The Leap

The room was much larger than imagined. So much space for so much learning and fun. What better place than a gymnastic gym, to host an up and coming gymnasts’ 13th birthday party.

It has been a pleasure to watch her skill sharpen over the last couple of years.  She has traversed the stiff rigid movements and sailed into a sea of fluid gracefulness. One performance even brought tears and thoughts of where in the heck did she get those legs?!

The festivities began on the large floor routine mat. Birthday guests of all sizes. Meaning short and tall, there is little width on the body of a gymnast.  All are gathered on the mat. Some are spinning.  Some flying through the air. Another does backflips, so many it’s dizzying. 

One thing is certain. They are all girls and they are all talking, laughing and squealing, at the same time. Plus, they are inching ever closer to that magical door that enters the teenage years.  The magical door that slams shut with a thud.

Tiring of the floor routines, they made their way to a long, raised apparatus that nearly stretched the length of the building.  Imagine, a long taut trampoline about six feet in width.  First, they hopped the length.  Each hop propelling them higher and higher into the air.  Scurrying back to the starting line, the front flips, back flips, twists and turns commenced again.  All done with grace and such confidence rarely seen in this age group.

Their focus began to change as they all gathered at the far end of the long, taut trampoline.  It was here something marvelous was about to take place.  In single file, each one began to run the width of the building.  Faster and faster until they would leap into the air and as they made their descent, they disappeared into oblivion.  What malfeasance was taking place!?

Leaving the viewing section, walking across the bouncy floor routine mat, the answer became crystal clear.  They were landing in a huge pit.  A huge pit filled with hundreds, if not thousands, of large squares of foam rubber.

This is where the attire chosen for this event came into play.  A favorite pair of jeans topped with a  red silky sleeveless tank.  Watching these events, it is really difficult, regardless of age, not to want to try out the equipment.  A memory, long buried, had been a reminder of another pair of favorite jeans.  Jeans that were destroyed trying to show young daughters how to do a round-up.  The seat had ripped from waistband to inseam….beyond repair, never to be worn again.

Sitting at the edge of the pit, watching all this, a thought entered.  Surely, this could not be fatal, especially to the jeans.  

The adults, who wished to participate, had to sign a waiver.  This was to assure that any stupidity performed, that resulted in injury, lied solely on the individual.  Upon questioning the young lady in charge of the gym, a pass was given for a leap into the pit.

It was magnificent!  Running, though not very fast.  Jumping, though not very high.  Landing into that sea of foam rubber and hearing all the cheers of a job well done!  Then, the real fun began…..for the spectators.

Trying to get out of a sea of foam rubber blocks is far more difficult than getting in.  An old movie began to play in the memory banks.  People on safari, falling into a pit of quicksand.  Sinking, sinking until only their pith helmet floated empty on top of the muck.

Small movements proved fruitless.  Floundering and wallowing were given new meaning, as they were the only tools that seemed to work.  Finally, a rescue plank was sent into the sea.  A gym mat folded, like an accordion.  

It proved to be a life saver.  Even if it did require much more floundering and wallowing to get on top of it.

The red underwire bra, chosen to be worn under the red silky sleeveless tank, that was now in much disarray, turned out not to be a wise choice for gymnastic antics.  The jeans, chosen for not trying gymnastic antics in the first place, proved to be as useful as Velcro when connecting with foam rubber blocks.  But, the leap?  It was worth every millisecond.

A New Horse

The horse had died in its stall.  He had no desire.  To do anything.  He didn’t want to walk or run.  He did not wish to graze in the vast fields that lay before him.

His only contentment was to eat and dream about all the things he wanted to do…..and occasionally drink.  He stood in his stall and the excrement began to pile up.  It began to get so deep that, even if he wanted to do something, he could not move.  When the crap finally reached his neck, he simply laid his head over and died.  Then sunk into the mess until he could no longer be seen.

The stench was bad.  Not just bad.  Horrendous.  Folks driving by could be seen gagging, even with the windows rolled up.

It was time to clean out the stall.  A front-end loader would have been helpful, but it was not an option.  The stall had to be cleaned out with an old scoop.  The first couple of scoops was nearly grounds for mutiny.

The pile slowly began to shift from the stall to a wide open space.  It was full of all sorts of things.  Things like thoughts of failure.  Blaming others. No one cared.  Just can’t do it.  Wanting someone to pump up an old tire, that had a hole in it, with words of encouragement, just to watch them escape out the hole.  Feelings of disparity.  Lots of worry, about things that never came to fruition.  A crap ton of negative thoughts.

That old horse, Procrastination, had no one to blame.  But.  Himself.

When the stall was cleaned out, it looked somewhat different.  Inviting. Almost like new.  Perhaps a new horse.  Certainly not one like before.

Maybe it was better to ponder about that.  Let’s give it the 24 hour wait period and see what happens.  

What happened was very strange.  The huge pile of crap was trying to make its way back to the stall. 

Ancient wise words filtered through. Something about cleaning the rotten stuff out of a house.  If new stuff does not replace it, the old stuff makes its way back in.

The decision was made.  Definitely time for a new horse.

He arrived the next day.  His name is Let’s Get The Fuck Up & Go!  Freak or F**k for those offended.  There was no offense intended.  It is also a code name for Time Is Of The Essence.

He is a beauty!  Tall and excited at whatever life offers him.  He wears blinders because he only has one goal in mind.  He needs not distractions.

It is probably a given that the rider will get bucked off on occasion.  But, this horse came with instructions.  He has been known to grab the rider by the scruff of their neck, toss them onto his back and head out of the gate at full steam.

Hanging on to the saddle horn will be a new past time.

Oh, that huge pile of crap?  Completely disappeared.

Random Thoughts While Driving

 Ode to the Buzzards

Oh Buzzards, Oh Buzzards

Way up so high.

You circle and circle

Against a blue sky.

You ride on the thermals

Before summer storms

Letting them push you

To air that is warm.

Soaring and cruising

Looking for dead stuff.

It does not seem

That your job is too tuff.

Some surely think

That it sucks to be you

Since you are part of

Nature’s clean-up crew.

Doubt that you care

As birds of a feather.

Because it is true,

You are always together.

You’re seen on high places

Covered in morning dew

Wings outstretched looks creepy

But, the sun is drying you.

You’re seen on the roadsides

Having some lunch.

Raccoon pâté,

Or o’possum for brunch.

You’re rather unsightly,

Upon close up view.

There’s a reason for that

And most never knew.

If your bald head had feathers

You would be such a mess

And no one wants gunk

Being brought to the nest.

So, Buzzards, oh Buzzards

It’s good to have you.

Ever so grateful,

You do what you do.

The Insignificant Thief

 It had become a yearly mission. One that was particularly not looked forward to being accomplished.  A small task.  Nor one that was carved in stone as an absolute requirement. It could be completely ignored. Treated like a second thought.  Here one moment, gone the next.

Perhaps it would be different if the course of action did not take place next to one of the busiest thoroughfares in the county.  There is no privacy or secrecy in fulfilling the job at hand.  Wide open space, with many a piercing eye.

This time, it was nearly too late.  Justly caused by the afore mentioned second thought.  The harvest could still be gathered, but the harvest was likely to be in a most unfavorable condition.

The mission was to retrieve live plants from the graves of past loved ones.  There had been strict instructions, spoken so many years before…..No plastic flowers.  They needed to be rescued from their own untimely demise, beneath rainless blue skies. This year, there were four pots: parents, a cousin taken long before his time and two sets of unknown grandparents.

The first three targets are easy bullseyes.  The fourth is always a  game of hide & seek.

Standing in a sea of stones, looking for the needle in the haystack, makes it impossible to not start reading.  Reading names and dates.  Wondering who they were. What had they done with their time.  Did they live each moment following their hearts’ desires?  Or listen to the silent whispers of defeat?  Pangs of sadness at the passing of a child being replaced with a sense of awe at a long, long life.  

Turning in a circle, scanning and feeling so small and insignificant. Like a grain of sand on an endless beach.

Then it happened.  A name.  So familiar for so many years.  Glistening in the sunlight.  It was much further south than it was the year before.  How had that happened?

Trekking through the stones, offering up the occasional “sorry”, for possibly trodding too close, the fourth target came into view.  The second set of unknown grandparents.  Gifts of late in life children.

With the last dreadful looking petunia in tow, the inside of a sweltering car gave a sense of, not only a mission accomplished, but also a sense of shelter.  Hiding the thievery that was surely seen by many.

The soil around each plant was so dry it had shrunk from the sides of the pot.  Water poured out the bottom as fast as it went in the top.  They were placed in a square cake pan and watered again until the water nearly filled the pan.  Small words of encouragement were given.  All that was left was time.

The next morning, a small miracle had taken place.  Each plant was in full bloom.  Not one drop of water remained in the pan.  They will be enjoyed for the remainder of their season.  The feeling of being insignificant is but a fading memory.

One That Should Be Required Reading

First, I'm going to ask three things:  Please read this. Please share this.  Please get the book.  Because, what you will find within its pages will give you hope (because you did not know this information before), will make you incredibly broken hearted (because you did not know this information before) and will make you righteously angry (because you did not know this information before).  

The following is an excerpt from the book, Surviving Cancer Covid-19 & Disease  The Repurposed Drug Revolution by Justus R. Hope. M.D.:

"As in any repurposed drug discussion, it is always the scientist versus the regulators; it boils down to the doctors versus Big Pharma.  Here the scientists are led by Dr. Didier Raoult, the Dr. Pan Pantziarka of the anti-coronavirus movement, who brings the spotlight to the effectiveness of HCQ and CQ against SARS-CoV-2.  Raoult, a larger than life medical luminary physician and professor, is the top expert in the world in communicable disease........

Professor Raoult completed residencies in both internal medicine and infectious disease and earned both MD and PhD degrees.......

He has been referred to as the most productive and cited microbiologist in Europe.  He directs the IHU Mediterranean Infection Institute in Marseille, France, a world-renowned research and teaching center dedicated to the management and study of infectious disease.  Dr. Didier Raoult, both controversial and outspoken, is one of the world's most influential and productive scientists.  As of this writing, he is listed as either the author or coauthor of 2,909 Pubmed citations.

He is also the antithesis of Dr. Anthony Fauci or any regulatory body.  So, when Dr. Raoult published his landmark HCQ study, the first detailed human trial to show the benefit of hydroxychloroquine and chloroquine and those afflicted with COVID-19, he ignited a firestorm.  Chloroqine and hydroxychloroquine were long known to block both cell entry and replication in SARS and MERS.  They should also work well against SARS-CoV2.

However, these early studies were confined to lab testing only, testing the activity of these drugs in the test tube.  Didier was among the first, along with the Chinese, to show that HCQ worked in live human subjects with coronavirus infections.  But the Chinese declined to produce their data.

Didier, on the other hand, was quick to unveil stunning results.  In his pilot study, he treated 20 infected patients with hydroxychloroquine and compared them with 16 infected controls that were not treated.* By the third day, 50% of the treated group were negative  for the virus.  By the sixth day, 70% of the hydroxyhloroquine group were viral negative.

Six of the 20 patients were treated with Zithromax in addition to hydroxychloroquine.  Most impressively, these six patients tested 100% negative for the virus on day six.  Only 12.5% of the non treated group, however, was virus free.  These results suggested a 100% cure rate for the group receiving the hydroxychloroquine and Zithromax by day six compared with a 90% infection rate for the group untreated.

For reference, the Chinese had already shown that untreated COVID-19 patients could remain infectious for some 19-20 days; in some cases, up to 34 days.*  Dr. Raoult felt that the information contained in his study was so significant, that he was ethically bound to release the results immediately, prior to the usual peer-review process.  Dr. Raoult recommended that COVID-19 patients be treated with hydroxychloroquine and azithromycin to both cure their infection and to curb the spread.  He freely admitted that although better and more scientific therapy, such as a specific vaccine, might later be developed, the current treatment was imminently necessary to treat the COVID-19 threat in real time.

By eradicating the virus at day 6, Raoult had shortened the time for contagiousness by 66% from 19 days to only six.  The implications were staggering.  If his results held up, that meant quarantines and isolation times could end 70% sooner.  It meant quicker recovery times in infected patients.  It also implied lower rates of death.  It meant health care workers could take the drug preventatively and not pass the virus to patients.  Dr. Raoult had given the world a gift, a crucial tool to stem the pandemic, a discovery worthy of a Nobel prize.

Raoult and his colleagues wrote, "We therefore recommend that COVID-19 patients be treated with hydroxyholorquine and azithromycin to cure their infection and to limit the transmission of the virus to other people in order to curb the spread of COVID-19 in the world.  Further works are also warranted to determine if these compounds could be useful as chemoprophylaxis to prevent the transmission of the virus, especially for healthcare workers."*

Raoult's study found what the CDC researchers working on test tubes in 2005 had strongly suspected.  Chloroquine and hydroxychloroquine might work against the coronavirus in vivo just as well as in vitro, in life just as well as in the lab; it might just be the answer to SARS-CoV2 and the pandemic: a repurposed drug that might attack not only cancer but also the novel coronavirus. 

DR. Fauci's Reaction

Here we had the result of an open-label non-randomized clinical trial involving 36 patients studied with a drug the CDC knew killed the SARS virus.  How would the US task force respond?  On March 20, 2020, I watched as they commented on the news.  The head of the NIAH had one word.

"Anecdotal."

Without so much as a blink, I stared at the television in disbelief.  I replayed the recording to make sure I had heard correctly......."

* reference numbers in the book, linked to the original studies.

I know, it is hard to believe that sources, we have been programmed to trust, would intentionally keep vital information from us, but this is exactly what has been going on.  Please, take the time to do some research on your own.  Don't sit and be spoon fed.  If not for yourself, for all the people who have suffered or been lost, because they did not know this information before.

Go Ahead, Rock The Boat

I. Sat. Silent.  I've been doing it for a long, long time.  Over a year I have spent lamenting my failures.  Keeping the shaker of salt, always within arms reach, to pick up and add a few grains to a wound that was nearly healed.  Last night, I did it again.  

Far from the days of my rebel, mouthy youth, I felt the spark of that part of my past slightly flicker.  It was similar to rolling a thumb over an old worn out butane lighter, the wheel turned but the spark was nil. 

I attended the local high school homecoming, always considered a gala event, even to a rural, small town school.  The main reason for my presence, a grandson was in the mix.  Things are a lot different today.  Back in the day of the rebel, homecoming was always preceded by, hopefully, a rousing game of basketball.  The time between the junior varsity game and the varsity was filled with dance routines, mini cheerleaders and numerous other forms of student entertainment.  After the games were over, the crowd would sit in anticipation of the upcoming coronation.  If anything is the same, it would be the lack of comfort of sitting on hard bleacher seats.  Finally, the homecoming court of couples, from each of the four seasons of high school, would gather in the front foyer of the gymnasium.  Glimpses of beautiful long gowns and black tuxedos could be seen as these young people got into the correct formation.  Then the procession would start.  Each couple would enter, be introduced, walk to the stage.  The crowning of a new king and queen would commence, the procession would then leave the stage and walk around the the entire gym, much to the delight of parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins and friends.  Getting home before The Tonight Show started was always a huge accomplishment.

Yesterday was different.  The coronation was held at 1 o'clock in the afternoon, followed by both games and the whole thing was over before the sun set.  In all fairness, the students still dressed up, some for the second time and had their evening of fun and dance.

While sitting on the bleachers, watching the court royalty milling around in the foyer in all their finery, is when I felt it.  That rolling, gritty wheel on the old lighter.  But, even though it was trying again to ignite, if not a fire, just a tiny spark, I sat silent.

I watched these young people full of excitement for what was to come.  The girls had spent an endless amount of time on their hair, their makeup.  The boys had undoubtedly spent a good deal of time in front of the mirror, turning from side to side, enjoying the reflection of looking mighty fine.  Then they donned their masks.

What I wanted to do and had plenty of time to do it, was to get off that uncomfortable bleacher and walk to the foyer.  I wanted to tell them, "If you feel you must wear the mask, wear it on your wrist."  I wanted to explain to them the power that one small act of non-compliance would have.  But, I sat silent.  

First and foremost, this is not a call for disrespect of young people to their parents, or to adults in positions of authority.  Parents are tasked with the job of raising kind, decent, caring, small humans in the hopes that they will grow into the same kind of adult.  Children are to honor that job.  But, young people, one day you will come to the realization that, even though most were trying to do the best they could, your parents did not know everything.  You will also come to realize that those people in places of authority, were not always right.

We are living in the most amazing times in human history.  Many people who have been elected or placed into positions of leadership have forgotten who put them there.  Most do not care.  One does not have to be a wizard of information technology to find glaring examples of "rules for thee, not for me" and right now, I'm only referring to face masks.  The 'powers that be' have been maskless when it suits them.  They have gone to parties, restaurants and many other outings, completely "FACE FREE", while telling their constituents to do just the opposite.  Or worse, telling their peasants not to go anywhere, period.  They've been photographed sitting maskless in a room full of masked children.  But, perhaps the best example of their audacity and irony, is giving a FACE FREE interview, to be viewed by people whom they 'seem to deem' lesser than themselves, about why YOU need to wear a mask.  

The unfortunate part of this is, the more people comply with this kind of tyranny, the more the tyrants realize they have the upper hand.  It's time for a call to action.

Yes, there does seem to be a light shining at the end of the tunnel, in this area, for the young people and many fine people have spent countless hours fighting for that glimmer.  But, do not think that the wheels, gears and cogs that have been turning for years in the mastery of control will go silent into the night.  You can be sure, they will not magically accept defeat.  They will fight like hell to keep the power they so dearly love.

So, here is an idea, a spark.  Wear the mask.  Wear it on your wrist.  Better yet, wear it on your upper arm.  Not to bring up grim reminders of the past, but to exemplify what the leaders have become. 

Go ahead, rock the boat.  You will cause waves that will travel farther than you can imagine and ripples that will give others courage and hope.  Be FACE FREE.

The Tale of the Thanksgiving Eve Trivet

trivet:  noun  

1.  a small metal plate with short legs, especially one put under a hot platter or dish to protect a table.  2.  a three footed or three legged stand or support,  especially one of iron placed over a fire to support cooking vessels or the like.

This trivet, would be steel......since a magnet sticks to it.

How old is this trivet?  Who knows.  Mother had it for at least forever, meaning it is older, or as old, as yours truly.....60+ years.  There is a memory, from WAY back, asking as to the use of this object, aka, the steel trivet.  Mother explained it was, in laymen's terms, to transfer heat.  Meaning, if the pot that was used for cooking needed to cook for a rather long length of time, placing the trivet between the heat source and the pan would keep whatever delicacy was in the pan, from burning.  Perhaps, a good way of describing radiant heat. 

Mother has been gone over 14 years and of all the things she held dear to her heart, bird figurines, candle sticks (that had no mate), teapots (mostly brown ones) and other items,  the steel trivet has made the journey with me.  It has traveled a thousand miles away from what was home and back again.  It has been used on flame, electric coils and glass top electric stoves, all without incident.

The call of duty was mac&cheese.  Again, Mother's recipe.  It is the bestest of the best and always a crowd pleaser.  Since it seemed a good idea to double the recipe, for a large family gathering, the trivet, which always sits within inches of the stove, would be a useful tool.

This glass top cook stove has a burner that is rarely used.  The reason it is not used often would be that it has a TURBO setting.  Being married to a gear head, turbo should only be used for something that has 4 wheels and a small block under the hood.  

The chosen pan for this project was a medium sized stock pot.  This pot is not "Cooking TV" style.  Its metal is thin and has had many a dish chiseled out of the bottom of it.

Looking back, boiling the water in this pan, without the trivet, would have probably worked just fine.  As of yet, there's never been a story about burning water in a pan.  Yes, they can be boiled dry, but this was not the case.  The trivet was set on the burner, the pan, full of water, was set on the trivet, the knob that controls said burner, was set on nearly turbo.

It did seem to take a long time for the water to boil so.....the knob was cranked up to turbo.  It wasn't long before a rolling boil had been achieved.  In went two pounds of macaroni.  Of course, anytime something is put into boiling water, it takes a bit of time for the temperature to reach boiling again.  Once achieved, the temperature was cranked down to a nice mid simmer.  Macaroni can be a funny animal, cooked too much, it turns to mush....not enough and it may still retain a crunch.  This macaroni was to be perfecto.  

The timer had been set for 8 minutes, when it sounded the alarm, the pot was taken off the stove, the macaroni drained, the burner turned off.

The trivet was still on the burner.....but.......the burner was off.

Since the dish was not going to be baked until morning, time was taken to make sure all the ingredients were added to the same pot that had cooked the noodles.  It was, after all, a large pot and a double recipe.  If you are aware if my kitchen antics, using the same pot to mix up all the ingredients seemed like a no brainer.

As all the ingredients were being placed in the pot, a loud cracking noise was heard.  The TURBO burner had basically fractured the glass and sent shock waves through its side of the stove top, leaving it to look like some ancient map of dried up waterways.

It could have been a lesson in science, physics or welding 101, but there seems to be a part of the glass stove top that actually melted.

The trivet sits silent on the counter, next to the stove, waiting for its next assignment.