. </span></span><span style="background-color: white;">As an artist, I can understand that sometimes that sort of deconstruction can lead to something great, even by mistake. But to be fair this isn't a simple arts & crafts project. There are bigger ramifications, globally, to such destruction of our country's government. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">Trump, a lifelong liar, a con man, a draft dodger and adulturer, somehow snowed the voters into seeing him as a breath of fresh air, a drainer of swamps, a "tell it like it is" maverick worthy of their vote. </span></span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">But he fooled them all. He immediately stocked the swamp with the same old slop. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">He's a bully, a thin-skinned narcissist attacking private citizens via Twitter, rallying hatred and violent threats against those that disagree with him.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Trump supporters rail against any discontent with the President Elect, telling us to "get over it" and "your guy lost- don't be a crybaby". </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">That's not what this is. My choice has lost before. But I never felt this sort of deep, dark fear from a Presidential election. Over the past 8 years I never understood the hate for Barack Obama, a class act who had to be twice the man of most white presidents. The Tea Party "patriots" vowed to obstruct his every move and in doing so hurt us all. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Obama fixed the broken recession economy he inherited, he got Osama Bin Laden, he kept us in cheap gas and high global esteem. He showed grace and respect and intelligence. I thought his administration, while imperfect, was a huge step into the future for the United States. Sustainability, conservation, environmental protection, diplomacy. These things were all valued.<br /><br />Also, I didn't worry every day about what next crazy story would come out of the White House. What shocking new revelation. What insanely rude tweet. I was able to stop thinking about politics most days. It was really nice. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Sigh.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><i><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It's May of 2018 now. </span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I wrote most of this story in January of 2017, before we even knew as much as we do now about the deep-seated corruption in Trump's administration.... before porn stars and pay-offs, before half of Trump's appointees quit or were fired, before Robert Mueller and the Special Counsel, before James Comey's book, before Michael Cohen and before Rudy Giuliani... </span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Every day it's some other insanity. </span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></i>
<i><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">One good thing about it? I've gotten more involved. More than ever before. I write letters. I donate money. I've joined the Nature Conservancy and the Sierra Club. And one other good thing? The comedy. Late night TV has never been so great. </span></i><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>ellen johttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04887301124107160459noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4456691912227510426.post-77725100643773857462017-11-22T13:21:00.001-08:002017-11-30T07:19:58.159-08:00Greetings from Floyd Street<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
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<span style="color: #134f5c;"><span style="color: #45818e; font-size: x-large;">Greetings from Floyd Street</span></span></h2>
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<span style="color: #45818e; font-size: large;">Ellen Jo Roberts </span></h2>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNKXb9yTphwDncQx5Ghzh_nU10ck20C75dIwn_R4yDKdU7NBvE2heyiTH6FHNiAD8FFZ8z_CP-pWiMGcXlS4uu-RPTX7vWGNU0Aq7QSPXQ_v_s2TZL8-EHmgS202d7LK8DsXZo7cqQuw/s1600/greetings+from+floyd+street+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1109" data-original-width="1600" height="441" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNKXb9yTphwDncQx5Ghzh_nU10ck20C75dIwn_R4yDKdU7NBvE2heyiTH6FHNiAD8FFZ8z_CP-pWiMGcXlS4uu-RPTX7vWGNU0Aq7QSPXQ_v_s2TZL8-EHmgS202d7LK8DsXZo7cqQuw/s640/greetings+from+floyd+street+1.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">The Fundamentals of Floyd. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">There will never be another like him. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Though he was miniature in size, his presence in our life was gigantic.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">He was the first dog I owned as an adult and he changed my life.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Fourteen years of Floyd. </span><br />
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If I could write a bio about him, <i>Wikipedia</i>-style it may look
something like this...<br />
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<b><u><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Floyd </span></u></b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">"Roberts' Fivehead Floyd</span></b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">"
(June 29, 2003-September 1, 2017) was an American Chihuahua, born in Arizona,
and best known for his appearance in a series of travel photographs, "<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/albums/72157594263627615"><span style="color: blue;">Greetings From Floyd Street</span></a>". As president
and founder<span style="background-color: white;"> of the <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/albums/72157645155032250" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">Clarkdale Chihuahua Club</span> </a>he was</span>
known to march in parades and attend concerts in the park with fellow club
members.</span><br />
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<a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/3380827468/in/photolist-cSCnxs-cSCfof-cSYuyY-cSCtBj-cynAJ9-cbkaDd-buaCcS-bwUrMn-9S7yUH-9aNMmR-6PHCHF-XFau1S-69KBZS-69KCdL" nbsp="" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="Floyd in 3D!"><img alt="Floyd in 3D!" height="300" src="https://farm4.staticflickr.com/3604/3380827468_b25beff416_b.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<b><u><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Early Life <o:p></o:p></span></u></b></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Floyd was born along the Verde River at a
ranch in Cottonwood, AZ in the summer of 2003. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">His parents were the AKC-registered
"Cowboy's Right Hand" and "Lil' Bit of Rain." </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Floyd’s registered
AKC name, “</span><i style="font-size: 12pt;">Roberts' Fivehead Floyd</i><span style="font-size: 12pt;">” was inspired by his huge dome-like noggin. </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The owners of the ranch were long-time
breeders of Chihuahuas and also owners of "</span><i style="font-size: 12pt;">Horses 'R Us", </i><span style="font-size: 12pt;">a feed
store in Old Town Cottonwood. On August 8th, 2003, Ellen Roberts saw a
"Chihuahua Puppies" sign propped outside the store which prompted an
immediate u-turn. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">"I had wanted a Chihuahua for years. I have a plaster Chihuahua I named 'Honey Boy', purchased from a Mexican grocery store, that had been inspiration for photos and paintings. Now I had the chance to have my own real Chihuahua," said Roberts.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/26773037049/in/photolist-GMQPa4-pY34pu-qfxw1W-pj5LdL-oPetSV-oqVFq2-D3WDE6-ph5Ppw-p3B4HW-p2xasa-owKpnX-owJK6E-owKbzy-oPcLpU-owJL5y-owKcyY-owJEHa-owKsRa-oMcLnf-orPr3j" nbsp="" title="introducing floyd ! © 2003"><img alt="introducing floyd ! © 2003" height="403" src="https://farm5.staticflickr.com/4582/26773037049_494f662c92_b.jpg" width="640" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script> </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">"Oh my goodness, this little guy. He
looked like a wind-up toy. They took him out of his pen and set him on the
floor and immediately he pursued a young dachshund and bopped him squarely on
the nose with one paw, wanting to play. I was instantly enchanted with his overwhelming cuteness and bold confidence," said Roberts. </span><br />
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<a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/2300006247/in/photolist-buaCcS-bruXB3-brvsqj-bpWkzL-bxAQn2-bxAQkx-bwjNC2-bvb1tp-btNizX-btNhVc-9qLxwA-8eey1H-8dbLZY-75Srgx-6AK7hR-6zJE87-5opjtD-5nJ1Nm-4ZUWh4-4vf8Pk-4vf8vP-4u4YPw-cWdNFN-4Z3Wbs-35oUXd-b8dqHT-4vjcoj-8f9H8T-6Bn8Ww-4ZUWor-4YYEXH-4YYEUn-4vjccQ-4vf8K2-4vf8yZ-4vf8Fe-4vjcfh-4vf8LH-4vjceo-4vf8Gx-4vjcgS-25ZHys-rXMbx-cWdNR3-upp82-c5sB13-odng4E-cWdNJS-9otBAs-4vf8J8" nbsp="" title="super deluxe chihuaua pup- 2003"><img alt="super deluxe chihuaua pup- 2003" height="480" src="https://farm4.staticflickr.com/3146/2300006247_89fd965697_b.jpg" width="640" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br />
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<a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/2300005717/in/photolist-nKqM33-m3Agvc-jVBHjX-jSQiQ4-jpa9Qk-jpc7C9-jpdskq-jm1BqF-fky9zX-dmLDDN-dkT7bx-d6L3dJ-cSCtBj-cSiFnY-ccchK7-bJAVuB-brvsqj-bqppJw-bzW2Z4-btNsZZ-bn3Qua-9qLxwA-9jKhmb-8eey1H-8dbLZY-6zJE87-4YYEXH-4YYEUn-4vjccQ-4vjcgS-4vf8Pk-4vjcfh-4vf8Fe-4vf8K2-4vf8yZ-4vf8LH-4vf8vP-4vf8Gx-25ZHys-rXMbx-c5sB13-odng4E-cWdNJS-cWdNFN-9otBAs-35oUXd-b8dqHT-4Z3Wbs-4vf8J8-4vjcoj" nbsp="" style="font-size: 12pt;" title="floyd and honey boy"><img alt="floyd and honey boy" height="480" src="https://farm3.staticflickr.com/2253/2300005717_f7f6ee1e9c_b.jpg" width="640" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br />
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br />A few hundred bucks later Floyd moved to neighboring Clarkdale, where he would be a lifelong resident, and quickly became a well-known local
icon in the area, frequently spotted in the historic town park, strolling
sidewalks and trails, and floating down the Verde River on rafts and
kayaks.</span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br />From his earliest days he came along on every adventure possible.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/13156454313/in/photolist-m3Agvc-gNHDsR-ega356-egfMZW-dGyguQ-cSBshC-bvKBUA-bztC6B-btaq1K-grcG1c-eV2Sk1-efiHaA-efiH4N-efcZ3F-efiHk5-efiHf7-eaAVJe-e4NWkM-dVk4Mn-dDEZUj-dzLcjp-dkT7bx-de8CJU-cdZZ53-c9Ay7L-c7UtcC-bJAVuB-bqfzwe-aKaZgX-acpgYz-a45Nf1-9MkGwo-9qwaZS-9mX6WU-9aNMmR-8ZWVR7-8VVWEA-8zUZVS-8zRSPx-8dbLZY-88gveZ-86TJAX-7WFYTG-7TLeZ2-7QUzoL-7QUzos-7sUG8T-7iYyao-7gqU4A-75Ui1n" nbsp="" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="August 2003- Photo by Tim"><img alt="August 2003- Photo by Tim" height="640" src="https://farm4.staticflickr.com/3793/13156454313_39b050a11e_b.jpg" width="632" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">2003. Payson, AZ Rocket Slide. Photo by Tim Elinski.</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/241927909/in/photolist-9Y9hMW-9qwaZS-9otrVN-8Todmw-8SAYLb-8NtjpF-8LRDc6-7qnwTB-6R7K2D-5Yfb5U-nnWJR" nbsp="" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="Roberts"><img alt="Roberts" height="640" src="https://farm1.staticflickr.com/85/241927909_75d14c48ac_z.jpg" width="511" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">2005. Photo Credit: Heidi Paul</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/14501477606/in/photolist-q7BL31-q7J5RR-qkErf3-p94WeY-q5FKzT-ptEkAa-pxiBCk-pbLLaN-pdLNhC-p7yqUN-owJL5y-oPcLpU-owKcyY-onJLtR-onJJRn-oiuykB-ownGjH-ouA1zs-o8HkwB-o8VYHF-o8naRC-o6rS4Y-nR1Fpg-nzgmoS-nymwXr-nj4LZu-myjYhB-mnxQdZ-mkesQM-ktHudn-kn3vVx-jCPU51-jqGfbJ-r8CKCZ-r6y7WC-qrSKAN-qrLoTB-qpEg73-q6pbGm-qnMv4K-q6wESe-qnWmcc-q4JkWr-pRGcWz-q7tjqC-ph23D4-pa89zc-pa9huM-pa8NBU-p17UDb" nbsp="" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;" title="6 24 my new favorite group photo of the dogs - at colorado river along utah highway 128"><img alt="6 24 my new favorite group photo of the dogs - at colorado river along utah highway 128" height="500" src="https://farm3.staticflickr.com/2922/14501477606_4e54f18985.jpg" width="397" /></a></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script> </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">During his lifetime, Floyd shared his home
with five other pets: </span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">two cats, Clyde (2000-2011), Ned (2011-) and three
dogs, Ivan (2004-2017), Hazel (2011-) and Simon (2013-) <br /><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><u><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Education.<br />
</span></u></b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Earliest education in Floyd's life came from a
cat, a big, mouthy Siamese-mix named Clyde, many times his size, who could have
killed him but chose not to. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Per Roberts, “They were pals. Clyde was graceful
and refined. In many ways, Floyd learned to behave from Clyde. He was more
cat-like that dog-like in many ways. He was gentlemanly and polite and never
did rude dog-like things such as eat poop or roll in dead
carcasses." <br /><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/5531141034/in/photolist-c8w6vq-bn3Qua-aJiEuv-9Y9hMW-9Rr4zQ-9qLxwA-9qwaZS-9otrVN-9jKhmb-8Todmw-8NtjpF-8DEuVq-826AFW-7TLeZ2-7qnwTB-7nS2LQ-9wyqkb-8SAYLb-8LRDc6-8dxhFk" nbsp="" title="from the archives: clyde and floyd, august 2003"><img alt="from the archives: clyde and floyd, august 2003" height="452" src="https://farm6.staticflickr.com/5060/5531141034_d4ab05725e_b.jpg" width="640" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br />In autumn of 2003 Floyd attended a 6 week course at "Academy 4 Paws" in Cornville, AZ where he graduated with honors.<br />
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<b><u><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Modeling
Career<o:p></o:p></span></u></b></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">An artist's muse, Floyd was depicted in
innumerable paintings, photographs and cartoons during his life. From
Floyd's youngest days he was keen on the camera and always ready when the lens
was focused on him. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">“Floyd inspired art, comic books, photos, joy,” said
Roberts,”He was always good sport about
it. He tolerated hats and masks and funny glasses. He wore wigs. As long as
there was a treat on the other side, he was game. He was always camera-ready.
And sometimes the soulful look on his face could completely melt your heart.”</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/293790813/in/photolist-4VpUHB-rXKLR-mqfpV-7oLUP5-7WFYTG-nj9SkZ-4Vu8wf-YSf2Kt-SBVinj-55zHMP-dujzQc-83UMmK-4oXDDP-4d2N7F-ax3JWH-bEBsCq-4Vq7i8-bTwcsP-4p2Abj-4VfrsU-4Vu8Fj-2JgxmG-7odSab-4VbcVH-3Wnvc3-TT25he-83UMdk-2JdAqM-wAFkB5-vEkHVu-9otBAs-5W2ATj-njos36-2JdAqD-7Vfd2U-4qZR14-aqBbxd-4X6TZP-99qs1K" nbsp="" title="Melancholy"><img alt="Melancholy" height="383" src="https://farm1.staticflickr.com/110/293790813_71c4d8a551.jpg" width="640" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script></span><br />
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<a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/593547394/in/photolist-Us5XL-4CF7Ay-fky9zX-ihGAJ1-7mUpS6-fkyaen-dujzQc-bPZn6R-ccKfR1-7gqVoE-4u4YPw-4VpUHB-hyak7y-4CARMV-bVnqdU-8VVWEA-rtDBN3-4Vq7i8-eAQ9Uk-8WstTe-bvKBUA-32VPdR-9ZvNSX-7HFizk-75UhE8-5pdbwZ-pjuC54-5phsms-eATfVN-bVo1d8-ihG6Ut-9yr5tk-bVo27M-eAQ5F6-X6iS1x-ftAsU4-cio4Z3-5cAq5S-dC7amn-aHHGdi-9TMkqC-bPZn2r-8dxhFe-47YjPz-9bSSTn-cSCtBj-rXMbF-fo2kE9-fkya62-aKaZgX/" nbsp="" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="floyd in disguise 3"><img alt="floyd in disguise 3" height="480" src="https://farm2.staticflickr.com/1113/593547394_c5bd323297_b.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/231067012/in/photolist-dnje3D-mqhb1-7vvk1a-6kKkg2-2JdAqD-2JgxmG" nbsp="" title="lil' mexicano"> </a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script></span> </span><br />
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<a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/2825143401/in/photolist-AhtDT3-dvFmFJ-bJns9P-aDzJQK-aDDA5U-aDDA8s-a3BPBK-6niyfW-6hJTjw-6hEHca-6hEHdi-62ZaNZ-62ZaLT-62dm8Z-62dm7F-62hzjq-629Zng-629Zoa-62edBb-5VTDoY-5VTDio-5VPhzx-5VPhDT-5n1z37-5iDAGZ-5iHTEq" nbsp="" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="Sticky, Volume 7, the Travel Issue"><img alt="Sticky, Volume 7, the Travel Issue" height="400" src="https://farm4.staticflickr.com/3147/2825143401_a00c234719_b.jpg" width="300" /></a><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><br /><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><img alt="Vintage Blonde" height="400" src="https://farm3.staticflickr.com/2238/2383265467_9fd991ce4d_b.jpg" width="300" /><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /><br />
</span><br />
<a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/8587276517/in/photolist-FkEt8a-rsCrZg-rGML4N-rK6hxM-rsuSEd-rsvBaU-rsvZg9-ncKQPN-e5Q38F-bvKBUA-7Q4pqg-7gqVoE-7gmYHz-7gmYp8-4zHivS-F6dXPq-Eb9Zm6-EcNYg9-qN6r9J-e5VFv7-9yu57N-9yr5tk" nbsp="" title="It's Chihuahua Bunny season!"><img alt="It's Chihuahua Bunny season!" height="509" src="https://farm9.staticflickr.com/8085/8587276517_a85265d78e_z.jpg" width="640" /></a><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/7106635359/in/photolist-bPZn6R-q5S2yH-qjruaH-q35ncs-be8F8e-q34CfV-6RBkT8-sX6fN-5S7ZJw-bB5HQL-qjCgcg-q34RCL-pn2RGg-qrEEm6-S4vij-qiz7Cf-qgUQVv-qacLBX-qrANYG-qasi1c-q4i3xQ-pnvC5G-qjzm3m-pnSMvT-qhmvLm-qnd5J9-q4iMN7-qgUPzK-qkLYqd-qnhe1K-qrG87V-qafeRk-qaqQMV-qpnV2A-pnFNwx-qkRahD-qpzSoq-pn2T6D-q4siwi-qrucoK-pnKbrD-qjCCqi-q2nAJr-qaQ8j7-q4q2Pc-qsj1Lh-q34eC8-puT6no-qhhrwH-qrAxyy" nbsp="" title="scuba floyd"><img alt="scuba floyd" height="640" src="https://farm8.staticflickr.com/7083/7106635359_33d7b506a9_b.jpg" width="507" /></a><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/6819197983/in/photolist-boAaZ2-bPZn2r-9Roc5p" nbsp="" title="butterfloyd"><img alt="butterfloyd" height="512" src="https://farm8.staticflickr.com/7032/6819197983_4bece92efd_b.jpg" width="640" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br />
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Floyd's <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/albums/72157594263627615" target="_blank">Greetings from Floyd Street</a> series was featured on the <a href="http://blog.flickr.net/en/2007/07/31/greetings-from-floyd-st/"><span style="color: blue;">Flickr blog</span></a> in July of 2007. In 2008 he
also appeared on the cover of MTV's industry magazine, "Sticky"
and was featured a full-length article in the May 2013 issue of the Chinese
"Outdoor" magazine. From 2010-2015 Floyd and his cohort Ivan were
poster models for <i>Hair of the Dog</i>, an
annual animal rescue benefit in Florida. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5XtaB7iWKSY9SHErUehSUK9D_L-ZreX8C1T1CKUUWstCRzHdqHp-78F8PI5MivcMOmzNojvizqBuX1KanpmXXzHt45hIvUYVhlGoHeBrkN6kx9mYJwOZt1Gq9DzDByFNNxMRzokMftQ/s1600/hair+of+the+dog+.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1092" data-original-width="1600" height="435" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5XtaB7iWKSY9SHErUehSUK9D_L-ZreX8C1T1CKUUWstCRzHdqHp-78F8PI5MivcMOmzNojvizqBuX1KanpmXXzHt45hIvUYVhlGoHeBrkN6kx9mYJwOZt1Gq9DzDByFNNxMRzokMftQ/s640/hair+of+the+dog+.jpg" width="640" /></a><br /><br />His entire life Floyd was in the public eye, beginning with his random puppy appearance on the local KNAZ-TV NBC news, and bookended in his final summer when he appeared as part of the second letter "A" in Clarkdale’s award-winning "town hall selfie" in 2017. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9T2su-akmm_a6TWIXlW-Wg5QzdterY0UvbbkoxVOKdAvELGP6wZaR9jisvWNvD3AuFnm2AahZpFJLaCVvBUovfuDmEwxobPGtWB0EWAR4Ko9659Zv7C6NjuI-ab0G3ymc8-6qjCew7Q/s1600/clarkdale+town+hall+selfie.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="404" data-original-width="720" height="356" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9T2su-akmm_a6TWIXlW-Wg5QzdterY0UvbbkoxVOKdAvELGP6wZaR9jisvWNvD3AuFnm2AahZpFJLaCVvBUovfuDmEwxobPGtWB0EWAR4Ko9659Zv7C6NjuI-ab0G3ymc8-6qjCew7Q/s640/clarkdale+town+hall+selfie.jpg" width="640" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><u><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p></o:p></span></u></b></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><b style="font-size: medium;"><u><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Greetings from Floyd Street</span></u></b><br />Despite his tiny size, Floyd didn't get
carted around like some pint-sized prince. <br />He scampered up rocky trails and
floated down rivers. He was a gnarly wilderness Chihuahua.<br /><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/231068316/in/photolist-itVTuK-mqhyu-mqkQw-bJ8GgF-bvdUVW-bvdTLj-bvdUZN-bHTa4X" nbsp="" title="Greetings from Floyd Street"><img alt="Greetings from Floyd Street" height="417" src="https://farm1.staticflickr.com/73/231068316_9734beb40e_z.jpg?zz=1" width="640" /></a><br /><br />
He walked. He hiked. He traveled by plane, boat, bike, raft and rails. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">He rode on the
backs of vintage fire trucks, and hid quietly under the table at Waffle
House. <br />He shivered in snow and subzero and sizzled in summer deserts. <br /><br /><br />He rode the Southshore Line train and was stuffed under airplane seats in a carrying case. He took a ship to Catalina Island, walked the sidewalks of Chicago, rode Pittsburgh's Monongahela Incline and
stood outside the White House. Once Floyd strolled completely across the island
of Key West from one side the the other, leaving behind a wake of
smiles. He looked out over oceans and stood atop mountains. In the
end, the thing that probably most defines the life of Floyd is his travels.</span><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/13413342113/in/photolist-UPhr8C-KP5X4D-KLinhy-mrhTic-ei7QE2-9yr5tk-9yu57N-8EkadY-7iYeEj-6AK7hR-4EoQjt-V51nuv-6KsJNf-2bRgRw-2bRgT3" nbsp="" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;" title="simon and floyd and schwinn"><img alt="simon and floyd and schwinn" height="500" src="https://farm4.staticflickr.com/3756/13413342113_ec8e641f1c_b.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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<a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/8694524862/in/photolist-UFhiUu-VXofy6-Kv9RTU-GgZykv-GMkDV1-uGcAV8-vAJNsW-uFNwh6-vh41qm-priMih-eUQyGD-efiHk5-efiHf7-aj3NKs-ak4XTC-ak4Y93-8zRSPx-7xeK3z-6B3Wxi-4bKZr6" nbsp="" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="ellen and floyd and a hop knotch i.p.a."><img alt="ellen and floyd and a hop knotch i.p.a." height="640" src="https://farm9.staticflickr.com/8393/8694524862_fdd556167e_b.jpg" width="424" /></a></div>
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<a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/15395073023/in/photolist-pspLRv-q7BL31-q4JkWr-ph23D4-pdLNhC-onJLtR-o8HkwB-nR1Fpg-o3Uo4t-nmA9y4-EAKxhb-E2RDjc-ChFvAS-CdivTA-ASQRCU-AeoiYQ-zVapwJ-uFNwh6-rzut7k-nQZYHt-myjYhB-m7X8ww-m3Agvc-kn3vVx-jqGfbJ-jnD1sz-jnHtvf-jcXtnb-jcV9oG-iPLeW6-iB4EtW-hjTxwn-h9a6k9-fwRGHc-f9Kc8K-f9XhJs-efiHk5-efcZ3F-e84Lf9-e41xMT-e41xTK-dVDJAF-dUUbiJ-e12eFA-dP3VxG-dNXLHa-dNXDRB-dP3Q4w-dEc7Z6-dutjtN" nbsp="" title="chad and floyd at our camp site"><img alt="chad and floyd at our camp site" height="640" src="https://farm8.staticflickr.com/7521/15395073023_2dc484a53a_b.jpg" width="505" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br />
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/8694524862/in/photolist-UFhiUu-VXofy6-Kv9RTU-GgZykv-GMkDV1-uGcAV8-vAJNsW-uFNwh6-vh41qm-priMih-eUQyGD-efiHk5-efiHf7-aj3NKs-ak4XTC-ak4Y93-8zRSPx-7xeK3z-6B3Wxi-4bKZr6" nbsp="" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="ellen and floyd and a hop knotch i.p.a."><br /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script></span></div>
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<a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/9287953989/in/photolist-f9Kc8K-f9ZiDC-f9K44r-f9JZUB-f9Z9Jh-f9K52F-f9ZmpC-f9Zbso-f9YJuY-f9JvFx-f9YHHy-f9JsaZ-f9YKhw-f9Ywjb-f9Yv7Q-f9Yvwf-f9YmPE-f9YvQQ-f9YkXN-f9J1PK-f9J3Hk-f9Y7yG-f9HY2k-f9J4Kz-f9Yfwf-f9HQLX-f9Y53q-f9YcGE-f9Ydf7-f9Y4hG-f9J2KT-f9HSU6-f9J5Gn-f9HRcD-f9HZec-f9XYry-f9XR2y-f9XLHW-f9Y1ms-f9XQcJ-f9XVCU-f9HK3H-f9XQyY-f9XPjh-f9XTzh-f9HE2F-f9HwXZ-f9Y2Gw-f9HLET-f9XNSq" nbsp="" title="utah colorado border hovenweep ellen floyd hazel"><img alt="utah colorado border hovenweep ellen floyd hazel" height="640" src="https://farm3.staticflickr.com/2869/9287953989_4a3f09499a_b.jpg" width="424" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br />
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">When Floyd was just a puppy the Roberts
started the "Greetings from Floyd Street" photo series. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">At that time
the project didn't yet have a name. It was not until they encountered
a street called Floyd in Seligman, Arizona, that the title came about, but the basic concept never changed:<br /><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br />1. Find someplace awesome to take a photo
(scenic, historic, nostalgic or all of the above)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">2. Hold Floyd up high into the air in front of
this scene.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">3. Take a photo.<br /><br /><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/2614683062/in/photolist-Pu7CMb-aKaZgX-8f9H8T-88QgsD-7VjwHH-7UDENw-7UA48F-5swBcs-5swfPy-5srTaB-5swg2N-5srTdB-5seRYH-4vjc6Y-4vjc7L-4Z3Wbs-35oUXd-b8dqHT" nbsp="" title="Greetings from Floyd Street, the beginning..."><img alt="Greetings from Floyd Street, the beginning..." height="440" src="https://farm4.staticflickr.com/3019/2614683062_10e9d8dc7a_b.jpg" width="640" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br />These were officially the very first
"Greetings from Floyd Street" photos, taken at the Grand Canyon and
nearby Tusayan, AZ in September of 2003.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/1362450114/in/photolist-Pu7CMb-aKaZgX-8f9H8T-88QgsD-7VjwHH-7UDENw-7UA48F-5swBcs-5swfPy-5srTaB-5swg2N-5srTdB-5seRYH-4vjc6Y-4vjc7L-4Z3Wbs-35oUXd-b8dqHT" nbsp="" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;" title="very first photo in the series.... sept. 2003"><img alt="very first photo in the series.... sept. 2003" height="411" src="https://farm2.staticflickr.com/1209/1362450114_705997c697_b.jpg" width="640" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br />
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<a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/6645207661/in/photolist-Pu7CMb-aKaZgX-8f9H8T-88QgsD-7VjwHH-7UDENw-7UA48F-5swBcs-5swfPy-5srTaB-5swg2N-5srTdB-5seRYH-4vjc6Y-4vjc7L-4Z3Wbs-35oUXd-b8dqHT" nbsp="" title="Puppy Floyd and Fred Flintstone- 2003"><img alt="Puppy Floyd and Fred Flintstone- 2003" height="432" src="https://farm8.staticflickr.com/7018/6645207661_a087ff4ecd_b.jpg" width="640" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br />
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“From that moment on, any time there was an
important landmark, kitschy sign or any other point of interest anywhere even
remotely near us, we voyaged there with Floyd in hand and took his photo," said Ellen Roberts, “Any place of significance in my life I took Floyd's photo
there.The house where Chad and I met in DeKalb,
Illinois. All of my alma maters. Every ocean, lake, river. As many
favorite landmarks, national parks, monuments and vintage neon signs as possible.Any crazy roadside statue? We were there! Any
cool old motel? Check us in! We sought the real, the authentic, the weird and
wonderful.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br /><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/36363485505/in/photolist-XpjnmD-Xpjy2M-mqjVJ" nbsp="" title="re-enactment of Floyd + Inyo Face, 12 years later"><img alt="re-enactment of Floyd + Inyo Face, 12 years later" height="425" src="https://farm5.staticflickr.com/4359/36363485505_db60f21c58_b.jpg" width="640" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br />In his 14 years Floyd visited most of the National Parks and Monuments of the Four Corners. He stood at the shores of the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans, Gulf of Mexico, Sea of Cortez and the Great Lakes. He cruised Highway 1 along the Big Sur Coast and Highway 1 through the Florida Keys. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">He climbed mountains in the Rockies and sank below sea level in the low deserts of Southern California. <br /><br />
As residents of Northern Arizona, Route 66 was a popular destination. Per Roberts,
“We just naturally found ourselves on the old ‘Mother Road’ often, in both
directions.”<span style="display: none; mso-hide: all;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijFBK5LGHh4yCBav8hcYsTCuce0HDzDOQVwffBek3uNB55x52J-1_77qCq5GdySnwBSP-CgSgQqy1jyqcsQdKoMeUDkpoegPvNYTSfdluHcr5LzpR7AJ3Za9_5R9N37kvcbEDoerhUTQ/s1600/greetings+from+floyd+street+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1092" data-original-width="1600" height="435" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijFBK5LGHh4yCBav8hcYsTCuce0HDzDOQVwffBek3uNB55x52J-1_77qCq5GdySnwBSP-CgSgQqy1jyqcsQdKoMeUDkpoegPvNYTSfdluHcr5LzpR7AJ3Za9_5R9N37kvcbEDoerhUTQ/s640/greetings+from+floyd+street+2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">A series of Floyd images was first shown to the public at the annual <a href="http://madeinclarkdale.org/index.php/home/" target="_blank">Made in Clarkdale</a> art show in December of 2006. <br /><br /><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/361679132/in/photolist-xXGB7-sY3F5-nWF3P-hmFAi6" nbsp="" title="Made In Clarkdale Dec. 1st, 2006"><img alt="Made In Clarkdale Dec. 1st, 2006" height="372" src="https://farm1.staticflickr.com/146/361679132_0a96f95b25_z.jpg?zz=1" width="640" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /> </span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Also in 2006, Roberts joined Flickr, a photo storage
and sharing website, posting a few years of Floyd travel pics on her </span><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo" style="font-size: 12pt;" target="_blank">photostream</a><span style="font-size: 12pt;">.
Before everyone was </span><i style="font-size: 12pt;">Instagram -ing</i><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> and sharing photos on smart phones every second, Flickr was one of the only photography communities, a very dynamic and
active site. In July of 2007, a few years into the project, Flickr
featured the </span><i style="font-size: 12pt;">Greetings from Floyd Street </i><span style="font-size: 12pt;">series on their </span><a href="http://blog.flickr.net/en/2007/07/31/greetings-from-floyd-st/" style="font-size: 12pt;" target="_blank">blog</a><span style="font-size: 12pt;">
and Floyd went "viral”..</span><br />
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<a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/37772991334/in/photolist-ZxSskh-mqhyp" nbsp="" style="font-size: 12pt;" title="Greetings from Floyd Street featured in Flickrblog July 31 2007"><img alt="Greetings from Floyd Street featured in Flickrblog July 31 2007" height="633" src="https://farm5.staticflickr.com/4547/37772991334_6a176a6761_b.jpg" width="640" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script> <br />
<br />
<a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/11474244913/in/photolist-itWvfR" nbsp="" title="floyd in las vegas- 2006 (rescan of earlier lo-res scan)"><img alt="floyd in las vegas- 2006 (rescan of earlier lo-res scan)" height="429" src="https://farm6.staticflickr.com/5517/11474244913_3345619a72_z.jpg" width="640" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br />
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Floyd was famous! </span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">This internet renown
spurred on the project even farther. “We continued taking far flung detours to
capture all of the places on our photo wish list, " said Roberts, "Floyd went with on all of our
family road trips, and via airplane more than once with me solo including
several 'Mother-Daughter' adventures my Mom and I took-- to
Wisconsin, Pittsburgh, North Carolina, Washington DC. With Chad's folks residing in
Florida we took Floyd there a few times, capturing all of the local highlights
to add to the photo series."<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/21070268071/in/photolist-y6UCBZ" nbsp="" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="Greetings from Floyd Street"><img alt="Greetings from Floyd Street" height="360" src="https://farm6.staticflickr.com/5712/21070268071_08bf713366.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Click through to rockin' slide show featuring a few of Floyd's favorite adventures</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="color: blue;"><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script></span></span>In 2013, Floyd's fame went international with a feature article in China's "Outdoor Magazine."<br />
<br />
<a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/8704148397/in/photolist-fYnVgK-egfMZW-ega356" nbsp="" title="outdoor exploration -special "travel with pets" issue- page 1"><img alt="outdoor exploration -special "travel with pets" issue- page 1" height="640" src="https://farm9.staticflickr.com/8407/8704148397_43cea7772b_b.jpg" width="499" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br />
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<a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/8705271732/in/photolist-6PtoxX-fYnVgK-egfMZW-ega356-9MSfzz-3KW2oS" nbsp="" title="outdoor exploration -special "travel with pets" issue- page 2"><img alt="outdoor exploration -special "travel with pets" issue- page 2" height="640" src="https://farm9.staticflickr.com/8396/8705271732_c6d4d601fb_b.jpg" width="511" /> </a><br />
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<h2 class="editable meta-field photo-desc ">
<i><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">(Very loosely and comically translated via mdbg.net free Chinese to English translator…)</span></span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">SPECIAL ISSUE special report</span></span></span></i></h2>
<i><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Mini travel companions </span></span></span></i><br />
<h2 class="editable meta-field photo-desc ">
<i><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Traveling
with a Chihuahua Ellen Jo Roberts wrote Ellen Arizona travel
enthusiasts, The owner of three dogs and four cats, pets Travel was her
way of life.</span></span></span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Freud The Chihuahua weighs five pounds, their
footprints Two States, all 13 States, with dozens of Flights flight
experience, travel For ten years.</span></span></span></i></h2>
<i><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">In 2003, Freud in central Arizona Valley Ranch was born. </span></span></span></i><br />
<h2 class="editable meta-field photo-desc ">
<i><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The first time I saw it, It is a skinny little dog babies, and its brother Sisters huddled together inside a cardboard box. </span></span></span></i><i><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">At
that time, Floyd and the brothers and sisters nails and sold at
a local horse feed Store, quietly waiting for someone to buy them out. </span></span></span></i><br />
<br />
<i><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Accidentally
glimpses on the side "selling a Chihuahua" this ad Immediately after
comes a 180 degree turn around and went straight into the home Shop.
<br /><br />Then, we are proud to welcome the first official adoption Dog: Chihuahua
in a handsome, lively. Although Then my family and has a number of
other "members", but Freud always come first. Although size Petite,Is it
personality the most. Due to the Petite, so travel with it is very
convenient. Every time we holiday adventure, whether short or long,Floyd
will be included in the travel plan. With pets Holiday made the journey
more enjoyable, but it is also accompanied by more Difficulties. We
plan travel destinations at all times consider the dogs. Whether
motel, campground Or hikes were accepted and became the pet</span></span></span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The
dog. When selecting a flight, to book in advance in order to Fellow pet
set aside special locations-usually you can reset The portable suitcase
under the seat.</span></span></span></i></h2>
<i><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">10 journey, from the West Coast to the East
Coast, from the most Deep valleys to the highest peak, have left a Freud
Footprint. It slept in a cabin, slept on the ship,Slept in the tent,
spend the farmhouse, lived in rice Shop. Of course, never slept less in
our lap, count Not clear it has on our legs how sleepy were hit.It
visited small towns also visited the large city. In the 66th,Road and
highway has left his story, 1th. It Had entered the Atlantic, Pacific,
and Mexico Bay, and the Great Lakes. It several times along
the Mississippi River. It United States extreme South-Florida from Key
West Miami 160 kilometers away. <br /><br />As typical of Mexico, and Floyd visited
it "South of the border", visited the province of Sonora. And if With
the typical American, Floyd, Washington, DC,Get a picture before the
White House. <br /><br />Travel with Freud and For many years, we have come to feel
one thing: no matter where And as long as we're together, Floyd, right at
home Warm no matter how difficult the road, how climate and evil Worse,
how hard the journey, as long as we're together, Florida Lloyd is like
playing happy. Whenever we prevail Travel Pack is always quietly from
time to time found it Myself curled up in my suitcase, or lying in my On
a pile of clothes, as if saying: "don't you leave me". <br /><br />”Floyd is so
lovely that it appears always Caused a lot of people knees. But they do
not know, Freud Real is a fierce little guy. "Furious five pounds Meat,
"this is my alias for it. <br />If there is a stranger When it get too close,
it will be upset. First the nose Slight wrinkling, looming soon
thereafter revealing its tip The tooth. If a stranger talking continued,
Freud would open Started screaming, and then full attack! <br /><br />But and are
familiar with When they were together, it changes back to the loyalty
charm small Love. And with another dog, it's like a foreign Ambassador,
other dogs is like spending time with it. <br /><br />And Freud's many years of
experience tells me: no matter In what city, people see cute little
Chihuahua Will smile and say hello to it. Floyd is now living in
Arizona, accompany it There are other pet friend, Ivan, a Boston dog; Hazell, a mixed Chihuahua; Ned, a lively House cat. If the foot
is not so much small thing, without it Brings the various "surprises",
not those out all Yes ... ... Our lives may be able to lighten up. But
If that were true, home will be much better than now Joy. Perhaps one
day in the future, Freud would pass across the The sea, appears in the
familiar small-town streets."</span></span></span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">
</span></span></i><br />
<a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/9826995085/in/photolist-6PtoxX-fYnVgK-egfMZW-ega356-9MSfzz-3KW2oS" nbsp="" title="don't be bashful, famous guy"><img alt="don't be bashful, famous guy" height="431" src="https://farm8.staticflickr.com/7340/9826995085_4bfb361020_b.jpg" width="640" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br />
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="color: blue;"></span></span><br />
In 2015, The Greetings from Floyd Street story was featured on the <a href="https://www.visitarizona.com/planning/local-word/greetings-from-floyd-street-travels-with-an-arizona-chihuahua" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">Arizona Office of Tourism's Travel Blog</span></a>, with the subtitle: "<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">Furry friends make for excellent travel companions, and this local shares her insider tips for bringing pets on Arizona adventu</span><span style="background-color: white;">res."</span></span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGitgGqJdl0fBZz9ddW-eJy1r7k7gCbwWltqyGxfyZCE3XnUSxS1tFJvP_q82p4u4nZ4D8WQ1lP6c4NLymezlW1DKgpKDVHSVhJFKwFQo6NsacVqMekt77GFu39Xwud9owGqAq73ijAw/s1600/aot+gftl.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" border="0" data-original-height="928" data-original-width="1314" height="450" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGitgGqJdl0fBZz9ddW-eJy1r7k7gCbwWltqyGxfyZCE3XnUSxS1tFJvP_q82p4u4nZ4D8WQ1lP6c4NLymezlW1DKgpKDVHSVhJFKwFQo6NsacVqMekt77GFu39Xwud9owGqAq73ijAw/s640/aot+gftl.png" title="" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">https://www.visitarizona.com/planning/local-word/greetings-from-floyd-street-travels-with-an-arizona-chihuahua </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="color: blue;"><br /><br />
</span><b><u>Personal Life<br />
</u></b> </span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/2275651939/in/photolist-75Srgx-Us5VS-wk2pMY-7F6rhj-5Yfb5U-5iHTEq-4t6j3g-3fg3L8" nbsp="" title="floyd is vicious!"><img alt="floyd is vicious!" height="424" src="https://farm3.staticflickr.com/2052/2275651939_dfaa3a9112_b.jpg" width="640" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /> </span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Well known locally for his vicious demeanor, Floyd was often times rude
to strange humans but always kind to strange animals.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/1474387887/in/photolist-KSNN8h-wk2pMY-qCrwLo-dR4dth-XwR4Sq-6PaJNR-3fhC9P" nbsp="" title="beware!"><img alt="beware!" height="500" src="https://farm2.staticflickr.com/1026/1474387887_0e24a6c996.jpg" width="500" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">After one unsuccessful attempt at breeding to pass on his AKC genes, Floyd was
neutered in 2005. Just as well, due to a few defective DNA strands. For one,
Floyd was mostly </span><i style="font-size: 12pt;">monorchid</i><span style="font-size: 12pt;">, which means he only had one testicle. "He did actually have two testicles, though only one dropped properly,",
explained Roberts, "Also, his teeth were a mess. He got 11 of them pulled
because they were baby teeth with nothing underneath."</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br />
<a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/10602445253/in/photolist-ArKDou-nZqZ2n-h9UiAe-ega356-egfMZW-dNXMHH-chjayh-bYbZzG-aAvR7E-avku83-9jKhmb-8zRSPx-8kfXjD-7omAGY-7nS2LQ-75Srgx-66Meke-4t6j3g-337dnv" nbsp="" title="i am thinking...about biting you."><img alt="i am thinking...about biting you." height="408" src="https://farm4.staticflickr.com/3689/10602445253_eda11b7b9f_b.jpg" width="640" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br />
<br />Per Roberts, "Floyd liked to ride on my shoulders in the car. In general he was a bit aloof and not overly affectionate, but he liked to snuggle right up next to me under the blankets at night. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">He liked to sit on laps. He liked to lick noses sometimes. He also liked to lick all of the other dog's ears. What a weirdo."<br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br /></span>
<a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/4633939507/in/photolist-84u9LK-94Aeut-8uZ5ud-94Fabo-j697fk-76ttAJ-bvdUVW-pkCT9w-Ur2B8J-2MRSt7-TKEbpk-9umZaW-52vPUp-aKaZgX-X2qjsG-bH5rdp-5W4isR-dNXLHa-pspLRv-z7xUK-4BjrH8-S9FsRx-7iYeEq-9b8EuE-dj6Urh-e84Lf9-d6cgDw-RPqa5W-6XdqG2-e12eFA-aVxKvR-H4gyFh-crJkPu-qrFEPC-nmA9y4-TUFXF1-bqfzwe-5swBcs-7iYyao-dUfKEH-ddvXmH-dUfHor-h9a6k9-Xmsvvh-iB4EtW-58zL2j-aj3NKs-hjTxwn-7y96Uc-f9XhJs" nbsp="" title="floyd loves chad"><img alt="floyd loves chad" height="424" src="https://farm5.staticflickr.com/4065/4633939507_67a4e364e8_z.jpg" width="640" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br />
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"></span><br />
<a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/4511886292/in/photolist-XG8pwA-LizPyn-CdivTA-pQJo6k-fyReq7-edf5Um-byUKXh-bn3Qua-bkAh34-aKaZgX-awN3XA-96Yxvw-7TPtoQ-7SGAAY-77MnWN-77cQ9T-6SEvTm-4bofDF-3VHPMD-A2cAT-zW9Uv-mqkw8-rZhJb" nbsp="" title="saturday night in the yard"><img alt="saturday night in the yard" height="518" src="https://farm3.staticflickr.com/2313/4511886292_08e669935f_z.jpg" width="640" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Though generally unfriendly to most people, he did have some favorite human friends.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Here's a shout-out to some of those rare individuals, Floyd's favorite folks: </span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/729630554/in/photolist-Y6jXUY-XLThSw-XCFREP-W3JHD5-V2gycj-W76Szv-W76Si8-S2cMrN-TiGDxa-PhSdfo-LG9fey-JKxTSN-JKxU3N-nj4LZu-f2qF9S-e6MG1t-cvWc7q-crJk6h-b3QHvt-ax3JWH-9qwaZS-8g7idp-7LLW13-6AK7hR-8x961R-5nJ1Nm-5iHTEq-54dK1M-4t6j3k-573c4y-4cFwCV-27txK9" nbsp="" title="blue tongue and dog"><img alt="blue tongue and dog" height="240" src="https://farm2.staticflickr.com/1299/729630554_518fdbccfe_b.jpg" width="320" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"> <a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/2275694611/in/photolist-qfH9ND-jr1VaB-aXr5pn-7iYyao-6R7K2D-4G3sX5-4G3sZu-4t6j3c-4t6wHZ-4cFwCV" nbsp="" title="hey-hey-hey...."><img alt="hey-hey-hey...." height="265" src="https://farm3.staticflickr.com/2413/2275694611_d57bba1020_b.jpg" width="400" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/3901389343/in/photolist-7mYiDL-75Srgx-6Yo6HM-6WKD8v-6R7K2D-4VpUHB-4VfrsU-4tZWtk-2X8rt1-28xsQx-a9apCi-a9aph2-a9av4T-a9dCSB-a9g6Ly-a9auTM-a9ddjU-a9dcXs-a9apoR-a9apwP-a9dds1-a9eYj4-a9ddF9-a9auVK-a9dcMW-a9dcHC-a9dcUo-a9dcWf-a9aoWr-a9dcRC-a9dcBo-a9aoN2-a9aoRB-a9aoyX-afpoFA-afmAd2-9jKhmb-88QgsD-6Xhq7h-6XhqMq-6WJ7Fi-6WJ7QV-6WMLFW-6W1FDs-6azWkt-6azV7T-5phshQ-5opjtD-4VbcVH-4Z3Wbs" nbsp="" title="road mom and floyd"><img alt="road mom and floyd" height="215" src="https://farm4.staticflickr.com/3529/3901389343_7b9a0aa4dd_b.jpg" width="320" /></a></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br /><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/6590737919/in/photolist-dP45W5-dP4c33-dP45ps-dNXGYn-b3pfLp-b3peNK-b3peUX-b3vtPD-a9auKi-a9diXU-a9diDf-6Xhq7h-6XhqMq-6qSNV4-4ZUWh4-4vjc6Y-mqjVS" nbsp="" title="mary at old homosassa with floyd and ivan"></a><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/6592265465/in/album-72157623264841571/" nbsp="" title="mom and dad at rainbow springs"><img alt="mom and dad at rainbow springs" height="400" src="https://farm8.staticflickr.com/7151/6592265465_feeb6573bb_b.jpg" width="264" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /><br /><br />He howled when the phone rang.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br /><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/384995005/in/photolist-rzffdt-rhNdPi-qCfHLy-rdHzZB-rfsoAJ-q7dfWk-q6yg8M-qnMv4K-q6pbGm-q3bQsz-pnQRPB-qhjqgN-pnQKni-qfH9ND-priPBL-priMih-pa9huM-pa89zc-pa8NBU-aKaZgX-afmA48-afmA8M-afpoAs-afpoBw-afmAac-afpoFA-afmAd2-afpoJs-a5M9E2-94C5PR-94Fabo-8SAYLb-7qnwTB-6azV7T-q6wESe-qkErf3-qnWmcc-q4JkWr-pRGcWz-ph23D4-p17UDb-9ZvC64-9ZvBYP-8BJ2jz-94C5LR-8wQTGc-8u3bX9-6zMexA-A2cAQ-A2cAV" nbsp="" title="chihuahua and yellow phone"><img alt="chihuahua and yellow phone" height="300" src="https://farm1.staticflickr.com/183/384995005_b67fc19b2c_b.jpg" width="400" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /><br />
Most of his life he ranged between 5-6 lbs.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">He would try to drink your beer if given the
chance.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Floyd
sniffed the hand of Ellen Roberts not long after she was able to pet the famous
First Dog, Bo Obama, during a 2011 tour of the White House.</span></span></div>
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<a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/6000144786/in/photolist-egfMZW-ega356-drxaUr-c9AvfS-ajiah9-ajeqVq-abN2iR-abN2RB-abQT89-a9eYj4-a9dCSB-a9gsFL-a9auRn-a9auPH-a9auVK-a9dj1b-a9auTM-5yBQG7/" nbsp="" title="Floyd in Washington DC"><img alt="Floyd in Washington DC" height="424" src="https://farm7.staticflickr.com/6149/6000144786_95b1627d3d_b.jpg" width="640" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br />
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">He was the ring-bearer at the wedding of James
Dahlberg and Carla Carton in 2007 on the rooftop of Murphy's Bleachers overlooking Wrigley Field.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/1920644985/in/photolist-3VHNQH-3VN44o-3FMVFC-3FMUBd-3FHw5e-3FMV1E-3FHxpn-3FHyD8-3FMWGf-3FHwzg-3FMTJj-3FHzr2-3FHvAX-3FHuZr-3FMRb1-3FHtr6-3EA9Pu-3EvKec-3FMQDC-3FKJjD-3FQ5Sj-3EvKvr-3EvMqB-3EvNKT-3EvJLD-3EvM5V-3EvNqP-3EA7Qs-3EA8du-3EvMQP-3EA7tf-3EyYsW-3Euyv2-3EyWFJ-3Euybe-3EuAN6-3EyX9A-3EyYVf-3EuBfD-3EyUvd-3EyVZL-2X8rt1-3EyU3G-3EtKuB-3Ey5e3-3EsDLZ-3Ex1CC-3ED5vJ-3EyKWM-3EyMhz" nbsp="" title="waveland 1"><img alt="waveland 1" height="632" src="https://farm3.staticflickr.com/2120/1920644985_31fe1fb9b6_b.jpg" width="640" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /><o:p></o:p></span>
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"></span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br />A lifelong fan of the Chicago Cubs, Floyd was fortunate to be alive during the sweet 2016 season when the Cubs won the World Series for the first time since 1908.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br /><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/1492019886/in/album-72157594263627615/" nbsp="" title="Lift the curse, Floyd!"><img alt="Lift the curse, Floyd!" height="425" src="https://farm2.staticflickr.com/1102/1492019886_4596aadbee_z.jpg?zz=1" width="640" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script></span><br />
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<b><u>Nicknames <o:p></o:p></u></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Floydie Doodle, Five Pounds of Fury (in China this translated to "Five Pounds of Vicious Meat"), The Tiny
Jumping Peanut (thus dubbed by the children of the Clarkdale Park).<br /><br />
</span><br />
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<b><u>Death <o:p></o:p></u></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Floyd died on September
1st, 2017 at age 14, preceded in death by his beloved Boston Terrier buddy, Ivan who died in July 2017.
With a "hitch in his giddyup" for more than a year, Floyd was arthritic
and his eyes were glazed blue with age. Floyd weighed in at a bony 4 lbs. in his final week. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">"He'd been unable to get up the front steps for a while, and his slow, crooked gait while on walks had prompted
complete strangers to point at him and ask, 'What's wrong with HIM?',"
said Roberts, </span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">"We'd shrug and say, 'he's old?', and they'd say,
"OhhHHHhhhh. He's OLD."</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br />In late August of 2017, a few weeks after returning from his
final road trip to the Oregon coast, Floyd became a bit paralyzed all at once
and had stopped eating and drinking. He wasn't in any pain. <br /><br />“He woke up that
Friday morning, had a couple of funny hiccups, looked at us and peacefully died
in our arms. It was the perfect, graceful departure from a long-life
well-lived," said Roberts,"He checked out on his own. He woke up and died. It was kind of beautiful, really."<br /><br /> <a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/36553786690/in/photolist-X3jx13-XG8pmL-X2qjsG-XG8Hgy-X8f2dS-VY2jag-VUJc7m-W77nuQ-W77mWA-VUJchm-VUJczL-TRrjUL-V8XWCg-UWjR3e-SxkSeg-6PHCHF-33bKUd" nbsp="" title="goodbye old friend"><img alt="goodbye old friend" height="400" src="https://farm5.staticflickr.com/4344/36553786690_7d02575fdb_z.jpg" width="266" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /><br /><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/36608065440/in/photolist-X9yp72-XLVUs5-Y7RPhL" nbsp="" title="beloved chihuahua"><img alt="beloved chihuahua" height="425" src="https://farm5.staticflickr.com/4422/36608065440_4e0181c669_b.jpg" width="640" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br />
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"></span>He was buried near his best friend, Ivan.<br />
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br /><u><b>Legacy</b></u></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Our lives have been forever changed by Floyd.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">He will live on forever in the artwork and images he inspired.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Floyd, cheers to your next adventure, friend. Your spirit is always with us. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">We will never forget you.<br /><br /><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/12848346593/in/photolist-VByp28-L3SHDJ-npG6vS-kzn8P8-fwRGHc-c8w6vq-aJiEuv-9B8jxQ-8X83Ng-8WRbFB-WvDEhJ-W6nZGk-poLRHz-kArgRN-jiHKgr-a9gxWJ-9EDEJD-9EneDT-9paxJZ-8LsEeX" nbsp="" title="floyd portrait 2010"><img alt="floyd portrait 2010" height="640" src="https://farm4.staticflickr.com/3834/12848346593_775d016f32_b.jpg" width="513" /> </a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><br /><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/5185040816/in/photolist-fwRGHc-dzhQAy-c8w6vq-c7Urjj-bZcm8Q-bo93fp-bi116D-aPi2Rt-9EDEJD-aJiEuv-9EneDT-9B8jxQ-9vrKyq-7JhMtX-8ZjCns-8X83Ng-8WRbFB-8UbFZs-8LsEeX-8JCAxs-8JhCuK-8HpCzk-7HFAv3-7BMzgx-7kjn8y-7dsQkY-75Srgx-73vBGQ-6DDwz8-6zMexA-6dkt6v-6aE4CU-69KCdL-68vtWN-67bZpg-66RHp7-65einN-5Jv73Q-4PtAi2-47Yk2v-DJCQn-DJZ1N-5ga5mL-2X8rVJ-DJzh7-xXGB7-p8SKy-p8QZx-mqfq4-a4Cf6x" nbsp="" title="el chihuahuacito"><img alt="el chihuahuacito" height="640" src="https://farm2.staticflickr.com/1345/5185040816_83e005327c_b.jpg" width="511" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /><br /><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/7455355342/in/photolist-iajcj1-eccyRA-dr1JFQ-doBnvu-dgeUbm-desVEQ-d6LpNw-cWUiiY-cUMbeo-cJix1E-cyvQDw-cnTvhJ-cmNDAE-cmNDuY-cmNDpm-bYbZzG-bNFCxg-aJ5Rar-9RUw13-9wyqkb-9pasTi-8zUZVS-8zRSPx-8kEWyf-7ZE2aW-7TLeZ2-7BWqZo-75Srgx-6XdrCv-5opjtD-5nJ1Nm-4tZWtk-47YjRk-47YjPz-47Yk2v-483nxf-47YjYX-8HGp2V-7WFYTG-7sDFUC-78Fodo-77cQ9T-76ttAJ-6Nom4S-6eZ5Z9-4y7YoF-A2cAL-hmEw6c-hmF8WQ-35oUXd" nbsp="" title="9 floyds for 9 years"><img alt="9 floyds for 9 years" height="505" src="https://farm9.staticflickr.com/8025/7455355342_1bc1f81856_b.jpg" width="640" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size: small;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/7317198264/in/album-72157645155032250/" nbsp="" title="clarkdale chihuahua club"><img alt="clarkdale chihuahua club" height="640" src="https://farm8.staticflickr.com/7076/7317198264_115d5693fc_z.jpg" width="608" /></a></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/5836300257/in/photolist-dujzQc-ccKfR1-4VpUHB-eAQ9Uk-5pdbwZ-5phsms-eATfVN-9ZvNSX-bVo1d8-ihG6Ut-eAQ5F6-bVo27M-ftAsU4-9TMkqC-9bSSTn-cSCtBj-9bVTww-aKaZgX-cSCnxs-ftAp1x-5pdbkg-9bSPyr-cSCfof-ftQB1s-eAQ6kt-ftAgye-ftApaR-8FUGfN-9bSP9Z-92hJv5-ftAhir-7MTFqB-945Usk-9TJyJv-92eBPp-5qdYA4-ftQJud-5qiiGU-ftQBVY-ftQFCh-6Fp4au-ftQDPb-6PtoxF-BvNL3Z-9TJw6T-92uX8b-9TMkBY-cSC45E-7mYiDL-92rQB2" nbsp="" title="hair of the dog 2011"><img alt="hair of the dog 2011" height="640" src="https://farm6.staticflickr.com/5314/5836300257_3d52584952_b.jpg" width="450" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /><br /><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/13916527644/in/photolist-ncKQPN-cSCnxs-5pdbkg-483nxf-5pdbhX-otqJic-4CARtK-74JQ8W-cSCfof-Us5VS-ftAgye-4Vu8wf-9bSSTn-rXMbF-fo2kE9-aKaZgX-4VfrsU-Usz2D-8WK6rL-6dLrr8-9bVTww-ftAp1x-4Vu8Fj-ncKUf5-47YjYX-cNEpAs-dCcB6o-rZh4e-9bSPyr-2JdArc-6xsLcG-69KBZS-bVnq2E-rYGQCA-rXKLK-ftQB1s-4d2N7F-oyRAVW-5f5sT6-eAQ6kt-7Q4pqg-8FUGfN-ncKQ3N-ftApaR-qvz3NT-K2kH88-5PXK24-4Jebk3-7MTFqB-qySbzC" nbsp="" title="Happy Easter from the Chihuahuabunnies"><img alt="Happy Easter from the Chihuahuabunnies" height="640" src="https://farm8.staticflickr.com/7154/13916527644_0824601f76_b.jpg" width="483" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /><br /><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script></span><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/427028965/in/photolist-WvDEhJ-W6nZGk-VByp28-L3SHDJ-poLRHz-npG6vS-kArgRN-kzn8P8-jiHKgr-fwRGHc-c8w6vq-aJiEuv-a9gxWJ-9EDEJD-9EneDT-9B8jxQ-9paxJZ-8X83Ng-8WRbFB-8LsEeX-8HpCzk-8dxhFk-8JCAxs-8JhCuK-7BMzgx-7kjn8y-75Srgx-6R7K2D-6zMexA-69KCdL-47Yk2v-DJCQn-xXGB7-p8SKy-mqfq4-7dsQkY-6JRHMQ-6DDwz8-6aE4CU-68vtWN-67bZpg-66RHp7-5Jv73Q-5ga5mL-557RKv-DJzh7-DJZ1N-p8QZx" nbsp="" title="dogs and dog portrait"><img alt="dogs and dog portrait" src="https://farm1.staticflickr.com/167/427028965_3d6b61e7fc_b.jpg" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br />
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ellen johttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04887301124107160459noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4456691912227510426.post-16970328808464886952017-08-11T17:01:00.001-07:002017-08-15T13:19:24.282-07:00Our Journey With Mast Cell Tumors: a Very Dear Boston Terrier<script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></scri<a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/4810971177/in/photolist-8kxBmW-8k8u7V-4oXt3z" title="chad and dogs at pfeiffer beach, sunset 7-14"><img src="https://farm5.staticflickr.com/4099/4810971177_4a52c519a5_b.jpg" width="1024" height="679" alt="chad and dogs at pfeiffer beach, sunset 7-14"></a><script async src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js" charset="utf-8"></script><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/4541530547/in/photolist-7VjwNP-7UDENw-aKaZgX-8f9H8T-88QgsD-7VnLUW-7UA48F-5swBDb-5swg2N-5swfPy-5srTdB-5srTaB" nbsp="" title="ivan at the south rim- argus"><img alt="ivan at the south rim- argus" height="424" src="https://farm5.staticflickr.com/4027/4541530547_87f9fd0fdb_b.jpg" width="640" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /><br /><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Ivan.</span></span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">July 2, 2004 - July 14, 2017</span></strong><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Perhaps the story of Ivan's mast cell tumor, which eventually ended his life, can provide assistance or comfort to another pet owner going through the same thing. In the past year I learned more about mast cell tumors than I ever wanted to know. Essentially an allergy in tumor form, it's comprised of mast cells, the body's natural response to allergens, but in such an abundant and overzealous state that it's a bit berserk and prone to becoming cancerous. It's a sadly common condition in Boston Terriers like Ivan, as well as fellow smush-faced breeds like Boxers, Pugs and Bulldogs. Mast cell tumours also occur frequently in Beagles, Weimeraners and Golden Retrievers. I even know folks with Ferrets who've had to deal with this issue.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">They're a pretty common problem. They aren't always a death sentence. In fact, most times they're not. Frequently they can easily be surgically removed, and frequently they don't spread. As the vet put it, "Mast cell tumors are always malignant, but not always metastasizing."</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/399020390/in/album-72157594263644432/" nbsp="" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="Googie Ghosttown Ivan"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><img alt="Googie Ghosttown Ivan" height="443" src="https://farm1.staticflickr.com/149/399020390_1079574b36_o.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Route 66, Amboy, California, February 2007</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">What a sweet, handsome silly-head. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Ivan was a prince among dogs, so full of pure joy and great gusto. Boston Terriers are known as the "American Gentleman" since they come ready-equipped with a tuxedo.</span><br />
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<a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/231092838/in/album-72157594263644432/" title="Big Face Ivan"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><img alt="Big Face Ivan" height="496" src="https://farm1.staticflickr.com/60/231092838_91a6c0775c_o.jpg" width="640" /></span></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The Ivan story begins when I was a kid.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">My dream of owning a Boston Terrier was inspired by a vintage cast-iron doorstop my grandma owned. Such a handsome, 1930s -lookin' pup. Tough, unwavering, that little metal Boston Terrier. It enchanted me. It wasn't until I was 32 years old that the dream became a reality. I saw a "Boston Terrier Pups" sign hanging somewhere in my view, the kind with the pull-off phone numbers. I called and soon after was headed out to Rimrock, AZ about 20 miles from home, to meet a little male pudgeball called "Winston", the last unclaimed puppy from the litter born July 2nd, 2004. He was not quite 8 weeks old and not quite ready to leave his mom. We paid a deposit for him and upon returning from a trip to Chicago we picked him up in a dentist parking lot in Cottonwood.</span><br />
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<a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/231061103/in/album-72157594263644432/" title="ivan as a puppy, sept. 2004"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><img alt="ivan as a puppy, sept. 2004" height="480" src="https://farm1.staticflickr.com/82/231061103_0df3bc36ca_o.jpg" width="640" /> </span></a><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">He was bashful at first, but it wasn't long before he was in his full, exuberant goofball glory.</span><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/411941698/in/album-72157594263644432/" nbsp="" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="Yosemite Ivan"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><img alt="Yosemite Ivan" height="364" src="https://farm1.staticflickr.com/124/411941698_b3e701e768_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Yosemite National Park, California, 2005</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Ivan was a great traveler and joined us on all of our adventures. He was an excellent road tripper, hiker and kayak passenger. He even flew on a plane and went through airport security. He aced it all. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">He went to Utah, California, Florida, Texas, New Mexico, Colorado. He hiked canyons, scaled mountains and cooled down in rivers, He got salty on seashores. He slept in tents and cabins and strange motels in odd towns. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"></span><br />
<script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Wherever we went, Ivan always attracted admirers because he was such handsome, beautifully brindley, well-built and friendly guy. And there is such affection for Boston Terriers from folks who have had one in their past, or just have a genuine fondness for them as a breed. I mean, we thought our Chihuahua Floyd was the cutest thing ever but he was <i>chopped liver</i> next to Ivan when it came to outside admirers. People didn't give Floyd a second glance. It was Ivan they wanted to touch and talk about.</span><br />
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<script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/593547202/in/photolist-UF3VHJ-Tsen61-Tsem77-TsemTC-TsemBL-UuqfnN-RxDDeN-egfMZW-ega356-d9a2vw-bi7rK8-azj7CK-awuJYQ-9b5wMc-92uX8b-92rQB2-8ZgAbg-8KVFBS-8GXfsn-7aDS7C-3mpKv1-Us5Us-7xeK3X" nbsp="" title="dogs on table 2"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><img alt="dogs on table 2" height="640" src="https://farm2.staticflickr.com/1007/593547202_d8ae29e8ef_b.jpg" width="480" /></span></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/427096850/in/photolist-WvDEhJ-WvDEDf-VByp28-Tz9LrX-T7BfLo-U9ZCiW-TMykuu-UaY56e-UaY5be-UbZMJw-UfyTM8-T1YDrg-Uafrg9-Uafrpf-SZfZzn-U2ghCi-UafrJJ-TYWdys-Uc6Exz-L3SHDJ-c8w6vq-stpSoz-pn2dW5-kJufWg-dzhQAy-aJiEuv-75Srgx-6R7K2D-2X8rVJ-DJZ1N-kArhzw-aSxif8-9Jp1bZ-9rZz9m-9paxJZ-9bTM49-8SUqDG-8NHyhn-6JRHMQ-6GfJwR-6DDwz8-67ge8y-67bZnM-66RHp7-5Jv73Q-DJCQn-DJzh7-p8SKy-p8QZx-a4Ces4" nbsp="" title="dogs and their portrait2"><img alt="dogs and their portrait2" height="640" src="https://farm1.staticflickr.com/188/427096850_f5c2b12109_b.jpg" width="480" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">For a long time it was just Ivan and Floyd, one year his senior.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">And a big cat. Clyde for a long time. Then when Clyde died there was Ned.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"></span><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/6027406962/in/photolist-jjBSEu-jiKEt5-jiMTjJ-jiKkzn-iZptuP-iZqh2Y-iLjEa7-hjTxwn-egfMZW-ega356-dj6UnW-cZRJ7Y-cSiEZE-ccKftu-cbkaDd-c8w6vq-bZk5tj-bsJawN-bEk5W8-bwjNC2-btNqZR-btNsZZ-bkAhfH-bdVWwv-b7u3KX-amHHJ4-amBCLp-ad8tom-abC36G-abd6rD-9YDtnc-9YGocU-9YDv36-9Y6ntV-9Y6msF-9Y9hMW-9Y1QUV-9TMgMs-9RobQV-9QHsQ7-9PDkc2-9PDkqF-9PGctj-argp56-9Roccn-9RobGV-9NCB4Q-9PDjUt-9NzMGM-9NCzom" nbsp="" title="all the pets on a tuesday afternoon"><img alt="all the pets on a tuesday afternoon" height="167" src="https://farm7.staticflickr.com/6149/6027406962_6c6a5cd532_b.jpg" width="400" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">But as far as canines, it was that way for almost 10 years, that dynamic duo, Floyd and Ivan.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">In 2013 Hazel the Chiweenie showed up. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/6878179051/in/photolist-jjBSEu-jiKEt5-jiMTjJ-jiKkzn-iZptuP-iZqh2Y-iLjEa7-hjTxwn-egfMZW-ega356-dj6UnW-cZRJ7Y-cSiEZE-ccKftu-cbkaDd-c8w6vq-bZk5tj-bsJawN-bEk5W8-bwjNC2-btNqZR-btNsZZ-bkAhfH-bdVWwv-b7u3KX-amHHJ4-amBCLp-ad8tom-abC36G-abd6rD-9YDtnc-9YGocU-9YDv36-9Y6ntV-9Y6msF-9Y9hMW-9Y1QUV-9TMgMs-9RobQV-9QHsQ7-9PDkc2-9PDkqF-9PGctj-argp56-9Roccn-9RobGV-9NCB4Q-9PDjUt-9NzMGM-9NCzom" nbsp="" title="group portrait"><img alt="group portrait" height="323" src="https://farm8.staticflickr.com/7209/6878179051_28019f6679_b.jpg" width="400" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script> </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">And in early 2014 there was suddenly Simon. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/13370992473/in/photolist-RYMiUc-owJL5y-oPcLpU-owKcyY-mnxQdZ-mkesQM-mkdVtk-mkebP8-mke8vK-mkdHEP-mkeedB-kxc2e8-kxc1PR-kxe7sj-ktHudn-kn3vVx-jH4FnW-jAGXQx-jAEiyY-jqZNF8" nbsp="" title="size order"><img alt="size order" height="400" src="https://farm8.staticflickr.com/7115/13370992473_0f892aab1b_b.jpg" width="318" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script> </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">We were a four dog family! (?) ! It was a bit nuts sometimes. But, they were a pack and loved each other. Even with the tangle of leashes and everyone sometimes going in different directions, all four went with us everywhere. We planned ahead, picking pet-friendly trails, lodging and locations, paying extra surcharges when necessary. </span><br />
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<a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/21607463796/in/photolist-yVnUcf-y2KHBq-xRwJHA-sR9sy5-s6AtYF-ruFrM5-rcC4Qe-r8CKCZ-r6y7WC-pQJo6k-qFxKfz-qFsELG-qFwSoV-q7BL31-q7J5RR-qnMv4K-q6pbGm-q6wESe-qkErf3-qnWmcc-Eyi6FG-CwcYva-C55wrG-BwHTFc-B8KuMA-AtKibF-A1scZT-zBKMRa-zjfpPo-zjmUCn-zfLk7d-zhEgg6-vU83Yi-sr9ffW-rPbg7k-s4kth7-s6CtW6-s6zhYM-rwVt5B-q4JkWr-q34Whq-pRGcWz-q7tjqC-psZWrb-ph23D4-p3B4HW-p17UDb-p9UBiv-oSgTZy-p7yqUN" nbsp="" title="dogs on the mountain"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"></span></a><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/14501477606/in/photolist-p4Cuth-pdLNhC-oWiTAa-pbLLaN-o8naRC-nR1Fpg-o6rS4Y-dutjtN-d6cg6Y-d6chyG-d6cgSb-d6c5ns-d6bR3U-d6LsYs" nbsp="" title="6 24 my new favorite group photo of the dogs - at colorado river along utah highway 128"><img alt="6 24 my new favorite group photo of the dogs - at colorado river along utah highway 128" height="640" src="https://farm3.staticflickr.com/2922/14501477606_4e54f18985_b.jpg" width="508" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script> </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Ivan was such a good sport. He never complained about anything.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">And he put up with all of my artistic shenanigans!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/5836840824/in/photolist-9TMkqC-9TJyJv-ftAmMK-ftApaR-ftAqMD-ftAhir-ftQJud-ftArtt-ftQFCh-ftQB1s-ftAtjt-ftAp1x-ftAiZx-ftQGEN-ftQDPb-ftQBVY-92eBPp-92hJv5-8GXgrZ-8GXg1Z-7mUpS6-7mYiDL-4VpUHB-4VbcVH-4bog8c-4bofDF-47YjTa-3qu8aG-33bKvo-33bKzA-337d9g-Usz48-UrbpP-rZh46-rZhJn-rZggv-8GXgat-7mUpKr-7gqV57-5QWQvF-5LE1Wi-5ppzrL-5g5K7i-4Vq1w4-4CARyv-4p2Ffo-4p2Abm-4oXt3p-4p2Ab5-4bog5V" nbsp="" title="hair of dog 2"><img alt="hair of dog 2" height="640" src="https://farm6.staticflickr.com/5318/5836840824_2298fc32c4_b.jpg" width="425" /></a></span><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> </span><br />
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<a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/6649581201/in/photolist-cSCnxs-b8AQPK-aKaZgX-UrbpP-dB5pR3-cSYuyY-cSCfof-cSCtBj-cpJGuU-b8APL8-9ZvNSX-8GXgrZ-8GXfsn-8GXg1Z-8GXgat-8FUGfN-4o6aEX-Usz48" nbsp="" title="blue-eyed ivan"><img alt="blue-eyed ivan" height="640" src="https://farm8.staticflickr.com/7164/6649581201_f3f8d09ec3_b.jpg" width="410" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Ivan's only flaw, perhaps, was his immediate dislike for strange dogs. He got really intense and a bit aggressive towards other canines he didn't know. In the park this was sometimes a problem. We had to hold him back and pull him away. He never bit or hurt anyone, but sometimes the look on his face just seemed a lil' deranged.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">However, he did have dog pals beyond our home, like our friend's Pointer mix, Loosey who he had a crush on, and our buddy's Miniature Pinscher, Harrison, whom he adored. </span><br />
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<a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/1280272536/in/photolist-dr1JFQ-bztC6B-btaq1K-btaq7T-btaqcB-bsfvQK-bsfvFM-bqfzwe-ad8tom-acpgYz-a45Nf1-9v7pQ8-9mX6WU-9bSPyr-9bVTww-9bSSTn-9bSP9Z-9aNMmR-88gveZ-7XP6K4-7SFAuE-7RaEmu-7QUzoL-7QUzoE-7QUzoy-7kuA75-7iYyao-71D2Tr-71H3BU-71H3rE-6R7K2D-6PHCHF-6JRHMQ-6DczGL-6D8rLk-6BCRRT-4K13Pm-4JVNJX-4JE5xk-4JdNgC-4CivKk-2X8Jqq-LTfDX-DSKfF-DSKfu-wEXQX-wEXQT-rZhJn-rZhJb-rZggv" nbsp="" title="pals 4 sure"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><img alt="pals 4 sure" height="480" src="https://farm2.staticflickr.com/1411/1280272536_76cf2d1642_b.jpg" width="640" /> </span></a><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">He also knew and loved Chad's folks' dogs, Blossom and Mary.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">So it wasn't really a "problem". Once everyone calmed down about that crazy face he made (us included) and they got to know each other a little he was fine. </span><br />
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<a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/8407709021/in/photolist-SJq42r-dNXGYn-b3peNK-b3peUX" nbsp="" title="all 5 dogs!"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><img alt="all 5 dogs!" height="518" src="https://farm9.staticflickr.com/8217/8407709021_ccc42944b5_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Really, any dog who ever met Ivan ended up adoring him. He was everyone's favorite.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Case in point: when puppy Simon showed up it was obvious early on who he considered his favorite big brother.</span><br />
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<a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/13344721613/in/photolist-LcN1rm-KkqEDo-pg6mFo-mkdHEP-mkebP8-mke8vK/" nbsp="" title="sleepy time close up"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><img alt="sleepy time close up" height="424" src="https://farm3.staticflickr.com/2864/13344721613_e8d3e70a2d_b.jpg" width="640" /> </span></a><br />
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<a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/23859570234/in/photolist-CmowYA-x9U7Mq-uGcAV8-vAJNsW-uFNwh6-vC61e1-vmcdsa-vCDjuZ-nUmoZT-dNXDpt-4WRwMV-4t66fc-4qvnWZ-4oXt3p-wxiLuz-dNX9sH" nbsp="" title="ivan and simon in the kayak"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><img alt="ivan and simon in the kayak" height="640" src="https://farm2.staticflickr.com/1568/23859570234_0aed4f0279_b.jpg" width="412" /></span></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">And now to the sad part of the story.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The mast cell situation can be perhaps traced back to Ivan's funny
allergies. He was the only dog I ever knew to
get hives! The first time it happened he came in from the yard with his
entire body covered in odd bumps and his face all swollen. We don't know
what he got into but took
him to the vet immediately. Benadryl soothed him back to normalcy. He
got hives maybe two or three times over the years and we were never sure
what set them off-- a bloom, a bug bite, something he ate? It happened in places other than home, too, notably once along a road trip home from Utah. There was no common thread or clue. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Around the time Ivan turned 12, in the summer of 2016, we noticed a new thing --a swelling on his belly, like a big mosquito bite in the crease next to his penis. It seemed to ebb in size and color. Some days it got bigger and redder and other days it receded some and looked benign, like a fatty lump. When he was a young dog he'd had a benign tumor removed from his belly so we thought it might be more of that.</span><br />
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<a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/31109762641/in/photolist-WtDTP5-Wx3a1p-WJFJkp-W9nbks-Wx3bTx-WtDXy9-W9nbFh-VstsTE-WF5ZCC-WF5YQA-W9ncao-Wx39ix-Wx3aX4-WtDYvu-W76MEa-V2gqRh-V58ynM-W76Lrt-VHr4aN-V2grJ9-VH4m9o-V1E3Cm-U5y2s5-V58zRZ-Ut8Xeg-Ut8XjB-T84f7f-T2rgtL-U9h93H-TRoskG-TvkQEL-Pp4E1a-Pp4EzX-UB1Enw-UnHL8N-SKs5b9-SNegvF-TN1uCu-U2VDcT-TN1H6f" nbsp="" title="mast cell tumor"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><img alt="mast cell tumor" height="300" src="https://farm6.staticflickr.com/5689/31109762641_037a621a8c_b.jpg" width="400" /></span></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The tumor's strange and changing behavior indicated to the vet it might be a mast cell tumor, so she aspirated it with a long needle and microscopic view of the cells confirmed it. I had read a bit about this condition already since mast cell tumors are so common in Boston Terriers, so I wasn't surprised.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Due to the delicate location of the tumor, adjacent to all of the complicated structure of his penis, his "advanced age" and his bracheocephalic (smushed) face, Ivan was not a great candidate for surgery.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The young vet suggested instead we "manage" the tumor with a daily dose of antihistamines. Our other option was to drive two hours to Phoenix to consult with a surgeon we didn't know and spend thousands of dollars to have this elderly dog operated on. This did not sound like a great option for Ivan or for us.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">He got Benadryl once a day at lunch, and sometimes two if the tumor was flaring up. It usually helped. We had no idea what the histamines in the tumor were responding to or what his actual allergies were. He already had been on a grain-free diet for a long time, but we also stopped feeding him any fish as that supposedly aggravates mast cell tumors. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">We also added Vitamin C powder (Ester-C capsules broken open over his food), and gave him CBD oil. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">For a couple of seasons the tumor was more or less "managed". </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">His regimen of supplements and Benadryl mostly worked.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Until it didn't.</span><br />
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<a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/34033084542/in/photolist-WtDTP5-Wx3a1p-WJFJkp-W9nbks-Wx3bTx-WtDXy9-W9nbFh-VstsTE-WF5ZCC-WF5YQA-W9ncao-Wx39ix-Wx3aX4-WtDYvu-W76MEa-V2gqRh-V58ynM-W76Lrt-VHr4aN-V2grJ9-VH4m9o-V1E3Cm-U5y2s5-V58zRZ-Ut8Xeg-Ut8XjB-T84f7f-T2rgtL-U9h93H-TRoskG-TvkQEL-Pp4E1a-Pp4EzX-UB1Enw-UnHL8N-SKs5b9-SNegvF-TN1uCu-U2VDcT-TN1H6f" nbsp="" title="mast cell tumor- very aggravated"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><img alt="mast cell tumor- very aggravated" height="640" src="https://farm3.staticflickr.com/2852/34033084542_e8a04fb55b_b.jpg" width="480" /> </span></a><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">In April of 2017 the tumor got very angry very quickly, in a matter of a day or two, and swelled up far beyond what it ever had before.Ivan, normally never one to complain, seemed miserable and in pain. We were in a panic for him.</span><br />
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<a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/33806244400/in/photolist-WtDTP5-Wx3a1p-WJFJkp-W9nbks-Wx3bTx-WtDXy9-W9nbFh-VstsTE-WF5ZCC-WF5YQA-W9ncao-Wx39ix-Wx3aX4-WtDYvu-W76MEa-V2gqRh-V58ynM-W76Lrt-VHr4aN-V2grJ9-VH4m9o-V1E3Cm-U5y2s5-V58zRZ-Ut8Xeg-Ut8XjB-T84f7f-T2rgtL-U9h93H-TRoskG-TvkQEL-Pp4E1a-Pp4EzX-UB1Enw-UnHL8N-SKs5b9-SNegvF-TN1uCu-U2VDcT-TN1H6f" nbsp="" title="sad ivan, malignant mast cell tumor"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><img alt="sad ivan, malignant mast cell tumor" height="640" src="https://farm3.staticflickr.com/2896/33806244400_23afb732c8_b.jpg" width="480" /></span></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">At the vet I asked for a second opinion from a more senior vet in the office--the one who had removed the benign tumor from his belly during his younger years but had since been relegated to taking over all of the "big dog" patients, leaving the small dogs to the younger vet.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The older vet agreed to "debulk" the tumor in early May, with no promises that the mast cells hadn't already extended beyond the area she could surgically remove. Truly clear margins were not an option for him due to the location, which risked him becoming mutilated and/or incontinent. If the tumor was a medium or high grade in pathology it was fairly certain it would return, and possibly even angrier than before.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">For Ivan we thought it was worth the gamble to give him a better quality of life. Whether he survived the surgery or not, the situation as it was was unsustainable. Having the mass removed was moving forward. It was doing <i>something</i>...anything...and we had huge hopes it would help him.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">As it was, we were dealing with this tumor's wildly fluctuating behavior daily. Ivan had to wear a cone almost all the time to stop licking the tumor (aggravating it worse). Steroids were prescribed and that kicked the swelling down some prior to surgery. The thing about steroids though is they're kinda terrible. <br />1. They cause acidic stomach which meant he had to add a Pepcid-type med to his regimen (at a different time than the steroid which the antacid negated the absorption of) and <br />2. They also made him so thirsty, causing him to drink and piss a ton. A few times he peed his bed while sleeping, or peed on the living room carpet during the night. We'd wake up to him looking so forlorn and humiliated by this. It's against a good dog's nature to urinate in the house, even when he can't control it. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> </span><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/33490441534/in/photolist-WtDTP5-Wx3a1p-WJFJkp-W9nbks-Wx3bTx-WtDXy9-W9nbFh-VstsTE-WF5ZCC-WF5YQA-W9ncao-Wx39ix-Wx3aX4-WtDYvu-W76MEa-V2gqRh-V58ynM-W76Lrt-VHr4aN-V2grJ9-VH4m9o-V1E3Cm-U5y2s5-V58zRZ-Ut8Xeg-Ut8XjB-T84f7f-T2rgtL-U9h93H-TRoskG-TvkQEL-Pp4E1a-Pp4EzX-UB1Enw-UnHL8N-SKs5b9-SNegvF-TN1uCu-U2VDcT-TN1H6f" nbsp="" title="Ivan, 4/28/17"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><img alt="Ivan, 4/28/17" height="426" src="https://farm5.staticflickr.com/4192/33490441534_77ba6fccb4_b.jpg" width="640" /> </span></a><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">We put all of our positive energy into his operation. I started a fund for the surgery (nearly $700) selling 14 Ivan portraits for $50 each. I sold them faster than I could paint them because our friends and family are awesome. Everyone wanted an Ivan portrait. Everyone wanted to contribute to the good energy and power of positivity. I ended up painting more than 14 Ivan portraits due to the demand. His surgery was more than paid for. It was quite overwhelming the emotional and financial support we got from folks for Ivan.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Focusing all of my extra energy on making the paintings was also a good distraction during the weeks leading up to the operation.</span><br />
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<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/albums/72157683100005085"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Ivan Art Fundraiser </span></a></div>
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Ivan's surgery was bumped up a week, from May 15th to May 8th and all went well. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">He survived the anesthesia and came home looking very strong! The doc did a great job. Neat surgical scar, tidy and quiet. We were so happy. </span><br />
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</span><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/34181995630/in/photolist-VH4m9o-V1E3Cm-Tz9LrX-U5xEqf-U5y2s5-U5y2Aw-Ut8Xeg-UB1Enw-Ut8XjB-UnHL8N-T84f7f-Uc6Exz-U9h93H-crw9w9-crw9q7-5V557p-2skSZr" nbsp="" title="Post surgery- Ivan"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><img alt="Post surgery- Ivan" height="426" src="https://farm5.staticflickr.com/4176/34181995630_aed128f2d9_k.jpg" width="640" /></span></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">About a week after the surgery the vet called with the pathology report on the tumor. As she suspected, it was very "high grade" (which though sounds good is exactly the opposite in this case) and chances were probable it would return. This was very disappointing to hear, though not unexpected. It did take the wind out of my sails a bit. I tried not to think of it, as if ignoring it I could somehow "block" the tumor from coming back. "It's not gonna come back," I thought conjuring up all of the positive energy we had created and had been shared with us, like a force field.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Ivan got his stitches removed and no longer had to wear a cone. He was like a normal dog again....for now. We loved on him and hugged him and brought him along on all of our adventures as usual, as if every day could be his last. (This in fact, is how we loved him every day of his life so it was truly nothing different).</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">He had a good month or so before I noticed odd swelling stirring up again in the vicinity of where his tumor had been. Along the scar line there was now a small constellation of lumps, like an island chain. Like Hawaii. No longer one specific lump, or one specific side, it was now the entire area. It seemed to flare up and then subside. Flare and subside. It was the same but now somehow worse. We got a supply of steroids for him to use when it swelled and they worked for a little bit.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Until they didn't. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I continued to research options. There is some new drug called Palladia that we can't even get in the Verde Valley yet, but besides that its track record was pretty bad. Like 10% chance of success. I did lots of reading. We even tried something I found recommended online from a holistic vet: a mix of Asian herbs called <i>Xue Fu Zhu Yu Tang</i>, or "Drive out Stasis in the Mansion of Blood Decoction."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Hell, why not? I mean it was like Andy Kaufman in <i>Man on the Moon</i>-- we tried conventional medicine, alternative medicine, holistic medicine, surgery, supplements. We gave it our all. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">But in the end, we failed Ivan. We tried not to second-guess ourselves too much, but I wondered if we'd been more aggressive about surgery early on might we have nipped it in time?<br /></span><br />
<a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/35251538142/in/photolist-Ut8XjB-VH4m9o-T84f7f-U5y2s5-U5y2Aw-V1E3Cm-U9h93H-VstsTE-VHr4aN-W9nbFh-TvkQEL-Uc6Exz-WF5YQA-UnHL8N-T2rgtL-Pp4EzX" nbsp="" title="ivan- post surgery follow up"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><img alt="ivan- post surgery follow up" height="480" src="https://farm5.staticflickr.com/4245/35251538142_1004e739f3_k.jpg" width="640" /></span></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The tumor indeed had come back and mutated into some big overall swellings surrounding his penis on both sides now. Back on the steroids, back with the cone on his head (though this time we got him a comfier "donut").</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">We called friends more than once to "say goodbye" but Ivan always made a comeback. We were hopeful. He wasn't ready to go yet. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">However, over the course of his final month the "good periods" got shorter and farther apart.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The swelling, discomfort and painful times got longer and closer together. The steroids no longer worked. Then came the day when he had a hard time walking up the front steps and the look on his face just told me it was time for this to be over.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/35086496084/in/photolist-WjdCw7-W9nbFh-VstsTE-Wx35zv-Wx35r4-WtDNqj-Wx35Yr-Wx36ma-WJFDnD-Wx36QX-WF5Rpy-Wx38e8-Wx37ya-WF5TTS-WF5SXo-Wx3bTx-WtDXy9-WJFJkp-W9nbks-VsttXo" nbsp="" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="Last photos of Ivan"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><img alt="Last photos of Ivan" height="426" src="https://farm5.staticflickr.com/4318/35086496084_e4b0d8e2ec_k.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Ivan's last day</span></td></tr>
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<script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Tears poured from our reddened faces as we took Ivan out to the car to head to the vet to have him euthanized. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Chad, standing by the driver's door, reluctant to get into the car, since that meant we would drive away to Ivan's death: "I'm not ready to let him go."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"Me neither!", I cried, while trying to be strong and logical (and convince myself),"We'll never be ready! But he's suffering now and we have to let him go." </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The vet said we were the best kind of pet owners because we made the right choice for what was best for Ivan even though it was such a difficult choice. She said she knew how much we loved him. She knew what a sweet dog he was and said everyone at the office loved him. Still, her kind words, while a soothing balm for our sadness didn't make it any easier for us. He was very subdued, like he knew, like he was ready to go, laying across my lap. First they installed a needle port in a vein. The doctor administered the first shot, one to relax him, followed by the shot that would end his life. I was holding him when his heart stopped beating.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">We wrapped him up and a cloth bag we'd brought and held him close as we exited the side door of the veterinarian's office. As soon as we reached the fresh air outdoors we were suddenly nearly incapacitated in bottomless sobs, the kind coming from some deep place below the earth. Oh Ivan. Poor Ivan. He didn't deserve to go out like this. He deserved to die like an old dog-- blind, arthritic, bony, slow, tired, and in his sleep. Ivan, though technically elderly and in his twilight years, never acted like an old dog. He was youthful and rambunctious until the tumor took that from him.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/34572913206/in/album-72157594263644432/" nbsp="" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="ivan 2007 ivan 2017"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><img alt="ivan 2007 ivan 2017" height="448" src="https://farm5.staticflickr.com/4177/34572913206_6be86a5ce7_k.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Ivan 2007 and 2017</span></td></tr>
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<script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">For many Ivan was the best and most beloved of all of our dogs. Friends adored him. Chad's mother said, "Ivan was always my favorite." We were so outnumbered by pets it didn't fully occur to me the huge place he took in our lives and home until he was gone. His burly personality and energy was a balancing force to three tiny dogs and one big cat he shared our house with. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">When we got home from the vet we put Ivan's body on a sheet in the yard so the other dogs could say goodbye. Floyd, age 14, lingered the longest. He and Ivan had been together a long time. Then we buried Ivan under a eucalyptus tree in the side yard, in a hole we'd dug a month earlier and in a cantaloupe box we'd saved to use as his coffin. We buried him with his food bowl, a favorite toy, and one of Chad's favorite photos of him, snapped at Yosemite National Park when he was 1 year old.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">For days after he died I was still looking for him, still grabbing his leash by mistake, at lunchtime still looking for the 4th dog food bowl before realizing I'd buried his bowl with him and he was gone.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Sometimes it felt like he was still there, bursting out of the front door.</span><br />
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<a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/35926293395/in/album-72157594263644432/" nbsp="" title="rest in peace, Ivan"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><img alt="rest in peace, Ivan" height="426" src="https://farm5.staticflickr.com/4298/35926293395_448b2bce2c_k.jpg" width="640" /></span></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"></span><br />
<script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129;">But, every day he seemed a bit further away. I thought, "Soon every last hair of his will be vacuumed up and all of the dog blankets will be washed clean of his scent". </span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129;">The dynamic of our home shifted without him. His absence casts quite a shadow. </span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129;">In general our happy memories keep us buoyant. I try not to think about it too much, but every now and then something random strikes. A sweet photo or a poignant memory or the realization Ivan is not standing in front of my breakfast plate watching me eat as he did every morning before I left for work. </span></span><br />
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">He also used to use his front foot to tap me like a button when he wanted attention, pawing at me as if to say, "Hey. Love me."</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I certainly can't listen to the Flaming Lips "Do You Realize?" without completely losing it. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica";"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"<em>Do you realize?</em></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><em>That everyone you know</em></span><br />
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><em>Someday </em></span><br />
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><em>Will die.</em></span><br />
<em><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica";">And instead saying all of those goodbyes,</span></span></em><br />
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><em>Let them know you realize that life goes fast.</em></span><br />
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><em>It's hard to make the good things last.</em></span><br />
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><em>You realize the sun duddn't go down.</em></span><br />
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><em>It's just an illusion caused by the world</em></span><br />
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><em>Spinning 'round."</em></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Ivan, you were the best. What a good boy. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Always game for any adventure, always the first one to bound out the front door, always staring at me while I ate my breakfast. Always wanting to snuggle next to me while I watched the news. Snoring, farting, Howling at the phone when it rang. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">We are so happy to have had you in our lives for so many years.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I am sorry we couldn't give you more time, friend. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">But the years we had, oh what fun they were. 13 is a long time. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Your legend will live on forever, in the memories and photos and paintings that make us smile. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">When we were going through this with Ivan I wished I had found a story like this, about someone's journey with this horrible health problem. It would have provided me some comfort and perspective during the struggle. That's why I wrote this. To help provide some comfort to another suffering pet-owner. I hope this story helped you, dear reader. </span><br />
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<a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/35921723336/in/album-72157594263644432/" nbsp="" title="13 years of Ivan"><img alt="13 years of Ivan" height="640" src="https://farm5.staticflickr.com/4297/35921723336_117cbef06c_k.jpg" width="480" /></a><br />
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<a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/24275593625/in/photolist-SzG4SG-hjTxwn-c8w6vq-T8jjNi-PTipRV-CZ9LeF-jjBSEu-jiKEt5-jiMTjJ-jiKkzn-iZqh2Y-iZptuP-iLjEa7-ega356-egfMZW-dj6UnW-cZRJ7Y-cSiEZE-ccKftu-cbkaDd" nbsp="" title="ivan sox"><img alt="ivan sox" height="636" src="https://farm2.staticflickr.com/1550/24275593625_9bc8af6e3e_b.jpg" width="640" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br />
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ellen johttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04887301124107160459noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4456691912227510426.post-39813185362527397202017-08-11T09:44:00.000-07:002017-08-11T09:49:11.389-07:00Flagstaff to Chicago on the Southwest Chief: Part 1<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Riding the rails cross country is
somehow both familiar and completely foreign. Though the landscape may remind
you of road trips past, the tracks wander loose from highways and veer into the
unknown, through canyons, backyards and farm fields. And though many elements
are the same as airline or bus travel (cramped bathrooms and sloppy sinks,
sitting next to strangers, long hours and delays) a train trip is a completely
different animal; its own wild and romantic universe. </span></span><br />
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<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Amtrak’s Southwest Chief only tops about 60 mph
at its quickest, a speed ideal for humans to process, so the first few hours of the trip east
to Chicago is an easy preamble. I stretch out, decompress from the previous
night’s nervous arrival in downtown Flagstaff.</span></span><br />
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<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/18675974104/in/album-72157654567128119/" nbsp="" title="First leg of the train trip- Driving to Flagstaff, 50 miles."><img alt="First leg of the train trip- Driving to Flagstaff, 50 miles." height="360" src="https://farm1.staticflickr.com/502/18675974104_6598035614_b.jpg" width="640" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">It’s a scenic 62 mile drive in a
vintage yellow car from Clarkdale, anxious across a blazing hot summer valley and then calmingly cooler up the rim
into the high country. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Train #4 arrives from the west around 4:00am, when it’s
on time (which is seldom). Due to the wee hour and nerves about hitting an elk
in the dark or having a mechanical breakdown and missing my train, I drove up
the night before and lay my head in a tiny room at the Weatherford Hotel til
train time. Amtrak has a long term
parking , free, and a short walk from the depot in an unwatched, fenceless lot
behind a bus turnaround. We’ve lived in Flagstaff and know it tends to be full
of wandering weirdos especially during the summer season. I put faith in the
universe that a hobo won’t take up residence in my Karmann Ghia during the week
it’s left unattended, but it’s hard to walk away. I check the locks too many
times. I stop and gaze back to it as it gets smaller and smaller, with just a
street lamp to keep it company.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/19198975301/in/album-72157654567128119/" nbsp="" title="6-17- hotel weatherford long exposure- 24 seconds"><img alt="6-17- hotel weatherford long exposure- 24 seconds" height="640" src="https://farm1.staticflickr.com/418/19198975301_24a5e52043_b.jpg" width="510" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 19px; text-indent: 0px;">The Weatherford Hotel is a Flagstaff classic. Built in 1899, it exhibits so many wonderful historic features: tall ceilings, transom windows above the doors, comforting smells (reminding me of many old buildings I have known and loved), creaky staircases, lovely downtown vistas, wrap-around balcony, great location. I loved all of this. Flagstaff is a college town and the hotel and bar staff is young and friendly.</span><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 19px; text-indent: 0px;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 19px; text-indent: 0px;">I stayed one night in room 59, adjacent to the Zane Grey Ballroom. The management had warned me when I booked this room that though it was their most economical it was also potentially their noisiest. That said, the room wasn't noisy because of the Zane Grey Ballroom-- though that bar did slowly start to build to a crescendo around 11:00pm, it was a steady, flat din that didn't bother me. Mainly the room was noisy due to the Charlie's bar below. There was a thumping baseline of loud music and crowd sounds, though as customary in downtown Flag, the worst noise is people shouting on the streets til 2:00am. That's what happens everywhere in downtown Flagstaff. I worked at the Hotel Monte Vista up the street years ago and we received the same complaints from guests then. Young people having tipsy conversations at amplified volume on the sidewalks late at night. All of downtown is like that. There is no train noise to speak of, just loud humans shouting to each other. Despite the clatter and commotion outside the open summer window, the experience of spending a night at a classic hotel was not negateds. Eventually those bar folks do simmer down and stumble home. After 2:00am the streets grew quiet.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/18574748703/in/album-72157654567128119/" nbsp="" title="6-17 hotel monte vista neon- sx70"><img alt="6-17 hotel monte vista neon- sx70" height="640" src="https://farm1.staticflickr.com/378/18574748703_d6a817240c_b.jpg" width="550" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br style="background-color: white; line-height: 19px; text-indent: 0px;" /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 19px; text-indent: 0px;">Before bedtime I enjoyed a Lumberyard Red Ale (brewed just the other side of the tracks) on the balcony with some new friends, Flagstaff locals who invited me to sit and talk with them. Nice cool mountain breezes and fun conversation about changes in town we'd seen since the 1990s. </span></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 19px; text-indent: 0px;">The Weatherford is classic Flagstaff, a focal point for visitors and locals alike. </span><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 19px; text-indent: 0px;">I had fun hanging out at the Weatherford for one short summer night. It is a "real" place. And one beer, at 7,000 feet, is equivalent to 2 beers at 3,500 feet, my usual elevation. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 19px; text-indent: 0px;">Right to my head. </span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 19px; text-indent: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: #4a4a4a;"><span style="line-height: 19px;">At pre-dawn I gathered my gear for the short walk to the train depot, with my printed e-confirmation in hand. </span></span><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 19px;">The boarding procedure is kinda whack. Nobody checked my ID or suitcases at any point on this trip, which made me nervous in a TSA/Homeland Security kinda way. Sure it's a pendulum swing way back in the other direction from airport security-- I didn't have to get x-rayed or take my shoes off...but do they really know who is riding that train and what they're carrying with them? Seems like a serious security breach bound to happen.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 19px;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/18998847633/in/album-72157654567128119/" nbsp="" title="6-18 morning at flagstaff train station waiting for the southwest chief train 4 (late!)"><img alt="6-18 morning at flagstaff train station waiting for the southwest chief train 4 (late!)" height="412" src="https://farm1.staticflickr.com/311/18998847633_8e5156fd66_b.jpg" width="640" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The train is late by nearly two
hours and the sun is up by the time it arrives. Traveling solo I'm curious about how I'll be seated and the people I will meet. A few passengers exit, Flagstaff their destination, freeing up seats for the dozen or so travelers waiting track side. The conductor directs those heading to Chicago towards the rear of the train, the final car for the final destination of Train #4. They have a process, a shorthand, to keep track of passengers and departure points. People exiting in New Mexico and Colorado were seated more towards the front, Kansas and Missouri towards the middle and folks bound for the Windy City at the very end of the line. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/18736169648/in/album-72157654567128119/" nbsp="" title="My ride to Chicago"><img alt="My ride to Chicago" height="360" src="https://farm1.staticflickr.com/323/18736169648_1790693af7_b.jpg" width="640" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script></span><br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I was assigned a window seat next to a father traveling with his grade-school age sons. Kelly, a former Marine, an artist and sometime poet and rapper, rode Amtrak to California every summer to collect his sons for their annual summer visit to Berwyn, Illinois. They were on the second leg of the trip, back to Chicagoland. </span><o:p></o:p><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/18949290342/in/album-72157654567128119/" nbsp="" title="Trey, Kelly and Jaden"><img alt="Trey, Kelly and Jaden" height="360" src="https://farm1.staticflickr.com/315/18949290342_693f2dfa17_b.jpg" width="640" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Handsome, polite and friendly, gentlemanly Kelly was the ideal person to be seated next to on a train ride, and I enjoyed talking with him for hours, til I developed a kink in my neck from looking sideways back at him in his aisle seat. His sons were seated across the aisle. Further up, a young bohemian mom traveling to Maine with her young daughter. </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; text-indent: 0.5in;">Behind us, a wacky older woman, chattering endlessly about her trip to the Kiwani Club national gathering in Indianapolis. She was both overly social as well as socially awkward, as she's lecture people on various topics or butt into or trample atop conversations already taking place.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; text-indent: 0.5in;">TO BE CONTINUED....</span></div>
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ellen johttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04887301124107160459noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4456691912227510426.post-62902248069908426622017-02-28T08:55:00.001-08:002017-03-15T11:22:22.355-07:00An Open Letter to Donald J. Trump. (I don't think he read it.)<div id="yiv5398222849yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1486066679772_6311" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; font-family: "bookman old style", "new york", times, serif; font-size: 16px;">
<span id="yiv5398222849yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1486066679772_6312" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px;"><i>I mailed this to Donald Trump Feb. 2nd. I don't think he read it.</i></span></div>
<div id="yiv5398222849yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1486066679772_6311" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; font-family: "bookman old style", "new york", times, serif; font-size: 16px;">
<span style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px;"><br />President Donald Trump</span></div>
<div id="yiv5398222849yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1486066679772_6314" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; font-family: "bookman old style", "new york", times, serif; font-size: 16px;">
<span id="yiv5398222849yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1486066679772_6315" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px;">The White House</span></div>
<div id="yiv5398222849yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1486066679772_6317" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; font-family: "bookman old style", "new york", times, serif; font-size: 16px;">
<span id="yiv5398222849yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1486066679772_6318" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px;">1600 Pennsylvania Ave</span></div>
<div id="yiv5398222849yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1486066679772_6320" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; font-family: "bookman old style", "new york", times, serif; font-size: 16px;">
<span id="yiv5398222849yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1486066679772_6321" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px;">Washington DC<br /><br /></span></div>
<div id="yiv5398222849yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1486066679772_6323" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; font-family: "bookman old style", "new york", times, serif; font-size: 16px;">
</div>
<div id="yiv5398222849yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1486066679772_6326" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; font-family: "bookman old style", "new york", times, serif; font-size: 16px;">
<span id="yiv5398222849yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1486066679772_6327" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px;">Dear President Trump,<br /><br /></span></div>
<div id="yiv5398222849yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1486066679772_6329" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; font-family: "bookman old style", "new york", times, serif; font-size: 16px;">
</div>
<div id="yiv5398222849yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1486066679772_6332" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; font-family: "bookman old style", "new york", times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span id="yiv5398222849yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1486066679772_6333" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px;">Thank you for taking the time to read my letter, sir.</span></div>
<div id="yiv5398222849yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1486066679772_6335" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; font-family: "bookman old style", "new york", times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-indent: 0.5in;">
</div>
<div id="yiv5398222849yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1486066679772_6338" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; font-family: "bookman old style", "new york", times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span id="yiv5398222849yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1486066679772_6339" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px;">All Americans want you to succeed in your goals in strengthening our economy and security.</span><br />
<span style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px;"><br /></span></div>
<div id="yiv5398222849yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1486066679772_6341" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; font-family: "bookman old style", "new york", times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-indent: 0.5in;">
</div>
<div id="yiv5398222849yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1486066679772_6344" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; font-family: "bookman old style", "new york", times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span id="yiv5398222849yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1486066679772_6345" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px;">As a left-leaning person (socially liberal, fiscally conservative) living for a long time in a right-leaning state, I have learned the correct answer is always somewhere towards the center of any argument. However, so few political figures seem to be able to bring people there. Meeting in the middle is crucial to bridging the huge divide currently having a negative impact on our citizens. So far your administration seems intent on maintaining and promoting the divide between our citizens, for what reasons I am not sure.</span><br />
<span style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px;"><br /></span></div>
<div id="yiv5398222849yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1486066679772_6347" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; font-family: "bookman old style", "new york", times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-indent: 0.5in;">
</div>
<div id="yiv5398222849yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1486066679772_6350" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; font-family: "bookman old style", "new york", times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span id="yiv5398222849yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1486066679772_6351" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px;">I know your previous career thrived on ratings-boosting controversy, unrehearsed off-the-cuff dialog and thrilling unknowns. It may take some time to adjust away from this mindset. The Presidency, sir, requires a different touch than Reality TV or the WWF. We Americans cannot live in this heightened state of concern and nervousness daily. We thrive on stability and calm.</span></div>
<div id="yiv5398222849yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1486066679772_6353" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; font-family: "bookman old style", "new york", times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-indent: 0.5in;">
</div>
<div id="yiv5398222849yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1486066679772_6356" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; font-family: "bookman old style", "new york", times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span id="yiv5398222849yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1486066679772_6357" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px;">Though I did not vote for you, I know many who did including my loved ones and people I respect. I have been willing to give you a chance and sending positive thoughts for your success.</span><br />
<span style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px;"><br /></span></div>
<div id="yiv5398222849yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1486066679772_6359" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; font-family: "bookman old style", "new york", times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-indent: 0.5in;">
</div>
<div id="yiv5398222849yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1486066679772_6362" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; font-family: "bookman old style", "new york", times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span id="yiv5398222849yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1486066679772_6363" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px;">My concern is that you don’t seem to be taking some aspects of this job as seriously as you should. Your recent speech for Black History Month, for example, struck many as particularly un-researched, unprofessional and insulting (as you interjected insults about the press, and referred back to yourself and the election).</span></div>
<div id="yiv5398222849yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1486066679772_6365" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; font-family: "bookman old style", "new york", times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-indent: 0.5in;">
</div>
<div id="yiv5398222849yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1486066679772_6368" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; font-family: "bookman old style", "new york", times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span id="yiv5398222849yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1486066679772_6369" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px;">Everything you say carries tremendous weight and should convey greatness. <br /><br />Everything you say will be permanently etched in history, sir. Please give a bit more thought to the things you say. Americans like your lack of rehearsed dialog, but often times it also seems there is no substance behind it—like a student giving a report on something he did not study and instead just filling the air with circular logic and repetition. You can have the extemporaneous “natural” style, but you still need to have something of substance behind it. Otherwise it rings phony and hollow.</span></div>
<div id="yiv5398222849yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1486066679772_6371" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; font-family: "bookman old style", "new york", times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-indent: 0.5in;">
</div>
<div id="yiv5398222849yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1486066679772_6374" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; font-family: "bookman old style", "new york", times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span id="yiv5398222849yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1486066679772_6375" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px;">Please give the Americans who did not cast their vote for you the opportunity to appreciate your efforts.</span><br />
<span style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px;"><br /></span></div>
<div id="yiv5398222849yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1486066679772_6377" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; font-family: "bookman old style", "new york", times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-indent: 0.5in;">
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<div id="yiv5398222849yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1486066679772_6380" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; font-family: "bookman old style", "new york", times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span id="yiv5398222849yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1486066679772_6381" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px;">Attacking the press, attacking individuals and companies, and making a point to take away established civil liberties (including the rights of green card holders, vetted immigrants and LGBT citizens, as well as women’s reproductive rulings) is not making America great “again”. Endangering our environment and threatening our beautiful and treasured public lands does not make America great “again.”</span><br />
<span style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px;"><br /></span></div>
<div id="yiv5398222849yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1486066679772_6383" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; font-family: "bookman old style", "new york", times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-indent: 0.5in;">
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<div id="yiv5398222849yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1486066679772_6386" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; font-family: "bookman old style", "new york", times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span id="yiv5398222849yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1486066679772_6387" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px;">The press is a crucial part of the government’s “checks-and-balances”, just as Congress is. While the truth may not always reflect on you well, instead of trying to quash it with “alternative facts”, perhaps think about how the truth can work in your favor because you are honestly doing great things. Do great things, sir, and there will be no reason to hide the truth.</span><br />
<span style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px;"><br /></span></div>
<div id="yiv5398222849yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1486066679772_6389" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; font-family: "bookman old style", "new york", times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-indent: 0.5in;">
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<div id="yiv5398222849yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1486066679772_6392" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; font-family: "bookman old style", "new york", times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span id="yiv5398222849yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1486066679772_6393" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px;">In addition, when you overreact to insults, questions of your policies or satire you draw more attention to the lampooning taking place, and also come across as thin-skinned and weak<i id="yiv5398222849yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1486066679772_6394" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px;">. Saturday Night Live</i> has lampooned political figures for more than 40 years and you are the first to have reacted against it in this manner. (The really savvy folks get in on the joke.)</span><br />
<span style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px;"><br /></span></div>
<div id="yiv5398222849yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1486066679772_6396" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; font-family: "bookman old style", "new york", times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-indent: 0.5in;">
</div>
<div id="yiv5398222849yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1486066679772_6399" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; font-family: "bookman old style", "new york", times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span id="yiv5398222849yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1486066679772_6400" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px;">You’re not really giving folks a chance to appreciate you when you behave this way, sir. I wish you the very best in your years as President and hope you are able to accomplish important goals, but also relinquish the negative goals that may be detrimental to our nation’s strengths and diversity.<br /></span></div>
<div id="yiv5398222849yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1486066679772_6402" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; font-family: "bookman old style", "new york", times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span id="yiv5398222849yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1486066679772_6403" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px;">Our diversity, both in population and wilderness, is crucial to our success on this planet. The future is sustainable, not based in 19<sup id="yiv5398222849yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1486066679772_6404" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px;">th</sup> and 20<sup id="yiv5398222849yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1486066679772_6405" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px;">th</sup> century fossil fuels, a finite supply and an old technology. There is money to be made in sustainable energy.</span><br />
<span style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px;"><br /></span></div>
<div id="yiv5398222849yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1486066679772_6407" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; font-family: "bookman old style", "new york", times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-indent: 0.5in;">
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<div id="yiv5398222849yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1486066679772_6410" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; font-family: "bookman old style", "new york", times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span id="yiv5398222849yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1486066679772_6411" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px;">I love your idea of Americans building things in America and buying American. I have supported local business for decades. Many so called “liberals” like me support and shop local business.<br /></span><br />
<span style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px;"><br /></span></div>
<div id="yiv5398222849yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1486066679772_6413" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; font-family: "bookman old style", "new york", times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-indent: 0.5in;">
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<div id="yiv5398222849yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1486066679772_6416" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; font-family: "bookman old style", "new york", times, serif; font-size: 16px;">
<span id="yiv5398222849yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1486066679772_6417" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px;">One last comment, as an Arizona resident:</span></div>
<div id="yiv5398222849yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1486066679772_6419" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; font-family: "bookman old style", "new york", times, serif; font-size: 16px;">
<span id="yiv5398222849yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1486066679772_6420" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px;">Rather than build an expensive and difficult-to-engineer wall over extremely challenging southwestern and riparian geography, it would be better to invest more in personnel and technology to patrol the border. We have amazing surveillance technology available to us in the 21<sup id="yiv5398222849yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1486066679772_6421" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px;">st</sup> century, so why opt for a concept as ancient as a wall? Of course you understand a large part of our “issues” with Mexico is actually the United States’ insatiable appetite for illegal drugs and cheap labor. If we did not have this demand, our problems with Mexico would abate.<br /><br /></span></div>
<div id="yiv5398222849yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1486066679772_6423" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; font-family: "bookman old style", "new york", times, serif; font-size: 16px;">
</div>
<div id="yiv5398222849yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1486066679772_6426" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; font-family: "bookman old style", "new york", times, serif; font-size: 16px;">
<span id="yiv5398222849yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1486066679772_6427" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px;">President Trump, please do what’s best for peace and prosperity in our country.</span></div>
<div id="yiv5398222849yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1486066679772_6429" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; font-family: "bookman old style", "new york", times, serif; font-size: 16px;">
<span id="yiv5398222849yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1486066679772_6430" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px;">Our economy remaining healthy is just as important as our planet, our freedoms and our citizens remaining healthy. There must be a balance.</span></div>
<div id="yiv5398222849yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1486066679772_6432" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; font-family: "bookman old style", "new york", times, serif; font-size: 16px;">
<span id="yiv5398222849yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1486066679772_6433" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px;">We must meet in the middle, as a nation.</span></div>
<div id="yiv5398222849yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1486066679772_6435" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; font-family: "bookman old style", "new york", times, serif; font-size: 16px;">
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<div id="yiv5398222849yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1486066679772_6438" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; font-family: "bookman old style", "new york", times, serif; font-size: 16px;">
<span id="yiv5398222849yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1486066679772_6439" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px;">Our nation is depending on you, sir.<br /><br /></span></div>
<div id="yiv5398222849yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1486066679772_6441" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; font-family: "bookman old style", "new york", times, serif; font-size: 16px;">
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<div id="yiv5398222849yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1486066679772_6444" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; font-family: "bookman old style", "new york", times, serif; font-size: 16px;">
<span id="yiv5398222849yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1486066679772_6445" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px;">Best regards,</span></div>
<div id="yiv5398222849yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1486066679772_5969" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; font-family: "bookman old style", "new york", times, serif; font-size: 16px;">
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<span id="yiv5398222849yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1486066679772_6448" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px;">Respectfully,</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" id="yiv5398222849yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1486066679772_6447" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; font-family: "bookman old style", "new york", times, serif; font-size: 16px;">
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<div dir="ltr" id="yiv5398222849yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1486066679772_6447" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; font-family: "bookman old style", "new york", times, serif; font-size: 16px;">
<span style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px;">Ellen Jo Roberts</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" id="yiv5398222849yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1486066679772_6447" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; font-family: "bookman old style", "new york", times, serif; font-size: 16px;">
<span style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px;">Clarkdale, AZ</span></div>
ellen johttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04887301124107160459noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4456691912227510426.post-9700733040616964912015-10-27T13:06:00.001-07:002016-10-26T10:20:18.269-07:00The Complicated Heart of a Cubs Fan<a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/19189500872/in/photolist-veHd4j-uXLZ5P-Lockc-3VN3Tu-4NcX1x-Locke-5qiiGU-u7stAU-v4KQPD-v3XYL3-u7sRz3-v4KXFp-uLTh5A-uM2bY6-vrDiL7-mqfpX-v4KyPx-uM27EM-v4KQNr-u7swNq-v3YmLA-v29H1Q-u7szvE-u7BvBZ-u7BR9K-v29Ng9-v4sXMK-v4t3VR-v4KrTi-u7BJVH-uM1zbK-uM1BpH-v4KsXx-uLSXN3-v4sY2n-v4Ko6D-u7sJGq-uM23rr-5SEzqK-3EsDmZ-3EuBfD-3EyYsW-3EyYVf-8Bzy59-3VN3HY-3d9X5d-CJVgh-3VN44o-jSSDTq-3VHNQH" title="6-22 #letsgo"><img alt="6-22 #letsgo" height="313" src="https://farm4.staticflickr.com/3826/19189500872_7b4dbe51ec_c.jpg" width="400" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">My mother had burst into tears on the phone, discussing how upset it made her to see her grandson, my 6 year old nephew, so heartbroken at the Cubs losing their first two NLCS playoff games against the NY Mets.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"This is our fault," she cried, "I think, <i>oh what have we DONE to him</i>?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It could be considered a form of cruelty to indoctrinate children into the lifelong baseball heartbreak that runs through our family DNA, like a defective gene.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br />Being a fan of the Chicago Cubs ain't for sissies.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br />After hanging up, my coworker overhearing the conversation asked with a chuckle, "Remind me again... what's so great about being a Cubs fan?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I slumped in my chair, rubbing my hands across my face and thought for a moment, "Being a Cubs fan is a character builder. It teaches you from a young age that you can face disappointment head on, and survive."</span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It's easy to cheer for a winner. That takes no kind of real effort. You're constantly rewarded. It's very Pavlovian. The bell rings, you start to salivate. The team wins, you feel joy. You strut with the swagger of a champion (without actually having done anything yourself to deserve it).Cheering for the underdog, for a team with a hundred year history of jinxes, hexes and a multitude of psychic scars? That takes guts. That takes some intestinal fortitude. Confidence, patience,compassion, endurance, optimism and a belief in magic. These things are all good traits to cultivate, so this alone is reason enough that being a Cubs fan has made me a better human being.<br /></span>
<a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/2491959897/in/photolist-4NcWRP-4NhajW-v4sByi-dx8s2W-4NdQhR-uXLXcF-v4sGXK-vfdZNR-veGXDs-4Ni3EQ-uXDKsw-oLovL4-4NcX9P-66GSPH-uLT68J-v4sL1P-v4tpY2-4Nhabu-4NdQwx-4Nh9Rd-4Nha1A-9qa9Qn-u7rQwo-v4sw1K-u7Bmg4-4NcWHP-6DDxg8-4Nha7C-3VHNA2-2Jgxm1-4Nh9YY-4Nhafu-4Nha9A-3EvJLD-3VHNH8-4NcWYR-4Ni3bA-4NcWFz-4Nh9T3-uLTsgq-v3YxBo-uM1Sp2-v3YrD1-u7rYHy-u7s3TN-u7s4Yo-v4K4za-uLShsS-veHd4j-uXLZ5P" title="welcome to wrigley field"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><img alt="welcome to wrigley field" height="419" src="https://farm3.staticflickr.com/2071/2491959897_77e3c64927_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a><br />
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The flip-side of that belief in <i>magic</i> are the horrible superstitions every Cubs fan has. We're all somehow connected to the game's outcome. </span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I somehow directly caused the Cubs to lose to the Mets, from thousands of miles away. </span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> The sense that a loss is somehow MY fault, for something I did or did not do that day. </span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">For a shirt I should have worn but didn't. For talking about the Cubs when I should have superstitiously kept my mouth shut. </span><i style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Don't jinx them.</i><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br />Another drawback to this spooky spiritual belief in the Chicago Cubs is the distinct sensation that the universe is against us. I mean, that's the only explanation. Other teams win big every year. Why is it never the Cubs? Is this some sort of cosmic curse? Why do the planets never align in our favor? It's occasionally disheartening, having this realization.</span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /><br />Over my past few decades of being a Cubs fan, I have witnessed the Cubs boom only to be followed by what seems like an inevitable bust. I have seen them start the season strong, and later wane, fade, choke. I have seen them start slow and low and then turn it all around, gaining momentum. There have been bouts of tough luck, freak fails. I have seen their energy shift and seen it all be taken away. More than once. In fact, events that happened even before I was born have caused me deep psychic scars, such as the 1945 World Series loss allegedly caused by the infamous "goat curse", and the heartbreaking 1969 late summer choke that allowed the "Amazin' Mets" to surpass them and eventually win it all. I grew up hearing grown-ups grumble about these things. My grandpa declared he'd "not cross the street to see those Cubs play!" and if we wanted to see "real baseball", "Go watch those boys from [local high school] Lane Tech play. They CRY when they lose. Not the Cubs! They're laughing all the way to the bank!" </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I can picture him waving his hand at us, a man who'd maybe once had the same gleaming optimism in his eyes but had had his heart broken a time too many. </span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /><br />When I was born the Cubs already had trudged 64 years through a desert free of championships. </span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">So, we had no rose-colored illusions as we grew up, ever hopeful yet somehow also unfairly, prematurely prepared for failure. The Cubs were "loveable losers". They were a punchline. They were cursed by the ghost of Sam Sianis and his billy goat. And yet we diehard fans would still be there filling the stands every spring, and hanging on to the very last out in autumn.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/14942167295/in/photolist-oLovL4-4NcX9P-66GSPH-uLT68J-v4sL1P-v4tpY2-4Nhabu-4NdQwx-4Nh9Rd-4Nha1A-9qa9Qn-u7rQwo-v4sw1K-u7Bmg4-4NcWHP-6DDxg8-4Nha7C-3VHNA2-2Jgxm1-4Nh9YY-4Nhafu-4Nha9A-3EvJLD-3VHNH8-4NcWYR-4Ni3bA-4NcWFz-4Nh9T3-uLTsgq-v3YxBo-uM1Sp2-v3YrD1-u7rYHy-u7s3TN-u7s4Yo-v4K4za-uLShsS-veHd4j-uXLZ5P-Lockc-3VN3Tu-4NcX1x-Locke-5qiiGU-u7stAU-v4KQPD-v3XYL3-u7sRz3-v4KXFp-uLTh5A" title="wrigley field 1985"><img alt="wrigley field 1985" height="505" src="https://farm6.staticflickr.com/5563/14942167295_06b5e48006_b.jpg" width="640" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script>
There was a time in my youth where I lived and died by the Cubs. The day of my 8th grade graduation is most memorable to me not for the joy of the cap and gown or the ceremony on the stage with my friends, but instead for the joy of the Cubs finally breaking a 13 game losing streak. My brother, Jim and I spent as many days as we could at Wrigley Field the summer of 1985, spending all of my graduation money sitting "standing room only" or in the bleachers. Filling in scorecards with tiny pencils. Nursing a Doctor Pepper for hours. We'd arrive as soon as the gates opened. We stayed 'til well after the final out, waiting for our heroes outside the fenced player parking lot after the games, to exit in their street clothes and drive off in their boring sedans. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/18572800374/in/photolist-uidsu7-u7BR9K-veHd4j-v4Ko6D-v29H1Q-v4KXFp-v4t3VR-u7swNq-vfe11K-v4KyPx-uLTsgq-jSSDTq-dx8s2W-9qa9Qn-8Bzy59-77tQrZ-6DDxg8-66GSPH-5SEzqK-5qiiGU-4NdQwx-4NdQhR-4Nhabu-4NcWFz-4Nha9A-4Nha7C-4NcXhn-4Nh9YY-4NcWYR-4NcWHP-4Nhafu-4NcX1x-4NcX9P-4NcWRP-4NhajW-4Nhai3-4Nha1A-4Ni3EQ-4Ni3bA-3VHNH8-3VN3HY-3VN3Tu-3VHNA2-3VHNQH-3VN44o-3EvJLD-3EuBfD-3EyYsW-3EyYVf-3EsDmZ" title="6-22 wrigley field- historic scoreboard - wind blowing out."><img alt="6-22 wrigley field- historic scoreboard - wind blowing out." height="500" src="https://farm4.staticflickr.com/3760/18572800374_a3e85ed3cd.jpg" width="396" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script>
</span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /><br />The Bleachers were a magical universe, full of fun and silly people, shouting rude rhymes to opposing outfielders (</span><i style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Fi-fi-fo-fum, McGee is a F- - - - ing BUM!</i><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">) and during lulls in the action stirring things up by taunting the opposing section of the stands with a rousing game of "</span><i style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Right Field Sucks!</i><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">" vs. "</span><i style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Left Field Sucks!</i><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">". Enemy home runs hit into the stands were jeered with a "Throw it back!" chant until coughed back up onto the field. The sense of baseball brotherhood and camaraderie in the Wrigley Field bleachers was an intense baptism into the cult of Cubs fandom.</span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /><br />Though the 1985 season was a lackluster follow up to their exciting National League East Champion status from the year before, I remember that summer as golden, rich with fond memories and thrills. Ron Cey's Grand Slam! Walking home in the rain and meeting Mom for pizza. My big crush on centerfielder Bob Dernier. We wrote fan letters and collected autographed photos. So ubiquitous we were that summer we even once appeared on the WGN news game recap, swinging our legs beneath the historic scoreboard. The sports commentator called us the </span><i style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Wrigley Field Rockettes</i><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">, but really we were just goofing off between innings, kicking our legs while randomly mimicking the "blip-blip-blip-blooping" of Hot Butter's 1972 hit "Popcorn".</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/18450957074/in/photolist-u7rYHy-u7BvBZ-v4KrTi-v4Ko6D-uXLZ5P-uLT68J-uM23rr-uXLXcF-vfdZNR-uM2bY6-v4tpY2-uXDKsw-uM1Sp2-uM1zbK-v29H1Q-uLSXN3-v3YrD1-uLTsgq-v4KXFp-v4t3VR" title="Cubs Parking"><img alt="Cubs Parking" height="640" src="https://farm1.staticflickr.com/426/18450957074_0fc1a10f6d_b.jpg" width="360" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> Jim and I would even take the bus to Wrigley Field in the middle of winter, to walk around the exterior of the park, from Addison to Sheffield to Waveland to Clark and maybe again a time or two more. We'd imagine what the players did in the off season, reminisce over highlights from the previous summer, laugh about weird people we'd met and discuss possibilities that springtime would bring. Plus, we'd always stop at "Yesterday", a funny, little memorabilia shop down the street, full of weird old smells and dusty vintage artifacts, mainly to peruse their books of baseball cards and add new ones to our carefully curated collections. We weren't ever about resale value. For us it was always more about sentimental value.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/19169184956/in/photolist-vcV5QU-qCfHLy-rhNdPi-rzffdt-nZqZ2n-eq3sWr-dWMFx3-cTvfVo-cTvgBA-qWHXL7-owKtJH-oPcGYf-oPcN83-oMcP47-owJJmH-oPevN8-oPew2V-oPewdM-orPr3j-kCQx6t" title="6-22 walking addison street- yesterday- our fave old hang out"><img alt="6-22 walking addison street- yesterday- our fave old hang out" height="640" src="https://farm1.staticflickr.com/518/19169184956_c7d22844b9_b.jpg" width="513" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">As high school took my attention, and I got involved in other things, the Cubs' box scores began to matter less to me. I didn't always know the line<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">-</span>up, and eventually I didn't even know all of the players. College was even more disconnected. Then I got married and moved out west. That distance may have saved me. My heart still beats for the Cubbies, but it doesn't break as hard as it used to.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/19073516735/in/photolist-v4sL1P-v4tpY2-4Nhabu-4NdQwx-4Nh9Rd-4Nha1A-9qa9Qn-u7rQwo-v4sw1K-u7Bmg4-4NcWHP-6DDxg8-4Nha7C-3VHNA2-2Jgxm1-4Nh9YY-4Nhafu-4Nha9A-3EvJLD-3VHNH8-4NcWYR-4Ni3bA-4NcWFz-4Nh9T3-uLTsgq-v3YxBo-uM1Sp2-v3YrD1-u7rYHy-u7s3TN-u7s4Yo-v4K4za-uLShsS-veHd4j-uXLZ5P-Lockc-3VN3Tu-4NcX1x-Locke-5qiiGU-u7stAU-v4KQPD-v3XYL3-u7sRz3-v4KXFp-uLTh5A-uM2bY6-vrDiL7-mqfpX-v4KyPx" title="Wrigley Field, 6/22/15"><img alt="Wrigley Field, 6/22/15" height="360" src="https://farm1.staticflickr.com/397/19073516735_7babd3b11c_b.jpg" width="640" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">This summer I attended a game in the Wrigley Field bleachers with my family during a visit to Chicago. My mom and brother have remained absolute diehards over the years. Jim has swept his former-Sox fan wife Carla along in his fervor and in turn they are raising two little sports fans who love all things Chicago but are especially bananas for the Blackhawks and the Cubs .<br /><br />Jim and Carla were actually married atop Murphy's Bleachers, overlooking Wrigley Field. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">This is as richly religious a locale for them as any house of God.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/1921473264/in/photolist-4Nha9A-3VN3Tu-3VN3HY-3VN44o-3VHNH8-3VHNQH-3EvJLD-3EA8du-3EuBfD-3EyYVf-3EyYsW" title="Just married!"><img alt="Just married!" height="400" src="https://farm3.staticflickr.com/2230/1921473264_f8d5e40fe6_b.jpg" width="397" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script>
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<a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/1920644133/in/photolist-4NdQwx-4NcXhn-4Nh9Rd-4Nhafu-4NcWRP-4NhajW-4Ni3bA-4Nh9T3-3VN3Tu-3d9X5d-jSSDTq-dx8s2W-9qa9Qn-77tQrZ-6DDxg8-66GSPH-5SEzqK-5qiiGU-4NdQhR-4NcWHP-4Nh9YY-4Nha7C-4NcWYR-4Nha1A-4Nhai3-4NcX9P-4NcX1x-4Nha9A-4Nhabu-4NcWFz-4Ni3EQ-3VHNA2-3VN3HY-3VHNQH-3VN44o-3VHNH8-3EvJLD-3EuBfD-3EyYVf-3EyYsW-3EsDmZ-2Jgxm1-Lockc-oLovL4-2Jgxm9-PYWCX-Locke-CJVgh-mqfpX-2vhC5R" title="My family in Chicago..."><img alt="My family in Chicago..." height="396" src="https://farm3.staticflickr.com/2332/1920644133_3357ffb562_b.jpg" width="400" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The</span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> Cubs beat the Dodgers on that summer night with stormy tornado skies and winds from the southwest lofting home runs out of the park. I barely knew any of the players' names anymore but my young nephews schooled me on who was who. They had picked up where I left off. Though I didn't feel the same intensity about the Cubs that I'd felt as a kid, the same feelings of being in that ballpark washed over me like yesterday-- the sounds and smells and scenes somehow unchanged despite the park's renovations and updates over the years. The deep current of history crackling in the electric air. For a moment in my life this place defined me, and therefore it is forever part of who I am.</span><br />
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<a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/18885920130/in/photolist-3VN3Tu-4NcX1x-Locke-5qiiGU-u7stAU-v4KQPD-v3XYL3-u7sRz3-v4KXFp-uLTh5A-uM2bY6-vrDiL7-mqfpX-v4KyPx-uM27EM-v4KQNr-u7swNq-v3YmLA-v29H1Q-u7szvE-u7BvBZ-u7BR9K-v29Ng9-v4sXMK-v4t3VR-v4KrTi-u7BJVH-uM1zbK-uM1BpH-v4KsXx-uLSXN3-v4sY2n-v4Ko6D-u7sJGq-uM23rr-5SEzqK-3EsDmZ-3EuBfD-3EyYsW-3EyYVf-8Bzy59-3VN3HY-3d9X5d-CJVgh-3VN44o-jSSDTq-3VHNQH-2vhC5R-2Jgxm9-PYWCX" title="night game under eerie skies"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><img alt="night game under eerie skies" height="360" src="https://farm1.staticflickr.com/379/18885920130_f801632d02_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The 2015 season was a surprise success-- the young Cubs team ending the season with one of the best records in baseball. They made the post season as a National League Central <i>wild card </i>after beating Pittsburgh in a one game showdown, and then clobbering their arch rival the St. Louis Cardinals to face next the dreaded New York Mets. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The New York Mets and their "Amazin' " 1969 season had forever wounded me with psychic scars and I was anxious the Cubs had to face them to advance to the World Series. It seemed like part of a bad hex, a cosmic curveball the Cubs may once again trip over. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">A friend in Queens who lives near the home of the Mets, probably thought I was the sweetest, most happy-go-lucky girl...up until the moment he started needling me about the Cubs' failures. Dude's not even a baseball fan- he prefers tennis. But he thought he was being comical, busting my chops, and meaning no harm. I'm sure he soon revised his positive opinion of me after feeling a sharp sting from my sudden wrath, conjured up from some deep dark well of pain<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">, deep in my DNA</span>.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Sadly, the Cubs' postseason ended when the Mets swept them in a four games and left saddened Cubs fans once again singing the same old "</span><i style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">wait 'til next year</i><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">" refrain.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">This is <i>regoddamndiculous</i> I'd say to myself as I tried to fall asleep at night, a revived sense of baseball anxiety keeping me awake exactly as it had at age 13. Why do we always assume the Cubs are gonna blow it? Why come so close and have it all snatched away? Time and again. It seems like the universe is not in our favor, is what it seems like. I stare at the darkened ceiling and wonder about the value of the World Series.</span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>Is the World Series really what it's all about?</i>, asks someone who has never gotten to savor one. <i>Wait til next year for what? Who cares? </i></span><br />
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<a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/2492955004/in/photolist-4NdQwx-4NcXhn-4Nh9Rd-4Nhafu-4NcWRP-4NhajW-4Ni3bA-4Nh9T3-3VN3Tu-3d9X5d-jSSDTq-dx8s2W-9qa9Qn-77tQrZ-6DDxg8-66GSPH-5SEzqK-5qiiGU-4NdQhR-4NcWHP-4Nh9YY-4Nha7C-4NcWYR-4Nha1A-4Nhai3-4NcX9P-4NcX1x-4Nha9A-4Nhabu-4NcWFz-4Ni3EQ-3VHNA2-3VN3HY-3VHNQH-3VN44o-3VHNH8-3EvJLD-3EuBfD-3EyYVf-3EyYsW-3EsDmZ-2Jgxm1-Lockc-oLovL4-2Jgxm9-PYWCX-Locke-CJVgh-mqfpX-2vhC5R" title="go cubbies!"><img alt="go cubbies!" height="424" src="https://farm4.staticflickr.com/3037/2492955004_fee3d27122_b.jpg" width="640" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Winning the World Series would certainly be wonderful beyond words, especially for the fans who have waited their whole lives. It would be incredible. But I start to wonder if winning a championship is what everything is all about. For many teams, if they're not winners, they don't draw the fans. They don't sell the seats. They have to win as a successful business plan. Even the current World Series teams, the Kansas City Royals and the New York Mets complain about not being able to "give tickets away" most years. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">For the Cubs, the fans fill Wrigley Field every year, winning record or not. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Indeed the Cubs have the best fans in baseball, I am convinced.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Loyal even when unrewarded with victory. It's not about being champions.</span>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br />A victorious post season is a huge boost for the fans as well as the ballplayers' careers. But the championship title is short-lived. It's all over and in a few months spring training starts and it's a whole new </span><i style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">ballgame</i><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">. The slate is wiped clean in April to start all over. Year in and year out. </span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">So maybe what is most important is just like what is most important in life. There will always be the big events-- the weddings, the funerals, the births, the graduations. But what life is made up of most are the day to day moments. The little successes. The laughs. The perfect sunsets. The adventures along the way. 162 games spread over 6 months, each game its own story of success and failure. Its own thrills, comedy, drama and heartbreak. Even my Gramps, so dismissive of those bums who had broken his heart a time too many, cheered louder than anyone when he attended games with us. It wasn't about the World Series. It was about much more. <br /> </span><br />
<span class="apple-converted-space" style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Baseball, is so often a used as metaphor for life in America. That’s why we root so strongly for the home team, the eternal champs and the ever-struggling underdogs alike. The energetic young rookie, starting fresh and learning hard-won lessons. The seasoned old-timer aiming for one last golden season.<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The homer in the gloamin’</i>.<br /></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I've heard that
the average baseball game generally offers only 10 minutes of actual action
during 9 innings. Much of the game is spent waiting, watching, hoping, praying,
fighting off pitches, brushing back base-runners. </span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Foul balls, warm-ups, rude
rhymes, the 7th inning stretch, warm sunshine and cold beer. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The thrill of victory. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The agony of defeat. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It's a whole lot of anticipation. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Just like life.</span><br />
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<a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/2491961321/in/photolist-9qa9Qn-4Nhai3-4NcXhn-4NhajW" title="hey old style!"><img alt="hey old style!" height="426" src="https://farm4.staticflickr.com/3260/2491961321_f1f6b0d29c_b.jpg" width="640" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Ellen Jo Roberts lives in Clarkdale Arizona, with Chad, Floyd, Ivan, Hazel, Simon, Ned and an abundance of vintage Volkswagens. Read more about all of them at ellenjo.com</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>ellen johttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04887301124107160459noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4456691912227510426.post-59391369922591485432015-04-09T13:46:00.001-07:002015-04-10T09:20:03.697-07:00Arizona Wildflowers: It's So Hard to Pick a Winner!<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">"Arizona
Wildflowers: It's So Hard to Pick a Winner!"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">A
Bouquet of High Desert Blooms<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">By
Ellen Jo Roberts<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYpoMi635zWMuNFNMlZazCwht6TvuqSgrgYkdKO6EnQhrLLuXXgYwP6oKIihwHqym78paYETlQtqeREo7B27pqECA9GwtXMz_lzouzm3ctAcghZk5t1u4cHZVhchg0CmSW7nAwVpHXrQ/s1600/yucca+elata-+up+close-+ellen+jo+roberts.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYpoMi635zWMuNFNMlZazCwht6TvuqSgrgYkdKO6EnQhrLLuXXgYwP6oKIihwHqym78paYETlQtqeREo7B27pqECA9GwtXMz_lzouzm3ctAcghZk5t1u4cHZVhchg0CmSW7nAwVpHXrQ/s1600/yucca+elata-+up+close-+ellen+jo+roberts.jpg" height="320" width="213" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Desert
wildflowers always amaze me with the incredible beauty generated
under the harshest of circumstances. Scrappy survivors, they thrive under
conditions that would wilt fussier species from other regions. Spurred on by
just the vaguest notion of rain, Arizona wildflowers spring forth from dry
rocky soils and burst from hard-pack caliche. They sprout from stalks 12
feet in the air, they cling to impossible cliffs, decorate spikey
shrubs and cacti and fill the roadsides and dry sandy washes, carpeting the
high desert with color and fragrance. They provide sustenance to wild
creatures, many of whom are reliant on the pollen, fruits and seeds for
survival.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Colors range
from the palest of whites to the hottest of reds and everywhere in
between. Creamy blooms include Yucca, Sacred Datura and Prickly Poppies.
An abundance of buttery gold festoons the landscape in the form of Agave, Brittlebrush,
Prickly Pear and Desert Marigold. Shocking pink Penstemons sing in chorus
with a fiery brigade of Ocotillo, Indian Paintbrush and Barrel Cactus
blooms. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">The flashier
the flower, the less it needs to concern itself with sweet scent to lure
pollinators. So it's often times the quietest, barely-there bloom that fills
the air with intoxicating aroma: the miniature Manzanita bloom of Sedona
springtime, the Cliff Rose's wee flowers filling the air with
fragrance, the high chaparral scented with the dizzying sweetness of Creosote
blooms and fuzzy Mesquite flowers attracting legions of honeybees. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">My favorite
Arizona wildflower? It's so hard to pick a favorite! (Pun intended). So rather
than choose, I thought I'd share with you a bouquet of the best...<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<strong><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Prairie
Sunflowers</span></strong><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"> (<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">H<em><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">elianthus
petiolaris</span></em></i>): Flagstaff in late summer as well as other alpine
regions like Mingus Mountain near Jerome and Prescott are full of the tall
golden blooms swaying in the breeze along highways and throughout open
prairies.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<strong><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Penstemon</span></strong><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">: Seen in red (Firecracker, <em><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Penstemon eatonii</span></em>) and hot
pink (Parry's, <em><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Penstemon
parryi</span></em>) varieties, these prairie plants thrive throughout the
dry, sunny west and are frequently seen punctuating roadsides and railroad
tracks. Their flowers growing clustered on a stalk are
shaped like tiny trumpets, in colors that seem electric and almost unreal. A
hummingbird favorite. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<strong><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Globemallow</span></strong><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"> (<em><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Sphaeralacea
ambigua</span></em>): This is my husband's favorite. Any time a volunteer takes
root in our Clarkdale yard he cultivates it, waters it, shields it from the
weed-whacker. Globular orange blooms dance above handsome gray-green foliage.
The whole plant is a beauty, and blooms throughout the summer. It's also a
relative to Chocolate, so what's not to love?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"> <strong><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Desert Marigold</span></strong> (<em><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Bailyea multiradiata</span></em>): For
many Arizonans this cousin of the Aster is a beloved favorite. There
is something slightly space age about its look, like a 1950s drawing
of flowers, their blossoms hovering high above its low-growing foliage like
bright yellow flying saucers. </span><br />
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<strong><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Saguaro
</span></strong><strong><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">(Carnergiea gigantea)</span></i></strong><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">:
Around Memorial Day each year, the stately Saguaro bursts forth with clusters
of thick white petals cresting each arm like crowns. Later the flowers
develop into tart red fruits that once provided a staple of the Tohono O'Odham
tribe's diet, harvested prior to monsoon season's midsummer start. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ4VchZqxxHQWRQH_IPlg8uKLDCcWqVaMusKJMge1fg7zvCs99-atnjM0mZlQYi7pYFXaImEJV-TqfQDhpGEhgQXFgv5kWbTJEDfY1p5O-iG6mYb-SGUvBKD7NNYSjpNII4psX-qmN1g/s1600/saguaro+starting+to+bloom-+ellen+jo+roberts.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ4VchZqxxHQWRQH_IPlg8uKLDCcWqVaMusKJMge1fg7zvCs99-atnjM0mZlQYi7pYFXaImEJV-TqfQDhpGEhgQXFgv5kWbTJEDfY1p5O-iG6mYb-SGUvBKD7NNYSjpNII4psX-qmN1g/s1600/saguaro+starting+to+bloom-+ellen+jo+roberts.jpg" height="320" width="258" /></a></div>
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<strong><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Prickly
Pear </span></strong><strong><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">(Genus opuntia)</span></i></strong><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">:</span></i></b><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"> Speaking of tart cactus fruits, the
prickly pear's golden flowers of springtime turn into the purple
"tunas" of summer. The fruit is a great source of nourishment to
Arizona wildlife, though humans also have cultivated a fondness. Most of the
time the prickly pear tunas are commercially packaged as jams and syrups, but
you can eat a ripe one right off the cactus...if you proceed with caution! A
nickel's edge rubbed on the exterior can remove those pesky little
needles. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNt8cwsWcMMo50yFJM9WaZl_4TvtvotHaldo1mKh5GD1MmJACfurtCbC_WCS5Bnwv9xRbimxQjyCZVXSRYXhUO3tDR1rGKGU0QjLHFh_I6VXdEPt3GYsVZpAo2jQBjgDqgy2NWUlptvg/s1600/prickly+pear+cactus+bloom-ellen+jo+roberts.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNt8cwsWcMMo50yFJM9WaZl_4TvtvotHaldo1mKh5GD1MmJACfurtCbC_WCS5Bnwv9xRbimxQjyCZVXSRYXhUO3tDR1rGKGU0QjLHFh_I6VXdEPt3GYsVZpAo2jQBjgDqgy2NWUlptvg/s1600/prickly+pear+cactus+bloom-ellen+jo+roberts.jpg" height="320" width="226" /></a></div>
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<strong><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Ocotillo
</span></strong><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">(Fouqueria splendens):</span></i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"> Much of the year Ocotillo can look like a spikey bundle
of dry sticks, or like a forest of TV antennae sprouting out every-which-way.
It conserves its energy until there is sufficient rainfall to spur on a growth
of tiny tear-drop shaped leaves. Then, when the moment is right, the top of
each skinny branch is decorated with a bright, red-orange lipstick-looking
cluster of flowers. It's the craziest of desert plants, really, and very
special to catch in bloom. If precipitation is sufficient it can leaf out and
bloom nearly any time of year.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjONrRYe7bdTXav5Re6d_es8Ms-Sjy0J3GiZoXU1XXXYP3pJf_tHY_LUKd-i3hJiS0B1flxEHlvfnm95SQ4tfi8Cw4Sn7568soFuYokXCz1VJzJtBQ8XStqDbYjnQ8JMFmBOSu05oJ6Ig/s1600/ocotillo+blooms+open-ellen+jo+roberts.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjONrRYe7bdTXav5Re6d_es8Ms-Sjy0J3GiZoXU1XXXYP3pJf_tHY_LUKd-i3hJiS0B1flxEHlvfnm95SQ4tfi8Cw4Sn7568soFuYokXCz1VJzJtBQ8XStqDbYjnQ8JMFmBOSu05oJ6Ig/s1600/ocotillo+blooms+open-ellen+jo+roberts.jpg" height="320" width="213" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><o:p></o:p></span> </div>
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<strong><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Sacred
Datura </span></strong><strong><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">(Datura Metaloides)</span></i></strong><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">:</span></i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"> Also known as Jimsonweed, this flower
has been immortalized in the southwestern paintings of artist Georgia O'Keefe.
It's related to the tomato, but also to the other, toxic, members of the
Nightshade family. Though every part of this large bushy plant is poisonous if
ingested, it's safe to enjoy views of its huge, trumpet-like flowers, open
during the cool of night and closed in the heat of day. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ19v0NupGg9qPIpaWsXYFeoXNX6bkXvPoAMbAykh49qHJnLzoaZcgbza2lxmDHwRvpyyztTN9G5MZBPIYvb-NZEjTA6lb8UbTlPlRolWSdgyiAOE_VM5yAcx4TMBefyMtsHFkdW1NQw/s1600/sacred+datura-+ellen+jo+roberts.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ19v0NupGg9qPIpaWsXYFeoXNX6bkXvPoAMbAykh49qHJnLzoaZcgbza2lxmDHwRvpyyztTN9G5MZBPIYvb-NZEjTA6lb8UbTlPlRolWSdgyiAOE_VM5yAcx4TMBefyMtsHFkdW1NQw/s1600/sacred+datura-+ellen+jo+roberts.jpg" height="320" width="180" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><o:p></o:p></span> </div>
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<strong><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Yucca</span></strong><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">: There are two common varieties of
wild yucca in Northern Arizona; one grows low and is known as "Banana
Yucca<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">"(Yucca Buccata</i>) for
the green banana-shaped fruits it produces, and the other, more slender variety
is called "Soapgrass" <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">(Yucca
Elata</i>). This more delicate yucca actually has its own Arizona subspecies, <em><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Verdiensis</span></em>, and it is one
of my most favorite wild blooms of the state. Every May, Yucca flowers sprout
up like sentinels throughout rocky high desert hills and valleys, waxy white
blooms on a reedy stalk. A favorite of hummingbirds, moths and other desert
pollinators, as well as shutterbugs like me.<em><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">
I am a sucker for yucca</span></em>. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><o:p></o:p></span> </div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"> <strong><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Agave </span></strong><strong><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">(Agavi americana)</span></i></strong><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">:</i></b>
Cousin to Yucca, Agave is also related to California’s Joshua Tree. Seeing an
agave bloom is very special, because you're actually seeing the end of the
plant's long life. Its entire existence is dedicated to this final goal--
the raising of its towering stalk and flower buds.Legend has it you can
actually hear the stalk growing- it's said to add a foot a day! Agave is also
sometimes called the "Century Plant", under the mistaken notion it
took 100 years to bloom. Once in bloom, the plant is already on its way to
expiring. Its sharp, thick grey-green spears of foliage grow in a circular rosette, home
to a heart cultivated and roasted in the Mexican Blue Weber variety
to be distilled into tequila and mescal. And though after
blooming the plant soon withers into a hard husk, miniature offspring
agaves may soon be seen surrounding it, growing fast and strong in the high
desert.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVDt4RDxz-jWxbQpAcLZwaJSKudzgiRVWAozoUxBJ9sWjU18vCrPAkfty9Vla3sVdjZ8YDiAdn16-C3nI2dzaE9MU19ZfDY8b9SgXVSCLd2gYz7qfIDJYv0cK2ogaMgXfZD7z8Tn96Ng/s1600/agave+bloom+close+up-+ellen+jo+roberts.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVDt4RDxz-jWxbQpAcLZwaJSKudzgiRVWAozoUxBJ9sWjU18vCrPAkfty9Vla3sVdjZ8YDiAdn16-C3nI2dzaE9MU19ZfDY8b9SgXVSCLd2gYz7qfIDJYv0cK2ogaMgXfZD7z8Tn96Ng/s1600/agave+bloom+close+up-+ellen+jo+roberts.jpg" height="211" width="320" /></a> </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg_aaxQjNLu1rFCYRfi_oVRndpeQzx4FR4U73oBqhWQCuGs7N-PLA8ioxjPOkOq7y-B3Kg1_4xZm1Gzn651wB092zvliaYvJiuCRLLBobJDWEBg3XREPkoy6TLziomiKP-DJ-8kkvPgQ/s1600/agave+starting+to+bloom+in+sedona+az-+schnebly+hill+road-+ellen+jo+roberts.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg_aaxQjNLu1rFCYRfi_oVRndpeQzx4FR4U73oBqhWQCuGs7N-PLA8ioxjPOkOq7y-B3Kg1_4xZm1Gzn651wB092zvliaYvJiuCRLLBobJDWEBg3XREPkoy6TLziomiKP-DJ-8kkvPgQ/s1600/agave+starting+to+bloom+in+sedona+az-+schnebly+hill+road-+ellen+jo+roberts.jpg" height="212" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMRWb6AV_dM3YNYl3e8J7f5T-y4HZg6Tbod6fptWJ93hhERcNHsG1_8uMo_VzpyZmrEjPTKSwVVncnPXc4tMwY3ILfuw6CK1paCV3ktFKIOkgC3alPsHiKW6a6uxoQS8FvwQsobZRCtw/s1600/agave+blooms+-ellen+jo+roberts.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMRWb6AV_dM3YNYl3e8J7f5T-y4HZg6Tbod6fptWJ93hhERcNHsG1_8uMo_VzpyZmrEjPTKSwVVncnPXc4tMwY3ILfuw6CK1paCV3ktFKIOkgC3alPsHiKW6a6uxoQS8FvwQsobZRCtw/s1600/agave+blooms+-ellen+jo+roberts.jpg" height="318" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Because of
Arizona's variety of elevations and ecosystems, you make catch the same blooms
in action in different locations during different times of the year, earlier in
the low deserts and later in the high country. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Enjoy the
scents and sights of Arizona in bloom. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2kI9mp3Qbml795Ej38M39yB1QeHhnHKSe7LcnTPHpy9o6VynfTDRgn3_xOHiLu8ZZbDjWV0WwNsBTrOxm3S-5hplmQFbzzIXaq8UGbftqUhm70q-N0uVuAVAbBEJQiEN_et0EvBmA5w/s1600/cactus+in+bloom-+mingus+mountain-+prescott+national+forest-+ellen+jo+roberts.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2kI9mp3Qbml795Ej38M39yB1QeHhnHKSe7LcnTPHpy9o6VynfTDRgn3_xOHiLu8ZZbDjWV0WwNsBTrOxm3S-5hplmQFbzzIXaq8UGbftqUhm70q-N0uVuAVAbBEJQiEN_et0EvBmA5w/s1600/cactus+in+bloom-+mingus+mountain-+prescott+national+forest-+ellen+jo+roberts.jpg" height="320" width="211" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><o:p></o:p></span> </div>
ellen johttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04887301124107160459noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4456691912227510426.post-17385459022940290902015-01-21T09:26:00.001-08:002015-01-21T12:33:23.922-08:00Vintage Car Heaven <div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Growing up in the rust
belt of the Great Lakes, the dream for any fan of Detroit metal was to acquire
a hot-rod from Arizona. That was the ideal. As we slogged through another
sloppy Chicago winter, our door locks freezing and road salt covering our rust-pocked
cars in a chalky coating, we imagined the dry sunny desert climes, a perfect
environment to preserve vintage automobiles. Arizona is where cars go to
retire, if they're lucky.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br /></span> </div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">There is something
nostalgic and cinematic about a cruise in a classic car. My husband drives a
1969 Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme, a deep blue convertible that causes complete
strangers to shriek with delight as we roll past, its 8 cylinders rumbling like
a favorite song. People want to chat with you when you're in a vintage
automobile. They want to reminisce about one they had that was just like it and
share funny anecdotes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFevMeQnjQ73TUqW7nHCtUnE2T1yOU5ZFH6wEcd4zCI1k93dkEvTj_vgCKTc_2aSOZatpOt6iATjlvuWwG5WuYzmy2AUHlHgPDsSfmSJE9HUu7LJLiYXHBmAGUeucITKGnNOC8g6v-Zg/s1600/6871096651_de8209fcbc_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFevMeQnjQ73TUqW7nHCtUnE2T1yOU5ZFH6wEcd4zCI1k93dkEvTj_vgCKTc_2aSOZatpOt6iATjlvuWwG5WuYzmy2AUHlHgPDsSfmSJE9HUu7LJLiYXHBmAGUeucITKGnNOC8g6v-Zg/s1600/6871096651_de8209fcbc_o.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Because I'm enchanted with
the old school style and technology, I've been a fan of air-cooled Volkswagens
my entire life. However, by the time I got my drivers license old VWs were
already becoming very scarce in Illinois. I traveled as far as St. Louis to
find a yellow 1973 Superbeetle in fair shape and drove it throughout college.
It made it as far as Arizona on our move here 20 years ago and then promptly
fell apart from excessive rust. The engine rails actually rotted clear through
and every time I turned a corner the motor swung from side to side. Arizona
mechanics were dumbfounded by such rust. They'd never seen anything like it!
The undercarriage of the car, at one time as solid as a turtle belly, now
looked like it had been attacked by an extremely cranky wolverine. Rest in
peace and rust in pieces dear old Beetle. The car was sold to a junkyard in
Cottonwood and the still-running engine quickly sold. I like to imagine it
still powers Beetle scooting around somewhere in the Verde Valley.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Arizona's climate is
excellent for preservation, though our windshield wipers always wear out faster
from sun than rain. While the strong sun can be harsh to paint and rubber, the
arid landscape is perfect to keep vehicles rust-free and on the road (sometimes
for much longer than originally intended!) Pulling up at any red light you may
be surprised by the assortment of historic machines stopped alongside you--
1950s trucks, 1960s roadsters, 1970s muscle cars--ranging from completely
original to heavily customized and all points in between. Some have even been
retooled to run on alternative fuels or electricity.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">A bounty of car clubs
cover every region of the state. Auto shows fill the calendar each year ranging
from the local "cruiser" club
weekly meeting at the drive-in diner to seasonal fund-raising street shows to
more specialized groups. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">The Phoenix-based "Arizona Bus Club",
comprised mainly of "Type 2" Volkswagens (better known as vans,
buses, kombis, split windows, bay windows, Westies, campers) is a national
powerhouse of air-cooled enthusiasm. They've hosted a "Jamboree"
camp-out at Jerome's Gold King Mine every September since 1991, spending the
year leading up to the event restoring some fantastic Type 2 to raffle. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Though
my Beetle died of Illinois rust, my enthusiasm for vintage Volkswagens remained
very much alive and later was rewarded with another yellow VW to love, a Karmann
Ghia that we've owned since 1998. We are original founding members of the
"Ghostwagens" car club, based in Clarkdale/Jerome. The gang
occasionally gathers up for a breakfast cruise, bocce ball and croquet in the
park, a visit to the local state parks and national monuments, the Jerome
Jamboree and summer floats at the Verde River. There are many group-friendly
activities for car clubs to enjoy in Arizona no matter the season.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #141823; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">The
Copperstate 1000 is an annual road rally benefiting the Phoenix Art Museum.
Each springtime a parade of amazing pre-1973 automobiles tour a different 1000
miles of Arizona landscape, ranging from low deserts to high alpine. What a
sight it is when these sports, racing, classic and grand touring automobiles
happen to gather en masse and pass through your neighborhood. When we lived in
Jerome, the Copperstate 1000 included this stretch of Historic 89A on their
route that April. One afternoon as we painted our front porch we began noticing
a ridiculous number of fantastic vintage cars snaking up the hill, some
roadsters piloted by drivers in old-fashioned goggles with their scarves
blowing in the wind. We were so dumbstruck we had to stop our chores to watch
the hundreds of foreign and domestic beauties cruise past.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">The famous Barrett Jackson
auction is perhaps one of Arizona's biggest claims to classic car fame. Each
year this giant event in Scottsdale, draws a population of handsomely preserved
machines to the auction block, some very eccentric and highly collectible.
Displayed in colossal circus tents, the vast collection of automobiles are
presented museum-style, for admiration and perusal by thousands of attendees.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Route 66 is a mecca for
car clubs from all over the U.S., staging rallies on the Mother Road, cruising
the historic highway. Arizona features the most abundant surviving contiguous
stretches of this legendary pavement. Overseas visitors have come to expect
sight of antique American cars along Route 66 and they are seldom disappointed.
Many properties make sure to have a photogenic machine or two on hand for photo
ops. </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br />Though restored, glossed-up, candy-colored automobiles are certainly
dreamy, I have a soft spot also for the sun-baked relics, each wearing their
own uniquely faded patina, dings, idiosyncrasies. These cars have what you
might call "character." Such beasts can be spotted randomly in the
wild, parked on side streets, working on ranches, camping in the forest,
patiently waiting at trailheads or ready to fill with groceries at shopping
centers.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">When I visit other parts
of the country I am always surprised and disappointed the lack of vintage metal
cruising the roads. Certainly, there are plenty of precious beauties kept
stored in garages nationwide, pulled out for festivals and the occasional
picnic. Here in Arizona folks utilize these museum pieces as their daily
drivers! The weather is perfect year-round for a classic car cruise.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">You may see us in one of
our old cars at the next intersection. Be sure to wave and give us a thumbs-
up!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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ellen johttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04887301124107160459noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4456691912227510426.post-16460762429046833992015-01-19T08:42:00.000-08:002015-01-19T08:42:11.433-08:00If Life Is a Bowl of Cherries, What Am I Doing in the Pittsburgh?<div style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><b>Originally published Dec. 2008:</b></span></div>
<h2 style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>If life is a bowl of cherries, what am I doing in the Pittsburgh?</b></span></h2>
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<b style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large; line-height: 150%;"><span style="line-height: 150%;">The Outs</span></b><br /><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b><span style="line-height: 150%;">December 2008</span></b></span><br /><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Ellen Jo Roberts</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 150%;"> </span><b style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large; line-height: 150%;"><span style="line-height: 150%;">The Noise</span></b></h3>
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<o:p></o:p></h2>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i>“Vivid dreams and restless sleep
in Pittsburgh. Covers too heavy, room too hot, toss and turn, calves aching
from flat hike in flat Chuck Taylors, snow, rain in face, tired, eyes wild, up
too late watching crime dramas and cop stories.</i>” –notebook jottings.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCqadkW9hnzkwTox04x6CmBltU1uPpoMi9_Wh1SNywcCOnJt32n-yIKi5xBS8-QXnkTTO2IKCeVLnScrOhdMVOwSyW59rT-s6AIWz-RFDIs8humHktGu_xMjgiDNjEtLML-dkx1pRu3w/s1600/3048133845_4f7f606274_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCqadkW9hnzkwTox04x6CmBltU1uPpoMi9_Wh1SNywcCOnJt32n-yIKi5xBS8-QXnkTTO2IKCeVLnScrOhdMVOwSyW59rT-s6AIWz-RFDIs8humHktGu_xMjgiDNjEtLML-dkx1pRu3w/s1600/3048133845_4f7f606274_b.jpg" height="265" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 150%;">One can be certain your jet is bound for Pittsburgh when you take
stock of the passengers around you. You’ll notice the abundance of Steelers
team logos, from jerseys, to caps, to tie tacks and cufflinks. Even the tiniest
tot is decked in Steelers gear. It’s the one thing that unifies those folk from
western Pennsylvania, as varied as their ethnicities may be. I rolled into
downtown “Pix-berg”, as the locals call it, just as a Steelers game was about
to kick off. The streets were clogged with Steelers fans like cholesterol clogs
arteries. Gold and black garb as far as the eye could see, flooding towards
Heinz Field.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7f7b2VZvMVNOg2G-tOqwybOFlq2p5ORkpnfRmwATAX4wY7hJEBwP4GTi2QjCOrrvL1UByQhL2BZNCH1szzfFgq8bTPTAFd-9S5GGSkKByiLwrnjMV4QbMM2s8Ufuq6fpXiRM_el4HTQ/s1600/3048157355_0fa54ec189_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7f7b2VZvMVNOg2G-tOqwybOFlq2p5ORkpnfRmwATAX4wY7hJEBwP4GTi2QjCOrrvL1UByQhL2BZNCH1szzfFgq8bTPTAFd-9S5GGSkKByiLwrnjMV4QbMM2s8Ufuq6fpXiRM_el4HTQ/s1600/3048157355_0fa54ec189_b.jpg" height="265" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 150%;">Pixberg was not
for me, my friend! Normally I can wear a city like a new outfit and pretend I
live there, but Pixberg never quite fit-- it was a bit stiff in the shoulders,
not to mention frickin’ freezing. The daily subfreezing weather and occasional
blizzards in my face were, at first, amusing, as it was so different from the
sunny Arizona autumn I’d left behind. It was a fresh blast, a jolt to the
senses. However, after a few days of my sunglasses languishing untouched in my
suitcase I started to feel the lack of Vitamin D. <i>Pixberg </i>chewed me up
and spit me out! Ach-tooey!</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 150%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 150%;">Fer reals, this
city was quite interesting, in a post-industrial/picturesquely hilly sorta
way--- lots of old architecture, handsome neighborhoods, and interesting
locals. People there are real salt of the earth types, nothing fancy, not
putting on airs-- just real honest-to-God rough-hewn citizens. In Pittsburgh
everyone swears quite casually-- they drop the F bomb as often as we might say
"and", or "the". They use it as a noun, verb, adjective,
and adverb. Also, everyone smokes. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 150%;">My friend Lisa used to live in Pittsburgh
back in its depressingly dirty 1970s, and has no fond memories of it. She says
everyone smoked there because the air was already so bad it didn’t matter.
</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggshKj1bTtY7ZDmGkiAyjX2QBtc25vsg18yr3GFD400vemrHTp2vk-Eqo6M3kydbxxORQ5K91_wi-g6IyzFDHJVa8e4uX5ovWEla2KbwamaPZTiqEjdouthYIHssN8_EyaepiCyhMu6w/s1600/3048333917_b75f578666_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggshKj1bTtY7ZDmGkiAyjX2QBtc25vsg18yr3GFD400vemrHTp2vk-Eqo6M3kydbxxORQ5K91_wi-g6IyzFDHJVa8e4uX5ovWEla2KbwamaPZTiqEjdouthYIHssN8_EyaepiCyhMu6w/s1600/3048333917_b75f578666_b.jpg" height="400" width="265" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 150%;"> Modern Pittsburgh, 2008, is cleaner, livelier, and down right spiffy in certain
areas. Once known as home to numerous smog spewing steel factories, coal mines,
Westinghouse Appliances, and many freight rails, most of the heavy
manufacturing has left the area, leaving behind cleaner, greener industry like
regional office headquarters, universities, and retail businesses. Pittsburgh,
once the butt of environmental jokes, is now home to the nation’s first “green”
convention center. Big names like Carnegie and Heinz still carry much weight,
culturally, with universities, museums, and investments into the city’s aged
infrastructure.
The Heinz corporate headquarters are still located in
Pittsburgh, and the Heinz History Museum is a good primer on Pittsburgh lore.
My taxi driver was from Ghana. He came to Pittsburgh because his parents went
to school there. He said while most of the bad industry has left Pittsburgh,
most of the same old people are still in control. “We need some new people in
control”, he declares in his thick West African brogue. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 150%;">Because of the
Monongahela, Allegheny and Ohio Rivers converging on the city Pittsburgh has
1,700 bridges. The number of bridges is second only to </span><span class="yshortcuts"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Venice, Italy</span></span></span><span style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">! Said Lisa, "Yeah, and if you find yourself on the wrong
side of one, you're screwed!!" <br /></span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilox9OcwZ1GT4F9Bx5h5pCzSdcah2o8IGdWwWSlC6DonKURMr7896d9u_4BqPH6S-Ie3YWp49xe8wgTvK1Ri1nAyI8stGCzSaMiCovfu7ngI9uXPbjdxFBgi7Ud697RJQlhrPsZRRaoA/s1600/3048293207_96b28256a3_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilox9OcwZ1GT4F9Bx5h5pCzSdcah2o8IGdWwWSlC6DonKURMr7896d9u_4BqPH6S-Ie3YWp49xe8wgTvK1Ri1nAyI8stGCzSaMiCovfu7ngI9uXPbjdxFBgi7Ud697RJQlhrPsZRRaoA/s1600/3048293207_96b28256a3_b.jpg" height="260" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 150%;">I was in town
for a conference, for my “real job”, but was able to wander the “Golden
Triangle” of downtown, solo with several cameras, to do some touring on foot
during my free time. I’d arrived with a list of travel tips from Meredith
Seiverd, our very own Noise Creative Director, and native child of
Pennsylvania. Often times during my visit I’d think “I wonder if Meredith was
ever on this same sidewalk, looking at this same view. I wonder if this is the
exact spot where Meredith picked up her bad habits and tendency to use profanity?”
</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 150%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWWaEPBtqWBUF8rZWNbpI9XYnHgMwOXHuf-TEkUImAweVOqqbfjK1CoQaNQ9ROWLR0NPRr3XUO5pVxRYWS7prW19GTeIc5hke6GAK86XzxHeAj8kw8fRwmLXVB667iHpwcwUo8HQELXQ/s1600/3048972534_b83138cda8_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWWaEPBtqWBUF8rZWNbpI9XYnHgMwOXHuf-TEkUImAweVOqqbfjK1CoQaNQ9ROWLR0NPRr3XUO5pVxRYWS7prW19GTeIc5hke6GAK86XzxHeAj8kw8fRwmLXVB667iHpwcwUo8HQELXQ/s1600/3048972534_b83138cda8_b.jpg" height="265" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 150%;">Another native
child of Pittsburgh is Andy Warhol, born Warhola, under the sign of Leo, in
August of 1928. While Warhol’s career may have been most notorious during his
New York City years, Pittsburgh was where he got his start, and where he attended
school, at the Carnegie Institute’s School of Art. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 150%;"> The five-story </span><i style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 150%;">Andy
Warhol Mu</i><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 150%;">seum is a complete fascination, chock full of major artworks of
significant importance, kitschy artifacts, a full library of </span><i style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 150%;">Interview</i><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 150%;">
magazines, and even a few of Warhol’s multi-hued wigs and favorite Polaroid
cameras. The impact Andy Warhol made on this planet, not just in the world of
art but to the entire sensibility of popular culture is evident as you stroll
the museum. He changed everything forever. His life was brief, dead at age 58,
but his impact still reverberates through us even now. What I admire most about
Warhol was his active creativity—he was always drawing, painting, printing,
photographing, filming, making audio-recordings, writing letters. His documents
of the eras in which he lived are invaluable resources today. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQdUyI537JalHQ8P4-H7VX6ofRocBZhqRmbc67mYAeiSgoqLCU_buNUnm0KFCeTmr_fbOrAxSzV24sTNVeE6Moti4Vd3xvBSyfd98VqsqX4WqCEPUmSY8-xiI7Md-juKsVqtIDLQBG9Q/s1600/3049173076_6ac83d7f54_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQdUyI537JalHQ8P4-H7VX6ofRocBZhqRmbc67mYAeiSgoqLCU_buNUnm0KFCeTmr_fbOrAxSzV24sTNVeE6Moti4Vd3xvBSyfd98VqsqX4WqCEPUmSY8-xiI7Md-juKsVqtIDLQBG9Q/s1600/3049173076_6ac83d7f54_b.jpg" height="257" width="400" /></a><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 150%;">Walking the hard
cold concrete of Pittsburgh, crossing numerous bridges and 2 of the 3 rivers,
one can understand how the fertile mind of Warhol sprang forth from this hilly
metropolis. A place where they stuff cole-slaw into everything. Folks on the
plane told me to have a “<i>prih-manny sammich</i>” (Primanti sandwich), a bit
of regional cuisine. Apparently it’s a sandwich roll stuffed with whatever you
want plus cole-slaw and fries, all in the bun. It was invented by the Primanti
Brothers in the 1930s, for construction workers and truckers, so they could eat
their meal one-handed. Those clever Pix-berg folk. When in Pittsburgh I drank
the local brew, Iron City Beer. It was especially good after spending an entire
day on airplanes, although truth be told, <i>anything</i> might taste good
after such an ordeal.<br /><br /><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 150%;">Mister Rogers
Neighborhood was actually in Pittsburgh, and Fred Rogers a local boy.
Pittsburgh’s downtown is home to both the Steelers and the Pirates, with Heinz
Field and PNC Park on opposite rivers. It’s also home to their “cultural
district”, and abundant shopping, of the big old-timey department store
variety. There are “ghost signs” everywhere, faded painted-on mementos of days
long gone. All of the bridges are a sunny yellow, and magnolias bloom year
round, in the form of a bit of public art by Chicago artist Tony Tasset. It
fooled me, to see these big magnolia trees in bloom—I did a Looney Tunes style
double-take, and may have even glanced at my watch. I had to cross the street
to get a closer look. Very realistic sculptures of magnolia trees in bloom. A
delightful bit of trickery brightened the otherwise gloomy weather—delighted
even more to discover the work was by Ohio-native Tasset, who had been a professor
of mine in the early 1990s at the University of Illinois at Chicago. <br /></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN0iV5z8WXngoY3S5bjiFEPXEyk_5hcTajd8vTRX_H4R5Hja8UA1nPK3RRUbnGtTgkfoztxn5T_7taGR5ftTcqQtTvYh56VcGkqUvhrdz4b3gm-_r62rpCpNA6z1kBHXQbkHuHSkdnMw/s1600/3048974904_96b4eb8f38_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN0iV5z8WXngoY3S5bjiFEPXEyk_5hcTajd8vTRX_H4R5Hja8UA1nPK3RRUbnGtTgkfoztxn5T_7taGR5ftTcqQtTvYh56VcGkqUvhrdz4b3gm-_r62rpCpNA6z1kBHXQbkHuHSkdnMw/s1600/3048974904_96b4eb8f38_b.jpg" height="265" width="400" /></a><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 150%;"><br /><br /><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 150%;">The Monongahela
and Duquesne Inclines are notable symbols of the city, carting passengers from
the Golden Triangle downtown, up to the neighborhood called “Mt. Washington”,
or as the locals say, “Warshington”. Lore has it that this was the spot where
young George <i>Warshington </i>first surveyed the land, laying his eyes on
what was to be Pittsburgh. The Inclines have been in operation since the late
1800s, and are sort of like a combination of an elevator and a cable car,
riding rail tracks up the steep hill to Mt. Washington. Price to ride is $2.00
for adults, $2.50 if you want a transfer for the ride back down. The Mount
Washington neighborhood is like a movie set, the homes all vintage and tightly
packed, the macadam sometimes rubbed-off to reveal cobblestone. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuYC04emL_HXKYDp_gSIpmubsvH1FV4BYB7ukeqFK9FXqO3lzAzGInYOOb1HgMOOTI293dYG-jK7kOZgTgIVYnpm0VqgKKiy2lD34QG8cFZ4xP0xQMnV4eiPuNUXKeBHJTxSFEBcyW6w/s1600/3048295037_9f4aa7a5f8_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuYC04emL_HXKYDp_gSIpmubsvH1FV4BYB7ukeqFK9FXqO3lzAzGInYOOb1HgMOOTI293dYG-jK7kOZgTgIVYnpm0VqgKKiy2lD34QG8cFZ4xP0xQMnV4eiPuNUXKeBHJTxSFEBcyW6w/s1600/3048295037_9f4aa7a5f8_b.jpg" height="265" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 150%;">Some streets
are steeper than what you’d find in Jerome, Arizona—like that old joke about
how you could walk off your front porch and into your neighbor’s chimney. With
striking views across the Monogahela River back into downtown, the scenic
splendor was short-lived once a blizzard swept in, cutting visibility down to
just a few yards. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 150%;"><br /></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUqCKaMhgpoE7odxOdJRP_nfA1BgkbRlzAt57jVdpPE5_inhXhkS09IhWO6jR7eot05P3_kA1PWxnHTY2jfZaWH7QTiK_lBoKuG2KLJx4koWZu6Gr4v0sqq779JqA2y54ZlEV4kr5PuQ/s1600/3048334255_f9d1da511f_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUqCKaMhgpoE7odxOdJRP_nfA1BgkbRlzAt57jVdpPE5_inhXhkS09IhWO6jR7eot05P3_kA1PWxnHTY2jfZaWH7QTiK_lBoKuG2KLJx4koWZu6Gr4v0sqq779JqA2y54ZlEV4kr5PuQ/s1600/3048334255_f9d1da511f_b.jpg" height="262" width="400" /></a><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 150%;"><br /></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUqCKaMhgpoE7odxOdJRP_nfA1BgkbRlzAt57jVdpPE5_inhXhkS09IhWO6jR7eot05P3_kA1PWxnHTY2jfZaWH7QTiK_lBoKuG2KLJx4koWZu6Gr4v0sqq779JqA2y54ZlEV4kr5PuQ/s1600/3048334255_f9d1da511f_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"></a><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 150%;"><br /><br />For those wanting a view from below rather than above, the
Gateway Clipper fleet takes tourists on an architectural tour by river.
Meredith worked for the Gateway Clipper as a photographer back in her youth,
taking photos of passengers as they boarded the riverboats, in order to sell
them the shots upon their return. She’s entertained us with many wacky stories
of those days, including how people would sometimes try to steal their photos
off the display board rather than pay for them. Life in Pittsburgh may be
rough, and I imagine it’s a tough place to grow up. Many lessons to learn in a
place like this, and not just from Mr. Rogers. There’s a sort of attitude
there, a sort of dare I say it, a steeliness. Riding the Monongahela Incline as
a dorky tourist cluttered with cameras, the energy given off by fellow
passengers, all locals having their regular routine, was distinctly of the
“don’t get involved” variety. All eye contact averted, no attempt to engage me
in dialogue. It suddenly made me feel very out of place, the faded Arizona
sunshine still painting my cheeks now burning hot and lonely. Maybe if I’d had
been traveling with a friend I’d have not felt like such an oddball. Or maybe
Pittsburgh just didn’t fit. <br /><br /><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 150%;">For more
information:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 150%;"><a href="http://www.warhol.org/"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">http://www.warhol.org/</span></a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 150%;"><a href="http://www.pghhistory.org/"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">http://www.pghhistory.org/</span></a>
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 150%;"><a href="http://www.primantibros.com/"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">http://www.primantibros.com</span></a>
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 150%;"><a href="http://www.portauthority.org/PAAC/CustomerInfo/Inclines/tabid/119/Default.aspx"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">http://www.portauthority.org/PAAC/CustomerInfo/Inclines/tabid/119/Default.aspx</span></a>
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 150%;">Ellen Jo Roberts
is from Chicago, Illinois, also a dreary climate during the winter. She lives
and works in Clarkdale, AZ., sharing a vintage bungalow with her husband and
assorted critters. All the cool people live in Clarkdale. Be there or be
square. Learn more at <a href="http://www.ellenjo.com/"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">www.ellenjo.com</span></a>
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ellen johttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04887301124107160459noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4456691912227510426.post-85594312214090754642014-12-03T08:58:00.004-08:002014-12-30T09:36:49.524-08:00Traveling with Dogs<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Greetings from Floyd Street<o:p></o:p></div>
Travels with a Chihuahua<br />
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By Ellen Jo Roberts<br />
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Dozens of airplane trips.<o:p></o:p></div>
13 states.<br />
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Two countries.<br />
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Eleven years.<br />
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5 pounds of Chihuahua.<br />
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We are those crazy people who take our dogs with us wherever we go. They're our family and we can't leave them behind. Bringing dogs along always makes for extra planning, expenses and hassles, but in the end their presence adds so much to the experiences that it's always worth it. Floyd, at 11, is the eldest of our canine pack and has enjoyed the most adventures.<br />
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Floyd was born on a Verde Valley ranch in 2003. He was a tiny puppy when I first met him, in a cardboard box with his siblings, for sale at a local horse tack and feed store in Cottonwood. After seeing a roadside sign that read, “Chihuahuas for sale” I pulled a quick u-turn and headed back to have a look. Soon we were proud owners of a handsome and feisty Chihuahua. Others have since added on to our “pack”, but Floyd was the first. Despite his tiny physical size, his personality is the largest.<br />
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We have four dogs now: two Chihuahuas, a "Chiweenie" (Chihuaha-Dachshund mix) and a Boston Terrier. Because they're all small they're easy to travel with and combined they only add up to the size of one "regular" dog. Despite this they are each separate beings and often times try to head in different directions. I hook their leashes to my belt with carabiners and the very moment forward momentum stops I am converted to a human maypole, my legs tangled in brightly colored straps.In addition to being knotted up, there are other hassles when it comes to traveling with pets. We must plan locations that are pet-friendly.Motels, campsites, hiking trails all must allow dogs. Rental cars must allow them. Airplane flights must be booked well in advance with special additional reservations in place for the pets who join us, in carry-on travel cases stashed under our seats.<br />
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In his 11 years, Floyd has traveled from coast to coast, from deepest valley to highest mountains.<o:p></o:p></div>
He’s slept in cabins, boats, tents and historic hotels. And on our laps. Lots of lap naps.<br />
He’s been to ghost towns and mansions. He’s cruised storied roads like Route 66 and Highway 1.<br />
Floyd’s set foot in the Atlantic, the Pacific, the Gulf of Mexico, the Sea of Cortez and the Great Lakes, and most of the rivers throughout the desert southwest. He’s been to the Southernmost Point of the United States, in Key West Florida, closer to Cuba than to Miami. He’s visited his Mexican heritage s<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">outh-of-the-border</i>, touring the state of Sonora, and he’s also had his photo taken in front of the White House in Washington D.C. However, his very favorite places to travel are within our home state of Arizona. The amazing variety of landscape and ecosystems make Arizona a lifetime's worth of adventure. The dramatic rock formations and big skies can only seem even more impressive to a little guy who stands 12 inches off the ground!<br />
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Arizona is rich with public lands, affording us many great camping, hiking and day-trip opportunities. Though there is an ever present fear of Floyd getting carried off by a hawk or eagle, he is truly a wilderness Chihuahua and a fan of hikes in Arizona's bounty of state parks and national forests. He also enjoys joining us on raft floats along the Verde River, along the Verde River Greenway and along the Lower TAPCO River Access Park, now called "Verde River @ Clarkdale". He's an excellent co-pilot.<br />
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In general, national parks are not overly pet-friendly. Most don't allow dogs off the pavement. In Arizona, dogs cannot go below the rim of the Grand Canyon. There are many exceptions to this however-- many Arizona national monuments and more remote parks are pet-friendly. Tuzigoot, Montezuma's Castle (and the nearby Montezuma Well) and Petrified Forest National Park are some that allow leashed pets on the trails.<br />
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Most Arizona state parks, with the exception of historic buildings like Riordan Mansion and Jerome State Historic Park, allow leashed dogs. Red Rock State Park in Sedona is one park that does not allow dogs, though the neighboring Red Rock Crossing provides a nearby alternative. Dogs can deter wildlife viewing, and this is the reason they are sometimes not welcome, leashed or not. Dead Horse Ranch in Cottonwood is a great place to hike with dogs, and also offers great river access points and fun sandy beaches.<br />
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National Forest trails throughout Arizona's National Forests allow leashed pets, so Floyd's wandered the aspen forests of the San Francisco Peaks and the red maples of Oak Creek Canyon's West Fork.<br />
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Arizona is a fun place to travel with your pets. Here are some tips to help your dogs enjoy a visit to the Grand Canyon State:<br />
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<b>Water.</b><br />
Excessive heat can be deadly to dogs. Dogs don't sweat and their only means of cooling off is transpiring heat through panting. We never leave the dogs in a parked car unattended. We always carry lots of water for both ourselves and the dogs no matter the season. We try to coordinate summer hiking along water sources, so we can soak the dogs now and then to keep them cool. Sun-baked sandy trails can burn the pads of their feet, so we minimize midday hiking in the heat.<br />
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<b>Travel Crates and Bedding.</b></div>
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We have several varieties of travel carriers and crates. We have one that pops up like a tent that makes a handy place to stash pets in comfort while we break down camp. In addition to their own bowls and food the dogs also have their own blankets and bedding.</div>
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<b>On the Road.</b></div>
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Dogs should be secured safely in cars, just as we are. Allowing them to wander freely can be a dangerous distraction to the driver as well as a risk to the animal should you get into a fender bender. Ours travel in their comfy airplane carriers when we take longer road trips. In addition to providing them calm, safe places to sack out, this method also prevents them from shedding all over us and the interior of the car. </div>
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<b>Vaccinations.</b></div>
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Always make sure your pets are up to date on current vaccinations. We've never been asked about them, traveling within Arizona, but most dog parks request pets be current on vaccinations, and to fly on planes the airlines do require rabies vaccine be current.<br />
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<b>Permission.</b></div>
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Pets are not welcome in many places, but you'd be surprised how many places do welcome your furry friends. Restaurants with outdoor decks and patios often allow your dog to lay at your feet during your lunch. Crema in Old Town Cottonwood welcomes your furry friend in their courtyard. Historic lodging like La Posada in Winslow, and the Wigwam Motel in Holbrook allow dogs and do not charge any additional pet fee. Always get permission. Call, ask the extra fees (if any), tell the desk clerk you are traveling with pets. Some properties have rooms dedicated to those traveling with pets. Campgrounds generally always allow pets, and primitive camping in the National Forest is also a great, pet-friendly option.<br />
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<b>Poop:</b></div>
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Another reason dogs are not allowed: poop. We always carry poop bags and no matter where we are or what a hassle it may be, pick it up and pack it out. The more dog owners that do this, the more venues will become pet friendly. </div>
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<b>Wildlife:</b><br />
Just like anywhere, Arizona has some creatures that can be a danger to your pets if you're not paying attention. Coyotes have been known to eat small dogs and cats. Skunks can spray. Rattlesnakes can bite with deadly results; Scorpions and spiders as well. Javelina, with their poor eyesight, tend to go on the offensive and can gore a dog easily. Bear and mountain lions are top of the food chain in the wilds of Arizona. And as mentioned, raptors such as hawks, eagles and owls can easily steal your tiny dog right from your own back yard! Most wild animals are elusive and will avoid you, but the key is simply being aware and respectful of native creatures.<br />
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Our lives would probably be easier without all these animals underfoot, pestering us for treats and getting their fur on everything… But it would certainly be quite a deal less amusing.<br />
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One thing we’ve realized in our years of traveling with Floyd is that no matter where we go, he is home as long as he is with us. No matter how different the landscape or the temperature, or the duration of the expedition, he is game for any location as long as we together. As we’re packing for a trip I often times find him curled up in my suitcase, nestled among my clothes as if to say, “You’re not leaving without me.”<br />
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Another thing we’ve learned in our years traveling with Floyd: No matter the location, big city street or dusty wilderness trail people will always smile at a tiny Chihuahua walking past.</div>
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Perhaps some day you will see Floyd strolling the streets of your town!<br />
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<i>Floyd is the founding member and president of the Clarkdale Chihuahua Club.</i><br />
<i>He shares his space with Ivan, a Boston Terrier, Hazel, a Chihuahua-Mix, Simon, his young mini-me, and Ned, a big frisky house-cat and the largest of the bunch.</i><br />
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<o:p><i> As always, for more Floyd travel fun, visit....</i></o:p><a href="http://www.ellenjo.com/greetingsfromfloydstreet.html"><span style="color: black;"><i>http://www.ellenjo.com/greetingsfromfloydstreet.html</i></span></a></div>
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ellen johttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04887301124107160459noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4456691912227510426.post-3975896594990341062014-09-23T13:08:00.005-07:002014-09-23T13:36:29.393-07:00Nutty for Neon<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">I
am a neon nut. We'll travel well out of our way to get a glimpse of some
magnificent roadside signage, day or night, new or old, big or small, lit or
dark. Sometimes the sun-baked signage that shares a trip back in time, a faded
glimpse of a bypassed route, is the most interesting of all. The most thrilling
perhaps is the vintage signage long dark that has been painstakingly brought
back to life. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">With
its wealth of historic highways, vintage motels, cafes, taverns and roadside
attractions, Arizona is home to a great array of neon beckoning to travelers.
Historic highways 60, 66 and 89A are some of the best native habitat for neon
signs. Here are some of my favorites...<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfd345Sa0qdwca-LTgeaaBaZqmloUSz8LuGv69C2wpot5eHXi15AfGZlrLvVWDKHK-26e_F73oHro6eVq1r0H3zsPysgG24-gpzTTwYZAOZwLcjb-E7W86ArvoEavOSDtFdrcAtdzAjg/s1600/10937055776_6c391e3d19_o.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfd345Sa0qdwca-LTgeaaBaZqmloUSz8LuGv69C2wpot5eHXi15AfGZlrLvVWDKHK-26e_F73oHro6eVq1r0H3zsPysgG24-gpzTTwYZAOZwLcjb-E7W86ArvoEavOSDtFdrcAtdzAjg/s320/10937055776_6c391e3d19_o.jpg" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiucx63IZ-kfoxm06UW-GUK7L6kvWCDDfrE5E4CMrwyfgaJU5e7GQUSoCZKH0oLcgQgU4XxnBwi2Lve9MFHfNOXNeGS-iDDnz7CFMv64PBgnHBYZ7oBQm6VF-ixPGRv7ggBjrIVb6L1Iw/s1600/mesa+highway+60+the+starlite.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiucx63IZ-kfoxm06UW-GUK7L6kvWCDDfrE5E4CMrwyfgaJU5e7GQUSoCZKH0oLcgQgU4XxnBwi2Lve9MFHfNOXNeGS-iDDnz7CFMv64PBgnHBYZ7oBQm6VF-ixPGRv7ggBjrIVb6L1Iw/s1600/mesa+highway+60+the+starlite.jpg" height="320" width="250" /></a><br />
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<u><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Highway 60</span></u><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">The
Starlight Motel on Route 60 in Mesa features a sleek animated diver leaping
from the top of the towering neon sign, into a splash of blue water. Since 1960<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><i>the
Diving Lady</i><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>was
a beacon for travelers from the east announcing their arrival in town. In
subsequent years, she symbolized an earlier time, when the motel still had a
pool, and when Mesa was still at the sleepy edge of the desert. In October of
2010 the sign was knocked over and destroyed by a severe thunderstorm. Things
looked grim for the Diving Lady, but she made a comeback in 2013, rebuilt with
donations from the public eager to see her figure leaping into the night air
over Mesa once more. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Mesa's
Highway 60 is home to an excellent collection of vintage neon, including the
display for Bill Johnson's Big Apple, created by the same sign builder who
originally built the The Diving Lady, Paul Millet.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Further southeast on 60, the road takes you to the interesting vicinity of Superior, Miami and Globe, all picturesque historic mining towns each with heaping helping of classic signage. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Highway 60 to the west of Phoenix is also rich with vintage neon, though much of it rural and in semi-disrepair yet still striking, artistic and evocative of Arizona's long history as a snowbird paradise. We've pulled many a U-turn in Aguila, to snap shots of Burro Jim's fun donkey-themed sign and the chipped, faded and gloriously broken Sunset Motel sign.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<u><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Route 66</span></u><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Perhaps
Arizona's biggest bounty of neon occurs on Route 66, a necklace of midcentury
magnificence from Holbrook to Kingman. Business 40, a.k.a Route 66, is certain
to please any neon nut. Highlights include an abundance of classic cafes:
Joe and Aggie’s in Holbrook, the Brown Mug across the street from Winslow’s La
Posada Hotel, Flagstaff’s Grand Canyon Café, the “World Famous” Sultana Bar in
Williams, and the Snow Cap in Seligman. Seligman is a tiny town with a
disproportionately outsized collection of neon motel signs attracting visitors
from as far away as Europe and Asia. Naturally, the Mother Road is heavy on
hotel and motel business, with each property competing to catch the eyes of
road trippers driving by with their ever more flashy neon. Kingman’s Hilltop
Motel sign is a frequently photographed Route 66 icon.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">My first job upon arrival in Arizona
was working as a front desk clerk at Flagstaff's Hotel Monte Vista. It's
red-hot roof sign invited rail travelers from afar, though sometimes it was on
the fritz and beckoned guests to the "EL VISTA" or "HOT MON
STA".<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<u><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Highway 89A</span></u><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br />
Along Historic 89A through Yavapai County we enjoy
lots of brightly lit signage, small and large. My town, Clarkdale, is home to
two glowing beauties: the Main Street Cafe's very succinct message "GOOD
FOOD" and the neighboring 10-12 Lounge's original sign from it previous
incarnation, re-installed on its new structure rebuilt on the footprint of the
original tavern.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">The animated neon arrow of the View Motel on Cottonwood's Main Street directs travelers up the hill to the 1940s-built property, and its view of the bustling Verde Valley below. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">For decades along Historic Highway 89A, the Shep's Liquors/Package Goods sign was a well-weathered sentinel announcing arrival in Old Town, even long after the original Shep's business was a distant memory. Five years ago, the Ledbetter Law Firm renovated the adjacent vintage motor-court for use as office space. In conjunction, they also renovated the liquor store sign, replacing the letters to read "Welcome: Old Town". In October of 2009 a celebration was held to ignite the new neon, drawing a crowd of Verde Valley dignitaries and residents to cheer the new beacon for Old Town. Of course I was there, and the moment they flipped the switch we all shouted in glee. For many long time locals they could barely remember the last time that sign lit up the night. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Prescott, Arizona's original territorial capitol, is a city rich with history, and naturally rich with classic neon, especially on Whiskey Row. The Palace, a Prescott landmark, is famous for its guests the Earp brothers, and its appearance in films like "Billy Jack" and "Junior Bonner". Their neon signage is dwarfed by its massive architecture, and still charmingly features the logo for Arizona's A-1 Beer, long defunct.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7AVA2SXZCP8uOd_mP4T1f0_KLNYu05U20iuIODYf1vgYc0b31UM2CeoRp2A7l2QnZda6a2kuI5Y6-7hq7pjzvb8kC0cJ_fJIEHpHbuBolVJEg-AR95wa4w1UIdLOQXeHau4BMnDkzuQ/s1600/palace+prescott+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7AVA2SXZCP8uOd_mP4T1f0_KLNYu05U20iuIODYf1vgYc0b31UM2CeoRp2A7l2QnZda6a2kuI5Y6-7hq7pjzvb8kC0cJ_fJIEHpHbuBolVJEg-AR95wa4w1UIdLOQXeHau4BMnDkzuQ/s1600/palace+prescott+2.jpg" height="640" width="502" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Why am I so kookoo for neon? Am I hypnotized by the pretty colors and intoxicating glow? The artful script? The insistent arrows and graceful Googie-style swoops? Am I sentimental for a different time, a simpler time long before I was even born? Yes, probably all of these things. The scene in Disney's "Cars" where the neon of "Radiator Springs" (inspired by an amalgam of Arizona's Route 66 towns) comes back to life always gives me goose-bumps and causes me to get a lil' choked up.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Celebrate our state's classic, fantastic neon, whether it's old and new, glossy or faded, working or broken. Neon! It's a gas! </span></div>
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<br />ellen johttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04887301124107160459noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4456691912227510426.post-82947229173454341842014-07-16T09:05:00.002-07:002014-09-24T11:46:19.575-07:00Sweet Summer Dreams in the Verde Valley<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
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<i><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">This story was written for Arizona Office of Tourism's Arizona Insider "Guest Blogger" program. </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">The post, which ran July 14th, 2014, was edited and chopped up a bit strangely, making my story a lil' clunky/klutzy in their version. I thought I'd share my original here:</span></i></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><b>Sweet Summer Dreams in the Verde Valley</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Verde River, Cottonwood, AZ</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Brassy big band tunes waft over us from the landmark gazebo, packed full of percussion, strings and horns. Sinking deep into the dark edges of the park's soft summer lawn, we look up at the endless stars that echo the crowd of lawn chairs and blankets below. Cool breezes rolling down from Mingus Mountain add a faint hint of chill to the night air. Though, for a moment it feels we are part of a movie or some bucolic small town dream, in reality, it's the Town of Clarkdale's free Summer Concert Series and just one aspect of this season's magic in the Verde Valley. With live music scheduled on select Saturday evenings through September, it's not at all unusual to witness spontaneous acts of waltzing, two-stepping and foxtrotting in the historic town park.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px; text-align: center;">Summer Concert Series, Clarkdale Park, Clarkdale AZ</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">The Verde Valley, named one of <i>Lonely Planet's</i> Top 10 US Travel destinations for 2013, is comprised of several historic, high desert communities, each springing forth from the 19th and 20th centuries to utilize some abundant natural resource or fill some urgent local need: mining, ranching, agriculture, military presence and bootlegging. Jerome, Clarkdale, Cottonwood, Sedona, Camp Verde and Cornville each have its own distinct personalities yet remain cohesive. The rivers connect us and flow through us, tangling us together as Oak Creek and Beaver Creek make its way toward the Verde. The region’s ideal climate has long made it an idyllic human habitat as evidenced by ancient dwellings throughout the area, including Montezuma Castle and Tuzigoot.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Verde River as seen from Verde Canyon Railroad, running red during summer monsoon season, </td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">A variety of attractions, adventures, art, wining and dining provides a wealth of intrigue for visitors. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Cathedral Rock, Sedona, AZ</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Scenic Sedona is the best known Verde Valley town, straddling the border of Yavapai and Coconino counties. Highlights include its expanse of national forest girdling the town, its many hiking and mountain biking trails, resorts, world class spas and cafes. This red sandstone wonderland is renowned for its spiritual energy, vortexes and new age sensibility. But Sedona is not just a postcard or a movie set. It's also a real place behind the scenes, where people live and work. It's where we go to the dentist and where we see movies!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Buddha Beach, Oak Creek, Sedona, AZ</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Summer is our warmest season, and for this reason the most popular for riparian fun. We locals spend a good percentage of June, July and August along the shady river and creek banks, picnicking, paddling, splashing, floating or just totally submerged neck-deep in the cool water. The Verde Valley is enjoying some fresh renown as a river fun zone, with day-use access areas being improved from north of Clarkdale through Cottonwood, continuing past Camp Verde. Cottonwood’s Dead Horse Ranch State Park provides great trails, camping, fishing and river access. Verde River Adventure Center in Clarkdale rents kayaks, tubes and other inflatables, providing guide and shuttle service for easy day trips.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Verde River, Beasley Flats, Camp Verde, AZ</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Another great way to enjoy the river canyon scenery and wildlife, without getting splashed, is to take a train ride aboard Clarkdale’s Verde Canyon Railroad. Running year-round on a varied schedule, this heritage railroad dates from 1912 and provides a comfortable climate-controlled way to catch a glimpse of the very rare ribbon where riparian and desert ecosystems meet. Starlight rides are a sensational seasonal specialty, heading out in late afternoon and returning through sunset and moonlight.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">A flight at Caduceus Cellars, Jerome AZ</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">While in Clarkdale be sure to visit the newest additions to historic Main Street: The Copper Art Museum and Four-Eight Wineworks, book-ending the area’s mining past and wine future. The Verde Valley’s booming viticulture scene began in the 1990s in Cornville, a sleepy rural town near Oak Creek. Along the winding Page Springs Road, you’ll find the starting point for the region’s growing wine notoriety. Vineyards cascade down the sandy hillsides and wine-tasting rooms cluster like grapes. From here, the wine flows throughout the valley like the creeks that connect us.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Camp Verde, a river town with an adorable historic Main Street, is home to cowboys, horse ranches, pecan farms and Fort Verde State Park. If games of chance and glow-in-the-dark bowling suit your style, Cliff Castle Casino is an entertaining diversion run by the area’s Yavapai-Apache tribe. More daring yet: zip-lining over lions and tigers at Out of Africa Wildlife Park!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Old Town Cottonwood has enjoyed a renaissance over the past decade. Once best known as the bootlegging epicenter of the Southwest, by the 1990s this part of historic Main Street was a sleepy, going-to-seed, slow-down spot. Today, this vintage stretch of 89A is not just a place to tap your brakes. It's worth pulling over for serious exploration. Packed with pedestrians, wine-tasting rooms, antique shops and galleries, great restaurants and fun lodging, Old Town makes a great starting point for an area visit.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">And there, mile high, twinkling and winking in the cool nighttime, Jerome watches over all from its lofty perch on Cleopatra Hill. This former ghost town is an exceptional place to enjoy a sunset glowing Sedona red in the distance. Ideal to explore by day or night, Jerome is home to great architecture, shops, museums, wonderful places to eat and historic, haunted hotels where you can rest your head. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"> The town’s popular ARTwalk takes place the first Saturday of every month; from 5:30pm-8:30pm galleries and studios stay open later than usual into the tranquil mountain evening, serving refreshments and conversation with real live local artists. We lived in Jerome for a number of years and enjoyed the tightly-knit community, a crazy mash-up of native long-time locals, hippies, artists and big city escapees. In the 1960s and '70s counterculture types arrived in Jerome and essentially saved the town's history and buildings with their gumption and elbow grease.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Jerome, AZ</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">With its milder, high desert temperatures, glorious landscapes and vibrant communities there are endless amusements in the Verde Valley, a variety to keep visitors delighted all summer long. As residents, we see a lifetime’s worth of beauty, adventure and cinematic moments everywhere we look.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Clarkdale Classic Station</td></tr>
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<i><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Ellen Jo Roberts is an artist and shutterbug who lives in Clarkdale, Arizona, where she spends the workday as the group coordinator for Verde Canyon Railroad. Read more of her writing on: </span></i><a href="http://www.ellenjo.com/"><i><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">http://www.Ellenjo.com</span></i></a><i><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">. Ellen Jo is a part of the Arizona Office of Tourism’s Guest Blogger Program.</span></i><i><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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ellen johttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04887301124107160459noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4456691912227510426.post-52176124441903061652014-07-16T08:46:00.000-07:002014-07-18T09:39:05.625-07:00It Just Doesn't Matter<div class="MsoNormal">
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<span style="font-size: large;">"<i>It just doesn't matter! It just doesn't matter!</i>"</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">- Bill Murray, <i>Meatballs c.1979</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Mother's Day is sometimes hard to swallow. While I love all of the moms in my life, especially my own, and want to celebrate them, I also can't wait for the day to be done and the hoopla to fade away for another year.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There's something awkward about it for me, about people telling me I am a great mom to my pets and other such silliness. It's not my day, and I'd rather not be included in it. You don't need to try to include me in it! Please! I know my dogs are not the same as children (though they do fill a niche in my soul to nurture and care for something).</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Though we've been married since age 23, Chad and I never had kids.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I never managed to get knocked-up, even by accident. It wasn't for lack of interest or effort.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It just wasn't in the cards for us.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In our younger years it was about money- Not enough of it.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Then we realized there would never be enough of it.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So we did go for it pretty seriously for a few years in our mid-to-late 30s, but perhaps waited too late.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Fertility is a tricky thing. A scant 48 hours every 28 days, losing potency as the years pass.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">After a few years I got checked out, scrutinized by bloodwork and other horrifying, invasive tests only to discover there was not a thing wrong with me on the child-bearing front. Of course my uterus was awesome and my ovaries wealthy! Knowing this didn't make the situation any easier to swallow. Ultimately the idea of medical assistance or scientific intervention was where we drew the line. I felt like if we used artificial means to conjure up a child who did not want to be here we were just asking for trouble. The universe was in control, not us. Like most heart-breaks I'm sure it will all make sense in the end when we're a bit further away and can see things more clearly, with more perspective.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In being a non-parent I sometimes feel like I missed out on some universal experience and some adventures I will never know. I'm not in the club! But that's more about my own selfish needs-- not what some kid might be missing. There is no kid that needed to have me as his or her parent. The world is plenty populous and the universe will be just fine without my DNA extending into a new generation. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Often I think I've been gifted with a lot of talents, and am being greedy to imagine I could have more given to me. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I've always had a natural ease around children, an open-faced honesty they respond to, and they gravitate to me. In my younger years always had a trail of kids following me around like the Pied Piper. For many summers I was a camp counselor and an art instructor and thought about becoming a teacher because I find so much fun and inspiration being with children. If you asked me as at age 12 how many kids I might have someday I was sure I'd have a whole baseball team of my own. However, I'm 42 now and each year that passes the idea of bearing a child grows more dim. Mother's Day sometimes makes me feel a little bit like a failure, but that failure feeling is growing dimmer as well. I've let go of the notion.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Here are some other things I don't like about being a Non-Mom...</span></div>
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<li><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">People with kids stop inviting you to their events. They start to hang out with just other people who have kids. I am an outsider looking in. I don't know the secret handshake.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Not knowing how to hold a newborn properly. I always feel like a klutz.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Most holidays are no big deal. Because most of them are geared towards family and children.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">People pitying me for not having children. Sometimes I see a sad look hidden behind their eyes, like how one might glance forlornly at a hobo. </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I didn't use every part of my body to its fullest capacity! I have organs I never <i>used</i>, and for this I feel bad. I shouldn't feel this way though, because nobody does, not ever--Not unless they're an Olympic athlete who sings opera, a deep sea diver who writes novels, a mountain climber dabbling in sky diving, or something!) My boobs were never used for their primary intention! What a waste! 360 menstrual cycles, wasted. What was the point of all muss and fuss if none of it was even gonna be utilized?</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I get angry with my husband somehow, just a random faraway anger, for his half in this failure.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">If you have friends who are parents, everything else takes a back seat to the demands of raising their children- events they've been invited to but can't attend, friends, other family, their own creative dreams and ambitions.I know for a fact lots of folks use their kids as an excuse when they just don't want to do something. </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I have such happy memories of my own childhood, and to this day remain the biggest, happiest silliest kid who never grew up. For this (plus my remarkable patience), I know I'd have been a great parent.<br />I see so much beauty in the world and ache to share it with everyone.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As much as we're told about all of the parentless children in the world needing a home, adoption seems complicated and expensive.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I get the feeling that people think childless couples are selfish yuppies. The term DINKS refers to "double-income-no-kids". But really, aren't I more selfish if I feel I must foist my genes onto an already crowded planet?</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It must be difficult to raise children in the 21st century. I've seen family struggle with their tweens and young teens, facing issues we never had to deal with growing up in the 1970s and '80s. The internet, smart phones, cyber-bullying, sexting. With the information age, children are growing up online, with all of their exploits filling my newsfeed. Is this healthy for the child's future attitude to have spent its formative years so broadcast so constantly? We shall see how this affects them in adulthood. I like social media and the internet, but I also lived more than half my life without it, and I feel like for this reason I have more of a grasp of its reach than some kid who grew up on it. All of my teen angst is mercifully locked into notebooks stashed in a box in my closet.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When I am very old there may be no one to take care of me or check in on me. I might end up "that crazy old lady down the street".All of my precious artifacts will end up in a landfill and all of my photo albums will end up in some thrift store, maybe to be saved by some merciful hipster. Maybe I will be my generation's Vivian Maier...if I'm lucky.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The sense of superiority many parents sometimes get. It can be downright cruel to someone who never knew the joys of raising a child.<br /><b>Worst of all: </b><b>When people say "Having children was the most important thing I ever did. Nothing else matters. My life is complete now", </b><b>what I hear is "<i>Nothing you're doing matters</i>." and "<i>Your life is incomplete</i>." </b></span><b style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </b></li>
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<o:p><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Here are some things I like about being a Non-Mom.</span></o:p></div>
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<o:p><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Kids are a colossal, in-fathomable amount of work, expense and time. You can't even get enough peace to sit on the toilet without someone shouting for you. Children are always distracting you and commanding your attention! This is why many of my friends who are parents have forgotten their own identities as human beings, as well as their own interests.</span></o:p></div>
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<o:p><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">You can never leave kids solo, especially young ones, but I can leave my dogs at home alone anytime.</span></o:p></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p><o:p>According to a <i>Vanity Fair</i> poll, most parents feel their children were at their "most perfect" as newborns, followed by runner-up "<i>when they leave the house and go off on their own as adults.</i>" Therefore, the whole middle part must be a big hassle?</o:p></span></div>
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<o:p><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Pregnancy and birth are used as exciting plot devices on TV shows, to generate interest, just like weddings. However, most of the time after the birth the kids barely register on the radar. Think Jim and Pam on <i>The Office</i>. Nobody cares about the kids anymore after the big exciting birth scene! We barely ever see them again!</span></o:p></div>
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<o:p><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>Toddlers and Tiaras</i>. People sometimes treat their kids like possessions, dolls, marionettes, something other than real-live human beings with their own goals and their own souls. It's gross.</span></o:p></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I can be the totally cool Auntie without any of the hum-drum, day-to-day stuff. (Though I wish I lived closer to my nieces and nephews and could spend more time with them, hum drum or not).</span></div>
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<li><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Though they're in the minority, there are lots of important people I admire who've never raised children: Many artists, writers, actors, musicians, special teachers who influenced my life. No one would say these people haven't contributed to the world.</span></li>
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<o:p><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My bod is only being wrecked by gravity and the passage of time, not by the passage of a baby through my birth canal.</span></o:p></div>
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<li><o:p><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">What I leave behind when I'm gone is not in the form of a human being. As an artist I make my creative mark in other ways, leaving behind a trail of paintings, writing, photos, documentation. Probably every thing we ever put on the internet will linger forever and travel to distant planets. I often wonder if being an artist, constantly creating things both big and small, silly and serious, has already quenched some deep-seated innate craving to create that for some folks is only truly sated by creating babies. (If I had to make a choice between having artistic talent and being able to make babies, I'd definitely stick with art.) </span></o:p></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My dogs will never learn to read or write, or have a conversation, but they'll also never ask to borrow the car or for help with their Algebra homework. They will never need college tuition. And they don't talk back. They will never slam a door on my face.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Teenagers. Ugh.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A child could be your most amazing, enriching relationship but there's no guarantee, despite all of your best efforts, that your child won't one day completely devastate you worse than any other relationship could. Parents who have lost their children to fatal injuries, accidents, drugs, crime or disease, never seem to fully recover. </span></li>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In the end, they're perhaps pretty well-balanced the pros and cons of it all.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I imagine if Chad and I had had children early in our marriage they'd be heading off to college about now anyway. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Oh! </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">That leads to one more "pro" :</span></div>
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<li><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Empty Nest Syndrome. We won't ever need to go through that melancholy feeling parents get when their kids grow up and move away. </span></li>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">and one more "con": </span></div>
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<li><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">(Instead I guess it's been supplanted by a low-grade melancholy we've felt for years because no kid ever even bothered to show up in the first place.)</span></li>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I struggled to compose this post in a way that would not offend my many friends and family members with children. Eventually I realized this post was not for them, rather it was for my legion of fellow childless folk who may share some of these sentiments. People with kids get a lion's share of attention already and don't really need any more. People like me, wondering if it's okay or not that they never managed to have kids? They need some support and encouragement too.</span></div>
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ellen johttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04887301124107160459noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4456691912227510426.post-78605009795130895722013-12-20T08:17:00.003-08:002013-12-23T08:26:49.278-08:00Hot Springs and The Thing!<br />
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Western Wanderings.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
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This Episode: Hot Springs and The Thing!<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><strong><span style="color: #660000;">The
Noise- January 2014<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
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Outs<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Ellen Jo Roberts<o:p></o:p></span></span></h1>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Greetings from Truth or Consequences, New Mexico, a
dusty old town on the banks of the mighty Rio Grande. <br /><br />Western New Mexico seems
far away, no matter where you’re coming from. As one friend put it, it is the
ideal place for felons to disappear forever because, like, who’s gonna look for
them here? This road trip took us along hundreds of miles of two-lane blacktop,
past never-ending forests of roadside yucca, through ghost towns and over
corkscrewing mountain passes. Along the way we stayed at historic motels,
wandered art districts, met interesting folks and made careful observation of
the ways Arizona and New Mexico are similar and yet so very different.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">After exiting I-40 at Holbrook we were the only car
on the road most of the way to Glenwood. With Gila National Forest all around,
the interesting ghost town of Mogollon to the northeast (home of the Winter Sun
family’s Super Salve Company) and the San Francisco Hot Springs just south,
Glenwood is a historic community with a small stretch of business butted up to
a slow curve of Highway 180. The monsoon season hit the southwest big last
summer. Arizona rains were relentless and in New Mexico it was no different.
Glenwood’s main tourist attraction, The Catwalk National Recreation Trail,
sustained heavy damages from flooding and remains closed until further notice.
Named for an elevated pipeline frame, a relic of the mining era hugging the
canyon walls above the Whitewater River canyon, the Catwalk was a popular
trail, and its closure has impacted tourism in the immediate vicinity. </span></span><br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br />We were
the only guests checked into a strange old roadside motel. The furnace made
sounds like a cat purring. The room was a wild cacophony of textures: wood
paneling, rock walls, shag carpeting. Lots of different out-buildings and
random artifacts littered the property, including assorted ice cream freezers
and a vintage Schwinn Stingray. Stairs to the motel’s second floor had fallen
away or been removed. The people in Glenwood were pleasant but I’d not say they
were overly friendly. They regarded us as though we were French people on
holiday rather than their neighbors from the state next door. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Heading south from Glenwood you soon pass the San
Francisco River and the trailhead to its hot springs pools, also scoured by the
summer floods but being rebuilt according to locals. <br /><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Further down 180, you meet
up with the Gila River and a ridiculous number of towering yucca, saluting you
from the hillsides like their California cousin, the Joshua Tree. Silver City
arrives somewhat suddenly, a surprisingly big city in the otherwise lonely
wilds of southwestern New Mexico.</span> </span><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Born from a 19<span style="font-size: small;"><sup>th</sup> century mining boom,
Silver City is a perfect size town—large enough to offer some engaging culture
and diversity but small enough to still be considered “charming”. It’s got the
perfect blend of appealing features: bountiful art galleries, crazy mannequins
and cool 20<sup>th</sup> century downtown architecture, all of it fringed with
beautiful wilderness and just enough seediness to make it a “real” place.
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Silver City’s Main Street is actually 65 feet
below grade, sunken into a rocky wash now referred to as The Big Ditch. The
town’s original dwellers foolishly chose this frequently flooded thoroughfare
as their Main Street. The business owners kept rebuilding after each flood
until the “big one” struck, in the summer of 1895. Now Main Street is better
known as Big Ditch Park, where the lazy trickle of San Vincente Creek
contentedly rolls over the rocks below.<br /> <br />
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From Silver City it’s a wild, winding
drive on Highway 152 over the Mimbres Mountains, the Black Range and Emory Pass
to arrive at our turnaround point on this random roadtrip, Truth or Consequences.
The constant switchbacks and hairpin curves totaled less than 35 miles, but
added 90 minutes to our drive time. <br /><br />
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<br /><br />Dropping down into the valley below the
pass, Kingston and Hillsboro are two historic mining communities, both part
ghost town and part alive with Hillsboro being the more vigorous of the two. <br /><br />By
the time we pulled into Truth or Consequences, it was after dark and I was road
weary from driving those relentless curves. We had reservations at a nifty lil’
restored motorcourt a few blocks from downtown. The owner of the motel was also
a cranial-sacral specialist and she had an intense, hypnotic gaze I later found
to be symptomatic of the city and similar to the New Age open-faced
spiritualism conjured in Sedona. The people of Truth or Consequences are
frequently involved in some sort of healing arts, no matter their day job, and
their penetrating expressions seemed to be trying to bore right into my soul.
Or, maybe they were alien visitors from another planet. Either way, fine with
me. I’ve got nothing to hide.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Truth or Consequences (or “T or C” as called by the
locals because the full name is such a mouthful), is a small city in Sierra
County, built atop a deep reservoir of mineral hot springs that generate a flow
of 2.5 million gallons per day. The Chiricahua Apaches deemed these hot springs
sacred, calling them by the name “Place to Pray”. In the 1930s and 40s it was
known as a health spa town, full of bathhouses and masseuses. The Rio Grande
frames the edges of the town, gathering stream and steam from the hot springs
as they join it upon exit from the assorted bathhouses. </span></span><br />
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<br /><br /><br />The Hot Springs
Historic District congregates close to the river. During its pre-World War II
heyday there were more than 40 bathhouses in town, and a “21 Day Soak” regimen
was touted to cure anything that ailed you. </span></span><br />
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Today a collection of ten active
and open-for-business bathhouses dot the neighborhood. They range from
expensive upscale to vintage downtrodden but all are piped with the same
mineral-rich water ranging from 98-115º degrees Fahrenheit. The springs are not
sulfury, so the volcanic smell familiar with hot springs in other regions is
absent in these baths. Instead, 37 different minerals bubble up from the earth,
including Lithium, a “natural mood balancer.” After a soak in these magical,
slightly salty waters, we did feel younger, calmer, more limber. The public
baths we visited were perched right at the edge of the Rio Grande. From our
104º soak, we watched the sun set over Turtleback Mountain in the distance and
imagined the olden days, with early visitors camped in tents and slathered in
mud to cure their rheumatism. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Advertised as the “City of Health” and “Health
Capital of the Southwest” the name of this place was actually Hot Springs, New
Mexico until 1950.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In 1949, Ralph
Edwards of the radio (and later television) show “Truth or Consequences”
announced a stunt to celebrate the show’s 10<span style="font-size: small;"><sup>th</sup> anniversary. They
wanted a town to volunteer to change its name, in exchange for publicity and
exposure in connection with the very popular show. Many towns entered the
contest, but Hot Springs was deemed the champ. The premise of the long-running
(1940-1978) game show involved challenging contestants with impossible trivia
questions. Failure to answer correctly before the buzzer rang meant the
contestants must instead complete some wacky, humorous stunt. In addition to
having a town in New Mexico take its name, Truth or Consequences was also
notable for being the very first game show ever shown on television, in an
early broadcast in 1941 when the medium was in its infancy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Another surprising way Truth or Consequences is
first on the cutting edge: Commercial space travel. Spaceport America is a
“gateway to space” and "the world's first purpose-built commercial
spaceport". Located 20 miles east of T or C in the Jornada Del Muerto
desert basin, the Spaceport is now open and operational. Construction began in
2006 though the concept dates back to the early 1990s.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Several tenants call it home, but its
keystone is certainly Sir Richard Branson’s Virgin Galactic, the first
commercial spaceline. Virgin Galactic has already succeeded at launching 20
space missions from this location, suborbital test expeditions to the outer
reaches of the earth’s atmosphere, 60 miles sky high from sea level. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><br />T or C is a weird town, but in a fun way. The
people, with their warm sincerity and crazy soul-searching stares certainly
make an impression. Just like Arizona, there is a great blend of cultures:
Native American, Mexican, crusty old cowpokes, musicians, artists, hippies and
transplants new and old.</span><br />
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The downtown shopping district is a cool scene of
classic kitsch and dusty old western style. T or C’s main grocery store,
Bullocks, probably hasn’t changed much since the 1980s and reminded me of the neighborhood
grocery store of my childhood with its rubber entry mats prompting the entry
and exit doors to open separately, its low ceilings and cluttered aisles. I
knocked over an entire display of Pepto Bismal and no one batted an eye. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“<em>New
Mexico: Not Really New. Not Really Mexico</em>”- t-shirt spotted in downtown T or C.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">New Mexican towns never have as many trees as
Arizona towns. I always feel a bit windswept and sun-parched in New Mexico.
Though New Mexico is very much like Arizona, geologically and historically, I
was vexed to discover there are people in The Land of Enchantment who do not
consider themselves fans of their neighbor to the west. We have traveled to New
Mexico often in the past year and a general, jovial camaraderie from fellow
western folk is something we have savored. On this most recent visit I was
stunned by a conversation with a particularly strident employee of a bathhouse.
<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“I am enjoying Truth or Consequences,” I said with a
smile, all positivity and light, trying my hand at hypnotic expressions, “I’m a
fan of towns of the west and this one is surprisingly artsy and very
interesting.” Despite my warm fuzzies, she was instantly dismissive, frowning,
saying <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">T or C</i> “lacks culture”, and
then hit me with this sucker punch from behind her work desk: <br /></span><br />
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><em><strong>“I’d NEVER go to
Arizona</strong>.”<br /></em></span> </span></span></div>
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Because of our horrible governor and her politics. And how our
horrible governor was influencing the behavior of their slightly less horrible
governor. I felt all the air escape from my lungs. I don’t think she realized
how insulting she was being. I’m no fan of Jan Brewer so to paint the entire
state and all of its residents with the same brush you’d use on the governor
seemed absurd to me. How could she not see the irony of her prejudice? Besides
that, she really harshed my mellow after a nice mineral soak. I kept going on
and on about it as we headed back to the motel, to the point Chad finally said,
“I wish you’d NEVER even TALKED to that woman.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">On the ride back we continued in a loop, following a
southern route, interstate quick, along I-10 back to Arizona. Hatch, New Mexico
is well known as the Chile Capital of America, but did you know it’s also the
Capital of Colossal Fiberglass Figures? </span><br />
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Along the interstate,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>famous billboards tout the rapid approach of
something called “The Thing”. “The THING! WHAT IS IT?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Building to a crescendo with every passing
mile, these roadside teases did their trick on me, “Oh, we’re stopping. At THE!
THING! We must find out, WHAT! IS! IT?!”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">The Thing is located near Willcox, right off the
interstate. It’s a gas station, a fast food pit stop, a gift store. And it’s
also a crazy, amazing, creepy collection of the American bizarre! For only
$1.00 entry fee (75 cents for kids) you can stroll through three big steel
sheds stocked full of insane artwork, machines and autos, questionable
artifacts, dusty mannequins, rain damaged furniture and unintentionally
humorous displays.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My favorite? A 19<span style="font-size: small;"><sup>th</sup>
century telephone in a glass case, sitting next to a 1950s rotary phone. The
words above the two phones, “<em>Ma Bell, My How Far You’ve Come!”</em> (Ma Bell, you
have no idea!)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As for “The Thing”? What
was it? Well, I can’t say. Maybe a mummy, maybe a dummy. Chad thought it was an
alien. I took no photos while strolling the collections at The Thing, because I
believe every American should pay a visit and see for yourself. It’s only
$1.00.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><o:p><br /> </o:p></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Traveling
the west is always fun. There’s always such a crazy mix of wild and tame,
modern and ancient, futuristic and historic, weird and wonderful. As great fans
of sun-baked patinas, vintage neon, silly roadside attractions, dramatic
landscapes and wide open roads, we will certainly celebrate more western
wanderings on the horizon.</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Ellen Jo Roberts lives in Clarkdale AZ with Chad, Floyd,
Ivan, Ned and Hazel. Read all about it at ellenjo.com<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
ellen johttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04887301124107160459noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4456691912227510426.post-984302447336584232013-10-21T19:14:00.001-07:002017-11-24T08:50:08.595-08:00Internet Killed the Video Store<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #990000; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><b>Internet Killed the Video Store</b></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Ellen Jo Roberts</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">The Outs</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">The Noise</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">November 2013</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/10394380546/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="Internet Killed the Video Store by EllenJo, on Flickr"><img alt="Internet Killed the Video Store" src="http://farm3.staticflickr.com/2824/10394380546_79a64de31a.jpg" height="391" width="500" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: small; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The last video rental
store in the Verde Valley is closing after 18 years.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: small; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">As frequent customers of
Cottonwood’s Planet Video, we were bummed. Sure, the “box” rentals outside the
gas stations and drug stores will provide a steady stream of the new release
hits, but what about less mainstream films? What about that vast middle of the
store? The library of indies, television series, documentaries, and the 20th
century comedies and thrillers? Now we’d never be able to catch up with the
current season of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Mad Men</i>, and never
even get our chance to begin <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Breaking
Bad.</i> Our TV set is sparsely equipped with bunny ears and network channels
because we like our movies served supplementally and need no constant diet of
them.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: small; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Being witness to both
the dawn and demise of the video store age, I understand why its 30-year heyday
is now going the way of the dodo bird and the dinosaur. Growing up in the
1980s, going to the video store was a big deal. My brother and I would spend an
hour pouring over the titles trying to outdo each other’s choices of schlocko
horror films and bad B-movies. With video stores gone we’ve got one less reason
to leave the house. We see our friends in virtual neighborhoods and work from
home offices. Folks go to school online now. Movies are streamed to devices,
watched on laps or in the palms of hands. TV is watched on the internet and no
one is ever limited by any network schedule ever. Times change, and as they do,
an event like the closure of your community’s very last video store, will
punctuate that change.<br /><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/1368618180/" title="barry school 2001, chicago by EllenJo, on Flickr"><img alt="barry school 2001, chicago" src="http://farm2.staticflickr.com/1159/1368618180_82f7a8edc0.jpg" height="500" width="403" /></a></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white none repeat scroll 0% 0%; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: small; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">In 1979 I was in first
grade. My school underwent a renovation that year. All of the vintage wooden
desks, bolted to the floor in rows of cast iron, were yanked out and left in a
heap in the schoolyard. These well-worn desks, complete with ink-wells (which
we’d never quite understood the use of), had been used by several generations
of students since the school was built in the 1920s. The ceiling’s pendant lights
were removed in favor of dropped foam-core and florescence. We were given
independent, ergonomic desks with plastic seats in a variety of colors.
Everyone was very excited about this change, as excited as we would be a few
short years later when computers made their first appearance in the classroom.
In 1979 I stood in the schoolyard looking at the mountain of old desks before
they were carted off. Even at age 7, I knew this meant something huge. My
Scorpio-rising sign gives me a deeply sentimental bent and I recognized we were
standing at the beginning of a new age. We had one foot in the past and one
foot in the future! And I was a part of both! Casting off the ink wells and the
incandescent lights of our parents and grandparents. What would the future
hold? Oh, sweet silly 7 year-old, you had no idea.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: small; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">As the technological
revolution speeds up ever more rapidly, devouring itself like a hungry black
hole, I wonder what current cutting-edge things will someday end up in the
schoolyard scrap heap. Most of them probably. There was a time, not long ago,
when we didn’t have wristwatch smartphones and our cars didn’t park themselves.
Here are some 20th century scraps, gone but fondly remembered…Let’s rewind
shall we?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br />Complete Lack of Rules</span></b><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white none repeat scroll 0% 0%; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: small; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">When I was a kid, there
were far fewer safety rules and regulations. We all joke about it now, the
rudimentary and ridiculous contraptions we risked life and limb on, sans
helmets or air-bags. Safety regulations were almost nil, or in their infancy. It
was like the Third World. Seatbelts? They were considered an “optional” feature
on most autos until the 1970s. Like FM radio, or cordovan leather seat
covers.Not only were tots not trussed into car-seats, my peers remember not
even sitting in seats at all, instead driving around in lawn chairs in the back
of their folks’ van, standing on the front seats or sitting in the back-back of
station-wagons, no seats, no seat belts, inexplicably making peace signs at the
drivers behind them. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white none repeat scroll 0% 0%; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: small; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">There was a time when
most farms were not owned by corporations, when GMOs were a distant fantasy in
some evil scientist’s lair, but this doesn’t mean our food was always safer.
When my grandma asked me what I thought the initials of the "A &
P" grocery chain stood for my completely serious response was
"Additives and preservatives?" We were pumped full of chemicals. We
blew "Super Elastic Bubble Plastic" toy bubbles made of toluene and
other brain-melting ingredients. </span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: small; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">My friend Lisa grew up
in the 1960s, “Our dentist gave us mercury in a bottle cap instead of a
lollipop. We'd play with it until it disappeared.” </span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: small; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">So I’m not saying it’s
better to have less rules. Teachers can’t spank their students anymore. Drunk
driving, once a common behavior, has become an extremely serious violation with
zero tolerance. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: small; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Perhaps the biggest change to the rules
involves cigarettes. Up until not very long ago, cigarettes were smoked
everywhere, on airplanes, in restaurants, at the grocery store, by pregnant women.
You could buy them from vending machines. My cousin remembers being able to buy
cigarettes for my aunt at the corner store, “as long as I had a note signed by
her.”<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br />Communications</span></b><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: small; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Leafing through a
Rolling Stone magazine from 1990 I laugh at the wealth of “chat-line” ads in
the back. This is how people met interesting strangers before the internet!
They called 1-900 numbers hoping for a chance to lucky! Or meet the
loveboat of your dreams! For just 99¢ a minute.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: small; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Nowadays we know who is
calling us the moment the phone rings. But there was a time the only way you
could tell who was calling was to 1. Answer the phone, or 2. Let the answering
machine pick it up to screen the call. "Caller ID", originally a
special feature that cost extra bucks, changed that and now every call is
identified as soon as it rings. Kids will never again know the clever joys of
“crank calls”. The “Jerky Boys” could never happen today. We’ll also soon
forget all about payphones. I relied on these until fairly recently when I realized
there were none left .On the topic of cell phones, my friend Ellyn, born in
1969, is reminded of watching the 1993 film “Dazed and Confused” (set in 1976) with
her 20 year old son, “He was very confused about the scene where the kids plan
to meet up at the Moontower that night. He asked me, ‘How did you all know
where to go and what time? How did you arrange for rides?’ Ha ha.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Technology<o:p></o:p></span></b></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: small; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I grew up in a bedroom
that had yellow wallpaper. This was because there was a time people decorated
their baby’s rooms in green, yellow or other gender-unspecific colors because
no one knew in advance if the little tyke would be a boy or a girl. It was all
a big surprise until it arrived, squealing and thrashing about in its birthday
suit.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white none repeat scroll 0% 0%; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: small; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Home computers were once
as big as washing machine, and as slow as molasses.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white none repeat scroll 0% 0%; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: small; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">My friend and fellow
Clarkdalian, Sarah, born in 1978, says, “I remember when Macs could only do,
like, on one process at a time! I mean, if you had the computer trying to run
something, and you switched to a different window, it sorta put the first
action on hold. I swear. Macs were famous for being buggy, delicate machines,
back in those days.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: small; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">School chum Sabrina
recalls, “Computers loaded from a cassette tape in a cassette player, and made
horrible screeching noises.” <o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: small; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">In college in the early
1990s we still used reference books and microfiche for research. We pounded typewriters
for term papers because only rich kids had “word-processors”. And before the
internet, if you'd asked me if there was ever a chance of reconnecting with
every single one of my school and summer camp friends, from kindergarten
through college, I'd have laughed in your face. No way! Those people are long
gone!</span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: small; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p><br />
</o:p></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: small; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju7nyV3Wj2pVfrXW-ibFbnHtOeQ0udBDX5k-YNlJBQR3nO2pYqXNpS6gHWHqfIdJ9LZ_9tPsY8J7_pjFi2ZQ_Ox1bXmeQeUJ_JiqHZTJqOECPNvWSkNCvDgSmM3CzuuYiLR1wjjZ5WFA/s1600/zenith.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju7nyV3Wj2pVfrXW-ibFbnHtOeQ0udBDX5k-YNlJBQR3nO2pYqXNpS6gHWHqfIdJ9LZ_9tPsY8J7_pjFi2ZQ_Ox1bXmeQeUJ_JiqHZTJqOECPNvWSkNCvDgSmM3CzuuYiLR1wjjZ5WFA/s400/zenith.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></span></span></div>
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</span></span>
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br />Entertainment</span></b><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: small; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Besides the late great
video store, other objects littering the scrap yard include the black &
white television set, the drive-in movie and cassette tapes. Though they're
still around and often times still work. Capturing special events for posterity
began with a bright eye of light blinding everyone and burning us to film as
the Super-8 camera made the rounds. It evolved to a big, clunky video machine
on the shoulder which got progressively smaller and smaller until now someone
just holds their phone up and next thing you know you’re on Youtube. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: small; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br />Movies and music have
followed basically the same trajectory, recorded on analog materials like
celluloid and plastic cassette tape before going digital on CD and DVD. Now the
code is mainlined directly to devices, skipping the packaged good entirely.
Sitting in a movie theater I am always amazed the tradition of sitting in the
dark and eating popcorn with strangers still survives into the 21st
century. <o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: small; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br />There is still a
smattering of drive-ins throughout the U.S., most of them labors of love with
limited seasonal schedules. The only drive-in movie I ever went to I attended
in my pajamas, ' cause I was only 3 years-old and my parents were expecting my
brother and me to fall asleep. But I didn't. The film was a scary mess called
"Bug" about atomic cockroaches that set a California town on a fiery
path to disaster. Seeing this at age 3, in my jammies in the back of a big
orange Chevy Suburban explains my lifelong penchant for silly movies.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: small; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Music recycles itself so
concerts remain nearly the same, but the tickets and the t-shirts were once
much cheaper. Up until about 10 years ago concert security used to confiscate
your camera if you tried to bring one in. Today many spend the whole show
watching the stage through their phone.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: small; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br />Atari's "Pong"
was the first video game, circa 1972. Games have since become so sophisticated
that their early forms seem like a different thing entirely, but in their 1980s
dawn we played "Frogger", "Centipede", "Galaga",
"Pole Position" and "Space Invaders" feeding quarters into
machines at places called "arcades", often times adjacent to
"roller rinks". P.S. There was a time every town had a roller
rink. <o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/4936392782/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="Donkey Kong! by EllenJo, on Flickr"><img alt="Donkey Kong!" src="http://farm5.staticflickr.com/4093/4936392782_6cd84192e9.jpg" height="500" width="407" /></a></span></span></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: small; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Many of the classics,
like albums on vinyl, Chuck Taylor sneakers, watching movies with strangers,
seem to hang on. Other analog fashion like film photography and hot rod cars
thrive on in small subcultures. Savor the era in which you live. Enjoy the
sweet filth of newsprint on your fingers as you read this. You will always have
one foot in the past and one foot in the future, and that is a magical thing
indeed.</span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: small; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: small; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Ellen Jo Roberts was born
with her sun in Aries, moon in Libra, and rising sign in Scorpio. She
remembers Han Solo telling Chewbacca to “Laugh it up, fuzzball” as one of the
great cinematic joys of her childhood.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white none repeat scroll 0% 0%; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: small; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Read more at<a href="http://www.ellenjo.com/"> ellenjo.com<o:p></o:p></a></span></span></span></div>
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ellen johttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04887301124107160459noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4456691912227510426.post-5003655928332513792013-08-19T21:00:00.000-07:002013-08-20T08:56:16.782-07:00Enchanted with the Four Corners<div id="yui_3_7_2_1_1376938912506_1979" style="background-color: transparent;">
<span style="color: #990000; font-size: 19px;"><b>Enchanted with the Four Corners</b></span><br />
<div id="yui_3_7_2_1_1376938912506_2038" style="background-color: transparent;">
<span style="font-size: 19px;"><b>The Outs</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 19px;"><b>The Noise</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 19px;"><b>September 2013</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 19px;"><b>by Ellen Jo Roberts</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 19px;"><br /></span>
The Four Corners comes together neatly in a geometric fashion. You can put one hand in Utah, one hand in Colorado, one foot in Arizona and one foot in New Mexico and be in all four states at once like a crazy game of topographic Twister. Or, you can do like we did and cruise a big lazy loop around all of them one at a time.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/9287867001/" title="Mexican Hat, Utah "Cold Drinks Here" by EllenJo, on Flickr"><img alt="Mexican Hat, Utah "Cold Drinks Here"" height="332" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7410/9287867001_6eed8d536f.jpg" width="500" /></a>
<br />
<br />
The first stop on our tour was Santa Fe. It bills itself as <i>The City Different</i> and being a bit of an oddball myself I felt right at home there.<br />
"<i>Riding the No. 2 Bus to the Plaza and making new friends, eating tamales from food trucks and rolling like locals here in Santa Fe</i>"- written on post cards to pals.<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/9287521017/" title="santa fe taco truck by EllenJo, on Flickr"><img alt="santa fe taco truck" height="381" src="http://farm6.staticflickr.com/5457/9287521017_8a390459bf.jpg" width="500" /></a>
<br />
<br />
My first trip through Santa Fe was 18 summers ago, a quick one-night stopover on our move out west from Illinois, caravanning in our two vehicles packed with all of our worldly possessions. We camped just outside of the ski area, around 8,000 feet. I was a cranky brat, my head splitting with altitude sickness. My late, great Volkswagen Superbeetle was also crippled by the high elevation until a friendly local helped me adjust the carburetor. That was my last visit to Santa Fe. 1995! It seemed crazy that we've lived within a day's drive all of these years and had never journeyed back. The town gave me an expensive and slightly sinister vibe during that single brief visit, bathed in the sunset glow of strange graffiti, "no vacancy" signs, dirty looks, tension between the Native Americans, Chicanos and Anglos.<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/9287889913/" title="santa fe ivan and floyd by EllenJo, on Flickr"><img alt="santa fe ivan and floyd" height="409" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7295/9287889913_c8cc5f2500.jpg" width="500" /></a>
<br /> Returning again for a clearer look, I see I was all wrong about Santa Fe.<br />
The City Different is bursting with diverse culture, tolerance and a general jubilance. There is a strong emphasis on the value of art in this town. It's everywhere you look, and it's definitely its own currency. History is also a commodity to be protected and savored. Local food and beverage are world class. Health is also an important focus, though the city is not without its share of drunks and toothless vagabonds. Nestled in the heaving bosoms of the Jemez and Sangre de Christo mountains Santa Fe's high desert climate makes for a pleasant spirit in its dwellers. Walking the Plaza, always just one step ahead of being lost, finding my way through the historic side streets, buzzing on the energy percolating up through this blessed ground, a rare thought came to me.<br />
"I could live here."<br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/9287210603/" title="santa fe silver saddle motel courtyard by EllenJo, on Flickr"><img alt="santa fe silver saddle motel courtyard" height="500" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7334/9287210603_5939278673.jpg" width="332" /></a>
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<br />The Silver Saddle Motel sits along the busy Cerrillos Road, a main thoroughfare through town. A vintage roadside adobe-style beauty built in 1953, the Silver Saddle was my first real introduction to the quirky Santa Fe style so emulated nationwide. The staff at the family-owned motel is delightfully eccentric and full of vivacity. The breakfast in the lobby each morning includes pastries, cereal, fruit, hard-boiled eggs and a good portion of socializing with other travelers. Beverages are served from a mismatched set of kitschy mid-century mugs. The gregarious front desk manager, charmingly draped in turquoise and decked in cool/nerdy eyeglasses, happened to mention her time in high school down to the south in Roswell. Famous actor/Wes Anderson pal Owen Wilson attended military school in Roswell, so I asked, "Did you know Owen Wilson?" "Yes," she laughed, "We actually were in the same graduating class together and in drama class together," and apparently they still maintain correspondence. Val Kilmer's autographed photo hangs nearby. Since he sold his long time Santa Fe home he likes to stay at the Silver Saddle, as it's "the real old skool Santa Fe."<br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/9287237345/" title="new mexico between alburquerque and santa fe- turquoise trail, highway 14 by EllenJo, on Flickr"><img alt="new mexico between alburquerque and santa fe- turquoise trail, highway 14" height="332" src="http://farm4.staticflickr.com/3724/9287237345_3cc307079e.jpg" width="500" /></a>
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<br />Also called Highway 14 or The Turquoise Trail, Cerrillos Road is a scenic two laner connecting Santa Fe to Albuquerque, and an alternative to Interstate 25. Picturesque relics dot the road its entire length: the ruins of an old mining town called Golden, a crowded biker burg called Madrid, and small, historic Cerrillos, an occasional film set. Up until the 1938, Route 66 traveled through Santa Fe and the historic portion of it shares a similar sensibility to the Mother Road elsewhere with its classic neon, railroad-town feel.<br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/9290167498/" title="santa fe san miguel mission 2 by EllenJo, on Flickr"><img alt="santa fe san miguel mission 2" height="332" src="http://farm6.staticflickr.com/5476/9290167498_9e80aeeba9.jpg" width="500" /></a>
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<br />Santa Fe is the oldest capitol in the United States, and its ancient streets pre-date auto traffic by about 300 years, so the popular Plaza is generally crowded with cars and parking is tight. Another automobile note: Spendy Santa Fe is also the Porsche Capitol of the U.S.A. You can't cross the street without stepping in front of some German sports car. The Cerrillos Road No. 2 city bus stops just outside of the Silver Saddle. For $1.00 you can avoid driving and instead have some fun bilingual chats with the locals on public transportation. People in Santa Fe speak Spanish with great fluency; even the Anglo folk have nearly perfect accents. Our morning photo expeditions led us through all of the key historic sites like the San Miguel Mission, Loretto Chapel and its Miraculous Stairway, the Oldest House in the United States, the La Fonda Hotel, the Railyard and Canyon Road's famous row of art galleries. While buying postcards at the old 5 & 10 downtown one morning I managed to run into some random Arizona artist friend who had an on again/off again relationship with Northern New Mexico. "I knew I would catch up to you eventually," he said, exchanging his bike helmet for a giant velvet sombrero from high on a shelf. Santa Fe is chock full of such kismet.<br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/9287977811/" title="santa fe lorreto chapel jesus by EllenJo, on Flickr"><img alt="santa fe lorreto chapel jesus" height="500" src="http://farm6.staticflickr.com/5344/9287977811_8577640d6b.jpg" width="332" /></a>
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<br />The area is notably drier than our home base in Arizona’s Verde Valley. The Santa Fe “River” was a shockingly puny trickle and serious fire dangers had closed the National Forest during our summer visit. The lack of agua is a possible deal-breaker in the "I could live here" game. Being river town folks, we were craving some riparian life by the time we packed up and headed on for our next destination: Dolores, Colorado and a camping cabin along its eponymous cool grey-green river. On the road north, we stopped to see Abiquiu, about an hour from Santa Fe. Abiquiu is the place that inspired artist Georgia O'Keefe the very most. She lived there from 1949 ‘til 1984 and her home studio, "The Ghost Ranch", can be visited and an overnight stay can be arranged. The nearby Chama River snakes through red rock high desert and fragrant fields of sage. The geology of the area is at once familiar and completely foreign: rocks veined with strange geometry, alien formations and intense, saturated colors. I'd never seen anything like them before...except for, perhaps, in a painting by O'Keefe.<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/9287941401/" title="abiquiu, new mexico- chama river by EllenJo, on Flickr"><img alt="abiquiu, new mexico- chama river" height="500" src="http://farm6.staticflickr.com/5328/9287941401_a3c7582d9c.jpg" width="332" /></a><br />
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Further north, in Aztec, NM, along the Animas River, the Aztec National Monument is a display of ancient dwellings and similar to Tuzigoot, much of it rebuilt by WPA crews in the 1930s. Closer to the Colorado border, we are surprised by sight of a 20th century ruin, a lonely, abandoned structure along Highway 550 emblazoned with the name “Clarkdale”. It’s worth pulling a u-turn for a photo op, though later Google gives us no information about the building or why it wears the name of our Arizona home town. <br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/9287951447/" title="clarkdale!.... new mexico? by EllenJo, on Flickr"><img alt="clarkdale!.... new mexico?" height="332" src="http://farm6.staticflickr.com/5547/9287951447_26f1eab78c.jpg" width="500" /></a><br />
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Dolores sits just below 7,000 feet in a mountain valley. It's an old railroad stop on the Rio Grande Southern Route, and home of the famous Galloping Goose No. 5, a crazy cool train contraption made from an old school bus mixed with a locomotive and painted silver. There are seven Geese total, all built in Ridgway in the 1930s and all still operational. The Galloping Goose was originally used to deliver mail between towns in the Southwestern Rockies. Goose No. 5 is parked outside its own museum in downtown Dolores, though on special occasions it goes journeying on the nearby Durango-Silverton and Cumbres and Toltec Railroads.<br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/9290461452/" title="dolores galloping goose 2 by EllenJo, on Flickr"><img alt="dolores galloping goose 2" height="332" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7394/9290461452_3b1b367463.jpg" width="500" /></a><br />
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For a few nights we camped in a rustic cabin along the banks of the Dolores River. We spent every day hiking up on foot and floating down in rafts the rocky Dolores, and every night in a creaky old bed lulled to sleep by the river sounds as it hugged the edges of our rough hewn cabin home.<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/9287916223/" title="dolores river sunset by EllenJo, on Flickr"><img alt="dolores river sunset" height="500" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7375/9287916223_d383e70a43.jpg" width="392" /></a><br />
<br /> The town is small, tidy and historic and claims a pretty decent brewery. Assorted Dolores River Brewery ales can be purchased in canned 4-paks at the local liquor store. Also worth a try: Escalante Ruins at the Canyon of the Ancients visitor center. A mile hike up a sloping paved trail leads to a hilltop ruin and remnants of an ancient kiva. From this vantage point you can also see that the Dolores is dammed. The adjoining reservoir covers an old lumber town long gone called McPhee that gave its name to the lake that drowned it.<br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/9290683274/" title="dolores river camground river cabin #4 by EllenJo, on Flickr"><img alt="dolores river camground river cabin #4" height="407" src="http://farm4.staticflickr.com/3784/9290683274_37fe101906.jpg" width="500" /></a>
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/9290716754/" title="dolores river crawdads and the tools i used to capture them by EllenJo, on Flickr"><img alt="dolores river crawdads and the tools i used to capture them" height="500" src="http://farm6.staticflickr.com/5347/9290716754_cd5293d791.jpg" width="332" /></a><br />
The most recent of stamps in our National Parks passport book was inked<br />
at Hovenweep National Monument, a stop on our drive back home as we tallied time in each of the Four Corner states. Hovenweep is very remote, right on the Colorado/Utah border and about an hour from the closest town, Cortez, via the sparsely traveled Canyon of the Ancients route. What makes these ruins so impressive, in addition to their lovely canyonside perch, is that they were never rebuilt, or reinterpreted by WPA crews. Hovenweep is "stabilized" but original. Discovered in 1854 and protected by National Park status in 1923, these ancient towers and structures straddling two states are original to the 13th century. <br /><br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/9290593326/" title="utah colorado border hovenweep 3 by EllenJo, on Flickr"><img alt="utah colorado border hovenweep 3" height="332" src="http://farm4.staticflickr.com/3698/9290593326_3b1694955c.jpg" width="500" /></a>
<br /><br />Through Utah we continued, a dot on the map slowly meandering back to Arizona. We took a wrong turn out of Hovenweep and suddenly have no idea where we are. Lost in the scenic west, we drive along curving, rolling and very nameless roads. No shoulder, no pavement markings, no speed limit signs. No worry, either. Not yet. The day was far too magical. We knew everything would work out. A promising intersection appears, inspiring hopes of being back on a main road, back on route. The new highway is not marked either, except for two burros standing nearby, eagerly awaiting our arrival. <br />
<i>“Wow, that’s how you know you’re REALLY lost. When the only ones you can ask directions from are a couple of donkeys.”</i><br />
<br />We burst into laughter. This is somehow everything wonderful and lovely about the western roads we've just spent the week wandering. The sense of being lost but not being scared. The open skies, beautiful rocks and the sun-baked surprises every mile. The feeling we're just small pieces of something much grander and anything is possible. The sense of enchantment. Our eyes are wide open for the next bit of magic down the road.<br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/9290713102/" title="lost in utah with only donkeys to ask directions from by EllenJo, on Flickr"><img alt="lost in utah with only donkeys to ask directions from" height="265" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7428/9290713102_5806a62e6c.jpg" width="400" /></a><br />
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<span style="font-size: 19px;">For more information:</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 19px;"><a href="http://www.silversaddlesantafe.com/">silversaddlesantafe.com </a></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 19px;"><a href="http://doloresriverbrewery.com/">doloresriverbrewery.com</a></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 19px;"><a href="http://www.nps.gov/hove/index.htm">www.nps.gov/hove/index.htm</a></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 19px;">Ellen Jo Roberts lives in Clarkdale Arizona with Chad, Floyd, Ivan, Ned and Hazel.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 19px;">Read all about it at <a href="http://ellenjo.com/">ellenjo.com</a></span><br />
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ellen johttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04887301124107160459noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4456691912227510426.post-79565961837212641082013-08-11T16:25:00.003-07:002013-08-11T16:38:43.120-07:00What Would Billy Jack Do?<i>Originally published in February of 2007, “What Would Billy Jack Do?” was a sideways swipe at the “W” era Whitehouse, and a star struck tribute to a movie hero of mine, Tom Laughlin. </i><br />
<i>Laughlin, perhaps better known as his 1970s movie character “Billy Jack”, celebrates his 80th birthday on August 10th. </i><i>His newest project, “Death at the Box Office” is a marketing study on the formula for successfully marketing a film, and why so few motion pictures are able to hit the mark. He envisions one day “Billy Jack” will be re-made, starring Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt, or Ben Affleck and Jennifer Garner, real life couples, just like he and his co-star Delores Taylor…</i><br />
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What Would Billy Jack Do?<br />
The Outs<br />
By Ellen Jo Roberts<br />
February 2007<br />
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What the world needs now is more Billy Jack. Most people in this town have no idea who the heck he is, and I’m fixin’ to change that right now. Billy Jack is a pacifist ass kicker, a Vietnam Vet Green Beret, judo-chopping, Wrangler-wearing, half-blood “injun.” He protects misfits, hippies, minorities and wild horses. He was the perfect counter-culture hero for the 1970s Vietnam era and he translates into the War on Terror era with ease.<br />
Billy Jack will take off his cowboy boots and deliver a barefoot roundhouse kick to the face of some stupid prejudiced redneck in the park. And not only that — he will give complete warning prior to doing so, “calling his shot” as it were … “You know what I’m going to do? Just for the hell of it? I’m going to take this right foot, and I’m gonna whomp that side of your face,” and before said redneck barely begins to crack a snide smile, before he can start to laugh — WHAMMO! Down for the count! Using only the power of his personality he can convince a villain to drive his brand new Corvette into a lake. Sometimes Billy Jack just…goes…BERSERK!<br /><br />
“Billy Jack” is a much beloved cult classic starring Tom Laughlin, who wrote, directed and produced the films. One of the first “blockbusters,” Billy Jack (1971) was second in what is commonly called the “Billy Jack series” which began with the introduction of the character in 1967’s California biker gang extravaganza Born Losers, and continued with The Trial of Billy Jack (1974) and Billy Jack Goes to Washington (1977).<br />
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For many in Hollywood, Tom Laughlin is considered one of the original “independent film makers” and when I mention this to him, he graciously includes John Cassavetes and Roger Corman. <br />
“What factors contributed to your decision to write and produce your own films?” I asked, as he talked to me on speaker-phone from his California home.<br />
“Well, that’s why I came to Hollywood — I desperately wanted to change things. My whole life has been this desire to make things better and to change things … and by accident I got into the drama stuff.” <br />
A bishop named Fulton J. Sheen had a weekly show every Tuesday night on national television from 1951-1957, and Mr. Laughlin said he “just stood in front of a blackboard and talked. He didn’t preach religion but he preached that ‘Life is Worth Living’ and he was more popular than any show, period, at the time. The world stopped to watch it.”<br />
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Mr. Laughlin hitchhiked to NYC from his hometown of Milwaukee, Wis. to meet Mr. Sheen, who recommended TV and movies as an excellent medium for reaching a wider audience. A studio actor at first, Mr. Laughlin became a director by chance, when he was called upon to fill in for an unreliable director. “I started directing there and I realized it wasn’t that hard.” He and wife, Delores Taylor then began raising money and working towards producing their own films.<br />
<br /> “We did invent the mega-multiple blitzkrieg breakout film method of distributing pictures,” continues Mr. Laughlin, “which actually changed the motion picture forever. Back then you just opened in one major theater in downtown of each city … and then you went wide. So you only opened with 50 maybe 75 prints in all, across the country … Our market research showed us that people didn’t give a damn if you hadn’t opened in New York yet, or they didn’t care in New York if you opened first in Montana.<br />
“So we went ahead and mortgaged our home, everything we had, and we said we were going to open up 1200 prints on the same day, instead of 60. Variety and everyone called us ‘nuts’…of course we did over $30 million dollars in the first month with tickets selling for 75¢, 50¢ … and not 20 films in the history of the cinema had done that in their entire lifetime. So that changed everything. That made it possible to have the $100 million, $200, $300, $400 million movie.” <br /><br />
<i>Born Losers</i> was a big drive-in hit, featuring tawdry sex, bizarro bikers, funny nicknames, Jane Russell, a dead sea lion, weird sunglasses, girls in bikinis, and the ever-ready, ever-steady Billy Jack who avenges the rape of several teen girls by planting a bullet square between the eyes of the goofy biker gang ringleader.<br />
“The villains in your films are excellent because they are so complex. They are not 100% evil — they all have some weakness or flaw that adds very much to the film,” I say.<br />
“Well, we felt it was essential. We are all screwed up in one way or another, some more than others,” says Mr. Laughlin with a soft chuckle. I cannot believe I am on the phone with Billy Jack! Somebody pinch me!<br />
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<i>Billy Jack</i> has been the biggest commercial hit in the series thus far, and I hold it close to my heart due to the regional filming locations — Prescott in particular, as well as various spots throughout Yavapai County. In the film, Billy Jack lives in Montezuma Castle (!) while watching over the misfit kids of the much-maligned hippy “Freedom School” run by Jean (played by Delores Taylor).<br />
The uptight townsfolk don’t dig the weirdos of the school, and the kids don’t fancy the townsfolk much either, but bottom line is: they are all just threatened by what they don’t understand. Some wonderfully weird dialogue makes this film eminently quotable.<br /><br />
Billy Jack is totally sexy and cool as he single-handedly whomps a dozen rednecks surrounding him outside the Prescott Courthouse (just before someone clocks him in the back of the head). In every film, Billy shows his vulnerability by nearly ending up dead, confirming that while the villains are not 100% evil, neither is he 100% invincible. Billy Jack is just a man. “Damn your pacifism!” shouts one fired-up hippy chick.<br />
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Today at age 75, after surviving cancer and two unsuccessful presidential bids (as a Democrat in 1992 and as a Republican in 2004) Tom Laughlin is working on the long-anticipated 5th film in the series, <i>Billy Jack’s Moral Revolution.</i><br />
“You’ll like the next one,” says Mr. Laughlin, “It’s going to be even more explosive, more powerful.” The new film will take on such topics as the war in Iraq, political corruption, and the difference between sex and eros. “It’s a profound difference which very few people know,” Mr. Laughlin mentions with dismay, “Thirty percent of 13 year old girls give oral sex once a week and 20% of them are ‘cutters,’ do you know what that is?” Mr. Laughlin wants to help educate young people to get their “real power” and not just be “masturbation tools.”<br />
<br />With some intense views on American politics, he calls the current government “the most evil regime” in US history. His website, <a href="http://billyjack.com/">BillyJack.com</a>, reads like a Dr. Bronner soap bottle, chock full of words, theories and strategy, with mini-videos of Mr. Laughlin talking about current topics, new movies, viable exit plans for Iraq, and how we can remove our dependency on oil.<br /><br />
Tom Laughlin calls the situation in Iraq far worse than Vietnam ever was. <br />
“The number one rule of war is to know thy enemy. Well, the lack of knowledge, the ignorance of the entire peninsula — not only Vietnam, but Thailand, Cambodia — was so profound, they had no idea what they were doing,” declares Mr. Laughlin. “After 12 years, the net result was 3 million people died in that war … but the number of service people that served in that period, that serviced that war, was 8,750,000. And that culture was extremely easy to understand, though we didn’t understand it at all.” <br />
Mr. Laughlin explains that because there are so many more different cultures and factions in the Middle East, subdivided into hundreds of different tribes, it is far more complex than the Vietnam conflict was, as far us understanding the native people. “These tribal cultures have been fighting each other for 3,000 years. And there are ties to Iraq from Muslim communities all around the world — which we did not have in Vietnam.”<br />
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Mr. Laughlin blames the escalation of the war on Bush’s “mental disintegration.”<br />
“He’s panicked and he’s unraveling … he’s delusional, he’s got a messianic complex.” When I ask him if he believes Bush will be impeached, he answers in typical Billy Jack steady fashion, “If we have anything to say about it, he will.” <br />
<br />Mr. Laughlin has no love lost for the “cowardly Democrats” either, “who didn’t win the election, they backed into the election by being against the war — people wanted the war ended — 80% of the people want it over. They backed into it and now they are waffling.” <br />
In addition to educating people via his website and his new film, Mr. Laughlin plans to organize a large movement of people against the war, including a citizen commission on Iraq “and the stuff that will come out will just absolutely blow your mind … We’re looking for a million people across this country to rise up and say ‘F--k you guys, No more deaths.’”<br />
Did he just say the F word? Damn! The dude is still kicking ass. Billy Jack is rolling up his sleeves and pulling off his boots. He is about to start up with the roundhouse kicks and judo chops again.<br />
For more information on how you can participate in Billy Jack’s Moral Revolution visit billyjack.com<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Ellen Jo Roberts kicks ass and takes names, but leaves her shoes on. She’s really excited she talked to Billy Jack. Read more about her life with the hippie misfits in Clarkdale AZ at <a href="http://ellenjo.com/">ellenjo.com</a></span><br />
<br />ellen johttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04887301124107160459noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4456691912227510426.post-20690688151333305532013-07-01T14:05:00.000-07:002013-07-02T12:33:37.867-07:00That Summer Camp Feeling<em>Originally printed in June 2007:</em><br />
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That Summer Camp Feeling<o:p></o:p></div>
June 2007 <br />
The Outs<br />
The Noise<br />
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Ellen Jo Roberts<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/502272763/" title="Tower Hill Camp, Sawyer, MI, 1984 by EllenJo, on Flickr"><img alt="Tower Hill Camp, Sawyer, MI, 1984" height="400" src="http://farm1.staticflickr.com/225/502272763_e2045542ac.jpg" width="500" /></a>
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I got my first kiss at summer camp. Mid-June, a heavy
all-day rain that had continued into the night. It was the summer of the “17
year cicadas” their newly emerged pupating bodies littering the earth and
hiking up the bark of trees. I was new on staff that summer, a Chicago girl, an
all-worldly, cross-legged 18. The giddy, goofy pre-teen girls in my cabin
quizzed and teased me mercilessly. They had decided that all of the boy
counselors were hot for me. One in particular bravely made his move, a tall
dark Sagittarius, a freckle faced identical twin. He appeared at my cabin door
that night, while I was off brushing my teeth. When I returned and could hear
his voice quizzing the girls as to my whereabouts, and being the bashful late
bloomer that I was, nervous but feigning a sense of “cool mystery”, I decided
to sit outside in the rain, on a window ledge. The rain drops coming off the
roof made lines across the thighs of my jeans. I looked up when I heard him
open the door. “There’s just something irresistible about you, an aura or
something”, he said.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/3907644900/" title="south haven - private beach by EllenJo, on Flickr"><img alt="south haven - private beach" height="337" src="http://farm4.staticflickr.com/3462/3907644900_991db2596d.jpg" width="500" /></a>
<br />
<br />
Recently a friend of mine described his delightful new
romance with the expression, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“that summer
camp feeling”</i>, and I knew right what he meant, instantly. Away from home,
long days, star-filled nights, the perfect, intense butterfly-filled romance.
Dreamy, fragrant, abbreviated like the short life of a mayfly. Every June I
always get that summer camp feeling. During college I was a counselor at an arts
camp in southwestern Michigan. It was a camp I’d been to as an adolescent
camper, so it was a heady experience to return in a position of authority.
People from Michigan always describe where they’re from by holding up the palm
of their hand and pointing to a spot. Because Michigan looks like a hand. <br />
<br />
Each
June fellow counselors would pile onto the basket-weave vinyl seats of my aged
rusty VW bug and we’d make the long, sticky, un-air-conditioned drive over the
Chicago Skyway, on the toll road skirting the Indiana shores of Lake Michigan
and up the coast into the cool pines of Tower Hill Camp. If I were pointing at
my hand now I’d be touching the hard side heel, the part you’d use to karate
chop someone. <br />
<br />
My cabin was inexplicably called “The Swamp”, and was
located in an area called “The Pines”, high in the forest, a fair hike from the
rest of the communal buildings of the camp. I had lived in this place as a
camper and a counselor both. Watching the 1979 Bill Murray film “Meatballs” had
inspired me to come back. “THE SWAMP” was scrawled in faded red paint above the
door, and the ceiling rafters were carved full of ancient graffiti. As a camper
I’d lie awake at night reading the scratched names and dates and rude phrases
from my top bunk. <br />
Tower Hill dated from the 1930s or ‘40s and bordered on a
state park and the lake. The camp had several large halls where we met up for
arts & crafts, dance, drama, music, meals, sing-a-longs. In addition to the
older girls in “the Pines”, there were the “A-Frames” where the younger kids
resided, and the barracks on the far end where the junior high boys lived. A
trail weaved in and out of Chicagoans’ summer cabins, and side roads, to follow
a wooded creek that reached the beach in long winding curve, finally emptying
into Lake Michigan.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The skies were clear
and the lake cold. Michigan side always is in the summer. <br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/4155976861/" title="Great Lakes, 12x12 by EllenJo, on Flickr"><img alt="Great Lakes, 12x12" height="495" src="http://farm3.staticflickr.com/2661/4155976861_34c00d4155.jpg" width="500" /></a><br />
<br />
The campers were full
of enthusiasm and glee, though dealing with pre-teens figuring out social
structure was not without the assorted “issues” and “dramas” to untangle.
Overall the challenges were not so difficult after the first few nights away
from home. Evenings were full of dog-eared ghost stories and gales of laughter.
A symphony of flashlights bouncing off of the darkness. That summer camp
feeling is fleeting magic. Camp ends and it’s back to the city, back to reality
and the fanciful days and nights of camp soon grow faint. The fling with the
twin didn’t pan out much beyond the end of camp, though we did make a valiant
effort to prolong that dreamy feeling. I think I lost sleep over him maybe one
night of that summer, maybe thought I loved him for about a minute, while
clutching his forgotten sweatshirt to my face and breathing it in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His bird-like kisses and fakey romantic gaze
began to grate on me. We had no chemistry, something was a bit off. I always
thought it was the absence of the carefree summer camp setting, but years later
he finally came out of the closet, and now lives in Santa Barbara with his
boyfriend. (My brother finds this hilarious, of course, and uses it as an
example of how I, by my sheer heinousness, converted someone to homosexuality).
My last sight of the twin that year was as my headlights washed over him in
someone’s wintry driveway. He accused me of loving my Volkswagen more than I ever
loved him. Turns out he was right.
<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<br />
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<o:p> </o:p>I had a new boyfriend every year at camp. Everyone did. That
bunkhouse boogie was like a square dance. The next boyfriend killed me. Not in
a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Jason Voorhees- Friday the 13<sup>th</sup></i>
Summer Camp fashion, but instead a long lingering heartbreak that took me a
good year to shake. <br />
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><br />“He was the boy who
broke my heart the hardest,</i>” –journal entry. <br />
<br />
“The hippies love each other”
said the girls in my cabin. <br />
<br />
Marty was an absolute freak, an adorable doe-eyed
wildman in crazy hats and insane boots, pookah shell necklaces, cradling his
boom box and singing along with REM. At Tower Hill he was a superstar- he was
DJ for the dance- he was always everyone’s favorite counselor. The kids all
loved him because he was “on” all the time, funny and rude, he’d do anything
for a laugh, even if it meant hurting feelings or being absolutely gross. <br />
<br />
His
theme song was Herman’s Hermit’s “I’m Hen-ery the 8<sup>th</sup> I am”—it was
his calling card, he led rousing renditions of it that echoed throughout Tower
Hill. . He called himself Jesus Christ and shouted at random passersby on the
road. Chaos. Capricorn, skinny, too skinny, tall, with full lips and a great
kiss, he spent the rest of the summer trying to get me to lay down with him on
the beach, in the forest, in my car, on his bed. I played hard to get. <br />
Goodie Two
Shoes. <br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/488448993/" title="old fotobooth photo- summer 1992 by EllenJo, on Flickr"><img alt="old fotobooth photo- summer 1992" height="500" src="http://farm1.staticflickr.com/229/488448993_4082e3bb6f.jpg" width="177" /></a>
<br />
<br />
The summer camp feeling lingered on after camp a bit-- he plied me with
romantic mix-cassettes and lengthy phone calls but in the end he just lived too
far away. I got a flat tire on some farm road with my dog and had to sleep in
his garage. We played Marco Polo in the lake, ate Key Lime Pie at a late night
suburban Denny’s. He later dumped me at that very same Denny’s, in front of all
of his friends and some gothy new girl he was already grooming to be his new
summer romance. He sorta shrugged it off like it was all casual and <em>hey, that’s
life</em>. That’s what broke my heart the hardest --too inexperienced to have any
perspective or know any better. Now it makes me laugh to think I got in such a
lather over that goofy ass weirdo. The following year and a few girlfriends
later he became a father. He was a 16 year old son now, maybe causing his own
summer camp mischief, maybe breaking some hearts just like his dad did back in
the day. Hey Marty, if you’re out there, Happy Father’s Day, 8<sup>th</sup>
Ol’ man called Hennery, Hennery the 8<sup>th</sup> I yam, I yam. H-E-N-R-Y. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
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It’s time for summer camp again, and wouldn’t you know it
every year it comes to mind, though I am a many-years married girl, many years
living 2,000 miles away, I still think of it every June. The anticipation of
packing up the car and driving around the lake, the ghost stories and
sing-alongs, and the thrill of first kisses. The 17 year cicadas are back<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>this summer. Incredible really. How do they
know when the 17 years are up?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It must
be a feeling they just cannot shake.
<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/3670368434/" title="madd camp memory by EllenJo, on Flickr"><img alt="madd camp memory" height="337" src="http://farm3.staticflickr.com/2448/3670368434_36629d168a.jpg" width="432" /></a>
<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Ellen Jo Roberts lives in Clarkdale AZ. with Bike Daddy Chad
and some famous pets. Read all about it at ellenjo.com. For a few Michigan
summers back in the 1990s she was the coolest camp counselor the Swamp ever
had. <o:p></o:p></div>
ellen johttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04887301124107160459noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4456691912227510426.post-14149851844103906792013-05-09T09:01:00.001-07:002013-07-02T12:34:29.248-07:00Floyd Goes Global!<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-large;">Floyd Goes Global!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">In March of 2013 I was contacted by Jane Zhao, a representative of a popular Chinese Magazine, "Outdoors". They'd found my Floyd travel photos via Flickr and wanted to enlist me to write a story and send images for an upcoming special issue.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">In May 2013, the article went to print and Jane sent me the pdf.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Just to make sure it wasn't complete bunk, I plugged the story into a <em>free </em>translation website to see if it was really the one I'd sent them. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Here is the story, loosely and hilariously translated back into English, more or less.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">(My original story is here too, at bottom, to help decipher the stranger aspects of the "translation"!)</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"></span><div class="photo-title" id="title_div" property="dc:title">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: small;">outdoor exploration -special "travel with pets" issue- page 1</span></span></div>
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<br /><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: small;">SPECIAL ISSUE special report</span></h1>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: small;">Mini travel companions <br />Traveling with a Chihuahua Ellen Jo Roberts wrote Ellen Arizona travel enthusiasts, The owner of three dogs and four cats, pets Travel was her way of life. Freud The Chihuahua weighs five pounds, their footprints Two States, all 13 States, with dozens of Flights flight experience, travel For ten years.</span></h1>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: small;">In 2003, Freud in central Arizona Valley Ranch was born. <br />The first time I saw it, It is a skinny little dog babies, and its brother Sisters huddled together inside a cardboard box. <br />At that time, FLOPink Floyd and the brothers and sisters nails and sold at a local horse feedStore, quietly waiting for someone to buy them out. <br />Accidentally glimpses on the side "selling a Chihuahua" this ad Immediately after comes a 180 degree turn around and went straight into the home Shop. Then, we are proud to welcome the first official adoption Dog: Chihuahua in a handsome, lively. Although Then my family and has a number of other "members", butFreud always come first. Although size Petite,Is it personality the most. Due to the Petite, so travel with it is very convenient. Every time we holiday adventure, whether short or long,Floyd will be included in the travel plan. With pets Holiday made the journey more enjoyable, but it is also accompanied by more Difficulties. We plan travel destinations at all times consider the dog 's. Whether motel, campgroundOr hikes were accepted and became the pet<br />The dog. When selecting a flight, to book in advance in order to Fellow pet set aside special locations-usually you can reset The portable suitcase under the seat.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7-6NBXt5F8ypB9nxiEqB1h2iacc98aHOD9mQZd2UeuvW6co-GNCjHr3KQk5FsjM9BpZIsFgvVIP1VPAXdeqldh3_YAyxalnIyr6wYALQ7LY0M6c5b3WMnEIu097mcbjTc_R-LRuxRrw/s1600/8705271732_0273eb4ace_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7-6NBXt5F8ypB9nxiEqB1h2iacc98aHOD9mQZd2UeuvW6co-GNCjHr3KQk5FsjM9BpZIsFgvVIP1VPAXdeqldh3_YAyxalnIyr6wYALQ7LY0M6c5b3WMnEIu097mcbjTc_R-LRuxRrw/s640/8705271732_0273eb4ace_o.jpg" width="512" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: small;">10 journey, from the West Coast to the East Coast, from the most Deep valleys to the highest peak, have left a Freud Footprint. It slept in a cabin, slept on the ship,Slept in the tent, spend the farmhouse, lived in rice Shop. Of course, never slept less in our lap, countNot clear it has on our legs how sleepy were hit.It visited small towns also visited the large city. In the 66th,Road and highway has left his story, 1th. It Had entered the Atlantic, Pacific, and Mexico Bay, kesitehai And the Great Lakes. It several times along the Mississippi River. It United States extreme South-Florida from Key West Miami 160 kilometers away. As typical of Mexico, and Floyd visited it "South of the border", visited the province of Sonora. And if With the typical American, Floyd, Washington, DC,Get a picture before the White House. Travel with Freud andFor many years, we have come to feel one thing: no matter where And as long as we're together, Floyd, right at home. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: small;">Warm no matter how difficult the road, how climate and evil Worse, how hard the journey, as long as we're together, Florida Lloyd is like playing happy. Whenever we prevail Travel Pack is always quietly from time to time found it Myself curled up in my suitcase, or lying in my On a pile of clothes, as if saying: "don't you leave meGo. ”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: small;">Floyd is so lovely that it appears always Caused a lot of people knees. But they do not know, Freud Real is a fierce little guy. "Furious five pounds Meat, "this is my alias for it. If there is a stranger When it get too close, it will be upset. First the nose Slight wrinkling, looming soon thereafter revealing its tip The tooth. If a stranger talking continued, Freud would open Started screaming, and then full attack! But and are familiar with When they were together, it changes back to the loyalty charm small Love. And with another dog, it's like a foreign Ambassador, other dogs is like spending time with it. And Freud's many years of experience tells me: no matter In what city, people see cute little Chihuahua Will smile and say hello to it. Floyd is now living in Arizona, accompany it There are other pet friend, Ivan, a Boston dog; Keeley Hazell, a mixed Chihuahua; Ned, a lively House cat. If the foot is not so much small thing, without it Brings the various "surprises", not those out all Yes ... ... Our lives may be able to lighten up. But If that were true, home will be much better than now Joy. Perhaps one day in the future, Freud would pass across the The sea, appears in the familiar small-town streets</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">The REAL story, original English version:</span></h1>
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<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="color: #0b5394;">Greetings from Floyd Street<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="color: #0b5394;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="color: #0b5394;">Travels with a Chihuahua<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="color: #0b5394;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="color: #0b5394;">By Ellen Jo Roberts<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="color: #0b5394;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p><span style="color: #0b5394;"> </span></o:p></div>
<span style="color: #0b5394;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="color: #0b5394;">Dozens of airplane trips.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="color: #0b5394;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="color: #0b5394;">13 states.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="color: #0b5394;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="color: #0b5394;">Two countries.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="color: #0b5394;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="color: #0b5394;">Ten years.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="color: #0b5394;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="color: #0b5394;">5 pounds of Chihuahua.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="color: #0b5394;">
</span><br />
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<o:p><span style="color: #0b5394;"> </span></o:p></div>
<span style="color: #0b5394;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="color: #0b5394;">Floyd was born on a ranch in Arizona’s central Verde Valley
in 2003. He was a tiny puppy when I first met him, in a cardboard box with his
siblings. They were for sale at a local horse tack and feed store. After seeing
a roadside sign that read, “Chihuahuas for sale” I pulled a quick u-turn and
headed back to have a look. Soon we were proud owners of a handsome and feisty
Chihuahua, our first dog as adults. Others have since added on to our “pack”,
but Floyd was the first. Despite his tiny physical size, his personality is the
largest.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="color: #0b5394;">
</span><br />
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<o:p><span style="color: #0b5394;"> </span></o:p></div>
<span style="color: #0b5394;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="color: #0b5394;">His small stature makes him an easy traveling partner and we
have included him in our adventures both near and far. Traveling with pets
makes adventures more enjoyable but also more difficult. We must plan locations
that are pet-friendly. Motels, campsites, hiking trails all must allow dogs.
Airplane flights must be booked well in advance with special additional
reservations in place for the pets who join us, in carry-on travel cases
stashed under our seats.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="color: #0b5394;">
</span><br />
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<o:p><span style="color: #0b5394;"> </span></o:p></div>
<span style="color: #0b5394;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="color: #0b5394;">In his 10 years, Floyd has traveled from coast to coast,
from deepest valley to highest mountains.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="color: #0b5394;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="color: #0b5394;">He’s slept in cabins, boats, tents, private homes and
historic hotels. And on our laps. Lots of lap naps.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="color: #0b5394;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="color: #0b5394;">He’s been to ghost towns and mansions. He’s cruised storied
roads like Route 66 and Highway 1. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="color: #0b5394;">
</span><br />
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<span style="color: #0b5394;">Floyd’s set foot in the Atlantic, the Pacific, the Gulf of
Mexico, the Sea of Cortez and the Great Lakes. He’s also crossed the
Mississippi River numerous times. He’s been to the Southernmost Point of the
United States, in Key West Florida, 100 miles from Miami.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="color: #0b5394;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="color: #0b5394;">Like any proper Mexican, he’s visited his homeland <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">south-of-the-border</i>, touring the state
of Sonora.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="color: #0b5394;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="color: #0b5394;">Like any proper American, he’s had his photo taken in front
of the White House in Washington D.C.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="color: #0b5394;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="color: #0b5394;">One thing we’ve realized in all of our years of traveling
with Floyd is that no matter where we go, he is home as long as he is with us.
No matter how different the landscape or the temperature, or the duration of
the expedition, he is game for any location as long as we together. As we’re
packing for a trip I often times find him curled up in my suitcase, nestled
among my clothes as if to say, “You’re not leaving without me.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="color: #0b5394;">
<o:p> </o:p></span><br />
<span style="color: #0b5394;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="color: #0b5394;">Floyd is so cute he always attracts a crowd of admirers.
Unfortunately for them, he is a vicious little brute.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</span><br />
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<span style="color: #0b5394;">“Five Pounds of Fury” is what we call him. If strangers try
to approach him too closely, he gets angry. He starts with a slight wrinkling
of the nose, then the faint hint of fang. If the approach continues, he begins
to growl and soon it is a full-fledged attack.With those he knows and loves, he
is a devoted and charming little fellow. He’s also a great ambassador with
other dogs, all of whom love him instantly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #0b5394;">Another thing I’ve learned in our years traveling with
Floyd: No matter the city, people will always smile at a tiny Chihuahua walking
past.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #0b5394;">Floyd lives in Arizona with a few other pet pals: Ivan, a
Boston Terrier, Hazel, a Chihuahua-Mix, and Ned, a frisky housecat. Our lives
would probably be easier without all these animals underfoot, pestering us for
treats and getting their fur on everything… But it would certainly be quite a deal
less amusing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</span><br />
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<span style="color: #0b5394;">Perhaps some day Floyd will take his show overseas and
perhaps you will see him strolling the streets of your town.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<o:p><span style="font-size: x-small;"> </span></o:p></div>
P.S.<br />
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<o:p> As always, for more Floyd travel fun, visit....</o:p></div>
<a href="http://www.ellenjo.com/greetingsfromfloydstreet.html">http://www.ellenjo.com/greetingsfromfloydstreet.html</a><br />
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ellen johttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04887301124107160459noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4456691912227510426.post-1099903501370632902013-04-28T11:03:00.001-07:002013-04-28T11:05:49.533-07:00A River Runs Through Us: Viva La Verde Via Artists<b>A River Runs Through Us:</b><br />
<b>Viva La Verde Via Artists</b><br />
<b>The Noise </b><br />
<b>May 2013 </b><br />
<b>The Outs </b><br />
<b>Ellen Jo Roberts </b><br />
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<i>Sometimes we're high and </i><br />
<i>Sometimes we're low. </i><br />
<i>Just like the river, </i><br />
<i>We go where we flow. </i><br />
<i>Reflecting the sky, </i><br />
<i>Connecting the earth, </i><br />
<i>It all comes together, </i><br />
<i>Through sorrow and mirth</i>-<br />
chorus of “Life is a River” by Wendy Harford.<br />
© April 2013<br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/8633787942/" title="beasley formations and verde by EllenJo, on Flickr"><img alt="beasley formations and verde" height="500" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8266/8633787942_6fa447c3c6.jpg" width="332" /></a><br />
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Cool grey-green waters and muddy footprints. Polished rocks of all sizes, down to the tiniest bit of warm, grainy sand. Caves, cliffs and dried reeds tangled high in the willows. Shaded arboreal canopies cooling a summer day. Starting with a trickle from its headwater springs near Paulden, the Verde River builds up speed as it collects groundwater, tributaries and springs en route to its eventual joining with the Salt River. Its lush banks of ancient Cottonwoods, a curving trail of green when seen from high above, gives name not just to the river but to our entire valley. The Verde evokes images and emotions in all who have frolicked along its banks. A perennially flowing stream, its very special riparian ecosystem makes up a rare 2% of Arizona’s geography. And as with any rare element, demand exceeds the supply.
However, one thing not in short supply locally is creative folks: Painters, sculptors, photographers, poets and musicians. Perhaps they can use their talents to engage the public about the river’s value and the importance of its conservation. A group of 25 Arizona artists is attempting to do just that. In launching their kayaks downstream for a three-day group camping and paddle excursion this spring, they soaked up the river’s beauty and now prepare to translate it into fine art.<br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/8632679871/" title="waiting by EllenJo, on Flickr"><img alt="waiting" height="332" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8250/8632679871_d72aec7429.jpg" width="500" /></a><br />
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The Verde Artist Challenge, a project sponsored by the Cottonwood-based Verde Valley Land Preservation Institute, will share their inspiration via a traveling art show, “A River Runs Through Us.” The artwork, in a variety of styles and media, will be the results inspired by the group’s foray along the Verde. The first showing opens on July 27th at the Manheim Gallery in Old Town Cottonwood, and will travel to other local venues throughout the next year. Phoenix Sky-Harbor Airport has also expressed interest in the series, sharing the artists’ view of the Verde River with an international audience.
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/8633780128/" title="marsha foutz by EllenJo, on Flickr"><img alt="marsha foutz" height="500" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8108/8633780128_295bc02b62.jpg" width="332" /></a>
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“The Verde is a verde emerald in the high desert. An incomparable jewel,” said VVLP president, Bob Rothrock. An avid river-runner, Mr. Rothrock explained to me how the Verde Artist Challenge took shape, nearly by chance during the “Walkin’ on Main” event along Historic Highway 89A in Old Town Cottonwood last autumn. Attracted to a piece of art created by the multi-talented Wendy Harford of Cottonwood, Rothrock and wife Kristen began a conversation with the artist about the river and were quite surprised to discover she’d never paddled it. Mr. Rothrock, an avowed paddle-junkie, admitted he gets a “large charge of taking people on river trips.” I can practically see the light bulb going on above his head as he says, “Wouldn’t it be great to get artists on the river and get them inspired?” Working with Ms. Harford who had experience with artist group events, the Verde Artist Challenge came to life.
Artist applications were accepted and judged in early 2013. “At first we thought, gosh, are we going to get enough artists to apply for this?” said Mr. Rothrock, “It was uncharted waters.” They received 32 applications for 25 positions.
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/8632686573/" title="bob rothrock on river by EllenJo, on Flickr"><img alt="bob rothrock on river" height="332" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8107/8632686573_6ba74a511f.jpg" width="500" /></a>
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From April 5th through 7th, the 25 artists participated in a 10 mile Verde River adventure beginning at Camp Verde’s White Bridge and ending at Beasley Flats. Two nights were spent camping at Rocking River Ranch, midway, with daytime symposiums on birding, nature photography and archaeology led by local experts. During free time at camp, artists were able to sketch and paint en plein air, take photos, swim in the river and dangle from rope swings, play music, sing and write songs around the campfire. Videographer Bryan Reinhart of the Sedona Film School joined the group to film the journey for a future documentary.
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/8632668077/" title="rockin r ranch camping area by EllenJo, on Flickr"><img alt="rockin r ranch camping area" height="299" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8257/8632668077_ac8e9bd892.jpg" width="500" /></a>
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The grant-supported trip provided river guides, inflatable kayaks for the artists, as well as meals at camp. The grant also provides each artist with a $200 stipend for their eventual donation of art. Each artist will donate at least once piece of art to the VVLP, with rights for the images to be used by the organization. At the finale of the traveling exhibit, the artwork will be auctioned with all proceeds benefiting the VVLP and the Friends of the Verde River Greenway.<br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/8632670429/" title="paddlers by EllenJo, on Flickr"><img alt="paddlers" height="332" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8393/8632670429_6e24c65042.jpg" width="500" /></a>
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“Honestly, I feel more importantly than the money is the public and getting their hearts connected to the river,” said Mr. Rothrock.
By connecting the community to its river on an emotional level and engaging with the art, we share the Verde’s importance to the populations it touches. I was able to join the group for the final five-mile stretch between Rocking River Ranch and Beasley Flats. We’ve spent many rewarding afternoons floating the Verde in Clarkdale and Cottonwood, but this was my first time paddling this portion of the river, extremely scenic with gypsum cliffs, limestone caves and something the river guides referred to as The Tunnel of Love. Though most of the rapids were no more than Class 2, they were abundant. Several were slightly technical and all quite thrilling, eliciting a “weeeeeee” more than once. Refreshing splashes made me happy to have packed my cameras in a dry sack. The artists, most from the Verde Valley, but several from further away, were each a delight in their own unique fashion. Most had never visited this stretch of the river, and in fact many had never kayaked before.
“Kayaking down the Verde River was a magical and visceral experience; one that reminded me how precious water is in the desert and how often we take it for granted in our lives,” shared Saskia Jorda, an interdisciplinary/installation artist from Phoenix,“The river is part of nature’s circulatory system and so it becomes an extension of our own. Protecting and caring for it is vital to our own existence.”
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/8633795522/" title="beasley formations 2 by EllenJo, on Flickr"><img alt="beasley formations 2" height="332" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8103/8633795522_57bf097f9f.jpg" width="500" /></a>
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Watercolorist Judy Jaaskelainen of Clarkdale struggled to verbalize her rich feelings from the trip, “My part, as an artist, is to paint what that felt like, to describe in some way how being with the river delicately touched my patched-up heart. I am still processing my experience from the weekend. I am so very grateful to have been included. I don't know how to put into words how meaningful it was. I hope my artwork will reflect some of the pure joy and happiness evoked by this sweet, sweet gathering.”
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/8632675443/" title="judy gypsum cliffs by EllenJo, on Flickr"><img alt="judy gypsum cliffs" height="500" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8539/8632675443_b3aba7257d.jpg" width="332" /></a>
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“Water is integral to life,” declared Jerome multi-media artist, Richard Johnson, “Rivers are the veins of our living earth. Without our life-blood flowing, part of us will die. The Verde River is that important to me.” As a potter and a sculptor, Mr. Johnson remembers harvesting buckets of clay from the Verde’s banks in the 1970s, “and will again soon, with other artists from our magnificent river trip.”
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/8632655839/" title="richard johnson by EllenJo, on Flickr"><img alt="richard johnson" height="332" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8122/8632655839_b884a9d158.jpg" width="500" /></a>
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On April 11th, 2013 at the Camp Verde Multi-Use Complex Auditorium, the U.S. Geological Survey presented the findings of their study "Human Effects on the Hydrologic System of the Verde Valley, Central Arizona, 1910-2005 and 2005-2110: Applying the USGS Northern Arizona Regional Groundwater Flow Model." The groundwater model was based on data collected from 1910 through 2005, incorporating the Verde River Watershed and estimating the impact of human activity on the base flow of the Verde River at the Paulden, Clarkdale and Camp Verde stream gauges. This study of the Verde River’s flow, prepared in cooperation with the Verde River Basin Project and the Town of Clarkdale, indicates a decrease of water in the river due to increased groundwater use. There is future potential for the river to run dry during summer months. Per the Bureau of Reclamation report “Central Yavapai Highlands Water Resources Management Study” a conservative estimate indicates that by the year 2050 the Verde Valley and Prescott will exceed the available water supply by 45,000 acre-feet per year. That translates to more than 14 million gallons we’ll be short if we continue on our current trajectory. The Big Chino Sub-Basin (groundwater aquifer) northwest of Prescott is considered by many to be a crucial element of the Verde River’s flow. Prescott, a historic city and Arizona’s first territorial capital, has exceeded safe yield of water since the 1980s and each year development of the area’s tri-cities lowers the Little Chino Sub-Basin an additional 18 inches. The goal of the Verde River Basin Partnership is to educate the public about conservation and preservation of the river before changes are irrevocable.
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/8632674185/" title="beasley looking upriver by EllenJo, on Flickr"><img alt="beasley looking upriver" height="332" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8536/8632674185_7fbd9c3226.jpg" width="500" /></a>
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“As artists, we are site interpreters,” said Ms. Jorda. “We have the responsibility of showing the world how we perceive the beauty and force of our surroundings. Through this work, we ask our audience to love and respect the Verde River for future generations to enjoy.”
"Verde River to me is the tranquility, solitude and home to the most precious life,” explained wildlife illustrator, Lynn Zubal of Sedona, “Preservation of the Colorado, Verde, and Salt River will protect all life and surrounding areas. We as artists can capture this beauty through art and our art can help protect all rivers and wildlife for a lifetime.”
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/8633767940/" title="end of the trip by EllenJo, on Flickr"><img alt="end of the trip" height="500" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8545/8633767940_7d2d22c0d4.jpg" width="370" /></a>
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Marika Vaaranen is a Camp Verde painter and an avid kayaker who grew up in Finland. She and her husband chose their location in Camp Verde because of the river. “To me the Verde River symbolizes life itself. The sounds of the river echo the sounds of all living beings. It takes each individual drop of water to make the river just as it takes each of us to make a community.” Though Ms. Vaaranen knows the Verde River well, she says, “I am still amazed by the amount of beauty and wildlife around her. Especially kayaking you notice that you'll never see the same river twice. The water flows down to the ocean and perpetually returns from rainfall. We hope. The Verde inspires my art and spending time in or near her makes me happy. She is the reason the desert is livable.”
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/8632657657/" title="marika by EllenJo, on Flickr"><img alt="marika" height="331" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8533/8632657657_00a23ec151.jpg" width="500" /></a>
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In what ways can artists help the Verde River?
“Artists can open windows to the Verde River for people who may not otherwise have noticed or appreciated her fully,” explained Ms. Vaaranen, “Hopefully the art created by the 25 Verde Artist Challenge artists will make everyone who sees it want to deepen their relationship with the Verde River in some way. Once people have a heart connection to the river, they will want to protect her.”
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For more information on the Verde Artist Challenge and “A River Runs Through Us”: <br /><br /><a href="http://verdeartistchallenge.org./">verdeartistchallenge.org.</a><br />
<br /><a href="http://www.verdevalleylpi.org/">www.verdevalleylpi.org</a><br />
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Ellen Jo Roberts lives just up the hill from the Verde River in Clarkdale Arizona.
You can read all about it at <a href="http://ellenjo.com/">ellenjo.com</a><br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/ellenjo/2528703899/" title="verde river -may 2008 by EllenJo, on Flickr"><img alt="verde river -may 2008" height="332" src="http://farm3.staticflickr.com/2115/2528703899_76851e874b.jpg" width="500" /></a>ellen johttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04887301124107160459noreply@blogger.com1