South El Monte's Legg Lake: rare sighting of a wood stork
December 22, 2009 3:18 pm
Monday, December 28, 2009
Rare Sighting in LA
South El Monte's Legg Lake: rare sighting of a wood stork
December 22, 2009 3:18 pm
Turkish Cowherd, Hattusa, Summer 2008
How long has it been since you last shared an intimate moment with a Turkish cowherd on the ramparts of Hattusa? If you're like me, it has been well over a year since you had the pleasure.
This charming guy sits atop walls built 4,000 years ago to defend the Hittite capital of Hattusa. The Hittites worshipped 1,000 deities. Virtually everything was covered: father, son, holy ghosts, Hanukkah, Kwanza,smoked meat and the rhythm method. Since my wife is an observant Hittite who worships Teshub, the god of thunder, I felt obligated to make the pilgrimage with her to Hattusa which sits on a vast hillside a few hours east of Ankara. Once I caught her worshipping his son Sharruma who was quite the Hittite, if you know what I mean, but that was just youthful indiscretion on her part. Me, I prefer Teshub's wife, Hepatu, the sun goddess, who goes around town standing on a panther. A visitor from Pittsburgh seemed to be smitten by the sword god, known locally as Clarence, whose sword handle is made out of 4 lion's heads. Better that than continuing his devotion to Jerome Bettis doesn't even play for the Steelers any more.
Thursday, December 24, 2009
Monica and Willard
V* and I were enjoying a perfect vacation last month in the Caribbean with her family. Great company, excellent accommodations, outstanding home cooking and a perfect beach. One day, as usual, we had the beach to ourselves. We swam, we lounged under the palapa and talked of our great good fortune.
Around mid-day we noticed a middle-aged couple walking along the beach toward us. As they approached we noticed his body movement was erratic. They passed in front of us, turned and then waded into the surf. Out further in the water she paddled about him while he floundered in the waves just as he had on land.
After a few minutes bobbing in the waves they headed back toward shore. As they reached the beach he suddenly fell. She stooped, grabbed his arm and tried to pull him to his feet. But he continued to struggle on all fours. Finally upright, he looked at us, thrust his jaw outward and grinned in triumph. As he hobbled by she paused in front of us. She was of sturdy Nordic stock and sported a short-cropped Girls Athletic Association haircut. I was thinking...leather helmet, shin pads, lacrosse stick in hand. No, more like Brunhilda in full chain mail, massive spear in one hand and swinging a morning star in the other.
She smiled warmly. "Willard*'s getting much better now. He doesn't always know where he is but it is what it is." (What, what is it? we wondered).
"He was squished just like a mayfly on your windshield 4 years ago in a head-on collision. Looked like he was a goner. They had to pry him out of there with the jaws of life and then medevac him by helicopter to Atlanta where he was in intensive care for 4 months."
"Oh, god, that's just...."
"No, no, it's all good. They rebuilt his skull, put his shattered legs and arms in traction and within a year and half he was out of his wheelchair and learning how to walk and talk again."
"Oh, he must be, I mean you must be...."
"No, no, it is what it is. It's all good. But then as soon as he could work again--Willard is a time and motion specialist with the agriculture department--they downsized him and he lost his benefits rating after 35 years with the department."
"Oh, I'm ..."
"No it's all good. Then they transferred him to Bogalusa. You do what you have to do. Then I was transferred from Chattahoochee to Homerville. I'm a nursing instructor."
"That's, that must be just so..."
"It's all good. We both fly back to Chattahoochee every other weekend so we can be together. It is what it is. It's all good."
"Thank goodness for your nursing skills and care taking abilities. You..."
"Yup, it's all good. I'm Monica*, by the way, and today is my birthday." Her eyebrows suddenly shifted upward, her lips started to quiver and her eyes filled with tears. "Yep, November 30, exactly one year since they operated on my brain tumor."
"Oh, Jesus, Monica, I am so terribly ...."
"No,no, it's all good. They seem to have gotten most of it and the severe migraines have gotten much better. It is what it is."
"Well, you are amazing, so strong and ..."
"Yeah, it's all good. Well, really nice talking with you two. Gotta go now. Enjoy." She turned and walked away.
V and I looked at each other, breathless. As soon as she was well out of earshot we both exclaimed in unison, "NO! NO! It's NOT all good!!"
It is now Christmas Eve and we are more thankful than ever for our good health and well being and for that of our dear friends and family.
*denotes use of pseudonym
Around mid-day we noticed a middle-aged couple walking along the beach toward us. As they approached we noticed his body movement was erratic. They passed in front of us, turned and then waded into the surf. Out further in the water she paddled about him while he floundered in the waves just as he had on land.
After a few minutes bobbing in the waves they headed back toward shore. As they reached the beach he suddenly fell. She stooped, grabbed his arm and tried to pull him to his feet. But he continued to struggle on all fours. Finally upright, he looked at us, thrust his jaw outward and grinned in triumph. As he hobbled by she paused in front of us. She was of sturdy Nordic stock and sported a short-cropped Girls Athletic Association haircut. I was thinking...leather helmet, shin pads, lacrosse stick in hand. No, more like Brunhilda in full chain mail, massive spear in one hand and swinging a morning star in the other.
She smiled warmly. "Willard*'s getting much better now. He doesn't always know where he is but it is what it is." (What, what is it? we wondered).
"He was squished just like a mayfly on your windshield 4 years ago in a head-on collision. Looked like he was a goner. They had to pry him out of there with the jaws of life and then medevac him by helicopter to Atlanta where he was in intensive care for 4 months."
"Oh, god, that's just...."
"No, no, it's all good. They rebuilt his skull, put his shattered legs and arms in traction and within a year and half he was out of his wheelchair and learning how to walk and talk again."
"Oh, he must be, I mean you must be...."
"No, no, it is what it is. It's all good. But then as soon as he could work again--Willard is a time and motion specialist with the agriculture department--they downsized him and he lost his benefits rating after 35 years with the department."
"Oh, I'm ..."
"No it's all good. Then they transferred him to Bogalusa. You do what you have to do. Then I was transferred from Chattahoochee to Homerville. I'm a nursing instructor."
"That's, that must be just so..."
"It's all good. We both fly back to Chattahoochee every other weekend so we can be together. It is what it is. It's all good."
"Thank goodness for your nursing skills and care taking abilities. You..."
"Yup, it's all good. I'm Monica*, by the way, and today is my birthday." Her eyebrows suddenly shifted upward, her lips started to quiver and her eyes filled with tears. "Yep, November 30, exactly one year since they operated on my brain tumor."
"Oh, Jesus, Monica, I am so terribly ...."
"No,no, it's all good. They seem to have gotten most of it and the severe migraines have gotten much better. It is what it is."
"Well, you are amazing, so strong and ..."
"Yeah, it's all good. Well, really nice talking with you two. Gotta go now. Enjoy." She turned and walked away.
V and I looked at each other, breathless. As soon as she was well out of earshot we both exclaimed in unison, "NO! NO! It's NOT all good!!"
It is now Christmas Eve and we are more thankful than ever for our good health and well being and for that of our dear friends and family.
*denotes use of pseudonym
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
The Irish Get the Silver
It's been a tough year for the Irish. First they are eliminated from world cup soccer at the hands, literally, of the treacherous francais. Now they come in second in alcoholic beverage consumption per capita to, of all people, the Luxembourgians! We demand a recount!
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
Lost in Translation
V* and I were exploring Oaxaca with her family. I decided to make the most out of our daily excursions by practicing Spanish at every opportunity.
One day we took a “collectivo” bus to Teotitlan del Valle to see the fine rugs woven there. Next to me on the bus was a young local man. Sensing my sincere interest in his background, he talked openly about himself including his study of architecture.
Things were going very well, or so I thought. I mentioned that my father- in-law was also an architect and that he lived on a farm in Virginia with horses and....I couldn't think of the word for "deer." Undaunted, I continued with a bit of pantomime: you know, I said, the forest animal with---and here I placed my hands on each side of my head, palms facing him with fingers extended----“con HORNOS en la cabeza.” He looked first at the hand antlers, then at me, then apprehensively back at the antlers. You know, “HORNOS,” I repeated, wiggling my fingers. His body language now suggested spreading alarm.
Just then the driver called our stop. As we got off I waved farewell to my bewildered friend who offered in response only a tentative nod of his head. I then realized I had just tried to convince him that in the woods of Virginia there are animals with OVENS on their heads.
So much for being an effective ambassador-at-large.
One day we took a “collectivo” bus to Teotitlan del Valle to see the fine rugs woven there. Next to me on the bus was a young local man. Sensing my sincere interest in his background, he talked openly about himself including his study of architecture.
Things were going very well, or so I thought. I mentioned that my father- in-law was also an architect and that he lived on a farm in Virginia with horses and....I couldn't think of the word for "deer." Undaunted, I continued with a bit of pantomime: you know, I said, the forest animal with---and here I placed my hands on each side of my head, palms facing him with fingers extended----“con HORNOS en la cabeza.” He looked first at the hand antlers, then at me, then apprehensively back at the antlers. You know, “HORNOS,” I repeated, wiggling my fingers. His body language now suggested spreading alarm.
Just then the driver called our stop. As we got off I waved farewell to my bewildered friend who offered in response only a tentative nod of his head. I then realized I had just tried to convince him that in the woods of Virginia there are animals with OVENS on their heads.
So much for being an effective ambassador-at-large.
Sunday, December 20, 2009
Esther
Today, while shopping for a Christmas present for our grandson, I converse with the sales clerk Esther, age 88 from Brooklyn who looks at my VISA card and says, "So what kinda name is this?"
"It's originally Irish."
"Ah, my second husband was Irish."
"So of course he HAD to be a good man!"
"He coulda been better."
"How so?"
"Just not as good as my first husband."
"I'm sorry you lost them both."
"Yeah, and then my gentlemman friend lost his mind and died.
"So sorry to hear that. At least you still have your best friend Flossie. I saw her yesterday, she looked just great."
"Without her make-up, she's not so great."
Esther is about 4 feet high and adorable looking.
I have to tell her, "Well, YOU are a real cutie."
With her captivating smile she replies,"OK, but just don't tell your wife!"
This is a true conversation. Only the names have been changed to protect the innocent.
"It's originally Irish."
"Ah, my second husband was Irish."
"So of course he HAD to be a good man!"
"He coulda been better."
"How so?"
"Just not as good as my first husband."
"I'm sorry you lost them both."
"Yeah, and then my gentlemman friend lost his mind and died.
"So sorry to hear that. At least you still have your best friend Flossie. I saw her yesterday, she looked just great."
"Without her make-up, she's not so great."
Esther is about 4 feet high and adorable looking.
I have to tell her, "Well, YOU are a real cutie."
With her captivating smile she replies,"OK, but just don't tell your wife!"
This is a true conversation. Only the names have been changed to protect the innocent.
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