Notes From A Bear's Journey

Skunked       It's an old term meaning to not score or to end up aced out and left with nothing on the board.  But of course, one only has to hear the word skunk and an immediate and entirely new visual pops up...animal, black and white stripes and smelly (or about to be).  Once thought to be part of the weasel family, skunks now stand on their own genetically and come in brown and cream colors as well as others having spots or multiple stripes.  But whether it's a 1-pound skunk or an 18-pound skunk (yes, the varieties come in all weights as well), you'll know when it's a skunk, sort of like you'll know when it's a rattlesnake.  On reading about them in Wikipedia and other sites, it was suggested that a good method of avoiding being sprayed by a skunk is to simply stand still (turns out that skunks really don't want to use up this precious chemical defense unless absolutely necessary for after about ten sprays they'll basically be out and will have t

On Guard     The word of course comes from the French world of fencing, en garde being the equivalent of "be ready" or "prepare to defend yourself."  And as mentioned earlier, my wife and I have indeed been "en garde," watching our dog 24/7.  I sleep by her side downstairs in the living room, our fear being that she might again scrape her knee if she makes the trek down the stairs from our bedroom (she is strong enough now to easily climb up the stairs, but going down is a bit wobbly).  She wants to walk, to go out and do her usual routine, but the vet still says no, and understandably so.  For despite vast improvement, she is still carrying an open wound; and as gross as it might sound, the wound itself is a marvel to behold.  Imagine yourself with a wound like this, a small explosion or something suddenly tearing off a lemon-sized portion of your skin and pretty much burning much of the area around it.  The surrounding skin is dead, but still clinging

Fate, Continued     After three days and nights, our dog is back.  For those of you who chanced to read the last post, you'll know that our dog had quite the run-in with infection, a simple tumor (benign) removal leading to an opening of stitches then an infection then re-stitching then another infection further down the joint and her skin turning necrotic (promise, I won't show any additional photos because while the tennis-ball-sized open wound is apparently getting better say the vets, to view it or see a photo of how it looks today might turn even the strongest of stomachs).  The vet released her to our care, but it came with a few caveats.  Basically, what they were doing there at the animal hospital was now something she felt that we could do at home, especially with the switch from her being given intravenous feeds of medicine to oral versions (our dog was on an i.v. of fentanyl , that highly potent narcotic which has made it way through human illicit drug use on the s

Fate Steps In     I'm back, or rather, I never left.  And it's presumptuous of me to pretend to call what was to happen fate for things can happen even as we try to alter them...what will be will be (this, if you happened to read the last post, was in reference to my avoiding my friend's dream of my semi-demise).  But you be the judge.*  Everything was so last minute, and by that I mean down to cancelling everything with less than a day before our scheduled departure.  Our 12-year old dog had shown a small, marble-sized lump and the cells did not look good, so we decided to have the lump removed and biopsied; turns out it was a rare --but benign-- hair follicle tumor (what???).  She was stiched up and sent home, a bit groggy but in good condition.  Now for those of you who have had pets operated on, you likely are familiar with their urge to lick or scratch or somehow get that stitched-up area feeling better; but this is not a good thing so your animal is generally given

Going Home    One sometimes hears that phrase, more often than not in the movies, the main character facing the end of life and looking blurry-eyed at something distant and saying peacefully and almost expectantly, "I'm going home." But what exactly is home?  Is it a country, a celestial afterlife, a return to birth, a house or structure?  The common thread in those cases would seem to be a beginning, a place where much of your life was formed or had made a deep and lasting impression on you.  But then what of your home once you had grown and had married or moved on, leaving your "childhood" home?  Does country or culture (or even a new home) then override that factor?  For several of my friends, this is the case, their Irish heritage pulling them back again and again (they've since bought a second home in Ireland), their accents and habits still strongly attached to their birthland.  For another friend, his draw is to a generalize part of the country, th

Living On Earth     We're all here, of course, living on earth.  But this is unashamedly a plug for a broadcast series of the same name, one entirely listener supported, and one quite fascinating in its exploration of the environmental issues facing us in the world.  As one example, this week's programming featured several pieces on the ocean, one being the noise in the ocean from passing ships (and not mentioned but also the controversial military sonar experiments again in court after whales and porpoises began washing up on beaches near the experiments, apparently with damage to their hearing and echolocation centers).  Here's how they began the piece on noise in the Seattle/Puget Sound area: Picture yourself at a noisy bar.  You realize that you have been shouting at the top of your lungs all night just to be heard.  Well, orcas in Puget Sound are in kind of the same situation.  The problem was that in studying the animals, it was discovered that in keeping up the h

Departures     My brother left the other morning, ready for a return home after a two week visit with my mother.  It was a nice visit, not only for her but for all of us as he was here to witness her process through her normal life then urgent care then the emergency room and now her settling down with rehabilitation.  But for me, it was a time to catch up on brotherly things, to reflect back on times the two of us had spent growing up, as well as viewing where we were in our lives now.  And while watching the Olympics, he turned and asked me that if I could somehow become a star athlete in any event in the Olympics, which event would I choose.  I would have thought that I would have answered swimming (since I swim for exercise) but truthfully, I had tried many of the fast strokes and mad dashes that the athletes were displaying and realized just how exhausting and difficult those strokes were...so no to that.  But as with all of the sports, there was what likely seemed endless hours

Bee-Cause     They arrived unintentionally, at least for me.  Where once there were the occasional twittering of hummingbirds at the feeders, there was now silence.  Hummingbirds were still there, but suddenly there was something blocking the feeding holes, something rather large and rather dark, and all around were hummingbirds floating off in the distance, as if waiting for an opening, that is until they realized that it was futile.  The bees had arrived.  As you've possibly read in my earlier post , I am allergic to bees (deathly so if stung in the throat, which is why I carry an Epipen), swelling as if I had reacted to a rattlesnake bite; this happens with everything from mosquitoes to spiders, my body now reacting with force as if this one tiny bite would be my downfall.  At times, I can appear as a series of welts appearing as if I should be taken in for child (or in my case, elderly) abuse, the itching fading soon enough until I brush against the bite or give in and begin

One (of many) Quests     The last post was a bit shocking, even for me.  And upon re-reading it, it made me realize that my mood was likely down what with all that has been going on in my life with my mother, all of which is again minor compared to others who have or are going through so much more.  I feel a bit embarrassed, a bit humbled, a bit ashamed that I have let my views drop in a way, sinking to a more pessimistic viewpoint and a road I really don't care to travel.  But in my defense, it is difficult at times today making one feel as if one is swimming in choppy waters and struggling just to keep afloat and not drown; I think author John Lanchester summed it up nicely for me when he wrote in The London Review of Books about Brexit: The dominant note out there in the country since the credit crunch and Great Recession has been one of bafflement, of bewilderment and disorientation.  How did this happen?  How did we get here?  Why does nobody listen to us, why does nobo

(Un) Reality     Let me start out right away by saying that this particular post is not for everyone.  It is graphic, it is gross, it is unbelievable, and it is true.  So just as with one of those movie ratings before a film begins, the ones we all tend to ignore, please think twice before reading on (much of this will be medical speak as taken from a reporter's notes but it is still not easy reading...I'll preview you in the next paragraph and advise that the reportage of the atrocities will only grow more graphic).  What brought all of this about was the fact that my brother and I were having lunch in the cafeteria housed in the hospital building.  We were facing the mountains, watching the passing storm through large tinted windows, talking about the much needed rain and me pointing out a bit of geological reference for my out-of-state brother.  Then a life-flight chopper arrived, then another.  Perhaps an accident on the highway or something.  We kept munching on our tofu

Tunnels     The recent opening of the Gotthard tunnel in Switzerland, now the world's longest and deepest tunnel, made me begin to think about out digs under the earth.  Twenty years in the making, the Gotthard tunnel exemplified the efforts we humans undertake to go underground, from running drugs to transporting people and goods, and from mimicking ants to mining for minerals.  Even our salt tunnels run for miles and miles underground, with some now being used as repositories for everything from films and documents to what might possibly be storage for spent nuclear fuel.  And then there are the unknown and little explored tunnels, the ones discovered only recently, from the world's largest natural cave located in Vietnam (a labyrinth of offshoots that mirrors that of the Cu Chi tunnels ) to the ones still being explored in Poland and elsewhere (thought to be built by the Nazi Germans).     Now comes the audio version of the above story that originally appeared in Th