tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33766789985087169882024-02-07T04:09:15.631-06:00My Dog ShobaMy Dog ShobaJohnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05579610684460155891noreply@blogger.comBlogger549125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3376678998508716988.post-45599177443175451612021-01-05T14:38:00.000-06:002021-01-05T14:38:19.299-06:00The Best Laid Plans...<p><span style="font-size: large;">It all started in late August of 2017... let's sum up. Karen was diagnosed with stage 4 ovarian cancer, a six hour surgery lasted thirteen hours and she spent the better part of a year trying not to die. it was miserable. Since then, two more courses of chemo, various cancer related setbacks, and still lots of grit and fight. Ups and Downs.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Along the way, with a thousand other things we talked about, we discussed Bucket List things. Prior to cancer, we had talked about going to Hawaii for our 15th wedding anniversary. That came around in 2018 when we were pretty deep in cancer recovery, chemo, and other crappy things. So we decided to push it out and maybe do it on our twentieth. That will roll around in 2023.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Then, the weekend after Thanksgiving 2020, Karen had trouble with balance and vision and nausea, and we took her in to get checked over because...weird. At first they briefly considered stroke, but a CT scan showed a brain tumor instead. The ovarian cancer had done the incredibly rare thing of jumping the brain blood barrier and growing a little grapey sized nugget of tumor in her left cerebral padunkle, that part of the brain that controls coordination and body functions and in general is very important. She had gamma knife surgery to attack the tumor in early December and has been doing Physical Therapy (PT) since. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">All of this to say that this new event got us to talking about bucket lists again. My list is huge, of course, because I want to do ALL THE THINGS. My brain is scattered and easily distracted that way.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Karen on the other hand has always had a very short list. She has said (and I agree) that we have led a life blessed with opportunities to check things off of the bucket lists that sometimes we didn't even know were on the list! Travel, experiences, foods, all sorts of things. She ran a B&B, has travelled abroad, spent a month in Rome, and we've had many, many amazing adventures domestically as well. Freezing while winter camping in the Black Hills, exploring the Florida Keys, LOTS of Disney World magic... </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">But the one thing that has remained at the top of her list (really the only thing ON the list) is to see Hawaii. It's on my list too, but for almost entirely different reasons. I'm a water guy. I'd rather be in water than on land and live for interacting with critters in the H2O. Karen is not a fan of critters in water coming to greet her. She has no desire to submerge herself past her neck in liquid. So in talking about going to Hawaii - a group of islands completely surrounded by a huge ocean that is famous for water based activities- I was surprised it was on her list.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">But she wants to connect with the island, the land itself. To see the tropical jungles, feel the warm air on her skin, hear the sounds. She wants to just <i>be</i> in Hawaii.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Well, around the time of the surgery, we decided to get serious and see if Hawaii would be something we could make happen sooner rather than later. We were both aware that this new development in her cancer journey wasn't going to do any favors for her life expectancy, and if we were going to see Hawaii, it would be better while she's able to independently enjoy it. In other words (not to be depressing) we felt the need to go in case her condition worsens in the future and makes the trip impossible.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">So, planning started in earnest. Thanks to covid, school has been shut down, so I haven't been bus driving. But that looked set to change in mid to late January. Thanks to brain surgery, Karen was off work until about the same time. If there was a good time to go, it would be before we went back to work! (Big Lemons call for Big Lemonade) Karen - as she is wont to do - spent most of the planning days feeling guilty about going to Hawaii while on medical leave. She feels that unless she's actively dying, she <i>could</i> work, and she doesn't like leaving her work team short handed. (To the point of since her diagnosis feeling guilty any time she misses work for chemo treatments, or hospital stays, or trips to the ER, or even for surgeries. I've had to talk her into ER trips in the past that she wants to wait on because of work. I'm telling you, she is <i>devoted </i>to her job and the people she works with at an insane level!) I argued that resting and recuperating is less demanding than work, so the two cannot really be compared. Also, Hawaii has been the go to location for recuperating military personnel for multiple wars, and there would be no better place for PT. Beaches could provide uneven walking surfaces to practice balance. Hiking to see waterfalls, lighthouses, or just jungle flora and fauna would provide excellent stamina building opportunities. Lots of hydrotherapy opportunities, even in pools away from critters! The food would be nutritious. And the whole reason for medical leave is to REST and HEAL and be prepared to get back to work at as near to 100% as possible! She said she didn't think her collogues would approve of her taking a trip with the last week or so of her medical leave, and she didn't want to "abuse the system". My argument? If roles were reversed, and one of her co-workers had chronic and probably terminal cancer that had spread to her brain and wanted to go on a trip to complete a bucket list item - the ONLY item on said list - and they had the opportunity to do so at the end of a medical leave where they had the time off anyway, would <i>she</i> grumble and be mad at said co-worker for going? She might be a little jealous that they were going on an adventure, but she'd also be the one that would pass a card around and gather up some money to wish them a great trip! I have no doubt her co-workers would feel the same about her going to Hawaii. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"> After surgery, she was scheduled for lots of PT to relearn to walk, work on her coordination, relearn self cares, and all that fun stuff that goes along with post brain trauma care. Giving serious consideration to a Hawaii trip increased her already intense motivation to improve during her PT sessions. She was a PT animal! Sessions started to have Hawaii themes. How to get up and down on a beach. Working on stairs in case they're encountered on hikes. Stamina training for the same thing. She put in lots of hard work every time.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">We are Disney Vacation Club members (thanks to my wife and her sister who are Disney fanatics) and we were able to book an entire week at their resort on Oahu with the points we had, which we otherwise could have NEVER done at $450/night. (Thanks past Karen and Sarah for talking me into joining DVC!) My amazing mother in law gifted us the airline tickets, and we'd been saving up to do some stuff to the house next spring and summer, so we had some funds to do some "touristy" things once there. So we booked a socially distanced luau with a group that changed their usual style of open buffet dining and groups doing cultural experiences to distanced tables with separate waiters and families doing the cultural things apart from others, with masks and six feet regs in place as well. We booked an outrigger canoe paddle out to some small private islands that would be the four of us and a couple guides. And we booked a snorkel adventure with wild spinner dolphins and sea turtles adventure that would be just us and staff as well. (With Karen staying on the boat and watching us do the snorkeling while chilling with a cold drink and enjoying the ocean air) All the rest of our time was going to be based around Karen. Things we could see together dependent on her energy levels, avoiding crowds, and staying flexible. Short hikes to waterfalls and a lighthouse on paved "trails". Island drives seeking out the best food trucks. The Dole plantation (and Dole Whips). The Byodo-In temple. Botanical gardens. With random stops at many beaches for lounging, resting, and getting some snorkel time in for me and the kids. Or just resting at Aulani and enjoying the offerings there. It was shaping up to be a week with lots of chill time. Just what the doctor ordered. A therapy vacation.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">With the pandemic raging, we did hours and hours of research about travel. Hawaii has hoops to jump through to keep their islands safe, and we navigated all of those in our planning as well. Covid tests had to be negative 72 hours before our last flight leg to the state, and registered with the travel authority online, and we had to fill out a health survey 24 hours prior as well. I checked multiple sites to keep track of numbers and trends every day, ready to cancel everything if needed. I cancelled a couple of things that could have higher risks. We went back and forth on whether to even go with covid in the forefront. But it always came back to completing Karen's Bucket Wish List in a timely manner. Under any other circumstances, we'd wait until after the pandemic. Wait until that 2023 twenty year anniversary. But we're both realists. The odds aren't in our favor for that. We'd take every precaution, jump through every hoop, stay well isolated while there. But the risks, while high, were acceptable for the reward.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"> Christmas gifts revolved around the trip, with snorkel sets for the kids and me, and beach wraps and island wear for K. Karen went from barely being able to get around with a walker at PT, to cruising around unassisted and impressing her delightfully helpful therapist, Rachel. We knew that hiking Diamondhead wasn't going to be on the list, but it was looking like the shorter, paved trail hikes would be doable! We decided to take the walker along for those so she'd have a seat to rest in wherever we went as well. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">By the night of January 2, 2021, we were pretty well packed and ready to get to the airport in the Twin Cities for our 6 am flight to Phoenix, where we'd catch a connecting flight to Honolulu. After not sleeping due to excitement, we locked up the house and got to the airport with plenty of time to spare. Karen had seemed tired, but then all the activity of the day and night before had worn us all out a bit, and we also did a poor job of eating regular food. She swore she was ok though. I dropped her and the kids off at the American Airline door with the luggage and went to park. When I rejoined them we were met with short-ish, confusing lines, but the nice AA lady was directing us to the self check in kiosks to print out our luggage tags since we had checked in online the night before. When I finally got to a kiosk (it took longer than I had expected because everyone seemed to be needing the assistance of said nice lady to complete the self check in)(and she was the only employee out there for the twenty or so kiosks) I entered our data until the machine told me that I too would need assistance from the attendant. It took her so long to work her way to us that the machine had booted us and we had to start over again. After a few minutes of trying, she was having problems as well. When she discovered we were going to Hawaii, she said we'd need to go to the main counter for assistance. So. Back in line we went. Two attendants were manning those desks, and I got a little twinge that this was taking too long. When we finally got to the desk, it was eight minutes until boarding began for our flight. The lady at the desk said it wouldn't be a problem, we still had plenty of time. By this time, Karen had been up and down from the walker numerous times and I could tell that she was out of energy. We asked about getting a wheelchair to expedite our journey to the gate, so she ordered one, and proceeded to get our bags tagged and boarding passes printed. She directed us to some out of the way seats and told us it would be a couple minutes until the wheelchair assist arrived.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">After waiting twenty minutes and all of us getting more and more nervous about missing the flight, Karen decided that she had enough energy to get through security. We just couldn't wait any longer. So we got in line. I had asked several airport employees how long wheelchairs took prior to our getting in line, and as we waited, one of them tracked us down and said they had a golf cart waiting for us just past security to get us to the gate. Karen was so worn out that I ended up pushing her while she sat on the walker through the rest of the security line. By the time the security guy checking ID's finally waved us through, I thought it would take a miracle for us to make the flight. As we loaded Karen onto the cart, the driver told us not to worry because he worked at the gate and was holding the flight for us. He raced through the airport, (but Luke had to run along side since there wasn't room for everyone on the cart) and we got to the gate just in time to see the guy who <i>actually</i> worked there close the door on the walkway. He was <i>not</i> holding the flight for us.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">We had missed the flight.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">I'll admit that I was a little hot under the collar, and the AA gate attendant called over his manager. I wasn't yelling, but was obviously pissed and I'm guessing he was calling back up to handle me. She said she was sorry, but there was nothing they could do since we were late. I - trying not to yell, but definitely using my perturbed voice - told her that we wouldn't have been late if they perhaps had more than three people checking the hundred plus people in and we hadn't waited twenty minutes for a wheelchair that never arrived. Fortunately, the time of the chair request had been documented AND the lady checking us in had overridden their cutoff times to get our bags on the flight which she shouldn't have done, so the manager quickly realized that this was on them and not us. At that point, they both went into overdrive to help us! The best they could do was get us on a flight the next day and give us a hotel room for the night (and all day Sunday) Meanwhile, I had taken a few deep breaths, calmed myself down, and apologized for being brusque, explaining that we were on a mission to get Karen to Hawaii to complete her bucket list. And while we were all disappointed, the kids were taking it in stride. There were a few tired tears, but we remained upbeat and in our <i>Que sera sera</i> mode. In talking about the trip over the few weeks since we decided to actually do it, all four of us talked about the importance of being flexible and taking each day as it came and making sure that no matter what happened, we'd make an adventure of it and have what fun we could. So we talked about what to do at the hotel for the day for fun. Maybe go to the Mall of America. Maybe just sleep and watch movies. We asked them if we could get a wheelchair or the cart again to get us back to the front door, and eventually the same driver and a couple other guys arrived. Looking at Karen, I knew she needed to sleep. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">I got her into the wheelchair and one of the guys walked off with her. I thanked the two AA workers and the kids and I grabbed the walker and our carry on bags and loaded up onto the cart. Karen and her "driver" were way down the hallway, and as we approached them, I noticed Karen dragging her foot along the ground and seeming to watch it like a little kid. My mind tagged it as weird. Just a little red flag popping up. Then as we passed the chair, I called out to her.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">"You ok honey?"</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">She did not respond.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">"Karen?"</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Nothing.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">I went into paramedic mode and jumped from the moving cart and ran back to her. The guy pushing her was saying "She's fine. She's fine."</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">I pulled her mask down as I gently raised her chin from her chest. Her eyes were blank and vacant. There was a little drool coming from her slack mouth. Her breathing was very shallow, fast, and erratic. I grabbed her wrist and couldn't find a pulse.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">"SHE IS NOT FINE!" I barked at the startled attendant. "CALL THE PARAMEDICS NOW!"</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">I instinctively went for a brachial pulse and didn't get anything there either. I had a terrifying flash of thinking that I'd need to get her to the floor and start CPR. In front of our children. I yelled at the driver to call for medics. He looked at the wheelchair guy and they both shrugged as if wondering how to go about doing that. Their third co-worker was coming down the hall so after angrily yelling at the first two with a "F-ING CALL 911! THIS SHOULDN'T BE THAT HARD!!" I yelled at the other guy to get on his f-ing radio and get medics on their way. He shrugged too. I wanted to tear their heads from their bodies, but needed to tend to Karen. I looked back at the driver and he was pointing to a phone on the wall telling me I could call from there. I could call... or I could start CPR on my wife...and I looked at my kids. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">They were startled, but calm. I told Luke to call 911 and he leapt from the cart to the phone. I could hear him talking to the operator while I was assessing Karen.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">This all happened in the first maybe twenty to thirty seconds, but it seemed like forever. She was grunting a little and trying to talk, and I got a pulse on her neck so decided not to pull her from the chair. Lifting her head seemed to help her breathing, although it was still fast, shallow and shitty. It seemed to take forever, but she began to come around. By the time the airport police got there ten hours later (probably a few minutes) she was talking a little, and by the time the medics arrived three weeks later (maybe ten minutes) she was able to answer their questions. I told them my findings and mentioned that I had been a medic once in the hopes it would make any difference. Their exam and tests confirmed it. Her pulse was 40 over nothing and they wanted to transport, which I wholeheartedly agreed with.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">While all that was happening, the AA manager lady called to tell me that her manager had authorized us to get on the Delta flight going direct to Honolulu. I thanked her and told her what was happening, and she and her manager came to us. They were adorable. It was 7:30 or 8 am, and the Delta flight wasn't until 10:45, so if the medics cleared her maybe we could make the flight. I mentioned that we probably weren't going to Hawaii, but they insisted we keep our next day reservations "just in case". I knew we weren't going, but they were wonderfully optimistic and said they'd do whatever they could to get us to Hawaii. As Karen was taken off by the medics, they and the police made a point to tell me how impressed with our kids they were. As was I.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">They didn't panic. They didn't freak out. Luke did a great job communicating with 911. Anna helped EMS find her Mom's meds in the carry on and they both comforted each other by asking each other if they were ok. You never know how people will react in an emergency. Fight, Flight, Freeze. But they really stepped up. We talked through things back at the hotel later that day. I wanted to see how they were doing. They both agreed that nobody should cross me when I'm in emergency mode. I asked them if I seemed panicked, but they only saw me as taking charge and "being paramedicy". I'm glad for that, because I felt pretty panicky! But I was very, very proud of them. They took care of each other. They stayed quiet and calm throughout and I couldn't be more proud of how they responded to an emergent crisis.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Sunday was a blur of being in the ER with K as they got her stabilized. Sepsis. Some pneumonia. Trying to get her blood pressure up and using "lots and lots of meds" to do it. And a CT that showed that the tumor near her kidney ureter that we've been watching for over a year had pinched the ureter shut. When she was taken up to the ICU, I went back to the hotel with the kids and started making phone calls, texts, and e-mails, to cancel the trip. Everyone was great, and if they couldn't give full refunds, they gave us credit to rebook sometime in 2021. It took a cornucopia of things lining up to get this trip arranged, and we as of yet don't know how recovery will go for Karen, but we are determined to get started on the Great Hawaiian Therapy Trip, Attempt Deux very soon.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">One thing we have been adamant about through all of this is not just telling the kids to be flexible, but demonstrating that as well. Our family motto has become "Semper Gumby, Baby" Always Flexible. And this has been a definite test of that. But we are determined, and we are driven, and we don't give up easy, especially when adventure is at hand!</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">We're ignoring the negatives of these past few days and focusing on the positive. When we are able to go again, the Polynesian Cultural Center will be open again, as well as a few other things that looked really fun but were covid closed. I don't know if we can stay as long at Disney's Aulani, but there are other hotels, and maybe we can still get in a solid week (or more?) on Oahu. Karen has more time to PT and prep for adventure, and I have more time to learn some more of the Hawaiian language and get swimming again so I can be ready to live in the water when possible. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">And yes, we are very aware that missing the plane was a blessing in disguise. It's possible that she would have crumped on the way to Phoenix, or worse, somewhere over the Pacific. And the lesson is that along with 72 hour covid tests and 24 hour health questionnaires from the state of Hawaii, we'll do some tests on Karen to make sure she's medically ready as well. Maybe a blood check to see how her numbers are. Whatever it takes. (And definitely a hotel near the airport the night before and even more extra time for check in... or maybe camping at the airport to be at the gate an hour or two before boarding begins...)</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">So. that's the whole long story of the past few weeks and days. We don't know what the future holds. But none of us are guaranteed a tomorrow. We're going to chase those dreams and overcome obstacles if at all possible.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Semper Gumby, Baby. </span> </p>Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05579610684460155891noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3376678998508716988.post-21809963385784673172020-03-15T11:45:00.000-05:002020-03-15T11:45:50.199-05:00 The 6 P's: COVID 19 Pandemic Edition<span style="font-size: large;">Proper Planning Prevents Piss Poor Performance. The six P's that were defined for me in Boot Camp. Let's talk a little about the pandemic.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">First off, there's plenty of great information on the how's and why's and prevention and such out there about this virus and info on the virus itself. Please, for the love of Jesus, stick to the experts on this one. Mayo Clinic, CDC, WHO, Johns Hopkins, Cleveland Clinic. If you're doing the right thing, you're already practicing social distancing, so you'll have plenty of time to read through these sites and get solid facts.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">This post is going to reflect a bit on our reaction as a society to these events. There has been an insane run on supplies in the past couple of weeks. There are jackholes out there that swept up all of the hand sanitizer, bleach wipes, and TP they could find to price gouge and make money off of this disaster. It is painfully evident that the vast majority of the panicked people were simply unprepared for something like this. Most of you by now have seen the "Flatten the Curve" graphics floating around.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4FmOWBdcIwubi2m9YnnwiyebrFLG4q9y62uBKdu8u4F7FWLuQzEBwGjCEU0YZkVtS7XN2YMzlOpUQDRDk02RsXYRedt8PPEs70-ZUXsFF09_GRXjAJKkt5GvIuGZy6_CBagceJ5m9Ed8/s1600/Science_Covid19-Infographic.webp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4FmOWBdcIwubi2m9YnnwiyebrFLG4q9y62uBKdu8u4F7FWLuQzEBwGjCEU0YZkVtS7XN2YMzlOpUQDRDk02RsXYRedt8PPEs70-ZUXsFF09_GRXjAJKkt5GvIuGZy6_CBagceJ5m9Ed8/s640/Science_Covid19-Infographic.webp" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Like this one! CDC approved!</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;">So we should ALL understand why closing things down and trying to slow the spread is vital. But we can also use this to show what happens when something disruptive happens to our society.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjberBoKprmCbqEMSx1SeI1uluh88HwmPpdWw0pCjBym47ozoZgMFjdTvqypiYkvybKeo_dTtIQs_jEV1PZ16pRmA0HVa0arjhMZ-pRMTKb4e9DI4bjlERbisZr1jhp_JFfUdAIwRmxHLw/s1600/PREP.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjberBoKprmCbqEMSx1SeI1uluh88HwmPpdWw0pCjBym47ozoZgMFjdTvqypiYkvybKeo_dTtIQs_jEV1PZ16pRmA0HVa0arjhMZ-pRMTKb4e9DI4bjlERbisZr1jhp_JFfUdAIwRmxHLw/s640/PREP.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Works on so many levels</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Of course, you can insert whatever supply you'd like in place of TP, but you get the gist.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">This isn't surprising though. It is easy to get into the normal routine of life and not give much thought to emergency situations. If you fall into this category, <i>don't beat yourself up!</i> You are in good company with most of your fellow citizens! The good news is that the vast majority of our population will survive this crisis, even in the midst of administrative failure from our Federal government. So with that in mind, <b>let's talk prepping</b>.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">What's the first thing that came into your mind when I said "prepping"? A guy dressed in camo stockpiling years of food, weapons and ammo in his garage, guarding it with his AR-15? Underground bunkers and secret locations for food caches? Tinfoil hats? </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Sure, there are those people out there that have gone full on survivalist, preparing for the end of the world. But I want to dispel the myth that anyone who prepares has to go this far. I want to stop the eye-rolls when I say "have you done any prepping?" Because you don't have to go overboard! Sure, the extreme preppers are getting ready for the one in a billion, world ending events, but let's talk about what's happening now. Their point that even the slightest disruption in social norms leads to chaos is pretty accurate. We continue to see natural disasters and know for the most part where they will happen. Earthquakes in California. Hurricanes in Florida. Tornadoes in the Midwest. Lots of the people that live in those areas do some basic prepping for those events, and nobody sane rolls their eyes at that. So why are we unwilling to do some basic prepping for things like COVID 19 or other things that could disrupt the majority of the nation? (Because I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but the experts say that this kind of thing will happen again. It isn't a question of "<i>IF</i>', but a question of "<i>WHEN</i>".) </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">The answer is again, human nature. We get our daily patterns down and don't really think outside of that bubble. Crime in the Big Cities? Doesn't effect me so I focus on my priorities. Starving kids in impoverished areas? Doesn't effect me, toss some money at it when it comes up on FB maybe. This is called </span><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i><u>privilege</u></i></b>. Everyone everywhere has some level of privilege (some far, far less than others of course) that keeps them inside their bubbles. In America, the majority is made up of white, working and middle class, English speaking people. Our 'normal' expectations for day to day life don't include food scarcity or chronic illness. Our standard of living is pretty good. So we become complacent in our belief that there will always be food and toilet paper on the shelves, and "as long as we work hard, we'll have the money to buy what we need". And for the most part, this is true. We scoff at "Preppers" for wasting their time and money on things that will most likely not happen in their lifetimes. So we attach a stigma to people that prep, which drives people away from doing some basic prepping for fear of being ridiculed. Again, normal human behavior. But this pandemic has shown us </span><i style="font-size: x-large;">v</i><span style="font-size: large;"><i>ividly</i></span><span style="font-size: large;"> that there are a LOT of people out there that are unprepared for an emergency. When the media reports the facts, and the facts are a bit scary, people panic. There's a line from MIB about an individual person being smart, but 'people' are stupid. They're not wrong. being unprepared leads to panic. (Not the media) We need to de-stigmatize basic preparedness and start thinking ahead a little, yes?</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">So, how can we 'normal' citizens prepare for the next event like this? It's actually pretty simple, inexpensive, and won't really disrupt your normal routines at all. In fact, it can be kind of fun!</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">WHAT YOU NEED vs. WHAT YOU WANT</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">There are plenty of prepper websites out there that explain what they think are the essentials for Doomsday events. It's a rabbit hole I wouldn't suggest unless you go in with the understanding that you aren't preparing for a Doomsday event, just an undefined disruption of normalcy. Now to be honest, I would <i>love</i> me a bit of land away from populated areas to escape the crowds and camp, hunt, adventure or whatever! So I can't fault them for that. But stockpiling weapons, buying land to 'Bug Out' to, and putting in secret bunkers may be a bit extreme. But they do have a lot of good ideas for 'Sheltering in Place', which is what we're probably heading into with this covid 19 thing. There will always be stuff that you may <i>want</i> for a prep bag. But start out with the bare necessities first. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">So what do you <b><i>need</i></b>?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">First off, the CDC put out <a href="http://cdc.gov/cpr/zombie" target="_blank">Zombie Apocalypse Preparedness </a>guidelines a few years back. Kind of a tongue in cheek way to get people interested in doing some emergency prepping. This is an entertaining and excellent guide to getting yourself ready for the next 'whatever' after this one passes. They suggest making an emergency kit that includes</span><br />
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<ul style="background-color: white; font-family: Lato, "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin: 0px 0px 10px 25px; padding: 0px;">
<li style="line-height: 25px;"><span style="font-weight: 700;">Water </span>(1 gallon per person per day)</li>
<li style="line-height: 25px;"><span style="font-weight: 700;">Food </span>(stock up on non-perishable items that you eat regularly)</li>
<li style="line-height: 25px;"><span style="font-weight: 700;">Medications </span>(this includes prescription and non-prescription meds)</li>
<li style="line-height: 25px;"><span style="font-weight: 700;">Tools and Supplies </span>(utility knife, duct tape, battery powered radio, etc.)</li>
<li style="line-height: 25px;"><span style="font-weight: 700;">Sanitation and Hygiene</span> (household bleach, soap, towels, etc.)</li>
<li style="line-height: 25px;"><span style="font-weight: 700;">Clothing and Bedding </span>(a change of clothes for each family member and blankets)</li>
<li style="line-height: 25px;"><span style="font-weight: 700;">Important documents</span> (copies of your driver’s license, passport, and birth certificate to name a few)</li>
<li style="line-height: 25px;"><span style="font-weight: 700;">First Aid supplies </span>(although you’re a goner if a zombie bites you, you can use these supplies to treat basic cuts and lacerations that you might get during a <a class="tp-link-policy" href="http://emergency.cdc.gov/disasters/tornadoes/" style="color: #075290;">tornado </a>or <a class="tp-link-policy" href="http://emergency.cdc.gov/disasters/hurricanes/" style="color: #075290;">hurricane</a>)</li>
</ul>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Can you imagine how much less panic there would have been had a few more of those folks fighting over TP had done this?</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">"But that costs money! And where do we put it?" </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Listen, as a guy who wants to learn ALL THE HOBBIES, I understand that diving head first into a project can require a considerable outlay of money right up front. But let's take a look at what is on that list. Food, water, meds, etc... All of those are things you use in your daily life anyway. So there's not a reason (once we are no longer socially distancing ourselves and isolating of course) not to start small. Backpacks, little shelves or cabinets, or other containers are inexpensive, especially at second hand stores or outlets. Buy one in the first week or two. When you go shopping for your usual food and supplies, pick up an extra canned good or two every four or five trips. Grab a second TP package every now and then. Buy things that don't expire or have a really long shelf life. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Where to put it? Clean out the bottom of a closet, or a corner of your garage. Put a little shelf in your basement. There's ALWAYS a few cubic feet of space that you can set some things aside. If you want to get really fancy, you can even rotate your supplies in special racks and make charts and graphs and other cool organizational stuff! But again, it doesn't need to be hard or spendy. Some things will need to be replaced over time of course, but it's not hard to have a rotating stock of a few canned goods on your normal food storage shelves. </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 href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPzGbdvbjtOjwUEO6hhIQPj9DTfCHFYFCgqi1rE07T0AWczssKSqGOUJMxym6SzevbGtZTV8r9kfHL0XP3wSlKzwMSOdfcyppW17B8UVdFOall6DJmSpak00JAYLpFiLphfgjq_FfvudY/s1600/income.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPzGbdvbjtOjwUEO6hhIQPj9DTfCHFYFCgqi1rE07T0AWczssKSqGOUJMxym6SzevbGtZTV8r9kfHL0XP3wSlKzwMSOdfcyppW17B8UVdFOall6DJmSpak00JAYLpFiLphfgjq_FfvudY/s640/income.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">what a handy little graph!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-size: large;">Of course, in the above graphic, the blue part would be much, much flatter and not eat up that much of your income. But again, you get the idea.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">One thing we found helpful is having "normal" food and "emergency" food. Our kitchen is usually stocked with enough day to day food for a week or two. Sometimes less because of growing children, but in a pinch, we could make regular meals for half a month or so. We keep meats in the freezer and fresh foods for cooking and such, but we also have a little space set aside to store our "emergency supplies". For us, it was a simple and inexpensive matter to get a few food safe 5 gallon buckets with lids, pack them with non-perishables over the course of months of shopping, and put them in the basement.We started doing this years ago and now we have plenty of food squirreled away to shelter in place as long as we need to. It didn't hurt us at all financially, and it takes up the space of about a closet. On a Costco run once, we bought a bulk bag of rice, separated it into one pound bags and made a bucket o' rice. Same with pinto beans on another trip. We have a bucket of salts and spices that we tap into every now and then to use up and replenish, because who likes bland food, emergency or not? What else can you do?Buy a case of TP (when it's plentiful again) and stick it in the back of a closet somewhere (dry). And if you should for some reason be sheltering in place long enough to go through it, I've heard that showers are sometimes located near toilets, and can be used to clean your body! </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Did you know that sugar doesn't go bad? Neither does non-iodized salt. Even the iodized stuff lasts a looong time. Vinegar, wine, pasta, nuts, some dried grains, honey - especially honey- can last for decades before they go bad. Honey is magical and eternal! Canned meats can last for two to five years. Grab some extra canned tuna or chicken on every dozen grocery runs for a couple years and you'll have plenty for a few months of emergency, without breaking the bank or taking up lots of space. Canned fruits and veggies may not be better than what you get from your garden, but they'll get you through a winter of discontent! </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Now, I'll be the first to admit that the thought of living off of rice and beans, or canned chicken on pasta for a few months sounds awful to an epicurean. But with a variety of spices and recipes for some basic ingredients it won't be terrible. And it sure beats the alternative which I'm guessing would include scavenging and starving.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">So friends, I encourage you to become preppers. Not the eye-roll kind (unless that's your thing). But just having some simple foresight and basic goods that will last you and yours a month or two when this sort of thing happens again will give you better peace of mind when it happens, and just maybe keep supplies on the shelves for people that need them or didn't plan ahead. Help others by helping yourself! It's a win/win! </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Of course, that won't stop the price gougers, but we'll find some answers to that at another time. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">What sort of things do you do, or are you thinking of doing, to get ready for these events? Has this pandemic changed you in any way?</span>Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05579610684460155891noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3376678998508716988.post-5512558624183119072019-01-05T23:34:00.000-06:002019-01-06T00:06:45.507-06:00Adventures in Learning to Hunt<span style="font-size: large;">On December 18th, I skinned my first squirrel. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Also on December 18th, I did not fire my rifle.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Also, I've never shot a squirrel.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">How can all this be possible? It was an odd day.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">So, to start out, I headed off to the woods after dropping my daughter at school. The day started off well, as I walked the border of the woods and the cornfield, I flushed a grouse that flew off over a small rise. I noted where it set down and excitedly clicked the selector on the hammer of my Savage 24D over to the shotgun and snuck over the rise. </span><span style="font-size: large;">But as I did, questions began firing in my head. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I have a small game license, and grouse is small game. But I need a special tag for pheasant and waterfowl, and when I bought the license, I figured I wouldn't have a shot at any flying things, and now here was a grouse... not a waterfowl and not a pheasant... did my small game license cover those?</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">As I pondered that question, the grouse flushed from the tall weeds and started flying by at about twenty feet. I pulled back the hammer and drew a bead on the bird.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">But as it flew by, that question nagged at me and froze my finger fast. I lowered the barrel and watched the bird fly off across the field.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">As I'm teaching my kiddos to shoot, I'm making sure they fully understand the rules before they even get to handle a loaded gun.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Safety. Safety. Safety. One of those rules is this:</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">If you're unsure, don't take the shot.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Aim off? Don't shoot. Not a clear shot? Don't shoot. Uncomfortable with the distance? Don't shoot.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">So when I was unsure of the legality of the shot, it only seemed natural to not shoot.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">This particular WMA (Wilderness Management Area) is quite hilly, so the hiking was a little strenuous. I started seeing lots of signs of squirrels, but they seemed a little old. Maybe from the day before. Maybe a few days?</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoCfLPx7hy6eDyLfEuYvF4FOs7R6tXloLuwAYqK24znvRrHxyVGfv85TzCRayVHJbHSyeyfqI9FA6CRf1zbYxjHs3LIJ6bK6XDPxI-CIeVA4Iul2A0lBVZzrapjb5nNyWpkjgPbjSt7gk/s1600/IMG_8422.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoCfLPx7hy6eDyLfEuYvF4FOs7R6tXloLuwAYqK24znvRrHxyVGfv85TzCRayVHJbHSyeyfqI9FA6CRf1zbYxjHs3LIJ6bK6XDPxI-CIeVA4Iul2A0lBVZzrapjb5nNyWpkjgPbjSt7gk/s640/IMG_8422.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Tracks and digging. Sure signs of a squirrel!</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Heck, I'm still learning to track. I've spent plenty of time outdoors, but never really cared to figure out which tracks are what and where they're coming and going. Now, in learning to hunt, I'm discovering that knowing how to track, even as a newbie, is a very important skill to learn and hone. You can sit in an area for a <i>looooong</i> time waiting for squirrels and rabbits to appear. But knowing when you're <b><i>IN</i></b> their area can save many frustrating hours!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I wandered deeper into the steep terrain and saw more and more signs of squirrel. This was either a place littered with them, or the home of a very busy little critter. I picked a spot to sit and wait, but after almost an hour, had seen no sign of anything. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Except birds.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Especially woodpeckers.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Every time I've been out, there have always been plenty of woodpeckers. One of the benefits of spending time in the woods is seeing things that are kinda rare in town. Multiple species of woodpeckers has been one of the delightful finds.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I started walking again, and came across some familiar tracks...</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Human.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">There were adult tracks and kid tracks and they seemed pretty fresh. Maybe from the day before. The kid tracks were going up and down the steep hill as the adult tracks marched straight across. Like a puppy following an older dog, taking three times the steps and covering the same distance.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">But then, the adult tracks started going back and forth at right angles to the kid, like they were making some huge checkerboard on the hill. It was quite confusing. So much so that as I was walking through one of their board spaces, I nearly stepped on the very thing they must have been searching for.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPMN97LZX1lbNEIIaapZgV3qVqvw5CiAY-3rIMcrA-own4XhkgPySgzVv9xCXC09e_RvdURvgTL-ViMZwYBGwJnBW_pdalqushk406tchY5p5h9NJBzxCDpGcYSvpqAIZe8n0No-r7xKI/s1600/IMG_8421.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPMN97LZX1lbNEIIaapZgV3qVqvw5CiAY-3rIMcrA-own4XhkgPySgzVv9xCXC09e_RvdURvgTL-ViMZwYBGwJnBW_pdalqushk406tchY5p5h9NJBzxCDpGcYSvpqAIZe8n0No-r7xKI/s640/IMG_8421.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">A little Gray Squirrel almost perfectly centered between the criss crossing human tracks. Judging from the eye cloudiness, it looked pretty fresh. They must have shot it near dark last night and had not been able to find it.I considered briefly just leaving it where it fell, but it seemed like a gift to someone learning to hunt. After all, without having to shoot anything, I now had a squirrel to put in to practice all of the things I've been reading about, or watching instructional videos about. How to skin. How to gut. How to quarter. I left a little offering of tobacco as I had seen my Lakota friends do, and said some prayers of thanks to the squirrel and the universe for my good fortune and found a nice fallen log a few hundred yards farther to rest on while I planned what to do with my "practice squirrel".</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I thought about trying to skin it there, but it was a little frozen. In the end, I decided to just take it home. I'd let it warm up in the car on the way back, and try my hand at skinning and quartering when I got back.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I sat for a bit considering the adventure thus far. I think I'd need to be a bit more specific in what I put out into the universe as to what I want to achieve.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">When I first started, I didn't expect hunting to be too easy. I figured I wouldn't be able to just walk through any woods and get the daily limit in an hour. But after a few outings of seeing nothing, I asked that I'd like to see SOMETHING.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">And there were birds... all kinds of birds.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">OK. Be more specific. I'd like to see a MAMMAL.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">The next trip, there was the little dead mouse. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">SO - How about not just any mammal, but an actual squirrel.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">And here we are, sitting with a dead squirrel in hand.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Fine. I'D LIKE TO SEE A LIVING SQUIRREL OR RABBIT WHILE I'M HUNTING!!!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Even before I got the thought fully formed and decided upon, I caught sight of a bounding dark blur off to my right down the hill.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I looked closer, and there - in all its tiny, fuzzy glory - was a living, breathing, bounding Gray Squirrel. Hopping through the snow. Maybe twenty yards away.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">My jaw dropped and I froze long enough for the animal to hop onto a tree directly in front of me. I raised my rifle and tried to sight it in.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">It turns out that with a crossbow scope on a rifle, it is tough to get a quick sight picture. This has to do with many factors, not the least of which is how far your eye is from the first optic. Turns out, though the scope worked pretty well for target shooting, it took a bit more time to get a good lock on the target than the squirrel was willing to give me. By the time I started lining him up in the cross hairs, he flicked his tail and bolted around the tree 180 degrees. I peeked over the scope to see him giving me an even better shot on the other side of the tree. Again, I fiddled too long trying to get my eye lined up with the scope lined up with the squirrel, and as I started to squeeze the trigger, he flicked his tail again and shot up the tree and out of sight.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I waited and watched for twenty minutes.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Nothing.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I circled the tree - not an easy thing to do on the steep hill. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Nothing.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I tossed things to the opposite side and scanned every inch of the tree. But the squirrel had vanished. After an hour, my phone alarm rang letting me know it was time to head back to pick my daughter up from school.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Well. Another prayer answered. I had seen a LIVING squirrel while I was hunting.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I'd have to get even more specific for my next outing. But as long as I'm having fun out in the woods, I'll still consider every outing a good learning adventure.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-8I3LdAVErWVe51tXyssMrcevGQZ-tyaaqDXUocIC3J9y94oPOYyBT1qCIofI6jBvWYLAE-KTdUAQwtCG9YqlSaVG9YCXlQSF5FsIlZkZhVOqO836GuW6LBqM6UufzEdC2WR_CRCal-I/s1600/IMG_8426.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1203" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-8I3LdAVErWVe51tXyssMrcevGQZ-tyaaqDXUocIC3J9y94oPOYyBT1qCIofI6jBvWYLAE-KTdUAQwtCG9YqlSaVG9YCXlQSF5FsIlZkZhVOqO836GuW6LBqM6UufzEdC2WR_CRCal-I/s640/IMG_8426.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">When I got home, the Boyo was still at school and it was getting dark, but my daughter volunteered to join me in seeing what we could learn from the little dead squirrel I brought home.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I got my first solo skinning experience, and have to say, it wasn't hard either physically or mentally. As a former medic, I'm not too squeamish with blood and guts on people. But I am such an animal lover, I had wondered if I'd be able to take apart a critter. After all, my only experience up to now was handling meat from the store. Already pretty clinical and removed from the actual animal.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Turns out I was fine with starting "from scratch". As I was skinning it out, I wondered if my girl would get grossed out. But much to my delight, she was ok with it, too. As I cut into the bowels and started removing organs, I was telling her which parts were which and how remarkable that it was that humans had the same parts. She grew more and more curious until she asked to put on some gloves and handle the pieces herself.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">We took apart the squirrel and found the heart, lungs, liver, kidneys, diaphragm, intestines... we even opened up the stomach and found it full of chewed nuts. It was extremely educational and interesting for both of us!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">We quartered it, although it had been shot through the front shoulder, so that meat was pretty much gone. I considered cooking up the hind quarters, as it seemed to smell alright. I kept the skin and brought the back legs in for further learning.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I cut meat off the bones, and while it didn't smell rotten, it also didn't smell like any other meat I usually handled. Beef, pork, chicken and turkey... I can tell by the smell if it's good or not. This smelled kinda like chicken... but also kinda not. Since I had no frame of reference for what squirrel should smell like, and had no idea how long it had been dead, I decided not to risk cooking it and having a bad experience. So everything but the skin was left outside for our local carnivores. Red Fox, coyotes, crows, all come to visit us. In the next couple days, we even saw one of our local deer munching on the skull. Yes, they are omnivorous.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Karen was thankful that I didn't choose to cook it up. She's still a little hesitant about squirrel and rabbit as it is. Best to have it be as fresh as possible!</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">As I reflected on the adventures of the day, I started to feel like God, or Wakan Tanka, or the Universe, or whatever karmic higher entity there is, is slowly working me up to my first kill. Letting me learn things slowly. Step by step. Tracking, stalking, patience... especially patience. Sitting still and quiet in the woods and letting things happen. It occurs to me that hunting is a mix of skill, luck, and continuous learning. You can be the best hunter in the world, and yet it still takes some luck to be in a the right place at the right time to intersect with an animal. That skill part comes in handy when you can increase your odds, but still. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I think I need a scope designed for a .22. Other than that, I'm anxious to see what comes next in this adventure.</span><br />
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<br />Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05579610684460155891noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3376678998508716988.post-62694407874831896332018-11-05T22:04:00.000-06:002018-11-05T22:04:38.223-06:00Fears For Tomorrow<h1 class="passage-display" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Verdana, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-weight: 500; line-height: 1.1; margin: 0px 0px 20px;">
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<span style="font-size: small;">Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will take care of itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own."</span></h1>
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<span class="text Matt-6-34" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box;">Tomorrow is voting day. Americans are going to the polls in record numbers. The current thing sitting in the Oval Office has declared it to be a referendum about him. On this, he is mostly right. I said before the elections in 2016 that with him as POTUS, this country would be in trouble. Maybe not economically, since Obama put us on a path that would be hard to screw up. (Though he's doing his best to blow that up, too.)</span></div>
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<span class="text Matt-6-34" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box;">But in the past two years, we've watched as the far right has become normalized. Hatred against non-white, non-"christian", non-straight, and even non-male people has spiked. We have an administration that has been encouraging this. Giving "thoughts and prayers" after horrific attacks, yet stirring up fear at their rallies and making sure their supporters know who the "enemy" is.</span></div>
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<span class="text Matt-6-34" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box;">We've all seen the things that have been happening. Many of us can see the dangers this administration presents, especially at the words and actions of their leader. Some are fine with it because hey, the economy is fine, so they can overlook the hate and fear mongering and chalk his threats up to "hyperbole" or "just kidding around".</span></div>
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<span class="text Matt-6-34" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box;">The rhetoric has been amped up in the weeks leading up to tomorrow. We've heard more about such ridiculous things as the "dangerous invasion" caravan of people coming from South America, painting them as the Next Big Threat to our Country. Regardless of the fact that they have as yet done nothing illegal in accordance with our laws. Coming here to seek asylum is completely legal, yet our faux-president is sending troops in a "show of strength" to stir up the fear and hatred in his supporters. And it's working. Even people that I once considered rational and the LEAST likely to be a trumper because of their heritage are posting things to social media about the "invasion" and how we should be "taking care of Vets instead of illegals" (Again - they are not illegal). It is mind boggling how anyone claiming to be a Christian or not fitting into the category of white, male, straight, and sane can support the things this administration is doing and saying. </span></div>
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<span class="text Matt-6-34" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box;">Digression time...</span></div>
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<span class="text Matt-6-34" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box;">I need a better way to refer to the "in-group" that Trump fights for. Those who are white, male, "christian", straight, Republican and the people that support him even though they have few - if any - of those traits. I will hereafter refer to them as... RedHats.</span></div>
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I also need a term for the rest of humanity that the RedHats stand against. All of the people and cultures that trump and his RedHats rail against at their rallies and their news feeds. Immigrants, non-whites, non-"christian", non-straight, non...well... them. And more and more, the enemy they seem to be promoting the hardest are "Democrats". So let's call everyone else...Blues.</div>
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End of digression...</div>
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At the Trump Rally I went to, I was shocked at the level of animosity and hatred directed specifically at Democrats and "those on the Left". Even our local candidates were spouting the party line about how all Democrats want open borders, want to take away all the guns, want to punish "christians", are happy to have criminals in our communities, and make anyone not agreeing with Trump an "enemy of the people".</div>
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<span class="text Matt-6-34" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box;">Which brings me to the reason I'm writing tonight. I have some fears for tomorrow. I know the bible says we shouldn't. But I'm not perfect, and I have a tendency to run different scenarios in my head. So here are some of my fears...</span></div>
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<span class="text Matt-6-34" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box;">1)Worst case, we have a "red wave" and Republicans not only solidify their hold on the government, but elect fanatics at the State and Local levels so loyal to Trump that the slide into the "Fourth Reich" they've been pushing for speeds up. Without any checks and balances in any branch, the corruption of the SCOTUS, and with his new "yes-men" in place, Trump ramps up his hate speech, and violence against "Blues" increases. New laws will be enacted to disenfranchise Blue voters. Protections now in place for Blues are "legally" rolled back. "The Handmaid's Tale" seems less a work of fiction than our new everyday lives. Blues that will not tolerate this protest in large numbers. So the "Government" outlaws protest and dissent. Violence increases as trump riles up his base against these "enemies". The military is called up to "help" keep the peace, but since half of the military leans blue, there are internal command conflicts that increase until the military divides along partisan lines as well. (Much like what happened in our Civil War) Then, instead of being a unifier, the RedHats declare martial law, the right wing militias line up to "fight" with the "Government", the Blues show that they too are armed and trained (much to the disbelief of the RedHats), and we head into the Second Civil War. But since there are no real dividing lines like the North and South had in the first one, RedHat and Blue forces are scattered all across the country fighting for control of cities and regions. Eventually, regions become red or blue and form their own countries. All assuming we aren't first invaded by a foreign force while we're killing each other. No more US of A.</span></div>
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<span class="text Matt-6-34" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box;">2)A slightly better case... There is no wave, but Republicans keep control of the government. We've got two more years of insanity before we are able to vote again. Violence still increases against the Blues. Laws are passed to justify it, and to make it easier for RedHats to stay in power and we are back to scenario one... OK. </span>Hopefully scenario one doesn't play out, and we are able to elect sane, rational people into positions of power once more, regardless of party affiliation. This would require the Republicans to save their party, but it could happen...maybe... It still takes decades to undo the damage done in the last four years. The Republic is still here, but unstable, because the RedHats haven't crawled back into the shadows they emerged from in 2016. Still feeling emboldened by the words and actions of their Dear Leader, they continue to act out against the Blues... too much violence against the Blues would lead to reprisals and continued division. Yeah... Still not too great.</div>
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3)A bit better still... No wave, but Democrats take the House and leadership positions at the State and Local levels, and are able to slow the dumpster fire known as the "Trump Train" a bit. The RedHats aren't able to pass their laws ensuring their continued power. The Republic is still here, still unstable, and we look ahead to 2020. Unfortunately, with the government now (thankfully) gridlocked, the RedHats are angered by the lack of their Leader being able to continue to "protect" them, and since he continues to stir up fear and hatred in lieu of having any actual power, they increase their violence toward Blues at the seemingly indirect encouragement of their leadership. While said leadership denies responsibility, they will continue to demonize the Blues, leading to the violence. More division, more conflict. More bloodshed.</div>
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4)Even Better... There IS a Blue Tsunami and the Democrats take not only the House, but maybe the Senate, AND Democrats also regain state and local leadership positions. Now the RedHat Trump Train is slowed even further, and the insane dictates coming from their Dear Leader are more easily turned aside by Federal, State and Local entities that actually understand the Constitution and rule of law. Trump spends the next two years as a true lame duck. Unfortunately, this angers his RedHat Base who, pissed at the metaphorical castration of their Idol and encouraged by his continued labelling of Blues as the "Enemy of the People" increase attacks against Blues. More division, more blood spilled.</div>
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Basically, any outcome tomorrow could easily lead to violence from the right, retaliation from the far left, and descent into Very Bad Times.</div>
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As a "civilized" society, we naturally assume that calmer heads will prevail. Sanity will win the day. We are in denial that our fellow Americans would do anything like what I describe the RedHats doing above. And honestly, I hope to God that I'm completely wrong about any and all of these scenarios. I hope that we can regain some civility and basic respect for each other as human beings.</div>
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But here's why I worry. I went to the Trump Rally here in town. I saw fellow citizens, Mayo and IBM employees, regular, "ordinary" type people go from light hearted laughing and chatting about the weather or the Vikings to Angry At The Blues in just about no time at all. I heard the cheering as trump called Democrats "the party of criminals". Saw the smiles at the mention of building walls to keep brown people out, or shutting down the "fake news media". Heard not just the boo's, but the truly vile comments at the mention of the name of anyone in the Democratic party. I saw the fanaticism in the eyes of his loyalists. The love they had for him, even as he spewed lies and half truths and slander and petty name calling. I saw how quickly they turned on a group of young people that they identified as "liberals" and chased them out of the line. I was out of place and outnumbered, and for the first time in my country I felt unsafe, threatened by the people surrounding me. It really felt like what I'd imagine a Nazi Rally would have felt like in the 30's. Not calling for outright killing of their "enemies", but certainly planting the ideas of who the "real enemies" are, and how dangerous they are, and how all hope will be lost if they get any power, and how we must all stand together and fight them if we cherish our way of life. I remember thinking to myself "What the hell is <i>wrong</i> with these people that they would eat this slop up and <i>cheer</i> for it?" Stunningly scary stuff.</div>
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So if mild mannered Rochester, Minnesota can rally a crowd of thousands so fanatically devoted to this dictator wanna be that they can so easily stir themselves into a hate filled frenzy, then the idea of him whipping his 25% of our citizens into violence at the outcome of tomorrows elections isn't too much of a stretch. I fear that one way or the other, violence against "Blues" will spike after tomorrow, either because the RedHats won, or because they lost. And without a leader that wants unity, that thrives on division, I fear that it will escalate.</div>
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Like I said. I hope to God I'm wrong. </div>
Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05579610684460155891noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3376678998508716988.post-88267601226010127072018-10-15T13:47:00.001-05:002018-10-15T14:04:42.049-05:00I May Be A Hunter<span style="font-size: large;">This past summer I went on a buffalo hunt on the Oglala Reservation in South Dakota. I've never been on a hunt before, though I did learn how to hunt humans in the USMC. A lot of the same rules apply. Stealth. Target Identification. One Shot, One Kill principle.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">While I didn't do the shooting, My son and I did assist a little with the post kill activities... skinning, quartering, butchering... and it sparked something in me.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Now, to be honest, I've never been drawn to hunting because most of my role models for this have been people that hang heads on their walls or take pictures of themselves with dead giraffes, lions, wild hogs, even buffalo. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">What bothers me are the trophy hunters. I have never felt that the act of killing should be celebrated or enshrined with pictures of people smiling happily with their kill. Posing in front of the rows of ducks they shot, or holding the head of some dead animal up while they grin for the camera. I get that they are proud of their "accomplishment", but most trophy hunters I've spoken with have zero respect for the animal they have killed. It's a sport for them. A chance to prove whatever they need to prove to whomever they think they need to impress. It doesn't impress me. Hunting something that can shoot back at you takes far more skill, nerve, and dedication than shooting an unaware animal that is having lunch and just trying to go about their day.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I understand that people hunt to eat, and that never bothered me much. One of my earliest babysitters was a family that ate all manner of wild game, and though I can't remember the taste of the various things we tried, I do remember the basement with skins and processing equipment and such. I understand that hunting certain species is important in keeping their numbers in check. We are a part of the food web, after all. The whole Circle of Life. I get all of that. But I've never felt the need to hunt for food outside of my local grocery store.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Then I went on the Buffalo Hunt. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Now. It wasn't particularly difficult. We drove around until we found the herd, adjusted position (in vehicles) a few times to get a close, clear, clean shot. The guy who took the shot did so wearing flip flops. The herd didn't even react to the shot. Just kinda looked at us and went back to their grazing. A few of them gathered around their fallen brother to check him out. My Lakota Ciye (older brother) Will said that after the animal dies his family will gather around and bw their heads as if in prayer and saying goodbye. Unfortunately our non-traditional guides raced in with their vehicles to move the living buffalo off, an act that bugged both Will, me and my son. </span><span style="font-size: large;">The anti-trophy hunter in me would have been disgusted if that had been what we were there for.</span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">But it wasn't.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">This hunt was to use the buffalo as food. The traditional hunters prayed to Tunkasila - Grandfather - before the hunt that one of their brother buffalo's would give himself as a sacrifice so that the people could eat. After the shot, we gathered around the fallen buffalo and prayers were said and sung, and offerings made to the spirit of the animal and to Tunkasila. Prayers of thanksgiving for the sacrifice of this bull. We thanked the animal personally. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I placed my hand on his massive forehead and said my own words of thanks. As did my son. And the lesson he learned that day was vitally important. </span><span style="font-size: large;">I was with people who truly respected the animal, and more importantly respected the gravity of killing. There were no smiles or laughter from the traditional Lakotas there. Or from their two white visitors. Just respect.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">In accordance with Lakota tradition, we all ate a piece of the liver to honor the spirit of the buffalo, make him a part of us. We were told that by taking part in ceremony, that we were also brothers of the buffalo. That the spirit of this individual buffalo would be with us for all of our lives. It was a powerful morning that will stay with me for life.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">As I reflected on my experience in the weeks that followed, I gave thought to what <i>should</i> be in the hearts of<b><i> all</i></b> hunters.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">The act of taking a life should never be internally easy, or done with pleasure. It should be done with as much skill as possible so the animal suffers as little as possible. It should not be celebrated with pictures of the dead or trophy heads to hang on a wall. The first thing a hunter should do after a kill is show some respect for the animal that they killed. The animal should be humbly thanked for their sacrifice so that the hunter and his family can live. If you're not going to eat it, you shouldn't be killing it. Maybe most importantly, if you hunt for an animal, you should also take care of its relatives as you would your own as a thank you for their sacrifice as well.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Set out some food for them during winters and hard times. Not as bait. As a thank you. Take care of their living space as if it were your own. If they don't have a good place to live, you won't have a place to hunt. That means standing up to those that would spoil those living spaces. Companies that dump toxins into the ground, water, and/or air. Governments that won't protect these Natural Resources. Individuals that hunt for the sole purpose of taking home a trophy or a picture to show off to their friends. These must be stopped.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I may become a hunter in the future. Probably not regularly, but to expand my knowledge and to provide food for my family. Certainly not for any picture or trophy for my wall. Because even this far along in my life, I was able to learn what it means to be a true hunter.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Respect. Honor. Humility. Purpose. These make the difference between a hunter and a killer.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05579610684460155891noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3376678998508716988.post-53031859194640108572018-10-05T00:22:00.000-05:002018-10-05T01:03:39.927-05:00Trump Rally<span style="font-size: large;"> Tonight I had the opportunity to go see a Trump rally in person. I wasn't excited to go, and certainly had my preconceived notions of what it would be like. I'm no fan of 45 or his more ardent supporters. But my friend Shelly, who had the tickets had said a few things that made me genuinely curious. Also, I wanted to see with my own eyes what it was like. After all, what we see on the news are sound bites of him saying something stupid. And what we see on the comedy shows are the people too simple minded to know they are falling into the interviewers traps.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"> So I went, not intending to protest, not intending to support, but to simply bear witness to it and try to keep an open mind.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">As we drove the route 45 would be taking to the Civic Center, there were rows and rows of protesters lining the streets. We found pretty decent parking a couple blocks away, and after making our way through the protesters on the corners, we found the line to go into the venue. It snaked its way from the venue about a block away then went down an ally and around a bend. Probably a few thousand people in all. We made the decision to not wait in line and instead walked up to the giant tv screen near the venue that people outside could watch on. There were protesters there, too, and as the line filed by, the protesters were jeered and mocked. Chants of "USA. USA" kept rising up. The Protesters had their chants, too. But none jeered or mocked the MAGA hats heading in. We were standing by the police tape that separated the crowd from the line, next to a couple police officers and a Secret Service agent. We soon noticed that people were just walking under the police tape and joining the line, so we thought, well, why not give that a try? So I held up the tape to let my friend in, said hi to the nice security people, and we literally walked right into line.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">We spoke quietly to ourselves about feeling a little guilty for just cutting in front of hundreds of others, but that feeling quickly dissipated as people around us talked about how they didn't even have tickets, but were just going to try to get in anyway. Of the section of people I was in, very few had tickets, and they all got a good laugh out of that. As we rambled along, we noticed quite a few people just shoving their way in front of others. There was no security along the line, so people could - and did - easily step out of line, move up a bit, and rejoin the line. So much for Minnesota Nice. The lack of humanity continued further as chants of "Build That Wall" and "Lock Her Up" moved up and down the line. All greeted with laughter and cheering. A group of young people were mocked and harassed until driven from the line by the crowd after they were outed as liberals. Shelly turned to me and quietly whispered "That could have been us."</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">We reached the doors to the inside and filed through, only to be in a larger hall that led to the "Exhibition Center" where the overflow crowd was being directed. This was several times wider than the outside line, and people packed in - again pushing and shoving - to get to the single open door into the EC. There was plenty of grousing and complaining about the "line cutters" by people that had themselves walked ahead of others as far as they could before joining the mass.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">As we approached the security checkpoint, Shelly and I got separated by budging MAGAers, and decided to just meet once inside. She went to the outside of the line, and unbeknownst to me was shuffled right in thanks in part to her need for crutches.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I, meanwhile, found myself in a group of men, women and children in various states of MAGA hats and shirts. One woman just behind me to the right was trying to get people to let her husband through, since they had been separated and he was now fifteen feet back through the crowd. She was wearing a Mayo jacket, and feeling some loyalty to Mayo employees, I helped her make a hole for her hubby to join her. After he had joined our little section, someone further back yelled "A thank you would have been nice". To which she flipped the bird without looking back.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">"So much for Minnesota Nice" said someone else from the back. She turned to me and said "I'm from Michigan. Besides, 'Minnesota Nice' is just another way of saying 'Fuck You', isn't it?"</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">"Ahh... No." I replied. "We actually do try to be nice. Polite, respectful. That sort of thing. I guess that sort of goes out the window at things like this, huh?" I quipped.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">"Sure does." She said. "I always thought it was like Southerners saying 'Bless Your Heart'."</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">"Nah." I said. "People here are generally pretty nice."</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">At this point we were around 30 feet from the entrance, and people were cramming into the funnel from both sides. Someone with a backpack was sent away, as no backpacks were allowed. A woman in front of me that had previously pushed her way past Shelly along with her family scoffed and started pointing at women and asking them kind of harshly if they brought purses. I thought she was just kidding around at first, until one woman said yes, and she said "Well get behind me then! I don't want your dumb ass holding me up!"</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Now, if you know me, you know I don't tolerate rudeness very well. So I said "Chill out lady. We're all in the same boat here." Which got me a withering stare. It was then that a gentleman to my left squeezed past me and shouldered his way in. I said "Really?" and shouldered my way in front of him. Words were about to be exchanged when my phone rang. It was Shelly, so I held my index finger up to him in the well known 'just a moment' gesture and talked to Shel. She was inside, she said, and would wait for me by the door. Was I close?</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">"Yeah. Making progress. Except for the people still trying to budge their way in front of me. But I'll keep moving forward." I said this looking at the pushy guy, and he backed down. He worked his way to the left and last I saw him he was pushing in front of other people.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I was about twenty feet from the door when the woman in the Mayo coat went off.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">"Those fucking chinks cut ahead of us! They shouldn't be allowed to go in!"</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Ahead of us by three or four people was an Asian looking couple. I could not believe what my ears had just heard. I became... agitated.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">"Hey. That sort of language isn't necessary." I said.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">"But they cut! And HE has a backpack, so they shouldn't be going in anyway!"</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I was seething, but realized that I was in the midst of a crowd of MAGA hats, twenty feet of packed crowd between me and authorities, and if I started telling her and those around her that were agreeing with her how I really felt, I'm quite certain things would turn ugly rather quickly. She had the support of the mob, and I understood that I was surrounded by truly deplorable people. It was so hard to bite my tongue further.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">But here's where it got even more surreal. She went on to say that they were probably Democrats just here to make a scene. How would you tell if they were Democrats? I asked.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">"I can always tell." She said proudly. "They all have a look about them. Like they've been unemployed for years and living in their parents basement."</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">"Really?" I asked.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">"Yeah" her husband joined in. "They all have hate in their eyes, or are too drugged out to see straight. Fucking losers that you can pick out of a crowd."</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Then their adultish son joined in. Let me describe him first. It makes his comment that much more ridiculous. He had on a brand new MAGA hat (Just bought it outside!) a tattered camo jacket and ratty jeans. His smile revealed orange, unbrushed teeth. His hair flowing out from underneath the hat was unwashed. His comment? "They all look like homeless people. Probably because they are!"</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Mom chimed back in, "I can always tell. They all hate America, and us, and Trump. They should all just get the hell out of the country if they hate it so much."</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I smiled at her. "You can ALWAYS tell? For real? Or like, these are just Democrats in general?"</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">"Nope. I can ALWAYS tell."</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">So I asked her in a conspiratorial tone if she saw any in the surrounding crowd. She pointed out a large black guy, but wasn't entirely sure of her pick after I pointed out that he was Secret Service. But she was certain that the brown skinned women wearing hijabs were Dems. "Fucking towelhead Dems, right there." were her words. And MAD PROPS to that small group of women that looked cool as cucumbers as they filed in with so many people scowling at them. I at least had the camouflage of my USMC hat and white skin to disguise myself for safety. Those gals were exactly the enemy most of that crowd was looking for, and they held their heads high. THAT is true bravery!</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Two college looking kids in sweatshirts were Democrats too. I looked at the others listening in on this conversation to see if anyone else was as disgusted as I was by what she was saying, but there were only smiles and nodding heads agreeing with her. I really felt like I was in the presence of evil.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">At this point the Asian couple had reached security and were given the option of tossing the backpack into the trash or leaving. They left, to a smattering of cheers and a "Good Riddance" from the lady who always knew a Democrat when she saw one, even though she was standing right next to one. I was sweating from trying to keep my cool. I felt... well... dirty. Like their vitriol was rubbing off on my soul. I can't remember being in such a disgusting group of people.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Finally, mercifully, I made it to the security table, where I was separated from the proud deplorables. I thought to myself "This whole building is going to need a good scrub down and a lot of smudging or something." It was very bad energy in the crowd.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I was pushed toward a Secret Service screener by another Secret Service agent. He looked at me, patted the tops of my front pockets half heartedly, then touched the hem of my shorts on my left leg with one hand, then waved me through. Three touches in total.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">"Is that it?" I asked.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">"Yeah. Go."</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">"Really?" I asked again, kinda slow walking past him. He just moved on the the next person, and in I walked.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Now. Shelly had the tickets, and she was already inside. I wasn't asked if I had a ticket. I wasn't checked with a wand, or asked to empty my pockets, or my cargo pockets (because I'm a Dad, and we ALL wear cargo shorts). My waistband wasn't checked, and it would have been very easy to have a concealed handgun tucked in the small of my back, or my pocket, or my cargo pocket. As shocking as the conversations that had surrounded me on the way in had been, I was extremely shocked by the lax security to get in to see a US President.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Now, maybe they figured that they didn't really need security checks for the overflow area, although it connected directly to the main stage and the rear areas where 45 would be. But considering what happened next, perhaps they should have thought things through.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Because not five minutes later, 45 himself came out and onto a raised stage area not twenty or thirty feet from where I stood. Shelly had asked a tall guy in front of her to move a little for some room for her to film, leaving a nice gap and line of site to the stage and there was nobody behind me. To my right was a wall, and to my left was Shelly. It was an ideal spot to shoot from - as my cell phone camera shows, and literally ANYONE could have brought a weapon in and taken shots at him.</span><br />
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I don't know if he saw my one fingered salute or not...</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">All of my disgust for this administration faded away for a bit as I stood in wonder at how easy it had been to jump the line, enter the venue, and get this close to the sitting president of the United States. I filmed his mini speech to the overflow crowd and took some pictures without really hearing any of it.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Seriously. Complete disbelief.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">After he left, we took a spot along the back wall where we could sit and listen to the "Greatest Speech" that he had promised the overflow room when he appeared. Apparently many of his loyalists weren't terribly interested in the speech part, as the outflow of people easily matched the influx. Shelly was very hopeful that his actual presentation would have substance and not just be a collection of nonsense. I was less hopeful, but in all honesty had never been able to sit through an entire speech of his. And his highlight reels were really nothing to brag about. Besides, many people have asked me if I'd ever been to a rally as anything other than a protester. So I wanted to keep an open mind. I decided to give him a clean slate for the evening, even after the deplorable beginning.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">He didn't start well.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">He opened with "They say that this is a Democrat state" which was greeted by the loudest booing of the evening. He went on to vilify Democrats throughout the speech as "for crime" and "for raising taxes" and "for open borders", the same easily disprovable rhetoric that's in almost all of his greatest hits clips. He expressed wonder that anyone would ever want to be a democrat since they are pro crime, they "embrace socialism", they want open borders to bring in drugs and violent gangs. And I quote from his speech,</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">"I've said it. And I'll say it as many times as you want to hear it. That it's because of their policy. The Democrats are truly the party of crime. (Applause) And the Dems are willing to do anything, to hurt anyone, to get the power they so desperately crave."</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">He pointed out the media to a chorus of boos and labeled them "fake news". He stated that "if we could only get them on our side, we'd win for a thousand years". Which seemed like a creepy shout out to Hitler claiming the Third Reich would last for a thousand years. He followed that up with saying that we had to keep focusing on "America First". All met with cheers, of course.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">He praised himself for reworking NAFTA and teased the crowd with even more "deals" to come, and again claimed that his administration was the best two years of presidenting in the history of our country. I laughed out loud and got some glares from people around me, but it was as funny a statement tonight as when he said it at the UN.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">He said that even China wants to make a deal, but he's not having it. "They're not ready yet. I told them, they're not ready. Nope. Not ready." And claimed again that he makes the best deals. Better than any other president in history.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">He praised Kavenaugh effusively, and condemned the evil democrats whose only objective was to obstruct and deter an "incredible judge" from getting his rightful seat on the SCOTUS.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Before he started to introduce the people he came to stump for, he went of on some weird tangent listing off states that loved him like Missouri, West Virginia, Tennessee and others and never did find the point. This wasn't an isolated instance. He started many, many sentences that rambled away from any point throughout the evening, garnering cheers and whoops from his supporters, sometimes even at appropriate times.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">It was a disjointed and disturbing speech on the whole. He demeaned, vilified, and insulted his political opponents and praised himself without any supporting evidence for either. His supporters loved it, of course, as it spoke directly to their world views of the evil Democrats trying to destroy the America that they love. It painted clearly defined "bad guys" - Democrats primarily, who are now to blame for the woes of immigrants and crime - and told them exactly who the "good guys" are... Only Republicans. If anyone came hoping to hear any kind of unifying speech or inclusive ideas, they were sadly disappointed.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Many years ago I had the chance to see Pope John Paul II in person, along with several thousand others. I'm not Catholic, and don't much care for some of their practises. But when he entered the immense hall, he had a presence about him. I was probably half a football field away from him at least, but I could sense it. His words were hopeful and loving. His demeanor was humble. Even a non - Catholic skeptic like me still found him to be incredibly moving, and I enjoyed being in his presence.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I was around twenty or thirty feet from 45. While his sycophants were almost in tears with their adoration of him, I didn't feel any presence. He seemed like a stereotypical used car salesman. He carried himself with the attitude of entitlement, and I think he genuinely believed that everyone there loved him. But in all, I didn't feel like I was in the presence of any sort of "great" man. It just felt...sad. Like he was desperate for the cheering and applause.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I was disturbed by his fawning supporters though. Literally willing to cheer any mess of words that tumbled from his mouth. They didn't really listen for comprehension, just for buzzwords to cheer or boo. Case in point was when he mentioned ICE, saying "The Democrats want to get rid of ICE." but before they could boo he added quickly "How about ICE, huh?" So the booing started after his impromptu line and it sounded like they were booing ICE. It only faded uncomfortably several sentences in to him saying how tough and wonderful ICE is.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;">I was hoping that there might be something different about attending a Trump rally in person than the usual stuff we see in the media. But from start to finish, those hopes were dashed. All of the "fake news" we see about his fans, his speeches, his incoherent ramblings... were all present tonight. He made a point of the "thousands and thousands of people in the auditorium" as well as the thousands and thousands more in the overflow room he'd just left, and the thousands upon thousands waiting outside.</span><br />
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Maybe we were in an "Alternative Overflow Room"?</div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;">Even as we left, the crowds outside around the giant monitor had dwindled, so it's really going to be hard to believe any word from the White House claiming tens of thousands turning out in Rochester.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I mentioned to Shelly as we left that I really wanted a shower, and maybe some bleach for my eyes, as I witnessed some truly disgusting and deplorable behavior. As we stepped outside, we found that it had been raining. I turned to Shel and said,</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">"See. Even God thinks Rochester needs a shower after this thing."</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Shelly mentioned last week that she was going because "How often do you get to see a President?"</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Honestly, I'm still looking forward to seeing an American President for the first time. Because I didn't see anything presidential tonight.</span><br />
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Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05579610684460155891noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3376678998508716988.post-84196374836793295642017-12-30T12:18:00.003-06:002017-12-30T12:18:52.563-06:002018 - Second Attempt<span style="font-size: large;">Wow. So I tried to get this done once, but it came out as quite the venting session! So - not going to share that one! Let's try again...</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Another New Year is a upon us, friends. This past year was filled with goals and ideas for me, but life took a decidedly different route. So, this year I'm going to stick with the Semper Gumby motto. We Marines have the saying "Semper Fidelis", Latin for "Always Faithful". In my unit, we said "Semper Gumby" - "Always Flexible" because we all knew that no plan survives contact with the enemy.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">So - Semper Gumby, Baby. We'll take it day by day and roll with whatever comes.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Along those lines I have set a single goal for 2018.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">As you may or may not know, over the years I've built and acquired a decent stable of radio controlled flying machines. I have also found that flying these little machines has a very therapeutic effect on me most of the time. My time spent keeping something aloft is a great, peaceful distraction from the troubles and worries of the day.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">So - my goal this year is to fly something every day and record a bit of those flights. I've got the hangar for it, with things I can fly indoors and outdoors. I've got the tools to record the flights, too. and it is something that, I think, will bring me a little nugget of joy every day.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I'd like to compile the flight videos each week and post them here, and at the end of the year, create a video with a second or two of each days flight from the year. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">When I write this down it seems so simple and so overwhelming at once, so I make no guarantees that I'll accomplish this. But, I'm still going to give it a go.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">So. There's my singular goal for this coming year. Fly something every day.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">What are your plans for the coming year? </span>Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05579610684460155891noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3376678998508716988.post-45252869120670729062017-12-30T12:18:00.002-06:002017-12-30T12:18:38.255-06:00F*CK CANCER<span style="font-size: large;">On Friday August 18th, Karen went to the doctor to check out some pain she'd been having in her side for awhile. No big deal, didn't even see our normal doctor. At first, she thought that maybe it was a gall bladder problem. So the physician seeing her ordered an ultrasound of said organ to check things out.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I was at home, starting to cook some chicken and bell peppers for supper, when our primary doctor Liz Westby called our house and asked for Karen. Karen had stopped by the store on her wawy back from the doctor, and Liz asked her to call her on her cell phone as soon as possible, as it was Friday and close enough to five o'clock that Liz would be heading home soon.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I knew that Liz couldn't tell me what was going on thanks to patient privacy rules. But I also know enough about how the medical field works to know that for a doctor to give us her personal cell number and tell us to call ASAP is not going to be good news. I wondered if her gall bladder was in serious trouble. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Instead of waiting for Karen to get home, I called her and gave her Liz's number. Then I waited. I kept cooking but my mind was racing through all of the terrible things it could be.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Finally Karen called back. She was near home and asked if I could meet her in the driveway. When I did, as we stood by the open driver door, she told me that the ultrasound had extended to her belly, and they had a strong suspicion that they had found ovarian cancer.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">The words hit me like a brick, and honestly the first word that came into my head was "fuck". Then things just kinda went numb. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Now, as a Mayo nurse - an oncology nurse - Karen knows more than the average citizen about cancer. As the husband of a Mayo cancer nurse, I know the stories of what she does. Sometimes she comes home from work and tells me about the patients she has taken care of. Not in a way that compromises their privacy mind you, but in generalities. For example she'll tell of a farmer with cancer and the wonderful family members supporting him. Or the lady who probably won't live much longer but is such a delight to care for and talk to.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">She also has told of too many younger people with kids and lives and futures that have been upended by a cancer diagnosis.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">"There but for the grace of God..." we'd say. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">As a medic, I saw my share of just how fragile life is. Same with Karen. We know better than most just how precarious getting through the day can be. Most people assume that their days will be predictable. Work, vacation, meals... those things we humans can wrap our heads around. But sudden events like a car accident or a cancer diagnosis can through everything out of whack.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">It turns out that even when you are acutely aware of that possibility, when it actually happens to you, it will still knock you so far off of center that "normalcy" looks like even more of a mirage than it did.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Our primary, Liz, being the wonderfully amazing doc that she is spent Friday evening and Saturday morning helping us make arrangements for what would be coming in the next week. Some of Karen's nursing friends also went out of their way to make calls and help coordinate. Labs, tests, procedures, even a surgeon was contacted and given a heads upp about the cases. As such, by Friday night things were pretty much in place to get Karen in first thing Monday morning for a CT scan. That would give the doctors a clearer picture of what they were dealing with. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">We spent the weekend in a haze. I spent some time online learning what I could about ovarian cancer. But I had to stop. It turns out that there are many kinds of ovarian cancer, and prognosis and survival rates were dependent on the type and what stage it was at. Naturally none of it was simple. There are four types of stage 3 epithelial cancer for example. So until we knew what stage at least, everything I was learning was not particularly helpful. I mean, if it was a stage 1, then 5 year survival for some types was over 85%. But if it was a stage 4, then the odds were not in her favor. So I just stopped looking. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">But it was hard for both of us not to go to the worst case scenario. After all, everyone we had talked to said that surgery was pretty much inevitable. The biggest surgery Karen has ever done was to have her wisdom teeth out. So we spent the weekend talking over fears of not waking up, or even worse, a quick "open/close" surgery where they find that there's nothing they can do once they get in there. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">We told the kids that there was something wrong, and that there would be more tests and probably a surgery, but we didn't mention cancer speccifically. After all, in the past couple years they've seen both their Nana (Karen's mom) and Grampa (my dad) go through cancer. Grampa even stayed with us during his treatments, and they saw how rough it was on him first hand.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Monday finally came and we went in for the CT.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Here's where things get foggy for me personally, so I'll just write what I remember.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">The CT confirmed that things were not right in her belly. It was most likely cancer, though they kept deferring absolutely calling it cancer until surgery. And there would definately be surgery on Friday. They told us that by the way the CT looked they would catagorize it as a stage 3 cancer, probably epithilial, but not sure which stage 3 exactly. Karen was relieved by this, as she had been preparing to hear that it was stage 4. I was less relieved by this, as stage 3 still sucks. But as is the way of my wife, we focused on the positives that were happening.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Wednesday we met with the surgeon, Dr Bakkum. She and her team were wonderful. We got to see the CT. From a medical standpoint, it was fascinating. There was the heart and lungs and aorta. Then came the ovaries, usually measuring in at 2 cm or so and invisible to CT, these measured 12-14 across and even I could see that they didn't look right. There were lymph nodes that had probably cancer on them, and the appendix may have a spot or two. Peritoneum, spleen and diaphragm would also need some work. The omentum had some thickening called an omentum cake, and we all agreed that it sounded like the worst possible dessert ever. But the liver looked pristine, and other vital organs also appeared to be as yet untouched by the disease. So Dr. Bakkum said she felt comfortable going ahead with surgery. She told us that she'd start with a small incision to get her hand in and feel around on the intestines. If she felt those were clean enough, she'd continue with the full procedure. But if she felt any oddities, she'd stop and have Karen do some chemo first before going after the tumors. This gave us some peace of mind about an open/close procedure, but we oddly found ourselves hoping for the longer, more involved surgery.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">As I said, from a medical standpoint it was very interesting to see and learn about. But then it was also all happening to the woman that I love, and that made me sick to my stomach and made me want to absolutely freak out.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Thursday came and we met with the medical oncology team who gave us some options about what would happen after surgery. They told us more about the various kinds of chemo treatments Karen could go through, pros and cons and studies that show, and all sorts of information that Karen mostly already knew and I took in to try and process.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">There was the possibility that during surgery a post would be put in her belly that allowed for interperitoneal - or IP - chemo. This would be the most aggressive type, but came with higher toxicity and more negative side effects. Otherwise she could go with IV chemo that wasn't quite as harsh but was pretty much as effective. We had talked over these options with the surgeon as well, and kind of settled on putting the port in. If she needed it, it would be better to have it in place and if she didn't it could be easily removed.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">That brought us to Thursday night. Neither of us were hungry. Karen's mom had flown in earlier that week and would be staying with us. My dad and sister came up Thursday for support. Everything was coming together for Friday. The plan was for my sister to come with me to the hospital to make sure I ate and was ok. Karen's mom would keep track of the kids. Dad would be where he was needed. Sleep didn't come easy for me, and I spent a lot of the dark hours watching Karen try to sleep. I finally stopped checking the clock at 2 am.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">At 5 am Friday morning, I woke up before my alarm and walked into the living room to find Karen all dressed and ready to go. After a quick shower I was also ready to go. Saying goodby to the kids took awhile though, as they were also a bit freaked out by everything. We had told them shortly after the CT results about the cancer diagnosis, and there were many teary nights of talking about everything that was happening. All we could do was tell them what the doctors had told us. It would be a six hour or so surgery and they would take out all of the cancer they could. Then Mom would do chemotherapy and kill off the rest of it. We tried to stay as positive as we could. Still there were tears, because no matter how you slice it, cancer is scary.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">We were finally able to get in the car and go, and spent a quiet and teary drive to the hospital. Steph (my sister) followed behind us and had come fully stocked with snacks and a pillow and other things to make sure I had what I needed throughout the day.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">We were met at the hospital by Julie and Pastor Anjanette. One a co-worker turned close friend, the other our pastor turned close friend. So Karen checked in at the front desk, and then she and her entourage headed for the surgical floor. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I remember that there was conversation as we waited, but I can't recall the topics. I remember that Anj led us all in a prayer and Karen got called back just as the prayer finished. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">K and I went back to her pre-op room and she got into a pretty purple gown. After what seemed an eternity, they came to get her.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Just like that, She was off and I was waiting in a small room with Steph and Julie. Julie went to work at some point. Steph was at the ready with food and things. I was anxiously awaiting word on whether surgery would proceed or not. They came to get her at 7:30. In the waiting room, they had a monitor set up that relayed the status of the patient. Karen was identified only by the number 88900, and until 9:27 was listed as "in the OR". At 9:27 her status changed to "procedure started".</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I sent out updates to everyone on my list. Yes, Karen had made me a list of contacts so I wouldn't forget who I was supposed to be contacting, because she knows me.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Once again, time had slowed to an unbearable pace. After what seemed like hours, we were told that Dr. Bakkum was comfortable moving on with the rest of the surgery. This was welcome news, if a little frightening, and I finally felt like I could go get something to eat. It was only 10:30. Steph and I walked over to Pannekoeken and I had a bacon pannekoeken.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Then, instead of going back to that miserable, windowless, time sucking waiting room, we decided to go donate blood. After all, Steph and I are both O- universal donors, and Karen would probably use a couple units from the blood bank, so it seemed fair to go make a deposit. Thanks to modern technology, I could be reached by the nurse communicator anywhere I went, and I didn't want to go back to that room.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">We made our way to the blood donor center, which is in walking distance of where Karen was, and got started. I went through just fine, but Steph had low hemoglobin- a story you should ask her about. I forgot that when donating blood, one of the go to questions they ask you to pass a little time is "So, any big plans for today or the weekend?"</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">So the unfortunate people taking my blood got to hear all about quite possibly the shittiest week in my history and that as I sat giving blood, my wife was having her insides scraped out of a deadly disease. They weren't quite sure how to answer when I asked them the same question. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">By the time that was done, it was approaching the past lunch time. All of us non-surgical candidates had decided to meet at Pannekoeken for lunch, since it was across the street from the hospital, and Steph went to pick up Nana and the kids while I went back up to see how things were going.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Patient 88900 was still listed as "procedure started" but I did get a call from the nurse coordinator that everything was going well. Ovaries, tubes and uterus were out, and they were moving on to the omentum.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I walked back to Pannekoeken and got a table for our group. Dad, Nana, Steph and the kids all arrived soon after and we looked through the menu as I updated them on what I knew.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I ordered a bacon pannekoeken, because that looked good. I ate about half of it.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Afterwards, Dad headed for the waiting room while I drove Steph back to her car so she could take Nana and the kids home. When I finally got back to the waiting room, Dad had been joined by Julie, and the little miserable room was closing down for the day. 88900 was still listed as "procedure started", and we had been given the room number that Karen would be moved to after recovery. 5-422. So we headed up to the fifth floor, found room 422 and went in to sit down. It was a teeny tiny room, and within a few minutes, Julie had gone to see if Karen could be moved to a bigger room. Another call came in from the nurse communicator saying things were going well. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Soon it was around 3 pm and we were moving to 5-401, a GIANT room that would do quite nicely. I was hoping to get a call soon that she was moving to the recovery room, but the next call that came didn't follow that script. They said it would be a couple more hours.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">A couple hours later I got the word that things were taking a little longer than anticipated, and it would be another hour or so. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">A couple hours later, word came down that they were needing to do a bowel resection and it would be another hour to hour and a half.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">A couple hours later and I heard they were putting her bowels back together and it wouldn't be long now.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Then a little after 9 pm, the nurse came in and told us that we'd be moving again, this time up to the ICU. Apparently when a patient is under anesthesia for more than twelve hours, they get a free pass to the Intensive Care Unit to make sure that recovery goes ok.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">So we gathered our things and headed up to the ICU. Dad headed back to the hotel to try and sleep at my request. Steph had taken the kids over to the hotel for a slumber party and movie fest. Nana joined Julie, Anj and I in the ICU room as we waited for word.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Finally at 10:30 pm Dr. Bakkum called to tell me that the fellow was putting in the final stitches and she'd be up soon to talk to us.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">13 hours. 13 hours of surgery. Each and every one of those hours seemed like five or six to me. When Dr. Bakkum came up, I hugged her. What endurance it must have taken to stand over someone for that long and pull out disease. We asked her how and when she ate or took breaks. It seemed like it would have been a herculean task, and yet she and the other surgeons looked fresh and perky and chipper and like they hadn't just spent more than half a rotation of the planet operating on my wife.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">She went into the details of why it had taken longer than expected. There had been some cancerous lymph nodes against parts of the aorta that were rather delicate to remove. There had been more diseased tissue than anticipated. There had been some penetration of the diaphragm by the cancer that technically classified it as a stage 4 cancer.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Wait. What? My mind raced a bit. The stats for stage 4 suck. Stage 4 is fatal in four out of five people. This can't be stage 4. This is not in the script!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">BUT - Dr. Bakkum continued - it is still pretty much a stage 3C. And she was very confident that she and her team got the vast majority of cancerous tissue out of Karen's body. She said that everything that remained was microscopic and could probably fit into an eighth of a teaspoon if gathered together. Chemo has every chance of killing the rest of it off, and we needed to focus on that positive.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">The spleen was gone. Appendix was basically just a big tumor, so it was gone. Giant ovaries, uterus, fallopian tubes, a couple chunks of the bowels, lots of lymph nodes. The list seemed to go on and on. But the overall message from Dr. Bakkum was that everything had gone better than normal, and she was very pleased with the surgery. Karen would be coming up to the ICU soon, still intubated and with a couple of drains in her abdomen to take off fluid that would build up, which is normal.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">When Karen finally arrived at her room, all assembled were able to say goodnights and head for other beds. I wanted to stay, and Ann the nurse let me pull a chair up next to Karen and sit with her. I didn't realize just how exhausted I was, but every time I closed my eyes thinking I would fall right to sleep, a bell would softly ding, or the infernal ventilator hooked to her breathing tube would ping, and I just couldn't keep my eyes closed.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I had expected her to stay asleep through the night. But around 1 am, she gave a slight nod to some of the questions that Ann would ask. At one point she even gave my hand a little squeeze and rubbed my thumb with her finger, which made me burst with joy.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">But the real surprise came just after 3 am. I was holding her hand when she slowly removed hers from my grasp and started making funny signs with it. Was she stretching her fingers? In my tired state I didn't initially understand. Then it finally hit me like an electric shock. She was using sign language!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">H - O - T</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Hot? Are you hot? I asked her.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">She signed yes.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I uncovered her a bit. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">H - U - R - T</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Where? </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">S - P - L - E - E - N</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I went to get the nurse. Ann was in another room, so I grabbed the nearest one and brought them in to see my amazing wife. I told him that she had told me that she was hot and was having left sided pain. He looked at me a little skeptically, as he knew that she had a tube in her throat and could not have told me anything verbally.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">When we went into the room, I showed him how she 'told' me, and they started having a conversation with me translating.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Unfortunately, Karen was signing faster than my tired brain could keep up with, but I did my best as they talked about urine output, lab values, surgery details, and pain management. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">We told her everything except the change in stage status, as she needed to focus on waking up enough to get the tube out of her throat. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;">-----------------------------------------</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">It's the end of December now.I'm a little sad that I didn't continue this story, as so many things have happened since August that I can't remember them all. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Chemo is ongoing and has had more twists and turns than I can count. Karen has been amazing through it all, but her health has taken a major hit and all of this has been brutal on her. We've still got a long road to travel and I've fallen behind on everything. So blogging is low on my list. But I'll try to figure out some way to get my head above water enough to get back to some sort of balance.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">More Later</span>Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05579610684460155891noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3376678998508716988.post-58167534616333458682017-01-27T22:00:00.001-06:002017-01-29T18:08:04.224-06:00How to Lose Allies and the War<span style="font-size: large;">I fell asleep hard the other day. Total exhaustion type of sleep. My body and my brain needed the break. I woke up tired, but not near dead tired like I had been. Then I checked Facebook to see what new Orwellian measures were enacted during my brief slumber.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I think it's safe to say that this new administration is completely different than any in the history of the country. That being said, I've also noticed an extreme uptick in the numbers and demographics of citizens putting their collective feet down and saying "enough is enough". This has been particularly encouraging for the likes of me, as I've felt like the collective slumber of the American people has been going on for so long, I didn't think anything other than a Pearl Harbor or 9/11 could shake us out of our day to day stupor.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Turns out that the threat of the demise of the US Government and life as we've known it was also enough to get people to wake up and start taking action. Actions like Standing Rock and BLM marches have brought together POC and their allies like never before. Suddenly, with the election of a wanna be dictator, white people in greater numbers are waking up and wanting to take action, too. This should be a great thing! A cause for celebration and joy! For too long, marginalized people have struggled to get their message through to the "dominant society" (comprised overwhelmingly of white people) and get them to stand up with them. Here, finally, is a time when those huge numbers of white people are waking up and saying, "Hey... this isn't right. This isn't fair. What kind of messed up version of America are we living in here?" </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I'm one of those white people, and until about five years ago, I believed everything was pretty ok. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">See, from an average white guy's perspective, everybody has a shot in the US to become something greater. Oh, we white people know that people of color, non-Christians and non-straight people have it tougher than us. We see the news. We read the magazine articles. Heck, most of us grew up in schools that had extracurricular groups for those things, assemblies for Black History Month, etc. etc. Some people even copied the old school hippies, wore the tye dye, wrote "Make Love, Not War" on their notebooks, that sort of thing. But as we all grew up, we merged into "Mainstream Society" where we got married, had kids, bought houses, had jobs to pay for all of that. Yada, yada, yada. For us white folks, we blended in to the "American Dream" as usual, griping about our taxes being too high, joining the PTA, and expecting Government on every level to continue as it always has. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Everybody else was homogenized into this society as best as the Society could make them. Some conformed more than others because the reality is, if you're not white, Christian, straight, and male, Society isn't always too fair to you.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">So - back to the present. The day after the small crowds watched a narcissistic man-baby become President of the United States, a much, MUCH larger crowd showed up in Washington DC. The "Women's March on Washington" ended up spreading across the country and across the globe as people from all walks of life gathered to express their displeasure with things. It seemed like the main message was "Enough is Enough". There were BLM people there. Mni Wiconi people there. Women's rights groups of course, LGBTQ groups, just about every group that has problems with government overreach had somebody marching there. Even the Anarchists showed up to burn some cars and create their form of chaos. But mostly it was peaceful gatherings and marches for Women's Rights. On the whole, it was a glorious sight to see.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Then came the inevitable instruction manuals from the non-white, non-Christian, non straight folks. For the sake of this article and my fingers while typing, let's call this group the Onions. Now, the Onions don't encompass ALL non-white, non-straight, non-Christian, non male types, because I've met plenty of non-'whatever I am' people who don't care what my color, religion, sexual preference or politics are, they're just glad to have another body in the fight. So this message is going out to all of those who feel the need to berate all of us non-Onions for our mistakes.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">"Where were you when Flint needed help?" "I'll see all you white women at the next BLM march, right?" "Why are you showing up now?"</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I've read articles and comments about how disgusted and offended these "long term protesters" are at all of these new "wanna be" protesters. How they were slighted in one way or another by the "ignorant white people that don't know what they're doing". </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Here's the thing, Onions. Everybody starts from the beginning. Every last one of us. You started at a beginning at some point in your life as well. You didn't spring from the womb knowing all there is about cis-gender differences, or cultural appropriation, or racial inequality. You may have<i> learned</i> these things from a very young age. You may have experienced them over the course of a lifetime. But the majority of us - the "Dominant Society" - didn't share those experiences. We didn't learn the same things you learned at the same time. One thing you are correct about is that most of us are coming LATE to this party. But what you seem to be overlooking is the fact that we are <i>at</i> the party now.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Your struggle is real. We are seeing that. We are pissed about that. We want to help rectify that. To continue the party analogy, there are very few of us who come in expecting it to be all about us. Sure, we probably make a scene when we arrive, but perhaps you are taking our entrance out of context. We're not asking questions and telling our stories because we don't care about yours. We're asking questions and telling our stories because we want to connect with you.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Yes, you've heard the same story a thousand times. "My great-great-grandma was a Cherokee Princess" or "One of my best friends is black". Yes, that gets pretty damn tiresome hearing it over and over.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I'd imagine it's like being an IT person. People call with a computer problem and you tell every one of them the same thing. "Did you try unplugging it and pluggin it back in again?" The caller really believes that their problem with that computer is mind-boggling because they've never experienced it before. The IT guy knows it's common and knows all the basics on how to fix it. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Or a car mechanic talking to yet another car owner that hasn't got a clue how cars really work. The driver just doesn't have the basic knowledge of cars that would let them talk to the mechanic on his level.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">See, Onions. When someone comes to you with questions about your experiences, with a desire to learn more so they can help more, the very last thing they need from you is mocking or lessons in "What Every White Ally Needs To Know", if what we "need to know" is that we can't understand your experience. We KNOW that we can't understand your experience, THAT'S WHY WE'RE ASKING!</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">So when you tell me that since I am white, my experiences don't matter, I am disinclined to put much stock in your experiences as well.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">When you tell me that my White Privilege is keeping me blind to the problems, then tell me that you shouldn't have to teach me about those problems, then I have less incentive to seek out those problems and learn about them.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">When you tell me that my money is fine for your group, but my opinions and ideas aren't because I'm white, or straight, or whatever, then I really have no desire to help out financially.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Also, when you tell me that you shouldn't have to stroke my ego every time I do something you approve of, you are absolutely correct! I don't need my ego stroked. But a simple "Thank You" goes a LONG way towards encouraging me to keep helping.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">In short, anyone asking for help with anything should be ready to give those things in return. When I ask someone to listen to my stories, I ask them to tell me their stories in return. If you are asking for my respect, I'll be expecting respect in return. If you ask me to follow, you must also be prepared for me to lead when it is appropriate. I am more than willing to listen, observe, and learn. But there may come a time when I know more about a topic than you do. When I offer advice, don't tell me to shut up unless you are willing to hear that from me when you offer advice. If you don't want to take that advice, it is better to say "Thank you for your input, but I think we'll be going a different way." If you tell me that, I'll shrug my shoulders and most likely keep helping. If you tell me to sit down and shut up because I'm white and new to your struggle, I'll do that too. But I won't be interested in helping with your struggle anymore.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">We have seen a great awakening in the "Dominant Society" in regards to the struggles of others. There are a LOT of newbies out there that have never marched before, never protested before, never called their government officials to complain, never stirred the pot. To awaken that feeling in people is awe inspiring. To benefit from it, however, is a different challenge. We are just now learning how to do the things you've been doing for generations. We are just now ready to stand up for the things we've collectively been blind to or have turned a blind eye to out of convenience. History has shown us that large numbers of people can change the course of the world. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Onions... You've spent enough time telling us what NOT to do. What you DON'T like about the newbies. There will always be potential allies asking to touch your hair, or telling you that they're part Apache, or that they have gay friends. I fully acknowledge the frustration you feel about this. But we need the numbers. We need the crazy cat ladies that experienced their first sweat and now want to be called 'Moon Blossom'. Because if Moon Blossom is motivated, she WILL make the calls to her representatives to push for equal rights. You don't need to be her best friend. You don't need to be her spiritual advisor. Hell, you don't even need to like her much. But you do need to treat her with the respect that you expect from her. Remember that she's new to this. Remember that us newbies will ask dumb questions that you've answered a thousand times. Use that time for education and gentle correction. You are the experts at this! If you want help fixing a car, teach me how to help you, don't yell at me for doing the wrong things. I know I'm not going to be good at this when I'm getting started. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Our words are like a hammer. We can build with them or we can tear down with them. If we are serious about building a large coalition of like minded people to fight against oppression and injustice, wouldn't it make more sense to build bridges and alliances, rather than alienate potential help and tear people down because of their inexperience?</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">We have a huge influx of baby activists available to us. If we crap all over them, they won't grow into the army of activists that we need. If we get past our frustration that they are not as adept at this as we are and teach them, guide them, HELP them, then we build a stronger force for the good of everyone.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Now, I know there will be those of you that will dismiss me with words like "Here's ANOTHER white guy telling us what to do." You know what? I'm not telling you what to do. I don't have any command over you. What I <i>am</i> doing is making a <i>suggestion</i> about how to make things better. Our new government wants us divided. Smaller groups are easier to control than larger movements. They won't fear any of us individually. But they do fear us collectively. But just as I have not lived your experience, you have not lived mine. Let's chill with the measuring match and get to know about each other. Let's find that common ground, figure out what we can do to stand together. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Please stop telling us what NOT to do. Tell us what we CAN do. If you lose allies, you'll lose the war, and this is not a war we can afford to lose.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Or, to follow my own advice - </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Thank you for your input on us newbie activists. We'll certainly take your advice under consideration. Now what can we do to help?</span><br />
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Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05579610684460155891noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3376678998508716988.post-51563596873974671872017-01-02T01:53:00.000-06:002017-01-02T01:53:41.689-06:00Peace<span style="font-size: large;">"The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step." -Lao Tzu</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"> There's an old Japanese tradition that says if you fold one thousand paper cranes, you'll be granted a wish. I did this once before, in 1991, just before I left for USMC boot camp. My wish wasn't that I survive the training, or for safety in the war that was currently being fought. I just wished that I could find someone that loved me for who I am, and that she and I would be able to build a life together. Hopefully before I was killed in a war.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY9lH5bzPhpyFa_gsV7j3K8x8EaYBh9zlxCDA-yBmQhvw1NSf3xcMwyK5vAzFt_HApHaow1nhkecCPZLkmO4DMICuTEeEEqq-t5Adj6aVBIxLRf2qDYMg6jNJG_dwb6CxxcwyalWf07o8/s1600/IMG_3127.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY9lH5bzPhpyFa_gsV7j3K8x8EaYBh9zlxCDA-yBmQhvw1NSf3xcMwyK5vAzFt_HApHaow1nhkecCPZLkmO4DMICuTEeEEqq-t5Adj6aVBIxLRf2qDYMg6jNJG_dwb6CxxcwyalWf07o8/s640/IMG_3127.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">My first 1000 Cranes</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> Well, the First Gulf War ended while I was finishing six months of Basic, Infantry and Artillery schools, so I got a reprieve on time. I found my other half five years later, and we have traveled the ups and downs of life together ever since. I got my wish, but not in the timeline I had planned in my head.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> I tell you that to tell you this...</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> 2016 was a wild year. I know that time is a construct of humans, and as such trying to assign the blame for the stuff that happened on this last trip around the sun on a specific year is a fools errand. But since that is how we humans measure things, I'm going to go ahead and stick with what we know. 2016 wasn't too great.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> We saw the deaths of a great many famous and beloved people. Artists and musicians, friends and family. We saw the world become a less safe place, with more hatred and war and discontent in the mix. Disturbingly, we also saw the rise of Donald Trump. That's a subject for an entirely separate post. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> Suffice to say, the America that I once knew as a relative haven against the crazy dictators and outright hatred inherent in the divisions of the outside world is fading fast. The racial, ethnic and political and religious tensions are bubbling to the surface at a shockingly fast pace. People who have felt scared to air their prejudices due to more calls for acceptance of those different from them by the majority of our countrymen have suddenly been given a platform by the rise of Trump to "tell it like it is" and "not be politically correct" and to come forward with their particular brand of hate. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> I also had the privilege of experiencing the protests at Standing Rock first hand. After three visits there, many experiences, and talking with a great many people, I gained a new awareness of not just the power of the human spirit, but also of the disturbing effects of our country's addiction to fossil fuels and the possible future issues my children and grandchildren will face if nothing is done.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> Approaching the beginning of 2017, I found myself knocked far, far off of any semblance of center, and I found my anxiety ramped up far beyond anywhere it has previously been. I've struggled with PTSD, depression, and anxiety before. But the last few months of 2016 really knocked me for a loop. I decided that I needed a way to find some balance again. A way of tuning out the march of the Trumpkins, of ignoring the divisions rising at Standing Rock amongst the veterans and the natives alike, of becoming blissfully unaware of the growing threat of fossil fuel dependence. But the only true way to do that is lobotomy or death, and since neither of those are particularly appealing to me, I decided to try the 1000 crane maneuver once more.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> I was hoping to find a focus for my mind while keeping my hands busy with things other than Facebook updates or news about politics or DAPL or the growing unrest across the earth. I wanted to contemplate the meaning of the word 'Peace' in every way I could imagine. On an outing to a Michael's store, I happened across origami supplies and picked up enough squares of paper to achieve my goal. This differed greatly from my 1990-1991 attempt in that back then, I made most of my cranes from paper from random places, often torn into squares from larger pieces.</span></div>
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crane number one</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> I folded Crane #1 on the evening of December 15, 2016. As I folded that first crane, I found myself more focused on remembering how to fold a crane than on Peace. Between the hyper children playing with our two new and very excitable puppies, and trying to re-learn the folds, I initially thought that perhaps my search for peace was more than likely destined to fail.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd2pljD3IIyP-k-jOrEHiHtR1ibC3Le81xDMW517bYKOEfOUz9LYniYue0Ubt6mSgKcY-hTfdHlYfIaYACIJaPA-tYGp9zuKX8Z-A2RdkXrC8j_j8R-dxa5BmjmPApQ63pey7nFgNBe9A/s1600/IMG_3130.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd2pljD3IIyP-k-jOrEHiHtR1ibC3Le81xDMW517bYKOEfOUz9LYniYue0Ubt6mSgKcY-hTfdHlYfIaYACIJaPA-tYGp9zuKX8Z-A2RdkXrC8j_j8R-dxa5BmjmPApQ63pey7nFgNBe9A/s640/IMG_3130.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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995 to go!</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> Fortunately, within about five cranes it was not only bedtime for the youngers, but my fingers were finally remembering what to do when to make acceptable cranes. I folded a few more and called it a night. Over the course of the next 15 days, my hands became more nimble in their actions, and I was able to focus more on my thoughts as I folded, considering definitions, possibilities, implications. What could I do to find inner peace? What could I do to help others find peace? How could peace between factions be achieved? What <i>IS</i> peace?</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic8Ccj7HH2InhbjIY8AZudsIdGOS481gtRQg-nQxT94ycqCEk1UAmksc3gjtIKwRKv2aVXUXSaGq5G6tW9GFLymW5wvOwS883uDzDmtYPtv07YVajND5uH40iE1EupgMvZsUmZc4idJVo/s1600/IMG_3131.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic8Ccj7HH2InhbjIY8AZudsIdGOS481gtRQg-nQxT94ycqCEk1UAmksc3gjtIKwRKv2aVXUXSaGq5G6tW9GFLymW5wvOwS883uDzDmtYPtv07YVajND5uH40iE1EupgMvZsUmZc4idJVo/s640/IMG_3131.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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How do you find Inner Peace? Maybe brownies?</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> I'll tell you this. Inner Peace is both easy and impossible. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> When I look at the issues facing us in 2017, it is easy to lose that IP. I am a common man with influence over nothing except my immediate family, and even that is sketchy from time to time. So how can I implement change that could help get the world off of our addiction to fossil fuels? How can a guy like me ensure that my kids and <i>their</i> kids will be able to breathe clean air or drink clean water? What could I possibly do to stand against an incoming administration that seems hell bent on dismantling almost every department that protects people, education, the environment, foreign relations, domestic programs, etc.? How can I find peace if I want to stand against people that cherry pick the Constitution, the bible, and historical leaders to support their ideologies and disrespect the very things they quote from? The feeling of helplessness can be overwhelming. That's the impossible seeming part.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjpW7V7wyPgDoWVhdfSDdygtmzyOQ_FAEy9YkMMHJbYIpBCDxv_kFwVSuyL5LfQxShyphenhyphenrapVE_dOS1LkFH8sBkHNvEyOg_GE2uzjjuhmj3_ic-p7ec04L0JMXGOtxKaTUd4qAHQdO-MsO4/s1600/IMG_3135.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjpW7V7wyPgDoWVhdfSDdygtmzyOQ_FAEy9YkMMHJbYIpBCDxv_kFwVSuyL5LfQxShyphenhyphenrapVE_dOS1LkFH8sBkHNvEyOg_GE2uzjjuhmj3_ic-p7ec04L0JMXGOtxKaTUd4qAHQdO-MsO4/s640/IMG_3135.JPG" width="480" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> But then I talk to people that say things aren't as bad as I think they are. After all, the Cubbies won the series, the tiger population is making a comeback. Even here in the US, the economy is recovering, the markets are up, unemployment is down. Things are getting better. If I just focus on these things and ignore the bad things, then finding some IP is pretty easy. It's called "Living in the Now". Learning to appreciate this moment and not to worry about the past or the future. I have found this VERY easy to do, as I sit in my warm house, sheltered against the negative temperatures and swirling snow just outside my windows, watching my healthy children play with the dogs after filling their bellies with food, and before they get tucked in to their soft, warm beds for a secure night of sleep. I am really, truly blessed in my life. What do I possibly have to complain about? IP in this mindset is simple. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> But during the process of folding these thousand cranes, I could not seem to find a balance between the two. I can go about my personal life and be content with all that I have, or I can consider the future for my children and freak out at all of the warning signs I see pointing to Very Bad Things coming. In one, I am calm and peaceful, in the other...chaos.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK208xG3DIIKOcchrouzKgYIRQZrtlFaoanmCwms_pfCkJwsgXHgTS8dPveNqp_aDxnA-tg-7FdzaMTd8ofzupU3R80pK6fwIh40N8Fx4Zno3Rpc19MWr_emW_vormXRbbysEm2rM-auM/s1600/IMG_3164.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK208xG3DIIKOcchrouzKgYIRQZrtlFaoanmCwms_pfCkJwsgXHgTS8dPveNqp_aDxnA-tg-7FdzaMTd8ofzupU3R80pK6fwIh40N8Fx4Zno3Rpc19MWr_emW_vormXRbbysEm2rM-auM/s640/IMG_3164.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> OK, so maybe I needed to focus on World Peace. There are many, many peaceful places in the world. So many good people. The holidays often bring out the best in people. There are people all over the world working hard to make the future a better place. Maybe things aren't that bad globally. Maybe there is a chance for humanity! </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> But...no. When I stepped away from folding, there were the white Trumpkins having tantrums in stores about not getting their coffee fast enough, or being asked to buy a reusable bag for a dollar, or chewing out people with brown skin for making them wait and telling them to "go back where you came from". </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> Maybe there wasn't hope for humanity after all. I folded more cranes and practiced my breathing.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">As my crane count went into the hundreds, I pondered the meaning of peace. Defined, it is "freedom from disturbance; quiet and tranquility." and "freedom from or the cessation of war or violence." How can a single person achieve these things? </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> Our country has happily engaged in non-peace my entire life. I was born during Vietnam. Raised during the "Cold War" and the nebulous and ongoing "War on Drugs" and "War on Crime". I came of age during the First Gulf War, the Bosnian War, ongoing wars in the Middle East and south of our own border in South and Central Americas. I started a family during the Second Gulf War. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> Moving forward from this point in time, our incoming administration has promised to fight ISIS much more aggressively than our current administration. The only way for that to happen is to increase our troop deployments, our aerial bombing campaigns... our war and violence. They have incomprehensibly promised to keep the war out of America by bringing the war TO America, in the guise of barring Muslims from the country and restricting the actions of Muslim Americans here at home. Again, not much hope for peace there. They've promised to roll back environmental protections and regulations designed to protect clean air and clean water, arguing that it will all somehow magically work out in the end because, Capitalism. This will certainly NOT lead to freedom from disturbance, or do anything to help quiet and tranquility in the masses.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br />So how do we get peace? Many people smarter than I have weighed in on the subject. Martin Luther King jr., Albert Einstein, and even Ronald Reagan all said something similar,</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">"True peace is not the absence of tension: it is the presence of justice." - MLKjr.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">"Peace is not merely the absence of war, but the presence of justice, of law, of order - in short, of government." - Einstein</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">"Peace is not the absence of conflict. It is the ability to handle conflict by peaceful means." - Reagan</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">"Real peace is not the absence of conflict, it is the presence of justice." - Harrison Ford as President Marlowe in the movie 'Air Force One'. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Peace is not the absence of conflict, but the presence of justice. - my motto for 2017.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> Along my adventure in folding, I had discovered one late night that I was able to fold a crane from start to finish with my eyes closed. That first one was done while I was also mostly dozing, but when I finished and took a look at it, I was happily surprised by the outcome!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Eyes closed crane #1</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> It was a crane, just like the hundreds folded before it. So as the days went by, I would close my eyes and fold and think about my new motto.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Ohhhh, half way there...ohh, oh... Living on a prayer</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> Justice for all. The last line of our Pledge of Allegiance. Yet another 'American Institution' that has been bastardized over the years to fit the fears of the times. There was no "under God" until the McCarthy era 'Red Scare' in the 50's, when if you weren't a 'God fearing Christian' then you must be a 'Godless Commie Bastard'. We pledge allegiance to a flag, to the Republic for which it stands, to the unity of that nation. Promising "liberty and justice <i>for all</i>."</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> <b>For all</b>. For every American Citizen. Regardless of their political leaning. Regardless of their religion. Regardless of their race, creed, gender, sexual orientation... Regardless of whether they like this country or not. We pledge liberty and justice FOR ALL. Yet we fall far short of achieving that pledge. We fall far short in our practice of the founding documents. We bicker over what amendments mean. What we think the founders meant when they wrote them. We choose which parts of which amendments we like, and which we don't, and we amend the amendments with laws and statutes. We let our "leaders" continue to twist and distort the founding documents to suit their needs and their friends needs, but seldom the needs of the actual constituency.</span></div>
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This 'peace' thing is complicated... keep folding...</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> Worst of all, we are so easily led astray from the real issues by flashy words and ideas from the extremists on all sides, so we remain divided into factions that will never submit to compromise.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> So how do I find peace in this world? I can't have IP and be attuned to what is happening in the world. I can't have WP because I'm just one person in a sea of billions. I <i>can</i> have mental peace if I just ignore everything bad and focus on the good, but that's certainly not going to lead to long term peace.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> I folded most of the last three hundred cranes with my eyes closed, or my eyebrows furrowed, or both. Concentrating as hard as I could on peace.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> But I kept coming back to the truths behind my personal motto for 2017... I wouldn't find peace by ignoring conflict. I would find peace by working for justice for all.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> The last day of the year, I was joined by my dad and my kids to go and see the movie 'Rogue One'. I was fully prepared to let go of my thoughts on peace for awhile, and lose myself in a good Star Wars movie for a couple of hours.</span></div>
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<span style="color: red; font-size: large;"><b><u>CAUTION: SPOILERS AHEAD!! SKIP DOWN TO THE BLACK LETTERING AGAIN IF YOU DON'T WANT TO KNOW WHAT HAPPENS IN THE MOVIE!!! </u></b></span></div>
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<span style="color: red; font-size: large;"><b><u>YOU'VE BEEN WARNED!!!!</u></b></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue; font-size: large;">OK, So the movie was really, very good... as expected. I can totally see why Trumpkins would think the entire movie was to disparage the incoming administration. After all, a plucky band of misfits goes through wacky shenanigans as a megalomaniacal leader solidifies his power over his new Empire by weakening the current government, installing his own puppets to control the masses, and decides that fear and hatred are the way to keep the control over the people. The rebels are fighting against a corrupt Empire to try for a better future. The Imperial leaders are all out for themselves. The message of rising up to fight against the Empire is strong throughout the movie. So yeah, Trumpkins can totally make the connection between their leader and Krennic, the wanna be head bad guy with delusions of grandeur that doesn't admit to his flaws and therefore is eventually destroyed by them. </span></div>
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<span style="color: blue; font-size: large;"> Anyway, by the end of the movie, all of the good guys and most of the bad guys are dead. Killed off in the efforts to get the plans for the Death Star to the rebels. It's a little dark, actually. I mean, I knew that since none of the characters in this movie were in the original Episode IV, they'd have to be doing something else. But I didn't think the writers would just kill everybody.</span></div>
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<span style="color: blue; font-size: large;"> This movie didn't help my quest for peace much at first. But when I went home and started folding the final cranes before the new year began, I realized that seeing the movie had answered many of the conflicting emotions within me. From Chirrut Imwe chanting "I am one with the Force and the Force is with me", to the determination of Jyn to do what is right for the many, even though it doesn't end well for the few. I found my peace.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: large;">Welcome back to those who didn't want spoilers.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> I found my peace when I was folding the last few dozen cranes on New Year's Eve. "I am one with the Force and the Force is with me" could just as easily been moved into my head and heart by replacing the Force with God, the Creator, Wakan Tanka to the Lakota, the Great Mystery, or heck... leaving it as "the Force", because what do any of us really know about God?</span></div>
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Paper for the 1000th crane, from the remainder of paper used for our wedding programs.</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> After folding Crane #999, my wife gave me a piece of paper from her paper collection (she really likes paper) that had been left over from making our wedding programs. I colored in in many amorphous shapes of many colors, to represent not just the conflicting thoughts and feelings within me, but also the different factions at the camps in Standing Rock, and the opposing sides of the whole DAPL issue, and the conflicting views of my friends and family, and the conflicting nations and ideologies battling each other all across the globe. Look at that sheet up there. Many colors, many ways of looking at the world. But still all contained on the one square of paper.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> As I folded the last crane, I thought about how wonderful it would be if all of those colors worked together as the crane emerged. Something beautiful coming from unity and harmony.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">From Peace.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> It occurred to me that my peace would not be a one sided piece of paper. It would have to come from a mass of conflicting ideas, a plan of folding and creasing and unfolding and twisting and turning. I will need to work for my peace, and it will not come without a price. But if it works, I can make something beautiful out of that Peace.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> I spread out all one thousand cranes and my daughter helped me sort them into colors and create a color wheel of cranes.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> In the sorting, we had to pluck out some random things that had found their way into the box in which I was storing the finished cranes. Pens, markers, scraps of paper, unfolded origami paper, dog hair, a kitchen knife (because why not?) I know that the metaphor is easy - that some things would need to be expunged to make the wheel work, much like some elements in our society will need to be removed to keep the country working - much easier than the reality of things. But I liked the way it all came together in the end. One thousand individual cranes unifying to create a color wheel. The sum larger than the parts. It also helped me with peace.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> My peace is in the common good. Both in my own happiness and success and the happiness and successes of others. Peace will ebb and flow like the tides, coming in when I know my Muslim friends feel safe within their homes and communities. When I see people coming together to help others, even at a cost to themselves. When I hear real leaders stand up and fight for a future for my offspring. It goes when I hear about the growing number of inept people being put in the incoming administration. When I see the threats to the foundations of this country and to the ability of the planet to continue supporting human life. So I will take my peace like the tides. I will revel in it while the tide is in, and I will fight for it when the tide is out. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> Peace is not a destination, but a continuing journey to seek while we still have breath. </span><span style="font-size: large;">As we continue on the path of finding that justice for everyone, my peace will lie in the fight as well as the tranquility. My meditations on peace led me to my wish upon completion of the cranes.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> I wish for everyone to have the courage to face reality and the struggles that we share with the peace that can only come with justice for all. For humanity to set aside the petty differences and come together to create something truly beautiful. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> I wish for peace of mind, body and spirit in the challenges that are to come.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> I discovered that I am <i>at</i> peace with the knowledge that humanity will get the outcome it deserves, one way or the other. But my wish is for a continued future of peace for my children's children and beyond.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The journey of a thousand cranes begins with a single fold. The journey to a sustainable future begins with a single person. Standing Rock taught me that regular people coming together can have an influence on how things are done. It taught me that we cannot let the divisions in ourselves negate that fight against the common enemy. And although I am back home now, I can still Stand with Standing Rock by <i>becoming</i> a Standing Rock in my own community. Change starts locally. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> Our mayor made a proclamation a couple years ago to transition our energy usage from coal to sustainable methods by the year 2031. It can be done, but we are going to need to wake up as a community and do a few things differently than we have in the past. So I'll chase peace here by keeping our local government on task. When we succeed, we can be a model for other communities. Change is hard, but we can do it together.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> Together we will create the changes that will ensure a future for the coming generations.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> Together we will stand against tyranny and injustice.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> Together we will accomplish what divided we can not. There is always room for compromise, but it must be mutual. There is always room for discussion, but all voices must be heard.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> I wish to find peace within and without soon. A thousand cranes have been folded for this wish. Now it is time to begin the work of making that wish come true. Will you join me? Will you accept the challenge of standing with the cranes for this wish? Are you ready to be a Standing Rock in your own community? Because we cannot sit back and hope for a good future without being willing to take a stand for it, and it starts with the individual. It starts with you. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> Obtaining peace may require periods of decided unrest.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Unfortunately, sides are being chosen, with factions struggling for control of those sides. But the time has come for good people with strong hearts to set aside the little things and stand up for the good in all things. To stand up for justice against those who would remove it for their own benefit. To stand up for what this country was meant to be, a nation of freedom and of laws that every citizen is accountable to, not just the poorest and weakest amongst us. A nation of liberty and justice for all. A nation that is a shining beacon to other nations of how to achieve PEACE. There will be a price. But I'd rather meet the Great Mystery knowing I did everything I could for true peace, instead of trying to explain how I was waiting to see what would happen, and hoping things would work out for the best without my input. I will fight for the common good, and in that struggle, I shall find my peace.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Peace is not the absence of conflict, but the presence of justice.</span></div>
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<br />Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05579610684460155891noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3376678998508716988.post-5945041982741459692016-12-23T13:46:00.001-06:002016-12-23T13:46:29.922-06:00Thursday, December 9 EOM<span style="font-size: large;">I woke up in the same position I had fallen asleep. It appeared to still be dark outside, and my initial thought was to just stay asleep. But sleep wouldn't find me again, so I rolled out of bed and peeked out the window.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">The sun had come up, but it was very overcast and snowy again. I was dressed and packed up pretty quickly and after gassing up the car, I was headed East for home.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I had many hours to reflect on the week I had just been through, but it was difficult to process everything. There had been some not so great things that had happened. However, I had met some wonderful people that I certainly hope to come across again in my life. I was saddened by the multiple factions that seemed to be splintering off at the camp, and a little disturbed by the factions I saw emerging in the VSSR camps. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">It seems to be human nature to want to create order out of chaos. It also seems to be human nature for everyone to have a different idea of how to go about creating that order. Unfortunately, as evidenced around the planet, those with the muscle and might are often the ones that come out on top in such conflict. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Human nature had reared its ugly side many times during this adventure. Wes Clark jr. using the vets for his "spiritual journey" was typical of the religious extremist that tells people one thing, then does another to satisfy their own desires. The midnight raid on "agitators" that wanted to use other options for their stand against DAPL seemed questionable to me at the time, and became even more sketchy as time passed and I learned more about the reasons behind it - not to mention that the assembled vets searched the wrong tents first... other veterans tents. Margaret attacking Tammy for questioning her command. It all left a metaphorically sour taste in my mouth. The unity of purpose I had felt back in August wasn't there anymore. Even on my trip in October, I had seen seeds of discontent and anger between groups. But this visit highlighted the dissolution of that unity, brought on as well by the influx of too many veterans that immediately split into factions as well. The veterans that wanted to follow the Elders command to stand down in peace and prayer vs. the vets that marched on the bridge vs. the vets that were there for completely different reasons all together.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I spent a lot of time pondering the ramifications of societal collapse, especially in light of the incoming administration this coming January. People, in large groups, don't tend to follow leaders that are weak or tyrannical. In the President Elect, we have both character traits. The potential for "Really Bad Things" to happen in the next 1-4 years have increased exponentially with a guy that has...shall we say... a "Margaretesque" temperament. A "Clarkish" need for self aggrandizement. Wanting to install sub-commanders that want to dismantle and eliminate the very departments they would be leading. A man whose claims and campaign promises, that apparently mattered to just over 60 million Americans, now don't seem to matter to him. A guy who likes the idea of not just building more nukes, but using them as well.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">He has a grouping of supporters that have already broken down into bickering factions. "Build the Wall" vs. "Don't worry, nobody will build a wall". Those wanting to block all Muslims, those wanting to round up the Muslims, and those calling for war against the Muslims. People that say "Just give him a chance and give it some time, everything will be fine" vs his supporters that still want to "lock her up" and ban non-Christians and non-straight people from anything and everything resembling this American life. He not only has the support of white nationalists, he's appointing them to leadership positions, and that seems to be ok with his more rational supporters as well. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">So, yeah. I have some serious misgivings about the direction this country has taken, even just since the election itself. And having just witnessed a microcosm of societal collapse at Standing Rock, I am not altogether encouraged by human nature.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Now, I do think that there are many, many really good people out there. The Laura's, the Mel's. The Kiyoshi's, Frances', Tammy's and the Marlow's. There were great people that I hardly knew out there. Sgt. Major Clark (not Wes) and others that were capable and knew how to organize and get good things moving along. In a collapse without weapons, I am certain that good would prevail. It only took four or five people to pull Margaret off of Tammy and de-escalate the situation. Unfortunately, we don't live in a society without weapons. It seems like the crazier and more extremist somebody is, the more weapons they have. I tried to imagine the same scenario with everyone having a sidearm. How many people would Margaret have taken down with her? How many people that still supported her would have come to her aid? What would it have been like if we had been thrown together not for a few days, but a few weeks or months? What if we had that to look forward to for four years?</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The military works because we are indoctrinated to follow lawful orders from our superiors. Most of the time, the superiors we have rose through the ranks because they were already good leaders. So the military keeps chugging along because we have faith that the higher ups will at least know what they are doing a little bit. But we have all heard stories of fragging poor officers. Every vet has a story or ten of some officer that just didn't have a clue, or orders that came down that were completely ridiculous. Every corporal can remember a time when they had a better plan than their sergeant, and on up the chain. Throughout history there have been violent overthrows of leadership due to someone else wanting to do things a different way. Et tu, Brutus?</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">We have a 'civil' society now, because for the most part, we all believe in the rules and the enforcers of those rules. We have a Constitution or other documents that lay out those rules, and we try to live by them. But what will happen when our documents are no longer followed by those in charge? What happens when large swaths of our population are refused the freedoms those documents are supposed to protect? As it is, our collective government has ignored or marginalized many groups of people. Non-whites, non-Christians, non-straight, non-conformist. Freedoms and rights have been ignored or brushed aside ostensibly for the "common good". </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">But what happens when the majority of the population come to realize that those protecting the "common good" are really only protecting their own self interests? What happens when more people realize that this country protects corporate greed over ordinary citizens? Have we reached the point in our great experiment of "Democracy" where we have too many factions to find unity again? Unlike the camp, we can't just pack up our tipis and leave to go home. No matter where we live in this country, we ARE home. So then, do we become like the midnight raiders and "sweep" our camp for undesirables, agitators, those who want to do things differently from us, and tell them to conform, or we will remove them by force? How does that make us any better than Germany circa 1938 and 39? How do we still claim to be the "United States of America" when some individual states have more voting influence that that of the population as a whole? How do we claim moral high ground if we've walked into the swamp that someone promised to drain? And how long will it take supporters of that 'someone' to realize they followed him right into the swamp so that he can stand on their backs and not get as covered in the filth?</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Standing Rock is having a crisis of leadership. Everyone there and everyone who has gone want the same thing. Many want to expand on killing this black snake to transitioning to sustainable energy for the survival of the planet. Lots of people fall in the middle of those two goals. But the different factions have different ideas on how to accomplish that. Peaceful prayer vs. direct action. Non-violent protest vs. all out war on DAPL. Then there are factions that have a mix of any or all of those ideas. Then there are factions that want to use the whole thing as a money making opportunity. It has gotten to the point where I don't know who to support any more. At least, not from a distance. And I don't think I'm alone. Many, many of my friends have expressed a hesitation to donate to any specific fund anymore because nobody is sure of the motives of those groups.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">This couldn't come at a worse time. The people that have been arrested over the past nine months are starting to come to trial, and will need financial support to get justice. Winter has hit the camps, and there are people in need of heat and food and water. But without actually being there, or having been there for awhile, it is impossible to know which faction to back.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">So my heart has been in turmoil since the drive home. Sad for the unity that I had seen before being gone. Glad for the unity of some of those vets I had met, that gathered with good hearts. Upset by the personal agendas that I was used for. Glad for the small victory of easement denial, but sad knowing that it could easily be reversed by the invested incoming administration. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">It was a long car ride home from the Dakotas. In many ways, I'm still trying to find my way home. I'm not sure that the place I dwell really is 'home' anymore. Never in my life has the term "Home is where the heart is" been more of a reality. Wherever my wife and kids are, that is my home now. My fealty to a plot of land or a state or country has been profoundly shaken in the past couple of months. The future is always unknown, of course. But I had hoped that the country that I lived in would keep making progress towards realizing those truths that we once held self-evident. Our government has been seized by a quarter of the population that seem willing to destroy it, and by the apathy of half of the citizenry that didn't think they mattered. By an electoral system that was designed to keep this very thing from happening, but has been so corrupted over our two hundred plus years that it doesn't know how to do anything but rubber stamp an election.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Will there be enough of us that stand up against this? Will we have enough time to do so? We are putting the launch codes into the hands of a man that gets mad at a SNL skit. How will he handle mocking from China, North Korea, or his Russian "friends"? We are putting the future of our environment into the hands of people heavily invested in keeping us addicted to fossil fuels. The science is pretty clear about what we can expect if we choose to stay addicted, yet we still have the incredibly short sighted and happily ignorant trying to tell us that everything will be fine.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I feel like we're all on a bus that is being driven off a cliff by a delusional narcissist that thinks that more road will magically appear because he wants it to, and a quarter of the passenger think that sounds cool, half the passengers are asleep or too busy on their smart phones to care, and the rest of us are fervently looking for a way to stop the bus or get the hell off. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Oh, humanity. I'm not all that sure we are worth saving in the long run. For the sake of my children and grandchildren, I hope I'm wrong. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Otherwise it will be EOM, End of Mission, for us all.</span></div>
<br />Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05579610684460155891noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3376678998508716988.post-62026857492045735652016-12-20T22:32:00.002-06:002016-12-20T22:32:37.956-06:00Wednesday, December 7th<span style="font-size: large;"></span>A date that will live in infamy, to be sure.<br />
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We were told that wake up was going to be at 0530 so we could all get out by 0800. But I awoke around 0500 to the sounds of people up and packing and bugging out for warmer climes.<br />
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Word had come down that the Standing Rock tribal chairman, Dave Archambault, had asked all those who were not Sioux to vacate the area due to the weather. This seemed logical, as another blizzard was approaching, and around 4000 people had shown up for the VSSR event. That meant about 3500 more than the planners had originally thought would come, and 2000 more than were on the final roster. With another blizzard coming in, and a polar vortex that would drop temperatures well below the negative numbers, it made sense to get as many people out of the area as possible. To me anyway.<br />
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So, we all packed up and cleaned up our areas and said our goodbyes. I would have sworn that I took pictures with everyone I met that I really liked, but apparently I only got a shot of Marlow and me.<br />
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What a lovely human being</div>
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I had met Marlow in Cannon Ball. We passed each other coming and going at the entrance of the community center. She had smiled and said "Good Morning" so I smiled back and said the same thing. Later that morning, as Mel the CO (XO? ... Leader Type Person) held an informational meeting for us, I found myself standing next to her again. We made little comments to each other as the meeting progressed, and finally I introduced myself, figuring that if we were going to keep running into each other, I should probably know her name. After that, she disappeared. I think she went off with the New York 'Rambo' Brigade. But I didn't figure I'd see her again. But then, on the Monday morning of the ceremony, she ended up right next to me in the formation! We helped each other get up and down from the floor (as they had the front row sit, which was fine with my tired knees) and at one rather emotional point of the ceremony, we just stood and hugged each other. Two strangers from different walks of life, united by our veteran status and our desire to do something good for the people of Standing Rock. Later, I found her again at the AJAMC in Ft. Yates. Although I only knew her for a few days, by the time I went home it seemed like I had known her for ages. I hope I can get to Seattle some day to visit her and her wife. (And my cousin, who lives there also... and because I've never been to Washington and it's one of three states I've yet to set foot in in this country...) But yeah. I'd love to hang out with her again. She's awesome.<br />
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I went and found Mel the Chaplain/Cannon Ball CO or XO or LTP to say goodbye to her and found her in line for chow. I met her in Cannon Ball, too, and was very impressed that she stepped up to help get CB organized. She also had an incredibly chipper attitude the ENTIRE time. Every time I saw her I was greeted with a smile. Every time I greeted her, she greeted me warmly. She was a great leader because she didn't just 'give orders', she did work as well. I caught her sweeping the floor outside the mess hall one evening when I was too tired to do anything other than fall in to my bed. We had had a few good but short talks about logistics, and one good talk about the legalities around the 1851 treaty and ramifications for this event pertaining to that document and our own Constitution. I had only known her for a couple of days, but felt like I had known her for months. She's an awesome lady.<br />
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I also got to say goodbye to Tammy, Terry and Frances and a few others that had all been bonded since our Cannon Ball days... day... several hours (?) Seriously, time was weird out there. Days seemed like weeks. Hours seemed like days... or sometimes just a few seconds. I'd serve with that group again though. The Cannon Ball detachment I mean. They were top notch.<br />
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Kiyoshi and I packed all of the remaining medical gear we could into my car for a last trip to camp to drop everything off. He drove his car up to the casino and joined me for the remaining twelve miles or so to the camp.<br />
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It was still dark when we arrived, and bitterly, bitterly cold. Kiyoshi donated all of his formidable body armor to the guard we met on the way in. Ceramic plate body armor, tactical goggles that would stop a .22 round, a few other things. Then we drove down to the veterans medical tent to drop off the medical supplies. <br />
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Most people there were still asleep, and we were then directed to take it to the main medical tent for the camp. Fortunately, I had passed that on my Monday excursion, so I knew where I was going. When we got there, we met two women that told us to take it up to the main donation tent, unless it was stuff for hypothermia. Well, I had brought an extra sleeping bag to use as a cold weather wrap in case of emergency, so we left that and some wool blankets and chemical hand warmers behind. One of the women came with us to show us where the main donation tent was. It turns out that it was near the sacred fire.<br />
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I wanted to approach in the right way, so I took some coffee and tobacco with me as I approached the fire, found a couple of men nearby and presented them with the gifts and asked where we could drop of our boxes of medical supplies. They were very humble and kind, and soon we were schlepping boxes and bags of donated medical supplies from all over the country into the GP tent by the fire. We were invited to pray at the fire, and before I left, I took the opportunity to send up my first prayers from the sacred fire I had only ever seen from a distance.<br />
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The circle of people around the fire was quite full, and while I am sure they would have made room for me to sit, I stood behind the front row and said my prayers as a song was being sung in the Lakota language.<br />
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I prayed for protection to all those staying here long term. I prayed for clarity in the days and weeks to come for the leaders of all of the different factions that had erupted since my last visit. I prayed for all of this to end peacefully, and for more people around the world to wake up and see the dangers that are facing us. Finally, I prayed for the fire. I prayed that the sacred fire stay burning for as long as it was needed. That it would spark a fire within all those who visited to take an ember back to where they lived and start another fire. A local fire, to fight against oppression, injustice, environmental attacks. A fire to stand up in their own communities and say 'enough is enough' and start making the changes that need to happen if we are to survive as a species.<br />
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I stepped away from the fire after the song was finished. The sun was coming up and it looked like it was going to be a bright, sunny day. Cold. Bitterly, bitterly cold. But bright and sunny. I joined Kiyoshi back in my warm car and he told me that there was going to be a camp meeting in the Dome at 0900. That seemed like an interesting thing to attend, and it was 0800 already, so we decided to head down to the Oglala Kitchen again to see if we could find Joe or anybody I had met on my previous trips to say hi. Maybe get some breakfast or basically just hang out someplace warm until the meeting.<br />
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The last time I was there, we had built a wood framed building that would serve as the new kitchen. It turned out pretty well, and next to it was still the lean-to shelter kitchen that they had been using. Next to that was a green GP tent that had been used as a dining room/gathering place the last time I was there. As we approached, we met a young man named Francois, a Lakota from Eagle Butte. As we conversed, we learned that he was looking for a way to get back home to his grandparents. Well, as a Shaffer, a couple hours added to a road trip is usually not a bad thing, so I offered to drive him down there. Then he asked if I had room for a tipi in my Highlander.<br />
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I thought for a minute... how much room does a tipi take up? How on earth would I strap the poles to the top? I told him we could try, but I made no promises. As if reading my mind he told me that it was just the canvas parts, not the poles, and that it was already all bundled up, it just needed to be loaded. So I had him grab his gear and throw it in the car. We then went to look for a familiar face in the dining hall GP tent.<br />
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As we went in, there were two white guys and a gal talking quietly next to a barrel stove, and a few cots further on with bundled up sleeping people. It appeared that the dining hall had become lodging. I walked up to the three talking people and quietly asked if Joe was around. No he wasn't. So I asked about a guy nicknamed Leprechaun that had been there in August. The girl said that he was still there and offered to take me over to his lodging. I thanked her and we all headed outside. We were followed by one of the guys that then scolded us for talking near the sleeping people. After all, he said "It's very rude to talk when people are sleeping here."<br />
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"Yeah, but you were talking when I came in, soooo..."<br />
"But I live here." He said. "We need our sleep, we work hard."<br />
Then Francois stepped in.<br />
"Maybe you should be awake when there are things to be done." He said sternly. "Maybe we shouldn't sleep all day. Maybe you should think about why you are here."<br />
<br />Well, that just annoyed the guy further. He muttered something else about being rude and how maybe <i>we</i> should think about why we were there, and headed back into the tent. It was most decidedly a different vibe than the other two times I had been out there. Francois was the only native guy I had seen at Oglala Kitchen on this trip. My friend Joe had left to sell some of his amazing art in New Mexico, and apparently Clarence Rowland was around, though I hadn't met him in person yet. The gal walked us over to the shack where Leprechaun was living, but they were all still asleep. I asked her not to wake him, and pulled an Oglala Lakota flag from my coat and handed it to her.<br />
<br />
Joe had mentioned that they needed another Oglala flag at the kitchen, and I brought one to give to him. I asked her to be sure it got to Clarence, instead. Her eyes smiled at me since every other bit of her face was covered against the cold, and she promised to get the flag to him.<br />
<br />
The three of us climbed back into the car and decided to go pick up Francois' tipi, and head over to the dome to wait for the meeting to start. It was a short drive to a different part of the camp where Francois was storing his tipi bundle. It was about the size of a car topper, and frozen to boot. But we managed to smoosh it into the back with the little amount of stuff I was taking home with me. We drove over to the Dome and started in to see what was happening when we were greeted by a guy who asked us if we could help move his stuff back across camp to his tent. Apparently they were vacating people from the Dome, and he was going to head back over to the Veterans for Peace site. I told him that we could load stuff on top of my little workhorse, but there was no room inside with Kiyoshi, Francois and the tipi.<br />
<br />
So we loaded a bedroll, a couple backpacks and a frozen garbage bag of dirty laundry on top of the car, and slowly made our way across the camp again. As we helped him load his stuff into his tent, a woman approached me and asked if I could help her get the U-Haul van she was driving off of an icy patch that wouldn't let her go. After a few tries pushing it myself, I headed back and asked the other guys to come give me a hand. With four of us pushing, it skittered it's way off of the ice and she was on her way. We bid the mover guy a farewell, and headed back over to the Dome to wait for the meeting to start.<br />
<br />
While we waited, Francois shared with us the story of his family, the High Elks, and how they were supposed to be the true keepers of the sacred White Buffalo Calf Woman pipe instead of Arvol Looking Horse. He had many documents and family lineage to back up the claim, and said he was looking for a good law team to help his family take back the sacred bundle. He was earnest in his beliefs, and was obviously raised traditional, as he gave me gifts of a book and a kit to make moccasins as a thank you for driving him to Eagle Butte. But I was a little discouraged to hear his claims.<br />
<br />
The whole week had been a series of fights between factions out there. We had taken part in a camp faction conflict with our veterans sweeping tents for firearms. We had listened to many people that had supposedly been "Standing Together at Standing Rock" tell us different things. Go home. Stay here. We don't want you here. We need you here. Go today. Stay a few more days. Now we had been scolded out of Oglala Kitchen by some white guy with an attitude, and this kid wanted help fighting Arvol Looking Horse for the sacred bundle. My spirit was tired. My soul was tired. This seemed to be just the final assault on my willpower to keep supporting Standing Rock. I didn't know who to back anymore. I was there to help. To serve. And all I seemed to find were people wanting to use me to further their own agendas. At least Francois was up front about it. <br />
<br />
At around five to nine, we decided to head into the Dome and see what was happening. When we got inside it was hard to breathe. There were many people in the dome. Some moving their personal gear out. Some still sleeping in their cocoon bags. Some cleaning ash out of the wood burning stove. The whole place was heavy with wood smoke, which apparently led others to believe that lighting up their cigarettes was on ok thing to do. By ten minutes after nine, the place was crowding with people looking for the meeting, but nobody there to actually DO a meeting. I talked it over with the guys, and we decided that waiting another who knows how long for a meeting that may or may not happen when we had a half day's drive ahead of us to get home was probably not the best idea. So we decided that it was time to head out.<br />
<br />
We stopped briefly outside to get a picture of ourselves at Standing Rock, as we had been too busy every other time we had been there to think of that. <br />
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see? we really <i>were</i> there!</div>
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As we drove out of camp, we passed the same guard that Kiyoshi had given all of his gear to. The guard was bedecked in everything, and we stopped once more for Kiyoshi to give him a rather formidable pair of riot gloves and get a picture with him in Kiyoshi's gear. It was pretty awesome.<br />
<br />
We snapped a few pictures of the camp as we drove towards the casino, but that was about it for pictures. It just wasn't a picture taking kind of adventure, and I was lost in my conflicting thoughts about the events of the week anyway.<br />
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<br />
We drove back to the casino where Kiyoshi had parked his car, and said our farewells. I certainly hope to see Kiyoshi again someday. He's a really good guy. He'd be caravanning behind Francois and me down to just south of Ft. Yates. There he would continue on a south/southeast road back to Illinois, and I would be heading more south/southwest to Eagle Butte.<br />
<br />
I honked and waved goodbye as Kiyoshi took the turn for his road and I continued on with Francois.<br />
<br />
Now, a couple things to preface the following part of my adventure. Four years ago when I had first volunteered at a place called Re-Member on the Pine Ridge Reservation in South Dakota, I met a man named Will Peters. He was one of the Lakota speakers that Re-Member brought in to teach volunteers about the culture of the Oglala Lakota. Over time, Will and I have grown quite close. We've had many a talk about out two cultures, and spiritual truths, and a great many things. I consider him a brother, and my Dad even calls him son. As Shaffers, we tend to adopt people we love into our "tribe" that we call the "Shaffer Hotel". <br />
<br />
Aside to the aside... When I was growing up, Mom and Dad opened our house up to all of our friends so that we'd have a safe place to have cast parties and get togethers. Everyone was welcome as long as they followed a few simple rules. No drugs, alcohol or dangerous tomfoolery. As the years progressed, there were times when I'd go down to breakfast and find kids I didn't know already eating. They turned out to be friends of friends of friends of mine or Jason or Steph, and Mom and Dad were always fine with anyone that stuck with the rules. <br />
<br />
So we have always had "family" that wasn't blood related. As such, it was completely normal for me to "adopt" Will and his family into mine. He's good people. Awesome wife, wonderful kids and grandkids. All around good egg. So, now that you know that, I'll tell you that Will's Lakota name translates to "Teacher of the Red Road", and teach he does. He's a high school teacher that works with kids in a good Lakota way. (And frankly, much like my Dad did as a high school teacher) He meets them where they are at, teaches them to the best of both of their abilities, is calm and gentle, but not a pushover. Will speaks Lakota to them in the classroom. Teaches them how to do beadwork to help keep them centered and focused on the good. <br />
<br />
He also has taken the time to help THIS muddling white guy learn more about Lakota culture, traditions, and the "right way" to do certain things than I could have ever learned by reading a book.<br />
One of the things he taught me right away was that Lakota teachings don't come with a price. No native teachings should. If you are wanting to be a student of said teachings, you should pray about it and wait until the right teacher comes. Will told me that there are many people, both native and non-native, that will claim to be 'Medicine Men' or 'Chiefs' and will offer to teach you their ways as long as you give them some money. Now, he also says that when an elder teaches you something, it is a sign of respect to give that elder a gift, and money <i>is</i> a fine gift. But no teacher should <i>ask</i> for money.<br />
<br />
Now, back to the drive from Ft. Yates to Eagle Butte. Francois had started to tell me that his family is very well connected. Very important. That he was a medicine man and knew all sorts of medicine men and chiefs on the various reservations. That may be true, but it raised a red flag in my head, because Will had taught me that one of the Lakota values was humility, and Francois wasn't being very humble in his name dropping. Then he mentioned that even though he was young, he had great wisdom and would be happy to teach me all about Lakota culture, spirituality and wisdom if I could provide some funds for a project he wanted to do. <br />
<br />
Yep. Another red flag. <br />
<br />
He was a nice kid. Pretty respectful, but I could feel him trying to do things in what the Lakota would call "the wrong way". But something Will and I have not discussed is if I - as a white guy - can call out a hustler when I see one if said hustler is a native and hustling native traditions. I was unsure how to respond to this. So I asked Francois what the Lakota word for 'Karma' is. He was unsure, as he's still learning the language, and I directed our conversation to what was happening at Standing Rock, how he got there, and the events of the last few weeks. We agreed that KARMA would most likely be coming around to bite those in the booty that had done some bad things up there. Non-native and native alike. We talked about the conflict of wanting to be a law-abiding citizen, yet seeing that the law was doing horrendous things to its citizens and then lying about it. How does one stay loyal to a system that isn't loyal to them?<br />
<br />
We started talking about spirituality again, and I mentioned some of the spiritual truths that Will and I had talked about. He once again mentioned that for a small fee, he could teach me how to do sweats and pipe ceremonies, maybe even a Sundance. I was uncomfortable again, so I mentioned that I had a Lakota friend in Pine Ridge that was already teaching me all of those things, or at least letting me be a part of them so I could learn by experience and by listening.<br />
<br />
"Who is it?" Francois asked "I know all of the medicine men on Pine Ridge."<br />
"Oh, he doesn't claim to be a medicine man or a chief." I told him.<br />
"Who does he say he is?" Francois pressed. "What does he claim to be?"<br />
"All I've ever heard him claim to be..." I said, "Is a common man. Nobody special. Just an ordinary Lakota guy. I think that's one of the reasons he is so highly respected down there, and by my family and me. He doesn't claim to know everything, yet in his humble way of teaching, shows that he knows an awful lot."<br />
<br />
There was silence for a few minutes. Then the conversation moved along. It is noteworthy to mention now that he didn't mention money or ask for support again for the remaining hour of our trip.<br />
<br />
As we drove along, I told him that my parents, whether they knew it or not, pretty much raised us to live by the seven Lakota virtues. Respect, prayer, honesty, compassion, generosity, humility and wisdom. We were taught to respect our elders. Live our lives as a prayer, not relying entirely on praying in a church to talk to God. Tell the truth. Empathize with others. Help people how you can, when you can, even if that means sacrifice. Don't boast or brag, let your actions do that for you. and for heaven's sake, think before you speak and learn before you teach. I understand that wisdom doesn't just magically come. Heck, I know lots of old guys that lack wisdom. Wisdom is the accumulation of lessons and life experiences AND an ability to reflect on them and learn from them. Not everyone has wisdom, and I am skeptical of someone that claims to have it mastered.<br />
<br />
I was trying to tell Francois about my feelings on wisdom by telling him about my Dad, who has lived a long life AND learned from his mistakes and successes. He is humble and will offer an 'opinion' about something without forcing you to believe it. But since he's very often right in his opinion, a person who seeks wisdom would heed his words. As I was telling him about Dad, a Bald Eagle came out from the woods and flew along with us for about twenty seconds. Francois took this as a sign. <br />
<br />"My brother Wanbli has come to tell us that we were meant to meet each other! That whatever you are doing, keep doing it, because you are on the right road!" Francois said excitedly. He told me that eagles were the most holy bird to the Lakota, and that for one to show itself to us while I was speaking honoring words about my dad was a wonderful sign from Creator. That my dad must be a great and honorable man. This I could agree with!<br />
<br />
He sang a song in Lakota that I only knew a few words to and when he was done he smiled at me. <br />
<br />
Now, I'm always unsure if eagles and hawks come into my view as a sign, or as a thank you for the rescues I've done, or just because they happened to be in that airspace as I've been driving by. But I've seen a lot of things all around the world, and had a lot of experiences with other critters like dragonflies, buffalo, crows, raccoons and red-winged blackbirds, (to name a few) that have seemed like <i>way</i> more than coincidental encounters. My middle name is Thomas, so I have 'doubt' hardwired in to me. But I'll admit that when that eagle flew by as I was talking of my dad, followed by this Lakota kid singing in Lakota a song of thanks for the visit made a pretty powerful impact on me.<br />
<br />
The rest of our drive was spent talking about our families and things we have learned from our elders and our friends. We talked about both of us being artists and craftsmen. I offered to sell his stuff on my website if it was legal to do so, and if he wanted to. I think we sorta bonded over the fact that regardless of culture, we all have similar struggles and triumphs. We talked of places that gave one the sense of 'home' in their spirit when we came into an area of rolling hills that were familiar to him. Sights and vistas that were imprinted in our brains and on our souls that only spoke of safe and wonderful feelings of being truly home.<br />
<br />
His were these hills and the camp at Standing Rock. Mine were my childhood neighborhood, the Island, an area in Pine Ridge, the Mississippi River and the faces of my wife and children.<br />
<br />
As we pulled into his long driveway, another Bald Eagle flew directly over the car headed for his house. We both voiced awe, and stared at the great bird as it flew ahead of us.<br />
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"What a welcome home!" I said to Francois.<br />
<br />
He was beaming.<br />
<br />
He tried to get a picture of it with my phone, because who would possibly believe that an eagle had LITERALLY led him home!<br />
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just above the peak of the roof there...</div>
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We unloaded the tipi into a nearby truck and grabbed his gear to take inside. I remembered that I had a can of coffee and a bag of tobacco left in one of my bags that I had forgotten to give away at the camp, so I grabbed those to give as a gift to his grandparents when I went inside to meet them. You know, the 'right way' to greet elders. Francois introduced me to his family, and they offered to feed me, but I still had many, many miles to try and go before I got home, and I was already feeling the lack of sleep taking hold. I excused myself and headed back for my car. On a picnic table near the door were three deer heads.<br />
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Whole. Deer. Heads.<br />
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there they are all standing in a row...</div>
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I commented on how amazing they were, because the antlers were<i> truly</i> spectacular. Francois and I had talked a bit about how I made knife handles out of antlers on our drive, so I was taken aback when they offered me one of the heads.<br />
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Now. I do like making knife handles out of deer antlers, but I had no idea what on earth I would do with an entire head! I tried to politely decline, but was told that these were their three best kills this season, and I could pick whichever I pleased.<br />
<br />
"No really." I said. "That is way too generous of a gift. I couldn't possibly..."<br />
<br />
"I insist. Really!"<br />
<br />
Well, another thing I have learned is that when people offer you something of their best or finest, it is poor form to reject it, even if it is not something you personally may ever have on<i> your</i> picnic table. Besides which, none of them were bloody, and they were all frozen pretty solid in the frigid air. So I chose the smallest of the three, not just because I didn't want to seem greedy, but because those antlers really would make the best knife handles. The 8 and 10 pointers were awesome, but not as knife-able. I grabbed a plastic bag to put the meaty neck side in, and set it in the back on top of my gear.<br />
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and I shall call him George...</div>
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Thanking them profusely and promising to stay in touch, I departed for the long drive home. As I drove, the bag slowly slid off of the deer head in the way back, and at one point I looked in the rear view mirror to see the giant buck staring blankly at me. Every time I rounded a corner, the head would topple to one side or the other, coming to rest staring at me with a cocked head. It was going to be a long, long drive home.<br />
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Crossing the Missouri River/Lake Oahe... Mni Wiconi, my friends. Water is LIFE.</div>
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My plan was to get home that night, but by the time I reached Pierre, I was far too tired to continue. It had been a physically and emotionally very long day, and yet another surreal day that I couldn't quite process. Conflicting emotions everywhere. The good and bad of the deployment. The good and bad at the camp. The good and bad at AJAMC. The good and bad of the DAPL easement denial. The good and bad of Francois. God, I just wanted to focus on the good of it all, but the questionable things just kept nagging at me. By 7:30, I had found a room at a Super 8 for cheap and went to bed without supper, meds, shower or anything. Just collapsed, shut my brain off and slept.<br />
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More Later<br />
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<br />Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05579610684460155891noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3376678998508716988.post-2904540786158937312016-12-14T23:26:00.000-06:002016-12-14T23:26:20.797-06:00Tuesday, December 6th<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">The trouble with living inside of a gym in a blizzard is that there are no windows.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">OK, so there are other troubles with living inside of a gym in a blizzard. But the no windows thing is a biggie. Because there are also no clocks nearby, and so - unless you check your watch or phone from time to time - you can lose track of time completely. Add to this the occasional short nap, and more surreal experiences, and you've got the perfect recipe for a 100 hour day.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Since Tuesday is a jumble of strange events and curious happenings, I'm just going to share some stories of the day. I can't really say what happened when, but I'll try to keep morning stories in the morning, afternoon in the afternoon, and so on.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">One of my early thoughts was that I had taken surprisingly few photos. If you know me well, you know that most of my adventures are overly photographed by me. I'm as heavy on the shutter release as I am wordy on my blog posts...</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">But on this trip I had not taken many pictures. I left my 'good' camera home, because I remember what military life was like, and figured we'd be moving around a lot, or engaged in taking water and gas and rubber bullets from the "authorities", or various other things that could result in my good camera becoming my lost camera, or my broken camera. I had planned on taking many pictures with my phone, but still didn't document much by way of images. So I figured I'd better get a couple pictures of the blizzard before it ended...</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">And a couple is literally all I got. The first one is from our drive to camp on the 5th, the second is a shot outside at the AJAMC on Tuesday morning.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">At some point Tuesday, word came down simultaneously that the roads were all closed due to the abhorrent weather and road conditions AND that we were expecting an unknown number of people coming to us as overflow from the casino and the sick and weak people from the camp. We were instructed not to drive, but that somebody would be driving mass quantities of people to us.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">In true military fashion, most of us smiled and nodded and carried on with what we were doing, and some of us went into panic mode trying to figure out where all the new people would go and what we'd do with the sick, contagious people. We had already set up a little quarantine area because we had a few people coughing up bloody sputum, so we made plans to enlarge that a little. Our Cannon Ball XO, Mel - who was now our AJAMC chaplain and all around good egg - suggested we name it the 'comfort area', as legally we couldn't be quarantining anybody. Most of us liked this idea. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I will tell more about the people I met in a later post. Because I met some truly wonderful people out there.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Anyway, someone came around to collect all of the mats that went with the donated cots to double our sleeping capacity. that wasn't much of a loss for anyone with a cot/mat combo, because we all had our super thick and warm negative temperature sleeping bags that acted like mattresses anyway. I gave brief consideration to donating my cot as well, but I figured I'd just hang on to it until I saw someone who needed it more than me.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Things were coming together nicely, when Margaret came by to find out why we hadn't been gathering information on all of our 'patients'. She was very concerned that we all be able to cover our own butts in case we were sued later. Understandable, I suppose. But since we were basically handing out band-aids and headache meds to people that asked for them, I didn't feel the need to keep super strict records on everyone we saw. As she was telling us of the importance of collecting all of this data, a gal came up with a broken fingernail and wondered if we had any scissors.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I pulled out my trauma shears and gave them to her and she snipped off the offending nail. As she left, I tried to get her name, symptoms, allergies, medications, past medical history, mother's hair color, etc, and that made Margaret laugh. I think she may have relaxed a little bit there, because we had just shown who our 'patient' base was, and there was really no need for data collection on anything but the bad cases.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">And we did have a couple of bad cases. One guy who suffered from anxiety found us looking for some help. Fortunately there was a counselor type person who gathered a group of other counselor type people, and I took him over to her and things worked out. We had some blood sugar issues that could have been bad. But mostly we had aches and pains and cuts and blisters.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">At another point in the day, a bus had arrived with sixty or so people from...somewhere... Casino maybe? Anyway, the bus got stuck in a snowbank coming in to the parking lot, so a herd of us went out to help push it loose.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">As we walked into the frigid, cold, blowy type day, I noticed some people hooking the side of the bus to a big pickup, ostensibly to pull it sideways off of the bank(?) I dunno. I just gave them some space in case the chains snapped. When that didn't work, we were all instructed to go to the back of the bus and prepare to push. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">So we tromped our way around to the back of the bus and waited. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">And waited.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">And waited.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Then someone up front yelled for us to get out of the way, because the bus was going to try and go backwards to get another run at the parking lot.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br />So we all moved back and watched...</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">When that didn't work they told us to get ready to push, as the pickup truck had now moved to the front of the bus and was being hooked up to pull.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">When that didn't work, they told us to come around to the front of the bus and try pushing it back into the street. So we all moved around to the front of the bus and waited.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">And waited.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">And waited.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">It was when they decided that we should go to the back of the bus and push that I decided that things were getting silly and I was getting cold. So I headed back inside to warm up a little, and found several others had preceded me. More would join us from outside as we talked about all the new people that had arrived.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Eventually the bus was freed. I don't know how, because it happened while most of us were inside. But I'd like to believe it was the power of our positive bus moving thoughts that helped the most.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">One of the local business owners came in to tell us that he was bringing Chili and fry bread for everybody at supper time. This was met with loud and appreciative cheering, and I think I can safely say we were almost all looking forward to seven o'clock. (1900 in military time.)</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">At some point between the bus and supper, Margaret came over to ask if I had any dressings for an IV.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">"Do we have IV equipment?" I asked.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">"<i>I</i> do." she said.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">"Do we have someone that needs an IV?" I asked.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">"The dog over by the door is sick and needs fluids, so I'm going to start an IV on it."</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I slow blinked a few times. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">"Really?" I asked.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Margaret just looked at me with impatience and again asked if I had any dressings for an IV.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I gave her my package of 3x3's and a roll of Coban. I wondered to myself if she was going to try for a vein, or just do a fluid push in the scruff of the neck like I had done with Shoba when she was dehydrated. But I didn't ask, because Margaret was obviously tired of my questions.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">As she headed off excitedly, Tammy got up to follow. She wanted to keep an eye on things since the whole "starting an IV on a dog" thing seemed a little hinky to us.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">It was not too much later that we had... an "incident".</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Here is what I saw.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I was sitting on my cot, talking with a couple other people when suddenly there was a commotion over by the door.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Margaret was holding someone and yelling for people to take their medical supplies away. She was very obviously pissed by the tone of her voice. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I stood up to see better and saw that Margaret was holding Tammy's arm behind her back, and her (Margaret's) other arm around Tammy's neck. As I started to head over to see what the heck was going on, Margaret then put Tammy in a headlock and was yanking her around, trying to wrestle her to the floor.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I ran over, but others had already stepped in and removed Margaret from Tammy. They were quickly separated. Ari the CO and Clark the Sgt. Major were there in a flash and talking to each woman individually. As I walked by Ari talking with Margaret I heard him say something to the effect that what she had just done could be prosecuted as battery... I just wanted to get to Tammy and make sure she was ok.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I saw that she was talking with Clark and another witness, and so assessed from a distance. Her neck was red, but she seemed to be breathing fine. So I decided not to barge in and just let things get taken care of.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Eventually I was able to talk with the other girl that saw the whole thing and got the rest of the story.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Apparently, there was a vet tech type person willing to try the stick on the dog, but she was pretty frazzled and missed. So Margaret stepped in to save the day. But apparently Margaret didn't have any experience with medical procedures on dogs, and Tammy didn't think it was a good idea to let Margaret experiment on this dog. Some words were exchanged, and Tammy reached over and moved the IV kit out of Margaret's reach. This threat to her authority set Margaret off, and you know the rest.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Well... I was a tad perturbed by this. Margaret had rubbed me the wrong way from pretty much the moment I had met her. I had figured that she could be "in charge" as long as she wanted if it made her feel better, because we weren't going to be there long enough for any of that to really matter. But she had just attacked one of MY medics.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">OK, so I was technically not in charge of any medics or anything. But the Cannon Ball medics had been together for awhile now, and I was feeling quite protective of the little group of friends I was in. So when Tammy got attacked, I got mad.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I made it a point to seek out both Ari and Clark and let them know that there was simply no way on God's green earth that I was following any orders from Margaret anymore. I told them that there were other medics that felt the same, and told them that if they should choose to keep her as "Chief Medical Officer", then I would question their leadership as well. And since we were all volunteers and there was no actual chain of command, I was more than willing to take all of the medical supplies I had gathered and head up to the camp.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Other medics also stepped up to voice their displeasure with what had happened. At one point, Ari came over and asked me two questions. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Would I be able to work under Margaret just for another night?</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">No. Absolutely not. She is unstable and at this point a danger to herself and others. She should not be near an actual patient.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Would I be willing to step up and lead medical if they removed her?</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Umm... yes? But only if they didn't have anyone better. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I didn't want to be a boss. I just wanted to be available to help people as the need arose. I wanted to eat and make sure all of 'my' people got food. I wanted to sleep and make sure all of 'my' people had beds. I wanted to keep everyone calm and cheery without the threat of being attacked by a "Type A" self appointed leader.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Medic Tiffany made a joke about the Lord of the Flies. It was sadly funny because it was certainly starting to play out like that. If we stayed for much longer, things were going to devolve quickly.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Eventually they called all of us medics to a meeting. I went with some trepidation. If they kept Margaret, a bunch of us were out of there. I also didn't want to be boss. I was hoping they'd just tell everyone to chill, since we'd all be leaving in the morning anyway.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">At the meeting, they told us that Margaret was no longer in command (good news) and that David the RN was our new Chief Medical Officer (GREAT news)</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">David and I were talking later, and he felt the same way I did. If we were going to be stuck there for weeks, then yes - we'd need a better command structure. But for a night or two... just help people that need it and chill.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I went back to my cot relieved. Word soon came down that the chili and fry bread had arrived. Another grateful whoop rose up, and people started lining up for hot chow. I stood off to the side to make sure everyone got some food, and was pleased when they made the announcement for elders to go up and eat first in the traditional Lakota/Dakota/Nakota way. I was joined by Chaplain Mel, and we had a fun talk about our beloved Marine Corps. As we spoke, a new group of people came in, and I resigned myself to not getting any chili or fry bread because I wanted to make sure the travelers coming in from the cold got some hot food. Besides, I had parts of the MRE left to eat, so it wasn't like I was going to starve or anything. I went back out to see if there was anything left when the line died down and remarkably there was some chili still in the pot! I grabbed a piece of fry bread to go with it, and went back to my cot to eat. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I cannot describe the epigastric joy I experienced with that meal. There simply aren't words that would do justice to the flavor sensations that were held in that little bowl. You should be jealous you were not there. (Unless you were there - then - Holy Carp! Was that good chili or what!?!)</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">After dinner there was a program going on with a native guy and his wife telling a story about two birds in a race. Tortoise and the Hare, Dakota style. They had recruited a couple of vets to play the parts of the birds, and made a good show of it. That was really fun to watch.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">After that, they began a drum song and a round dance, where people joined hands and danced in a circle. As I was watching that, a gentleman came over looking for a doc. I answered, because it was one of the three names I had agreed to answer to.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">He told me that he has a seizure disorder and that his meds were in his gear in Kenel, a small town about seventeen miles away. Then he told me that he hadn't taken any of his meds for a few days. He was worried that he might have a seizure and wanted us to be aware of it so he didn't freak anyone out if it happened. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I thought perhaps we could scrounge for someone that took the same meds, but how to go about finding those? This, I decided, was a job for our NEW CHIEF MEDICAL OFFICER!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">He was dancing in the circle dance when I approached him and gently tugged on his sleeve. He smiled and made a space for me to join in the dance. This would have been fine had I not met the gentlemen off his meds. So I told him I needed to talk to him away from the circle.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">After filling him in on the situation, we went to talk to Clark and Ari. Knowing that finding the same meds in the same doses as this guy was unlikely, I volunteered to drive down to Kenel to get it. Clark was a little hesitant, but I gave him my credentials, Arctic driving courses in the Marines (Which were basically just driving around Ft. McCoy in the wintertime - but hey, it got me a military license to drive in Norway!) 100,000 miles as an over the road truck driver, and I promised him that we'd go slow and turn around if it got too bad.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">He agreed on the condition that I take a co-driver. So I asked Kiyoshi if he wanted to come along, because he's good company and I knew I could count on him if something went wrong. We also took the 'patient', as we were going to the Kenel community center and finding his gear amongst a lot of other gear. I figured he'd be able to find it, and with my luck, we'd just bring back some other vets gear.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The roads weren't good, but they were so very much improved from our adventure driving on Monday! So much so that I was actually up to 40 MPH for some stretches! The wind was still blowing snow into near whiteout conditions, but not as fiercely as the day before. We also noticed that the sky had cleared up, and we could see starts through the swirling maelstrom on the ground. The conversation was delightful, as our 'patient' had been a career mechanic in the Navy, and kept us entertained with stories of fixing all sorts of engines. I don't know about Kiyoshi, but most of his technical talk was pretty much lost on me. But it was still good to hear. From a medical standpoint, I could maintain observation on him even though my eyes were on the road. As long as he was speaking clearly, no seizure! From a veteran standpoint, it was fun to hear his military stories. Kiyoshi did a great job of keeping the conversation going most of the time, which I was thankful for when I needed to be ultra focused on the road a few times. It was a very pleasant trip down to Kenel.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">We found the community center gym without too much difficulty, and upon entering found a well organized, albeit small, group of people. They welcomed us, offered us bed space and food, and in all did a great job of being hosts in their space! We explained that we were just stopping by for some gear and meds, and when we returned from finding our patients belongings, they had packed a bag with fried chicken and sodas for our return trip.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">We had been there all of fifteen minutes, but were still sent off with food and hugs. It was very nice.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The trip back was pretty good, as we neared the AJAMC, the winds were finally starting to slow down a bit as well. I had no doubts that we'd be able to clear out in the morning.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The gym was dark when we returned, and Clark seemed glad to see us back in one piece. I went to the bathroom and when I came back saw our patient and his friend and some others gathering near the door.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Turns out they were getting on a bus to head back to Kenel to join up with the rest of their crew. I'm still trying to find a way to convince myself that our whole trip wasn't for nothing. Although to be fair, it was a good road trip with excellent company, so I'll hold on to those memories for the take away.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">In the "medical room" was another seizure patient that had intentionally refused to take his meds. He was being tended to by the aroma therapist doctor, and Dave the RN CMO was trying to find medics that could stay awake and monitor him. I begged off, as I was exhausted and was going to need to drive a lot the next day. Thankfully, oh so thankfully, Medic Tiffany stepped up to volunteer, as she was going to be a passenger in her vehicle. So I finally said my goodnights.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I was heading across the dining room when a guy half carrying a stumbling woman approached. We got her into the medical room as well, learning that she was diabetic. Well, being a newly minted diabetic myself, I just happened to have my glucometer in my gear. So I went back into the dark gym to pillage through my things until I found it.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">With a clean needle, we checked her blood sugar and it came back at 100. This is not particularly low, but she was symptomatic. Fortunately, she was also being tended by our LPN's, so my presence there was superfluous. I said goodnight again and was again stopped in the middle of the dining hall. This time for introductions to an ACTUAL MD! He asked for an update and I told him all that I knew, which wasn't much because I had been searching for my glucometer. I told him her blood sugar was 100, but she was still kind of loopy. They were getting her food and juice. Then he asked me if I was a paramedic. I told him I had been, and he asked me what I thought had happened.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I said with a smile that even when I was a medic, we weren't allowed to diagnose. He smiled back and said "Still... what do you think?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">So I told him that 100 might not be low for a normal person, but she's diabetic, stressed, maybe not eating well, maybe not taking her meds. So maybe 100 is low for her if she's used to 300 or 400.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">He smiled again and said "I agree."</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">He asked me if I had insulin. Which confused me for a moment because A) I was stupid tired by this point, and B) I'm not insulin dependent, so I thought he was talking about having <i>her</i> insulin. And why would I have <i>her</i> insulin? I just met her five minutes ago.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Then it dawned on me what he was talking about, so I told him I had none, and he seemed ok with that. He was laid back and unperturbed, which I like in a doctor. I was glad he was there, even though I'd never see him again.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Blessedly, I made it back to my cot without further interruptions, and flopped down to sleep right after kicking off my boots, coat and hat. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">It had been a long, weird day. The plan was to be up at 0530 to depart the AJAMC by 0800. I set my alarm for 0545 just in case I slept through reveille. It was 1 o'clock (zero 100)when I finally shut my eyes on the day. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">More Later</span></div>
Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05579610684460155891noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3376678998508716988.post-7847351453180984152016-12-12T18:13:00.000-06:002016-12-12T18:13:09.113-06:00Monday, December 5th<span style="font-size: large;">Remember, remember the fifth of December. Custer's birthday. Our celebration of the DAPL easement being denied would have him spinning in his grave... I hope.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Author's Note: I am hesitant to share this blog post. It contains some negative views on what happened out there. So I struggled with whether or not to post it. My intent in releasing it into the wild is not to disparage anyone, or cast aspersions on any of the things that happened out there. It is simply my own personal views and reflections about what I experienced. In that spirit, I cannot be anything but honest in my recording of this event. Good things happened and bad things happened. That's the nature of an event this size. People react to events and stress in different ways. I did good things, and I did not so good things. I don't think I am unique in this way. For this mission, there were so many things happening in so many places that it would be impossible to accurately portray an "average" experience. So again, this is just MY experience. Let's dive in to Monday, shall we?</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I awoke early to the sounds of people moving around, already starting their day. The gym lights had been activated, and were slowly coming to life, illuminating the emergency shelter that was our home away from home. It was well before 7 am.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">It was an uneventful morning, at least in my memory, because I don't really remember anything except that Laura had decided to head south and try to beat the storm to get home, and leaving for the casino to make the ceremony at 0800. Losing Laura would be a blow, as she was a really good person to have around for a situation like this. She stayed calm, listened to the elders and spoke well. She was flexible and knew how to lead by example. We said our goodbyes and got her on her way as we left for the ceremony.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I remember wondering what sort of ceremony it would be. A victory celebration? Vets honoring vets? Another semi-sloppy military formation with speeches? I heard all sorts of theories, but there were a few things I thought I knew to be true.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">It was originally going to be held at camp, where the thousands of veterans would form up and march gloriously into the camp, after asking permission to enter. It would be resplendent with flags and bagpipes and lots of pomp and circumstance. I originally planned on skipping that ceremony, because I'm not really a pomp and circumstancy kind of a guy. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">But due to the weather, the ceremony was to be moved indoors to the casino pavilion. <i>That</i> I could get on board with. Upon reaching the casino at ten minutes to 8:00. I found the place to be practically deserted.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">There was no one in the pavilion hall, and very few people standing around outside of it. I wondered if I was in the right place or not. The others gathered there were wondering the same thing. The doors to the pavilion were open, so we made our way inside and grabbed some seats, figuring that if people showed up, then great.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br />Slowly, more people trickled in, until hotel security came and asked us to leave. Apparently the casino had not heard that our ceremony had been moved to the inside of their building, and they weren't ready for anyone to be in that space.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">So we flooded back into the lobby and waited while the assembled leaders talked with hotel people and tried to figure out what was going on. Pretty quickly the lobby was packed with veterans, and once again the rumor mill blossomed.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">We were going to march from here to the front lines. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">(10 miles in the snow? Don't think so)</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">We were going to get buses from here to camp.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">(And do the ceremony in the snow? Don't think so)</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The REAL ceremony was going to happen in Ft. Yates...</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">And Cannon Ball...</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">And Eagle Butte...</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">And tomorrow.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Rumors, or scuttlebutt as we called it in the Marines, was something about military life that I had not missed. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Eventually the higher ups got everything sorted out and we were once again allowed into the pavilion space. I'm not sure what time everything kicked off, but a few veterans from (I think) a Dakota tribe sang an <a href="https://www.facebook.com/victory.lonnquist/videos/10153953617216254/" target="_blank">honoring</a> song for the assembled veterans.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">This was followed by a call for us to form up in a horseshoe formation. Again, it was obvious that a lot of us hadn't done this for awhile, but we managed. We listened as people and elders from many nations spoke to us. A medic who had been out there for the long hall took the opportunity to speak to the media that had gathered and tell the truth about some things. What had happened to a young lady whose arm had been ripped open by a gas canister launched by police, and a couple other things that directly contradicted the "official" narrative from the "authorities". I, for one, was glad that she put the media on alert that we knew the "authorities" were telling lies and getting away with it. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Leonard Crow Dog, Arvol Looking Horse, and Faith Spotted Eagle were just a few of the Elders that spoke to us. They thanked the vets for coming, and spoke of the victory we all had shared in. They spoke of honor and togetherness in the upcoming fights, because this wasn't a final victory, it was only one in hopefully many. They spoke of their traditions and their stories, and in general it was a really powerful and moving time. I was feeling a great sense of peace and happiness listening to their stories. Knowing that we were a small part of something this momentous.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD0OQgpBw4pgEHzxAKId8W30J6lNhkAXAtNr16qngmIY_sy1opJ44Y7pE3GcT-ZOzwUmpe_WTgKz7caUzTRdXQC6s7puIBZS8DMQUUhjXXVGQRGq6dOucP7v-YwBpMnTipf25pDKNH4PI/s1600/ct-veterans-north-dakota-ceremony-20161210-001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="358" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD0OQgpBw4pgEHzxAKId8W30J6lNhkAXAtNr16qngmIY_sy1opJ44Y7pE3GcT-ZOzwUmpe_WTgKz7caUzTRdXQC6s7puIBZS8DMQUUhjXXVGQRGq6dOucP7v-YwBpMnTipf25pDKNH4PI/s640/ct-veterans-north-dakota-ceremony-20161210-001.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">(photo from Chicago Tribune)</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The guy in the above picture spoke very eloquently and I wish I knew his name, because his words brought a tear to my eye. Also, if you look at the guy in the blue shirt and backpack in the front left there, the little elder in the cammie jacket is Frances! She's awesome.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">At some point however, a guy from the Wannabe tribe (White guys that wanna be native) pushed his way through the crowd up next to me. He had pasty white skin like me, and long, braided red hair with turkey feathers tied in. (He's not yet near me in the above picture.)</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">There was LOTS of press there, lots of pushy photographers, and a few people, like this guy, that I think were hoping for a little added attention. He started breathing quite heavily, inhaling sharply and blowing air out loudly.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXxWNnIHeX9IjXDYeQ40mPxDnDpH24LM_4JPZV9R8xxq66HV7nJB3vsSO8jN-qDUKmBdlspSRB5YieqhXn36Zjngct6xPZCPITMOEPg_HqkWkHESf2eo5e_66ekAh6he6Xdu7XUX3rQxo/s1600/FullSizeRender+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXxWNnIHeX9IjXDYeQ40mPxDnDpH24LM_4JPZV9R8xxq66HV7nJB3vsSO8jN-qDUKmBdlspSRB5YieqhXn36Zjngct6xPZCPITMOEPg_HqkWkHESf2eo5e_66ekAh6he6Xdu7XUX3rQxo/s640/FullSizeRender+%25281%2529.jpg" width="441" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br />At first I was concerned, because he sounded like he was choking, and when I turned to look at him, he looked as if someone had squeezed his grapes a little too hard (if you know what I mean). Being in medic mode, I wondered if I should escort him out and check him over. He really did look to be in respiratory distress. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Then he sob/breathed in and sobbed again, and the thespian in me assessed the situation. Guy just wanted some recognition for his tears was all. I didn't really have time for that. Eventually he worked his way juuust in front of me to my left, where he continued the dramatic crying. I took a step back to leave him alone in the spotlight. It was a bit distracting.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Now, to be fair... it was a powerful ceremony up to that point. Songs and speeches from elders can have that effect on people. Lots of people were teary at times.<i> I</i> was teary at times. But this guy... well, he was trying too hard. Kinda put a damper on my mood a bit. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">It was then that Wes Clark jr stepped forward with his small group and proceeded to apologize to Leonard Crow Dog on behalf of the US Military...</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Uhhh... wait a second? What now? </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Honestly, it took me by surprise. So many questions raced through my head that I may have missed the "amazing" part of the moment everyone seems to be talking about on social media. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Did Clark just apologize on behalf of the ENTIRE HISTORICAL US MILITARY? Did he get appointed spokesperson at some point? Was this sanctioned by OUR elders, or generals, or POTUS, or anybody? For me, it wasn't such an "amazing" moment as a "WTF just happened here?" moment. As Clark and his group kneeled in front of Crow Dog, Mr. Wannabe leapt from beside me over a pushy photographer and next to the group, prostrating himself alongside the kneelers, weeping loudly. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I sat in confused disbelief. A very moving ceremony had suddenly morphed into a surreal demonstration of a white guy who seemed to have his own agenda taking over so that he could get some more attention and feel better about himself.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Then came more questions.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Is this what he had planned this whole time? Would he have done this if we had all marched into camp? Had he told anybody about this little display? Who the heck does he think he is speaking for the entire US Military? Is this why he publicly asked the elder to be his grandmother on Saturday night at his quite odd talk to those of us gathered at Ft. Yates for the elders meeting?</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I started to get a sick feeling in my stomach. Did this guy set this whole thing up to be a publicity stunt?</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">In most news reports you will read about how there was not a dry eye in the house, and that even the most battle hardened veterans were weeping.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Yeah. That's not entirely true. I was disoriented and a little disgusted. I mean, sure. An apology to Native Americans for our past military brutality is long overdue. Absolutely I agree with that. But for some random dude in a cavalry coat and hat to just step up and do it while claiming to be some kind of leader seemed... well... pathetic. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I know that many, MANY of us non-native veterans really want a formal apology from the US Government for the sins of our forefathers. But this didn't seem right. I felt like it actually dishonored the progress made between natives and non-natives. Random white guy comes in, makes it all about him, and apologizes, and all is supposed to be forgiven and forgotten? </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Alrighty then.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">After that surreal moment, they called up all the native veterans to shake hands with the Wes Clark jr group, so I stepped back for a few minutes to let that play out. Then I noticed that the line of native veterans was making its way through the rest of the veterans on the floor, so I jumped in line to shake some hands.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Now <i><u><b>THAT</b></u></i> was another powerful part of the ceremony. Smiles, hugs, handshakes, thankfulness for the presence of another brother or sister, and overall a great sense of spirits coming together. Black, white, native, Asian... every race and creed were there, shaking hands and coming together as one, as the ceremony had initially been geared towards. I was happy to have been there for that part, and wrote off the 'apology' as the least important part of the whole thing. Unfortunately, what the media focused on was "White Military Guy Apologizes To Natives for Historical Bad Things", and they pretty much skipped over the medic calling for the truth, the Elders words of wisdom, and the coming together of veterans from all over shaking hands and hugging. Ah, well...</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">As the ceremony wound down, we were instructed to go home if we could, as a huge blizzard was coming in and driving would be treacherous. The VSSR leadership dismissed us (in the military fashion), told us to go home, and I was a bit confused.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Yes, DAPL had been denied a permit. But they were still up at the drill pad. Yes, lots of WVIC's (White Veterans In Charge) were patting themselves on the backs for completion of the mission and telling each other that we had done something that every other group had been unable to in "defeating the Black Snake". But to my way of thinking, the veterans arrival may have been a straw upon the camels back, but we had done absolutely ZERO of the heavy lifting in beating the pipeline. Yes, there was a blizzard hitting, and people needed to be safe. But would leaving during a blizzard be the best bet for 2-4000 veterans that had JUST arrived?</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I saw Chief Arvol Looking Horse across the bay, the keeper of the sacred pipe bundle for the Lakota/Dakota/Nakota nations. So I walked up to him as humbly as I could and introduced myself as a veteran and a medic. I asked him what HE wanted me to do. Stay or go? </span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">He said that yes, a blizzard was here, but he didn't think the fight was over. He said that if I could hang around for a few more days, I should. That was all I needed to hear. If Chief Looking Horse says to stay, <b>you stay</b>.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">We talked with the medic organizer, a very nice man by the name of Aaron, and told him we'd be sticking around for a few days in Ft. Yates if he needed us. We asked around if anything else was happening that day, and the general consensus was that everyone would be finding shelter and hunkering down to wait out the blizzard or making a break for home. As we left the casino, it appeared that we would have little choice in the matter, as the snow was falling by the foot, and the temperatures had dropped a bit as well.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Tammy and I headed back to the AJAMC in Ft. Yates, 12 miles down the road. Due to the weather and a car accident that blocked traffic for awhile, it took nearly an hour to return to our station. We had been told that the only thing happening today was finding sleeping space for everyone and making sure everyone had beds and hot chow. We would take care of medical needs at the AJAMC, and were set up to have a chill kind of day.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Upon returning, I checked Facebook again to see if anything had developed and saw that there was a large group of veterans and water protectors marching on the bridge.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Holy Charlie Foxtrot! Nothing had been mentioned about this at the casino. Nobody at Ft. Yates knew anything about it. I thought we had been ordered to stand down. But there they were, in the blizzard, marching on the bridge.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I mentioned this to Kiyoshi and Tammy and we briefly discussed whether or not to head up there. Since there was nothing happening at the AJAMC, and Kiyoshi really wanted to get in on a march, and I figured if things went bad, they'd need medics up there, we decided to go.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">So we geared up and I offered to drive, having a bit of winter driving experience and such. I looked around for anyone else that might want to go, but found no one. So the three of us piled into my vehicle and started the trip north, with the understanding that if I felt it was too hazardous, we'd head back to Yates.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Well... the roads were 100% ice covered, the winds were between 20 and 40 mph across the road, and conditions were really, really bad. I had driven in worse, but not by much. The going was slow and a bit sketchy at times. At one point, while reaching out the window to try and snap the accumulating ice off the wiper, the wiper blade came loose and popped off. That was a little disconcerting, but with the defroster on high, I had a little clear space on the window to see clearly through, and since we didn't get much faster than 5-10 MPH, we <a href="https://www.facebook.com/QuantumNeko/videos/10154265060084163/" target="_blank">continued on</a>.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">After about an hour we reached the casino, where the Tesoro gas station was, and filled the gas tank. After also acquiring large cups of hot chocolate and fixing the wiper blade, we headed back out for the ten mile drive to camp.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">It took us another hour to get there. But we made it, and drove down to the Oglala Kitchen to see if we could find anyone I knew. Finding no one, the three of us decided to head to the front lines and see what, if anything, was happening.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">After hiking up to the guard shack at the entrance, we asked one of the security guys if the action at the bridge was still happening.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />"No." He said. "Ended about a half hour ago."</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">That seemed about right. Ended just before we arrived. It wasn't the first time on this adventure that I felt like I had missed something. Wouldn't be the last!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">We decided that since we were there, we may as well see if there was anything we could do to help. So we headed down to the Veterans tent to check in, and walked in on a legal meeting already in progress. They were talking about what to do if you were arrested, who to call, what your options would be. That sort of thing. We listened patiently and filled out forms so the could know our preferences if we were arrested, and pretty soon were guided to the veteran medic tent.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">When we walked in, they were in as much disarray as Cannon Ball and Ft. Yates had been. We dropped our gear and helped move stuff around, and load stuff from outside to inside. We heard that some GP tents were being set up down by the woods near the horse track, and that the mission for the afternoon/evening was to find people who had been sleeping in their vehicles and get them to the warmer, safer GP tents. One family that was near the medic tent was moving out of a camping tent and were getting ready to move into one of the warmer GP tents that were going up all around.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Made of a rubberized fabric, GP tents, or General Purpose tents, are about fifteen feet wide and thirty feet long, and are able to accommodate a wood burning stove or some other form of heat. They are much warmer than a little nylon tent.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Well, this guy had a bunch of gear to move across the river to the Rosebud camp, so I offered my vehicle to drive his stuff over. The trouble with this was that I had parked down by the Oglala Kitchen, clear across camp. So I bundled up and headed out to get the car. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />Evening was starting to set in, and the blizzard was swirling all around. I wondered if we should just plan on staying the night. Grab some blankets and find a corner of one of the warm tents. As I walked across the camp, I stopped at a few cars that had people in them and talked to them about their sleeping arrangements. I directed a few to the GP tents, and kept walking.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">By the time I got to my car and drove back to the medic tent, it was pretty much completely dark. I went in to find the guy I was helping move, only to be told that he and his family would be staying in the medic tent that night. That was good news. It would have been a bear to get him moved and settled in.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Now the three of us had to decide what our plans would be for the night. It was only six or seven o'clock. So we weighed the options carefully and decided that if we stayed, we'd need to tap into the camp resources for bedding and food and heat and sleeping space. But if we headed back, we could take it slow and still more than likely get back to the AJAMC where most of our gear was. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">It would have been a good story to say that we had roughed it out in the blizzard at the camp, but it didn't seem like the best option when others there needed sleeping space as well. So we headed back into the snow to make our way to the AJAMC. Again, with the understanding that if conditions got worse, we'd go back to camp and settle in.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">The 25 mile trip back was nearly uneventful. As uneventful as blizzard driving can be anyway. At some points I had to roll the window down to watch for the yellow center line through the patchy ice and blowing snow to assure we were still on the road. A few times we just stopped completely as the wind whipped the snow into complete whiteout conditions. And near the end of the two and a half hour drive, we passed a car that seemed stuck in the middle of the road. The driver of that car decided that my car was better equipped to lead in these conditions. (He was driving a little Honda Accord) and so we became a small caravan all the way back to Ft. Yates. But we went slow and we made it just fine.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Upon arriving back at the AJAMC, we found even more people had moved in, and everyone was settling in pretty well. There were a couple of young vets that had moved their gear next to the medic area, because they were there to be medics as well. The female of the two ripped into us when we came in for not taking her with us. After all, she hadn't been to the camp at ALL yet, and they were just wasting her skills by having her sit here with all of us medics. After all, she was a LPN, and "no offense, but you are just medics." </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">These were all things she actually said to us. She didn't understand why accommodations hadn't been made to get her to the camp, because she had travelled a long way, and deserved to see the camp and put her skills to work there, because she probably knew more than the stupid medics that had been there the whole time anyway.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Seriously... she was a charmer.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I offered to take her up to the camp the next day, but she would have none of that. If the roads were passable, they were just going home. She was angry that I had driven in the blizzard, not because it was dangerous, but because if I had made the trip, then she could have gone as well in their car if someone had told them about it in the first place.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Eventually I just had to walk away. I'm pretty sure she suffers from PTSD, and positive that it is untreated, since she spent a lot of that evening talking to another vet about how she blew off her VA appointments because she was smarter than all of the VA doctors.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">On the plus side, most of the other vets that were there were cheerful and having a fun adventure. Even when word came down that we would probably be snowed in the next day and not going anywhere until the evening, most people just smiled and nodded. After all, most of the time spent in the military is "hurry up and wait", and we were all in the same boat, so most people decided to just make the best of it.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">One group of vets decided that we really needed a chain of command, so they put themselves in charge. That was fine by most of us, because we had spent the day with people that HAD to be busy. Organizing, sweeping, cleaning, more organizing. More power to them. So we had a guy named Ari as our CO, a guy named Clark as the Sgt. Major, various HQ admin people, and then we had Margaret as our Chief Medical Officer.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Margaret... where to begin with Margaret.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">She called a meeting for all of the medical people to gather and get organized. Introducing herself only as a "Type A" personality, she put me in charge of making a list of names and ratings so we could better know who all of the medics were and what we were capable of.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">While I was getting names, she seemed to be very concerned with who could do ALS and who could do BLS (Advanced vs. Basic Lifesaving Skills) She assured us that if we needed any "big" drugs more than aspirin of Band-Aids, that she had connections and could get us whatever we needed. The generally confused consensus around the room was that we probably wouldn't need to do anything to dramatic by way of lifesaving, and all of us had BLS, so it wouldn't be a big deal.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">But she went on to tell us that the IHS (Indian Health Services) Hospital that was only a few blocks away wouldn't take non-natives unless it was life threatening(!) and that we were ALL ON OUR OWN HERE WITH NO BACKUP!!! We tried to assure her that we could handle non-life-threatening stuff here and if there was something dire, we could take it to the hospital. Still, she was adamant that we all be aware that she had connections to medical drug suppliers and that we be ready for the worst... zombie apocalypse maybe?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">She wanted to set up a special medical area (which, as you may recall, we had already done in the gym), and wanted a private room for the more severe cases, and wanted to consolidate all of the medical gear in one place under her control so she knew who had what, and so on and so on.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I didn't really pay much attention. I had had a pretty long day, and was pretty tired by this point. If she wanted to be Lord High Poobah, that was fine by me. So long as she stayed out of the way and let us do what we needed to do. I really just wanted to go to bed and sleep. She had us go around the room and say our name and our rating, and when it was done, Tammy asked her what her qualifications were.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">She snapped at Tammy that she had lost over 300 friends on 9/11 and she had more training in biological warfare and survival scenarios like this and other things than probably anyone in the room, and kinda went into scary lecture mode for a bit, so I tuned her out again while she ranted about how qualified she was to lead us.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">When I tuned back in, she was saying that calling all of us 'Medics' just wasn't right, since some of us had lapsed certifications, and some didn't, some were basics and some were paramedics, some were combat and some were not, and some were RN's and LPN's. So she was trying to come up with a system to have the general population call us by our skill set or something and trying to find a way to label ourselves so that people would know who to seek for specific kinds of medical problems.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">This was the straw that broke my back.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I told her that she was making things WAAAAY harder than they needed to be. We already had a medic area, and anyone needing a medic would probably only care that we answered to 'Medic' or 'Doc' or 'Anybody got a Tylenol'. We were only going to be here for a day or two, and we really shouldn't be making things more complicated and confusing than we need to. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Yes, I used my perturbed voice, and I probably shouldn't have. But JEEZ... I wanted to sleep! So I kinda shut things down and said that we'd all be called 'medics', and that the medic area in the gym was staying put. There was more discussion about making more serious cases a 'level 2' and bringing them to the private room for higher care, but by that point I was done listening.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">The meeting ended and I headed back out to my cot, where another list found me. It was started so Margaret could get a list of all the medics and their ratings.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">What happened to the one I gave her? That question was only met with shrugs. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">But, I basked in the glow of laughter and camaraderie in the gym, and that soon had my spirits up again. It had been a long and busy day, and I wasn't really sure what to make of all of the developments. We had all showed up essentially to be a show of force. We had planned on being there for a week, but now after less than 48 hours we were being told to go home. Except now we were told not to go because of the blizzard.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">We were a mix of people that had originally landed in Eagle Butte, Cannon Ball, Camp or the casino, and different groups had all sorts of different swag. Just like on deployments, lots of people seemed to find souvenirs.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">The Eagle Butte group had been through a ceremony with the Cherokee, had been given "war paint" on their cheeks and made "warriors", and had been given four color wristbands.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">The Casino group had t-shirts that someone had been selling.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">We Cannon Ballers... well...we had each other! That was the best thing to come of the past couple days. The friendships that were forming.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">There were some other little stress filled moments that night between some people. But for the most part, we all settled in and prepared for whatever Tuesday would hold for us.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">More Later</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span></div>
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<br /></div>
Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05579610684460155891noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3376678998508716988.post-39321703402110918632016-12-11T15:16:00.001-06:002016-12-11T15:16:20.523-06:00December 4th, Sunday<span style="font-size: large;">It was around 2:30 in the morning that a couple of guys came in and woke us up. Apparently, there was going to be an "action" and they needed all hands on deck. I was groggy until they said they especially needed medics because they were thinking there may be GSW's... gunshot wounds. That woke me up fast.</span><br />
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;">The man who was talking told us we needed to go as quickly as possible, so I got into my cold weather gear, grabbed my medic kit, and headed out to warm up the car. Then I waited.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Then I waited some more.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Then I waited some more.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br />Then I went and talked to the guy who had awakened us, because I saw him standing at the door.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">"Didn't you say this was urgent?" I asked.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">"It is." He said. "We're just waiting on the other vets to get dressed"</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Apparently my old medic days of being ready to go at a moments notice were still sharp, because it took us nearly a half hour to get everyone dressed, loaded and rolling.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">We rolled in a big convoy up into the camp. It was very dark, save for the big floodlights the DAPL people had set up to shine down on conflict areas. The camp had grown even more since the last time I had been there, and with the addition of the snow covering, I quickly lost my bearings as I followed the convoy in.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">We parked and mustered out in a small, snow covered field and listened as the Native CO and Sgt. Major told us what was up.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;">Apparently, there was a group of 60 or so natives that were labeled as agitators. This group had been responsible for starting conflicts with the police, and going against what the Elders wanted, which was peace and prayer. So, now that the veteran had arrived, the Elders wanted us to go search the agitators tents for weapons, as they had been rumored to have firearms amongst them. As one of four medics, I was held back from the strike force, which was fine by me for a couple of reasons.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">First, I have zero desire to go rushing off, looking for people with guns to tell them I have to take their guns away.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Second, it seemed strange to me that a bunch of white, military vets were being used to go through a native camp looking for guns. Seemed a little too 'Wounded Knee'-ish, to me. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Fortunately, as things were developing, the Elders decided to handle it in the old way and took a pipe to meet with the leader of the agitator faction. From what I heard, they smoked the pipe together and talked about the issues currently taking place. The leader of the agitators gave permission for their tents to be searched for weapons, and agreed to stand down from aggressive actions at the bridge and Turtle Island. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;">So, after standing around in the snow and cold for a few hours, we headed back to Ft. Yates to try and get a little sleep. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;">When we got back, there were some people packing up to go to a local gym, some that wanted to head for camp, and some, like the four of us medics, that just wanted to sleep for awhile.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;">That first medic team was comprised of Laura, Tammy, Terry and myself. We decided to stay together in case anyone needed to find us. That way we could do things as a group instead of being lone medics wandering around. So we tucked back into our sleeping gear...</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">for about twenty minutes.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Then word came down that the building that we were in was going to be used for something else, and we'd have to head out. We had our choice of a gym across the street or a community center up in Cannon Ball. We decided to head up to Cannon Ball, since that was only a couple miles from the camp, and Ft. Yates was a good twenty to thirty minute drive. Besides, maybe at Cannon Ball we could figure out what was going on a little better.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;">So, we packed up all of our gear, and Laura, Terry and I headed North to Cannon Ball. Tammy went to scout out the gym, but would later join us at the Cannon Ball location.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Upon arrival at the Cannon Ball Community Center (CBCC), we walked in to organized chaos. Nobody there had heard anything from higher leadership, so - being military type folks - decided to just start getting stuff organized and moving forward. They had formed their own detachment, but had no medical people, so we decided to set up a medical area, and start locating any and all medics we could find to start a medic platoon. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Pretty soon we had gathered about a dozen medics, all of various skill levels, and were gathering medical supplies in a central area. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I really liked the folks that had stepped up to lead us. Chris, an older guy who seemed to know what he was doing, and a Marine JAG named Mel, who relayed information as she got it, which wasn't often.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Having just a couple hours of sleep, I had stretched out all my sleeping gear and was trying to find a good time for a nap. People kept arriving, and the mood seemed pretty jovial as we settled in.</span></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzhmoFMU2f4YLrCo6MGl9ZZwdW2BAXtv9iH60ChW8OFLbKkWaqgi0almsmGJI5DOpwc5iDm0Oh6HiclgoP6DRzfb5jVFOsPoiNi-3X2S8EseAVOq9hp0UYOPLtJAUzs4_rgVhiG2VdttE/s1600/IMG_4803.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzhmoFMU2f4YLrCo6MGl9ZZwdW2BAXtv9iH60ChW8OFLbKkWaqgi0almsmGJI5DOpwc5iDm0Oh6HiclgoP6DRzfb5jVFOsPoiNi-3X2S8EseAVOq9hp0UYOPLtJAUzs4_rgVhiG2VdttE/s640/IMG_4803.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Then the New Yorkers got fussy.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">They had come as a group, most of them - like the rest of us - expecting the mission to be standing between water protectors and "authorities" on the front lines. One guy was telling anyone that would listen how he figured it was better if he took the bullets than a water protector, and I just wanted to say "Dude... you're preaching to the choir here. Relax. Get some chow. Get some sleep. try to be flexible."</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Unfortunately, the New York brigade had not heard the elders in the meeting of the night before say that our mission had changed. So when they found out about that, they were pretty pissy.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Medic Laura stepped up and tried to talk to them about what we had heard. A couple of native elders also spoke to the group to try and calm them down. But they didn't seem to want to hear that we were there to pray.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;">Pretty soon, they had loaded up in a U-Haul with the back open and a couple of pickups to "head for the front lines!" I called them the Rambo Brigade. Damn the orders! Full speed ahead! </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;">Now, to be fair, I was VERY tired. I am also aware that my limited exposure to Lakota culture and teachings is more than likely WAY more than any of them had, so my distaste at them going against the elders just didn't resonate with any of them. They were there to get in the fight, and they wanted to show they hadn't come all this way for nothing.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">So I held my words and let them go. I figured that they'd be corrected when they got to the camp.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;">We continued to try and contact anyone higher up the chain of command and find out what we were supposed to be doing, but communication was terrible. Information that came down was sketchy and often conflicted with things we had heard moments earlier. Throughout the day we had orders to:</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">1. Meet at Cannon Ball field for formation and practice. (though we didn't know what we were practicing for or where Cannon Ball Field was.)</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">2. Meet at the casino for a briefing at 1800.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">3. Meet at the casino for a briefing at 0800 the next day.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">4. Meet at Ft. Yates for a briefing at 1800.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">5. Meet at the first building we met at in Ft. Yates to form into platoons and such.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">6. Meet at the camp asap to form into platoons and such.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">7. Stand by to receive 200 busloads of veterans at our location, then at camp, then at the casino, then with us again, then at Ft. Yates.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">8. Stay where we were to form into platoons and such.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">9. Head to camp for a ceremony at 1300...or 1500...or 1600...or 1800... or maybe for dinner.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Mel handed down the most reliable information, so I gravitated towards just listening to her. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I had moved my vehicle away from a fire hydrant so a camp water truck could resupply when I got the initial news that DAPL had been denied the permit to drill under the river.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I checked Facebook, as I had spotty connection with that, but saw nothing about it yet. So I prayed that it was one of those actually TRUE rumors and got back to work. Within an hour it had been confirmed.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I can't tell you the relief that washed over me at that moment. Followed shortly by dread.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;">I heard a lot of people saying "We've won! It's all over!", and for a little bit, I indulged in that celebration as well. But it occurred to me that perhaps this was just another stall tactic. Obviously the arrival of 4000 vets had scared the "authorities" a bit. As it was, it was shaping up to be a PR nightmare. Cops firing on Veterans? That would have been horrific. Now rumors were swirling that the police were going to back away from the bridge. Some talk floated around of swarming the bridge. Most of us who had stayed behind when the Rambo Brigade left were going to honor what the Elders had asked us to do and just sit tight and pray.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;">Part of me wanted to celebrate. But the other part of me, the part that has read the history books, was uneasy. How many times in the past had the army, or police, or some other force told the Indians that they were going to back off. That if the Indians just calmed down and stepped back, they'd be just fine. Sand Creek. Wounded Knee. The entire ploy of giving tribes until Jan 1st in the late 1800's to go to a reservation or be considered 'hostile'. It has all played out again like that in todays North Dakota. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">"Go back across the Cannon Ball river, or you'll be considered hostile."</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;">"Since you called us bad names, we were totally justified in using fire hoses on you in freezing weather."</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">This just felt wrong. It felt like a ploy to get veterans to leave. To leave the water protectors vulnerable again.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;">But, I assured myself that surely the elders and leaders of this movement will see through the ploy. We veterans weren't going to go anywhere! Some of us would be there for a week, then others would come in, and so on and so on, because that's what the plan had been. To put boots on the ground to stop the violation of human rights. When I went back into the CBCC, we were being notified that we'd all have to move to the gym in Ft. Yates because the Navajo code talkers and water protectors were arriving and would be using this space.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">See? Lots more vets coming in! We could keep the pressure on and make sure this thing got shut down! My spirits were lifted, and I didn't mind packing up and moving if it was for the Navajo.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;">So, without getting any sleep yet, we once again packed our gear and prepared to move. We had accumulated a LOT of extra medical supplies, and Laura, who became the person we followed, made the suggestion that we keep our jump kits and some small supplies, but take all the extra stuff up to camp, since it was a couple miles away, and would be where it was most needed in the coming days. We agreed that that was a good plan, and she and Terry loaded that stuff up for delivery while I went down to find the gym in Ft. Yates and secure us a medical area. Before I left, I was introduced to Frances, a Coeur d'Alene elder who loaned her van to her nephews and didn't have a ride down to Ft. Yates. I happily loaded her gear into my vehicle and had a delightful talk with her on the trip down. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Arriving at the AJ Agard Multipurpose Center (AJAMC), I was greeted by a little more organization. Just barely.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">They had been telling people to head up to CBCC for billeting, but had just received word to start taking people in there. Apparently with the school week starting the next day, we'd all need to leave overnight or in the morning, so I left most of my gear packed up. I signed in and was directed to the gym to wait for further instructions.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">When I walked in to the gym, I was one of two people in there. Figuring that it couldn't hurt to be a little proactive, I secured a couple of folding chairs next to an electricity outlet on the wall between the two bathrooms. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Word came down that someone had brought a couple dozen donated cots that needed to be unloaded, so I went to help unload and acquired cots for Laura, Terry, a guy named Kiyoshi and Tammy, as well as for Frances and myself. I hadn't heard much from the other medics I had gathered information on in Cannon Ball, but figured if they were here, they'd find cots too.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Shortly, the gym began to fill. I sectioned off an area for medical after obtaining permission from the folks out front, and set up all of the medic cots that I had grabbed to save our space. It worked out pretty well, as Terry and Laura arrived not long after Tammy and Kiyoshi. So our group would at least be together.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Thankfully, oh so thankfully, the gal doing the registering came in to tell us that VSSR had secured this space for the next eight days to be used as a barracks for veterans. It was then that we REALLY settled in! Sleeping bags unrolled, gear brought in from vehicles. This was to be our staging area. I actually got to take a shower, which was good, because I was starting to smell rather goatish. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">And so it continued. People trickled in by the ones and twos and dozens, the gym started filling with cots and mats and such. Rumors kept flying around. They were sending us home. They were sending us to the front. There was a blizzard coming. There was nothing but sunshine and warm weather ahead. The leaders would be here to talk to us soon. There was a meeting every hour somewhere in the building that kept getting pushed back or cancelled. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Through it all, a few rumors persisted. There was going to be a ceremony at 0800 Monday morning at the Casino Pavilion. That one turned out to get confirmed. Others that got confirmed... There was a blizzard on the way. We were not going to confront the police. We were there to stand in peace and prayer. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">For the most part, I think people were happy that the permit had been denied. I think that night we were all looking forward to standing down, getting some rest, being part of a ceremony in the morning and going from there. I set an alarm for 7am, figuring I'd get up, get dressed, and head for the casino. Honestly, I don't remember much of anything else that night, because I was beyond tired, in a safe space, warm, fed and in bed. All of my new friends seemed to be settled in, and I happily fell asleep to try and recover a bit for the festivities coming the next day.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">People trickled in all through the night, so I awoke probably a dozen times. Was awakened once for someone wanting some Tylenol. But all told, slept better than I had the night before!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">This was the calmest day I had, and the night where I got the most sleep.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">More Later<br /></span></div>
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Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05579610684460155891noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3376678998508716988.post-33370862946172517692016-12-10T12:59:00.000-06:002016-12-10T12:59:22.375-06:00Saturday, December 3rd<span style="font-size: large;">So, I deployed with the veterans to North Dakota. It was with a group called "Veterans Stand for Standing Rock" which will henceforth be known as VSSR. In the three weeks leading up to this deployment, the group went from 50 to 500 to 2000. As it would turn out, around 4000 people actually showed up. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">This many people in this short a time made logistics a nightmare. The nightmare was only compounded by a blizzard that hit at about the same time as the veterans from all across the country.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">To be fair, a great many really good things took place over the course of the week. I will only speak of my personal experience, my personal thoughts and opinions about this mission. As such, this writing should not be taken as representative of every vets experience out there. I'm certain that some had better experiences than me, and some had much more miserable experiences than me.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">This is my story.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">It started a few weeks prior to December 3rd, when I woke up feeling a deep pull inside of me that I really should go back to Standing Rock. VSSR had put out a call for vets and medics. I've been both in previous lives. A Marine from 1990-1999 and a medic from 2002-2012. I had been following the happenings at Standing Rock since before my first visit in August. I had made friends out there and followed along as they went on marches and struggled with supplies, the "authorities" and sometimes each other.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">So I talked with my wife about my urge to go back yet again. We talked about time and financial commitment. Timing turned out to work pretty well. Karen had days off on the days of the deployment, and other commitments were not time sensitive. But the financial aspect was tough.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">While VSSR dangled the prospect of being reimbursed out as a carrot, neither of us wanted to rely on that. So we dipped into our savings again this time not for donations to the camp, but to outfit me for an extreme cold weather excursion. Our summer sleeping bags and tents just wouldn't do. Nor would my ten year old "winter" boots that had cracks in them and let my feet get wet when I shoveled our driveway. I can tolerate cold, wet feet for a little while, but this mission could mean standing out in the snow for hours. So I needed gear. Good gear. Boots, -20 degree sleeping bag, wool hunting socks, hats, gloves, mittens, the whole nine. I even bought a new coat.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">"But John, Don't you live in Minnesota? Shouldn't you HAVE a lot of this cold weather gear, including a COAT!"</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Why, yes... Yes I do live in Minnesota. Yes I do have lots of cold weather gear. But for this mission, anything I wore to the front line needed to be gear I was willing to get hosed, shot, or gassed. The gear needed to be expendable, and I really like my nice, warm Columbia winter coat. While it would be perfect for non-confrontational jobs, I didn't want to get it destroyed on the front lines. I also wanted to have backup gear in case one set got destroyed so I wouldn't be coatless or gloveless or hatless. So, yeah. Redundancy was key in preparing for the mission. I went with four coats, four hats, five pair of gloves, multiple neck coverings, etc. etc.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">On top of the cold weather gear, there was the additional expenses of things I never thought I'd be buying. Gas masks and body armor. Knee pads and a top of the line nut cup that could take the hardest hockey slap shot. There are parts of my body that I am just not wanting to get hit by those 40mm "less than lethal" rounds. I wanted PROTECTION. I could have bought a $10 Russian surplus gas mask at the local military surplus store, but if I was going as a medic, I really wanted something reliable that I could actually SEE out of. No sense in going just to become a casualty myself. I was about to drop over $200 on a mask, but someone on some thread had mentioned that he got his for much less on E-Bay. I lucked out and got a better mask than I had originally intended for just under $100. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Then came medical supplies. It turns out that when you haven't been a paramedic for a few years, you tend to get rid of all of those "medic" type things you always took for granted. So I once again hit the wide world of internet shops, and bought enough trauma supplies to outfit not only my old Zumbrota medic bag, but a military medic bag that I bought to take to the front lines. (Expendable)</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I promised my wife that I would stay as close to a $200 budget as I could and still get only NEEDED supplies. I was only off by about $800.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The good news is that I have very supportive friends that donated another couple hundred dollars worth of medical supplies and almost $300 cash to help offset my expenditures.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">With everything packed and ready to go, I decided to leave early on Saturday morning. VSSR had announced that we would all be rallying in Eagle Butte, South Dakota, AND that we would be welcome to attend a meeting in Standing Rock Saturday evening to hear from the elders and leaders from Standing Rock. The two locations were about two hours apart, so I decided to head to Standing Rock for the meeting, and then go to Eagle Butte after.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The drive out was pretty uneventful. Ten hours of driving in clear weather, keeping myself entertained with NPR or singing along with CD's or just singing. I mentally went through all of my gear a dozen more times. You know. The usual.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">When I got to Standing Rock, I looked at the VSSR Facebook page to see where the meeting was to take place. Apparently I was looking for the Science and Technology building on the Sitting Bull College Campus. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Well, I drove around the campus a few times, and could not find a Science and Technology building. I pulled over on a campus road to check the interweb and see if I could find it on a map, but was having no luck. It was then that a car with Canadian plates pulled up next to me and asked if I knew where the meeting was. After some discussion, he said that he was going to check out a building a few blocks away that had people standing out in front of it. I decided to just follow him.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Turns out, that building WAS where the meeting would be. The sign on the building said "Trade Building". Upon entering, I found a little office space attached to a sizable garage. This was a trade school building, and there were various work stations around the perimeter for saws, building supplies and what looked like a cutaway partial house showing the various layers of construction.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I had arrived just as two native women were calling for everyone to form up. I was there an hour and a half before the meeting was scheduled to begin, but form up we did...sort of. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijiIKT3osFjtoSTLtM33YZGj7roJl_9tyAHVhgQGC9sDgXf6gQ1gSLklQQprHGwSpvuSaUUKnBWi6xXRbSKc4MItrq2IKCQFrADkCEBpztmi4OwWSn-r0jm6PhtRmz-cC5pAJQPcXYwg0/s1600/IMG_4795.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijiIKT3osFjtoSTLtM33YZGj7roJl_9tyAHVhgQGC9sDgXf6gQ1gSLklQQprHGwSpvuSaUUKnBWi6xXRbSKc4MItrq2IKCQFrADkCEBpztmi4OwWSn-r0jm6PhtRmz-cC5pAJQPcXYwg0/s640/IMG_4795.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">This was a group of about a hundred veterans of all ages. So the formation was pretty loose, lots of gaps, and made up of five or six squads instead of the usual four. The women introduced themselves. They were the two chosen to take command from Wes Clark jr. and Michael Wood, the original organizers of the VSSR movement. I thought it was great that the white guys had chosen to step aside and let native veterans lead this mission. Not only was the whole pipeline protest native led, but these two would have a much better understanding of the culture as well.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">They thanked us for coming, and spoke of a change in mission. Originally, the plan was for the veterans to come and stand between the water protectors and the "authorities". The mission briefing stated that if we saw an opportunity to move forward and take the drill pad, we would exploit that and push the "authorities" and DAPL away from the camp.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">But after speaking with the elders and leaders, the mission was changing into one of peace and prayer. We were told that our job would be to support the water protectors around camp. Do what we could to help winterize, and protect the camp in case of a DAPL/MCSD raid on the camp. We were ordered to take no direct action, and if we didn't think we could follow those orders, we were free to go home.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Then we took a break while we waited for the elders and leaders to arrive. I heard lots of grumbling about the change in mission. Heard lots of vets saying that's not what they came for. But I kept quiet, listening, observing. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Pretty soon the elders and leaders arrived, and we formed up again (sorta). We heard from Chairman Dave Archambault, the leader of the Standing Rock tribe, who told us the same thing as we had heard before. We heard inspirational stories from Leonard Crow Dog, a Lakota elder. Congresswoman Tulsi Gabbard spoke for a bit and thanked us for coming.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">It was a long meeting, and we had been standing for the entirety of it. After a long driving day, I was ready to hear more about where we'd be sleeping and what the plan of the day for tomorrow would be. At one point, I saw actress Shailene Woodly walk in and out.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Weird, I thought. But nice that she's here to raise awareness. If only more people in the limelight would do that, maybe we'd be less focused on the trivial.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">It was as I was thinking what a strange experience this was that a guy in a puffy winter coat walked in. He looked shockingly familiar, and I eyed him as he walked past, pulling his green and black trucker hat over his eyes to avoid making a scene. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Had I served with him? I had a feeling of being pals, and of dread at the same time. Suddenly it hit me...</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">It was Duke, from the TV show 'Haven'. Now, for those of you that don't know the show, it's about a town where 'troubles' affect people giving them strange powers, bad things happen, yada yada. Duke, throughout the series is a good bad guy, or sometimes a bad good guy, or sometimes just a good guy, or sometimes just a bad guy, which explained the feeling of dread when he walked in. He's also the most 'real' character on the show, to me anyway. You know how sometimes when you watch a series that goes for several years, you sometimes think to yourself that if you were in that world, you'd probably hang with so and so a character... Yeah, Duke is one of those characters for me. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">So, it went from a strange experience, to being rather surreal. I was tired, hungry, amped up for a combat mission only to be told it would be a peacekeeping mission - if that, and in walks my old pal Duke... or a guy named Eric Balfour that I have never met.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The meeting ended in a Lakota prayer, and people started drifting in and out, talking, planning, etc.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I decided to go over and just verify that it was, in fact, Eric Balfour, or if it was just someone who looked an awful lot like him. So I walked closer to him and said "Hey, Eric!"</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">He turned to me and said "Yes sir?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">And that started a pretty good conversation. I told him I was a fan of Haven, and his character in particular. How watching the show had been an 'escape' for me when my PTSD got triggered, and how shows like his helped keep me from spiraling further down when those things hit me. We talked about our families and what had brought us both to Standing Rock. Which led to more talk about 'Haven', and how in real life, lots of people have "powers" or talents that they don't know they have until they are tested, and that we both expected that many people out here were finally waking up to what is going on in the world and that things need to be done about it. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">It was a fun conversation. I was just tired enough not to be all flighty and fan-ish, and just talk like a normal (if tired) human being. At one point another gal came up to him, interrupted our conversation and said "You look really familiar" through squinted eyes and a confused face that said 'I should know you, but how?'</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">He looked back at her with the same expression and after a moment said "Yeah... I think we went to high school together!?!"</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Which left her even more confused, and she walked away without ever knowing how she knew him. It was pretty funny, but the more I thought about it later, I was impressed that he didn't brag or announce his presence. Even when he came in, he walked around the back and stayed in the shadows, kept his hat low...discreet. He gets it. How to be humble. And in his humility, he demonstrates his stature. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">As we talked, we found ourselves in close proximity to Tulsi Gabbard. Now, not only is she a Congresswoman, but she's very pretty and outranks me by just a whole lot. So I was a little nervous to just go introduce myself. Apparently this showed, because Eric (yeah, I call him Eric now) piped up and said "You should go say hello!"</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">"Oh, I will." I said. "I don't want to interrupt the others talking with her."</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">"C'mon" he replied, "I'll introduce you."</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">"No. Really." I said. "I will!"</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">So we continued with our conversation. He introduced me to the group he had come out with, filmmakers and producers and others whose names I promptly forgot.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">They were going to head out to find some real food, as they had been there for a few days and had been living on protein bars. So we said our goodbyes, see you at camp, etc. As they were leaving, I turned quick and asked if I could get a picture with him, as the day had been surreal and I wanted proof that I had actually met him! He was very gracious and agreed. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcjSB_KBmmqUxkFzXgNO9R3fWAwzIFLRnAW6k84HqnQLifZlxDeJdumHG8KX4ItakYimbv1s9hTj_eh17lmbHQ-gKzJ1b1OE2a3t3noQSgL0Ty7Q8qSNztPTIgiZjnvU51FxrTOoXZ4vY/s1600/IMG_4797.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcjSB_KBmmqUxkFzXgNO9R3fWAwzIFLRnAW6k84HqnQLifZlxDeJdumHG8KX4ItakYimbv1s9hTj_eh17lmbHQ-gKzJ1b1OE2a3t3noQSgL0Ty7Q8qSNztPTIgiZjnvU51FxrTOoXZ4vY/s640/IMG_4797.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">After that, I headed over to loiter around Ms. Gabbard until I found an opening to introduce myself. We had a MUCH shorter chat. I told her that if she ran for POTUS in 2020, she'd have my vote. Asked her about her thoughts on the change of mission, and got a quick picture with her as well. I would love to be important enough to sit down with these folks and have an in depth talk about the issues sometime. She had good insights that I would have liked to hear more about.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDAo0xmQYzD17QaqIQUHy7mKqqhXGsZNxLBcR2CK7zFwIJMFciuvPMZPw5-v3nAxAJ-NtCiqjjYsme0NhrXsVEJFK94FR78MOqg8cb7lPfvy_slQt64UuJ7yeVtNZEew3TYwQGmGunZn8/s1600/IMG_4799.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDAo0xmQYzD17QaqIQUHy7mKqqhXGsZNxLBcR2CK7zFwIJMFciuvPMZPw5-v3nAxAJ-NtCiqjjYsme0NhrXsVEJFK94FR78MOqg8cb7lPfvy_slQt64UuJ7yeVtNZEew3TYwQGmGunZn8/s640/IMG_4799.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Anyway, as the night grew later, the organizers spread the word that about 50 of us could sleep in this building tonight. It seemed like a good idea to me, as driving another two hours down to Eagle Butte while I was tired didn't seem like my best option. So I signed up to stay with about 20-25 others, and soon things were quieting down as we settled in.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I ran into Eric and crew one more time as I was loading my gear into the building. He asked if I was staying there tonight, to which I said yes, and asked if I had everything I needed. For a brief moment, I considered asking if I could join them for dinner since I knew no one at the building and only had jerky to dine on that night. But I didn't want to intrude, and I knew that he'd say yes because he's a genuine good guy (because that's the impression I got of him in our twenty minute conversation), and that it would be a late night of talking. And while it would have been REALLY COOL, it was not why I had come out there. I knew tomorrow had the potential to be another long day, and I wanted to get all the sleep I could before heading into unknown territory. So I told him I was good to go, and it had been really fun meeting him and talking to him. He said the honor was his, and his group departed.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I got to know a few of the others staying in the building. There were a couple of medics, but mostly just tired vets ready to sleep. Someone had brought a couple boxes of MRE's, and after I was satisfied that everyone had food that wanted it, I grabbed a ravioli MRE and ate it cold before turning in for the night. It was nearing midnight when I finally drifted off to sleep. I was thinking that I'd get a good five or six hours of sleep, and that would have to be enough for the following day's festivities. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Turns out... I was wrong... about many things.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">More Later</span></div>
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<br />Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05579610684460155891noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3376678998508716988.post-3222762250464979022016-12-09T19:35:00.000-06:002016-12-09T19:35:07.337-06:00Why I Went<span style="background-color: #f6f7f9; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">“I prefer someone who burns the flag and then wraps themselves up in the Constitution over someone who burns the Constitution and then wraps themselves up in the flag.” ― Molly Ivins</span><br />
<span style="background-color: #f6f7f9; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: #f6f7f9; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">Greetings Readers,</span><br />
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: #f6f7f9; font-size: 12px;">I am on my way to Standing Rock, North Dakota. I wrote this in the days leading up to the "deployment" by a couple thousand veterans to the area to help protect the water and help protect the water protectors. I wanted to share my thoughts about why I went.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: #f6f7f9; font-size: 12px;">First. It wasn't an easy decision. I had heard about the event a few weeks before deciding to sign up, but thought that perhaps it wasn't for me. I had already been to the area a couple of times. </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: #f6f7f9; font-size: 12px;">The first time I went was in August with my Dad. We had been talking about the events out there at breakfast as I was visiting one weekend. He wanted to go and help. I said I kinda wanted to do the same. By lunch we were on the road to North Dakota from Cedar Rapids, Iowa, because that's how our family rolls. Adventure? Let's go! Pre-planning? Not a requirement for adventure! We got out there and Dad bought about a thousand dollars worth of gear that the Red Warrior Camp had on their "wish list". We drove it back from the Bismarck/Mandan area on an alternate route, as the local Morton County Sheriff had set up a military grade roadblock about twenty miles north of the protest site. We had passed through the blockade as we went north, and the officers there told us that if we were bringing supplies back to camp, we'd have to reroute an extra twenty miles out of the way, ostensibly for the protection of the water protectors. Apparently drivers in the area didn't know how to slow down when they saw something in the road, like say, a protestor. Anyway, our first visit out there surprised us, because we had never seen such blatant disregard for rights as we saw from Morton County that day. What we weren't surprised by was the openness and generosity we were greeted with at the camp. Contrary to what the "authorities" we're saying, I felt safe and welcomed as I walked around the camp. I talked with many people, even interviewed some with my IPad, and was never once given a stern look or a harsh word. In fact, the only thing I was given was fry bread to take back and share with Dad.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: #f6f7f9; font-size: 12px;">We witnessed the formation of the Oceti Sakowin camp. It was the first time the seven tribes of the Lakota/Dakota/Nakota people's had gathered since the Battle of the Greasy Grass, known to US history as the Battle of Little Bighorn. We listened to speakers tell about that history, and this history that was being made. We heard time and time again that everyone gathered was there to participate in peaceful, non-violent direct action. Several days before our arrival, water protectors had fastened themselves to construction machines to slow the progress of the pipeline. To be honest, we were pretty much tourists that time. The camp only numbered a few hundred. There were wide open spaces between campsites, and we weren't entirely sure what to do to help, so we just tried to keep out of the way. It was a remarkable experience though, and we made some friends and had a good time. When we left, all of the supplies that we had donated had been passed out to the people staying, and we wished we could do more. A couple of days after we left, the protectors were attacked by DAPL security guards using poorly trained attack dogs.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: #f6f7f9; font-size: 12px;">Dad was going to come on the second trip in October, but he was under the weather, and didn't think it a good idea to go spread a cold around the camp. So I went alone, armed with a van full of donations from many people, and a contact at the camp now called Oceti Sakowin. Red Warrior camp is still there, and is comprised of tribes other than the Lakota/Dakota/Nakota. This proved to be a VERY different experience. It was still wonderful, but the camp had grown to over a thousand people. It was more organized than before, with different tents set up for communications and non-violent direct action (NVDA) training. There were more kitchens set up to feed whoever was in their area. Security was tighter and more organized as well. I was meeting up with the Oglala band of Lakota's, as I have gotten to know more and more Oglala's in my trips to Pine Ridge. After unloading the supplies I had brought, I talked with my new friends about what needs were topping the list as winter was approaching. The camp had received a shipment of logs, but there was a lack of chainsaws to make it into firewood. Dad stepped up again when I told him about it, and soon I was on my way to Bismarck with another guy to get a load of wood from the city landfill, and buy a chainsaw for the Oglala camp.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: #f6f7f9; font-size: 12px;">On that trip, I also dug post holes for the expansion of the Oglala Kitchen, which was serving more and more camp members as the days went by. I was much less tourist, and much more support worker. It was cold, but not uncomfortably so, and the times we weren't working were spent talking and laughing. My friend Joe scored a hotel room on my last night there, and since he knew I had been sleeping in the van, he offered the tipi he was staying in for lodging for me that night. I readily accepted, and spent my first night ever in a tipi. I'll admit, I was pretty geeked about it. Even though it's essentially a tent surrounding a campfire, it was still a unique experience for me. All of the romanticized stories from childhood about the plains Indians came back to me, and I sent a quick prayer to the 12 year of me that had always dreamed of doing this.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: #f6f7f9; font-size: 12px;">Songs were sung in native languages accompanied by handheld drums. Although I couldn't understand most of the words, the meanings were still pretty clear. Prayer songs. Thanks giving songs. Songs about history, and songs of the history being made. I fell asleep to a rising moon and shouts of "Water is Life!" And "Mni Wiconi!" Echoing across the camp. Shortly after I left that time, the "authorities" moved two big military trucks up to block the road to the protest site. There was another clash, the vehicles were burned. Many arrested and hurt by the police. </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: #f6f7f9; font-size: 12px;">When I got back from the second trip, I figured my time out there was done. I had been there to sight-see and experience and learn for myself. Then I had been there to work and support. Our budget was shot. My wife, Saint that she is, was still on board with me fundraising from home to get hotel rooms for those in need as winter set in. But I think we both figured that I'd stay home now. It's a native led movement, and my money would be better spent supporting from home. After the disastrous embarassment that was our Presidential Election, I was certain that Standing Rock was not a place I'd go again for a long time. It took a few days for me to get over the disgust I felt at having a man like that as the leader of my country. Too much of what he stands for goes against everything I believe is good about the USA. I have serious misgivings about the direction the country will take, but I'll save those for another post. </span></span><span style="background-color: #f6f7f9; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">Suffice to say, my hope for this country sagged to the lowest it has ever been in my life. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #f6f7f9; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">I had heard rumors about veterans gathering at Standing Rock, but had no thoughts about joining it, as I had already been there. I went to a march in Winona MN. It was well organized. We marched with our signs. We chanted the slogans of the #noDAPL movement. We were mostly well received, only being flipped the bird a few times. That day there were similar marches held in over three hundred other cities and towns across the country to show our solidarity with Standing Rock.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #f6f7f9; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">As I drove home that night I thought to myself, that's it. That's all I can do for Standing Rock right now. It's time to focus on what to do about the next four years.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #f6f7f9; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">Then one night, some of the water protectors crossed a bridge where the burned vehicles were to clear the road. They had moved one of the trucks when they were met with police in riot gear and attacked. Since my second visit, DAPL had constructed a drill pad to drill under the river, and surrounded it with huge hesco barriers and razor wire. It looked like a little fort sitting out by the river. After the burned truck incident, the "authorities" moved the second truck and set up a concrete barricade across the road and ditches, and covered it with razor wire as well. This was done just past a river crossing called Backwater Bridge, so now, upon crossing said bridge, one is met with a concrete road barrier corral topped with military razor wire. Well, the next night the protectors went up to the barricade to pray. This time they were attacked by water hoses in sub freezing temperatures, 40mm rubber bullets, tear gas, and flash bangs. Many, many people were injured, and one woman had her arm nearly blown off by a tear gas grenade that had been modified to explode rather than just release the gas contained within. I was sickened while I watched it happening live. I felt helpless and angry. I couldn't believe anyone would have authorized using fire hoses on people in freezing conditions.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #f6f7f9; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">To my utter astonishment and disbelief, I watched as the "authorities" held press conferences to justify their actions that night. I listened to how they felt threatened by the "protestors" as they chanted and pounded drums, or verbally assaulted the officers on the other side of the barricade. Apparently someone also threw a rock. So they felt justified hosing people down and shooting them with rubber bullets. Gassing them, and even laughing and praising each other on making "good shots" with their 40mm guns.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #f6f7f9; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">Since the election, there has been an undeniable upsurge in what can only be described as hate crimes against non-white, non-Christian citizens in this country. I am not the first to point out the similarities between pre-WWII Germany and where our country is right now. I keep hearing people say "But he doesn't want to kill millions of Jews or anything! Just give him a chance!" Well, I gave him a chance. He is building his administration to include neo-nazi's and climate change deniers. Public education opponents in charge of the Education department. Oppressive, violent cops in charge of Homeland Security. It's a very dangerous threat that people are not taking seriously.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #f6f7f9; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">And then I thought about history.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #f6f7f9; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">Our country was built on the genocide of the native population. The whitewashed version of history that we grew up learning includes valiant Cowboys and soldiers taming the frontier and destroying the savage Indians. In reality, WE were the invaders. THEY were defending their homes, their cultures, their way of life. We justified it by saying that since they weren't Christians, it was ok to kill them and move them. The tribes farther east are all but extinct today. Languages and cultures gone forever. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #f6f7f9; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">Then I thought about history again. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #f6f7f9; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">The 12 year old in me that read about the plains wars. Crazy Horse and Sitting Bull. Red Cloud, Gall, and Custer. I grew up learning in school that what the Indians did was bad, because all we wanted was to expand the country and live in peace. There was never a native voice in opposition to that narrative.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #f6f7f9; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">We weren't told the stories of how scheming white men went and met with the leaders of the tribes in Fort Laramie and agreed to let the Sioux have a "Great Sioux Nation" of their own, as long as we could bypass it safely to get to the gold fields of California.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #f6f7f9; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">There was never a chapter about how Red Cloud actually defeated the US and closed several forts along the Bozeman trail. Or how he forced another treaty of Fort Laramie in 1868 outlining where white people could and could not be pertaining to their nation.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #f6f7f9; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">We were told that the Constitution of the United States was this amazing document, spelling out the course our country would take and enshrining our highest laws and ideals, but we never went too in depth into it.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #f6f7f9; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">If we had, perhaps there would be more people familiar with Article Six, Clause Two, which states that "</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , "helvetica neue" , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">This Constitution, and the laws of the United States which shall be made in pursuance thereof; and all treaties made, or which shall be made, under the authority of the United States, shall be the supreme law of the land; and the judges in every state shall be bound thereby, anything in the Constitution or laws of any State to the contrary notwithstanding.</span><span style="background-color: #f6f7f9; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12px;"> " </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #f6f7f9; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">All treaties made...shall be the supreme law of the land. That judges would be bound by the Constitution to obey those treaties, regardless of other laws that states may put in place.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #f6f7f9; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">If we had studied the treaties a bit more closely, perhaps we would have seen that the land that DAPL has been burying pipeline in actually belongs to the Great Sioux Nation according to the Ft. Laramie Treaty of 1851.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #f6f7f9; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">If we had been a bit more honest about our own history, perhaps we would have pointed out that the Great Sioux Nation was whittled down by deceit, trickery, theft, and the mindset that "White and Might make Right". So much so as to lead to the reservation boundaries of today. Boundaries that have been in place so long that our short term collective memory conveniently forgets that we completely broke the treaties we signed with the Sioux a hundred and fifty or sixty years back. It is the very same people claiming to want a Constitutionally based government that are looking the other way and whistling happy tunes when the treaties are brought up. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #f6f7f9; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">"Well...it's been that way for so long, what could we possibly do about it now?"</span><br />
<span style="background-color: #f6f7f9; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">"We HAD to take control of those lands because, FLOOD CONTROL!"</span><br />
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: #f6f7f9; font-size: 12px;">"Nobody seemed to mind at the time."</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: #f6f7f9; font-size: 12px;">I awoke one morning the day before Thanksgiving with a sick feeling in my stomach. I had seen the call for Veterans for Standing Rock on my Facebook feed. At the time, there were about five hundred signed up. I took an oath when I joined the Marines. I swore to protect and defend the Constitution of the United States, from all enemies, foreign and domestic. I swore an oath, that so help me God, I would do what it took to defend that document and the people it serves. At the time I joined, that meant going to fight Iraqi's overseas. Even though the war ended before I was dropped to my unit, I still stood by that oath. I was ready to go wherever they sent me. To fight and kill and maybe die for the Constitution and the people it serves. And on this morning I realized, the threat to the Constitution is happening right now. In North Dakota. In the policies and actions of the incoming administration. In the eyes of his supporters that are claiming America for whites and Christians and straight people and men. </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: #f6f7f9; font-size: 12px;">This is the threat to our Constitution. Threats made to the 1st Amendment. The 5th Amendment. The 8th Amendment. The threat of overlooking articles for convenience. The threat that the "authorities" can pick and choose which parts best serve them, and which ones they can ignore. </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: #f6f7f9; font-size: 12px;">In North Dakota, right now, the "authorities" have declared a "State of Emergency" so that they can deny freedom of speech, freedom of assembly, freedom of movement on public lands. The Corps of Engineers has assumed jurisdiction over lands that BY TREATY belong to the Sioux. The state government has made declarations to make sure they won't be accountable for accidents, injuries or deaths on those lands, and that make it "legal" for them to deny services such as police, fire and EMS to the people there.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: #f6f7f9; font-size: 12px;">And I think of history again. When the tribes were scattered all across the plains in the midst of a hard winter. When they were given notice by the US Government that all Indians had to go to the reservations or be considered hostile. They were given a date to report to the reservations that guaranteed they wouldn't make it in time. Some of the tribes didn't even get the message delivered until after the date had passed. So they were hunted, killed and herded like animals, because the "authorities" gave themselves permission to do so.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: #f6f7f9; font-size: 12px;">Apparently our current leaders didn't learn from history, because we are repeating it. The "authorities" are doing whatever they can to give themselves permission to ensure the completion of the pipeline. There have been lawsuits. There have been clashes. There have been locals pissed off about "outside agitators" saying that they should go away and leave North Dakota business to North Dakotans. You know what? When a group wants to exclude outsiders from getting involved, it's usually because there's a reason for outsiders to get involved. They don't want outsiders to see them forcing another treaty violation on the Standing Rock tribe. They don't want the hassle of acknowledging the long tradition of taking whatever they want from the Indians while flying under the radar of public opinion. </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: #f6f7f9; font-size: 12px;">But what it comes down to is actually quite clear. Our Constitution says that the treaties we make with other nations are the supreme law of the land. The Treaty of 1851 says that DAPL is building on land belonging to the Great Sioux Nation. </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: #f6f7f9; font-size: 12px;">I think of history again. </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: #f6f7f9; font-size: 12px;">If I had been alive and in a position to do something about the massacre at Sand Creek, would I have done anything? If I had been at Wounded Knee, what would I have done? If I had been able to see what the unscrupulous politicians were doing when they broke treaties for convenience, would I have spoken up?</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: #f6f7f9; font-size: 12px;">Part of the trick about thinking about history is putting yourself in their shoes. Wondering how and what could have been done to create a different outcome. We learn lessons from history.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: #f6f7f9; font-size: 12px;">If you're the captain of a passenger liner ship and someone says there are icebergs ahead, perhaps it would be in everyones best interests if you slowed the ship down.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: #f6f7f9; font-size: 12px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: #f6f7f9; font-size: 12px;">If you create safer working environments, fewer employees will be killed in accidents.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: #f6f7f9; font-size: 12px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: #f6f7f9; font-size: 12px;">If a state governor, a local sheriff, and an Army officer are doing everything in their power to silence an already marginalized people, and deprive them of basic human needs in order to force their capitulation, then you stand against that.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: #f6f7f9; font-size: 12px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: #f6f7f9; font-size: 12px;">This thing has been played out in books and movies for generations. Greedy governor invested in oil pushes natives off their land for profit. Small town Sheriff with YUGE ego and power tripping sets his deputies off to harass and abuse the locals standing up for what's right. Army breaking treaty and imposing its will on Indians because it has might on its side. Rebels vs. the Empire. Na'vi against corporate greed. Just about every episode of 'The A-Team'. </span></span><br />
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: #f6f7f9; font-size: 12px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: #f6f7f9; font-size: 12px;">Only this is happening IN REAL LIFE!!! </span></span><br />
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: #f6f7f9; font-size: 12px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: #f6f7f9; font-size: 12px;">I woke up that morning and the Marine in me woke at the same time. The one that took the oath. The one that believes in the potential for good this country has. The one who acknowledges the historically crappy things we've done, and wants to rectify those mistakes and move forward into a better future for ALL Americans. The Marine in me woke up and said, "This is history happening. This is all of those historical atrocities you've read about and been angry about. This is an event happening RIGHT NOW that people not yet born will look back on and say 'If I were there, I would have ...'. This is a domestic threat to YOUR Constitution. WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO ABOUT IT?"</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: #f6f7f9; font-size: 12px;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: #f6f7f9; font-size: 12px;">And I felt sick. Because I knew that I had to go with the veterans to Standing Rock. I am well aware that I am past my prime physically as a Marine. I'm also signed up to be a medic, and it's been awhile since I've run a call. I don't want to spend long hours in bitterly cold weather. I certainly don't want to do that under threat of getting hosed down, or tear gassed, or shot by anything. I don't want to work another traumatic injury and deal wth the blood and smells and sights. </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: #f6f7f9; font-size: 12px;">I want to stay in my comfy chair in my warm house. I want to make some of Karen's hot chocolate with the clean water we have on tap. I want to keep posting and writing about how I Stand with Standing Rock, and how and why others should as well. I want to kiss my kids each morning before school and tuck them in at night. I want to cuddle with my beautiful wife in our snug, cozy, king sized bed. All of these things are why I got out of the Marine Corps in the first place. I loved my time in, but it was time to move on and let others answer the call.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: #f6f7f9; font-size: 12px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: #f6f7f9; font-size: 12px;">But there's nobody to call in this case. 911 gets you to the Morton County Sheriff, who has already determined that you aren't worth helping if you're going to interfere with his pipeline. Going up the chain of command gets you a governor in bed with the oil company, Senators more concerned about keeping their seat than doing what's right. A current president who wants to "let things play out", and an incoming president who is invested in the very things destroying the planet. </span></span><br />
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: #f6f7f9; font-size: 12px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: #f6f7f9; font-size: 12px;">As I write this, a few days before deploying in my own country, I am feeling a bit hopeless. Even if a couple thousand vets shut down construction for awhile, there's every reason to believe the pipeline will eventually get finished. Chances of winning this battle are slim. </span></span><br />
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: #f6f7f9; font-size: 12px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: #f6f7f9; font-size: 12px;">But the war is just. The fight for a better future for my kids and my grandkids is imperative. I don't want to go. I would have rather spent the money I just used buying a gas mask and body armor and trauma supplies and extreme cold weather gear on a trip to Disney World,or a new drone, or a TV to replace the one that broke last month. I'd rather my wife not have to worry about our budget, or the possibility of me being arrested, injured or killed. I'd rather see all of my Standing Rock friends on a beach in Hawaii where we could just chill and relax. I don't WANT to go.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: #f6f7f9; font-size: 12px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: #f6f7f9; font-size: 12px;">But I MUST go. I swore an oath that did not expire when my contract was up. I trained both as a Marine and as a medic so that I could SERVE those in need. To stand up for those that couldn't. To stand against all enemies, foreign and domestic.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: #f6f7f9; font-size: 12px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: #f6f7f9; font-size: 12px;">Well. The "authorities" only have authority given by We the People. It is my duty as a citizen, as a medic, and as a Marine to stand up against that "authority" when it chooses corporate interests over the interests of the citizens. I do not accept or acknowledge their authority to put themselves above the law and deny rights to the people of this country. It is my duty to do what I can, how I can, to the best of my ability, to put a stop to abuse of power. It is the duty of every American to want to make right what is wrong. Even when those wrongs are uncomfortable and hard to face. Otherwise this country will not stand. It won't be worth fighting for. </span></span><br />
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: #f6f7f9; font-size: 12px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: #f6f7f9; font-size: 12px;">We cannot continue to proclaim ourselves a Land of the Free if we take the freedoms of some.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: #f6f7f9; font-size: 12px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: #f6f7f9; font-size: 12px;">We cannot continue to call ourselves the Home of the Brave if we can't find the courage to stand up for what is right.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: #f6f7f9; font-size: 12px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: #f6f7f9; font-size: 12px;">We cannot continue to believe in a land with liberty and justice for all when our leaders give themselves permission to take liberty and deny freedom to the citizens.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: #f6f7f9; font-size: 12px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: #f6f7f9; font-size: 12px;">We cannot pick and choose what parts of our founding documents we want to adhere to and still claim any moral or ethical values.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: #f6f7f9; font-size: 12px;">So...yeah. I'm going to Standing Rock with the other vets. Because we took an oath to protect something bigger than ourselves. Bigger than the flag. Bigger than the political parties. Bigger than any one citizen, from the President on down.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: #f6f7f9; font-size: 12px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: #f6f7f9; font-size: 12px;">I am putting my money and my body where my mouth is. I am, as I was when I was a young, tough Marine, praying for peace, but prepared for war. </span></span><br />
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: #f6f7f9; font-size: 12px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: #f6f7f9; font-size: 12px;">I'm going because it is the right thing to do, even though it is the hard thing to do.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: #f6f7f9; font-size: 12px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: #f6f7f9; font-size: 12px;">If not me...who?</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: #f6f7f9; font-size: 12px;">If not now...when?</span></span><br />
<br />Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05579610684460155891noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3376678998508716988.post-88306586309087628372016-11-29T20:04:00.001-06:002016-11-29T20:04:58.891-06:00Black Heroin Did you drive your car there? Hypocrite! Idiot!<br />
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I see it and hear it again and again when people talk about the protests going on right now in North Dakota. How can the people there be so anti-oil when they drive gas guzzling cars and trucks?<br />
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There are a ton of resources out there about the pipeline being built from North Dakota to Illinois, so I won't rehash here the history or the ongoing protests surrounding it. Google Dakota Access Pipeline if you want to read up.<br />
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This post is to address some of the arguments against the protest and the water protectors fighting big oil. The opening question seems to be justification for many to dismiss this as just another bunch of hypocrites not understanding our apparent need for more pipelines. But I believe it goes deeper than what they are able to see.<br />
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Oil and Coal are America's heroin. We are addicted to it. Our cars run on it, our power plants run on it. We use oil in almost everything, because for a long time it has been available, easy, and cheap. Like heroin, we addicts know where to get it, but we don't know how to live without it. Like heroin, our continued abuse of it will eventually kill us. Unlike heroin, there is very little help available to help us quit.<br />
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The oil companies argue that there are no good alternatives to oil. That switching to renewables would cost jobs and ruin our economy. They argue that pipelines are the safest way to transport oil, far safer than by truck or by train. Therefore, more pipelines are needed to keep the price of oil down for us users. Let's take these one at a time.<br />
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<u>No Viable Alternatives</u><br />
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Elon Musk put out a video when he introduced the Tesla Power Wall that included a graphic showing how rapidly CO2 levels are rising.<br />
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Now, I'm going out on a limb here and saying that most people reading this believe in science and climate change. As such, facts are not in dispute that this current warming trend is man-made, and we are crossing new and awful thresholds all the time heading towards some really bad things. If you are someone that believes this is a "natural cycle", or a Chinese conspiracy, or thinks that God will solve it, then you'll need to come back when reality sets in, because this post is not for you.<br />
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Musk shows how little area is needed to convert ALL of the US electrical needs to solar. But mostly as an aside to promote his Power Wall. It's a shockingly small area, and I'd bet that spreading it out across the country, we could easily fit it on the tops of flat buildings like Wal-Marts and shopping malls.<br />
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What struck me about this is that we have so many good places to put solar panels, yet we don't. Why?<br />
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Money and Short Term Vision.</div>
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My family recently had a solar panel company do an assessment of our house to determine what it would take to replace our electricity needs with solar. Turns out that if we use the equity we've built up in our home for the last ten years we've lived there, we could pay for a nice solar array that would produce enough for our house, and maybe even more that would be fed back into the grid.<br />
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But it is "expensive" when looked at as a stand alone cost. A 10kWh system can run between $30,000 - $50,000. That's a ton of money to most people. That's an unrealistic goal for us, to come up with that amount for a solar array. But then I shifted my thinking a little bit.<br />
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We already budget money for our electricity bill. That isn't going to change throughout our lives. We'll always use electricity. But if we had a solar array that provides all of our electrical needs, then the money we have budgeted for electricity could just as easily go toward paying off the solar array. The math for us worked out to having our array paid for within ten years. After that, we would actually get paid for producing electricity.<br />
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Paid. For. It.<br />
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Unfortunately for us, the best place for an array would be in our front yard garden, and the city has an ordinance against building structures in your front yard. Our rooftop will work, but will only supply 60% of our current usage. But like my son says, "It's better than 0%."<br />
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Our community has wind, solar, geothermal, and hydroelectric power, yet 78% of our electricity still comes from coal fired and diesel fuel powered plants. We pay for the coal and diesel shipped to our factories to burn. A cost that would be eliminated transitioning to solar. Within ten years, our entire community could be solar powered, and have extremely low electricity costs as well. Not only can we do better environmentally, but we can do better financially by switching to solar.<br />
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The technology exists for electric automobiles. "But the range is too short!" Comes the opposition. But the technology also exists for solar roadways that could continuously recharge electric vehicles as the drove. That technology would also add power into the grid, reducing or removing our dependence on fossil fuel powered vehicles. The thing holding us back?<br />
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Money and Short Term Vision again. It would take years, decades perhaps to switch our current vehicle fleet to EV's, our asphalt roads to solar, our electricity grids to benefit from solar panels and roadways. It would be hard work, and too many politicians these days are scared of change because of the short term vision of their constituents. Suggesting short term pain for long term results doesn't resonate with the majority yet. Until it does, change will be slow and hard. But let's move on to the next argument from oil...<br />
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<u>Switching to renewables would cost jobs and ruin the economy</u>.<br />
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We currently have a fossil fuel based economy. Stoping all production and usage <b>tomorrow</b> would indeed cost jobs and throw a HUGE wrench into the economy. But that's not what we are talking about here, is it? What if, as we phased out oil jobs in the future, we increased jobs in solar panel production and installation? What if, instead of needing workers to lay oil pipelines and drill fracking wells, we needed workers to transition communities from oil reliance to solar power and install and maintain solar roads? Maintenance workers, power plant workers, linemen and women. All still required in a renewable based economy. We would lose jobs in oil production, sure. But we'd not lose ALL oil jobs because - let's face it - we'll never go to ZERO oil usage. But we would gain jobs in other areas. The job market changes with technology. It always has, and always will. Transition can be hard, but we've done it before.<br />
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As for the economy, I suspect a transition period would be much the same as when we transitioned from actual horse powered vehicles to fossil fuel vehicles. Our reliance on foreign oil would disappear, leaving us less beholden to the Middle East, Venesuela, and other sketchy oil producing countries for our needs here in the US. We would keep domestic production low so we always have a ready supply of oil for uses other than electricity and running our ground vehicles. Average citizens would pay significantly less in electricity bills, thereby increasing their discretionary spending budgets and growing the economy. It's not like we've always been a fossil fuel based economy. We had the courage to change many times in our countries history. Now is another one of those times.<br />
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<u>Pipelines are the safest way to transport oil, safer than trucks or trains</u>.<br />
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In this, the oil companies are right! Statistically speaking, it is safer transporting oil through a pipeline than by truck or train overland. But here's where their own arguments come back to shoot them in the foot.<br />
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Pipelines create jobs when being built. After that, it takes far, far fewer employees to get the oil from point A to point B. This takes jobs from truck drivers and all of their support crews. Mechanics, dispatchers, yard men, etc. All losing jobs. It also takes jobs from the train industry. Jobs gone means incomes gone equals economic damage. Pipelines are inherently bad for the job market. But do you know who does profit from this "safer" method? Oil companies. Billionaires who want even more money in their pockets. <br />
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As for safer... "safer" doesn't mean safe. Oil Pipeline leaks are a daily occurance. From little, hundred gallon leaks, to the "newsworthy" several hundred thousand gallon kind. They happen all the time. They pollute the environment, our drinking water, our crop land. But the oil companies want you to believe they're safer than overland shipping.<br />
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This is like arguing, like junkies do, that using clean needles is safer than sharing needles. That is true, but you're still addicted to the junk. It's more efficient to mainline drugs rather than smoke them or ingest them, too. But that won't stop it from killing you.<br />
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<u>We need more pipelines to keep the cost of oil down.</u></div>
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No. No we don't. Because we can't maintain our addiction to oil and have a livable planet. It really is that simple. Stay addicted and we all die.<br />
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All of their arguments are designed to keep the general public blissfully ignorant of the real problem.<br />
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That is - our addiction to fossil fuels. </div>
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So, why do we drive our gas burning pollutionmobiles to protests?<br />
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Because that is what we have to work with right now. Poor people can't afford electric cars. Heck, the shrinking middle class can't really afford them yet, either. Their time is coming, but slowly. Slowly. Because the fossil fuel industry is doing everything in it's power to make as much money for themselves as they can before the world wakes up. Until then, we are pretty much forced to drive gas fueled cars, even to protest the very thing that fuels them. Because, like any addict can tell you, getting hooked is easy. The infrastructure is in place to support fossil fuel based cars. It's easy. We can buy fossil fuel cars for cheap. It's easy. We have been addicted to fossil fuels for so long, that we can't see past our oil high to the danger our addiction is leading us towards. They will rely on our collective belief that transitioning to renewables is too expensive, too difficult. They will continue to try and keep renewables expensive and difficult, because to do otherwise would decrease their profits. <br />
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Why would a drug dealer pay for an addict to get treatment? Why would an oil company pay for renewables? Same answer.<br />
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According to science, our addiction will continue to heat up the planet. It will change ecosystems, making it more and more difficult to grow or crops, have clean water to drink, clean air to breathe. Ignorance tells us that status quo is just fine. After all, if it was good enough for our parents and grandparents, it's good enough for us. Right? Except it isn't anymore. Technology has made it possible to clean ourselves up. Slow down our addiction fueled destruction. Technology has also invalidated our pleas of ignorance. The evidence is overwhelming, and easy to find with a simple Google search.<br />
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Like getting clean from any addiction though, it will take time. It will be hard. There will have to be lifestyle changes. Habit changes. We won't want to do it most days, because it won't be what we're accustomed to - easy. There will always be those voices in our communal head telling us we NEED the drug. We can't function without the drug. Life is so much easier with the drug. We will have setbacks along the way. Progress will be slow and challenging.<br />
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But what we really NEED is to start. We NEED to look farther into the future than our oil buzz. We NEED to start transitioning to something better, rather than keep feeding our addiction. We need to get rid of the enablers that tell us we can have more "sweet, light" black heroin if we just stay quiet and let them abuse us a few more times. Their product is getting more expensive, the quality is going down, and they know it. They know it's a very limited resource and they'll eventually run out, but like any good dealer, they'll keep us hooked to make maximum profits. <br />
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It's time to see past our short term vision. It's time to stop worrying about the cost, because it will cost more in the future to fix the problems we are continuing to cause today. It's time to suck it up and do the hard work. Because if we leave it to our children and grandchildren, then it will be too late.<br />
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<br />Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05579610684460155891noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3376678998508716988.post-79881957545532995382016-08-31T22:53:00.002-05:002016-08-31T22:53:22.551-05:00New Computer, Old Brain We got a new computer today. It has been on our list of things to get since the old computer gave up the ghost long, long ago. It was much more difficult to choose a laptop this time around, because I am acutely aware that the money spent on a new computer could just as easily be put toward much more noble causes. We intentionally didn't go for the top of the line version for that reason. Plus the things that I can do with this computer will help me earn more money, for my family, for my causes. So it is past time to do it.<br />
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Unfortunately, I am finding once again that technology has outpaced my abilities to keep up with it. Everything changes so quickly that it seems once I learn a computer skill, really start to feel comfortable with it, something newer and "better" has come along to replace it, and I have to learn how to do things all over again. Oy.<br />
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So now, a new learning curve is enacted with this purchase. My old brain struggling to figure out what exactly is "easier" about these new ways to do things. It's mentally painful having to learn new ways around what was once a familiar piece of equipment, and I'm honestly not sure I'm up for the task.<br />
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But this is the cost of progress. Things change, and I'm ok with that, as long as it doesn't hurt anything or anyone in the process. So it's an inconvenience to me for awhile. At least it's not going to poison my drinking water... but more on that later.<br />
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This post is a test for me, to see if I can still do this blogging thing. If it works, I'll start writing more often.<br />
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I've missed it.<br />
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What does this even mean?</div>
Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05579610684460155891noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3376678998508716988.post-61635083716213167302015-10-20T14:10:00.000-05:002015-10-20T14:14:24.976-05:00Honey and Mite Check ChallengeThe University of Minnesota has a Bee Squad, and yes, it is as cool as it sounds. They are building an entire building devoted to pollinators, specifically, bees. As part of their ongoing efforts to keep bees safe and healthy, they put forth a Mite Check Challenge for two weeks in October. The goal is to get as many beekeepers as possible to do mite checks on their hives, and report back so they can compile all the information.<br />
<br />
Well, since we are "newbees", and we are going to try and overwinter the hive, I thought it might be a good idea to do a mite count. From what I have learned, there are a few key ingredients to overwintering a hive besides a little insulation an prep work on the hive itself. To increase the chances of success for overwintering, a colony should be relatively strong and healthy, that is, have sufficient numbers to overwinter. They should have as low a mite count as possible. And they should have sufficient honey stored up in the brood boxes to eat over the winter.<br />
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We also learned that we were supposed to take off the second honey super as well, lest the winter cluster move up into it and damage or kill the queen. So today was also a day to collect the last honey out of the super. <br />
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I started out by taking the top cover off of the hive, and finding the inner cover littered with bees!<br />
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Inner cover after about ten minutes sitting beside the hive.</div>
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This is always a good sign, as it speaks to healthy population.<br />
I removed the frames from the remaining super, brushed the bees off of them near the lower hive opening, and put them in a Rubbermaid tub to bring inside.<br />
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Then I took off the super box to look into the hive itself.<br />
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iPhone likes to focus on things other than what I want it to...grr...</div>
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I was greeted by a large number of bees on the top of the frames. Again, a good sign! I checked a few frames on the top box. LOTS of honey stored in there, it was nice and heavy.<br />
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Then I set that box over on the table I had set up, and dug into the middle box. Lots of honey stored in there as well. Then it was time to do my first mite check.<br />
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Now, apparently, Varroa mites don't like to cling to bees when the bees are covered in powdered sugar. So awhile back, the U of Nebraska invented a method of checking for mites that went like this...<br />
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Get a half cup of bees.<br />
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This is much harder than this short sentence makes it out to be. I pulled a frame out of the middle of the box, checked to see if I could see the queen on there, then shook those bees into a shoebox. (I saw all of this on youtube videos, and they made it look a lot easier than it actually is, too.<br />
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Then, you are supposedly able to pour those bees into a half cup measure and then into a jar with a mesh top. I'm not sure how it worked so well in the videos, but when I tried to "simply" pour the bees into the measuring cup, the great majority of them took flight and headed back to the hive, or around my head. That first try netted me about a dozen bees. Not enough to do a mite count, since a half cup of bees is 300-400 bees.<br />
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So, I gave it another shot with another frame, this one covered top to bottom with bees. I shook the bees into the box and poured a clump of them into the measuring cup, and quickly from there into the jar. By this time, there were roughly five THOUSAND bees buzzing around, wondering what the heck was going on. My heart was racing. Even though I was in my bee suit, this was more bees flying around than usual.<br />
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I dumped the powdered sugar in and gently covered all of the bees.<br />
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They didn't sound happy, but I figured the sugar was a pretty good peace offering. I also made a mess of the table. But the bees will clean that up, I suspect.<br />
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After a few minutes, I shook the jar like a salt shaker (maybe a bit more gently) and shook the mite infested sugar onto a tray. After it was all out, I added some water, and just like in the videos, the mites appeared.<br />
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stupid autofocus</div>
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Unlike the videos, there were surprisingly few mites in the water. In the videos, they were counting into the tens and twenties. I got five. (The smallest little dots.) There was a bigger black speck of dirt, and a pollen glob (upper left) but that was it! I sent a message to the Bee Squad letting them know my findings, and they responded that our mite count of 1-2 per 100 bees was pretty good! So, they've got a good population of healthy looking bees, lots of honey stored up in the brood boxes. Fingers crossed that they will overwinter well!<br />
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Meanwhile, I took the tub of frames inside and started scraping the full frames into the bucket. We don't have a fancy extractor, so we use the old scrape it off and let gravity do its thing method. There was not as many full frames this time, as the bees have been moving honey down into the brood boxes for the winter. But we'll probably get another gallon or so.<br />
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Honeycomb on the frame</div>
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Scraped frames.</div>
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half scraped</div>
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scraped into the bucket, well... into the mesh bag in the bucket</div>
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Hung over the bucket to drain overnight</div>
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After just a few minutes. We'll see how tomorrow goes!</div>
<br />Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05579610684460155891noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3376678998508716988.post-51729480963789237762015-10-14T19:54:00.002-05:002015-10-14T19:54:39.922-05:00Not Just Honey<span style="font-size: large;">Our gravity draining system seemed to work exceedingly well!</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">We ended up with 2 and a half gallons of honey.</span><br />
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That's 31.6 lbs. of golden sweetness</div>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Then we took the wax/honey mash leftover stuff and put it in an 8x11 glass pan and cooked it at 170F for a LONG time. But what we ended up with was about a pint and a half of now pasteurized honey, and a nice cake of beeswax.</span><br />
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Which I had to break up to get out of the pan</div>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">One of my sister in laws is going to take some and make some lip balm and stuff out of it. So I shredded her a pack.</span><br />
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Tastes nothing like mozzarella</div>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Yet another little gem from the hive - we got a little bag of a substance called propolis after we processed the wax/honey mash.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC9MX6i_tPZ6am8-h2qmEcr0iktGeytv5hQz0XiOl0LG7UuKtGKV4tQ7ln9jVXNxIc0MV89nJ9Y5hBFccz7oeVzyAVyftb1oDqCA5_iDEHXTBb719F1cI6XE0TMEFsx5Nuk4rrxsNwGyU/s1600/IMG_2634.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC9MX6i_tPZ6am8-h2qmEcr0iktGeytv5hQz0XiOl0LG7UuKtGKV4tQ7ln9jVXNxIc0MV89nJ9Y5hBFccz7oeVzyAVyftb1oDqCA5_iDEHXTBb719F1cI6XE0TMEFsx5Nuk4rrxsNwGyU/s640/IMG_2634.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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Tastes nothing like beeswax</div>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Propolis is made by bees when they collect sap from conifers and birch trees, mix it with some wax from their wax secreting glands, a little pollen, and- of course- a touch of honey. They use it like glue, to seal holes, connect things in the hive, even create tunnels and pathways. Propolis apparently has anti-EVERYTHING properties. Antibiotic, anti-fungal, anti-viral, anti-inflammatory. It can be made into a mouthwash that can help toothaches and inflamed gums. It can be swallowed in a pill form to help with sore joints, GI problems, allergies, and other stuff. So, we're going to process it by freezing it and grinding it into powder, then mixing with various liquids (water is ok, but there are apparently not many water soluble parts to it) Some people soak it in vodka and use it as a tincture. Whatever we end up doing with it, it should be interesting!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I also whipped up a little honey butter... because... </span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #bf9000; font-size: x-large;">HONEY BUTTER!</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIJn_bF_5g0_EBLkr4RL8oWyMgdNzvvKB1p0VrJL_OO5pArdVk9vInp0RzF13RasbNN1_vqzV-kkZ9v42yA5Dl5nXUvVqBJPCM86jD-CXWSoeuv7t9-pl7plpJVDzNlHn-CE76EMf3iWE/s1600/IMG_2637.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIJn_bF_5g0_EBLkr4RL8oWyMgdNzvvKB1p0VrJL_OO5pArdVk9vInp0RzF13RasbNN1_vqzV-kkZ9v42yA5Dl5nXUvVqBJPCM86jD-CXWSoeuv7t9-pl7plpJVDzNlHn-CE76EMf3iWE/s640/IMG_2637.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Who knew that bees produced so many good things just doing what they do!</span>Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05579610684460155891noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3376678998508716988.post-71194512512635002442015-10-11T17:10:00.000-05:002015-10-11T17:10:17.546-05:00Honey Harvest<span style="font-size: large;">It was a day of new experiences for our little clan today. Our first big honey harvest... well,</span> <span style="font-size: large;">big for us, anyway.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">We had previously pulled a lone frame from one of the supers, just to get a little honey. But since the stars finally aligned for us, we decided to go up on the hill and harvest what we could. There were so many unknown variables that we had a very general plan. But I think things worked out pretty well.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">First off, some history. We haven't opened the hive since late July. Most beekeepers would frown upon this, as when you read up on beekeeping, it seems imperative to get in there every week or so and see how the bees are doing. That's how I did it from when I added the bees until early July, when I realized that I had most likely killed my Queen by my frequent intrusions into their world.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">In discussing it with my lovely, wise wife, she reminded me that bees have been doing their thing in the wild for millions of years without being checked on by their human overlords every week. She suggested that after we re-queened with a local queen, that perhaps we should keep our hands out of it and just let them be bees. I, being the control freak that I can be with hobbies, hesitantly agreed, keeping to myself my belief that the colony would fail within days.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Of course, she was right, and our bees just kept on keeping on for the rest of the summer. I did peek in on them in mid-July to see how things were going, and was so amazed by their progress that the only thing I needed to do was to put on another super for them to fill with honey. (supers are the shorter boxes that sit on top of the hive. A queen excluder is placed between the hive boxes and the supers to keep the queen from laying eggs in the supers)</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Most of our local beekeepers harvested their honey at the end of August/ beginning of September, but for a multitude of reasons, we just weren't able to get it done then. Colder weather set in, and we had resigned ourselves to just leaving the hive alone for the year.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">But - this weekend we had a warm snap, temperatures up to 80 degrees! So we decided to try and get a little honey! Other things we suddenly had to think about were whether or not to try and overwinter the colony. We couldn't make that decision without knowing how the colony was doing though.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">So we decided to go with the flow a bit. We have two deep hive boxes and a super-turned-hive box at the bottom of the hive. Then the queen excluder, then two 10 frame supers on top of that. If the hive was healthy, we would expect to see a large number of bees all over the place when we opened the top super. As we removed boxes, we would be able to tell how the colony was based on the number of bees in each level.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Another factor of hive health is the nemesis of the beekeeper - the Varroa Mite. Those little buggers will destroy a hive. Signs of infestation include bees with little red mites riding on them, and bees with malformed wings from baby mites growing alongside the larval bees. Hive populations plummet when infested.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I had been a little concerned about Varroa, because we didn't do any treatments on our hive to combat the mites. Our local keepers use various chemicals to fight the mite, and will gladly tell you that they treat their hives without even checking to see what mite levels are because everyone just assumes that a hive will be infested. Since we used nothing, and as the weather cooled down I saw fewer and fewer bees around the hive, I was a little worried.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">We decided that if the colony was failing, we'd just take all the honey from both supers. A dying colony doesn't need the stores of honey for overwintering after all. But if the bees seemed to be doing well, we'd take the honey from one super, and leave the rest for the colony for their winter stores.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">So the kids and I got the smoker going, geared up in our bee suits, grabbed some tools and headed up on the hill.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I was so very pleasantly surprised to see many, many bees buzzing around the supers as we opened the first one up. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3ndiDyXRAdF30lXQBIBBQ5Jg8zQ2NbDf0a8flv5aeNsTLleXMTFfXK_iEfNDAl2JS8RkNsDRo63OZ8VCe73Oc4su6yBbyjIV9mBVfNMEd7vnvfFdkx5Mg_VrYWWeXBVL_DYyyqq_kjfQ/s1600/IMG_2624.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3ndiDyXRAdF30lXQBIBBQ5Jg8zQ2NbDf0a8flv5aeNsTLleXMTFfXK_iEfNDAl2JS8RkNsDRo63OZ8VCe73Oc4su6yBbyjIV9mBVfNMEd7vnvfFdkx5Mg_VrYWWeXBVL_DYyyqq_kjfQ/s640/IMG_2624.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Lotsa bees = Lotsa Honey = Happy Beekeepers!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">We had our system all ready to go. I pulled a frame, handed it to the Boyo, who held it while I brushed the bees off. Then he walked it away from the hive a bit where Sweet Pea was waiting by a big Rubbermaid tub. She opened the lid, the frame went in, and she closed it up again. It didn't take long to pull ten frames. We took some from each super, as some of the frames were in the midst of being refilled by the bees. I was able to get a good look, and a good listen, into the hive boxes and realized that the bees both looked and sounded great! the hive frames were covered, and the buzz from inside the hive was really, really loud! We had the numbers, which was a good sign. But how were they with Varroa?</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Well, I snapped a few pictures to check them up close later, and guess what I found... or didn't find...</span><br />
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Look at all of that capped honey! Look how pretty these girls look! Look at all of those bees under the excluder! Healthy, Happy Hive!</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Look at their little backs. No red dots hanging on there! And look at those wings! Beautiful and well developed! So - I'm not sure if we have a Varroa free hive, but we certainly have healthy and happy bees!</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">We took our tub of frames into the house and got ready for processing. We don't have a spinning extractor, so we are going to use the scrape and press method. This means simply scraping everything on the frames right into the mesh bag and then suspending it above the five gallon bucket and letting the sweet, sweet liquid gold drizzle down.</span><br />
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Gravity. Much honey. Lotsa wax.</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">We'll leave that to drain overnight, then give it a good squeeze to get every last drop we can in the morning. So far, it's looking like we've got about two to two and a half gallons in the bucket!</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">We'll put the wax/honey leftovers in a pot and heat it up. Then dump it into a pan. As it cools, the wax will separate from the honey (hopefully) and we'll be left with some pasteurized honey and a block of beeswax!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">That will be for another post though. For today though, we had a fun, educational, and sweet time working with our bees! </span> Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05579610684460155891noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3376678998508716988.post-39011852397176672322015-07-24T11:11:00.000-05:002015-07-24T11:11:00.117-05:00Why Climate Change is a Good Thing<span style="font-size: large;">The world is changing.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">We've been hearing about global warming and climate change for years. There are, of course, many consequences of this disaster that scientists around the world have been telling us about.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">As temperatures change, different ecosystems will be unable to evolve with the change and species of flora and fauna will die out.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Ice caps will melt and sea levels will rise, forever changing the landscape.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Food and water shortages will put the human race in dire straights, and WE COULD BE IN THE SIXTH GREAT EXTINCTION ALREADY!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Yes, yes, Science. We get it. The sky is falling.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">But here's a thought... maybe the sky isn't falling fast enough. Maybe we should speed things up a bit. Frack that oil. Deregulate pollution standards. Let the Republicans dismantle all environmental protections so they can get to those valuable mineral deposits and what not that they've had their eyes on for years.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">What is this madness? You say. BLASPHEMY!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Now hear me out before you sacrifice me on the Alter of Common Sense.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Let's stop for a minute and really think about what we are saving.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">People have always been divided. But never more so than these days of social media and connectivity, where any idiot with a keyboard can spew their brand of hate and vitriol. Trolls that live just to stir up trouble. "Victims" of every possible combination of what they consider to be slights against them. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">We have the obvious hate groups, of course. KKK, Westboro Baptist, ISIS. People so oblivious to others that they are willing to threaten, abuse and even kill so they can force others into their beliefs.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">We have relatively new groups formed to protect their own status quo, regardless of how ridiculous that status quo is. Men's rights groups, upset that women are finally getting equal treatment under the law. "Christian" groups that are fighting for their supposed religious freedoms, though those freedoms have never been in harms way in this country. Groups that see change coming and somehow feel it will have a negative impact on their lives, when in reality it will have zero impact on how they want to live.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">But we also have groups that, while once forces for positive change, seem to have devolved into playing the blame game for their every problem. Feminists turning against each other because of skin color. People of Color demanding that ALL white people are to blame for the historical traumas placed on them. They don't propose solutions anymore. They just gripe about how everyone is against them.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Now, to be fair, not all feminists or POC's or other people in these once excellent organizations fall into this extremism. But it seems that the increasingly extremist factions of these groups are getting more and more air time, and the logical, rational people in those groups are having their voices drown out by the outrage and indignation of the more extreme members.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Hate seems to be the easiest route for most people to take, because it is so very easy to let oneself feel slighted and offended about pretty much anything. It is easier to let rage take over and explode about your issue than to sit and have calm, reasonable discussions to find solutions. It is easier to get on your iPhone and post something about how outraged you are, than to actually get out into the community and DO something about it. It is easier to demand that your way is the ONLY way and dig your heels in than to find common ground and compromise.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">There are few solutions presented anymore that would actually benefit all of the inhabitants of this planet, flora and fauna alike. When one hears of ideas to "combat" <em>this</em> problem or <em>that </em>issue, it nearly always involves sacrifices to be made by others that the presenting entity deems to be against them, with very little to no sacrifice from that entity.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Some, of course, are legitimate arguments. The police need to be policing themselves, and need to get back to "protect and serve" instead of believing that they <em>are</em> the law, judge, jury and executioner. Systemic racism, poverty, injustice - all need to be addressed. We need to curb our greed and stop destroying the air and water and land for profits.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Unfortunately the only solutions many can come up with begin with the phrase "If only..."</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">If only black people would stop being angry.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">If only white people would admit they are inherently racist.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">If only poor people would work harder.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">If only all guns were outlawed.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">If only people were not so greedy.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">People these days expect a single, magic bullet solution to problems. But when things get complicated, which they inevitably do, rational discussion breaks down into a blame game, hurt feelings, hatred and vitriol for the "other side". When our leaders act like petulant children who would rather have a tantrum if they don't get their way, how do we expect their followers to behave any differently?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Which brings me back to climate change.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Think about what it is that seems to bring people together. It isn't anything human made. But when you have a good old natural disaster, it brings out the humanity in most people.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Floods, tornadoes, earthquakes, tsunamis. Suddenly everyone wants to "help out their fellow man" (and woman, of course).</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Wallets and purses are suddenly opened to help those facing a crisis. News reports show the devastation and destruction, and most people are ready to do what it takes to alleviate the suffering of others. People travel to the devastated area to help rescue, recover, rebuild. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Of course their are the jerks that will try and profit off of it, the lawless factions that will take advantage of others. Deaths caused by everything and anything in the destruction zone. There <strong>are</strong> down sides to disaster.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">But if we could speed up climate change. Make it an <em>acute</em> threat to the world. Maybe, just maybe, people would start to take it seriously and realize "Oh crap. This really IS a threat to my life, and the lives of my children and grandchildren!"</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Maybe people would open wallets and purses to do what it takes to alleviate some of the consequences of climate change.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Maybe people would come together and realize that regardless of gender or skin color or sexual preference or politics, or anything else that divides us, that we are ALL in this together, and what is good for some, is usually good for all. And what is bad for some, is usually bad for all.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Maybe those who seek to divide us and turn those "like" us against those "unlike" us will finally wake up and see just how destructive their attitudes and behaviors are.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Maybe we would finally understand that we should live our lives as if this is the ONLY planet we get. The ONLY chance we have to continue life on this world. That our actions DO have consequences that will come back around and not just bite us in the butt, but wipe us from existence.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Of course, this comes with a price. People would need to be willing to make sacrifices for others. We would <em>ALL</em> have to do this, not just some. </span><span style="font-size: large;">Humanity would have to live up to its BEST potential. And as we can see pretty clearly, humanity has a long, long way to go for a majority of the human population to behave like that.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">So bring on climate change. Faster and faster. With the change being slow, humans will continue to focus on themselves as individuals. As small groups of like minded people that MUST fight against other groups that look different or think different from them. More money, more power, more infighting like dogs over table scraps. With more rapid change, maybe more people will come together and start doing what is right for EVERYONE and EVERYTHING.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> It is a race right now to see what will happen first. Can we evolve into a higher thinking species before we destroy life as we know it? Or are we better off going extinct and letting the planet heal itself over time? </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Humans aren't an endangered species. We wipe out more species than all other group of animals and plants combined. Humans are the greatest single threat to life on this planet that has EVER existed. But humans also have the potential to do wonderful, amazing things that could make life on this planet - and even other planets - great.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">It will be easy to let the world go to pot. We are on that easy road now. Fast food, cheap gas, using up our unsustainable resources at an amazingly fast pace. Doing things the inefficient way to save money for some. Doing things the old ways because "that's how it has always been done."</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">We avoid doing things the hard way, because that REQUIRES sacrifice. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Look at the Honey Bee. Honey bee populations are being decimated by Varroa mites and neonicotinoids. But we continue to breed bees that are susceptible to Varroa and treat them as best we can with chemicals, and we continue to use neonicotinoids on crops because to do otherwise would <em>require</em> sacrifice. The bee population would shrink significantly if we only let the Varroa resistant bees live. That would impact the honey producers profits, the food producers profits, and could cause a food shortage for a time that would increase prices for consumers. Financial sacrifice that society is unwilling to make. Same with the neonicotoids. Smaller crops due to disease would impact the farmers profits and raise prices for consumers. Just the threat of the griping and whining from their constituents, and the threat of not being re-elected because of it, keeps leaders from making the hard decisions to do what is right.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">China doesn't have any honey bees, because they have literally destroyed the food chain that the bees live in. They do all of their pollination by hand. That works over there because they live in a dictatorship and have billions of people. Do you think that would even be feasible in the U.S.? No. not at all.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Yet we continue to do what is easy instead of what is right. Because we, as humans - not just Americans, but worldwide - believe that sacrifice is better forced upon something or someone else so that WE can live easier, rather than taking on that sacrifice as a whole for the betterment of all.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">It's a race alright. Between the easy path to global chaos and destruction - which humanity may not survive, but the planet will, and the hard path to make sacrifices for each other, the plants and animals, the air and the water, for the betterment of all.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I want to root for the hard path, because in the long run it would benefit my children's children and beyond. But I think that too many are firmly committed to the easy path because, well... It's easier. Maybe that is what would be best for the planet in the long run. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"></span>Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05579610684460155891noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3376678998508716988.post-14771282800497390142015-07-23T22:22:00.000-05:002015-10-08T13:09:05.814-05:00Flap...The Update<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj42so21fnjX8XAasUnRyYVrNJ2A_dkyOb-nGlkNZMlA9j5yOoyND6yw4RLwpDCtmJ-jOjRBODsIgwc-PvsXZDSPJdHb35kww1M9UEY046iTHd5FcHaFeo0SIAsAye8UzG6t49xcBe2Muw/s1600/flap+day+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a> </div>
Remember this guy from a couple of posts ago?<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9Sp4W3xmBeh02l0ctt3kzJcHnXPjZfc379t2mUeRD2YFsV84w9K3id1LIfjjAJk8eDARP4ppcbLukuKTWJ1vAa0iKv3I-Gy8OB-jtMWMl22nJofUivzR-SBLjfmWTtkfGnPUwY0hf4ws/s1600/flap+day1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="570" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9Sp4W3xmBeh02l0ctt3kzJcHnXPjZfc379t2mUeRD2YFsV84w9K3id1LIfjjAJk8eDARP4ppcbLukuKTWJ1vAa0iKv3I-Gy8OB-jtMWMl22nJofUivzR-SBLjfmWTtkfGnPUwY0hf4ws/s640/flap+day1.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
When last we left off, we were feeding it every twenty minutes like clockwork. The days were a blur. I was so...so...so very tired. The wife did some of the feedings. I even taught the kids to feed it and caught short naps during the day. <br />
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Every night when we sent the kids to sleep, we had them say goodbyes to the little thing figuring it would not survive until morning. Yet every morning, little flap would greet us with little chirps and gaping mouth, just waiting for breakfast.<br />
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So I took pictures as Flap changed each day. And with each passing day I got more and more attached to the little guy (or girl). So here, in pictures, is a little log of our miracle bird...<br />
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Day 3</div>
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Day 4</div>
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Day 5.</div>
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.. seriously...lots of growth overnight!</div>
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Day 6.</div>
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Growing like a weed.</div>
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Day 7. </div>
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What a difference a week makes!</div>
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Day 9.</div>
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Snuggly</div>
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Day 11.</div>
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Fluffy and snuggly</div>
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Day 13</div>
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Still sitting still for feedings</div>
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Only two weeks old!</div>
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Day 18</div>
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Last day Flap would sit on my hand for feeding</div>
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Day 21</div>
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Feeling all grown up, so Flap prefers to be fed standing on something other than me.</div>
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Flap turned five weeks old today. I have a great many more pictures, but I won't post them here. We still don't know if it is male or female, and won't until it gets it's adult plumage. I'm not sure when that will be, but our family is split on what we think it is. I call it a he, kids think it might be a she. I guess we will see!Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05579610684460155891noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3376678998508716988.post-10217309992455856732015-06-23T09:47:00.000-05:002015-06-23T09:47:18.497-05:00Flags of our FathersThere has been a lot of talk of flags since the shooting in Charleston. Specifically what some call the "confederate flag" from the US Civil War.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHti0JL6vzZinVOWbZ-GHsXNGpxcKfgJznw8z31Zd41tKUPNZq2nzkT3AqQbu2yLkwpqJLwsbZ16BK8_IGxWSay2KfaNP5a-X6teG59CsNgOHXCkKVo8DfofODquflYoyDB4ivRSZ5CIQ/s1600/flag1.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHti0JL6vzZinVOWbZ-GHsXNGpxcKfgJznw8z31Zd41tKUPNZq2nzkT3AqQbu2yLkwpqJLwsbZ16BK8_IGxWSay2KfaNP5a-X6teG59CsNgOHXCkKVo8DfofODquflYoyDB4ivRSZ5CIQ/s1600/flag1.png" /></a></div>
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Stars & Bars?</div>
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It has a storied history to be sure, but not a very good one. Some claim it is<em> the</em> confederate flag of the Confederate States of America, or CSA. But here's the thing... it<em> isn't</em>. Let's do a quick history...<br />
The flag for the CSA looked like this for most of the war...<br />
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It was actually known as the "Stars & Bars"<br />
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What everyone seems to refer to as the "Confederate Flag" was actually used for the confederate navy. Which didn't even use that design initially. the first CSA navy flag looked like this...<br />
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There was a battle flag of the Army of Virginia that looked like this...<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZeQ3qID2I3i_CV3CCMPXaXonPda9KWsPmzg5-Nh0I3k1LsIfJPzV6-Cbd3X6WTSBXHeg8NGdyYGzz36ivGYHWnDZvS_A-SRPzDjH9ooJhKW3qqJkVmLgn9mSfeo9RmZHUDOlKQUZRW5k/s1600/flag7.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZeQ3qID2I3i_CV3CCMPXaXonPda9KWsPmzg5-Nh0I3k1LsIfJPzV6-Cbd3X6WTSBXHeg8NGdyYGzz36ivGYHWnDZvS_A-SRPzDjH9ooJhKW3qqJkVmLgn9mSfeo9RmZHUDOlKQUZRW5k/s1600/flag7.png" /></a></div>
A little square thing. But the closest the battle flag got to being the CSA representative was as a little corner piece of the next CSA flag, known as "The Stainless Banner".<br />
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Just the little battle flag on a field of white. Remember that, we'll get back to it.<br />
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So when you hear people say that the Confederate Flag is "a part of our heritage" and they are waving this...<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBzTm3bLH3ce6etrImy__bovEQ0lnL-6UzLJM9gezFalboA8N3UpkhCG0dil5zkRsyK-KS317Puz2iZSlWvwCQro0RGdzTM3FHXivI3oGNbvaMMReUcqfhU92CLeJ9MdK9EGTZy7oX5ZY/s1600/flag1.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBzTm3bLH3ce6etrImy__bovEQ0lnL-6UzLJM9gezFalboA8N3UpkhCG0dil5zkRsyK-KS317Puz2iZSlWvwCQro0RGdzTM3FHXivI3oGNbvaMMReUcqfhU92CLeJ9MdK9EGTZy7oX5ZY/s1600/flag1.png" /></a></div>
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In the Navy</div>
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Then you know for a fact that they have no clue about Southern heritage in the civil war era. Especially in South Carolina, as the flag that flew over the rebel forces during the siege of Fort Sumter, which as you might recall started the whole thing, was called the "Bonnie Blue Flag" and looked like this...<br />
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Last part of the flag lesson is this... What is now known as the confederate flag...<br />
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was used by the KKK in the sixties as a symbol of white supremacy. That's right kids, a white supremacist hate group chose this flag to rally their troops because they believed themselves to be superior to all others who are not of their race.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUakDKtnaZ7XhMCvAMVG4dmQNmCb8P1WfCQuBDqJtxjTi_GdPkHS2yx_-62D4uWgKJ_BD0jcuKilxPOjQqQ7gWbSD9REyQDb5kbJoFsrROMI3GKmspOZZ7UMJZsE8YuQMZot3Y1y78Wz8/s1600/flag3.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUakDKtnaZ7XhMCvAMVG4dmQNmCb8P1WfCQuBDqJtxjTi_GdPkHS2yx_-62D4uWgKJ_BD0jcuKilxPOjQqQ7gWbSD9REyQDb5kbJoFsrROMI3GKmspOZZ7UMJZsE8YuQMZot3Y1y78Wz8/s1600/flag3.png" /></a></div>
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sound familiar?</div>
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Long ago, when I was a gung ho Marine, I got into an argument with my dad about the US flag. I told him I was willing to die to protect the flag. To grab it away from those who would burn it or trample it. NO ONE WOULD DESECRATE<em> MY</em> FLAG! <br />
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'Murica!</div>
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And Dad told me something that not only changed my perspective, but still rings true today.<br />
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The flag? <em>Any</em> flag? Is only a piece of cloth.<br />
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It is only a piece of cloth.<br />
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It is the ideas and ideals that the flag stands for that are important.<br />
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Is our country perfect?<br />
Most decidedly not. <br />
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But the ideals of the US? The things we<em> could</em> be? Those are amazing. Elections not marred by violent coups. The idea that all people are created equal. That we should have liberty and justice for all. Yeah, those are worth fighting for.<br />
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You want to stomp on the US flag or burn it? OK. It's just a piece of cloth. But if you take up arms against it, like the CSA did, then yes, we will have a problem.<br />
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So let's take another look at the Confederate flags... not in pictures, but in ideas and ideals.<br />
What do they stand for?<br />
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Well, the arguments you'll hear from supporters are that they are a part of southern heritage. They stand for standing up for your rights, for state rights. They are a symbol of rebellion against all that would take away their freedoms!<br />
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'Murica?</div>
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But peel back that layer of cloth and look underneath. <br />
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What rights were they wanting to defend?<br />
-The right to own slaves. To use other human beings as work animals to bring in their crops.<br />
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What "heritage" are they wanting to glorify and remember"<br />
-The heritage of the Antebellum South, where the rich white folk lived in luxury...due to the fact that they had slaves doing all of the work for them. So again, slavery.<br />
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What freedoms did the Federal Government want to take from those oppressed southern states?<br />
-The freedom to own and use human beings as farm animals. Slavery.<br />
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John Adams said that "Facts are stubborn things." Whether you want to admit it or not, whether you want to believe it or not, facts <em>are</em>.<br />
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Re-imagining history does not nullify the true history. The so called "confederate states" committed treason against the United States, using armed uprising. Those who fought on the side of the confederacy were traitors to the United States. <br />
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You will hear some say that they were all Americans just fighting for what they believed in. That it was really just about states rights. That after the war they were all friends again and even met on the battlefields to commemorate their fallen.<br />
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Yes, they were all Americans. But some of them were traitors. Yes, it is commonly sold in the south as a battle for states rights. But it was the right to slavery that they were fighting for. And yes, they did meet after the war to commemorate the fallen. That happens after many wars. WWI, WWII, Korea, Vietnam. US and "enemy" combatants meet on old battlefields and talk of the war.<br />
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But none of that eliminates the things that started those wars. Pearl Harbor. The 38th parallel. Our own hubris at wanting to "stop communism". All led us to war. And the CSA fighting for the right to own slaves started our Civil War.<br />
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Symbolically - fighting for the right of slavery for all whites</div>
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I have travelled all over this country. I have seen "confederate" flags flown and adorning vehicles and t-shirts. I believe that those who fly or defend the use of those flags are either too deluded or too stupid to realize the truth that lies behind that piece of cloth. Sure, it is a cool looking flag. If I didn't have any concept of history, I would think it was a cool flag.<br />
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But the simple and inevitable truth is that it is flag that represents hate. I don't think it should be outlawed though. Flying a flag is a great way to show exactly what you stand for. I fly the US flag because I believe in what we can be. Not because I blindly follow a piece of cloth. But I am against flying<em> any</em> confederate flag over state or federal buildings. Not because I am against state pride. I love being a native Iowan. But because the confederates were traitors, and they lost the war. Their flags are symbols of all that is wrong with that era, not anything that was right.<br />
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Fly them if you believe in what they stand for</div>
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We can do better in this country. We should not be flying the flags of hatred.<br />
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<br />Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05579610684460155891noreply@blogger.com0